pairing: insomniac!jake sim x dream guardian!f! reader
with guest features from: dream guardian! jungwon, bffs!jayhoon
wc: 23.6k
summary: as a dream guardian specializing in nightmare cases, you are assigned to Jake, a college senior whose severe night terrors have plagued him since high school. when his night terrors prove so relentless that standard intervention fails, you break protocol to give him the relief he desperately needs. it works too well. for the first time in years, jake can sleep without fear, and he becomes addicted to the safety you provide. he begins testing the edges of his dreams, searching for proof that someone is there, while you struggle to maintain the professional distance that is rapidly dissolving.
tags/content: extreme night terrors and nightmares, sleep deprivation + insomnia + caffeine dependence, unhealthy attachment and codependence, allegories to suicide (jake tries to sleep for extended periods of times with medication + tries to hurt himself in dreamscape in an attempt to draw reader out), guilt tripping, desperation and yearning, slight power imbalance, attempted baby trapping, p in v, raw sex, oral sex (f! receiving), brief nipple sucking, subby desperate jake who else cheered, normal pda such as kissing and cuddling,
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
Jake's fork scraped against the plate, a grating sound that made Jay wince. It had been sitting there for the better part of three minutes, trapped between Jake's fingers and the congealing remains of his pasta. His hand was still. His eyes were open, but barely.
"Dude." Nothing. Jay kicked him under the table.
Jake jerked upright, blinking hard. The fork clattered onto the plate. "What?"
"You were asleep." Jay leaned forward, arms crossing over his chest.
"I wasn't!" Jake rubbed his face with both hands, pressing his palms into his eyes hard enough that Jay could see the pressure whiten his knuckles. When he dropped them, his eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused. "I'm awake."
"You were holding a fork and drooling," Jay said. There was something almost gentle underneath the bluntness, the kind of concern that came out sideways because saying it straight felt too vulnerable.
"I wasn't drooling."
"You were definitely drooling." Sunghoon hadn't looked up from his phone. He was scrolling through something, thumb moving in lazy circles, but Jake knew he was paying attention. Sunghoon always paid attention, even when he pretended not to.
Jake looked down at his plate like he was trying to remember how it had gotten there. His pasta was half-eaten, pushed around more than consumed. The garlic bread sat untouched, cooling into something dense and unappetizing. He'd ordered it specifically because Jay told him to eat something with actual calories in it, and now it was just taking up space, another small failure in a series of them. The café around them hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, the scrape of chairs against tile. It smelled like burnt coffee and something sweet that had been sitting under the heat lamp too long. The afternoon light slanted through the windows in pale, exhausted streaks, and Jake felt every bit as wrung out as the day looked.
Jay was still staring at him. "When's the last time you slept?"
"Last night."
"For how long?"
Jake didn't answer right away. He picked up his water glass instead, drank from it slowly, buying time. The ice had melted into pale slivers, and the water tasted faintly metallic. He could feel both of them watching him, waiting, and the weight of their attention made his shoulders want to curl inward.
"Jake."
"I don't know. A few hours."
"A few hours." Jay repeated it like he was testing the words, seeing if they sounded any less absurd the second time. He looked at Sunghoon, who finally glanced up from his phone, expression unreadable but pointed. "That's what we're calling it now?"
"It's fine," Jake said, and even he didn't believe it.
"You're falling asleep into your lunch. That's not fine." Jay's voice had gone quieter, which was somehow worse than if he'd yelled. Yelling, Jake could brush off. This careful, deliberate concern was harder to ignore.
Jake set the glass down too carefully, concentrating on not spilling it. His hands weren't shaking, but they weren't steady either. "I'm just tired."
"Yeah, no shit."
Sunghoon pocketed his phone, which was when Jake knew this had escalated past casual worry into something heavier. Sunghoon only put his phone away entirely when things were serious, when he needed both hands free or both eyes focused. He didn't say anything yet, just watched Jake with that patient, unblinking attention that made people confess things they hadn't meant to. It was the same look he'd had two years ago when Jake had finally admitted the night terrors had started, the same look he'd had last semester when Jake showed up at his door at three in the morning because he couldn't be alone in his apartment anymore.
Jake looked away first. "You're both looking at me like I'm about to keel over."
"You literally just fell asleep holding a fork," Jay said. "We're a little worried."
"I'm fine." The words came out automatic, reflexive, the same thing he'd been saying for weeks now. Months, maybe. He'd lost track.
"You're not fine. You look like shit." Jay said it bluntly.
Jake's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Thanks."
"I'm serious." Jay leaned forward, elbows on the table, and his sandwich sat forgotten beside him, half-wrapped and leaking sauce onto the paper. "When's the last time you actually slept through the night?"
Jake looked toward the window, where a couple of students were walking past with their backpacks slung over one shoulder, laughing about something he couldn't hear. The world outside looked normal. He wondered what that felt like.
"I don't know," he said finally, because the truth was he genuinely couldn't remember. The nights had started blurring together sometime around midterms, a smear of dark hours and fragmented sleep and waking up with his heart trying to punch through his ribs.
"Weeks?" Sunghoon asked.
"Maybe." Jake picked up his fork again, stabbed a piece of pasta, and put it in his mouth without tasting it. Chewed. Swallowed. The motion was mechanical, something to fill the silence with other than the answer they wanted.
Then Jay sighed, the kind of exhale that said he'd made a decision. "We can stay over tonight."
"No." The word came out faster than Jake meant it to, sharp enough that the girl at the table next to them glanced over.
"You're not fine, and you know it. We can just crash on your couch. You don't even have to talk to us. We'll bring food, we'll stay out of your way, we'll just be there."
"I said no." Jake's grip on his fork tightened, knuckles going white. He could feel the panic starting to creep up the back of his throat, that familiar tightness that came whenever someone got too close to the truth of how bad it had gotten. They'd stayed over before, back when the night terrors first started, back when he still thought they might go away on their own. They'd seen him wake up gasping, seen him cry without knowing why, seen him stumble out of his bedroom at four in the morning looking like he'd been through a war. But that was years ago, and he'd gotten better at hiding it since then, better at managing it alone. Or he thought he had. Recently, though—
The sharpness in his own voice surprised him, and the table went quiet. Jay sat back, jaw tight, that muscle jumping near his ear the way it did when he was biting back something he wanted to say.
"We've done this before," Jay said, softer now, and there was something almost pleading in it. "It's not a big deal."
"It is to me," Jake said. His voice came out quieter than he meant, almost lost under the ambient noise of the café.
"Why?"
Jake didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat had gone tight, and swallowing felt like work. He could tell them that the night terrors had changed, that they weren't just bad anymore but unbearable, that he'd started dreading sleep the way some people dreaded plane crashes or terminal diagnoses. He could tell them that last week he'd woken up on his bedroom floor with no memory of how he got there, that two nights ago he'd woken up screaming so loud his neighbor had knocked on the door to make sure he was okay. He could tell them he was afraid that if they stayed over and saw how bad it really was, they'd look at him differently, like he was broken in a way that couldn't be fixed.
Sunghoon spoke before Jay could push further. "We've seen each other at our lowest. You know that, right? I mean it. Jay cried for two hours when his dog died sophomore year. I had food poisoning so bad I couldn't get off the bathroom floor. You held my hair back while I puked into your toilet. None of us are keeping score."
Jay nodded, picking up the thread. "We're not going to judge you for having a bad night. Or a bad week. Or however long this has been going on. We've been there before, remember? You've let us stay over when it got bad. This isn't new."
"It's different now," Jake said, the words coming out before he could stop them.
"Different how?"
Jake set the fork down. His hands disappeared under the table, into his lap, where they could curl into fists without anyone seeing. "I don't want you there when it happens."
Jay frowned, leaning forward slightly. "When what happens?"
"The—" Jake stopped. His jaw clenched hard enough that it ached. "You know."
"The night terrors," Sunghoon said, not a question, just a statement of fact.
Jake flinched. He nodded once, a sharp, reluctant jerk of his head, and hated how small it made him feel.
"We've dealt with those before too," Jay said. There was something almost desperate in the reassurance, like if he just said the right thing, Jake would let them help.
"Not like this." Jake's voice was flat, drained of inflection.
"What do you mean, not like this?" Jay asked, and he sounded genuinely confused, like he couldn't fathom what could be worse than what they'd already seen.
Jake shook his head slowly. "It's worse. It's been worse.” He stopped again, exhaled hard through his nose, the breath shaking slightly on the way out. "I don't want you to see it."
Jay wanted to push. Jake could feel it, the way you could feel a storm building on the horizon. But instead, Jay just exhaled slowly and said, "Okay."
Jake's head snapped up. "What?"
"Okay. We'll drop it." Jay picked up his sandwich, unwrapped it the rest of the way with deliberate, careful movements.
Jake blinked, caught off guard. They never dropped it. Jay especially never dropped it. "Really?"
"Yeah." Jay took a bite, chewed, swallowed, all while maintaining eye contact. "But you're still texting us when you get home."
"Fine," Jake muttered, because arguing would take more energy than he had, and besides, he could always just... not text them. They'd be annoyed, maybe, but they wouldn't actually show up. Probably.
"Good," Jay said, and some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. He took another bite of his sandwich, and the conversation shifted, drifted toward safer territory. Sunghoon mentioned an assignment he was procrastinating on, something about a group project where half the group wasn't pulling their weight. Jay started complaining about a show he'd been watching, talking too fast the way he always did when he got excited about something, gesturing with his half-eaten sandwich in a way that made the guy at the next table lean slightly away.
Jake contributed when prompted, but his answers were short, distracted. His eyes kept losing focus, drifting toward the window or the middle distance, pulled somewhere else entirely. The exhaustion sat behind his eyes like a physical weight, dragging at him, making his thoughts feel slow and thick. He picked at his pasta without eating it, moved the garlic bread from one side of his plate to the other, drank his water in small, measured sips. The conversation washed over him like white noise, familiar and distant at the same time.
By the time Jay flagged down their server and paid the check, Jake looked worse than when they'd arrived. The brief nap, if you could even call it that, hadn't helped. If anything, it had made him look more wrung out, like his body had tasted rest and resented being denied it. His eyes were heavier now, lids drooping despite his best efforts to keep them open. His face had that grayish tint that came from too many sleepless nights strung together, the kind of exhaustion that went bone-deep.
Outside, the late afternoon air was cool, almost cold, carrying the first real bite of autumn. Jake shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind, which cut through the fabric like it wasn't there. The sun was already starting to sink, casting long shadows across the pavement, and Jake felt a familiar dread settle in his stomach. Another few hours until he'd have to decide whether to sleep or keep himself awake, whether to face what waited for him in his dreams or suffer through another night of forced consciousness.
He didn't say goodbye, just nodded once in their general direction and started walking in the direction of his apartment, his stride a little uneven, his gait slower than usual. He could feel their eyes on his back, the weight of their concern following him down the block, but he didn't turn around.
────୨ৎ────
The file lands in your assignment queue at 11:47 PM, which is typical. They always send the hard cases at night, like the timing will soften the blow.
You open it. Male, early twenties, severe night terrors since adolescence, chronic insomnia, three previous guardians rotated off due to lack of progress. Of course. You scroll down. History of sleep avoidance, documented panic attacks during REM cycles, persistent nightmares characterized by looping scenarios and high-intensity fear response. The notes from the previous guardians are clinical, but you can read between the lines.
You close the file and stare at the ceiling of the archive room.
Jungwon is sitting across from you, already reading through his own assignment with that focused, unbothered expression he always has. He's been a guardian longer than you have, but somehow he still manages to look peaceful about it, like this work hasn't worn him down to raw nerves and resentment yet. You don't know how he does it.
"What did you get?" you ask, even though you already know the answer won't make you feel better.
He glances up, blinking like he's surfacing from deep water. "Eight-year-old. Scared his teeth are falling out. The adult ones are coming in, and he keeps dreaming they all come loose at once."
You stare at him. "That's it?"
"Well, there's some anxiety around the dentist, and his parents recently divorced, so there's probably some underlying fear of instability manifesting as—"
"And mine," you interrupt, because if you let him finish that sentence you're going to scream, "is a twenty-something with severe night terrors, chronic insomnia, and a history of three failed guardian rotations."
"That does sound difficult," he says, and he means it, which somehow makes it worse.
"Difficult." You laugh, sharp and humorless. "That's one word for it."
"What would you prefer?"
"Impossible. A waste of my time." You open the file again, skim the details you've already read twice. The previous guardians left notes. Dreamer exhibits extreme resistance to standard interventions. Nightmares intensify with direct contact. Recommend specialized assignment, which is code for we couldn't handle this, so we're passing it to someone who can.
That someone is always you.
"Have you asked for reassignment?" Jungwon asks, and his voice is careful, gentle, like he's trying not to spook you.
"To what?" You don't look at him. You're still reading, even though you've memorized every word by now. "Another hard case? They'll just give me something equally bad. Or worse."
"You could request a break."
"When's the last time you saw anyone get a break?" You close the file again, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands hard enough that spots bloom behind your eyelids. "I'll manage."
"I know you will," Jungwon says, and he sounds so certain, so completely convinced of your competence, that you want to tell him to stop.
You just nod, pick up the file, and stand. The archive room shifts around you, responding to your intention to leave, the walls thinning and curving until there's a doorway where there wasn't one before.
"Good luck," Jungwon says behind you.
You don't respond. Luck has nothing to do with it.
The dreamer's name is Jake. You learn this from the file, along with a dozen other details that paint a picture of someone who has been suffering for years and will likely continue suffering for years more. The night terrors started when he was sixteen, seventeen, somewhere in that range.
You've handled cases like this before. The protocol is straightforward: observe, stabilize, regulate the dream cycles, minimize harm. Do not intervene beyond what is necessary. Do not get involved. Do not stay longer than three months unless there are extenuating circumstances.
The first night, you don't do anything. You just observe.
Jake falls asleep at 2:17 AM, which tells you everything you need to know about his sleep schedule. He's been awake for hours, fighting it, and his body finally gave out. The dreams start almost immediately, bypassing the usual descent into deeper sleep. His subconscious is a mess, fragmented and volatile.
You stand at the edge of it and catalog what you see. The dream has no coherent setting, just a series of overlapping spaces that bleed into each other without logic or transition. A hallway that becomes a staircase that becomes a room with no doors. The lighting is wrong, too harsh and too dim at the same time, casting shadows that don't match the objects creating them. Everything feels precarious, like it's barely holding together.
And then the nightmare starts.
You've seen worse, but not by much. It's a classic looping scenario, the kind that traps a dreamer in repetition until they wake from sheer exhaustion or panic. He's looking for something, searching through the nonsensical architecture of his own mind, and every time he gets close, the dream resets. The walls shift. The doors disappear.
The nightmare cycles three more times before his body forces him awake. He sits up in bed gasping, and you can feel the echo of his panic even though you're not fully inside the dream anymore. His heart rate is erratic. His hands are shaking. He reaches for the lamp on his bedside table and turns it on, flooding the room with light. He just sits there, breathing hard, waiting for his body to believe that he's safe.
He's not going to fall asleep again. You can tell from the way he's already reaching for his phone, the way he's pushing the blankets off like the bed is contaminated. He'll stay awake until morning, running on fumes and adrenaline, and tomorrow night will be the same.
You pull back, disconnecting from his dream space, and return to the archive room, where Jungwon is probably already asleep and dreaming pleasant, uncomplicated dreams about children who are afraid of dentists.
────୨ৎ────
You try again the next night.
Jake's dreamscape is there, technically, but it's barely holding form. You've seen this before in dreamers with severe insomnia, the way their subconscious becomes hostile territory when they've been awake too long. The space rejects you before you can even fully enter, pushing back like a hand against your chest. The edges are serrated, sharp with exhaustion and anxiety, and the few images that do surface are fragmented beyond recognition. A door handle. The corner of a ceiling. Someone's voice, distorted and layered over itself until it's just noise.
He's not asleep. Not really. His body might be horizontal, his eyes might be closed, but his mind is still running, still fighting, caught in that terrible in-between state where rest is impossible and waking is unbearable.
You pull back. There's nothing you can do here. The protocol is clear: you can't stabilize a dreamer who isn't dreaming.
The second night is worse.
You enter the edges of his dreamscape and immediately feel the wrongness of it. The space is collapsing in on itself, folding and refolding like paper in a fist. His subconscious is eating itself, turning inward with nowhere else to go.
You try to anchor yourself somewhere stable enough to work, but the dreamscape lurches and spits you out. The rejection is almost physical, a shove that sends you back to the archive room with your equilibrium spinning.
Jungwon glances up from his own work. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," you say, even though you're not. Your hands are trembling slightly, residual feedback from the ejection. It doesn't usually hit you this hard, but Jake's dreamscape is particularly volatile. Two nights of forced wakefulness have turned his subconscious into a minefield.
The third night, you don't even bother trying to enter. You can feel the dreamscape from a distance, and you know it's pointless. He's still awake, still fighting, still running himself into the ground. The file didn't mention this level of avoidance, but maybe the previous guardians never pushed hard enough to see it. Maybe they rotated off before it got to this point.
You're in the archive room, not really reading through Jake's file so much as staring at it, when the dreamscape snaps into sudden, sharp existence.
It's not gradual, the way sleep usually is. One moment there's nothing, and the next moment the dreamscape is there, fully formed and pulling at you with desperate urgency.
He's crashed.
You enter without thinking, without the usual careful approach, because the dreamscape is already destabilizing and if you don't act now it's going to collapse into a full night terror before he's even fully unconscious.
The space is dark. You can feel Jake's presence somewhere in it, his consciousness flickering like a candle in a wind tunnel. He's not aware, not really. His mind is too exhausted to form coherent thoughts, too wrung out to do anything but freefall into the void his body has forced him into.
The darkness ripples. You can feel the nightmare building underneath it, gathering mass and momentum, fed by days of accumulated fear and exhaustion. It's going to be bad. This is the kind of night terror that leaves psychological scars, the kind that traumatizes a dreamer badly enough that they'll avoid sleep for weeks afterward, which will only make the next crash worse, which will make the next nightmare worse, spiraling down and down until something breaks permanently.
You step forward into the darkness and begin to work.
The nightmare doesn't want to be dismantled. It fights you, surging up like a wave, trying to solidify before you can break it apart. You can feel its shape, all teeth and drowning and the terrible certainty that something is coming and there's nowhere to run. It's pulling from Jake's worst fears, from years of accumulated dread, and it has momentum on its side.
But you're faster. You've done this before, too many times to count, and your hands know the movements before your mind has fully processed them. You reach into the fabric of the dream and pull, unraveling the nightmare thread by thread. You soften the darkness, diluting it with gray, with the suggestion of light. You take the weight out of the air, the pressure that makes it feel like drowning. You find the thing that's chasing him, the shapeless terror that his mind has conjured, and you erase it.
It's not easy. The nightmare keeps trying to rebuild itself, keeps reaching for the worst possibilities, but you're patient and precise. Eventually it gives up. The dreamscape settles into something calm.
Jake's consciousness is still flickering, barely aware, but you can feel the moment his body registers the shift. His mind, finally, mercifully, stops fighting.
You stand in the dreamscape and watch as it begins to shape itself into something gentler. A room, plain and unremarkable. Four walls, a window, soft light that doesn't come from any particular source. He'll sleep through the night, maybe longer, considering how badly he needed this.
Jake enters the dreamscape slowly, like someone wading into water they don't trust.
He looks around, his movements careful and deliberate despite the dream logic that should make everything feel fluid and easy. His shoulders are tense. His hands are loose at his sides, but there's a readiness to them, like he's prepared to fight or run at the first sign of wrongness. He's looking for the trap.
Of course he is. His subconscious doesn't believe in peace anymore. It's just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He takes a step forward, and the dream holds. The floor doesn't dissolve. The walls don't shift.
"This isn't real," he says, and his voice is rough, scraped raw from exhaustion. He's not talking to anyone, just stating a fact, trying to orient himself in a space that feels wrong because it feels too right.
You stay silent. You're not supposed to interact with dreamers directly unless absolutely necessary, and you've already broken enough protocol tonight just by intervening this much. Talking to him would cross another line, one you're not ready to cross yet.
He walks to the window and looks out at the nothing beyond it. His reflection is faint in the glass, and you can see the toll the last few days have taken. Even in a dream, he looks exhausted.
"What are you?" he asks the reflection, or the room, or maybe himself. His hand comes up to touch the glass, fingers spreading against the surface. "You're different."
He turns away from the window and walks to the center of the room. He sits down on the floor, cross-legged, like he's claiming the space. His eyes are moving constantly, tracking things you haven't placed, looking for patterns that aren't there.
"I know you're not going to last," he says, and there's something almost conversational about it, like he's talking to the dream itself. "Nothing does. So you might as well just get it over with."
He's waiting for the nightmare to start. He doesn't believe this is real, doesn't believe it will hold, and some part of you feels something uncomfortably close to pity.
Not sympathy. You're not supposed to feel sympathy for dreamers. That's how guardians get compromised, how they start making decisions based on emotion instead of protocol. But pity is different. Pity is just the clinical recognition that someone is suffering and that the suffering is, objectively, unfortunate.
You can feel pity without it meaning anything.
He sits there for a long time, waiting for something terrible to happen. The dreamscape holds because you're holding it, maintaining the stability with the same steady pressure you'd use to keep a wound from bleeding. It's work, more work than it should be, because his subconscious keeps trying to assert itself, keeps reaching for the familiar patterns of fear and panic.
Eventually, slowly, his shoulders start to lower. The tension doesn't leave entirely, but it eases, just enough that you can tell his body is overriding his mind's insistence that this is dangerous. He's so tired.
His eyes start to close. He fights it for a moment, head jerking back up, but his body has made the decision for him. He tips sideways, slow and ungraceful, until he's lying on the floor of the dream with one arm pillowed under his head.
"Fuck," he mumbles, and his eyes close fully. "Fine."
The dreamscape shifts around him, responding to his surrender. The room softens further, the floor beneath him becoming something closer to a bed, though you're careful to keep it subtle enough that he won't notice the change and wake himself up with suspicion. The light dims, just enough to signal that it's safe to sleep.
You stay at the edge of the dreamscape and watch his breathing even out, watch the frantic energy finally drain out of him. His face smooths, losing some of that hunted look.
────୨ৎ────
The next night, there's nothing.
You reach for Jake's dreamscape at the usual time and find the same hostile, fragmented static from before. He's awake again, or something close to it, his mind grinding itself down to nothing while his body screams for rest he refuses to give it.
You pull back and wait. When you check again an hour later, there’s still nothing. Two hours after that, the dreamscape is even worse, jagged and bleeding at the edges like a wound that won't close.
He's doing this on purpose.
The realization settles over you with a particular kind of frustration you've felt before, with other difficult cases, other dreamers who self-sabotage in ways that make your job impossible. He finally got a night of real sleep, the first in days, and instead of taking it as relief, he's treating it like a threat.
Of course he'd interpret one peaceful night as an anomaly instead of a turning point. Of course he'd go right back to running himself into the ground rather than risk hoping for something better.
You close your connection to his dreamscape and return to the archive room, where Jungwon is humming quietly to himself while he works. He's probably weaving together a dream about playground equipment or favorite stuffed animals, something gentle and easy that will make his eight-year-old dreamer smile in his sleep.
You don't say anything. There's nothing to say. Jake isn't sleeping, which means you can't work, which means you're just sitting here waiting for him to crash again.
The day passes. You check on Jake periodically, more out of routine than hope. His dreamscape remains inaccessible, a churning mess of exhaustion and anxiety that won't coalesce into anything workable. You can feel him deteriorating from a distance, the way his consciousness is starting to fray at the edges from lack of proper rest.
Jungwon finishes his shift and leaves with a quiet goodnight. You stay. There's no point in leaving when you're just going to have to come back and check again in a few hours.
By the second day, Jake's dreamscape has degraded to something almost unrecognizable. You've never seen a dreamer push themselves this hard for this long. A month of near-constant wakefulness, broken only by that one night you forced stability on him, and now he's right back to it. His subconscious is fragmenting in real time, splintering into pieces that don't fit together anymore.
If he keeps this up, he's going to cause permanent damage.
It's mid-afternoon, earlier than you'd normally check, but something pulls your attention toward his dreamscape. It's still there, still barely functional, but there's a change in the quality of it. You reach for it carefully, ready to be rejected again, but this time the dreamscape doesn't push back.
Jake's consciousness is flickering in and out, caught in that terrible half-asleep state where the body has started shutting down but the mind is still trying to fight it. You can feel him slipping, his awareness dimming and flaring and dimming again as he loses the battle against his own exhaustion.
He's not in bed. The dreamscape tells you that much. He's somewhere else, somewhere his body decided it couldn't stay upright anymore. A couch, maybe. Somewhere he sat down for just a moment and couldn't get back up.
The dreamscape is starting to form, pulling itself together out of the wreckage of his consciousness, but it's unstable. He's too wound up to dream peacefully. This is going to go bad fast if you don't intervene.
You don't hesitate this time. Protocol be damned. You find the center of it, the place where the nightmare is trying to anchor itself, and you sever the connection. The darkness writhes, tries to rebuild around a different fear, but you're already there, already cutting it off. You work quickly, methodically, the way you've learned to after years of doing this, finding each thread of terror before it can weave itself into something solid. The nightmare collapses under your hands, dissolving back into the shapeless anxiety it came from, and you smooth even that away until there's nothing left but empty space.
The dreamscape shudders and settles into something neutral. Jake's consciousness is barely present, a flicker of awareness that doesn't even register where he is or what's happening. He's too far gone for that, too exhausted to be anything other than a passenger in his own mind.
Good. That makes this easier.
You shape the dreamscape carefully, gently, building something that won't trigger his suspicion when he surfaces enough to notice. A bed this time, simple and unremarkable. Soft light. No windows, no doors, nothing that suggests an exit or a trap.
His consciousness settles into it like a stone dropping into water, sinking down and down until there's nothing left but the slow, even rhythm of actual sleep.
Hours pass. The dreamscape holds. Jake sleeps.
The dreamscape remains stable without much effort on your part now. You've done the hard work already, dismantled the nightmare before it could take root, shaped the space into something that won't trigger his hypervigilance. Now it's just maintenance, small adjustments when the edges start to fray, gentle corrections when his anxiety tries to bubble up. Easy work. The kind you could do in your sleep, if guardians slept.
You should leave. He's stable enough that another guardian could monitor him, or you could just let the dreamscape run its course and check back in a few hours. You've already spent more time on this than you should have, more energy than a single intervention warrants.
But there's something almost peaceful about watching him rest. Not peaceful for you, exactly. You're not sentimental enough to pretend this is enjoyable. There's a satisfaction in it, the same satisfaction you'd get from solving a difficult problem or finishing a task that everyone else said was impossible. He's sleeping. After days of watching him tear himself apart and feeling his dreamscape reject you over and over, he's finally resting.
It won't last. You know that. One good sleep doesn't undo weeks of damage, doesn't fix whatever is broken in him that makes the nightmares so severe in the first place. Tomorrow night he'll probably go right back to avoiding sleep, and you'll be back to square one.
But for now, for these few hours, you've done your job. You've given him what he needed, even if he doesn't know you exist.
That should be enough.
You're starting to pull back, preparing to disconnect and return to the archive room, when something shifts.
Someone is waking him up.
You feel it before it happens, the way the dreamscape starts to destabilize in response to stimuli from the waking world. Sound, first. A voice, muffled and distant but insistent. Then touch. A hand on his shoulder, shaking gently.
The dreamscape flickers. Jake's consciousness rises toward wakefulness like a bubble rising through water, slow and inevitable.
No. Not yet. He's barely been asleep for three hours, maybe four. His body needs more than that. He needs more than that.
You try to hold the dreamscape together, to keep him under for just a little longer, but you can't fight the physical world. Someone is actively trying to wake him, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. The dreamscape is already dissolving around the edges, losing coherence as his awareness surfaces.
The voice comes again, clearer now. "Jake. Hey. Wake up."
Sunghoon. You don't know how you know that, but you do. Maybe it's something in the tone, something Jake's subconscious recognizes even as it's being dragged back to consciousness.
"Come on, man. Library's closing. We have to go."
The dreamscape fractures. Jake's consciousness pulls away from sleep like a riptide in reverse, and you're left standing in the ruins of the peaceful space you built for him, watching it collapse into nothing as he wakes.
You disconnect fully and return to the archive room. All that careful intervention, all those hours of monitoring and maintaining and making sure he got the rest he so desperately needed. And for what? Three hours, maybe four. Barely enough to take the edge off his exhaustion, nowhere near enough to actually help.
You pull up his file and add another note. Dreamer achieved stable sleep for approximately 3-4 hours before external interruption. Will continue monitoring. The words are clipped, professional, but you can feel the irritation bleeding through them anyway.
────୨ৎ────
You shouldn't do this.
The thought occurs to you as you're already reaching back into Jake's consciousness, toward the memories that sit just below the surface.
You're looking for Sunghoon and Jay specifically, the two names that keep appearing in Jake's dreams, always associated with a complicated tangle of trust and shame and guilt.
It takes almost no effort to find what you're looking for. The memories are right there, worn smooth from repeated examination, the way Jake turns them over in his mind when he can't sleep. You pull one forward and let it unspool.
Jake's apartment. Nighttime. The layout is slightly wrong, the way memories always are, details filled in incorrectly or left vague because they weren't important at the time. The emotional content is clear. Jake is sitting on his bed, exhausted and afraid. Sunghoon on the floor with his back against the wall, controller in hand, playing something on muted volume. Jay sprawled in the desk chair, scrolling through his phone but glancing up every few minutes to check on Jake.
"You should try to sleep," Jay says, and there's worry underneath the casualness.
"I'm fine," Jake says, automatic.
"You're not fine. You look like death."
"Thanks."
They go back and forth like this for a while, the same circular argument you've heard variations of in Jake's other memories. Jay pushing, Jake deflecting, Sunghoon watching quietly and occasionally interjecting with something that cuts through the tension. Eventually Jake lies down, and Jay and Sunghoon stay, and the memory ends with Jake staring at the ceiling while his friends pretend to be absorbed in their respective distractions.
You pull another memory. Similar scene, different night. This time it's worse. Jake wakes up mid-nightmare, and Sunghoon is there immediately, hand on his shoulder, voice low and steady. "You're awake. You're okay. It was just a dream." Jay appears in the doorway, hesitant, unsure what to do. Jake is shaking, can't seem to catch his breath, and Sunghoon just stays there, grounding presence, until the panic passes.
Another memory. Jay bringing him food because Jake keeps forgetting to eat. "You need to take care of yourself, man." Said with frustration, with helplessness, because Jay is the kind of person who needs to fix things and this is something he can't fix.
Another. Sunghoon staying up with him through an entire night, not saying much, just being there.
You watch memory after memory unspool, and a picture forms. Two people who care deeply, who have tried everything they can think of, who have watched their friend suffer for years and never figured out how to make it stop. They've done research, suggested doctors, offered medication, stayed over countless times. They've seen him at his worst and never left.
And none of it has worked.
They can't touch the dreams themselves. They can't reach into his subconscious and dismantle the nightmares before they form. They can't do what you do.
You're pulling back from the memories, vaguely annoyed at yourself for the detour, when you feel Jake's consciousness starting to sink again, pulled down by exhaustion that three hours of sleep did nothing to satisfy.
He's falling asleep.
You shouldn't enter yet. He's still too close to wakefulness, still aware enough that the dreamscape will be unstable and potentially dangerous. Standard protocol is to wait until he's fully under, until his consciousness has settled into proper REM sleep.
But you're already moving, already reaching for the dreamscape as it starts to form, because if you wait he might fight it, might pull himself back to wakefulness out of habit or fear, and you're not letting that happen.
The dreamscape materializes around you, half-formed and flickering. You can feel the waking world bleeding through, sounds and sensations that shouldn't be present in a dream. Voices. Movement.
You push deeper into the forming dreamscape and the shapes resolve into something more concrete. Jake's bedroom. The details are sharper than they should be, more accurate, because he's still aware enough to be pulling from recent memory rather than letting his subconscious improvise.
He's in bed. Or his dream-self is in bed, which amounts to the same thing. There are two other figures in the room.
Sunghoon and Jay.
They're trying to help him sleep. You can see it in the way the dream has shaped them, turned them into gentle, supportive presences. Sunghoon is adjusting the blanket, making sure it's covering him properly. Jay is messing with something on the desk, probably the white noise machine that you can hear humming in the background.
"Better?" Sunghoon asks, and his voice is soft, careful.
Jake makes a noncommittal sound. He's tense, you can see it in the line of his shoulders, the way his hands are fisted in the blanket. His eyes are closed but he's not relaxed.
"Try to sleep," Jay says from across the room. "We'll be right here."
"I know," Jake says, and there's guilt in his voice, thick and obvious. Guilt that they have to do this, that they're spending their night watching over him instead of doing literally anything else.
They mean well. You can see that clearly. The dream has rendered them with affection, with trust. These are people Jake loves, people he feels safe with.
But they're not helping.
Sunghoon sits down on the floor next to the bed, settling in like he's planning to stay there all night. Jay turns off the overhead light, leaves the desk lamp on. They're making him physically comfortable. All the external factors are right.
None of it matters, because the problem isn't external.
You can feel Jake's anxiety from here, radiating through the dreamscape like heat. He's afraid to fall asleep. Having Sunghoon and Jay there helps in the waking world, gives him people to ground him when he wakes up screaming, but it does nothing to prevent the nightmares from happening in the first place.
The dreamscape flickers, unstable because Jake is still too aware, still caught between sleeping and waking. You've already broken protocol twice with him. What's one more time?
You reach into the dreamscape and start making adjustments. Small ones, subtle enough that he won't consciously register them. You dim the anxiety first, not erasing it but muting it, turning down the volume on the fear response that's keeping him wired. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly.
Then you adjust the dream-versions of Sunghoon and Jay. They're already helpful, already supportive, but you sharpen that, make their presence feel more solid, more grounding. The white noise machine is too loud. You soften it. The lamp is too bright. You dim it further. The blanket is the wrong weight. You adjust the dream-logic until it feels exactly right, heavy enough to be comforting without being restrictive.
Jake's breathing starts to even out.
You work carefully, precisely, making change after change so small that Jake's conscious mind doesn't flag any of them as wrong. This is the kind of intervention that takes skill, that requires you to understand not just what the dreamer needs but how to give it to them without triggering their defenses.
This is what you're good at. This is what the elders keep you around for.
The dreamscape stabilizes. Jake's consciousness finally, finally lets go, sinking down into proper sleep. The dream-versions of Sunghoon and Jay fade into the background, becoming less distinct as Jake's awareness of the waking world dims. They'll disappear entirely in a few minutes, replaced by whatever his subconscious decides to populate the dream with.
You'll make sure it's nothing that hurts him.
────୨ৎ────
Three weeks in, and Jake is sleeping almost normally.
You’re not a miracle worker, and his subconscious is still a minefield of anxiety and trauma that will take months to fully stabilize, if it ever does. But he’s sleeping through most nights now, going to bed at reasonable hours instead of fighting consciousness until his body gives out. The night terrors still happen, but you’ve learned to catch them early, to dismantle them before they can take root and traumatize him badly enough to send him back into avoidance.
You’ve also started giving him actual dreams instead of just neutral space, just small scenes that feel normal enough to be forgettable. The kind of dreams regular people have, the kind that don’t mean anything and don’t leave any residue when you wake up.
Tonight he’s eating ice cream.
It’s a simple dream, almost aggressively mundane. He’s sitting on a bench in a park you’ve constructed from generic elements, with trees, grass, and a path winding into the distance. The ice cream is vanilla, melting slightly in the sun that you’ve calibrated to be warm but not uncomfortable.
His dream-self seems content with this. He takes another bite, watches a bird hop across the path in front of him, tilts his face toward the sun. There’s no tension in his shoulders, no hypervigilance in the way he scans his surroundings.
You’ve been maintaining dreams with small, peaceful moments like this for over a week now. Jake having coffee with Jay and Sunghoon at their usual café. Jake walking through campus between classes. Jake reading in his apartment with rain pattering against the window. Nothing exciting, nothing memorable, just the texture of a normal life rendered in dream-logic.
Last night you gave him something a little more dynamic. He was at the café with his friends, and Sunghoon knocked over his coffee. Jay laughed so hard he choked on his sandwich, and Jake just sat there grinning while Sunghoon tried to mop up the mess with a handful of napkins that kept disintegrating. It was light, silly, the kind of thing that happens in regular dreams. The kind of thing that would make someone wake up and think huh, weird, before forgetting about it entirely.
You’ve been careful to include small anxieties too, the normal kind that don’t spiral into terror. Dreams where he’s late to class, or can’t find his keys, or accidentally wore mismatched shoes. Yesterday he dreamed he overslept and missed an exam, woke up in a panic, checked his phone, and realized it was Saturday. The fear was real but proportional, manageable, the kind of stress that didn’t require your intervention.
It’s important that the dreams don’t seem too good. Dreamers notice when everything is too pleasant, when nothing ever goes wrong. Their subconscious rebels against it and tries to assert the anxiety that’s being suppressed. You learned that early in your training. The best dreams are the ones that feel real, complete with minor frustrations and small embarrassments and moments of awkwardness.
Tonight’s ice cream dream is going well. You’re monitoring it with half your attention, which is all it requires at this point, when something shifts.
Jake stops eating.
You focus fully on the dreamscape, scanning for problems. Did something slip through? A nightmare trying to assert itself, a spike of anxiety you missed?
Jake is looking directly at you. His dream-self has turned on the bench, ice cream forgotten in his hand, and he’s staring at the exact spot where you’re standing at the edge of the dreamscape.
Your presence isn’t visible. It shouldn’t be visible. You’re not part of the dream, you’re separate from it, existing in a space adjacent to his consciousness but not inside it. Dreamers can’t perceive you unless you choose to manifest, and you have never, not once, chosen to do that with him.
But he’s looking right at you.
You don’t move. You’re not even sure you could. The dreamscape continues around him, the sun still shining, the bird still hopping along the path, but Jake is completely still, ice cream starting to drip down his hand, eyes fixed on a point in space that should be empty.
Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe he’s just looking in that general direction, staring at nothing the way people sometimes do in dreams.
“Hello?” he says.
The word drops into the dreamscape like a stone into still water. You feel the ripples of it, the way his consciousness sharpens slightly, awareness increasing in a way that’s dangerous for someone who’s supposed to be dreaming.
Jake’s eyes narrow slightly. He’s still looking at the same spot, and his expression has shifted from curious to something more intent.
“I know you’re there,” he says, and his voice is quieter now, more certain. “I can feel it.”
No. No, he can’t. That’s not how this works. Dreamers don’t feel guardians. They don’t perceive the maintenance happening around them. You’re as invisible to them as the mechanics of their own heartbeat.
Except he’s still staring at you, and the dreamscape is starting to shift in response to his focus, the edges sharpening as his awareness increases. He’s getting too lucid. If he keeps this up, he’s going to wake himself up, or worse, he’s going to destabilize the dream enough that the nightmares can slip back in.
You need to do something to redirect his attention.
You reach into the dreamscape and manifest a dog. It’s medium-sized, friendly-looking, the kind that people smile at automatically. It trots up to Jake’s bench, tail wagging, and pushes its nose against his free hand.
Jake doesn’t react.
“You’ve been here before,” he continues. “Every time I sleep now, you’re here. Aren’t you?”
The ice cream slips from his hand and falls to the ground. He doesn’t notice. The dog sniffs at it and then looks up at you, like it’s waiting for instructions, because of course it is. You created it, it’s just an extension of your will.
You pull the dog back, dissolve it before Jake can notice that it’s not behaving like a real dog would. The dreamscape flickers. His awareness is spiking, consciousness rising toward wakefulness, and you’re losing your grip on the stability you’ve worked so hard to maintain.
You need to leave. Now.
You disconnect, pulling back so fast it’s almost violent, severing the connection and returning to the archive room with your equilibrium spinning. Your hands are shaking slightly, residual feedback from the abrupt exit, and there’s a cold feeling in your chest that you don’t want to name.
He saw you.
No. He didn’t. He couldn’t have. Dreamers can’t perceive guardians. It’s impossible.
You pull up his file with hands that are still unsteady, scrolling through the notes from previous guardians, looking for any mention of awareness.
There’s nothing about lucid dreaming.
You wait longer than usual before entering Jake’s dreamscape the next night. You enter more cautiously than you have in weeks. The dreamscape is already formed when you arrive, which is normal. Jake’s subconscious has gotten better at constructing stable environments on its own, now that it’s not constantly bracing for nightmares.
He’s in the café this time, the one he frequents with Jay and Sunghoon. You settle at the edge of the dreamscape and watch. Everything seems normal. His awareness is at the usual level for this stage of sleep, present enough to engage with the dream, but not so present that he’s analyzing it. He takes a sip of coffee.
You start to relax. Last night was nothing. He happened to look in your direction at the same time he was surfacing toward lucidity, and his mind tried to make sense of the vague awareness by addressing it directly. It doesn’t mean he actually saw you.
Then Jake’s gaze slides toward your position, and your chest goes cold.
He’s looking at you again.
His eyes are clearer than they should be. This is lucidity, or something close to it, and it’s spreading through the dreamscape like ice across water. You can feel it in the way the details sharpen, the way the café becomes more solid. The dream is stabilizing around his awareness instead of existing independently of it.
This is bad. This is very bad.
Lucid dreamers are difficult to work with under the best circumstances. They fight intervention, try to control the dream themselves, destabilize carefully constructed environments. If Jake takes control of the dream right now, if he pushes too hard, the whole thing could collapse into the kind of nightmare you’ve spent weeks protecting him from.
“You’re here again,” Jake says, and his voice is quiet but certain. He sets his coffee down, leans forward slightly. “I thought maybe I imagined it last night."
You pull back immediately, preparing to sever the connection, but the dreamscape resists. It’s too stable now, too anchored by his lucidity. Disconnecting abruptly could shock him awake, could trigger exactly the kind of panic response you’ve been trying to avoid.
His awareness is sharpening further. The café around him is gaining details you didn’t place. His subconscious is filling in the gaps, making this more real, and the more real it becomes, the harder it is for you to manipulate.
“I know you can hear me,” he says, still looking at you, and there’s something in his voice that makes your throat tight. “I don’t know what you are, but you’ve been helping me, haven’t you? The dreams are different now because of you.
You reach into the dreamscape and manifest a figure behind Jake. Sunghoon. You pull the image from Jake’s memories, render him as accurately as possible, and place him in the chair across from Jake like he’s been there the whole time.
“Jake?” Sunghoon says, because you need him to say something to redirect Jake’s attention before this gets any worse.
Jake doesn’t turn around.
“I’m not crazy,” he says, still looking at your position. “I know something is—”
“Jake,” Sunghoon says again, louder this time, and you push urgency into his voice, making it impossible to ignore.
Jake’s head turns, finally, breaking eye contact with the space where you’re standing. He blinks at Sunghoon like he’s surprised to see him there. He looks around the café, then back at Sunghoon. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Yeah?” Sunghoon says, and you’re controlling him directly now, puppeting him through the conversation because you need this to work. “You good? You zoned out for a second there.”
Jake stares at him. You can see the confusion working across his face, the dream-logic trying to assert itself against his lucidity. He was talking to someone. Something. But Sunghoon is here now, has apparently been here, and dreams don’t always make sense. Maybe he was talking to Sunghoon the whole time. Maybe his mind invented the presence he thought he felt.
“I’m fine,” Jake says slowly. “Just tired, I guess.”
“You want to get out of here?” Sunghoon asks, because you need to move the dream somewhere else, somewhere that doesn’t have Jake staring at the spot where you’re standing.
“Yeah. Sure.”
They stand up, and you guide the dream into transition, shifting the café into a sidewalk, the sidewalk into campus, giving Jake’s mind something to follow so he stops trying to analyze what just happened. Sunghoon walks beside him, asking about classes, about an assignment due next week, normal conversation that sounds like something they’d actually talk about because you’re pulling it directly from Jake’s memories of similar conversations.
Jake responds, but he’s distracted. His eyes keep moving, scanning the dream like he’s looking for something.
You stay as far back as you can, maintaining the dream from a distance, keeping Sunghoon’s presence solid and distracting. The lucidity is fading slowly, his awareness dimming back to normal dream-consciousness. He’s accepting the dream again instead of questioning it.
But every few minutes, his gaze drifts toward empty spaces.
────୨ৎ────
You enter Jake's dreamscape at the usual time, prepared to avoid anything that might trigger his awareness again.
The nightmare is already waiting. It’s fully constructed, massive and hungry. This isn't the usual gradual onset of a night terror that you can catch and dismantle before it takes hold. This is something that materialized the moment he fell asleep, something his subconscious has been building in the background while you've been giving him peaceful dreams.
The dreamscape is dark and cavernous, all wrong angles and oppressive weight. Jake is somewhere in the center of it. You can feel his terror from here, sharp and overwhelming. The nightmare has him caught in something, you can't see what yet, but it's bad.
You don't hesitate. You throw yourself into the dreamscape and start trying to dismantle it, reaching for the threads of fear and yanking them apart. The nightmare fights back harder than anything you've encountered with him before. It's dense, layered, pulling from years of accumulated terror. Every time you break one piece apart, two more surge up to take its place.
The darkness ripples and reforms into a hallway that stretches endlessly in both directions. Jake is running.
You reach for the thing that's chasing him, try to erase it, but your hands pass through it like smoke. It's too deeply rooted in his fear, too fundamental to the nightmare's structure. You try a different approach and lighten the darkness, shortening the hallway to give him an exit. The dreamscape resists. It's pulling from Jake's consciousness, feeding on his terror, and he's giving it so much fuel that you can barely make a dent.
The hallway splinters into multiple paths, each one worse than the last. The nightmare is fracturing, multiplying, becoming too many things for you to fight at once.
You're losing.
The realization hits you with a force that makes you stumble. You've never lost to a nightmare before. You've always been able to dismantle them, always been fast enough and skilled enough to break them apart before they could do real damage. But this one is too big, too entrenched, and Jake's fear is making it stronger with every passing second.
You try again, pulling at the fabric of the dream with everything you have. The hallway shortens slightly. The thing chasing him slows. You can feel his consciousness fragmenting, trying to escape by waking but unable to because the terror has him locked in place.
You need to do something drastic.
You reach for the core of the nightmare, the central fear that's powering everything else, and you wrench it sideways. The dreamscape shudders violently. Jake's terror spikes, but you don't stop. You tear at the nightmare's foundation until it starts to collapse.
The hallway dissolves. The thing chasing him dissipates into smoke. The darkness fragments into gray, into light, into nothing.
The dreamscape goes completely still.
You're shaking. You can feel it in your chest, residual feedback from how hard you just had to fight. That shouldn't have been that difficult. You're good at this. You've handled worse cases, more severe night terrors. Something about Jake's nightmare was different, like it had been gathering mass for weeks while you kept him safe.
Jake's consciousness is still there, flickering in the wreckage of the dream. You can feel his terror still overwhelming even though the nightmare is gone. He's not calming down the way he should, not settling back into peaceful sleep now that the threat is gone.
You should leave now, while the dreamscape is still unstable and formless, before he can latch onto anything. You're too shaken, too wrung out from the fight, and you hesitate for just a moment too long.
"Please," Jake says, and his voice cracks through the empty dreamscape like thunder. "Please don't leave."
He can't see you. You haven't manifested. You're just a presence, just the vague sense of something other that his consciousness has learned to associate with safety.
You can feel it, the way his consciousness is groping through the formless dreamscape, searching desperately for the thing that's been protecting him.
"I know you're there," he says, and he sounds so young, so afraid. "I can feel you. Please, I just—I need—"
His consciousness finds you.
It's desperate, clinging, the way a drowning person grabs onto anything that might keep them afloat. His awareness wraps around your presence with crushing intensity, pulling you closer, refusing to let go. You can feel the shape of his terror, the depths of how afraid he just was, how afraid he still is. And underneath that, the bone-deep relief at finding you, at knowing he's not alone.
He's associated you with safety, as if the only thing that's protected him from the worst parts of his own mind. Now he's holding on like you're the only thing keeping him from drowning.
You try to pull back, to extract yourself from his grip, but his consciousness tightens further. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't understand the mechanics of the dreamscape or how guardians exist within it. He just knows that you're here and you're safe and he can't let you go.
The pressure increases. You can feel it compressing around you, forcing you into a shape you don't want to take. If he keeps this up, if he doesn't let go, he's going to pull you fully into the dreamscape. He's going to force you to manifest.
You need to break free. You wrench against his grip, trying to sever the connection, but his fear is too strong. His need is too strong. He's holding on with everything he has. You're not strong enough to fight both him and the residual nightmare and your own exhaustion all at once.
The dreamscape solidifies around you.
It's excruciating, like being turned inside out, pulled from the abstract into the concrete. The dreamscape renders you in three dimensions, gives you weight and substance and presence.
You manifest.
The gray nothingness of the post-nightmare dreamscape sharpens into something more defined. A room, plain and empty, with soft light coming from nowhere. In the center of it, Jake is on his knees, looking directly at you.
His eyes are wide, red-rimmed and wet. He's breathing hard, body shaking. He looks destroyed.
"You're real," he says, and his voice breaks on the last word.
Before you can move, before you can even think about disconnecting, Jake lunges forward and grabs you.
His arms wrap around you with desperate strength, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he's holding on like you're the only solid thing in the universe. You can feel him shaking against you, the raggedness of his breathing, and the way his hands are fisted in the fabric of whatever your manifestation is wearing.
"Please don't leave," he says into your shoulder, the words muffled and broken. "Please, I can't—I can't do that again, I can't—"
"Jake,” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears, foreign. You haven't spoken aloud in years. Guardians don't talk. There's never been a reason to.
"I know you're the one who's been helping me," he says, and he's talking fast now, words tumbling over each other. "I know it's you. The dreams, they're different now, they're better, and tonight when that thing was chasing me I could feel you fighting it." His grip tightens. "Please don't go. Whatever you are, wherever you came from, please just stay."
This is wrong. This is so fundamentally wrong that you don't even know where to begin cataloging the violations. Dreamers aren't supposed to see you. They're not supposed to know you exist. And they are absolutely, under no circumstances, supposed to be able to touch you.
The nightmare is gone but the fear hasn't faded. He's terrified that you're going to disappear, that he's going to be alone again with nothing between him and the worst parts of his own mind.
"You need to let go," you say, and you try to make your voice firm, authoritative, but it comes out too gentle.
"No." His arms tighten. "No, please, I'll do whatever you want, I'll stop trying to find you, just don't leave yet. Not yet.” His breath hitches. "I'm still so scared."
He's clinging to the only thing that makes him feel safe.
You.
He's clinging to you.
Some terrible, treacherous part of you doesn't want to let go.
"Please," he whispers. "Just a little longer. Just until I'm not so afraid."
Your arms come up slowly, carefully, and you hold him back.
"Okay," you hear yourself say. "Okay. Just for a little while."
Jake's breath shudders out of him, relief and residual fear tangled together. His grip on you doesn't loosen, but the desperation in it eases slightly.
You stand there and let him hold on, and you tell yourself this is just damage control. It doesn't mean anything.
You're already very good at lying to yourself.
────୨ৎ────
Jake's hands are shaking.
It's subtle, barely noticeable, but the coffee in his cup is rippling slightly, tiny waves lapping at the sides. He's staring at it, watching the surface tremble, and he doesn't realize Jay is saying something until a hand reaches across the table and plucks the cup from his grip.
"Hey!"
"You were about to spill it all over yourself," Jay says, setting the coffee down on the far side of the table, well out of Jake's reach. "When's the last time you slept?"
Jake blinks. "Last night."
"For how long?"
"I don't know. A few hours."
Jay and Sunghoon exchange a look. Jake catches it, that wordless communication they've perfected over years of friendship, and he knows what they're thinking. He was doing better. He was sleeping normally, going to bed at reasonable hours, waking up looking less like a reanimated corpse. And now he's back to this, jittery and distracted in a way that makes him miss entire chunks of conversation.
"What happened?" Sunghoon asks. His voice is even, careful, the way it always is when he's worried but trying not to show it.
Jake doesn't know how to answer that. What is he supposed to say? That he had the worst nightmare in weeks, maybe months? That would explain the exhaustion, the relapse into caffeine dependency, but it wouldn't explain the other thing he can't stop thinking about.
"I had a bad night," he says, which is true but insufficient.
"Night terror?" Jay asks.
"Yeah."
Jay hesitates. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." Jake reaches for his coffee automatically, forgetting Jay moved it. His hand closes on empty air. He pulls it back, shoves both hands under the table so they can't see the tremor. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Jay says flatly. "You look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin."
"I just need more sleep."
"So sleep."
"I will."
"Tonight?"
Jake doesn't answer. He's looking out the window now, at the quad where students are sprawled on the grass between classes, talking and laughing and living normal lives where sleep is just something you do, not something you have to brace yourself for. The sunlight is too bright. Everything is too bright. He didn't sleep enough to process light properly, and his eyes keep losing focus.
"Jake." Sunghoon's voice cuts through the fog. "What's going on?"
Maybe it's the exhaustion, or maybe it's the fact that he's been carrying this alone for too long, but Jake hears himself say, "I met someone."
Both of them go still. Jay's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "You... met someone?"
"Yeah."
"Like, a person? A real person?"
"Yes, Jay, a real person." Jake's mouth twitches, almost a smile. "What other kind is there?"
"I don't know, you've been acting so weird I wasn't sure." Jay leans forward, and there's something eager in his expression now, excited. "Okay. Tell us about her."
"How do you know it's a her?"
"Is it?"
"Yeah."
"Called it," Jay says to Sunghoon, who rolls his eyes. "Okay, so. Who is she? How'd you meet?"
Jake opens his mouth. The explanation that made sense in his head at three in the morning sounds insane now, in the middle of the day, sitting in the café with his friends looking at him expectantly. "She... helped me. With the nightmares."
"What, like a therapist?" Sunghoon asks.
"No. Not a therapist."
"Then what?"
Jake's fingers are tapping against his thigh under the table, restless, anxious. "I don't know exactly. She’s just been there when I sleep. She makes it better."
Jay and Sunghoon exchange another look, this one more concerned than before.
"Makes it better how?" Jay asks slowly.
"The dreams. They're different when she's there. Peaceful. The nightmares can't touch me when she's around." Jake knows he's not explaining this right, knows it sounds wrong, but he doesn't know how else to say it. "Last night, when I had that terror, she fought it off. I could feel her doing it. And then after, when I was still scared, she stayed."
"Okay," Jay says, drawing the word out. "So... she's in your class or something? And you've been hanging out?"
Jake runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?"
"She's..." How does he explain this? How does he put into words something that doesn't make sense even to him? "She's the reason I've been sleeping better. These past few weeks, when everything was good, that was her. She's been helping me."
"That's great," Jay says, and he sounds genuinely pleased, like this is normal, like Jake is describing a regular person who exists in the regular world. "You should ask her out."
"What?"
"Ask her out. If she's been helping you this much, if you're this into her, just go for it."
"I can't—it's not—" Jake's hands are back on the table now, fingers drumming arhythmically against the wood. "You don't understand."
"So help us understand," Sunghoon says. "What are we missing?"
Everything. They're missing everything. Jake looks at both of them, at their patient, concerned faces, and tries to find words that won't make them think he's lost his mind. "She's my savior."
The word lands heavy and strange. Jay blinks. "Your what?"
"She saved me from the nightmares." Jake's voice is getting more intense, more urgent, and he can hear it but he can't stop it. "You don't understand what it was like, every night, just waiting for it to get bad, knowing it was going to get bad, and then she fixed it. She made it stop. I can sleep now because of her."
"Okay," Jay says carefully. "That's... that's good, Jake. I'm glad you found someone who helps."
"She's not just someone." The words are coming faster now, tripping over each other. "She's the girl of my dreams. Literally.”
"Wait." Sunghoon holds up a hand. "Literally?"
Jake realizes his mistake too late. "I just mean—"
"You said literally." Sunghoon's eyes have sharpened, focused. "The girl of your dreams. You mean she's in your dreams."
"That's not—I didn't mean—"
"Jake." Jay's voice has lost its encouraging tone. Now he just sounds worried. "Is this girl real?"
"Yes." The answer is immediate, defensive. "She's real. I've seen her. I've talked to her. I've held her." The memory of it crashes over him again, the weight of her, the solid reality of her presence. The way she'd put her arms around him and told him it was okay, he was safe and she wasn't going anywhere.
"In your dreams," Sunghoon says.
"No, listen." Jake leans forward, desperate to make them understand. "She's real. She exists. She's been protecting me this whole time. Every night when I sleep, she's there, and she keeps the bad things away." He's gesturing now, hands moving frantically. "She's the only reason I've been okay. Without her, I'd be back where I was before, terrified of my own mind.”
"What's her name?" Jay interrupts.
Jake stops. "What?"
"Her name. What's her name?"
The question sits between them like a trap.
"You don't know her name," Jay says flatly.
"I haven't—we haven't—" Jake's hands are shaking again, worse now. "It's not about that. Names don't matter. "
"Jake." Sunghoon's voice is gentle, which somehow makes it worse. "I think you need to hear how this sounds."
"How what sounds?"
"You're talking about a girl you've never met outside of your dreams. A girl whose name you don't know, but you're calling your savior."
"Because she is." Jake can hear the desperation in his own voice. "You're not listening. She's real. What she does for me is real.”
"Do you hear yourself right now?" Jay asks, and there's something almost pleading in his voice.
"I sound crazy. I know." Jake slumps back in his chair, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that's been keeping him upright drains away all at once, leaving nothing but bone-deep weariness. "But I'm not. I'm not crazy. She's real."
"Maybe you should talk to someone," Sunghoon says. "A professional, just about the nightmares.”
"I don't need a therapist."
"Jake.”
"I need her." The words come out more raw than he intended. "I need her, and I know that sounds insane, but it's true. Without her, I'm—" He can't finish the sentence. Without her, he's drowning. Without her, he's back in the dark with nothing but his own fear for company. "I can't lose her."
"You can't lose someone you don't actually have," Jay says, and his voice is so gentle it feels like a knife.
They think he's breaking. They think the sleep deprivation has finally pushed him over some edge, made him lose his grip on reality.
"Forget it," he says quietly. He reaches for his coffee, remembers again that Jay moved it, and stands up instead. "I should go."
"Jake."
"I'm fine." He's backing away from the table, hands shoved in his pockets to hide the shaking. "I'll see you guys later."
Outside, the sunlight is still too bright. Jake squints against it and starts walking. His mind is racing, thoughts tumbling over each other in an exhausted tangle.
She's real. He knows she's real.
But he's never seen her outside of his dreams. When he tries to describe her, to explain what she looks like or anything concrete about her, the details slip away like smoke.
────୨ৎ────
You've been maintaining distance for three days now.
The elders didn't yell. They simply summoned you to their chamber and stated, with calm, inflectionless voices, that your recent reports showed concerning patterns of extended intervention and that you needed to recalibrate your approach to align with established protocol.
You enter Jake's dreamscape only when absolutely necessary, dismantle nightmares from a distance, and leave before his consciousness can latch onto your presence.
It's destroying him.
You can see it in the way his dreamscape has started to fray again, anxiety creeping back into the edges like mold. His sleep is deteriorating, not as badly as before, but trending in that direction. He's fighting rest again. When he does sleep, his consciousness is agitated.
Tonight his dreamscape forms into something unstable, flickering between locations like he can't decide where he wants to be. The café. His apartment. Campus. Back to the café. Nothing settles. His subconscious is too restless, too focused on something other than the dream itself.
You stay at the very edge of the dreamscape, monitoring from a distance. A nightmare starts to form, and you reach in just far enough to dismantle it. The nightmare dissolves before it can take hold.
Jake's consciousness sharpens immediately.
You pull back, making yourself as small and unnoticeable as possible. You can feel his awareness sweeping through the dreamscape, searching for the thing that just intervened.
"I know you're here," he says to the empty café around him. His dream-self is standing in the middle of the room, turning slowly, scanning every corner. "I can feel it when you stop the bad things."
You don't respond.
"Please," he says, and there's something desperate in his voice that makes your chest tight. "I just want to talk to you. That's all."
The dreamscape wavers. His emotions are destabilizing it, making it harder to maintain from a distance. You consider leaving entirely, letting it collapse naturally, but that would probably wake him, and he needs the sleep. So you stay, silent and still, and wait for him to give up.
The café dissolves, and the dreamscape reforms into the bookstore you've seen in his dreams before, the peaceful place he kept returning to in those early weeks. He's recreating it himself now, pulling it from memory, and the details are almost perfect.
He's trying to lure you out with something familiar.
It's clever. It almost works. Some part of you wants to step into that space, to see what he's built and acknowledge the effort.
You stay where you are.
Jake sits down in the window seat and waits, like he thinks if he's quiet enough, you'll appear on your own.
Minutes pass. The dreamscape holds steady. He doesn't move.
"I'm not going to stop," he says finally. "I know you can hear me. I know you're there. And I'm not going to stop looking until you talk to me."
You watch him wait, and you tell yourself this will pass. He'll get tired of waiting. He'll move on.
The next night, he tries something different.
The dreamscape forms into a nightmare immediately, but it's wrong. You can tell within seconds that he's doing this on purpose, forcing his own subconscious into a fear response to make you intervene.
You almost admire the strategy.
The nightmare isn't severe enough to warrant intervention. It's uncomfortable, probably unpleasant for him, but not dangerous. You leave it alone, let him suffer through it as a lesson about manipulation.
Then it starts intensifying. He's pushing it further, feeding it more fear, and it's starting to spiral beyond his control. What started as a calculated risk is turning into something real.
You reach in and dismantle it before it can fully form.
"There you are," Jake says immediately, and his dream-self is smiling, triumphant. "I knew that would work."
You pull back to your observation point and wait for him to realize you're not going to engage.
His smile fades. "Come on. I know you're there. Just show yourself. Please."
The dreamscape shifts, and you can feel his frustration building. He's trying to force another nightmare, trying to recreate the conditions that made you manifest last time, but he doesn't understand the mechanics well enough to do it right. He's just destabilizing his own sleep, making the dreamscape chaotic and hard to manage.
You spend the next twenty minutes cleaning up the mess he's making, smoothing out the disruptions, keeping everything stable while he essentially throws a tantrum trying to get your attention.
It would be annoying if it wasn't so concerning.
By the third night, you're expecting more of the same manufactured nightmares and attempts to force your hand.
What you're not expecting is for him to hurt himself.
The dreamscape forms normally at first. Jake is in his apartment, sitting on his bed, and everything seems calm. You're monitoring from a distance, alert for whatever strategy he's going to try tonight.
He stands up and walks toward the window.
It's a dream-window, looking out onto a dream-version of the street below. Jake opens it and looks down at the ground several stories below.
"I wonder what happens if I jump," he says conversationally, like he's musing about the weather.
Your attention sharpens into something close to panic. He wouldn't. He doesn't understand how dream-death works, how trauma in the dreamscape can bleed into waking consciousness, how dying in a nightmare can leave psychological scars that don't heal.
"I bet you'd stop me," he continues, still looking down. "If I actually did it. I bet you'd have to show yourself then. I'm going to count to ten, and if you don't show yourself by the time I reach one, I'm going to find out what happens."
He's bluffing. He has to be bluffing.
"Ten."
You don't move.
"Nine."
This is a test. He's trying to see if you'll break, if you care enough to intervene.
"Eight."
You should call his bluff. Manipulation won't work, you're not going to compromise your position just because he's threatening self-harm in a dream.
"Seven."
But if he's not bluffing—
"Six."
—if he actually jumps—
"Five."
—the psychological damage could be severe enough to set him back months, could trigger a cascade of actual night terrors worse than anything you've seen from him.
"Four."
You can't let that happen.
"Three."
But if you manifest now, you're rewarding this behavior, teaching him that threatening himself is an effective way to get what he wants.
"Two."
He puts one foot on the windowsill.
"One."
You manifest in front of the window, blocking his path, your form solidifying so fast it's almost violent. "Stop."
Jake's face breaks into a smile, relief and triumph mixed together. "I knew you'd—"
"Are you out of your mind?" The words come out sharper than you intended, anger bleeding through the careful neutrality you're supposed to maintain. "Do you have any idea what you almost did?"
"I wasn't actually going to jump," he says, but there's something uncertain in his voice now, like he's realizing he might have miscalculated.
"You don't know that." You step closer, and you're furious in a way you haven't been in years, maybe ever. "You don't understand how any of this works. Dream-death isn't real death, but the trauma is real. The fear is real. You could have damaged yourself in ways I can't fix."
"But I didn't," he says. "Because you stopped me."
"I shouldn't have had to stop you. You shouldn't have—" You cut yourself off, trying to regain control. This is exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to engage, and you fell for it. "This was manipulation."
"This was the only way you'd talk to me." His voice is rising now, frustration spilling over. "You've been avoiding me for days. I can feel it. You're still here, you're still protecting me, but you won't let me see you or talk to you. What was I supposed to do?"
"Let it go," you say. "Forget this happened."
"I can't forget you." He says it like it's obvious. "You're the only thing that's kept me sane for weeks. The only thing standing between me and everything terrible. How am I supposed to just forget that?"
"That's not how this works."
"Then explain to me how it works." He moves closer, and you don't step back even though you should. "Tell me the rules. Tell me what I'm not supposed to do. Tell me anything, just stop disappearing every time I get close."
You can see exactly what will happen if you leave. He'll spiral and get worse. The nightmares will come back with a vengeance, and the next guardian won't know how to handle him.
You're trapped, and you put yourself here.
"You can't do this again," you say finally. " No more threats.”
His voice has gone soft, almost pleading. "You've been in my head for weeks. You know everything about me. Every fear, every weakness, every terrible thing I've ever dreamed. I don't even know your name."
The word sits between you like a trap. Your name. Such a small thing, such a basic piece of information.
"No," you say.
"Why not?"
"Because this is already too far. You're not supposed to know I exist, and I'm certainly not supposed to—" You cut yourself off before you can finish that sentence.
"Supposed to what?" he asks, and there's something searching in his expression. "Care? Is that what you were going to say?"
"You do care," he says, and he sounds almost amazed by it. "That's why you keep protecting me. You care what happens to me."
"I care about all my assignments," you say, but it sounds hollow even to you.
"I don't believe you."
"That's not my problem."
"Isn't it?" He's still looking at you with that unbearable intensity. "If I'm this attached to you, if I'm willing to stand in a window and threaten to jump just to see you again, doesn't that mean you've already broken whatever rules you're trying to protect?"
He's right, and you hate that he's right.
"This can't continue," you say. “I've seen inside your mind, Jake. I know how this works. You're not attached to me. You're attached to not being afraid."
"You're wrong," he says flatly.
"I'm not."
"Then prove it." He crosses his arms. "Stop protecting me. Let me have the nightmares, let me deal with it on my own, and we'll see if I forget about you."
It's a challenge, and you both know it. He knows you won't do it.
"That's what I thought," he says when you don't respond. "You're just as trapped as I am."
The words hit harder than they should. You want to argue that you're just doing your job, his attachment is one-sided and problematic and not at all reciprocated.
You're not sure any of that is true anymore.
"I need to go," you say quietly.
"Don’t," He reaches for you, and you step back before he can make contact. The rejection flashes across his face. "Five more minutes. Please."
"No."
"Then tomorrow night. Just talk to me tomorrow night. You don't have to manifest if you don't want to. Just let me hear your voice."
"Maybe," you hear yourself say.
His face brightens immediately. "Really?"
"Maybe," you repeat, firmer this time. "And only if you sleep normally tonight.”
"I can do that."
You disconnect before he can ask anything else, returning to the archive room with your manifestation dissolving like mist. You sit down heavily, exhaustion washing over you in a wave.
────୨ৎ────
Jake only feels in extremities.
You've noticed this over the past week, watching him in his dreams and cataloging the way his consciousness operates. There's no middle ground for him. The night terrors were extreme, debilitating and relentless in a way most people never experience in their entire lives. And now his attachment to you is equally extreme, all-consuming in a way that should disturb you more than it does.
Tonight he's dreaming about a garden. You didn't construct this, he did, pulling it together from fragments of memories and imagination. It's peaceful, almost aggressively so, all soft sunlight and flowering plants and the distant sound of water. He's sitting on a bench, and the moment you manifest, his entire face lights up.
"You came," he says, and he sounds so genuinely delighted that something in your chest does an uncomfortable twist.
"I said maybe."
He pats the bench beside him. "Sit with me?"
You sit down.
"I've been sleeping better," he says, and he's angled toward you, knee almost touching yours. "Every night this week. Did you notice?"
"Yes." Of course you noticed. You've been monitoring his sleep cycles obsessively, tracking every change, every improvement. He's going to bed at reasonable hours now, sleeping through most of the night and waking up rested. It's the kind of progress that should let you rotate off his case.
"I think it's because I know you'll be here," he continues. "It makes it easier to sleep." There's something almost shy in his expression now. "Knowing you'll be waiting."
He shifts closer. Not much, just a few inches, but enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The contact is light, barely there, but he's testing to see if you'll pull away.
You don't.
"Can I ask you something?" he says.
"You're going to regardless of what I say."
He grins at that, quick and bright. "Probably. But I'm trying to be polite."
"Since when?"
"Since you threatened to leave permanently if I wasn't." His hand moves, fingers brushing against yours where they're resting on the bench between you. "I'm trying very hard to behave."
"I've noticed. What were you going to ask?" you say when he doesn't continue.
"Oh. Right." His fingers are still against yours, warm and solid in a way that shouldn't be possible in a dream. "Do you have a name?"
You've been expecting this question. "You know I can't tell you that."
"Can't, or won't?"
"Both."
"I could just make one up," he continues, thoughtful. "Give you a name myself. Would that bother you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I already have a name. You just don't get to know it."
His fingers curl slightly against yours. "That seems unfair. You know everything about me."
"It's my job to know things about you. It's not your job to know things about me."
"You've said that before. I still don't believe you." He's smiling now, soft and knowing. "I think I'm special."
The arrogance of it should annoy you. Instead it's almost charming in its directness, the way he's stating what he wants without pretense or game-playing.
"You're a difficult case," you say. "That's not the same as special."
"I'll take it." He shifts even closer, and now his shoulder is pressed fully against yours, his hand warm around yours, his presence taking up space in a way that should feel invasive but doesn't. "I've been thinking about you all day. Every day, actually. I go through my classes and eat lunch with Jay and Sunghoon and do my homework, and the whole time I'm just waiting for nighttime.”
"I know I'm not supposed to feel this way. I know this whole thing is probably breaking a dozen rules. But I can't help it." His fingers tighten around yours. "You're the best part of my day. The only part I actually look forward to. And I know that probably sounds pathetic, being this attached to someone I only see in my dreams. "
"It's not pathetic," you interrupt, and you mean it.
He leans his head against your shoulder, a gesture so casual and affectionate it makes your breath catch. "Pathetic would be harder."
He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable against your shoulder. "What if I just talk then? You don't have to tell me anything. Just let me talk to you."
This is safer territory. Letting him talk means you can maintain some semblance of professional distance while still keeping him engaged.
"Fine," you say.
He talks about his classes, about a paper he's working on, about how Jay is dating someone new and won't shut up about it. About how Sunghoon keeps asking if he's okay because apparently he's been acting weird lately, distracted during the day and eager to go home at night.
"I told him I met someone," Jake says, and you feel yourself tense. "He asked if it was the same person from before. The one I tried to tell them about."
"What did you say?"
"I said yes." His hand tightens around yours. "I didn't tell him the details. Just that I'm still... that we're still..." He trails off. "I don't know what we are, actually. What should I tell him?"
"Nothing. Tell him nothing."
"That's not helpful."
"It's the truth. We're not anything. This is temporary."
"You keep saying that." He tilts his head to look up at you, and he's close enough that you can see the details of his face. The exhaustion’s finally fading from around his eyes. "But you keep coming back."
Your silence is apparently answer enough. He settles back against your shoulder, satisfied.
"Jay thinks I'm in love," he says conversationally.
Your heart does something complicated. "You're not."
"How do you know?"
"Because love requires knowing someone. You don't know me."
"I know some things." His fingers lace through yours properly now, holding instead of just touching. "I know you're patient. I know you're careful. I know you care more than you want to admit. I know you're scared of this, whatever this is, but you keep showing up anyway."
"Those are observations, not knowledge. You can't love someone you don’t know anything about.”
"I'm not saying I'm in love with you. Not yet, anyway." He says it so casually, like it's not a devastating thing to admit. "But I could be, if you let me.”
The words hang between you, heavy and unavoidable. He's not wrong. You do feel something, something you don't have a name for and don't want to examine. Something that's going to end badly for both of you.
"We should talk about something else," you say finally. “This conversation is going nowhere productive."
"I disagree. I think it's very productive." But he doesn't push, just settles more comfortably against you. "Fine. Different subject. Did you make this garden?"
"No. You did. You've been getting better at constructing stable dreamscapes.”
"Is that because of you?"
"Partially. Your subconscious is learning what stable feels like. It's starting to default to peace instead of panic."
He's quiet for a moment, and you can feel him thinking. Then: "Does that mean you'll leave soon? If I'm getting better?"
There it is. The question you've been avoiding.
"Eventually," you say carefully. "When you're stable enough to maintain on your own."
"And when will that be?"
"I don't know."
"Just tell me." His hand tightens around yours, and there's something almost pleading in his voice now. "How much time do we have?"
"A few more weeks, maybe. If your progress continues. You need to prepare yourself for me to leave."
He stops, laughs slightly. "I don't even know what I want. Just more time with you. More of this. Whatever this is."
"This is me helping you sleep."
"This is more than that and you know it." But he's smiling now, soft and knowing. "But fine. We'll call it helping me sleep. If that makes you feel better."
It doesn't make you feel better. It makes you feel like a coward.
But you nod anyway, and he settles back against your shoulder, hand still in yours, and you sit together in the garden he created while the dream continues around you, peaceful and stable and completely unsustainable.
He falls into deeper sleep eventually, his consciousness dimming as his body gets what it actually needs. You stay until the dream naturally dissolves, until his sleep cycle shifts and your presence is no longer necessary.
────୨ৎ────
Jake is sleeping fourteen hours a day.
You noticed the shift a week ago, right after you told him your time together was limited. At first it seemed like a normal adjustment, his body finally able to catch up on months of sleep debt without fear. Then he kept sleeping and sleeping.
He's missing classes. You know this because his dreams have started incorporating anxiety about assignments he's forgetting, emails he's not answering, texts from Jay and Sunghoon that he's ignoring. Somehow, the anxiety isn't enough to wake him up. Nothing is enough to wake him up, because waking up means leaving you.
Tonight he fell asleep at six in the evening.
The dreamscape forms into something familiar now, a room that's become your default space, comfortable and neutral with soft lighting and a bed that he insists on even though dream-logic doesn't require furniture. He's there the moment you manifest, already reaching for you with that desperate eagerness that's become standard.
"You're here," he says, like there was any doubt.
"I'm always here." You let him pull you down onto the bed, let him arrange you the way he wants: on your back with him curled against your side, head on your chest, arm around your waist. He's gotten bolder about touching you over the past two weeks, and you've let it happen because it keeps him sleeping peacefully.
Except he's sleeping too much now, and you're running out of ways to justify it.
"Jake," you say carefully. "What time did you go to sleep?"
"I don't know. Six? Seven?"
"It's six-thirty."
"Then six." He presses closer, fingers curling in the fabric of whatever your manifestation is wearing tonight. "Why?"
"You slept twelve hours last night, and ten the night before that."
"So?"
"So that's too much. You're oversleeping."
"There's no such thing as too much sleep." His voice is muffled against your chest. "I'm just making up for lost time."
"You've made up for lost time. Now you're actively avoiding being awake."
"Can you blame me?" He tilts his head to look up at you. "Being awake means being away from you. Why would I choose that?"
This is exactly what you were afraid of. The attachment going too far, tipping from therapeutic to pathological. He's preferring sleep to waking life, choosing dreams over reality because you're in the dreams.
"You have a life outside of sleep," you say, and you start running your hand down his back in slow, soothing strokes. It's something you've learned calms him, grounds him when he's getting agitated.
"I have you here." He catches your other hand, brings it to his chest and holds it there. "That's better than anything out there. I'm not wasting a single hour of being awake when I could be here with you."
"You're going to make yourself sick," you try. "Sleeping this much isn't good for you."
"I feel fine."
"It’s not sustainable.”
"My body needs rest. That's what you kept telling me for weeks, remember? How I needed to sleep more, how I was destroying myself by staying awake?" There's something almost sharp in his voice now. "Well, I'm sleeping. Isn't this what you wanted?"
"Not like this."
"Then how?" He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. "How am I supposed to sleep a normal amount when I know every hour I'm awake is an hour I'm not with you?"
Your hand is still on his back, still moving in those slow, calming strokes. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself too tight. "You need to find balance. Sleep at night, be awake during the day. Live your life."
"I don't want to live my life. I want to be here."
"That's not an option."
"Why not?" And now there's real frustration in his voice, breaking through the usual gentleness.
"Because I'm not going to be here forever." You make your voice firm, trying to cut through the attachment that's wrapped around him like a strangling vine. "Jake, listen to me. You need to start pulling back. Start spending more time awake.”
"No. I'm not preparing for you to leave." He's sitting up fully now, and your hand falls away from his back. "I don't care what the rules are. I'm not just going to wean myself off of you like you're some kind of addiction I need to quit."
"That's exactly what this is becoming."
"Good." His jaw sets in that stubborn way you've seen before, the one that means he's not going to be reasoned with. "Let it be an addiction. I don't care."
This is getting out of hand. You need to regain control of the situation, need to make him understand the severity of what's happening. "Jake, I'm serious. If you keep this up, if you keep sleeping this much, the elders are going to notice. They're going to see the pattern and they're going to pull me off your case immediately."
"Then let them pull you off. I'll just keep sleeping until they assign you back."
"That's not how it works. They'll assign you to someone else."
"I don't want someone else."
"You won't have a choice." Your hands move to his shoulders now, trying to ground him, trying to make him focus. "Listen to me. If I get pulled off your case early, you won't see me again. They'll reassign me and you'll have a new guardian and that will be it."
"Then don't let them pull you off."
"I can't control that if you keep sleeping fourteen hours a day. They monitor these things. They'll see that something is wrong and they'll intervene."
"So what am I supposed to do?" His voice cracks slightly. "Just go back to my regular life and pretend you don't exist?"
"Yes. That's exactly what you're supposed to do."
"I can't." His hands come up to cover yours where they rest on his shoulders. "I can't do that."
"You have to." You gesture between the two of you, frustration bleeding into your voice. "This isn't real, Jake. None of this is real. I'm not real. I'm just something your mind has personified because that's easier than accepting that you've just been healing on your own."
"That's bullshit and you know it." His grip tightens. "You're real. What I feel is real."
"Jake, please." Your hands slide from his shoulders to his face, cupping it gently, trying to make him hear you. "Please, you need to listen to me. I need you to start sleeping at normal hours. Eight, maybe nine at most. I need you to go to your classes and see your friends. Because if you don't, I'm going to get pulled from your case, and then you really will lose me. Do you understand?"
He's quiet for a long moment. His hands come up to cover yours where they're holding his face. "And if I do this, if I sleep normal hours and go to class and act like everything is fine, will you stay for the full few weeks you promised?"
"I'll stay as long as I'm allowed to."
"That's not a yes."
"It's the best I can offer."
He closes his eyes, and you can feel the war happening inside him. You keep your hands on his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones in a soothing gesture, and wait for him to make the choice.
"Fine," he says finally. "I'll sleep less. I'll go to class. But you have to promise me something too."
"What?"
He struggles for the words. "You'll be present with me, like this."
It's a terrible idea. It's the opposite of pulling back. Feeding the attachment makes everything worse. "Okay, but you have to keep your end of the bargain.”
"Do you just move on to the next person after all this is over?”
"Yes. That's how this works."
He hesitates. "Will you think about me? After?"
"Yes," you say quietly. "I'll think about you."
"Good." His grip tightens on your hands. "Because I'm going to think about you. I'm going to dream about you and know it's just my mind recreating what we had. I'm going to miss you," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "Is that allowed? Am I allowed to miss you when you're gone?"
Your throat feels tight. "You can do whatever you want."
When he speaks again his voice is rough. "I'm going to miss feeling safe."
The words hit harder than they should. Because that's what this has always been about, isn't it? Not you specifically, but what you represent. He's not in love with you, he's in love with not being afraid.
"You'll learn to feel safe on your own. That's the whole point of what we've been doing."
"What if I don't want to feel safe on my own?” His hands are trembling slightly where they hold yours, and you can feel his emotions destabilizing the dreamscape, making the walls waver. "Admit that you want this.”
"I've already told you I feel something," you say quietly.
"Then why are you fighting this so hard?"
"This isn't real, Jake.”
"Stop saying that." There's real frustration in his voice now. "Stop trying to protect me from this." His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "I don't want protection. I just want you. Is that really so impossible?"
His mouth presses against yours with enough force that you gasp. His hand tightens in your hair, holding you in place, and his other hand comes up to cup your face like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on.
You kiss him back.
It's instinct more than decision, your body responding before your mind can catch up. Your hands come up to his chest, to push him away, you tell yourself, but they just flatten against him instead, feeling the dream-echo of his heartbeat. His mouth softens against yours slightly, the desperation giving way to something that feels almost like relief.
He pulls back after a moment, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I just needed you to stop talking. Are you going to leave?”
"No." The word comes out rougher than you intended. "I'm not leaving."
"You're not?"
"No."
He lets out a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, good. I’m still sorry. I shouldn't have done that without asking."
"It's fine."
"It's fine?" He sounds almost dazed. He pulls you closer again, and you let him, because apparently you've lost all ability to maintain boundaries. "Can we just have tonight? Without talking about endings or protocols or what we're supposed to do?"
His hands are warm on your wrists, and the dreamscape is stable around you, and you're so tired of fighting this.
"Okay," you say quietly. "Just tonight."
────୨ৎ────
Jake can't stop smiling.
He knows it's a problem because Jay keeps looking at him like he's grown a second head, and Sunghoon has asked him twice if he's okay.
He can't help it. She kissed him back. She didn't pull away, didn't disappear, didn't tell him he'd crossed a line he couldn't uncross. He felt alive in a way he hasn't felt in years.
"Dude, you're doing it again," Jay says, waving a hand in front of his face.
Jake blinks, realizes he's been staring into the middle distance with what is probably a ridiculous expression on his face. "Doing what?"
"That." Jay gestures at him vaguely. "The whole... whatever that is. You look like someone just told you you won the lottery."
"Maybe I did," Jake says, and he can hear how stupid he sounds but he doesn't care.
Sunghoon sets down his coffee and studies Jake with that quiet, assessing look. "You seem different."
"Different how?"
"Awake," Sunghoon says simply. "We've only ever seen you exhausted. This is new."
"Oh." Jake hadn't thought about that. They've known him through years of sleep deprivation and night terrors, through the worst of it. They've never seen him well-rested and happy. "Is it weird?"
"It's not weird," Jay says quickly. "It's good. Really good. You look like a person again."
"I feel like myself." It's true. For the first time in years, he feels like he's operating at full capacity instead of running on fumes and desperation. His mind is clear. His body doesn't ache.
"So what changed?" Jay asks, leaning forward with interest. "Did you finally start taking those sleep meds?”
"I kissed her," Jake says, and the words are out before he can think better of them.
Both of them go still.
"You kissed her," Jay repeats slowly.
"Yeah."
"The girl from your dreams."
"She's not—" Jake stops, tries again. "Yes. Her."
"In your dream," Sunghoon says.
"Yes."
The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with concern that neither of them is trying very hard to hide anymore.
There's something in his tone that makes Jake's smile falter. "You don't believe me."
"I didn't say that.”
"You don't have to say it. I can hear it." Jake looks between them, at the worry written across both their faces. "You think I'm losing it."
"We think you're going through something," Sunghoon says quietly. "And we're trying to understand."
"I told you. I met someone. She's been helping me sleep. Last night I kissed her and she kissed me back,” He can hear how it sounds, but he keeps going anyway because they need to understand. "She's real. What I feel is real. Why is that so hard to believe?"
"You're sleeping fourteen hours a day—"
"Eight. I'm sleeping eight hours a day now.”
"—and talking about kissing someone who only exists in your dreams—"
"She exists," Jake says, and his voice is rising now. "Just because you can't see her doesn't mean she's not real."
"Jake—" Sunghoon starts, but Jake cuts him off.
"No. You don't get it. You've never had to deal with what I deal with. You don't know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind every single night.” His hands are clenched into fists under the table. "She saved me from that. She's the only thing that's ever made it stop. And if that means she only exists when I'm asleep, then fine. I'll take it. At least I have something."
"You have us," Jay says quietly.
"It's not the same."
"Why not?"
"Because you can't do what she does!" The words come out louder than he intended, and the people at the next table glance over. Jake lowers his voice, but the intensity doesn't fade. "You can't go into my dreams and make the nightmares stop. You can't make me feel safe the way she does. You try, and I love you for trying, but you can't fix this. She can."
"Jake, listen to yourself," Jay says. "You're talking about her like she's the only thing keeping you alive."
"Maybe she is."
The admission hangs in the air between them. Jay looks stricken. Sunghoon's expression has gone very careful.
"That's not healthy," Sunghoon says finally.
Jake stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "You know what? Forget it. I shouldn't have told you."
Jay reaches for him, but Jake steps back.
"I'm fine. I'm better than fine. For the first time in years, I'm actually sleeping, actually living, and you can't just be happy for me. You have to make it into something wrong."
"We're worried about you," Sunghoon told placates. "That's all this is."
"Well, don't be. I'm handling it." Jake grabs his backpack from the floor. "I have to go."
"Where?"
"I have errands to run."
He leaves before they can stop him, pushing through the café door and out into the afternoon sun.
They don't understand. She's not just some fantasy he's projecting onto his dreams. She's real, and she cares about him.
He's walking without a destination, just moving, trying to burn off the anxious energy thrumming under his skin. His feet carry him down familiar streets, past familiar buildings, until he finds himself standing in front of a pharmacy.
He stares at the storefront for a long moment, something clicking into place in his mind.
The inside of the pharmacy is bright and clinical, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Jake wanders down the aisles, past pain relievers and cold medicine, until he finds what he's looking for.
The sleep aids section is bigger than he expected. Melatonin in various doses. Diphenhydramine. Herbal supplements promising restful sleep. Prescription-strength options behind the counter.
Jake picks up a bottle of melatonin. 10mg. The label says to take one tablet thirty minutes before bed and to not to exceed recommended dose.
He picks up a second bottle. Diphenhydramine, 25mg. Sleep aid and antihistamine. The labels say not to combine them, but people do it all the time, don't they?
────୨ৎ────
Something is wrong.
You can tell the moment Jake enters the dreamscape. Usually his consciousness arrives with a certain clarity, a presence that's become familiar over these weeks. Tonight he's sluggish, his form manifesting slowly like he's moving through something thick and resistant.
The dreamscape forms around him, but it's hazy at the edges, unfocused in a way that suggests his subconscious isn't operating at full capacity.
"Hey," he says when he sees you, and even his voice sounds off.
You manifest fully and cross to him immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." He sways slightly when he moves toward you, and you have to catch his arm to steady him.
"Jake." You guide him to sit on the bed, studying his face. He looks tired, which shouldn't be possible. Exhaustion doesn't exist in the dreamscape the way it does in waking life. Dreams are supposed to be restorative. "What happened?"
"I'm fine. Just tired." He reaches for you, pulling you down beside him, but the movement is clumsy and uncoordinated.
"You're in a dream. You shouldn't be tired here."
"Well, I am." He leans his head on your shoulder, the weight of it heavier than usual. "Can we not talk about it?"
Alarm bells are going off in your mind. This isn't normal. This isn't how dreamscapes work. If he's this compromised here, something is very wrong in his waking life.
"Jake, I need you to tell me what's going on."
"Nothing's going on. I'm sleeping like you wanted." There's something defensive in his tone, even through the sluggishness.
"This isn't normal sleep. You can barely hold yourself upright." You pull back to look at him properly, and the unfocused quality of his eyes makes your chest tight with worry. "What did you do?"
"Nothing. I'm just really tired from today. I had a long day." But his words are coming out too slow, too deliberate, like he's concentrating hard on making them sound natural.
You take his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Tell me the truth. What did you do before you went to sleep?"
"Nothing." The word comes out too fast this time, overcompensating.
"I can tell when you're lying. The dreamscape responds to dishonesty." You can feel the panic starting to rise in your chest, cold and sharp. "What did you take?"
"Can we please just drop this?" He tries to pull away from you, but the movement is sluggish and you hold on easily.
"That's not how this works!" Your hands are shaking where they hold his face. "Dreamers don't experience physical exhaustion in the dreamscape, not unless something is interfering with their natural sleep chemistry."
Recognition flashes across his face, he understands what you're implying, but he schools his expression back to neutral. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine, and we both know it." You can feel the dread solidifying in your chest, heavy and cold. "If you won't tell me what you did, I'm going to have to find out myself."
His eyes widen slightly. "What does that mean?"
You don't want to do this. You've avoided this with him because it's invasive and a violation of the small amount of privacy dreamers have.
"I'm sorry," you say quietly. You reach for his consciousness, bypassing his awareness and diving straight for his recent memories.
The reaction is immediate. Jake gasps, his whole body going rigid, and you feel the dreamscape shudder violently around you. Accessing memories without permission hurts. It's meant to hurt, a built-in defense mechanism to prevent guardians from abusing their access.
His hands come up to his head, and his face contorts with pain. You hate this. You hate hurting him. You push deeper anyway, searching for the memory of what he did before he went to sleep.
There. You find it and pull it forward.
Jake is in his bathroom opening the medicine cabinet. He takes out bottles, plural, and reading the labels before shaking pills into his palm.
You pull out of his memories and back into the present moment. Jake is curled in on himself, hands still pressed to his head, breathing hard.
"Don't," he says, and his voice is raw. "Don't do that." He looks up at you, and there's betrayal written across his face, sharp and clear even through the drug haze. "You hurt me."
The words cut deeper than they should. "I needed to know what you did."
"So you just forced your way into my head?" He's moving away from you now, putting distance between you on the bed. "You were supposed to be safe.” His voice cracks. "Why would you do that?"
"You're taking medication you don't need to artificially extend your sleep," you interrupt, and you can hear the fear bleeding into your voice as anger. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"
"I'm not hurting myself.”
"You are!” You stop, trying to find words that will make him understand. "Your brain needs natural sleep cycles. When you artificially induce sleep with medication, you disrupt that balance.”
"I know what I'm doing."
"You clearly don't." You're standing now, pacing, the horror of what you saw in his memories crashing over you. "You're damaging yourself. For what? For a few extra hours in a dream?"
"For a few extra hours with you," he says, and even through the hurt and the drugs, his voice is certain. "And I'd do it again. "
"No. No, you won't." The words come out louder than you intended, sharp with fear. "You're hurting yourself because you're so desperate to hold onto something that was never meant to last. I can't watch you destroy yourself for this."
"For you," he corrects. "I'm doing this for you."
"If you care about me at all, stop."
He stares at you, and something in his expression shifts. The hurt is still there, but underneath it is a realization. "You're scared. You can't dismiss it anymore as just attachment or trauma bonding or whatever else you've been telling yourself."
"It doesn't matter if this is real," your voice sounds broken even to your own ears. "It still has to end."
"Then let me have as much of it as I can."
"Not if it means you're going to hurt yourself." You close the distance between you, taking his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Please, Jake. Please stop. I need you to be safe. Even after I'm gone, I need to know you're going to be okay."
His eyes search yours, and you can see the moment the fight drains out of him.
"Okay," he says quietly, giving into your fear.
The dreamscape is already starting to stabilize around you, responding to the easing of tension. Jake's consciousness is still sluggish from the medication, but he's present, holding onto you like you're the only stable thing in his world.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," you say quietly. "When I accessed your memories. I'm sorry."
"I know." His voice is soft against your ear. "I understand why you did it, but it still scared me. The one person who's supposed to be safe doing something that hurt."
You stay with him for the rest of the night, monitoring the way the medication affects his sleep cycle, making sure he's safe even though he shouldn't have needed you to. When he finally slips into deeper, dreamless slee, you disconnect and return to the archive room with your heart heavy.
Jungwon is there. He takes one look at your face and says, "What happened?"
"He's trying to extend his sleep artificially.”
Jungwon's expression goes carefully neutral. "And you stopped him?"
"I tried." You sink into a chair, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the work. “I don't know if I can trust him to keep that promise when he's this desperate."
"You need to file a report. Let the elders handle this."
"If I file a report, they'll pull me off his case immediately. He'll get worse.”
"Or he'll adjust and find other support systems." Jungwon sits down across from you, and his expression is serious. "You need to request reassignment. Tonight."
"I can't do that."
He leans forward slightly. "Listen to me. I work with children, the elderly, and the terminally ill. Do you know how easy it would be to get attached to those cases?”
"That's different.”
"It's exactly the same." His voice is calm but firm. "I had a case two months ago with a six-year-old girl, dying of leukemia. Her dreams were beautiful, full of hope and wonder despite everything she was going through. Every night I had to watch her build these elaborate fantasies about growing up and living a full life. I had to maintain those dreams knowing she had weeks left at most.”
"I rotated off after three months. It hurt to leave her and know that someone else would be there for her final dreams instead of me, but I left anyway, because that's the job. Jake has had months of your time. Instead of getting better, he's now medicating himself to spend more time with you." Jungwon's expression doesn't change, but there's something almost pitying in his eyes. "You're enabling him."
The word lands like a slap. "I'm not.”
"You're feeding his attachment." He pauses. "You're both bad for each other at this point. You need to leave."
"So what am I supposed to do? Just abandon him when he's like this?"
Jungwon's expression softens slightly. "I know it feels cruel. You care about him, maybe more than you're willing to admit. That care is making you blind to the fact that you being there is the problem, not the solution."
The words settle over you like a weight. You want to argue, to explain why leaving now would be worse than staying.
But a small, honest part of you knows he's right.
────୨ৎ────
The connection forms, and the dreamscape resolves back into the soft bedroom. You’ve barely fully manifested when he’s on you. One second you’re standing in the abyss, and the next his body is pressed against yours, arms locking around your waist with a desperate strength that steals your breath. He buries his face in the curve of your neck with a broken sound.
“You’re here, you’re here, fuck, you’re really here,” he mumbles, the words hot and damp against your skin. His hands are everywhere, skating up your back and clutching at your shoulders, as if trying to confirm you’re real through frantic touch.
“Please,” his voice is a shaky whine. He pulls back just enough to look at you. He looks exhausted, hollowed out. “Please, I need to touch you. I need you to let me touch you.”
He’s trembling. You place your hand on his shoulder, trying to inject soothing energy inside him. It does little to help.
“I kept my promise,” he whispers, nuzzling back into your neck, his lips brushing your jaw. “No pills. I just laid there and waited. It took forever and I was so scared you wouldn’t come back after… after what I did.”
His hands fist in the fabric of your shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I was stupid. I was scared. Please.” He grinds his hips against yours, and you can feel him already hard. The need radiates from him like heat. “I need you to take care of me. Please, just take care of me tonight. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”
It feels like the most intimate thing he’s ever done. You bring your hands up, one palm cupping the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair. The other strokes down the tense line of his spine.
He melts at the touch, a full-body shudder of relief going through him. “Yes,” he whines. “Yes, like that. Just like that.”
His mouth finds yours with a consuming, clumsy desperation. The kiss is deep, and starving. His tongue sweeps into your mouth and you meet him in the middle. A groan tears from his throat.
“I can’t think straight when I’m awake,” he pants against your lips, his hands dragging your tunic up, fingers scrambling for purchase on your skin. “All I do is count the hours until I can sleep. It’s pathetic. I know it’s pathetic.”
“It’s not,” you murmur, and you’re not sure if that’s a lie or not.
He gets the tunic over your head, discarding it into the fog. His mouth drops to your breast, sucking a hardened nipple deep, his tongue flicking wildly. He kneads the other with a rough, possessive hand.
“Need to be inside you,” he mumbles, his words slurred against your flesh.
He fumbles with the fastening of your pants, his fingers shaking too hard to work properly. A frustrated, almost childish sob escapes him. You help him, pushing the material down your hips, and he sinks to his knees, mouth trailing down your stomach.
His tongue laps a broad, wet stripe through your folds, and you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. He moans like he’s the one receiving pleasure, the vibration against your clit making your knees buckle.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, his voice ragged. He devours you with a single-minded focus, his tongue plunging inside you, then circling your clit. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open. “Let me make you feel good. Please. I need to.”
The submission has twisted, turned into a different kind of control. His need to please, to serve, is just as dominant as any aggression. You look down at the crown of his head between your legs, the sheer abject devotion in the curve of his spine, and something cracks open inside your chest. You come with a choked cry, your hips stuttering against his mouth. He drinks you down, whining with satisfaction, not stopping until the last tremor subsides.
Then he’s rising, pushing you back until you’re laying on your back. He sheds his own clothes, cock jutting out. Pre-cum beads at the tip. He aligns himself and pushes forward, burying himself inside you.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his whole body trembling. “Fuck, you’re so tight. You feel like home.”
He starts to move, full of pure, pounding need. Each thrust is a deep, claiming slide, his hips slapping against yours. The sounds are obscene, wet skin on skin. He stares into your eyes, his gaze unfocused and drowning.
“Tell me,” he whimpers, his pace increasing and becoming frantic. “Tell me you feel me. Tell me I’m real.”
“You’re real,” you gasp, the words torn from you. He is a solid, desperate weight inside you. It is the most real thing you have ever known.
“I’m gonna come,” he warns, his voice high and broken.“I’m gonna come inside you. Is that okay? Please, can I?”
“Jake, slow down,” you manage to say, your hands sliding to his hips.
It’s a reflex, a guardian’s instinct to moderate, to control the environment. But the plea is weak. The drag of him inside you is perfect, a friction that ignites every nerve. Your own body arches, betraying you to seek more.
“I can’t,” he whines, the words punctuated by another sharp, deep thrust. “Oh god, I can’t, it feels too fucking good.You feel too good.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers between thrusts, his voice high and tight with impending release. His hands scramble for purchase on your skin, leaving fleeting bruises. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.”
The apologies are meaningless, ritualistic, lost in the animal need. He’s not sorry.
His rhythm becomes erratic, desperate. He’s chasing that feeling of home he mentioned, trying to obliterate himself inside you. One of his hands leaves your hip, slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing rough, frantic circles. The dual sensation is too much. A sharp, keening cry is torn from you. Your internal muscles clench around him, a vice grip of pleasure.
He follows you down, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He fucks into you, deep and final, his body bowing, every muscle locking.
“Take it,” he sobs, his voice shattered. “Take it all, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna knock you up so you can never fucking leave me.”
The words are deranged.They should horrify you. Instead, a dark current of something terrifyingly close to pride thrills through your veins. He’s spilling inside you, his whimpers muffled against your shoulder blade. He collapses onto you, his breath hot on your skin, his softening cock still nestled within you, twitching with the last of his climax.
This is a dreamscape. He cannot impregnate you. Your body in this space is a projection, a confluence of his subconscious desire and your manifested form. The threat is empty, a fantasy of possession. But the emotion behind it, the raw, desperate wanting, is terrifyingly real.
He nuzzles the sweat-damp skin of your back. “Stay,” he murmurs, the word barely audible.
It’s the last plea of a drowning man. You wait, feeling his heartbeat slow against your spine, feeling the dream itself begin to soften at the edges as his mind descends into truer, emptier sleep. When his breathing evens out into the deep, rhythmic pattern of the dreamless, you gently disentangle yourself.
────୨ৎ────
You're standing at the edge of Jake's dreamscape, ready to enter, when Jungwon's voice stops you.
"Don't." Jungwon holds up the file. "He's been reassigned."
The words don't make sense at first. You stare at him, at the file in his hands, trying to process what he's saying.
"What?"
"The elders reassigned his case this morning. He's under my care now." Jungwon's voice is gentle, but there's no room for negotiation in it. "You're off the case. Effective immediately."
"His mental state has deteriorated to the point where he qualifies as a vulnerable case. Severe psychological distress, reality dissociation, compromised decision-making." Jungwon sets the file down on the table between you. "He needs a guardian who specializes in fragile cases. Someone who can work without getting their feelings involved."
The implication hangs in the air.
"I can handle him," you say, but your voice sounds weak even to your own ears.
"You can't. That's why you're being removed." Jungwon's expression is sympathetic but firm. "The elders have been monitoring the situation. They made the call."
"When do I have to leave?" you ask quietly.
"You already have left. As of this morning, I'm his guardian. You're not to enter his dreamscape again."
"Not even to say goodbye?"
"A clean break is better."
"Better for who? The elders?" You can hear the bitterness bleeding into your voice. "Because it's certainly not better for him. He's going to wake up and I'll just be gone. He'll think I abandoned him."
"I know exactly what he'll do. He'll be upset. He'll be angry. He'll probably try to force himself to sleep more to find you, and I'll have to manage that." Jungwon's expression is steady, professional. "I've handled cases like this before. Dreamers who become attached to their guardians. It's not common, but it happens. There are protocols for managing it."
"He's going to hate you." The thought of him falling asleep tonight and finding you gone, finding Jungwon there instead, makes you feel like you're being torn apart. "Please, just let me see him."
"I can't. I'm sorry.” Jungwon moves toward the exit, then pauses. "For what it's worth, I don't think you did anything wrong."
He leaves, taking Jake's file with him, and you're left standing alone in the archive room.
You can feel Jake's dreamscape forming in the distance. He's falling asleep right now, his consciousness reaching for the familiar space where you've always been waiting.
But he’s not yours anymore.
────୨ৎ────
Jake knows something is wrong the moment he enters the dreamscape. The air doesn't feel right. The temperature is off by a degree or two. Everything looks correct on the surface, but something fundamental has shifted.
"Hello?" he calls out, turning slowly in the center of the room. His voice sounds too loud in the silence. "Are you here?"
Nothing, just the quiet hum of the dreamscape maintaining itself, a sound he's never consciously noticed before because she was always there to fill the space.
She's usually already manifested by the time he arrives, always there with that particular expression she gets when she first sees him, something between exasperation and something softer she never quite admits to. Jake can feel his heart starting to beat faster, that old familiar panic creeping in at the edges.
"I know you're here," he says, moving toward the center of the room, scanning the empty corners as if she might be hiding in them. "That's fine. I can wait."
He sits on the bed and waits, hands clasped between his knees, trying to keep his breathing steady. She's never been late before, but there's a first time for everything. He can handle it. He can.
Minutes pass. The dreamscape remains empty, unchanging, and the panic in Jake's chest is growing from a flutter to a roar.
"Okay," Jake says, and he can hear the edge of desperation creeping into his voice now, can't quite keep it out anymore. "Okay, this isn't funny. I know you're mad about last time. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I was desperate.”
The silence presses down on him like a physical weight. He stands up, paces to the window, back to the bed, unable to sit still. This doesn't make sense. She wouldn't just not show up. Even when she was angry with him, even when he'd done something wrong, she was always here.
"Please," he says, and his hands are gripping the edge of the bed hard enough that his knuckles are white. "Please, I'm sorry. Whatever I did, whatever I said, I'm sorry. Just come out. Please."
The air shifts.
Jake's head snaps up, relief flooding through him so intensely it makes him dizzy. "There you are.”
A figure manifests in front of him, the space rippling and solidifying into a human shape. As the form becomes clear, Jake's relief curdles into confusion and then something darker.
It's not her.
It's someone else. A man, with a calm expression and dark eyes that take in the dreamscape with the kind of professional assessment that makes Jake's stomach drop.
Jake stands abruptly, the bed scraping against the floor of the dreamscape even though there is no floor, not really. "Who are you?"
"My name is Jungwon," the man’s voice is gentle, the kind of voice you'd use with a spooked animal or a confused child. "I'm your new guardian."
The words hit Jake like a punch to the chest. He stares at this intruder in a space that's supposed to be his and hers alone, trying to process what he just said. "My what?"
"Your guardian. I've been assigned to your case as of this morning." Jungwon takes a step closer, slow and deliberate, and Jake takes a step back on pure instinct. "I know this is unexpected. I'm here to help you adjust to the transition."
"Transition." Jake repeats the word like it's in a foreign language, like if he says it enough times it might start to make sense. "No. No, you're just part of the dream. She made you."
He stops, looking around wildly as if she might appear at any moment to tell him this was all a lesson, something other than what it appears to be.
"I'm not part of a dream she made. I'm a guardian, the same as she was." Jungwon's voice remains infuriatingly calm, like he's explaining something simple and obvious. "I'm here because she's been rotated off your case. This is a standard protocol change. It happens with all guardian assignments eventually."
Jake's breathing is coming faster now, shallow and insufficient. His hands are shaking and he shoves them in his pockets to hide it. "That's not possible. She wouldn't just leave. She promised she'd stay. She promised."
"I understand this is difficult," There's something practiced about the way Jungwon says it, like he's said it before to other dreamers in other dreamscapes. "But guardian rotations are standard protocol. She was with you longer than usual, actually, much longer. But all assignments eventually end. That's how the system works."
"No, you’re lying. Where is she?” Jake backs up until his legs hit the bed again. The room is starting to feel smaller, the walls pressing in, responding to his rising panic.
"I want to see her." Jake's hands come out of his pockets, reaching toward Jungwon like he might be able to physically pull the answer he wants out of him. His throat is so tight it hurts to speak. "After everything, she owes me a goodbye."
"I'm afraid that's not possible."
"Why not?" The word comes out almost as a shout. "Why the hell not? You people can apparently do whatever you want. show up in my dreams and manipulate everything, but I can't have five minutes to say goodbye to someone who's been the most important person in my life for months?"
"Seeing her again would only make the transition more difficult. It would give you false hope that she might come back. This way is kinder."
"I don't care how it works!" Jake is shouting now, and the dreamscape responds violently to his emotion, the walls darkening from soft gray to charcoal, the light flickering like a dying bulb. "This is my mind. You can't just show up here and tell me she's gone and expect me to accept it. I didn't ask for you. I don't want you. I want her back."
Jungwon's expression doesn't change, but he takes a small step back, giving Jake space. His hands are loose at his sides, non-threatening, the posture of someone who's dealt with angry dreamers before and knows how to de-escalate. "I understand you're angry. That's a normal response to this kind of change. Loss of a familiar guardian, especially one you'd developed a strong working relationship with, is disorienting and painful. I need you to understand that I'm here to help you. That's my only goal. I'm not your enemy."
"You're not her." Jake's voice breaks on the words, and he hates the vulnerability, hates that this stranger is seeing him like this. The dreamscape shudders around them, the walls rippling. His voice drops to something quieter, more desperate. "I want to know why she left. I must have done something wrong, right?" He stops, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "What did I do?"
"You didn't do anything wrong." Jungwon's voice is firmer now. "This wasn't about you failing or doing something that drove her away. The elders made a decision based on what they believed was best for your care and her wellbeing. You became attached to her in a way that was making it harder for you to heal, and her continued presence was reinforcing that attachment rather than helping you develop independence."
"I don't want your help."
"You don't have to want it right now. You just have to not fight it." Jungwon gestures around the dreamscape. "This space is yours. I'm just here to keep it stable, to keep the nightmares away and help you rest. That's all. I'm not trying to replace her. I'm just trying to do my job."
Jake sinks down onto the bed, all the fight draining out of him at once. He feels hollowed out, like something vital has been carved out of his chest and all that's left is the aching space where it used to be.
"I miss her," he says, and the words come out broken. "I miss her so much and she's only been gone for a few hours. How am I supposed to do this?”
"One night at a time." Jungwon says it simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't have to move on right now. You just have to get through tonight. And then tomorrow night. And the night after that. Eventually it will hurt less."
The dreamscape around him softens in response to Jungwon's presence, the walls lightening back to gray as the light stabilizes. It's professional, exactly what a guardian is supposed to be.
bsf jungwon who looks at you with love in his eyes the line between platonic love and romantic affection becomes indistinguishable when it comes to the way jungwon’s eyes feel on you. you know he holds adoration for you, that much is obvious from his actions alone. but in the silent moments where actions aren’t present, and the only thing between you is the intense eye contact, you can’t help but wonder: does jungwon look at all his friends like they hung the stars up themselves? like their sole existence brings them happiness? the answer would be no, because jungwon doesn’t view you as solely his friend. but for as long as you don’t realise, he’ll continue to look at you like you’re his reason for everything.
bsf jungwon who is the friend guys worry about it had become a routine by now: you’d get involved with a guy, tell jungwon about him, jungwon would meet said guy, and after a few weeks they’d call it off. the same reasoning always applying—jungwon was too much. “i just don’t feel comfortable,” one reasoned. “unless he takes a step back, this won’t work,” another explained. “am i dating you or jungwon too?” the last guy told you. jungwon would dismiss it every single time, telling you ‘they’re being dramatic’ and that ‘if they can’t accept you for the friends you have, they don’t deserve you.’ you’d mindlessly agree, unaware of the victorious grin jungwon would hide.
bsf jungwon who is possessive jungwon hates the idea of you having any other friends than him. the jealousy was something he’d try not to make apparent, but sometimes even he couldn’t burry the bitter feeling seeping through. “i can pay for you.” jungwon interjects as your other friend offers to pay for you. “it’s okay—” “you’re my best friend.” jungwon would remind you, because you were, right? you were his best friend, his other half, his person. you didn’t need someone else to spend money on you when he would do it in a heartbeat, even if you never asked. you’d nod silently, allowing him to proceed and pay for your stuff while your other friend eyed the both of you suspiciously. jungwon couldn’t care less though, as long as his spot remained his.
bsf jungwon who buys you gifts it’s normal for best friends to buy each other gifts, you told yourself. which is why you never questioned it when jungwon would show up in front of you with a small gift bag. at least not at first. you didn’t think much of it when it was your birthday, and jungwon bought you a shiny necklace, helping you put it on while he made you promise to never take it off. you didn’t look much into it when jungwon bought you a couple ring, convincing you every pair of best friends has these, knowing it meant more to him than just that. “you spend a lot on me.” you interrogated him once as he held your hand in his, adjusting the bracelet he just bought for you. “it’s just a gift.” jungwon reminds you, and it was enough to let your growing suspicions die down. because best friends do this stuff, surely.
bsf jungwon who has you as his background you didn’t know. and jungwon made sure you wouldn’t, switching the wallpaper back to its default image that you had seen plenty of times. not until you were fully his, beyond the friendship label. those around him knew about it, often asking him who the head laid atop his lap on his phone belonged to. jungwon would smile widely, simply mention your name with no further explanation, and turn his phone screen back to show the image once more—this time proudly. a means to showcase the rest of the world who belonged to him, and vice versa, even if you didn’t know it yet. maybe once the day finally arrives, jungwon can proudly show you he’s been waiting longer than you’ve ever known.
bsf jungwon who is clingy you had your fair share of experiences with clingy guys in relationships. yet none of them compared to the way jungwon would latch onto you whenever you were within his vicinity. he’d stand behind you, throwing his arms over your shoulder before closing himself in, snuggling into the dip of your collarbone as you’re busy choosing clothing to buy. he loved grabbing you by your hands, swaying them side to side as you tried telling him something. he’d pull you close whenever in arms reach, pulling you towards him before embracing you in his arms almost protectively. you never dared to call him out on it, mostly because there wasn’t any complaint you wanted to voice. but there was always that small voice in your head, pointing out that if it had been anyone else, you’d grow tired. but this was jungwon, which was an excuse enough.
bsf jungwon who makes you question his words you've known jungwon to be a very straightforward and honest guy when it comes to his thoughts and feelings—which is why sometimes, you can’t tell whether you’re supposed to look deeper behind some of the things he says. “i could treat you better than that.” he once randomly vowed as the both of you looked through the fresh matches you made on your dating app. you laughed it off, too scared to ask him what he meant. “you’re so beautiful.” he’d say, multiple times, to the point you’ve lost count. you could excuse it by pretending it was a common compliment he told all his friends. “i’d probably be the best boyfriend you could have.” he casually mentioned once as you sat next to each other, engrossed in the movie playing on the laptop. you had frozen, and jungwon would simply turn your way, as if the statement wasn’t anything reaction worthy, before continuing to lean his head on your shoulder. and maybe it wasn’t. maybe this was exactly how friends talk to each other.
bsf jungwon who makes other people wonder if you’re together “are you and jungwon dating?” was a repeated question you never heard the end of. no amount of ‘no’s and ‘we’re just friends’ seemed to convince those around you that nothing was going on between you two. you never understood why everyone seemed so fixated on your friendship with jungwon, let alone question the legitimacy of it. you’ve made sure to specify it every time: jungwon is your best friend. perhaps the reason everyone is not convinced has to do with jungwon himself, who is actively contributing to the speculations. where you say, “we’re friends,” jungwon simply leaves it as an open question with no answer, shrugging his shoulder. “do we look like a couple?” he’d ask, hopeful. and of course, everyone tells him obviously. which means more than enough for jungwon.
bsf jungwon who pretends the friendzone doesn’t bother him. jungwon thought he could handle watching you get your first boyfriend. as your best friend, he was supposed to be happy for you, even if that meant having to swallow the envy inside him that wished it was him instead. jungwon thought he could handle seeing you go in and out of relationships, casually going on dates with strangers while he was patiently waiting for his turn to arrive. but here you were, ranting to him about your lack of real connection with anyone and asking him why you can’t find the one. in times like these, jungwon wishses he wasn’t established as your best friend, that he was one of the many strangers you’d give a chance for the sake of hope. because it would at least mean you’d give him a chance to prove to you he could be everything you ever needed. that he already was. but for now, he will simply nod his head, feeding you bitter advice to cover up the burning jealousy in his chest.
best friend jungwon who is your first kiss “it won’t change anything.” he promises you. “it’s just a kiss, i’m your best friend anyways.” jungwon assures you, as if the status of your friendship was supposed to dwindle the feeling in your lower stomach. you’d give in, naively. if there was anyone you trusted as your first kiss, it’d be jungwon. his hand reached your chin, meticulously lifting it upwards to look at him. his eyes took in all of you attentively, and you let a small wavering huff pass through your lips. jungwon’s touch was gentle, and so was the feeling of his lips finally touching yours. the skin to skin contact instantly put you ablaze, and before you had any time to react further, jungwon’s previous control got lost within a second. his hand switched from your face to the side of your hips, drawing you closer until your body was pressed flush against him. the kiss grew more frantic. you could taste the underlying hunger and hidden possessiveness from jungwon as his lips pressed harder against you. an innocent act turned into an intimate exchange, brewing up questions you don’t think you should be having about your best friend. and when you pulled away, pupils dilated and mind a frenzy, jungwon simply hummed. “this is what best friends are for.”
. ݁𓂃 ↝ synopsis. jake was known to sleep around with girls , never committing to one , leaving in the morning before they wake up. when he sets his eyes on you , he’s a 100% sure it would be no different — what he didn't know is that you were playing the same game he was.
best friend!jungwon x best friend!reader ⸝⸝ female reader ⸝⸝ boxing au ⸝⸝ university au ⸝⸝ 26.7k words ⸝⸝ mystery ⸝⸝ angst ⸝⸝ hurt/comfort ⸝⸝ smart!reader ⸝⸝ yearner!jungwon ⸝⸝ detailed fighting ⸝⸝ illegal fighting ⸝⸝ do not try this at home ⸝⸝ mentions of harmful substances to consume (not drugs) ⸝⸝ kisses
ⓘ :: i did not think that this would take a month to write but here we are. i really hope you all enjoy. this fic has elements of hard-boiled detective fiction and romance. please ignore any mistakes that i wasn't able to catch. i love reading comments and feedback so please feel free!
The light chatter in the White Fang Cafe competed with the lowered sound of Instagram Reels emitting from the phone across from you. He sits with his laptop closed, his phone in his right hand, and his iced americano held up to his lips with his left.
“Are you going to get any work done at all?”
He turned his cat-like gaze up to your own, his dark brown eyes contrasting his recently dyed blond hair.
“Don’t need to,” He shrugged, “And before you say it: no, I can’t get ahead because I already am.”
“How are you already ahead?” You exclaimed more than asked.
“I don’t know, it’s just easy.”
You sighed and playfully rolled your eyes, mumbling “business majors” in an exasperated voice.
Jungwon let out a light chuckle and looked back down at his phone — jumping like a scared cat when he caught a glimpse of the time. You watched confusedly as he shoved his laptop into his bag and his phone in his back pocket.
“I gotta go,” He informed in a rush, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get home safe!”
“Wait, Jungwon!” He turned around at your words, “Where in the world are you going that’s so important on a Friday night?” You raised a brow and kept a suggestive lilt in your voice
He laughed awkwardly — you could tell by the breathiness and the slight reddening of his ears.
“Uh, I’m going to the gym with the guys,” He slung his backpack onto his shoulder, “You know, gotta get them gains or whatever.”
“Right…”
“Night, Y/N.” He flashed you a smile and ran out the cafe’s side door. Out the window you could just barely see him reach his dingy old car and drive onto the road.
You rolled your eyes. Jungwon was a horrible liar. There’s no way he was going to the gym and judging by the flush on his ears: he was probably going on a date or to a party and was too embarrassed to tell you.
Then again, this wasn’t abnormal for Jungwon. He was extremely self disciplined and has been the biggest gym rat since you’d met him in freshman year. And if the way his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirts was any indication: his diligence was paying off. But you can’t recall Jungwon going to the gym at 8 on a Friday night….
Your brows furrowed in thought. Yes, you have.
Well, not exactly but last Friday you asked if he was going to his dorm hall’s floor event — you’d been invited by some other dude on his floor but said you’d only go if he did — Jungwon had texted back that he was busy on Friday. And three weeks ago there was the release of the Michael Jackson movie in which you’d gotten tickets for the two of you on opening night. You ended up taking your roommate Yuna instead.
You pressed your lips together as you considered the information. Either Jungwon has a girlfriend he never told you about, has become a Friday night party animal, or just really loves gymming with the guys on Friday nights. The easiest way, you supposed, to find out was to show up at the gym and see if you could spot all 175 centimeters of lean muscle.
After opening Maps to put in the address, you realized you have no idea what gym he goes to. You could’ve sworn you’d asked him before. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember his answer. You narrowed your eyes on the iMessage contact. Jungwon had a knack for sending you a selfie almost every time he found himself in front of his gym mirror — sometimes the mirror wasn’t even necessary. Just a selfie of him next to some equipment you wouldn’t even be able to name if you were held at gunpoint.
You’d never looked anywhere else but him and his toned body whenever he sent you pictures but now with fresh eyes you checked the backgrounds for any hint of a logo or calling card. You flicked between two pictures — ones where he was sitting at the same machine — backwards letters stood proudly on the back wall above his right shoulder. An E and the half of a B.
wonie: Fight broke out in the gym lol
Your teeth plunged into your lips as you bit back a smile at the message Jungwon had sent with a nonchalant selfie two months ago.
You: why’d you say that so nonchalantly
wonie: Eh it’s not that big of a deal
wonie: Wyd?
You: finishing up my reading for my next journalism lec ugh
You: free me from this prison
wonie: LOL
An uncontrollable smile had drawn onto your lips and for a few solid moments you lived in blissful reminiscence. Until you remembered that you were stalking Jungwon for a reason.
You flipped through more gym selfies, forcing your eyes to not look at the person in the foreground. Of all the selfies he sent, there was only one more that showed a sliver of the gym’s name: E, B, and Y — that should be enough to search with.
Your fingers across your keyboard wrote “YBE gym” in the Google search bar and watched the list of gyms load onto the screen. The first option caught your eye.
HYBE Gym 5★ 12 mins Write a review
Clicking the link to the directions, you packed up your bag, thanked the barista, and got in your car; silently praying that Jungwon wouldn’t think you were a freak for analyzing his photos just to find him at the gym. But then again, was he even going to be there?
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You pulled into the decently large parking lot of the Hybe gym. The exterior was boxy and large windows adorned the grey walls. Those same windows made it incredibly clear that the gym was emptied out of all its patrons. It would’ve been easy to shift into reverse and tease Jungwon for lying to you about his whereabouts but something about the way that the fluorescent lights remained on had you killing the engine instead.
Your eyes moved to the reception desk as you walked in — surely, there would be someone waiting there to scan your card or check your gym membership — no one sat in the black spinning chair. An uncanny feeling fell over you as you walked deeper into the gym, viewing the various large machines, the racks of weights, and the letters that you’d seen in his pictures just a few minutes before. You faced the mirror out of curiosity for what he sees when he sends you his selfies, your last look before exiting the strangely abandoned gym, until a familiar dark blue water bottle caught your eye.
If it were a Hydroflask or an Owala, you’d disregard it entirely, but this wasn’t a normal trendy water bottle — it was the dingy, plastic one every freshman received as a welcome package into the baccalaureate program. And unless there was another Decelis University student in the graduating class of 2027 that happened to go to an insanely modernized gym, Jungwon was telling the truth. He was here. Somewhere.
Fumbling in your purse for your phone, you called Jungwon’s number, hoping that he was just in the doorway marked “Men’s Locker Room”. And when you heard the faint ringing on the other side of the door, you were certain that he was there. Only ignoring your call. Brows pinched together in confusion, why would he not pick up your call?
The persistent feeling of uncanniness crawling up your spine and the prodding of school deadline anxiety in the back of your skull had you losing patience quickly. You ended the call and knocked on the locker room door.
“Jungwon?” You called out, “Are you in there?”
You gave him a generous three seconds to respond.
“Jungwon? Hello?”
After another short moment you pushed the door ajar and asked, “Is anyone even in here?”
You were met with nothing but silence. You closed your eyes and exhaled exasperatedly. Peeking around in the gym and finding it as vacant as you found it, you called out:
“Jungwon, if you don’t come out, I’m going in.”
At first, it was an empty threat — why would you willingly walk into the men’s locker room — but the lack of response fueled the strange feeling swarming the place. And maybe, a part of you wanted to prove that Jungwon wouldn’t lie to you. You didn’t care if he had a secret girlfriend or had an unquenchable love for frat parties but you wanted to know if and why he would keep it from you.
So, you took slow small steps into the locker room, making sure to put more force into them than necessary — just to make sure he would stop you before you committed fully and turned to see half a dozen nigh naked men. But as you rounded the small corridor, it was blatantly clear you had been talking to yourself for the past five minutes.
The locker room was shrouded in darkness, grey lockers lined the walls, and one long bench ran in the middle til it met the section of showers. You turned on the flashlight on your phone and looked closer. The lockers were labeled with numbers but some had small plaques with initials on them. Locker 5 caught your eye: partly because it was slightly ajar, partly because it had the initials “YJW” on a small metal plaque.
Flipping the locker door open, you saw Jungwon’s worn-in blue backpack shoved into the small space — obviously in a rush, since he didn’t see the strap of the bag sticking out of his locker and preventing it from being shut. His phone also sat in the locker, at an awkward angle as well, contributing to the theory that he rushed to put his stuff down. But if the rest of his stuff is here, why is his water bottle in the main part of the gym?
And where was Jungwon?
Your eyes glanced at the only part of the gym you hadn’t gone to yet — besides the girl’s locker room but you had more faith in Jungwon than that, which is ironic considering the room you were in currently — the showers. Although, you considered, no one seemed to be in here anyway. With the small encouragement, you walked over to the shower section: seven uniform showers lined the walls, all but one with the curtains left open.
Upon seeing the drawn shower curtain, you should have left. You shouldn’t have gotten closer. But you did. And with the way that the curtain sat, with one side over-drawn, leaving a sliver of space slightly open to view — you could imagine the events that occurred to have left the scene like that. Someone rushed into the shower, but if the lack of running water and indication that someone — anyone at all — was in this locker room, no one was in the shower anymore. So, with small steps, shaky hands, and held breath, you peeked past the shower curtain to find that your suspicions were right. No one was there. But something strange was.
The tile on the side with the shower head and knobs was tilted and coming off the wall in one piece. You would’ve supposed that that was why the shower curtain was closed. The shower was broken, it was under construction, it needed to be fixed, so they closed it off. But you couldn’t accept that to be true when just beyond the tilted back wall, muffled yelling emitted through the crack.
Stepping into the shower and taking a closer look at the wall, you realized that the titled tiles were not broken or falling apart, they were attached to a door disguised as the back of a shower. Someone forgot to ensure the secret door remained secret. As you stood with the door swung open, looking into a corridor with a staircase that ran down into a lower level, you contemplated counting your blessings, driving back to your apartment, and worrying about your homework in the morning.
But this is what you lived for, right? The drama, the thrill, the investigation. Now the opportunity to explore was right in front of your face — who were you to deny yourself of that adventure? And Jungwon was probably down there. It’s probably just some rich frat house’s party venue because they don’t want to piss their parents off.
You shook your head in disbelief, no way Yang “I get my work done two weeks in advance” Jungwon was a party animal.
You shut the door behind you and trod down the stairs in a liminal space between caution and confidence.
The staircase turned right and climbed down a few more steps before the room came into view. It was shaped like a stadium — bleachers around the walls with every seat filled with cheering fans. The lights were dimmed all around except for the center where everyone’s eyes were glued. And for good reason. The center showcased an elevated boxing ring that was adorned with visible wear and tear. An announcer’s voice boomed the play by play happening in the ring, taking care to note the names of the fighters as they threw their punches.
It was useless. You’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere.
You’d also recognize that mess of floppy blond-dyed hair, that enviously tiny waist, dark cat-like eyes, and toned biceps anywhere — which is why it was a little strange that it took you a good seven seconds to compute the scene unfolding before you.
Yang Jungwon, shifting and keeping light on his feet in the middle of that elevated boxing ring. Yang Jungwon, with bloodied bandages wrapped around his fists, throwing a clean jab into the jaw of his opponent. Yang Jungwon, continuing to advance and throw punches that didn’t quite make an impact before putting all his force in one that did.
“And Jakah lands his attack knocking his opponent to the floor! Yikes! That puts BigHit in a real tight spot!”
Your head filled with a million questions: who is Jakah? What is BigHit? What is happening?
The two fighters went back to their corners, their coaches handing them water bottles and wiping the sweat off their brows. From this angle, you could see Jungwon more clearly. His flushed skin, his big muscles, and the inception of a bruise on the left side of his jaw.
“Jakah continues to show his ferocity and tenacity in the ring.” The announcer informed.
“Maybe he’s trying to compensate for his performance last week?” Another announcer theorized.
“I don’t know but what I can say is that he is relentless tonight. It seems like we might be getting our beloved champion back, what do you say folks?”
The crowd erupted in roars. It was hard to make out at first, everyone yelling out of unison but half the crowd boo’d like their life depended on it and the rest cheered with every ounce of breath in their lungs. You watched Jungwon shake his head and push his water bottle away, shaking his right wrist, and waiting patiently before he could lunge at the other guy again.
This was a side of Jungwon you’d never seen before; he was so sweet, and gentle, and caring, it was hard to think of him as someone who spent his Friday nights beating the daylight out of other people. You recalled what the announcers had said just a few moments before. If Jungwon is this “Jakah” guy then what happened last week? And what did they mean by “champion”?
Jungwon turned to scan his eyes over the stands and an awareness fell on you like an avalanche. You were the only person standing in this entire underground stadium. Crouching immediately, you hoped that he hadn’t caught sight of you yet. What would happen if he did? Would he get nervous and be thrown off? That would likely cost him his victory and part of his physical condition. Your heart started aching at the mere sight of a bruise under his jaw, you couldn’t stomach watching him get pummeled. You also hadn’t decided what to say to him or how to say it. You couldn’t even grasp your emotions under the dazedness of shock — it’d be better to talk to him later when you could think clearly.
A loud buzzer blared and the fighters took to the center of the ring. Their hands fisted up to their face — their guards up — and their feet inching increasingly closer to one another. Jungwon’s opponent started with a barrage of light jabs, causing Jungwon to pull his guard higher up. It took about five seconds to realize why this useless move was continuing on: he was pursuing Jungwon toward the edges of the ring. But Jungwon quickly found his footing and dropped into a crouch before sending a hard punch to his assailant's ribs. The crowd erupted in a collective grimace but Jungwon didn’t stop, instead he cracked his fist against the guys jaw with so much force that the sound traveled toward the stands.
His opponent fell limp on the floor, blood dripping from his face, and a referee running up to check his condition. The stadium didn’t wait in bated breath, no it roared in controversy — even as the referee stood up and held Jungwon’s hand high in victory.
It was hard to catch the crowds sentiment when they all had something to say:
“There goes my 75K won!” Someone grumbled.
“75? I put down a clean 150!”
“And that 225K is all mine now boys.” A person from the row behind them gloated.
“Yeah right, I bet 60% of the stadium also put their money down on Goldilocks.”
“60%? Not after last week.”
Your brows furrowed in deeply, what do they mean “put their money down”? Is Jungwon the prospect of illegal gambling?
Your head swam in a million different directions before you realized that the stands were being vacated deeper into the basement. Suddenly, the shock seemed to dissipate and the temperature in the room felt utterly too warm. You stood back up, legs as strong as under-chilled jello, and saw the stands slowly become deserted. Your eyes glanced toward the center-ring where Jungwon had been only moments before but had vacated as well. It was time you left too.
Before someone found you here.
You ran up the steps and out of the shower, through the thankfully still empty locker room, out of the overly modern gym. You passed through rows of equipment, spotting Jungwon’s abandoned water bottle and picking it up off the ground. You didn’t even know why you picked it up, you just did it on instinct and rushed out to your car.
And all you could think about on the drive to your apartment was: is Jungwon okay?
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The screen of your phone on the darkest setting was still too bright as it shone in your face. The cursor blinked in its home on the message bar. A bar devoid of text.
You didn’t know what to tell him. What to say. What to ask. It was all amiss to you. You’d known Jungwon since freshman year and never in those three years did you think of him as a guy that would knock a guy out so hard that blood pooled out of his mouth. So, what on Earth were you supposed to text him?
“Hi I followed you to the gym and saw you turn some guy into a pulp! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Hi do you know that fighting people, especially in an underground fighting ring where people bid on your success/failure, is super dangerous in multiple ways??”
You sighed and threw your phone to the other side of the bed. He’d probably text you tomorrow, you’d figure out what to say. Hopefully.
Because if Jungwon was involved in illegal gambling and fighting — he was putting himself in so much risk. You couldn’t freak out, couldn’t go around accusing him. You needed to stay level headed.
Jungwon didn’t text you the next day but he did text you the day after. Sometime around noon your phone pinged and Jungwon’s name lit up on your screen.
wonie: Hey wyd rn?
You hesitated at first. You tried to convince yourself that you just needed more time to think about what to say to him but you knew that you were just dreading a conversation that was inevitable.
You: not much, u?
wonie: Bored
wonie: And my roommate brought his friends over and they’re loud asf
You: LOL
You: just come over! we can watch a movie or smth
wonie: Want me to pick up snacks?
You: nah i have some from last time!!
He wasn’t what you expected when you opened the door. Maybe it was because the Jungwon you’d seen that night was stuck in your head: the way his sweaty muscles reflected the light, the way his chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, the way the ends of his hair were slightly wet, the blooming bruise under his clenched jaw — it wouldn’t leave your mind.
But now he stood in front of you in his classic GAP grey hoodie, wispy bangs falling into his eyes, bright smile on his lips, and a jaw devoid of any discoloration.
“Hey,” His eyes lit up as soon as he saw you and he wasted no time at the door. Just strutted in like he was your roommate, taking his shoes off and walking to the kitchen, “Do you still have that apple flavored green tea?”
You raised your brow at him, “Bro, do you know how hard it was to find those again? I had to go to a Chinese grocery store just to find them.”
Jungwon held up the last bottle, the red and gold label almost completely hidden in his large hand. He shook it slightly as he spoke:
“Wanna split it with me?”
You looked at him with a flat face and crossed arms, “Fine.” How were you supposed to say no to that charming smile he shot you?
That charming smile turned into a victorious one that he didn’t even try to hide. It stayed plastered on his face as his hand reached up to your cabinet, grabbed too small glasses, filled them with ice, and then poured the tea equally into each glass. Your body slid past his as you reached up into the cabinet as well, picking up a bowl and pour out some chili-lime rolled tortilla chips. He took the empty packet from your hands and tossed it in the trash.
“So, what movie do you wanna watch?” He asked, making his way over to your couch.
“Mm,” You hummed in thought, “I’m not sure, what are you in the mood for?”
“Not a rom-com. So, don’t ask.”
“Yeesh, what’s wrong with rom-coms?”
“They’re cringey, predictable, and boring.”
“I thought you loved Your Eyes Only!”
He gave you an intentionally nervous smile.
“Wow. Okay.”
“Sorry,” He laughed softly and curled up on your couch, shoving the decorative pillow away with his leg.
You sat next to him, taking the glass he handed you and setting it on the coffee table. Jungwon never used the coffee table. He’d just hold the drink in his hand, taking big sips of his drink and finishing it within the first ten minutes. He’d also pick up your drink and set it on a coaster because he knew you wouldn’t finish it before the condensation began to drip onto the table.
“Hey, I think that new short series came out on Netflix.”
“Which series?” You clicked on the Netflix account and picked your profile.
“It’s called ‘Manifesto: Day 1’.”
“Oh the alien one?”
“Yeah!” He watched you search it up, “The fighting in it looks sick.”
Jungwon’s brow raised slightly as he watched your body stiffen at the word “fighting”. The sip he took from the glass was audible but he laid his suspicion to rest as you fumblingly turned on the show. The list of episodes appeared, including Walk the Line the first episode which was an hour and 12 minutes long.
“Each episode is an hour?!” You exclaimed only for Jungwon to laugh in return.
“It’ll be good, don't worry.”
“Yeah okay.” You leaned back into the couch as the show began to play.
The episode was apparently over an hour long but it didn’t feel that way — and not for any good reason. The show in its violence and action drew your focus on sweatstained memories and whims of concern.
One of the characters had strapped someone to a chair and proceeded to yell at him with all the grace of a grizzly bear. Upon not receiving the answer he was looking for, he gave the tied man a swift punch across the face. It hit you hard — metaphorically — the memory of Jungwon’s bandaged fist pounding across his opponent’s face so hard that it left a sound reverberating in the small stadium.
You weren’t sure if you’d flinched or not but Jungwon’s hand had instinctively moved closer to you. Perhaps in comfort. But you just stared at those knuckles — those slightly reddened knuckles — knowing exactly what they were used for just a couple nights ago. It sent a shiver down your spine.
The bruises the characters wore, the ones they tried to hide, filled your mind with potent worry of all the injuries Jungwon had had to hide. Did he have his ribs wrapped under his big hoodies? Did he buy concealer to hide the bruising to his jaw? Has he ever gone to the ER not knowing how to explain his injuries? Has he laid awake at night in pain and had no one to talk to?
Your shoulders tensed involuntarily but unnoticeably — unnoticeably to anyone but Jungwon that is.
Unfortunately, that very man was sitting next to you, dragging his eyes across your tense body.
“Y/N.”
You jumped at the sound of your name falling from his lips. The flinch had him sitting up and staring at you intensely, eyebrows furrowed and all. Your shaky gaze met his steady one and it incited you with the most gnawing anxiety you’d ever experienced. You begged him in your mind not to ask. Of course, he did.
“Did something happen?”
Your heart stuttered out of beat and your voice was a bit too sanitized as you spoke, “What? No! Nothing happened!”
Jungwon’s face fell into an incredulous expression. His hand grabbed the remote and paused the episode before looking back at you. Staring as if the answer would appear on your forehead if he waited long enough.
“Y/N, I’ve known you for long enough to know when you’re lying to me.”
Your voice filled with bittersweet laughter, “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What doesn’t mean anything.” His brows creased impossibly more.
“I mean, it doesn’t matter how long you know someone. You never really know if they’re lying to you or not.”
Jungwon straightened and sharpened his gaze, “What does that mean?” He pressed.
You wracked your brain for an answer it didn’t have.
“Nothing. It means nothing, forget about it.”
“No, tell me. It’s obviously bothering you.”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it, Wonie.”
“Woah, hey,” He held up his hands in surrender, “I’m just trying to communicate with you. I want to know what’s wrong because I care about you.”
“You should worry more about yourself, don’t you think?” You laughed as if it would lighten the thick tension building between you.
“What do you mean by that?” He had this half smile on his face as if he was prepared to turn sweet or sour depending on your response.
A cold sweat ran across your forehead, “I mean you should really care more about yourself.”
“I take care of myself just fine.”
“Yeah… right. Sure.”
“What is wrong with you? You’re acting weird? You know I can tell when something’s wrong, we’ve been best friends long enough for that.”
“No, you can’t.” You argued, your voice starting to rise along with your body as you stood up, “I just told you it doesn’t matter how long you know someone. One day you can wake up and find out that they’ve been lying to you for years before you even close your eyes for the night!”
Something about the way he stayed completely silent with his dark eyes boring into your own had your heart falling to the floor.
“What did you find out?” He asked carefully, standing up slowly.
It was in this silence that you realized that he was waiting for your answer with a held breath, you were waiting for your answer with shallow rapid ones. Seeing him from this angle — him standing right in front of you with his broad shoulders and his big hoodie hiding his disciplined body — being hyper-aware of how aggressive Jungwon could be if he wanted to, it was a sobering thought. One that incited more fear than necessary. Jungwon was your sweet and selfless best friend: he’d never hurt you.
You swallowed thickly despite the fact.
“Nothi–”
“Tell me.”
“Jungwon…” The name was shrouded in tones of concern, fear, and disappointment.
You could see it in the gleam of his eye: the last bit of hope that you hadn’t found out dimming. You took such a deep breath your lungs stretched to its fullest capacity. You were annoyed at Jungwon for not telling you his Friday itinerary, you can’t be hypocritical and refuse to tell him you know. So, you released your breath of air and braced for impact.
“Jungwon, I followed you to the gym on Friday,” You watched his face pale and his eyes widen, “And I know that’s weird and kind of stalker-ish and part of me felt bad at first. But we have bigger fish to fry because why are you in some sort of secret, underground, WWE, fight club? And if that wasn’t illegal enough, why are there people betting on your victory?”
None of your questions were answered, “How did you get down there?” His hands came to rest on your upper arms. His touch stiffened your body into a board.
“What?” You spoke again before he could repeat the question: “How else? I went in through the shower.”
“You went into the men’s locker room?” His face conveyed just how appalled he felt.
“Ok, if we’re counting cardinal sins, I think being a part of an illegal underground boxing ring and enabling illegal gambling takes the cake here.”
Jungwon closed his eyes and sighed, attempting to push your response from his mind.
“Did anybody see you?”
“Uh,” You shrunk from the intensity of his gaze, “Well, I mean I’m sure someone did but like I couldn’t name someone off the top of my head.”
Jungwon moved his hands to drag them against his face.
“Y/N, what were you doing there?! Why did you follow me?!”
“To see if you were telling the truth about going to the gym! I mean, Jungwon you’re always unavailable on Fridays and you left our study session so fast you might qualify as having superspeed! God forbid I’m a little curious to see where you go on Fridays!”
“And?” He threw his hands up in the air, “I was at the gym. Like I said.”
Your brows furrowed in offense, “No, you weren’t? The gym is the upper floor, you were playing Rocky down in the basement with some poor guy — that you absolutely smoked, by the way — but that is not the gym!”
Jungwon looked at you as if you’d grown three heads. You felt like maybe you had.
Jungwon licked his lips once he’d arranged his thoughts, “Okay, first of all: it's not wrestling and it's not boxing. Which means WWE and Rocky do not work as analogies.” You shook your head and rolled your eyes, “Second of all, I don’t really give a damn, Y/N. You put yourself in so much danger just by being at that gym and you have no idea.”
He ran a hand through his blond hair and you caught the way he winced when he tightened his jaw.
“Jungwon,” You spoke in a grave tone.
“No, you listen to me.” He demanded in seriousness you’d never heard from him before, “You are so lucky that nobody saw you. I don’t want to see you there, I don’t want to hear about you being there, ever again. The people there are dangerous—”
“What like you?” You asked before you could stop yourself and the question hit him like a truck, “You go there. I saw what you did— What you can do.” Pure, unadulterated fear flashed in those deep browns. “It’s literally a fight club, Jungwon. Obviously it's dangerous. There are people beating up others for fun… and money.”
Jungwon huffed out a disbelieving smile, “You have no idea.”
“Then how about you tell me instead of being cryptic. But that’s what you do, isn’t it?” The words were pulled from somewhere deep in your heart, “You make a life-threatening decision and then you don’t tell anyone because you don’t think it's that big of a deal. Or am I the only one who doesn’t know?”
“Y/N, the fight club is run by crime syndicates.”
You looked like the image of stupid with the way your eyes widened and mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“What?”
“Yeah,” He spoke overwhelmingly calmly, “So, when I tell you that it’s dangerous and you should never go there again, you will listen to me.” His voice left no room for negotiation.
“And what about you? Why are you going to a fight club run by the South Korean mafia? I can’t let you go back there either.”
“I have to.”
“Oh, what a load of bull,” You rolled your eyes, “You have free will, Jungwon. Please use it to value your life.”
“Y/N, I can’t.” You knew what he would say before he said it, “I’m contracted under one of the syndicates as a fighter.”
“And you can’t get out?”
“The only way is if I bought myself out.”
“Okay,” You spoke like it was the simplest thing in the world, “Then buy yourself out.”
It only made him laugh.
Like really laugh. An uncontrollable, unceasing laugh that was tinged with something akin to bitterness.
“Why are you laughing?” You asked exhausted and beyond annoyed.
“Do you seriously think it's that easy?”
“I don’t know, Jungwon.” You were finally yelling. Your voice had been rising throughout the argument but seeing Jungwon’s lack of self-preservation sent you over the edge. “Maybe I’d understand if you actually responded to me instead of tossing me bread crumbs and hoping I’ve had my fill.”
Jungwon’s expression was so flat that it was difficult to imagine that he was laughing mere moments ago.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes!” You exclaimed, “God, yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to get for the past ten minutes.”
“I can’t buy myself out because I can’t afford to.” His eyes had never looked as dark as they did now, “I have too large of a debt to buy myself out.”
“How much?” You sighed.
Jungwon looked at something — nothing in specific — just so he wouldn’t have to look you in the eyes.
“Well, the whole reason I joined is because they said that they’d pay my tuition if I joined their fight club team.”
“Who?” Eyebrows creased as you pressed for information.
“Belift.” He took your silence as a cue to keep going. “You know I’m a black belt in taekwondo, right? When I was searching for scholarships to pay for tuition, I saw one that required a black belt in a martial art. The scholarship said that if you could prove it with pictures of your accolades or with videos then you’d receive at least five-million South Korean Won.”
“Five-million? Just for proving you had a black belt?”
“No.” Jungwon answered, his tone wrapping the word in gravity, “The scholarship was something that had to be continuously earned. The scholarship is employment-based.” He sighed and closed his eyes, when they opened they were filled with newfound focus, “Okay, basically, the scholarship functions as a job. Once you’re accepted, you join their ‘staff’ or their ‘team’ and you compete against other candidates who received scholarships. You get five-million if you win the mini tournament they have. Then you get an opportunity to fight against another opponent for seven-hundred-fifty-thousand. And it keeps going on: you fight, you win, you get paid. They pay your monthly installment for tuition using your balance and you keep fighting for them.”
Your mind stalled as you tried to wrap your head around the specifics of the deal. As you were processing, a memory washed itself to the surface of your brain. The announcers talking about Jakah’s performance last week.
“Wait so then, what happens if you lose?”
He took a deep breath, “Then the amount of money you would have won from the fight is subtracted from your balance.”
You nodded. You expected that.
“So, let me get this straight,” You began to clarify, “You joined this fight club. You won the beginning tournament against other scholarship applicants and won five-million. Then you were offered to fight again with a bag of seven-hundred-fifty-thousand each win. But if you’re in debt with the syndicate — Belift — then how many times did you lose? Because if it's just a couple million then I have some savings.” His eyes filled with a poisonous mix of adoration and shame. “I can buy you out, Wonie.”
“Seventy.”
“Pardon?”
“My debt is seventy-million.”
The air felt too thin to stay in your lungs. Your brain felt too small to carry all your thoughts.
“God, Jungwon, how many times did you lose?!”
Jungwon’s eyes became unfocused — as if he suddenly became detached from the conversation, or perhaps the topic of conversation.
“After you win five times, you enter into a different level and the price of victory becomes higher. I won five times so the victory pay-out became one-and-a-half-million. Then after you win another ten times, the pay-out is two-million. And of course, as you progress to higher levels, you fight stronger opponents.”
“Ok so at what level did you start losing?”
“Seven-million.” He informed but was quick to add, “I lost a lot but not as much as you think.”
“You lost ten times?”
“No.”
You raised a brow, encouraging him to continue.
“I lost more than that but I’ve won some back,” He ran a hand through his hair, “Then lost it again, then won it back.” His his locked onto yours, “But it’s not because I’m a bad fighter.”
You furrowed your brows, “Jungwon, I was there on Friday night. I know you’re not a bad fighter.”
“No, no, listen to me,” He placed his strong hands on your upper arms again, “Before I made it into the seven-million bracket, I was undefeated. I was on track to winning against everyone on every syndicate's roster. After I made it into that final bracket, I started losing.”
“Because your opponents got stronger?”
“No,” Jungwon’s head fell but his hands remained steady on your arms, “Every Friday it’s something new. This Friday wasn’t so bad… but it still sucked.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pulled his head up to look you in the eye, “Someone filled my water bottle with vinegar.”
“What?!”
“I found out after the first round after chugging it.”
“Ugh, gross.”
“That’s why I went so hard yesterday. I needed to end the match quickly because I was getting dehydrated.”
Your lips downturned in concern.
He paused for a moment before continuing, “And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t mad. Last week it was laxatives.”
“It was what?!” Your hand flew to your mouth to hold back your laugh.
Jungwon sighed, “Yes. My only options were to run out of the ring like a sissy or crap my pants in front of a thousand or more people.”
Your eyes stared at him wide but blank — unassuming.
“Obviously, I ran out of the ring, Y/N.” He tried to school his face into annoyance amid your outburst of laughter. “Yeah well, there have been other things too: stealing my mouth guard, blaring noises in my ears to throw off my balance, sanding the soles of my shoes flat, stealing my clothes. Everything you could think of.”
He took in the soft expression you gave him: eyebrows pulled, lips marked downward, eyes glimmering in empathy. He hated seeing it. He didn’t want you to feel pity for him or think of him as weak. That’s the last thing he wanted.
“Yeah well, I’ll let you know what happens next week.”
“No, what? Jungwon, who is doing this?” You asked him, “The sabotage is literally so unfair, get them to stop.”
“I would if I could. But I don’t know who’s doing it and I don’t think the staff would do anything about it.”
“Why not?”
“One of the rules is: in the ring anything goes. That's why I said that it’s neither wrestling or boxing. You can use any fight style, you can do anything, as long as you don’t bring a weapon and you look out for the tap-outs.”
“So, you can pretty much beat the demons out of a man until he taps-out? That’s so stupid… you’re gonna get yourself killed, Wonie.”
“Yeah but I haven’t yet.”
“Wait, but I have a question.” You watched Jungwon give you a nod with expectant eyes, “If the rule is that anything goes in the ring then all of the sabotage that happens outside of the ring is punishable, right?”
He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, “Honestly, I don’t know. My manager and the rest of the fighters for Belift know about the sabotage but no one knows who’s doing it or how to stop it. They usually don’t target the same thing twice. I think they stole my water bottle twice because the laxatives worked so well.”
He spoke in a joking manner but his words tinged the air with salt. It caused your heart to ache for him — he wasn’t safe, he was being sabotaged, and he couldn’t escape. Before you could overthink it, you wrapped your arms around his middle and held him tightly. As if your arms were strong enough to keep him safe. As if your head pressed against his chest did anything to alleviate the ache in his heart.
His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he dipped his head to rest on yours, “I’m sorry I kept this from you but you have to understand. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get wrapped up in this mess…” He paused, his chest rose and fell as his heart picked up, “I wanted to protect you. I want to keep you safe. So please, don’t go to the gym again.”
A wave of helplessness washed you onto the shore of reality. You wanted to help Jungwon but what could you do? You can’t fight. You can’t pay his debt.
“Wait here.” You commanded before running into your room and grabbing that dark blue plastic bottle. “Here,” You held the water bottle out to him, “I grabbed this on the way out of the gym last night.”
Jungwon furrowed his brows before walking to your door and grabbing his blue backpack. Zipping it open, he pulled out the same blue water bottle: Decilis University Class of 2027.
Your faces mirrored each other — eyebrows creased and eyes full of suspicion. Jungwon flipped the bottle to see the bottom of it, he turned it toward you so you could see. You mirrored his actions and showed him the bottom of the bottle you held.
Even though the rest of the bottles were identical, only the bottom of one of them claimed in plain letters: Yang Jungwon.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
“I’ve never used a different water bottle.” He glanced down at you with your eyes glued to the bottles.
“I know you haven’t. Which is why I wanna know how you suddenly acquired a second one.”
“I really don’t know. I took my water bottle downstairs.”
You turned to stare at him, “Wonie, if you didn’t leave this water bottle upstairs and you know for a fact that you brought it down to the basement then that means someone switched the water bottles.”
Jungwon furrowed his brows and then sat next to you on the couch, “Wait, what do you mean?”
“The water bottle I took home on Friday is Water Bottle A and the bottle that you took home on Friday is Water Bottle B.” Jungwon nodded his head, “You took Water Bottle A from the cafe, to the gym, and to the basement, but when you drank from it there was no longer water in it it but vinegar. And you came home with Water Bottle B and I found Water Bottle A on the floor of the gym. That means that somewhere between your arrival in the basement and the moment you drank from it in your fight, someone switched the bottles.”
Jungwon paused to compute the theory, “Okay, but that’s assuming I had Water Bottle A when I walked into the gym. And assuming someone bought our university’s water bottle just to trick me.”
“True…” You frowned, “But how would you even get a second water bottle? And how would you not realize that you were using two?”
Jungwon shrugged.
“Also, if they did switch your bottles on Friday, they probably did it last Friday too. Just, you know, with laxatives instead of vinegar.”
“Can we please not talk about that?” Jungwon dropped his head, his reddened ears hidden behind tuffs of blond hair.
You giggled at his embarrassment which caused his face to get even redder — just not for the reason you thought.
With his elbows on his knees, he turned his head to look at you, “So, how do we prove that they’ve been switching my water bottle?”
“Easy,” You smiled cunningly. “Go to the gym and make sure to leave Water Bottle B there and keep Water Bottle A with you. Then on Friday, take Water Bottle A with you to the basement, then when you go home that night see if you have Water Bottle A or B.”
He nodded, “But that won’t tell us who’s switching the bottles.”
“No, it won’t, unless…” You refrained from finishing the thought.
“No.”
“Jungwon—”
“I said ‘no’.”
“It’d be the easiest way to see who’s sabotaging you!”
“It’d also be the easiest way to put you in danger.” His gaze held you in a firm grip, “We don’t know when this person is switching the bottles and if the other fighters see that you’re coming in with me?” He let out a huff, “You were never safe there to begin with but if you come in with me then you’ll have a bright red target painted on your back.”
“You’re being dramatic, Jungwon.”
For a moment he just stared at you like you as if you’d started speaking another language. It made you feel dumb, like you were missing something.
“Y/N, there are people that owe these crime syndicates more money than I do. Some of them get off to beating up other people, some get off to watching others get their ass handed to them. Most of the people there lost in fights to me. Most of them hate me.” He paused and his gaze softened, “They will use any opportunity to get at me including hurting those I care about… I will not let you get hurt.”
You nodded because you did understand him, but he wasn’t seeing things from your perspective.
“Jungwon, I get that. I get that you want to keep me safe but I also want to keep you safe. I don’t want you to be stuck in this cycle of fighting for these syndicates and getting deeper in debt while they keep exploiting you for money.” You hoped your eyes conveyed all your desperation, in case your words failed you, “I don’t want to lay in bed every Friday night not knowing whether or not you’ll be going home to your seven centimeter dorm mattress or a hospital bed.”
Jungwon set his hand on the space between your kneecap and thigh — a safe space, close enough to be intimate, far enough to be platonic — his thumb stoked your skin only once but it was enough for a shiver to run up your spine. His eyes were filled with the pain you only get from restraint.
“I know you’re worried, but please let me handle this.”
His hand felt heavy on your knee, like he was grounding you — or maybe himself — before he took the bottles and shoved them in his backpack. Stepping into his shoes and turning to look at you for a breath of a moment. Then he stepped out the door, locking it before he left.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
It would be advantageous to say that you and Jungwon acted like nothing happened. Like you went about the next week as you always had: giggling in lectures, eating underwhelming cafeteria food, sending Instagram Reels at stupidly late hours into the night, “wya” and “wyd” texts, impromptu hang outs at your dorm, and cafe study dates at your part-time job. But none of this happened this week albeit for a text or two and one Reel you hadn’t even opened yet. The week was categorized in unsent messages, stolen glances, and hearts full of unspoken words.
Friday wasn’t as mundane as the days before, not with the whirlwind of anxiety trapping itself in your body. Your leg bounced rapidly where you sat before you got up and paced then sat back down again. Restless and repetitive. Your whole body felt unbearably hot though your air conditioner was blowing enough cold air to give goosebumps. Your mind shuffled through thoughts, theories, and hypotheticals like the flash cards you helped Jungwon study for economics. Your car keys glimmered at you like a precious diamond at the feet of a burglar.
It was only natural that you’d find yourself parked on the side of the street by the gym.
Close enough to get there quickly, far enough to not attract suspicion. You’d seen enough movies.
You dressed in a pair of jeans, a plain shirt, a baseball cap, and a black face mask. Something simple and inconspicuous — something forgettable. You peeked into the windows of the gym which framed the empty gym. The attendant at the desk got up spinned in his chair absent-mindedly with his AirPods in and his thumb scrolling through videos. You took the chance to crack the door open, slide through, and sneak past him and behind the large equipment. He didn’t look over once.
You checked the spot where Water Bottle A had been last week, with the spot being empty, you turned your sight on the locker rooms. Since you were here, three hours earlier than you had been last week, you figured a couple things would be different.
In fact, there were a lot of factors you were working with that were based off of assumptions. The first being, since Jungwon is in the highest fighting bracket and people started leaving after his match — the other brackets likely had their matches before him. The second being, since he never mentioned the scholarship having a gender requirement, there are likely women fighters as well. Which means the women’s locker room would have a door — or shower — to the basement too.
The only problem was getting down there without being seen. You walked into the locker room seeing it mostly empty and walked up to locker that was available. You glanced at the two girls who were in there, who were busy lacing up their shoes or braiding their hair out of their face. Your eyes glanced at their lockers to see two silver name plates: Huh Yunjin and Kim Chaewon. They were fighters in the basement.
With your locker door swung out, it hid your face from view and you used the opportunity to removed the jeans and shirt, revealing a workout set underneath — as if you were about to ‘hit the gym’ or whatever Jungwon usually says. You thought this might happen. The girls would be waiting for you to leave so that they could get down to the basement; you needed them to think you were just here to workout so that you could follow them without being on their radar.
So, you stepped out into the gym, walked to a machine, pretended to look for your headphones, and then walked back into the locker room. To find it perfectly empty. You threw on the jeans and tshirt and rushed to the back. And of course, the seventh shower was closed off only this time you had to figure out how to open it. You twisted and pulled the knobs but neither of them did anything. You grabbed the showerhead, examined it, pulled at it — nothing. You pressed on every tile all the way to the floor — again, nothing. You grabbed the hot handle again and pushed in and then twisted it like a normal doorknob — effectively opening the door.
A strikingly similar staircase to the one in the men’s locker room opened up and you walked down with all the confidence of familiarity. The stands were packed but they were’t quite full yet. You looked to the direction the betters had gone after Jungwon’s match — on the ground floor there was an opening which led to a long counter with recpetionist and lines of people waiting to place their bets. You walked in and watched what the people did: how and in what order. Then you repeated.
First, stop at the ATM and draw some cash.
Second, check the roster and their percentage of winning:
Bracket 1 Male — KEONHO | 57.84% vs WOONHAK | 42.16%
Female — YOONCHAE | 48.61 % vs IROHA | 51.39%
Bracket 2 Male — YUMA | 48.12% vs SUNGHO | 51.88%
JUHOON | 47.46% vs RIWOO | 52.54%
MARTIN | 46.88% vs JO | 53.22%
Female — EUNCHAE | 63.25% vs HAERIN | 36.75%
Bracket 3 Male — MAKI | 50.00% vs JAMES | 50.00%
SUNOO | 78.88% vs TAKI | 21.12%
NI-KI | 80.58% vs BAMKYU 20.42%
Female — HYEIN | 78.62 vs MINJU | 21.38%
MANON | 49.99% vs DANIELLE | 50.01%
Bracket 4 Male — HYUKA | 22.23% vs JAY | 77.77%
SUNGHOON 63.25% vs NICHOLAS | 46.75%
EJ | 43.97% vs JAKE | 56.03%
Female — YUNJIN | 65.00% vs LARA | 35.00%
HANNI | 67.36% vs MEGAN | 32.74%
KAZUHA | 57.82% vs WONHEE 42.28%
Bracket 5 Male — YEONJUN | 48.33% vs EVAN | 51.77%
SOOBIN | 13.44% vs K | 86.56%
TYUN | 42.98% vs JAKAH | 57.02%
Female — SAKURA 79.00% vs DANIELA | 21.00%
CHAEWON | 55.39% vs YUNAH | 44.61%
MINJI | 55.55% vs SOPHIA | 44.45%
Third, place bets at the counter — with the most strategic and thorough consideration in order to make the most money possible.
Of course, you would not be making any bets today. Or ever. Because it’s illegal — then again, being here probably is too, but you’re not really itching to add to your crimes. So you backed out and found a seat high up in the stands, out of view from most of the crowd, near the passage to the women's locker room. And you waited. Through 18 long matches before you saw him.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him like this before, you’d seen him like this a week ago. Dark blue shorts and a simple black tank that hugged his frame deliciously. His thick biceps on full display and his broad shoulder wider with his chest puffed slightly. You watched him set down his water bottle on a stool at the corner that he would enter the ring on. The answer to whether or not that bottle was the one he’d entered with, whether it actually held water, or if someone had yet to tamper with it, could only be answered in time.
Tyun was the opponent on the other side. He stood at around the same height as Jungwon and looked to be similarly muscular. Your eyes squinted as you watched Jungwon take in the sight of his opponent. He looked stiff and on edge. Had the sabotage already happened? Did it have anything to do with the water bottle at all or had they moved onto a different tactic. Your leg bounced slightly in your seat before you realized that the rapid motion would draw unwanted attention. You sat as inconspicuously as you could and kept your gaze on the dark blue water bottle resting on the stool. The announcers began their opening statements.
“Well, I don’t know about you Dino but I, for one, am beyond excited to see this match play out.”
“You’re not the only one S.Coups. You, me, and the rest of this crowd are ready to see this match between two of the best fighters we have in the club.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Today, in the orange shorts, we have BigHit's TYUN, who specializes in traditional boxing. We expect to see a lot of feints, well-timed strikes, and strong follow through on those punches.”
“He’s also impeccable at blocking, don’t forget S.Coups.”
“Right, of course.”
You took in the information and attempted to cross reference it with Jungwon’s fighting style but it hit you — you don’t know what his fighting style is. The only time you have ever seen Jungwon fight was last week. A fight which he said that he had been intentionally more aggressive in, in order to end the fight quickly. His default fighting style is an enigma to you.
“In the blue shorts we have Belift’s JAKAH, who specializes in taekwondo. Tonight, you’ll see from him more leg work: kicks, dodges, body-locks and things of that sort. The kid is quick on his feet, let me tell you.”
“And aggressive too! Last week was abnormal for JAKAH — throwing mean punches and taking hits head on instead of dodging and assessing how best to attack.”
“That’s true, Dino, we did see a different side to JAKAH last week. Perhaps, we’ll see a different side to him today.”
“You think he’ll recover from his losing streak? Or was last week just a stroke of luck?”
You held back a huff of annoyance. Jungwon didn’t believe in luck. He believed in hard work and maybe the tiniest bit of Fate — but not luck.
“I’m not sure but seeing as TYUN is a reigning champion in the ring… Well, let’s just say I have my money on the safer side.”
Half the group erupted in boastful laughs and presumptuous whoops. You watched Jungwon shake his head before he pointed at a roll of bandages on the ground. A guy around the same age as him handed it to him. It was then that you realized a bit of a crowd had gathered in Jungwon’s corner: some dressed like coaches or managers, some dressed like fighters. Jungwon seemed familiar with all of them or if he wasn’t, it didn’t show. It was his lack of concern that had you not blinking your eye twice at them — until their bodies began to obstruct the view of the water bottle.
“I don’t know about that, Dino, JAKAH has the better odds today with over 57 percent.”
“Yeah, but TYUN has stayed consistent in his wins and losses.” Dino argued and you watched a tall, slightly pale, incredibly buff man with nice brows call Jungwon and say something that looked along the lines of “this announcer can shove it”. “JAKAH was undefeated until about three matches into the fifth bracket. Then he went on this massive losing streak which he had yet to fully recover from.”
“Top ten mysteries of the world, huh?”
Jungwon’s coach began to advise him, using punching and blocking gestures to demonstrate his points. The blond man nodded and began to jump slightly, shuffling his feet and lightening his steps. A woman — manager, maybe — handed him his mouth guard and offered him a towel which he rejected. The crowd, which had entertained itself with side-chatter, had begun to dwindle in volume and shift their attention to the ring in the center.
You glanced over at Jungwon’s opponent and felt a wave of anxious heat flood through your veins. They did look evenly matched. Too even. But from the sounds of it, their fighting styles seemed contrasting. Like rocks versus water. Your head filled with silent prayers of victory as the buzzer sounded.
Jungwon continued to bounce between feet, keeping himself between groundedness and charge. Tyun seemed entirely more relaxed. He shuffled around Jungwon — the two of them in a dance with their steps on different beats — before Tyun advanced with jabs that were made for nothing but distraction. To pull his focus on his hands. Left. Right. Left Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Right. Right. And then knee up to Jungwon’s abdomen — which thankfully, the blond managed to dodge. Jungwon advanced this time, just as quickly as he dodged, he swept his feet under Tyun’s causing him to jump back.
You chanced a look toward Jungwon’s team who crowded around his corner, yelling cheers and suggestions that sounded more like commands. Jungwon ignored all of them, bringing his fists up to his face and exchanging them with Tyun. Firsts knock into fists, knuckles digging into forearms, legs in constant limbo between pursuit and retreat.
“JAKAH throws a steady one! And TYUN takes the opening! His fist just reaches his nose! Another light jab — it looks like he’s stunned! And a full-force punch blocked by JAKAH’s arms!”
“I don’t know S.Coups, that looks like it hurts. Hey, have you ever broken your forearm while blocking?”
“Hah! Not me personally, but there have been stranger things when it comes to JAKAH.”
You exhaled steadily as the crowd roared in laughter. Jungwon was backing up in light bounces and shaking his arms out. You weren’t a fighter but it was a telltale sign that the punch had left bruises that would soon start blooming.
Jungwon rolled his shoulders and took the same stance as before: fists up to his face with his fingers facing him. Tyun had a mirroring stance. Then in the blink of an eye, Jungwon rushed toward him and sent a kick low on the man’s stomach, too fast for him to block completely, which caused his hand to get wedge between his stomach and Jungwon's foot. With the momentum garnered, Jungwon used the foot he had on the ground to jump closer and folded his raised leg back in toward his chest before launching it up at Tyun’s face. Still stunned from the sudden kick to his gut, Tyun fails to dodge the attack fully and is left with a bloody nose. On instinct, Tyun jumps out of Jungwon’s area of attack and keeps his legs bent and his body small and defensive.
“Whew, that’s the champion I remember! And it seems like the crowd remembers him too if the jeers are any indication, huh, Dino?”
“Yeah, what a flawless double-kick from JAKAH. The change in strategy from a boxing style to his familiar taekwondo was the perfect ruse and surprise to knock Tyun off his balance.”
You released a breath that had caught itself unknowingly in your lungs. The team in Jungwon’s corner was going wild — all nine of them, still there and still cheering. You noticed that six of them were in simple tanks and shorts, much like the outfit Jungwon was wearing to fight in. The other three were in black, one of them with white lettering that read: COACH.
“And he caught him!” The announcer’s voice rang in the room, pulling your gaze from the sidelines to the center ring. “TYUN’s got a hold of JAKAH’s leg, mid-kick. Now pulling him to the mat!”
Your heart raced, pulse pounding so loud in your ears that it drowned the announcer out. You watched Tyun straddle a fallen Jungwon, landing an immediate punch across his jaw. The jaw that had been hit only a week prior. Jungwon moved his hands to push him off but another punch landed across his nose — it had you wondering if that spot was chosen because of convenience or personal vendetta. Jungwon moved his hands to his face, blocking the onslaught of punches but TYUN didn’t let up, instead standing up and readying his elbow to dig into Jungwon’s ribs as he fell on them.
Your hand flew over your mouth, leg bouncing uncontrollably, as Jungwon rolled over just in time. But as he scrambled to get back up amid the blood rushing out of his nose, Tyun grabbed his left shoulder and his waist and pulled him back before sliding his left hand over Jungwon’s neck and placing him in a headlock.
“Oh! The tide turns quickly with TYUN in the ring!”
“Oh yeah. I heard some of the betters have started calling him ‘The Magician’.”
Jungwon's hands tugged at Tyun’s arms in a vain attempt to get free. You watched his legs flail to find a grip — anything, any advantage to free himself. His face got redder, his hands more desperate, his legs more erratic. The air felt unbearable. Like you were sitting in a furnace with freshly chopped wood. The sight of him struggling, the sight of his body thrashing in desperation, the sight of his eyes closing and opening erratically, it pulled your stomach in knots and drew sweat onto your brow.
Then his hand tapped repeatedly on the other man’s bicep and without hesitation the vice he had on Jungwon was released. Jungwon coughed so loudly it reached all the way up to your seat in the makeshift stadium. His coughs were scratchy like they came from the depths of his lungs and gasped for air greedily and hungrily. His feet caught on each other as he crawled and stumbled toward his corner. Hand convulsing in a “give me” motion until his blue bottle met his hand.
His back fell on the ropes of the ring, his whole body weight supported as he leaned on them. His fingers fumbled the open the cap, coughs still falling from his chapped lips, and when he pulled the cap off, those same lips found the mouth of the bottle. He tilted it up and drank ravenously from it. His throat worked around two big gulps before he spat out a fountain of clear liquid.
“Yikes… didn’t this happen last week? I’m starting to think JAKAH doesn’t wash his water bottles….”
The rage you felt from the crowd's easygoing laughter and gossip nearly overtook the worry swelling in your heart. Your eyes took in the way Jungwon’s face scrunched up, the way his coughs became more frequent, the way the bottle slipped from his hands, and his knees inched closer to the floor. As if he’d already accepted his defeat, he just wasn’t ready to let go yet.
His team rapped their hands on the floor, yelling at him, trying to get his attention but he didn’t listen. Didn’t spare them a glance. Just swiped a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and tried to find solidity in his body again. You imagined it must have been hard. He had just been choked of all the breath in his lungs and missed out on over a minute of fresh oxygen to his blood. He almost passed out, his limbs must still be recovering, his throat must feel ornamented in glass shards, and his brain must be all fogged up without the oxygen to help him think. Then add on whatever mystery liquid had found itself in his bottle that night.
How come you didn’t see who switched the bottles?
The buzzer sounded before you could answer that question. This time, Jungwon didn’t bounce between his feet, he barely kept them steady on the ground. He was leaning to his right, like his axis had tilted and his chest rose and fell in a strange pattern. Tyun took the opportunity in stride, a quick feint with his right which Jungwon blocked. A feint with his left, then with his right. Then he grabbed Jungwon’s biceps and slammed his knee into his torso. Then he pushed him back and twisted his hips to send a deathly punch to Jungwon’s face.
Your body begged you to look away, your heart begged you to watch. It was the least you could do. The least to share in his pain.
Thankfully, he side-stepped out of the way; unluckily, his balance caused him to stumble halfway to the ground. He pushed up, eyes always on his opponent. Tyun rushed him, throwing firm cuts and landing them anywhere he could. Jungwon’s reaction time was a fraction of what it had been before and his strength looked to be significantly minimized as well. After a moment, he held his head completely, suffering through the barrage of punches. He wobbled and fell to his knees, his body teetering like it was about to fall off the edge. Tyun stepped back, confident and in no rush, before sending a kick that tipped Jungwon over and onto his back.
It was like he became a fraction of the fighter he was before. It was easy to see — you didn’t need to be his best friend to see that — not when everyone else was aware of it too. Angry yells and strings of curses protruding from the betters in the stands. People began to stand and scream insults and mockeries at the fallen man below. Jungwon’s head lolled to the side, as if his neck had no strength to support it. His arms twitched and his body tensed but he couldn’t get it to do anything beyond bracing for the incoming impact.
A kick to the ribs. A strong hand that pulled at the fabric of the black tank. A fist to the eye. Then again to the jaw. And a slam back down onto the mat for good measure. Tyun stepped back, body lax, as the referee counted from one to five in a booming voice. Jungwon’s eyes didn’t flutter open, he didn’t tap into some untouched strength. He just laid there on the ground. Unmoving. Soundless. Bloodied.
The picture of defeat.
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Pushing through the crowd was not easy. Not when hundreds of bodies were pushing and shoving in either eagerness or bitterness. You happened to fall in the former as you rushed to follow where the team was taking Jungwon. Unease swam through your mind like a rushing river. Was he okay? What happened? He was doing fine and then suddenly he wasn’t. Was the lack of oxygen too much? Were the hits to his head too hard? Does he have a concussion? Should he go to the doctor? How would he get there? Who will take him home in this condition?
The fear settling right onto your shoulders had you moving faster than before. Rushing past the center ring and to the wall at the back under some bleachers. You pushed through a set of matte black painted doors that you had seen Jungwon and his team go through. It opened into a hallway with slightly yellow, slightly dim overhead lights.
“Make sure he’s not dying on me, alright? I got other people to worry about, right now.” A man grumbled before opening and walking through another door deeper into the hallway.
You walked to the door, barely registered the bickering behind the thin wood, until a familiar voice punctured through.
“I couldn’t breathe, Riki.” Jungwon yelled, his voice scratchy and unusually deep.
“All I’m saying,” Another deep voice with a slight Japanese accent said slowly, “Is that you know that bottle is a risk and you still chose to drink from it.”
“You’ve never been choked have you?” A softer voice asked, likely directed at the boy with the Japanese accent.
“Riki,” Jungwon said after a sigh, “There’s nothing I can do to stop the sabotage unless I know who’s behind it. It was a calculated risk.”
Your brows furrowed in concern. Jungwon’s words were slurring slightly, his intonation was off kilter, and his volume was somewhere between too loud and too mumbly.
“Yeah, a risk that caused you twenty blows to the head.” A different voice spoke flatly.
“Everclear.” This voice came out in a perfect American accent before returning to Seoul Korean, “They put everclear in your bottle and you chugged it.”
“Genuinely, how can you tell that that’s everclear just by smelling.” An Australian man asked in English.
“I know my alcohol.” The American responded before returning to Korean, “Anyway, this is ninety-five percent, high proof alcohol, and he chugged it. If he didn’t lose equilibrium from getting choked, he lost it about five minutes after drinking this.”
“Yeah, his reaction time slowed significantly.” A sweet voice spoke next.
“And there’s no point in talking to him right now because he genuinely looks on the verge of passing out. Great.” The first guy — Riki — said.
It was at this remark that you opened the door, immediately locking eyes with a red-flushed Jungwon, who stood up straight at the sight of you.
“Y/N?!”
“Jungwon!” You grabbed his head, ignoring the simmering confusion gracing the room, and checked his eyes for any abnormality. “How’s your head?”
“Y/N, what are you doing here?” His eyes were wide in shock. From the closeness, you could see his face already beginning to swell, the dried blood crusted on the edges of his nostrils, and a split on his bottom lip.
“Oh God, Jungwon!” You exclaimed, “Do you need to go to the hospital? I’ll drive you. Can you walk? Where are your other injuries?” Your hands fumbled to the hem of his tank top, about to pull it up to assess the injuries to his abdomen, when Jungwon’s firm hand caught your wrists.
His body swayed unsteadily for a moment, he blinked harshly at you, as if he was forcing his eyes to focus on your face and begging his brain to produce a worthwhile thought.
“I told you not to come here again.” His voice teetered on the edge of passion and breathlessness, “I thought I made that clear.”
His voice held a harshness he had never before taken with you.
“Yes, I know that but—”
“But what?!” He nearly yelled, the force behind his voice causing him to shuffle his feet to find his balance. “There’s nothing — nothing! — you can tell me that would convince me that you being here was a good idea!”
“Not even—”
“Nothing!” He slid his hands to your shoulders but for what reason, it was harder to tell. To maximize the intensity of his words or to keep him balanced via your support. “How long have you been here? Who saw you? Damn it, Y/N.” His fingers squeezed your shoulders as he dropped his head.
You assumed he did it to hide his face. Too ashamed to grimace in front of you or show any sign of pain, fragility, or weakness.
“Jungwon, I’m just trying to help you.”
“Helping me would be staying away.” He grumbled, blinking his eyes back in focus to you. “Not intentionally disobeying me when I specifically asked you not to come here. What were you going to do?”
“I couldn’t sit at home knowing that you were going to fight someone and unfairly at that!” You argued back, hands coming up and taking hold of his forearms. Gently, knowing all that they’ve been through tonight alone. “I couldn’t sit back while you were here, alone, facing unknown threats from unknown people.”
“I’ve been doing that for the better part of a year, Y/N, I don’t need you here, risking your safety, attracting unwanted attention, worrying me, and distracting me from my job.”
“This is not a job.”
Jungwon brought a hand to his head and stumbled back slightly. He stood frozen for a moment before shaking his head and turning his tired, fuzzy vision onto you.
“You’re here because you want to protect me from liabilities?” He asked rhetorically, “You are a liability.”
You took a deep breath, expecting this outcome but bursting at the seams with annoyance all the same, “You’re saying I’ve made things worse by being here?”
“Yes!” His voice hit your ears sharply.
“Fine.” You nodded and turned to leave. Footsteps fast and gaze anywhere but the seven pairs of eyes in the room. Jungwon’s hand grabbed your upper arm sloppily and his gaze met yours flat, exhausted, and disappointed.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Back into the arena? Back into the gym? Then out to your car? In the dark? With dozens of fighters pent up from losses or high on victory adrenaline? With hundreds of angry betters and happy ones who think they can double their luck?” He didn’t even stop to laugh, “You think I’m gonna let you go out there and put yourself in more danger than you already are?”
“And what are you going to do?” You asked angrily, the words highlighting the way his eyes blurred in and out of focus, the way his body leaned too far to the right, the way his body was perpetually stiffened — as if the injuries increased in pain when he let loose.
And even with the drunken daze hindering his abilities to stand, talk, see, and think, it was obvious, his desperation. Your shirt clenched slightly in his fist, the furrow in his brows, and the helplessness veiling his dark brown eyes. Desperation was evident in the small details of Jungwon’s being.
His devotion to keeping you safe was no longer enough.
You watched the thought conceptualize as his grip tightened fractionally.
“I’ll make sure she gets out,” A tall man placed his strong hand on the blond’s shoulder. He had a small cut on his right cheek and a gaze soft enough to cover the room in confident peace. “There’s nothing you can do in this state, so let me take her home.”
Jungwon’s shoulders released their tension before tensing up again. If he tried to bite back a grimace, he failed.
“And I,” A man, with angular eyes and the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen, walked toward you, stopping a safe distance away, “Will make sure he’s okay and taken care of.” Something about the way he stared at you as he spoke gave you the impression that he was a man of his word. And you nodded slightly and mumbled a thank you.
And with one last look at Jungwon — or the wreck of him that Tyun left behind — you walked off with his friend. Hat pulled down and mask pulled up, the other boy dressed in a black hoodie and sweats. He led you down the hallway, around various corners, through an exit door, and up a staircase.
The night air was cold and crisp as you led him to your car a few streets out, pleading with him to just let you drive yourself home, promising to text him when you did, and thanking him before driving away. The air of your apartment wasn’t any warmer, not even after a mindless shower, not even after you threw your duvet over your body and snuggled into the sheets.
It was then that you thought: maybe the chill had nothing to do with the temperature in the air but everything to do with the warmth of Jungwon’s words.
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If the week prior had been isolating and strenuous on your relationship with Jungwon, the next week was infinitely worse. You had texted Jungwon’s friend — Heeseung, the one who offered to take you home — that you had gotten there safely. That being his only condition in letting you drive off alone. You had contemplated texting Jungwon too but the cursor blinked on the message bar continuously for minutes. You hadn’t typed a thing.
Instead, you messaged Heeseung. You asked how Jungwon was, if he had any severe injuries, if he had gone to the hospital, if he was at home recovering, and similar things of that nature. Heeseung responded quickly, said he was at Jay’s apartment. Jay, being the man with the sharp jawline. He informed that Jungwon was recovering but he was resting after the harsh beating. Told you that Jungwon wouldn’t be attending any of his lectures this week.
You had swallowed thickly and said thank you. Then went about your week as normally as you possibly could without your twin flame by your side. You attended your own lectures with disinterest but you eagerly met with Jungwon’s professors to get notes for the lectures that he missed. You went to the cafeteria, walking in with no appetite and leaving with even less of one. You skipped out on library study sessions, cafe study sessions, and you picked up extra shifts at the cafe you worked at. Pouring the espresso shot and steaming the milk had been something you’d intentionally been precise with, but you found yourself calling the customer’s name before you even realized you’d finished the drink.
As the days neared closer and closer to Friday, you itched to know. To know if Jungwon had recovered. To know if he was fighting again on Friday. To know if you should tell him what you saw or didn’t see. To know which bottle he had come home with. To know if he was still mad at you.
You: hey heeseung! i was just wondering if there was an update on jungwon’s condition?
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Hey yeah he’s ok
You: is he back at his dorm or is he still at jay’s
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Uhh I think he should be back at his dorm tonight but he’s not rn
You: oh is he at jay’s
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Yes
You: can i come see him?
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Uhhh no I don’t think so
You: why not?
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Because he’s napping rn
You: he’s not there is he? jungwon hates taking naps
heeseung (wonie’s friend): Yeah no he’s not there. Sorry
You: is he at the gym?
You: will he be there on friday?
The bold “read” timestamp mocked you for a good 15 minutes before you got up. Changing into workout clothes and grabbing your things. Pulling up to the gym, you noted that it didn’t have that uncanny feeling anymore. Perhaps it was because of the time of day, perhaps it was because you were familiar with a different feeling that it brought you: worry.
You saw him much before he saw you, though it took you a minute to find him. The gym was much larger than you thought and had an annex which led to a room with two small dingy boxing rings and a couple of punching bags. The bruises on his face were turning a sickly yellow, indicating the nearness of a full recovery. The split on his lip was scabbed over and healing nicely — you assumed that was largely due to the immediate dousing of alcohol it got, thanks to the everclear. The rest of his injuries were hidden beneath his clothing. The strength of his punches against the heavy bag and the lightness of his feet as he kept them moving proved the after effects of low oxygen and everclear had long filtered out of his body.
He looked good. Strong. Determined. Healthy. Glowy. Handsome.
It almost drew you into your cowardice. To flee from him before your boldness made you even more of a liability than you already were. But by that point he had already turned his gaze up to see you. And stopped the rocking of the punching bag. His heavy breaths were the only sound that traveled between you two and it made your mind race. What was he thinking? Was he mad? Why wasn’t he saying anything?
He closed his eyes and released a deep sigh.
“I just came to give you this.” You announced, holding up your duffel bag with two hands.
“Your bag?” He asked with his brows drawn upward. His voice had returned to normal: no longer deep, scratchy, and cold. Just sweet, gentle, and warm. Just Jungwon.
“Well, no,” You unzipped it, “What’s in it.” You clarified and subconsciously registered his slow approach to you. You turned your gaze up to see him fully. He wore a black compression shirt and a pair of black sweats — the dark colors contrasting the lightness of his hair. “Here.”
His face was framed in incredulity as he took the rectangular box from your hand, “What is this?”
“Open it.”
At your command, his fingers made quick work and freed the product from the box. A 40oz, dark blue, steel water bottle — one of the trendy ones.
“I know you loved your old one,” You started, “But I think this one would be safer.”
He flipped the bottle over to see the bottom and smiled slightly at the neatly written letters of his name. Letters written by you.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” You agreed, an ocean of words held behind the floodgates of your sudden anxiety. “I know you probably don’t want to know but I didn’t see it happen.”
He raised a brow at your vagueness, “I’m gonna need a little more than that.”
“The water bottle, I didn’t see anyone take it or change it. So, it must’ve happened before I got there or maybe when I wasn’t paying attention.”
Jungwon twisted the steel bottle in his hands, his mind chewing on the new information, “Yeah, I made sure that I had Water Bottle A before I set it down on that stool.”
You furrowed your brows slightly, “So then, sometime during the match? Someone switched it?”
Jungwon nodded, pressing his lips together, and staring at the bottle in his hands, “Yeah…”
“But the only people in that corner the whole match were…”
“My friends, my coach, and my managers,” He finished for you, “Yeah, I know.”
“And no one saw who did it?”
Jungwon shook his head before setting the bottle down. And stepping closer to you.
“Thank you… for the bottle,” His tone betrayed the next word that would come out of his mouth before he even formed the next sound, “But, you know I can’t have you here.”
You turned your eyes downcast and tried to pretend like dejection wasn’t seeping into skin like a soft but consistent rain. His hand found a vacancy on your shoulder and took it — another liminal space between intimacy and platonicity — which caused you to shift your gaze to him.
“These past two weeks… I’ve felt more estranged from you than I ever have and I’ve hated every minute of it.” He sighed as if it would alleviate any of the ache in his heart, “I care about you too much to keep going like that.” This thumb brushed softly on your shoulder, “I want us to go back to normal. The way we were before you found out about all of this.”
You knew exactly what that meant, exactly what he was asking you to do. Forget all you ever saw, all he ever told you. Pretend none of it happened. Tell your heart to not care so much.
“I’ll handle it, alright?” His voice warm enough to smooth the wrinkles on your forehead, “Don’t worry about me.”
“You know I can’t do that.” You whispered.
His eyes shifted between yours and his finger traced the strap of your workout tank top, “Yeah but I’d like it if you’d try.”
As you took in his pleading eyes and felt the worry of his fidgeting hand, you supposed, it was the least you could do. For him. To pretend like everything was normal. To not add to his stress. To not make things worse for him.
You broke eye contact, “Only if you come over and finish watching Manifesto: Day 1 with me.”
His soft laugh drew a smile to your lips.
“Want me to bring snacks?”
You shook your head, “No, me and the apple green tea will be waiting for you Saturday night.” You told him, choosing Saturday since you knew he wouldn’t be able to attend on Friday. You hesitated to step back — to leave the warmth that his nearness radiated.
“Good.” He returned, his eyes had never left your face, fingers never stopped fiddling with your top, and his voice gave the impression that his mind wasn’t thinking about the current conversation at all. Not with a sight so beautiful in front of him.
But all things must come to an end, as you stepped away from his touch and pulled your gaze from him. Increasing the distance between your bodies but somehow feeling less estranged than you had in weeks. You passed through the front door and into the parking lot, driving off with more of a day in mind than a destination.
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It would be a lie to say that you were calm on Friday. No, you were anything but. You knew you’d be jittery and anxious from the start so you called the White Fang Cafe, asked if you could take another shift, desperate to distract yourself. You even pulled a double but your hopes fell flat as you found your mind embracing the thought of him only seconds after you’d promised not to think of him again.
Everything brought your thoughts back to him. The iced americano you made for a customer named Harua reminded you of the cafe study dates that Jungwon and you would always do — ones where he’d always get an iced americano even if he said he’d try something new. The chocolate croissant you warmed up reminded you of the time he had argued that a chocolate strawberry croissant should be invented and not taking your word for it that it definitely already had been. The order of a lemon, ginger, honey tea reminded you of when he showed up to your apartment the week you caught a bad cold — you riddled off the recipe from the cafe and watched him follow your words perfectly from the domestic lighting of your kitchen.
For twelve long hours, your thoughts branched in every direction and yet they were all rooted in one thing: Jungwon. Not even the comfort of your bed could dispel your mind from thoughts of Jungwon. Not when your mind depicted his strong arms wrapped around you and the warmth of his body sheltering you from every threat — even the cold. You only wished you could’ve done the same for him.
As promised, a little after five, you heard a few soft knocks emanating from the front door. Your feet rushed there like a kid to a tree on Christmas morning. You swung the door open excitedly, nearly knocking a picture frame off the wall as it slammed slightly into it. Just beyond the threshold of your apartment stood your best friend in all his glory. Freshly washed hair, a black shirt that clung to his chest and arms as if it were slightly too small, and a pair of grey sweatpants that you forced your eyes to look away from.
You were expecting a face slightly more beaten than what he had. His jaw was starting to paint on the purple of a bruise and his lip definitely tore open again but other than that. He seemed fine. Perhaps his fight with Tyun was uncharacteristically brutal. Or maybe Jungwon had won his last fight.
“Hi,” He licked his dried lips, taking in your appearance as if it were something to admire. Though you were only in a tank top and simple pajama shorts.
“Hi,” You returned the greeting and stepped out of his way.
His eyes swept across your apartment, taking in the coffee table which was arranged with chili lime chips, buttered popcorn, and his favorite jelly candies. Alongside two bottles of apple green tea and two cups with ice. The TV displayed the next episode on the screen, titled TFW (That Feeling When).
“That eager to see me, huh?” He teased as he kicked off his shoes and took his seat on your couch. The same spot he always sat in. Grabbing his bottle of apple green tea and pouring it into the glass.
Your laugh came out slightly unnaturally. Any normal person wouldn’t be able to tell but Jungwon was not just any normal person. You curled up on your side of the small couch and pressed play. Reaching over and grabbing the tea bottle, struggling slightly to break the seal. You switched hands and tried to recover your pride but before you could give a second attempt, Jungwon held his hand open, offering his help. You placed the bottle in his hands and watched them make quick work of the seal before pouring the golden liquid into your cup and twisting the cap back on.
Wordlessly, he sat back and returned his attention to the show. Yet your eyes stayed glued to him. Him and the small curve of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the glimmer of his blond strands as the setting sun hit them, the light reflecting his dark brown eyes, and the dimple forming on his cheek as he fought back a sly smile.
Manifesto: Day 1 was primarily an action show — it’s why Jungwon chose it — but the episode you were on had quite a large subplot of romance. The main characters out on the sands of a beach, the summer sun setting sipping behind the waves. It was ideal. Serene. Perfect, almost. An image of peace amid chaos. It was these scenes that had Jungwon pulling his brows together and letting the edges of his lips downturn.
The end credits of the episode began to roll and the soft music did nothing to hide the tension that had suddenly grown. You took a small sip of your drink and then turned to blond only to find him staring out into space. The second to last episode began to play, dark and action-packed, and fitting for the mood that had settled in the room like a thick autumn fog.
The sun dipped behind the horizon and the frames of the show flashed by before you could register that you had made it to the final episode. Vaguely, you remembered the scenes but they felt more like apparitions than anything real — or as real as a television show could feel — and while the final words were spoken by the characters, their voices were drowned out by the weight of Jungwon’s stare.
His eyes seemed darker than usual, they seemed to carry more pain than they ever had before. The way his eyes bore into yours told a thousand words, ones you weren’t quite ready to see fall from his pretty lips.
Jungwon wasn’t the type of person to give you the outline and have you color it in. He doesn’t like small talk, or beating around the bush, or making someone read between the lines. He doesn’t speak with fine print in the footnotes of his sentences and he hated peeling bandaids off.
“Y/N, I think we need to talk.”
Avoiding it was pointless. When Jungwon made his mind up about something, that was it. There was no negotiation. And yet somehow, you found yourself shaking your head.
“No…” You stood up, shaking your head as you looked down at him.
He averted his eyes from you and released a deep sigh, “I got a message last night. A picture of you and I at the gym.” He paused, “There was no caption, no number attached, but the message was clear.” He turned to look into your eyes. “You aren’t safe.”
Your brows creased, “Okay but that’s fine, right? We agreed that I’d never go to the gym again.” Your heart thumped erratically as if it knew something your brain hadn’t found out yet.
Jungwon bowed his head and then shook it slightly, standing up from his spot on the couch and turning to pour every emotion held within his dark eyes into yours. You could barely hear him over the rush of blood in your veins.
“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long.” He whispered, placing his hands on your biceps. “I’ve put you in more and more danger and I was careless.” His thumbs brushed your skin. He swallowed painfully, eyebrows creasing as he desperately searched for the right words. “I know I told you that staying away from the gym was enough, but it’s far too late for that now.” Hesitance chased the path of his eyes as he looked back at yours, “Your life has been put at risk because of me and I—” He ripped his head to the side, pressing his lips together.
He slid his hands across your shoulders and up your neck, before cupping your cheeks — entirely intimate, barely if at all platonic — and holding your gaze all the same. There was no room for argument in his words. The hot press of fear crawled up the back of your neck: everpresent, ever-unwelcome.
“Y/N, I love you more than I could ever express. Which is why I refuse to put you in danger any longer.” His voice was gruff and his eyes shone glossy. “Please don’t misunderstand me when I tell you that I would give everything just to have you… but I can’t — I won’t — be the reason that someone hurts you.”
You shook your head and swallowed, eyes stinging and filling with bitter tears, “So what does that mean? What are you saying?” His eyebrows furrowed deeper at the way your voice restrained the emotion bursting within your heart. A biohazardous concoction of emotions: fear, sadness, frustration, disappointment, embarrassment, longing, dread, love. All in a vile poison seeping through your veins.
Jungwon licked his drying lips, “I’m saying this is it for us. Being around me puts you in too much danger. I’m not willing to risk your life just because I love you.” His voice faltered at the end of his sentence.
“But that’s not your choice to make, Jungwon!” Your voice was brittle and you tried to ignore how comforting his hands felt as he swiped your tears away. “You don’t get to decide whether I can stop being around you or not.”
“This is the only way to protect you. This is the only solution. There’s no other choice.”
He chewed slightly on his bottom lip. Your lips shivered as you tried to form words but your voice had been robbed from you. There was everything to say and no way to put it — not in a way that Jungwon would ever agree with. He cared for you too dearly to stand idle in the face of what could hurt you. Even if the thing that could hurt you is himself.
Jungwon’s dark eyes dragged from your equally intensive gaze, down your tear stained cheeks, and landed on your quivering lips. He stared at them with the utmost of longing, as if he was grieving something within reach that was never to be had. Your eyes followed suit.
Breaths mixed with essays of unspoken words amid love confession tainted with dreadful farewells. You almost despised how easy it was for him to cause butterflies to invade your stomach despite the ever-growing pit.
He was utterly selfish. At least that’s what he told himself as he closed the distance between the two of you. Stopping only centimeters away from your face.
“God, I love you more than you will ever know.” He whispered, waiting for a rebuttal or a rejection. The silence encouraged his eyes to close and his lips to brush yours like a feather. Like you were delicate. Like he wasn’t allowing himself to commit.
He heaved a breath onto your lips and pressed your foreheads together. With his eyes closed, he couldn’t see the tears flowing from your eyes or the way your face contorted as you spoke.
“You’re saying that you’re leaving me because you love me…” You paused to renew your fading voice, “If that’s true then… I really wish you loved me less.”
Your vision took in the way his screwed shut — big tears dropping from the sides of his pretty eyes. And as if he couldn’t endure the sight of your grief caused at his hand, he moved his lips up to your forehead and pressed a soft kiss.
Then he ripped his hands from you as if he knew that if he kept holding onto you, he would never let you go.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
“Okay,” You breathed out and set down the iced vanilla latte on the table, “I’m really glad you agreed to come see me.” You slid into the seat across from your guest. He looked much different in the lighting of the cafe — not necessarily because of the lighting but because he forwent the boxing shorts and compression shirts.
“Yeah, no problem.” He gave you a small smile, “And thanks for the free latte.”
“Of course! It’s the least I could do to repay this favor.” He nodded and took a sip of the latte, “Also technically, I got it for free too, since I work here.”
At his nod, you felt maybe you had invalidated his gratefulness at your gesture. You frowned slightly and pulled out your notebook and pen before you began to speak.
“Alright, so, like I said on the phone, I had a few questions about the whole uh… gym thing,” You introduced, “And I was wondering if you’d be able to give me some answers.”
“Yeah, I actually had a question about that.” He continued at your nod, “Why don’t you just ask Jungwon?”
It was incredibly difficult to ignore the way your heart ached at the sound of his name, “Oh, you know him. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” After a sip of your own drink, you asked your first question. “So, let’s start with the basics: how does the betting system actually work?”
Heeseung sighed as he gathered his thoughts, “Well, I’ve never actually placed a bet there but I know the basic procedure. You first draw cash from the ATM.” He paused, considering what he just said, before adding to it, “All bets must be paid in cash because they want the littlest paper or digital trail possible. After they draw the money, they check the scoreboard and the percentage chance of winning that each fighter has in their respective matches. After they decide who to vote for, they bring their bets to the front desks, fill out a piece of paper with their betting information, and give it to the attendants.”
You nodded. Everything that he informed you of was what you had already seen when you were last there. You saw the ATMs, you saw the scoreboard, you saw the three attendants at their desks handing slips of betting information. Since he wasn’t offering information beyond that, you had to pry it out yourself.
“So, what happens to the betting money and how do people get paid?”
Heeseung didn’t miss a beat, “The attendants collect the money into pools: one for each fighter. The pools’ amount is based on the amount collected from those voting for them. The pool of whoever wins the fight, keeps its money and adds on the pool from the loser. The money is then distributed from the joined pool but it's all based on percentages.”
Both yours and Heeseung’s attention was drawn at the booming voice from behind the counter. Your heart dropped to the floor as your coworker called some customer’s name to pick up their drink. It was unfortunate that the name “Jungyeon” sounded a bit too much like “Jungwon”. You shook your head to rid your body of the sudden adrenaline and to regain focus. “Uh… wait I’m confused, what do you mean?” You asked him to clarify.
Heeseung sighed, “You should really just get Jungwon to tell you, he’s a business major and knows how to talk about money in a way that’s more… understandable.”
“No, no,” You waved your hands, “You’re doing just fine! Maybe just an example would help me understand it more!”
He took a moment to consider before nodding his head, “Alright, let’s say Jungwon and I are in a match together. The odds of me winning are higher than Jungwon by a sixty-eight percent to thirty-two percent split… don’t look at me like that.”
You dropped your raised brow and stifled a laugh, “Sorry, continue.”
“More people are willing to bet on me than Jungwon because I’m more likely to win. However their payout is smaller. For example, if you were to bet fifteen-thousand on me then you’d only receive eighteen-thousand if I won. But if you put fifteen-thousand on Jungwon then you’d get twenty-two-thousand if he won, because he had worse odds.”
“Oh,” You dragged the sound out, “Okay, I get it. The reward you get from betting is bigger when you bet on the underdog because it's more risky!”
“Yeah, exactly. But that’s just one layer of many. The next thing you have to understand is what happens to the money after one of us wins. If my betting pool is one-million and Jungwon’s is five-hundred-thousand, the pool of the loser is allocated to the pool of the winner. Meaning, if I won, then that five-hundred-thousand from Jungwon’s pool would be allocated to mine.”
“Got it. The winner gets all the money.”
“Well, not really.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink, his furrowed brows a clear sign of his deliberation in how to explain, “That one-point-five-million would then be distributed among the betters and to the syndicate of the champion. The syndicate always places a bet on their fighter, so if their fighter wins then they receive their payout. But normal betters also receive theirs.”
“Wait, so the winner of the fight doesn’t get any money?”
“Uh…” He thought for a moment, looking off to the other side of the cafe and then back toward you, “I’m not sure how other syndicates do it but in BE:LIFT, they give a set price per match. At the level Jungwon and I fight at, we receive seven-million per win. Jungwon, I believe, has his winnings deposited directly toward his tuition but I have mine deposited to my bank account.”
You nodded, scribbling down a note that was just out of Heeseung’s view, “Alright so just to recap: the more the odds are in favor of a person, the less the payout will be if you bet on that fighter and both pools of bets are collected to be distributed to the betters of the champion?”
“Correct.”
“Okay, great.” You furrowed your brows and began bouncing your leg. You were unsure how Heeseung would take the next topic and if he’d refuse to answer. You needed to broach the subject very carefully in order to get the information you wanted.
Where Jungwon was a guy that struggled to beat around the bush, you could do it all day long. Jungwon was direct, straightforward, and blunt to a fault, but you could play between the lines, skid along the edge, and walk gracefully across eggshells — getting the answer you wanted without having the person know that they’d given it to you.
“Actually, Heeseung, I was wondering,” You took a sip of your drink to feign nonchalance, “Jungwon mentioned that anything goes in the ring but how does that pertain to sabotage?”
Heeseung sat back in his seat, visually and literally taken aback, “Wow, um… I guess, sabotage isn’t really allowed. I mean, Jungwon is really the first person that I’ve seen get sabotaged but even then, I only know he gets sabotaged because I’m his friend. I don’t think others know.”
“Okay…” Your heart began to speed up a little at the prospect of having to prod for more information, “But I thought the sabotage had been going on for a while? You’re saying that no one but you, Jungwon, and the other five have noticed?”
The man chewed slightly on the straw of his drink, “I guess it has been a while hasn’t it? Jungwon doesn’t like to talk about it much.” He took a breath before continuing, “The sabotage that they put Jungwon through has been pretty undercover. Not only how they pull it off but the actual things themselves. Like, one time they stole Jungwon’s mouthguard, which meant the whole game he had to be extra careful not to get hit in the face. Which slows you down more than you’d realize.”
“Yeah, I bet…” You frowned. You’d seen Jungwon get hit in the face more times than you liked, but you never realized how much worse it could have been if he didn’t have something as simple as a mouthguard.
Snapshots of Jungwon flashed through your mind: one where leaned against the bars of the boxing ring, skin glistening with sweat, and his eyes glancing toward the crowd; one where he sat in your living room, face petrified with fear, and his voice tense in worry; another where his body convulsed, his feet scrambled to purchase solid ground, and his hands clawing desperately at another man's arm around his neck; another where he brings his lips so close to yours they barely brush, and you know he wants more, you know you want more, but he rips his hands away and calls it noble, even as he leaves with two bloodied hearts in his wake.
You pressed your eyes together to rid yourself of the thoughts — the memories — and instead bring your attention to the task at hand.
You knew what you wanted to ask — you’d been wanting to ask it since Jungwon told you that the people who could have sabotaged him on the night you were there were the nine people in his corner. You figured that it wasn’t the other six fighters because they had no reason to sabotage Jungwon who was, not only their friend, but also not their opponent. Fighters from the syndicates did not fight each other. Therefore, the only other suspects are the managers and the coach. Who almost equally didn’t have a reason to sabotage Jungwon.
You tread carefully with your next question, “Aren’t the managers or the coach supposed to make sure that you guys have all the things you need to fight, though?”
“Yeah, and they usually do.” Heeseung sighed, “I don’t know, maybe… no, that can’t be it.”
“What?”
“Well, our managers are relatively new.” He shrugged, “One of them was hired four months ago and the other was hired maybe two weeks later? I was gonna say that it might be that they forgot to make sure he had his mouthguard because they were new. But they had been working for about two months at the time of this incident.”
You nodded, the scratch of your pen against paper drowning in the sound of the collective chatter in the cafe. “Is anyone figuring it out?” You asked next, your eyes glancing at him while you continued to write, “Shouldn’t the coach or someone do something about this ongoing sabotage?”
Heeseung scratched his forehead, “He really should be but… I’m not sure if he is.” Heesueng tapped his fingers rhythmically on the surface of the table, “I think he mentioned it to Kim Taeho once but nothing has happened to stop it.”
“Who’s Kim Taeho?”
“The big boss…” He said with his eyes pointed, “The man at the top.”
“Right, so shouldn’t he want Jungwon to win all of his fights? Isn’t he forced to bet on all his fighters? Why hasn’t he done anything to stop this?”
“I’m not sure,” His face was downcast, “And yeah, he is forced to bet for all his fighters. It's a rule all the syndicates have. Even if the odds aren’t in their favor at all, they still have to put an equal wager on their fighter.”
“An equal wager to the other syndic—”
“Y/N.” A voice next to you spoke flatly. You turned to see your manager's unamused face, “Your shift started ten minutes ago.”
Both you and Heeseung stared at her like deers in headlights.
“Oh.”
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
You had officially met all the prerequisites to be instated in a mental asylum. On the blank part of your wall, next to your window and parallel to your bed, you had sticky notes and thin red washi-tape to mimic those detective boards in all the movies. Among an array of sticky notes were three that were all in a row, they read: The Coach, Manager 1, and Manager 2. Both managers had been crossed out leaving just the coach, you had asked Heeseung for the coach’s name before you had left for your shift. His name, in fine print on the sticky note, was Park Hyun.
Your conversation with Heeseung had turned out to be more fruitful than you had ever anticipated it to be. You were able to remove the two managers from your small list of suspects based on two conversations you had: one with Jungwon and one with Heeseung. From your conversation with Jungwon, a few weeks ago, you had learnt that the sabotage had been happening for the better part of a year. In your conversation with Heeseung, you had learnt that the managers had only been working there for about four months — making it impossible for them to have been pulling off the sabotage. This left only one suspect: the coach.
The next thing to do was to answer why the coach was sabotaging his own fighter. Though the answer was obvious, right? You would only sabotage someone if you were betting for the other side. The coach must be sabotaging Jungwon to ensure that he loses in order to win his bets every time, instead of helping him become an unbeatable opponent. Therefore, the only thing you had left to do was prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the coach was sabotaging Jungwon because he was betting against him. Once you did that, you could send off your evidence to this Kim Taeho guy and get Jungwon fair chances to dig himself out of his own grave.
The only issue was: how were you going to prove the coach was sabotaging and betting against Jungwon? And how would you get the leader of a crime syndicate to look or care about the evidence — if you could even get his contact information in the first place. You ripped your gaze from the mess of sticky notes and red washi-tape, pacing around your room, and fidgeting with the rings on your fingers.
Your eyes glanced at the phone tossed haphazardly on your bed. A slightly worn polaroid of you and Jungwon, with big smiles and frosting smeared over your faces at Jungwon’s birthday last year, laid sandwiched between your phone and its clear case. Your eyes stung at the sight and a panging pain entered your wounded heart. You hadn’t spoken to him in days and you had discovered that the absence of his words hurt more than his goodbye ever did.
Under normal circumstances, you could have asked Jungwon for help and he would’ve been at your side before you could even finish the ask. Because that was Jungwon. He stole your bottle straight from your hands, wordlessly, to help you open the cap. He walked into your apartment like he owned it and he took care of it like he lived there. Dinners where he’d do all your dishes, not just the ones he dirtied. Without asking, he’d take your trash out, giving you a small smile when he’d come back to find the bag already replaced. Like teamwork came just as naturally to the two of you as acts of service came to him.
You wondered whether he’d even pick up if you called. This was Jungwon, he’d always pick up as soon as he saw the flash of your face and name light up his screen. Then again, this was Jungwon, who would do anything and everything in his power to keep you safe, even if it cost him everything.
Taking a deep breath, you opted for the next best solution to get the evidence you needed. Coming to terms with the fact that if Jungwon ever found out, he would blow a fuse. But the mission was to not be caught, anyway.
At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you stepped off the bus and walked the two blocks to the parking lot of the HYBE gym. Cap securely over the wig that you had purchased just a few days before; glasses pushed up over your eyes and mask pulled over your nose. You’d seen many girls wearing the same set of leggings and a tight fit jacket in their gym vlogs, taking inspiration, you had purchased them as well.
The gym was in a weird limbo between busy and empty. At five on a Wednesday morning, only the true early birds and unfortunate employees were gracing the walls with their presence. And you, of course, as you deliberately chose to come in right as the doors opened, when the sleep deprived teenage employees would be too busy fighting to stay awake than pay attention to whoever was walking through the doors.
You entered as the employee turned around in his chair and headed toward the women’s locker room. Thankfully, you traversed the labyrinth of gym machines without being stopped and walked into the locker room uninterrupted. The room was a ghost town, silent except for the rapid beating of your heart. This being the second time you’d done this, you opened the secret shower door with ease and shut it softly behind you. Your steps against the stairs were feather-light, ensuring that if anyone was in the basement, they wouldn’t be notified of your presence.
The basement looked completely different than it did on Friday nights. The lights were off, albeit for a few that stayed lit no matter what per safety policies. You stopped on the end of the staircase, listening for any sounds of life, searching for any movement. Upon finding none, you moved lightly and quickly toward the stairs that run down the bleachers. Only two steps in and you realized that the bleachers squeak as you move. You ducked down, hiding in case someone were around, before slowly crawling to the edge of the bleachers. Grabbing a hold of the railing, you climbed down the support beams at the back and landed softly on the concrete ground below. Flushed between the wall and the bleachers, you slid through the small alleyway and made your way toward the reception desks. Glancing all the while, conscious of the danger with the hairs on your arm standing up and the erratic thumping in your ribcage.
As you rounded the desk to sit before the computer screen, you realized that the brightness of the screen would attract too much attention — as well as any sounds. The need for the password was also prevalent in your mind. You made quick work of your black jacket, covering the monitor with it after you pressed the mute button on the keyboard. The screen was dulled by the jacket before you got the brightness to turn down completely.
Remembering the password problem, you put to use the hours of hacking practice you’d picked up solely for this moment. It was one thing practicing on your own laptop when if all went wrong, you knew the password. Even though you’d hacked into your own computer at least seven times and had watched a plethora of different hacking tutorials on YouTube for hours beforehand. There was an itching thought in your head of: what if it didn’t work.
The bright green letters against the black background did nothing to quell your anxiety but as the log in page was overridden and you were let into the HYBE USER’s desktop, you thanked the you of the past for burning her eyes out with hacking videos for days on end. If only you would let yourself do this to fix your grades over the past few weeks.
Your eyes scanned quickly over the desk top when you spotted a flash of light out of your peripheral. Light in a concentrated beam that could only be a flashlight. Faintly, you could hear footsteps from the flashlight’s owner — far enough to be distant, close enough to compromise you — and that flew you into faster action. You pulled the thumb drive from your pocket and quietly shoved it into the monitor's USB port. You clicked on an Excel sheet titled “POBs 2026” and saw a list of names and numbers. Downloading the file to the thumb drive, you glanced for any other documents that might have been worthy of your attention. Conscious of the ever-growing footsteps.
“Huegh!”
Your head whipped toward the sound.
“Heugh, Heugh!”
Your eyes took in the beam of light and sudden movements, as if the hand that held it was sending jabs. With a closer ear, you listen to the sounds of his footsteps amid the array of “heughs” he was heaving. The sound of his shoes on the ground was not indicative of hard concrete but something lighter. Something that only the boxing ring would have been able to produce.
Thankful for the extra time, you pulled the thumb drive out.
“Man what are you doing?” Another voice rang out in the basement.
“Oh c’mon,” The heugh guy responded, “We got nothing to do and there's a boxing ring in the middle of the room.”
You clicked the “log out” button on the computer and turned the monitor off as the men conversed. Carefully sliding out of the seat since the speaking had ceased, you were waiting and listening for any clue of what the men were to do next. Then the fan in computer began to whir.
“What’s that?”
“It’s coming from over there.”
As swiftly as you could, you ducked under the desk and tucked your body as small as possible. You heard their footsteps approach amid the whirring of the fan and the steady beams of the flashlights. Your lungs begged for you to breathe and the back of your neck began to overheat.
“Oh, y’know what?” One of the men let his arm fall to his side, “It’s probably just the computers.”
“Have they ever done that before?”
“Uh… yeah, I’m sure they have.” Said the one and you were sure that he had some Know It All complex.
“Alright then,” The sound of a hand hitting a person’s back emitted from behind the desk, “What do you say we have a little spar in the ring, huh?”
The other man made a sound of indecision, “Ah, sure, why not?”
You waited until they invaded the ring and the sounds of their fists knocking into the other’s palms filled the room before you evacuated. Out from under the desk, carefully stepping under the row of bleachers and heading for the opposite end of the locker room entrance. You took measured steps until you got close to the door and gathered all your bravery.
Only twenty feet to your left was the ring, and eight feet in front of you was the door to the back hallways where you had argued with Jungwon after his match. You had the cover of darkness on your side and the attention drawn away from you — you just had to commit. You’d come so far already. But the heat at the back of your neck, sweat on your brow, and chill in your bones had you rethinking.
What would happen if you got caught? Your need for adventure, need for a story, need for a mystery, is what got you in this situation in the first place. But now, you’re face to face with circumstances that you’re not fully certain of the consequences for.
What if they caught you down here? What if they found the flash drive in the pocket of your black leggings? These aren’t mall cops, these are people who are hired by South Korean crime syndicates whether they know it or not. Would they drag you to their bosses? Would they take their anger out on you? Would they pull off your disguise and recognize your face and punish Jungwon for your trespassing and burglary?
What would Jungwon say if he found out? Was this exactly what he was afraid of? That you’d do something stupid and reckless and get yourself killed?
You shook your head. Barely registering the “coaching” that the one man was giving his other but fully aware that it sounded like the blind leading the blind. You took a deep, steady breath and then peeked toward the ring. With their attention diverted you moved quickly — not enough to be running — and quietly toward the door, pulling it open and entering a pitch black hallway.
You attempted to create a map in your mind of what the hallway had looked like when you had walked through it last. The edges of your memory recalled the turns, just barely. Whether to take a right or a left, how many doors you’d pass before the next turn. Though all your mind could focus on was the after. When you reached the black doors at the end of the hallway and pulled them open. The doors to this basement kept an illegal fight club and an even more illegal betting operation from the eyes of the general public. Which means, the doors most likely have an alarm system. You have no clearance, no alibi, no voucher, just a full disguise and pair of sneakers you hoped would take you all the way to the bus stop a couple blocks off.
With a deep breath and a starting pace, you push the back doors open and ran out at your fullest speed. The wind rushing through the air almost covered the sound of the alarm system you set off but there was nothing that would distract you. Nothing to make you turn back or slow you down. You sped past passersby on the sidewalk and watched the bus approach the stop. Boarding the bus, you swiped the bus-card you had just purchased that morning in cash and sat down next to an old man.
The doors to the bus shut, having welcomed only normal civilians, but you were too smart — or paranoid — to end the chase there. The syndicates had money and the city had CCTV everywhere. You needed to get lost in it. Which is why you pushed into the 6am train station in Seoul, and got off in Cheongju. Took a bus to a different entrance to the station at Cheongju and boarded during the 7:30am rush toward Daejeon. From Daejon you walked into a department store, paid and changed outfits, then walked to the train station again. From Daejon all the way to Daegu. Waiting and pretending to shop in a mall near the train station. Then you boarded toward Busan, changed outfits again in the back of a store in the streetmarket, before boarding the two-and-a-half hour train from Busan to Seoul during the work commute rush.
You pushed your apartment door open as the time rounded to 9pm. Kicking off your shoes and shrugging off your new jacket. You pulled the thumb drive from your pocket — the only thing that you had kept since that morning, besides the straight black wig that you’d been wearing all day. Double checking that your door was locked and your windows were shut, you walked into your room where your laptop and phone had sat all day. Naively, you checked your phone for messages from Jungwon. Heart crushing when you scrolled through all your notifications to find nothing from Jungwon. Just the same message you’d received the day he walked out.
wonie: I’m otw so make sure you have that green tea
You: can you just focus on not crashing your car please?
wonie: Lmao
A sorrowful smile rose onto your lips before tears sprung in your eyes.
All you wanted was for him to be free from his never ending cycle of exploitation.
All he wanted was to keep you away from his mess in order to keep you safe.
It felt like neither of you were getting what you wanted.
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You shoved the thumb drive into your laptop out of necessity — a need to make all the work you did feel like it was worth it — rather than an actual desire to see what was on that excel sheet. You risked your safety more than you ever had for some document that you hoped would provide you with incriminating evidence but really, you had no idea.
The file popped up on your desktop and with a double-click, the entire year’s receipts for the betting opened before your eyes. The columns held all the necessary information: the bettor’s name; the time they placed the bet, the odds of the fighters at the time the bet was placed, the name of the fighter they chose to bet on, their bet amount, their calculated pay out, their bank account number, and their contact information. All the information one would need to calculate and distribute the winnings of their bet.
You scrolled through the list — taking it all in — before your focus zeroed in. Hitting control F, you searched Park Hyun’s name and found 27 matching results. 27 bets placed under Jungwon’s coach’s name and not a single one was placed in favor of Jungwon’s victory. He had voted against Jungwon every single time.
Despite the odds — wait, no, the odds were split.
Your brows furrowed as you took in the percentages of the bets. Every bet he placed was when the odds evened out: 50-50, 49-51, 52-48, 51-48, 47-53, 55-45, 46-54. Every bet fell within even odds. From experience, you knew that Jungwon’s fights always started at 9pm. But all of these bets were made at various times. 9:13pm, 9:21pm, 9:09pm, 9:17pm, no consistency other than that the best were placed after the fights had started.
You recalled what Heeseung had told you in the cafe. The more even the odds are, the more pay that you get. But the odds aren't always even when the fighting starts. The odds of Jungwon winning in his fight against Tyun were well in his favor: 57.02%. Yet, looking at the document now, the coach had placed his bet halfway through the fight, likely after a timeout was called after the chokehold. The odds had fallen from 57.02% to 49.89% and it was at this moment that the coach had placed the bet. When the odds had evened out in his favor.
Though, it didn’t seem like he thought Tyun would pull that chokehold move because after he did, the odds had evened out and the sabotage hadn’t occurred yet. After Jungwon had drank the everclear, his odds had plummeted to 36% and the payout was a fraction of what it was when the odds were split. The coach must have realized how badly the odds would fall and placed his bet just before Jungwon had drank from his bottle.
It was strange. It was almost unbelievable that a man who was supposed to support and help Jungwon had been the one orchestrating his downfall the entire time. Your cursor hovered over the exit button of the excel sheet, having seen enough and wanting to rest from the eventful day. But a name kept scratching in the back of your mind like nails on a chalkboard: Kim Taeho. The syndicate boss who should have been voting in favor of Jungwon the whole time. Had he been? Or was he just like the coach?
Kim Taeho’s name appeared dozens more times than the coach’s. He had seven male fighters and five female fighters and all of which — you checked thoroughly — he had been voting in favor of. Even down to the last fight.
Kim Taeho | 21:00 | JAKAH 37.33% vs SOOBIN 63.66% | SOOBIN | $1000 | $148 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *********@gmail.com
At 21:00 sharp, every fight, he placed his bet in favor of Jungwon — regardless of the odds. You nodded your head as if you’d made up your mind. You would send Kim Taeho all the fights that the coach voted against Jungwon in. You’d note that there was foul play involved and that he should check the integrity of his staff. And maybe, if you were lucky, he’d fire the coach and Jungwon would have a fair chance at crawling out of his debt. And maybe, if you were extremely lucky, he’d find his way back to you after he was safe again.
With the motivation electrifying through your veins, you began to highlight the cells of Park Hyun’s voting information:
Park Hyun | 21:01 | JAKAH 78.12% vs BAMKYU 22.98% | BAMKYU | $1000 | $2340 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
Park Hyun | 21:13 | JAKAH 53.01% vs JO 47.99% | JO | $1000 | $1780 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
Park Hyun | 21:27 | JAKAH 57.02% vs TYUN 43.98% | TYUN | $1000 | $1570 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
Park Hyun | 21:18 | JAKAH 48.00% vs SOOBIN 52.00% | SOOBIN | $100 | $148 | Midnight Bank 20180917 | *************@gmail.com
As you highlighted the last four rows, you recalled the events for each of these fights — except for the most recent one with a fighter named Soobin, which Jungwon had told you nothing about — and each of their respective sabotages. In the fight against a guy named Bamkyu, Jungwon’s water bottle had been filled with laxatives, which caused him to run from the fight even though the odds were fully in his favor. In his fight with Jo, he was given vinegar in place of the water, which caused him to fight more brutally in order to prevent over-dehydration. His fight against Tyun seemed to go off the rails. The everclear would have pushed the odds to even out, but the coach had not anticipated Tyun’s own intellect to even out the stakes all by himself. The everclear pushed the odds to fall too far into the margins of Tyun’s success which capped the amount of the payout.
You brows furrowed as you cross referenced the starting odds with the odds of when the coach placed his bets. The day the laxatives were used, Jungwon had over 70% chance of winning. The day the vinegar was used, he had a 59% chance of winning. The fight against Tyun had him at a 63% chance of winning. And the most recent fight, which you knew nothing of other than that he came home relatively unscathed, had placed his odds at 37%. The split between the odds and severity of the sabotage was a pattern too loud to miss.
The more the odds were in favor of Jungwon, the harsher the sabotage became. This realization left a bitter tongue and a deep ache in your heart. Involuntarily, you imagined Jungwon checking the scoreboard and noting his favor in odds. Had he found peace in that? Had he found comfort in the prospect of his probable victory? Or had it put him on edge? Had it brought his guard up at the expectation of a harsh attack coming from one of his blind spots?
Just as you were about to save the document, your eyes caught on the number that falls at the very end of the columns: Midnight Bank 20180917. The coach’s bank account number.
With shaky fingers, you scrolled up to the nearest row with Kim Taeho’s name, scanning past the information to reach the final column and reading it off in the silence of your held breath and still heart. Midnight Bank 20180917.
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The air in the room felt sticky. Too warm, too stuffy, as it clung to every millimeter of skin. The crowd was too talkative. Too joyous, too carefree, as they swirled their lavishly bartended drinks. The sight was too tense. Too terrifying, too uncanny, as he wrapped his fists in white bandages and bit down in the black mouthguard.
Like a familiar friend, that anxious heat crawled its way onto the back of your neck — resting there. Your breath was entirely uneven despite the deep inhales and long exhales you’d been doing to train it back to consistency. Your leg bounced uncontrollably and you were certain one of the bettors would say something in just a moment, but their thoughts and their preferences were the least of your concerns. Not when Jungwon stood with his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed on his all-too-familiar foe.
Your phone buzzed and you drew your attention to it at lightning speed. An email was left with no subject line, just PDF and a caption: For your sake, I hope he wins. With shaky fingers, you tapped the screen and the PDF came into full view. A contract.
A contract that put everything on the line.
Since the night that you had reviewed the Excel sheet, you’d taken risks that not only would have sent Jungwon into a coma but also could have gotten you killed. After a couple nights of rest and planning. You had opened your laptop once again, clicking open the Decelis University website and typing in Jungwon’s username and password instead of yours. Because of course, you knew his log in.
You’d used it before to submit his assignments when he couldn’t or when he needed to check his grades. You’d never used it to check his financial statements.That was always private — too private — a boundary you couldn’t overstep. Somehow, that boundary seemed like nothing when it came in the way of securing a better future for him.
You scrolled and opened the PDF of his statements. Monthly payments toward the total of Jungwon’s tuition, room and board, downpayments, parking passes, and a section called “allowance” which gets filtered straight to Jungwon’s bank account. The receipt of these payments noted the bank of the payer to be: Midnight Bank ****0917, corresponding with the bank account both Kim Taeho and Park Hyun were filtering their winnings to. The contact information for the payer was noted to be Kim Taeho himself. You scrolled to the end of the receipt to see the fine print which read: All payments are final. No refunds are allowed.
With these words, you set your plan into action.
Immediately, you purchased a subscription to the strongest VPN on the market and created a burner email address. You bussed to the busiest public library in Seoul and drafted a very carefully worded email along with an attachment to the Excel sheet. The Excel sheet being highlighted with the necessary and incriminating information.
To whom it may concern,
Attached in the file below are the betting records of the 2026 year so far. As noted by the highlighting, Kim Taeho has been betting in favor of his fighter JAKAH and sending his winnings to a bank account number 20180917 at Midnight Bank. JAKAH’s coach and employee of Kim Taeho, Park Hyun, has been betting against JAKAH, his own fighter, and yet sending it to the same bank account: Midnight Bank 20180917.
Upon further research, the bank account was found to be in Kim Taeho’s name. Is this not grounds for double betting? I’m certain that this kind of fraud would not be tolerated among the syndicates gathered that make events like these possible. Should they find out, would your syndicate not face immense repercussions for this fraud?
I have no interest in exposing you to the people you work with nor am I interested in extorting you for money. What I want, in exchange for the hard drive of this information and the access to this email account to prevent the scheduled emails to every contact on this Excel sheet from being sent, is the complete forgiveness of JAKAH (Yang Jungwon)’s debt.
The emails are scheduled to be sent on Friday at 23:59. If I do not have confirmation that JAKAH (Yang Jungwon) has been forgiven of any debt that he has with you and is released from any obligation he has with you by 23:59, the emails will be sent. If I have confirmation before then that my requests have been fulfilled in good faith with evidence to prove it, then I will send an email with the log in, in order for you to manually close the emails yourself. I will also ship the hard drive to the front office of the HYBE gym.
Thank you for your understanding.
You left no signature. Just the attachment of the spreadsheet and a quick glance at your VPN which changed your location every three seconds. South Korea one moment, Brazil the next, then onto Turkey, before heading to Milawe. You hit send on the email and walked out of the library toward the busiest tourist street in the city.
You weren’t expecting a response within the first 72 hours. Which kept you running the VPN all hours of the day. You had known they’d consider your threat a bluff, then they’d realize that you had everything you needed in order to out them. Then they’d devise a plan. You had known some sort of trickery was coming, you just hadn’t known what.
As the days ticked by, a consistent anxiety welcomed itself into your heart. You hadn’t emailed back, dedicated to keeping communication as minimal as possible. When you woke up that Friday morning with no response, you prepared yourself to cut your losses. Once you send the emails and expose Belift, things might get more complicated for Jungwon, or everything would fizzle out. You’d assess the damage and move onto plan B.
Until then, you kept hope in your heart. Even as you entered the gym with your new gym membership, under a different name and paid in cash, thanks to the new increased security. You slipped into the locker room and down the stairs just before the 21:00 match started. Emboldened by the leverage you had over Belift, you had taken a seat right in the front — looking straight ahead to the reason you had even started doing this in the first place. Yang Jungwon.
It was in this ante period that you received the response email from Belift. And the PDF which sent a chill to the marrow of your bones. You knew the trick was coming. You just didn’t know that it’d threaten everything you’d worked for.
The PDF was a photocopy of a contract that had recently been drawn and signed. A contract that stated:
As decided by the executives of Belift Lab, the debt of Yang Jungwon will be wholly and completely forgiven should he win his next upcoming fight. As per Yang Jungwon’s request, upon his victory, Belift Lab or any of its affiliates will never attempt to contact or engage with Yang Jungwon and his loved ones.
Alternatively, in the case of Yang Jungwon’s defeat, he will carry on as a fighter of Belift Lab to eliminate his debt through his labor. Upon his defeat, Jungwon shall be legally required to pay off any accumulated debt to Belift Lab regardless of circumstances.
Jungwon was now contractually bound to his freedom or his exploitation. If he won the fight, you would send Belift your evidence and Jungwon would be forgiven of his debt. If he lost, you would still have to send your evidence, but Jungwon would be legally obligated to pay off his debt.
The loud buzzer swept over the makeshift arena.
“Welcome back to another round in the men’s fifth bracket!” The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, “Listen Dino, I don’t know about you but I have been anticipating this fight all night.”
“Me too, S.Coups. I’m sure the audience is well aware but these two fighters have recently butt heads which ended in a brutal victory.” The crowd uproared, “Yes, that’s right folks. Welcome to the rematch between Jakah of Belift and BigHit’s Tyun.”
Suddenly, Jungwon’s abnormally tensed shoulders made sense. Your breath was stolen straight from your lungs and the entire room fell into white noise. Jungwon began to switch his weight between his feet — lightening his step — though it seemed that his legs were stiffer than they’d ever been before. The image of his face turning purple-ish red as he clawed as the arm preventing him from breathing was seared into your mind. And you were only a bystander. You couldn’t imagine the way Jungwon must have felt as his mind begged his body to forget what happened last time and to focus on not repeating history.
“And Jakah takes the offensive!”
Jungwon lunged at Tyun, aiming a clean strike to the ribs. Tyun twisted out of the way but not fast enough for the speed that Jungwon was going. His first two knuckles clipped Tyun’s side, causing Jungwon to shift his feet closer and send another strike to the man’s face. Tyun’s bandaged hands blocked the strike and he jumped away from Jungwon.
“Man, it seems like Jakah has a bit of pent up rage… I haven’t seen him this aggressive in a fight for a while.”
Your eyes chanced a glance toward Jungwon’s corner where the coach and managers stood waiting in bated breath. Jay and Heeseung stood there as well, Jay’s arms wrapped around the water bottle you’d gifted Jungwon, as if he was guarding it with his life.
By the time you looked back over, Jungwon and Tyun had given up on dancing around each other and the latter was sending a barrage of feints with occasional strikes. Jungwon’s forearms were getting battered but he kept his guard up. He stayed like that for a while before he caught one of Tyun’s arms, pulled it, and twisted it behind the man’s back before shoving him face first onto the floor of the ring.
“Ohhh, ouch!”
“Man, that has got to hurt!”
The crowd echoed the announcers in various synonymous sentiments as the buzzer announced the end of the first round. Jungwon released his hold on his opponent and walked over to his corner, beckoning Jay for his water bottle and taking a test sip before chugging it. With your eyes tunneled onto him — the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the imprint of his hard abs on his white tank — you could barely hear the announcers informing the crowd of Jungwon’s increase in odds.
Before you could fully register it, the match began again. Shifting feet and tiny grunts was all that filled the room as passed strikes between each other. Jungwon pursued Tyun to the edge of the ring, his opponent’s feet only a meter away from the rails before suddenly, he pushed himself back onto the rail, held the bars, and pushed his feet square into Jungwon’s abdomen. Jungwon stumbled back, nearly losing his balance, and failed to block the punch that landed straight onto his nose.
“Oh, that’s definitely broken.”
“Speaking from experience, huh?”
Tyun grabbed Jungwon’s arm and threw him to his knees while he was still stunned. His hand grabbing one of his shoulders and sliding his arm across the plain of his neck. The everpresent heat on the back of your neck seemed to replicate Tyun’s actions, as if it knew this was what you had been most afraid of since the fight began.
Without warning or indication, Jungwon pulled Tyun’s left arm forward and reached back to grab ahold of the back of his right knee, standing up and bringing his opponent with him. With his feet off the ground, Tyun could do nothing to stop or brace himself as Jungwon jumped backward, sending them both to the floor, only with Tyun’s body as a cushion to break Jungwon’s fall.
“Jakah is on fire today!”
“He escaped out of that chokehold, picked Tyun up from behind, slammed him into the ground, and held him down for over five seconds, meaning: the second round is over!”
Your face had become sweaty like it was you that had been in that ring. But from the sight of Jungwon pushing his sweaty hair back and having it stay in a swept position, you assumed that he must be perspiring more than you could ever know. Of course, he would be. Everything was on the line for him. His freedom to leave the fighting and his freedom to pursue you.
Without needing to be asked, Jungwon’s manager handed him a face cloth, which he took gratefully. He shoved his face into the fabric and rubbed the sticky sweat and grime off of his skin. Your heart dropped to the craters of the Earth when Jungwon ripped the cloth away from his face and began to cough. He tossed the cloth over the rails of the ring and shook his head, placing a hand over his chest and taking deep breaths.
Before he was fully prepared, the buzzer signaled the start of the third round and Tyun sprung into action. He sent a jab that Jungwon barely dodged, causing him to stumble off to the side. Another jab, a feint, right, left, right, right, left, all blocked or dodged sloppily. Until Tyun dropped down low and sent a punch to his gut, leaving Jungwon in a fit of coughs. Another knee to his gut — his abdomen having already been targeted multiple times. Tyun’s strong hands pushed Jungwon backwards before sending three clean strikes. One to his left jaw, one under his chin, and another across his left jaw.
Jungwon fell backwards, immediately scrambling to get back up before Tyun kicked his stomach, forcing the blond to curl up into a centipede. Whatever was on that cloth had thrown Jungwon into a state of distraction that he struggled to free himself from. And as he was on the ground, trying to ignore the pounding of Tyun foot as it slammed into his back, trying to ignore the blaring “five, four, three” of the announcers, trying to ignore the burn in his lungs, he peeled his eyes open to look at the crowd. His hopeless eyes met your worried ones. As if Fate had directed your gazes to align. As if Fate had given him a guiding hand in his most crucial moment.
Memories of the last time he’d seen you crept up at the edges of his mind. Your tear-tracked face held in his hands. His lips brushing yours, careful to not press too hard that he might stay there with you in his arms forever. The sound of your voice as you pleaded him not to go in words cut open the chambers of his heart.
All it took was one small victory and everything he’s ever wanted would rest at his feet.
With renewed strength, Jungwon rolled over and out of the way of Tyun’s foot, just before the announcers made it to “one”. With the momentum and the opportunity of one of Tyun’s legs raised, Jungwon swept his feet out and knocked him to the floor. Without hesitation, Jungwon straddled the man’s waist, gripped his shirt, and swung punch after punch toward the man’s face. Every blow was blocked by expert hands.
As Jungwon drew back for another punch, Tyun grabbed his hips and attempted to twist their positions, but Jungwon was quick to slide away from getting pinned to the floor. The two exchanged blows, knocked fists, and blocked strikes, all while shuffling around each other. Jungwon increased the speed of his feet, sent a feint directly into Tyun’s line of sight, before twisting around him and leaving his view completely. As the other man turned to keep his eyes on Jungwon, the blond sent a brutal kick to the other man’s gut. With Tyun’s hands lowering to protect his abdomen, Jungwon slammed his foot into his opponent's face and sent him stumbling back. Without mercy, Jungwon shuffled his left foot toward the right and twisted his body, sending a roundhouse kick that dug into the cheekbone of the other fighter.
Tyun dropped to his knees, breath heavy and shallow, eyes closed and body tipping toward the floor. Jungwon shoved his foot in the other’s chest and held him down. The adrenaline drowned out the countdown from five.
“Five…” He couldn’t look at you.
“Four…” Not until he knew he had won.
“Three…” Until he knew you were safe.
“Two…” Until he knew he could—
“One!”
The referee raised Jungwon’s arm up and blew his whistle, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Cheering, jeering, and booing. Standing, clapping, and fist pumping. And all he saw was you. With tears in your eyes and the biggest smile he thinks he’s ever seen you wear.
And before he even knew it, he was hopping over the railing of the ring. Blood rushing and pounding in his ears as he ran toward you. You followed suit, hopping over the small guard rail and running just a few steps to where he had already gotten over to you.
His left hand found your waist and his right found your cheek and he turned the both of you to the side so that he wouldn’t crash into you at full force. Well at least with his body, for his lips were all but graceful as they crashed onto yours, his hand at your waist immediately moving to your left cheek to angle your face to fit his perfectly. He kissed hungrily and greedily like he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t stop to breathe, he just moved his lips against yours as if it was the only thing he needed to stay alive.
As soon as you brought your hands to his hard chest, he slid his hands down to hold your waist, pulling your body flush against his and never removing his lips from your own. How could he when you kissed him back with a mirroring fervor and slid your hands up to card through his hair.
Jungwon had fought for every South Korean Won he had made in the ring. Millions of won had been added to his name. But there — with you in his arms, clinging to him, and exchanging dozens of heated kisses like you were making up for lost time — that was the richest Jungwon had ever been.
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“And when someone asks for a caramel macchiato, what they’re really asking for is a caramel latte.”
His dark brows furrowed under his recently dyed brown hair, “Why wouldn’t they just ask for a caramel latte then?”
“Well, because they’re going off of the menu from Starbucks.”
His dark brown eyes held thinly veiled confusion before he nodded and leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his toned arms as the black work shirt stretched over his muscles. You glanced over to him, a different — more bashful — heat crawling up your neck as he stared at you.
“Don’t worry,” You told him, “You’ll get the hang of it soon.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure?”
“Why were there?” He narrowed his eyes, “At the fight.”
Your throat worked around a swallow, “Oh, uh I was just…”
A million reasons flashed through your mind — none of them even bordering on the truth — and it brought all of your thoughts to a halt. This entire situation: you finding out about Jungwon’s secret life, it all started from a lie. Now that you had Jungwon, you couldn’t lose him again. So you took a deep breath and began the long explanation.
“You told me that in order to keep me safe, you had to leave my life completely. And to be honest? I’d rather fear for my life everyday than say goodbye to you forever.” You eyes poured into his steady, deep, brown ones, “I talked to Heeseung, found out who was sabotaging you, broke into the Hybe gym basement to get proof—”
“I’m sorry, you what?!”
“And then, I found out that Kim Taeho was double betting and tampering with the odds by sabotaging you, in order to get an even split and make the most amount of money possible while winning every time.”
“How the he—”
“And then I essentially blackmailed him into forgiving your debt,”
He straightened, “Tell me you’re joking…”
“But don’t worry I stayed anonymous and used a VPN.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“And then drew up a contract that would forgive your debt as long as you won the fight — which you did — and here we are!”
Jungwon grabbed your upper shoulders, “Y/N… Please tell me this is a joke.”
You could see the worry laced into every feature: his creased brows, his wide eyes, his downturned lips.
“Jungwon, you always talk about keeping me safe. I wanted to find a way to make sure you were safe.” You hesitated to keep going, “Even when you signed the contract, you were thinking about me. That if you won the fight and were forgiven, you requested that they stayed away from you.”
“I wouldn’t sign the contract unless that was added.” He confessed, “What good would getting rid of my debt be if they took something — someone — else from me in its place.” His hands slid to the hem of your sleeves, playing with the fabric. “And it’s the best decision I ever made because now, I’m finding out that you blackmailed a crime syndicate that most definitely has a grudge against both you and I.”
You tried not to look too horrified by the logistics of your impulsive decisions.
“And if I didn’t make them sign a contract to stay away from you,” His eyes dropped down, unable to look you in the eye, “Who would’ve gotten me an actual job to start chipping away at my tuition?”
“With or without me, you would have found a way to pay for college and keep on living a good life.” You rolled your eyes.
“‘With or without you’?” He repeated incredulously, “Without you I would still be spending Friday nights drinking laxatives, vinegar, and everclear or shoving my face into a chloroform face towel and getting my ass handed to me. Without you I’d have spent my entire life saving pennies to pay off an impossible debt.” His cat-like eyes took upon every frame of seriousness, “My life doesn’t exist without you, Y/N.”
A shy smile rose onto your lips. Because you may know Yang Jungwon inside and out as your best friend. But Yang Jungwon, your boyfriend, was still uncharted territory. Regardless of if this was the 50th time he’d pulled you in by your waist and pressed gentle, loving kisses against your lips.
“Jungwon,” You pressed against his chest, “This was the one condition my manager had!” You argued through the sweet pecks he placed in between words, “No PDA!”
He giggled before placing another kiss onto your forehead, “Fine, but once we’re off the clock, I’m never letting you go.”
His hands fell from you and the warmth he left behind lingered like a promise.
“I might need you to sign a contract for that.”
“What for?” He asked, picking up a dish to rinse off, “You’ll just blackmail me anyway.”
Summary: Y/N has built her family a paradise inside the one place that should be impossible the center of a monster-filled mechanical maze but paradise always has a price, and hers is a secret she’ll do anything to protect. When a boy who trusts no one starts asking the one question she can’t survive answering, the walls of her perfect lie start closing in just as fast as the ones outside it.
Warning: Sci-Fi / Dystopian, Maze Runner au but with a twist ig, Slow Burn, Found Family, Enemies-to-Allies-to-Lovers (hardy harrrr), Character Death (multiple), Graphic Violence, Body Horror, Psychological Manipulation, Betrayal, Grief, Isolation, Self-Sacrifice, Human Experimentation, Mind Control. Smut
[Masterlist]
Header by me// Minors DNI
Chapter 1 — Sanctuary
— Y/N is the beloved leader of a hidden sanctuary carved out of a nightmare, but she’s hiding something from the family she’s built something that terrifies even her fiercest protector. When a new arrival is pulled up from the dark, his unsettling calm and sharper-than-should-be-possible instincts make it clear: he’s not buying the peace everyone else has fallen in love with.
[Read Here]
Chapter 2 — What the Wire Measures
— As an uneasy calm settles over the camp, the new boy starts quietly asking questions no one else dares to and getting answers that don’t add up. What he uncovers in the dead of night will force one broken man to finally admit the truth he’s been begging Y/N to let him speak.
[Read Here]
Chapter 3 — The Weight of Her Smile
— The lie collapses in front of everyone, and the fallout is immediate, brutal, and impossible to undo. As the camp turns on its leader and the cost of the truth becomes horrifyingly clear, Y/N finds out exactly who’s still willing to stand beside her when there’s nothing left to protect.
[Read Here]
Chapter 4 — The Blind Spot
— With trust in ruins and the clock running out faster than anyone expected, two unlikely allies risk everything on a desperate gamble to save what’s left of their family. But escaping the nightmare comes at a price no one saw coming and the truth waiting on the other side is worse than anything they left behind.
How would you describe the Sim twins? Jace Sim is your sweet, caring and nerdy best friend while his identical twin Jake is everything his brother isn’t—a hedonistic frat boy you want absolutely nothing to do with. Too bad it seems like he’s decided to stop hiding just how in love with you he is.
minors do not interact
pairing ── jake sim x afab reader
word count ── 42k (oops)
content tags/warnings ── campus au, angst, smut, strained family dynamics, sibling drama, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending? alcohol use, drug use, prescription medication, panic attacks, depression, implied/referenced mental health struggles, unrequited love to lovers, childhood crushes, emotional hurt/comfort, swearing, arguments, misinterpreted homophobia, mxm, coming out, appearances by enhypen’s jungwon and jay. lmk if i missed any it’s a whole lotta story.
nene’s note ── posting this after going on hiatus due to exams, i also happened to lose my friend during this period and all i can say is grief is a horrible thing, my girl made a tumblr account just to support my work and even started listening to enhypen too, i miss her so much. show some love to my girls @sunishake @siyalogue for the brainstorming session we did together for this story, love you guys down and i hope i did this justice! 💋
playlist ── “baby doll” by dominic fike, “the cure” by olivia rodrigo, “bloodstream” by alyssa grace, “hanging out to dry” by florence road, “undressed” by sombr, “family line” by conan gray, “work song” by hozier, “apocalypse” by cigarettes after sex, “steady” by bella kay.
nsfw warnings under the cut
face sitting/riding, attempted 69-ing, fingering, unprotected sex, handjob, creampie, messy pussy eating (twice), squirting, ass slapping, doggy style, passionate sex, crying. (the smut is really just a bonus)
This is not a good look. Walking down the fourth floor hallway of the honors housing building barefoot with your tiny dress and your heels in your hand is definitely not a good look. You’re pretty sure the honors students are not impressed to see you in such little clothing on this bright Saturday morning but you can’t even bring yourself to give a damn. Your face is twisted into a scowl so severe that one guy carrying a basket of clothes actually steps aside to let you pass, your hair is still messy from last night and yesterday's mascara is faintly smudged beneath your eyes.
Saturday mornings on campus are always strange, especially in Jace's building, the residents here think they're so self righteous cause they've probably already gone for a jog, written three essays and finished a research paper and it's not even nine yet.
You can barely register any of it because you're too busy replaying last night in your head for the hundredth miserable time. The Friday night date you had been looking forward to had started out badly and ended up even worse, the guy, whose name you're sure your brain will repress, spent twenty minutes talking about cryptocurrency. And if that wasn't enough, when the bill came, he leaned back in his chair with this smug little grin and said, "So...am I paying for this just to not take you home after, or what?"
You physically shudder remembering it. God, men are actually sick in the head. Maybe you're actually sick in the head too cause humiliatingly—you followed him and now that the sun is out and you can think clearly you know it was just your horniness that drove you to such a terrible decision.
It had been weeks, maybe even months since you'd been in with anyone and after two drinks and one existential crisis in the restaurant bathroom mirror, you'd convinced yourself maybe the mediocre man deserved a chance.
What a mistake.
You feel irritation surge through your body all over again and by now you've reached Jace's door. Not even bothering to knock, you shove it open dramatically. "Jace, I swear to God I think it's finally time for me to try celibacy."
Jace is sat up in his bed in gray sweatpants and a compression shirt, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks up from his laptop to blink at you slowly. "Mmm? Why?"
You kick the door shut behind you, "Cause men are the worst and I'm tired of kissing so many frogs just because I want a prince!"
"Tell me more."
He says softly and sets his laptop aside as you dramatically throw yourself onto the end of his bed with a groan loud enough to let him know you're genuinely upset. You stare at the ceiling before you start ranting again. "First of all, he had the personality of a plastic spork and I'm not even joking, the conversation was so bad, like a solid three out of ten."
"This man," you continue, pointing accusingly at absolutely nothing, "had the audacity to insinuate that he would only pay for dinner if I was going home with him!"
Jace's eyebrows immediately pull together. "What? That's so messed up."
"Exactly." You sigh before sitting up abruptly again. "He said it like he thought it was charming and sexy too. Like I was supposed to giggle and throw my panties at him across the table."
You watch as Jace grimaces at your words, "Please tell me you didn't stay after he said that?"
Damn. How do you tell your best friend that not only did you stay you actually went home with this guy and had sex with him? If you could call that sex. "I was very horny, okay? I'm literally ovulating and I thought ugh maybe the sex could be good?" Yeah, that works.
"Oh come on, Y/n. You're better than that." He seems so disappointed in you that you have to try to ignore the fact that he even let the conversation get this far.
"And not to add to your disappointment but the sex absolutely sucked. Just added a body to my count and that brings me to a whoppingggg...two." You say and start giggling to yourself.
Jace lets out the most disbelieving laugh imaginable. "Oh my God."
"It was so bad, Jace. Like genuinely horrible. I've had more chemistry with self checkout machines." You’re glad that manages to get a startled laugh out of him. "He kept asking me if I liked that every three seconds."
If you'd just slow down to take a look at your best friend's face, you'd see a smirk you'd never seen before but of course you don't cause you're so mad at the whole situation, more at yourself too. "And then when I tried to like guide him a little?" You gesture wildly. "He got defensive."
"Hmm, defensive how?" He asks, eyeing you weirdly now. "Defensive like when I tried to guide his fingers to my actual clit he—"
Your words are cut off by the door swinging open and your irritation immediately flares at the sight of who is standing in the doorway, shifting your gaze back to the twin on the bed, you let out a groan of annoyance. "Seriously, Jake? Can you give us five minutes of peace?" you mutter, rolling your eyes toward the doorway, expecting to see Jace's twin brother hovering there with his usual grating smirk.
But instead the room just goes dead silent and curiosity forces you to actually look at the person standing in the threshold. You rake your eyes over him, ready to snap some insult about him intruding on your conversation but the words die in your throat. Because why is he standing there so confused and wearing his brother's clothes and carrying his textbooks?
Why is the custom silver bag chain you had to hunt down for Jace's birthday hanging from Jake's bag?
Your stomach drops in a sickening free fall sensation. If that's Jace...then who the hell are you sitting next to?
"What are you even talking about?" the twin standing in the door asks, his voice threaded with a weary frustration. He looks between you and the bed, his brow furrowing deeper. "Jake, I told you—I don't know how many times I have to say this—stay the hell out of my room when I'm not here. Why are you even here?"
You slowly turn your head to look at the person sitting on the bed and he's already watching you, his gaze no longer just amused, it's now sharp and terrifyingly aware of the fact that you have just realized exactly who he is. He's also completely dropped the persona of his brother he'd been carrying, there's something in the way his eyes can go from earnest and sweet just like his brothers to predatory so quickly.
This isn't the first time, maybe that's why you feel the sting that makes your vision blur with heat so quickly. Jake has made a sport of this, a twisted game of shadows where he slips into his brother's life just to see how long it takes for you to figure it out. But your anger isn't just directed at him this time around, it's the way he makes you feel so stupid you can't stand. You've known Jace for years, he's your best friend and yet you just laid your entire sexual history bare to a predator in a compression shirt because he mirrored an earnest tilt of the head and a quiet "Tell me more."
Jace lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, "Jake," he says in a frustrated but practiced tone. "Get off my bed. Now."
Jake doesn't move immediately, still lingering in the dip of the mattress and watching the way your chest pants with outraged breaths. Only when Jace takes a step further into the room does Jake finally rise, moving with an infuriating lack of urgency and stretching in the mirror. You watch as his muscles pull taut against that borrowed shirt—Jace's shirt.
"Relax, professor. I'm leaving," Jake says, his voice losing the faux earnest quality he'd used to bait you just a moment ago. Now he's just Jake, arrogant and loud Jake. "Mom called. She wanted me to tell you that if you don't call her back by six to confirm for Sunday dinner, she's going to stop by your lab and embarrass you in front of your recluse friends."
"That could have been a text, Jake. A five second text. You didn't need to come here."
Jake tilts his head, a lazy, jagged grin cutting across his face. "I know," he smiles wider, the amusement dancing in his tone. "But where's the fun in a text? I prefer the personal touch."
He begins to move toward the door, his shoulder intentionally brushing yours as he attempts to pass. But then he stops and leans in, letting the heat radiate off his skin in a way that makes you want to scramble backward but you're pinned by the stupid audacity of his proximity.
His lips hover inches from the shell of your ear, dropping his voice into a low volume that Jace couldn't possibly catch over the sound of his own frustrated rustling.
"For what it's worth, baby doll," he breathes, "I could definitely get you off. And I promise you wouldn't have to show me where anything was. I'd find it just fine on my own."
You immediately recoil as if he's physically burned you, it’s like a violent shudder of disgust racks your frame. He doesn't even wait for your slap him or scream at him, he thinks the chuckle that lets out is enough and with that he walks out of the door, leaving the air behind him feeling way too overcharged.
You remain sat on the bed as your heart hammers unevenly against your ribs. Across the room, Jace is already moving, you notice his hands trembling slightly while he tries to set his textbooks down with a finality that suggests he's trying to ground himself.
It is a familiar but such an exhausting dance.
You and the Sim twins have been in each other’s lives since before you could even form any memories. Since you were born barely a week apart, you were raised as a collective—like a trio bound by the inseparable bond of your mothers. Your childhood photos are a blur of shared birthday cakes and matching grass stained knees in a suburban neighborhood that felt like it belonged to the three of you alone.
Jake is technically the older one by a mere four minutes, a fact he used to brag when you were younger but the order of birth was rendered irrelevant a long time ago by the overwhelming difference in their personalities. Jake has always been some kind of force of nature, you found him childish even back then, to you he vibrated with a restless energy that left everyone exhausted in his wake. By the time you were sixteen, the neighborhood had already collectively decided that Jace was the older one because he was the one who carried all the responsibility, the one who navigated the world with a quiet dignity while Jake was busy being a headache to his parents.
Now they have become the very definition of a cliché, they are two halves of a whole that refuse to touch. It's why Jace occupies this sterile sanctuary in the honors housing, where he’s surrounded by the scent of old ink and high expectations while Jake is deep in the trenches of his frat house across campus.
"I'm sorry," Jace says, his voice finally breaking the heavy silence. "I should have changed the code to the door. I told him last time he crashed here."
You swallow hard on the bile still sitting at the base of your throat. "Ugh, he’ll literally never change, he’s just the worst. He sat there and pretended to be you and listened to me talk about my date from last night!" You raise your voice but the genuine guilt on the familiar lines of Jace’s features makes the anger in your chest soften into a dull flickering. It's the same face you've turned to for comfort for two decades and yet for a fleeting moment on that bed, you still hadn't been able to tell the difference.
"What did he say to you?" Jace asks, his tone cautious as if he's afraid the answer will scare him. "At the end. Before he left."
You wave a hand dismissively like you’re trying to physically swat away the lingering vibration of Jake's voice in the room. "Nothing. Just him being the typical douchebag he's been since forever," you mutter, though the heat still throbbing in your neck tells a different story.
You've spent the better part of a decade perfecting the art of hating Jake Sim and by now it’s a necessary armor, a defense mechanism against the wild gravitational pull he exerts on everyone around him. But as you look at Jace, you're hit with the stinging irony of your own history.
Irony because before the hatred came, all you had for Jake was love. At six years old you were convinced you’d be marrying him and had scrawled Mrs. Jake Sim in the margins of your coloring books with a confidence that only a child can muster, fully believing that life would eventually find you in a white dress and a life spent chasing him.
That was, until the day he decided to bless you with your earliest and most vivid memory of him. You can still see him standing in the driveway of his family home, gap toothed with devilish grin on his face as he looked you dead in the eye and delivered a piece of information that shattered your world.
"You know you were supposed to have a twin too," he had said, his voice flat and terrifyingly casual for a six year old. "But you got so hungry, you ate her in your mommy's belly."
The trauma of that statement had sent you straight into an inconsolable grief that lasted for hours. You had cried until your chest ached, genuinely horrified by the monster Jake had told you that you were. And then, Jace appeared by your side with a half melted watermelon popsicle and a hand on your shoulder. He hadn't laughed at you or teased you, he did sit with you in the grass and told you it wasn't true, effectively choosing your side over his brothers before any of you could even realize what was happening. That was the day the pedestal for Jake crumbled and the one for Jace was built.
You look at Jace, seeing the way his eyebrows are still knit together in that worried arch. "I hate the fact that I still can't tell you two apart when he's playing his little games...it makes me want to scream."
Jace moves closer. "It's not your fault," he says softly while his eyes search yours. "He's spent twenty two years learning how to mimic me just to get under people's skin. Especially yours."
You quickly brush off his statement by bringing up something else. Jake does not get under your skin.
"You know, you really should swing by the apartment from time to time, Jace," you say, clearly trying to shift the focus. "Unless you want Jake and his frat bros to completely take it over. Your parents got it for both of you, after all."
Jace just shakes his head with a look of real burnout crossing his face. "I'd rather not," he admits, taking a seat at his desk. "I can't study with the smell of cheap beer and whatever bullshit he's invited over."
You notice he looks a little distressed, a little distracted even and you know it’s not just because of Jake. "Where were you anyway?" you ask, squinting at him. "You look like you got a B or something."
"I was just grabbing coffee," he says but then he pauses, only to whisper the other half of his sentence. "With Jungwon."
You practically squeal and the bad date along with Jake's creepy comments are momentarily forgotten as you lunge at him, grabbing his arm. "Oh my god! Tell me everything. I need all the details like right now!"
Jace sighs, looking down at his feet. "I don't know. I don't think he's even into guys."
You pull back to give him a look of total disbelief. "Are you kidding? Of course he is! He literally hooked up with Sunghoon—you know, Sunoo's ex? It was a whole thing last semester."
Jace laughs but it sounds a little forced. "That was just a rumor, Y/n. Nobody actually knows if that happened."
"If it was such a rumor, then why would Jungwon want to hang out with you so much...alone?" you counter with a stubborn cross of your arms. "Men don't just hang out that much without a reason."
Jace lets out a real laugh this time, shaking his head at your logic. "He's probably just trying to get closer to you," he says, his eyes fixed on yours for a second too long.
"What? That's ridiculous," you huff. "Who would go through all that effort just for me?"
Jace looks away with a certain smile on his lips as he mumbles under his breath, "You have noooo idea."
"It's not just Jungwon," he continues, his voice sounding small and a little tired. "You don't realize how many guys have pretended to be my friend just this year, hanging out in the lab, offering to help with my notes, only to eventually pivot the conversation to you. They all want to know what you like, if you're single or if I can put in a good word."
You stare at him, feeling a familiar ache in your chest again. While you're busy dealing with mid tier dates and Jake's constant nuisance, Jace is dealing with a different kind of problem.
Your mind drifts back to the summer after freshman year when you were home from college, sitting on the edge of your pool with your feet in the water in the humid night air. You'd always had a hunch, like a quiet feeling that Jace's lack of interest in the girls in your small town wasn't just about all his focus being on his studies. So when he finally told you he was gay, it felt like a missing piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place and you were just glad it only took one semester away from your hometown for him to feel safe enough to realize who he truly was.
But that safety is still such a fragile thing because no one else knows, not their parents and definitely not Jake. Jace is terrified of what their reaction would be, he’s worried that his family's approval, which is something he's worked so hard for with his honors status and exemplary accomplishments would vanish in an instant.
And that’s exactly why every time Jake makes a crude joke about you and Jace being a secret couple or asks if you're finally giving Jace some sugar, you just take it. You let it happen, either rolling your eyes or firing back a witty comment, just letting Jake believe whatever he wants because you’d much rather the world think you're sleeping with your best friend than risk unintentionally outing him before he's ready.
"I have some idea," you say softly, patting the space on his bed next to you so he comes over and sits with you. "But maybe Jungwon is different? Maybe he's the one who actually wants to know about you."
Jace offers a weak but hopeful smile, unfortunately it fades quickly when he speaks again. "Even if he did...what then? I'm not even out out yet, I’m literally pretending to be someone I'm not. It's a lot to ask of someone."
The contrast between them is enough to give you whiplash. It's always been this way and you hate how Jake gets to be the reckless one, living his life at full volume without a single care for the consequences. You can still remember the awkward silence of their hallway back in high school with the sound of girls leaving Jake's room in tears, his trail of broken hearts just another part of his bad boy charm. He's always been free to be exactly who he is, no matter how messy it gets.
And then there's Jace, who is ten times the man his brother is and he stays huddled in his shell, scared to death that being himself will cost him everything. It makes your chest tight with sadness. He's spent his whole life being the reliable twin just to keep the peace while Jake burns the house down and gets a pass for it.
But you don't let yourself linger on the pity for too long, you know Jace hates it when you get that look in your eyes so you shake your head and force a bright grin onto your face.
"Listen, the lit majors are throwing a party tonight," you say, turning to face him with a spark of excitement. "And I'm telling you, it's not like those sweaty, overcrowded frat parties on greek row where your brother hangs out. It's actually always chill from what I’ve heard. You should invite Jungwon. I'll be there the whole time, so you won't be alone."
Jace's eyes go wide and he immediately starts backing up toward his headboard. "No. No way. I can't just...ask him to a party. That's too much."
"Oh, shut up!" you yell, launching yourself off the bed and tackling him onto the mattress. He lets out a startled oof as you scramble to grab his phone from the desk. "Life is all about risks, Jace! You're going to be an old man wondering what if because you were too scared to send a blue bubble?"
"Y/n, give it back!" he pleads, laughing even as he tries to reach his phone first but you're faster, pinning his arm down with your knee and waving the phone triumphantly. "You'll never know if you don't try! Do you want to spend tonight staring at a textbook or staring at him?"
He groans, his face turning a deep shade of red but he finally stops fighting. "Fine! Fine, just give it here. I'll do it."
You hand the phone back with a satisfied smirk and watch over his shoulder as his thumbs hover nervously over the screen. After a long, shaky exhale, he taps the send button. "There," he says, sounding too breathless for someone who just sent a text. "It's sent. If he says no…just pray he doesn’t say no, Y/n."
The next minute is straight up torture. You and Jace kneel on the floor at the foot of the bed shoulder to shoulder, both of your gazes locked onto the dark screen of his phone praying to god Jungwon just replies now. When it finally vibrates, the notification banner pops up—
Jungwon: Sounds like fun, meet there?
You let out a deafening squeal, hauling yourself up on the bed to jump up and down it with enough force to make the springs groan. "Yes! Oh my god, Jace! He said yes!"
Jace stares at the screen having his mouth hanging open in sincere astonishment. "Wait, no way," he whispers, locking and opening his phone again as if he expects the text to disappear. "No way he actually wants to go."
"What do you mean no way?" you say, dropping back down and shaking his shoulder. "Jace, look at yourself. You're literally so hot! You're going to go to that party and give him that good dick." The words are out of your mouth before you can filter them and for a split second, you freeze. You stop jumping and look at him with a dead serious expression. "Wait...are you a top or a bottom?"
Jace's face turns to a beautiful red and he buries his face in his hands, letting out a muffled, embarrassed groan. "I don't know! God, Y/n, let me actually kiss a guy first before I have to figure all that out!"
He starts to laugh, the tension finally breaking as he sits on the bed and leans back on his elbows. He looks at you with a cheeky twinkle in his eyes that is usually reserved for his brother. "You know, if you think I'm so hot, that means you also think Jake is hot."
The way your smile instantly vanishes is almost comical, you scowl at him. "No. Absolutely not. That is completely different."
"How?" Jace asks, grinning now because he knows he's got you. "We're identical, remember? Same face, same hair, same everything."
"That doesn't matter," you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. "Being hot also involves having a personality and yours doesn't make me want to walk into oncoming traffic. Jake's does."
Jace laughs so hard, he's clutching his stomach and falling back onto the bed. "Hmmm, you didn't think that when you were six though," he teases, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I remember you specifically calling yourself Mrs. Jake Sim over and over, just so nobody would accidentally think you were talking about me."
"Shut up!" you yell and grab a small paperback from his nightstand to chuck at his head. He ducks just in time and the book thudding harmlessly against the wall. "I told you that in confidence, you jerk!"
Your fake anger fades quickly because you feel determined to help your best friend. "Okay, enough of that. We need a game plan," you say standing up and heading straight for his closet. "By the end of tonight, I want you tongue deep in Jungwon's mouth."
Jace winces at your words and a bashful look crossing his face. "Could you maybe...not put it like that? Please?"
Ignoring his plea, you start flicking through his hangers, tossing aside his more boring, oversized sweaters. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right. You need to look like the honors student of his dreams but you know? Approachable."
As you sift through a row of button downs, you look over your shoulder at him. "So, what is it anyway? What do you actually like about Jungwon?"
Jace quietens down and you can almost sense his expression softening into something genuine and vulnerable without even looking at him again. You can bet he's staring at his hands. "He's just...he's really observant," he says softly. "Most people just see the smart twin or the quiet one but when Jungwon talks to me, it's so different. You know he didn't even know I was a twin? He makes me feel like I'm actually being seen for who I am, not just what I am."
You stop moving just to coo at him. "Awwww Jacieee, that is literally the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Okay, now I'm even more committed. We are finding you the perfect outfit."
₊ 𓈒⊹
The rooftop of the english building is alive with low indie music and the soft glow of string lights but Jace is currently vibrating at a frequency that might actually shatter glass. He is shaking so hard you can feel the tremors coming off him in waves.
"I can't do this," he hisses, his face is slick with a layer of nervous sweat that the cool night air isn't helping. He reaches for the buttons of the jacket you spent twenty minutes picking out, his fingers fumbling. "It's too hot. I'm leaving. I'm going to go home and solve some differential equations."
"Jace, stay still," you whisper, swatting his hands away from his clothes. "You look incredible. Stop trying to undress! Someone will see!"
"Why are you so nervous anyway? You've hung out with him plenty times." You're genuinely trying to understand your best friend.
"Yes! But this is the first time I did the asking!" He whisper yells. "My socks," he groans, leaning in close so only you can hear his crisis. "Y/n, they're soaked. My feet are literally swimming in sweat. It's disgusting. I'm going to slip in my own shoes and fall on him."
You open your mouth to say ew and tell him that is way more information than you needed but the heavy metal door to the rooftop creaks open.
"Oh, you're here?"
Jungwon walks in, looking effortlessly cool in a loose cardigan. He blinks and a small smile forms when he sees the two of you. "Hey, Y/n. It's nice to see you again."
"Hi, Jungwon!" you say in a tone that's a little too bright. You give Jace a sharp shove with your elbow, nearly knocking the wind out of him so he's forced to acknowledge the guy.
"H-hi," he manages but his voice a little higher than usual it makes you want to cringe and coo at the same time—poor Jace.
Jungwon gestures toward the music and the crowd of lit majors. "You guys want to move over there? It's actually not too crowded near the edge."
"Oh! You know what?" You take a dramatic step backward, checking your phone as if you just got a life altering text. "I think I see...my friend? Over there? Yeah, I definitely have to go talk to her. It's a whole thing."
Before Jace can grab your arm and drag you back into his panic, you've already started backing away and as soon as Jungwon turns his back to lead Jace toward the far corner, you catch Jace's wide and comically terrified eyes. You mouth the words calm down with exaggerated lip movements, then proceed to wrap your arms around yourself to make a ridiculous show of making out with the air to remind him what the end goal is even sticking your tongue out at flicking it for good measure.
Jace looks like he wants to die on the spot but he takes a shaky breath and follows Jungwon further into the party.
The second they walk away leaving you standing alone at the door, the adrenaline fades and the reality of your situation finally sets in. You look around the rooftop and realize that while the vibes are great, you don't actually know a single person here. You're the engineering and fanfiction girl in a sea of people debating the symbolism of some nineteenth century poetry.
So to avoid looking like a total loser, you pull out your phone and start scrolling through old texts, pretending to be deeply engaged in a conversation with absolutely no one. You're just about to consider making a break for the exit when a familiar voice cuts through the indie folk music.
"Y/n? Is that you?"
You look up and you're instantly relieved to see a familiar face—Sloane, a girl you spent three grueling weeks with last year trying to finish a group project for an elective class.
"Sloane! Hey!" You tuck your phone away, happy to have a human shield. You exchange the usual pleasantries, asking about her classes and how her pet hamster is doing. But then she randomly tilts her head and looking around. "Who did you come with? I didn't think this was really your scene," she asks with a friendly grin.
"I came with Jace," you say, nodding toward the corner where you can just barely see the back of Jace's head near Jungwon.
Sloane's eyes go wide and she beams making her whole face light up. "Really? Oh my god! Jungwon is going to be so excited!"
You feel your heart skip a beat but you lean in anyway cause your internal gossip radar pinging at max volume. "Really? Why?"
"Are you kidding?" Sloane whispers, leaning closer like she's sharing a secret. "Jungwon has had this cute little crush on Jace forever. He's been trying to figure out how to tell him for months but he was worried Jace was way too into his books to notice him."
You let out a loud gasp and grab Sloane by her arm maybe too hard. "Really?! Jace likes Jungwon too! They're literally over there together right now. That's why I'm standing here all by myself—I am the ultimate wingwoman!"
"No way!" Sloane squeals, mirroring your excitement.
In an instant, the two of you have completely abandoned any sense of cool lit major chill and now you're just two girls huddled in the corner of the roof, squealing and gushing over how perfect they are for each other, occasionally peeking over your shoulders to see if any progress is being made.
"Do you know Jace was literally vibrating. I had to tackle him and steal his phone just to get him to send the text. He was convinced Jungwon wouldn't be into him," you laugh, shaking your head as you rest against the rooftop railing.
Sloane cackles and nearly spilling her drink. "Are you serious? I was sitting with Jungwon for at least twenty minutes trying to convince him that his text wasn't too thirsty. He was so worried he sounded like he was trying too hard!"
The coincidence is almost too much to handle and when you both turn your heads at the same time to peek over towards the edge of the roof, you see Jace and Jungwon tucked away in a pair of mismatched lawn chairs in the corner, far away from the thickest part of the crowd.
Jace must have finally stopped sweating through his socks because you catch a glimpse of him saying something with that softly sincere look he gets when he's actually comfortable. Whatever he says absolutely works because Jungwon throws his head back and laughs, the string lights catch the bright spark in his eyes and Jace doesn't look away, it's like he can't, so he just watches him with a hopeful expression that makes your heart swell so much you think it could burst any moment.
"They are going to be the cutest couple on this entire campus," Sloane gushes as she clutches her chest. Then, her expression shifts slightly and she lets out a little sigh mixed with a laugh. "It's so crazy how different Jace is from his twin. I saw Jake at a party last week and...yeah. Night and day."
You immediately roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. "Tell me about it," you groan as the image of Jake smirking on Jace's bed flashing through your mind. "Living with that guy's ego is like living next to a literal sun. He's exhausting but he's always been a total hazard."
"I heard he got banned from the library for a semester because he yelled out some obscenity his frat bros dared him to," Sloane whispers.
"That sounds like him," you mutter, glancing back at Jace who is still looking at Jungwon like he's the only person on the roof. "I honestly don't know how they share dna. Jace has the soul of a poet and Jake...Jake has the soul of a frat boy who thinks body spray is a substitute for a shower."
You start praying the topic randomly changes but instead your heat drops straight to your ass at Sloane's next words, "Oh, speak of the devil."
You turn your back to see what she's referring to and there he is, at the makeshift bar. Jake is leaning against a table and deep in conversation with some girl who looks like she's already falling for his usual routine. A wave of nausea hits you because the last thing tonight needs is Jake spotting Jace and Jungwon together, you know he's either going make a scene or find a way to ruin the moment with one of his personal jokes and Jace would probably never recover from the embarrassment.
You feel the panic rising in your chest but when you whip your head back toward the lawn chairs, the corner is empty. Before you can freak out, your phone vibrates in your hand. It's a text from—
Jace: We're heading back to my dorm. I think it's going well? See you later!
You shove the screen in front of Sloane's face and the moment she reads his text, the two of you let out another synchronized squeal. It's the ultimate victory because they left before Jake could see them.
Unfortunately, that squeal acts as a homing beacon for the one person you wanted to avoid. You can practically feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up as his familiar presence closes in and the air suddenly smells like that expensive cologne he uses to hide the fact that he probably hasn't done laundry in weeks. He completely misses the sight of Jace and Jungwon slipping through the rooftop door because his focus entirely on you.
"Well, well," Jake says in a tone that makes your skin crawl, he immediately steps into your space and ignores the way you stiffen. He lets his eyes travel down your outfit with that same look from earlier when you were giving him all the details of your sex life. "That's a very pretty dress, baby doll. What aisle of the candy store did you come from? Cause you look incredibly sweet tonight."
You scowl and let your face twist in disgust at his stupid words. "That is the worst line I have ever heard, Jake. Seriously, stop."
He doesn't even flinch at your rejection because by now your harsh words have no effect on him.
"And hello to you too, Sandra," he says smoothly.
Sloane's smile drops instantly. "It's Sloane, Jake. We had a class together for an entire semester."
Jake just shrugs, completely unbothered by the fact that he doesn't know her name and indirectly embarrassed her. "Sloane, Sandra...both beautiful, just like you. What's the difference?" He counters before turning back to you. "So, where's my boring other half? I figured if you were here, he'd be trailing behind you like a lost puppy."
"He's not here, Jake. And for the record, you are the boring one," you snap and hitch your bag higher on your shoulder. "I'm actually leaving. Why are you even here? Lit majors don't care for people like you."
Even with that, he still manages to smirk and jerk his thumb back at the girl he was talking to by the bar, a girl who is currently watching him with an expectant, slightly dazed look. "Oh, you know me," he says crudely in a way that makes you envision slapping him already. "Figured I'd try out some lit major pussy for the first time. See if they really are as deep as they pretend to be."
He even puts on this fake, wide eyed look and clutches his chest, acting like he's nervous for a big exam or something. "Think I'll pass, baby doll?"
This time, you don't even give him the satisfaction of a verbal comeback but you do give him the most disgusted look you can muster and turn on your heel, heading straight for the rooftop exit. You can hear Sloane saying a quick goodbye behind you but your main goal is putting as much distance between yourself and Jake as possible.
Except, he doesn't stay put or go back to the girl waiting for him at the bar.
"Hold on for a sec."
"Go away, Jake!" you yell over your shoulder as you hit the stairwell.
"Wait up, I'm serious," he says and his footsteps come heavier and faster behind you but you keep moving, clattering down the stairs in your platform slippers, he's incredibly persistent though. And by the time you reach the second floor landing, his tone has shifted. The teasing layer is gone and he's suddenly being weirdly flat and intense. "Y/n, stop. I actually have something important I need to ask you. Just...hold on."
You're able to make it all the way to the ground floor, your hand already on the heavy metal handle of the building's exit. You're ready to burst out into the night air and bolt but Jake is right there, reaching his hand over your head to hold the door shut.
"I'm not joking, listen to—"
You've turned to him to scream for him to leave you alone but you notice his whole body tense up and he stops mid sentence. He's looking through the glass pane of the windows by the door at the shadows of the bike racks just outside.
"What the fuck?" Jake breathes in a deep exhale.
Your heart stops when you look to see what he's looking at because there, under the yellow hum of a streetlamp, Jace has Jungwon pressed back against one of the metal racks, his hands cupping the other boy's face with a desperate type of hunger. They're kissing, scratch that, they're making out and Jace looks more alive than you've ever seen him.
The silence in the stairwell is so consuming as Jake stares at his identical twin with a look of utter shock.
The second the shock wears off and his face hardens into something unreadable, Jake doesn't hesitate, immediately lunging for the door. You scramble after him with your heart lodged in your throat and grab his arm with both hands, trying to anchor him to the spot.
"Jake, stop! Please, just leave them alone!" you plead, your voice cracking as the first sting of tears hits your eyes. "Don't ruin this for him. Just walk away, please."
He doesn't even look at you, jerking his shoulder so rough it shoves you off, you stumble back against the cold brick wall of the stairwell, watching helplessly as he hurls the door open and storms into the night. You're already crying from a mix of terror for Jace and a burning hatred for the man currently charging toward the bike racks.
"Jake, no!" you gasp, rushing out behind him as fast as your slippers will let you but you're too late.
"What the fuck, Jace?!" Jake's voice booms through the quiet courtyard, making Jace and Jungwon spring apart, their breathing heavy and their faces flushed, only for Jace's to go deathly pale the moment he sees his brother standing there. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach, his hands immediately start trembling near Jungwon's shoulders as he stares at his brother.
"Jake..." Jace's voice is barely audible.
"Are you serious right now?" Jake steps closer, his posture aggressive and looming. "You're gay? You've been playing this whole honors student part while you're out here kissing dudes? Lying to our parents?" Jake goes on and on.
"So all those girls you liked but never dated in high school were just cover ups, right?"
"Why didn't you say anything?"
You finally reach them and throw yourself between the twins, pressing your hands against Jake's chest to shove him back. "Jake, shut up! Stop it right now!" you sob, willing your vision to stop blurring with tears. "This isn't the time or place. Leave him alone!"
But Jake doesn't budge, he's just a wall of muscle and misplaced anger now, looking over your head to stare directly into his brother's terrified eyes. Jace is frozen, too shocked to even defend himself because his worst nightmare unfolding in the middle of a campus sidewalk while Jungwon stands there, looking back and forth between the identical faces in total confusion.
You really have no idea how Jace will react, what he will say so you're shocked when he laughs but it sounds so bitter. He looks at the brother who shares his exact face but none of his heart and his eyes turn to ice.
"Wow," Jace spits. "You find out your brother is gay and your first instinct isn't to wonder why I was too scared to tell you. It's to accuse me of living a lie because it bruises your pathetic ego."
"You truly are a vile excuse for a human being, Jake. I've spent twenty two years sharing your face and every day I wake up wishing I could tear it off just so I don't have to look like someone so completely devoid of anything decent. You're not my fucking brother. You're just a mistake that happened four minutes before me."
Before Jake can even blink or think of anything to say, Jace grabs Jungwon's hand and pulls him into a run, disappearing into the shadows of the campus buildings.
"Jace! Wait!" You scream in a sob, trying to go after them but your foot catches on the edge of the bike rack and go down hard, scraping the skin right off your knees against the pavement.
The pain is sharp and hot and as you wince, Jake reaches down with shaking hands trying to grab your shoulders. "Shit! Y/n, let me—"
"Don't you fucking touch me!" you shriek, shoving his hands away with enough force to make him stumble. You scramble to your feet, simultaneously ignoring the blood beginning to trickle down your legs.
Blinded by rage and heartbreak for your best friend, you launch yourself at his brother, slamming your palms into his chest. You hit him, slap at his arms in wild movements fueled by a lifetime of suppressed anger. "You want to know why your brother never told you?!" you yell, the sound echoing off the brick walls. "It's because you're a selfish, black hearted asshole!" One of your slaps lands directly on his cheek.
"You're so fucking obsessed with yourself that you couldn't let him have one goddamn second of happiness without making it about your own confusion. You are the reason he's been living in a cage, Jake! He's terrified of you because everything you touch turns to rot and he didn't want you rotting this, too!"
You shove him one last time, your voice dropping to a hiss. "You're like this shadow he's been trying to outrun since we were kids. I hate you. I think I've always hated you."
Jake's face contorts when the words hit his ears, his jaw tightens as he stares at you with a look that's both furious and heartbroken at the same time. "You don't mean that," he growls but his voice cracks. "You're just upset because you're bleeding and tired. You don't actually hate me."
You let out a harsh laugh right in his face, "Oh, I fucking mean it, Jake! I mean every single word. Do you really think anyone loves the real you? People like the idea of you. They like the guy who buys the drinks and throws the parties, the guy who has no problem spending his daddy’s money on them but the second the lights go up and they see the shallow hollow mess underneath, they all run."
You step closer, ignoring the stinging in your knees to look him dead in the eye. "It is honestly fucking ridiculous how much you pride yourself on being the better twin. Look at Jace. He's so kind, so brilliant and so capable of caring about someone other than himself. And you’re just a cheap copy of a much better man."
"Stop it, Y/n," he mutters but you can see his hands shaking at his sides.
"Why should I? It's the truth!" you laugh again. "Isn't it just so crazy? You walk around acting like you're the prize but the only thing actually good about you is the fact that you share half your dna with Jace. Without him to balance you out, you're just a hedonistic frat guy with a pretty face that nobody is going to want to look at in five years. You're nothing, Jake. You're less than nothing."
You turn your back on him and every step is a sharp reminder of the gravel now embedded in your skin. You limp away, the salt from your tears stinging the small cuts in your palm as you wipe your tears. Crying because the secret your best friend spent years protecting was ripped open in the most violent way possible.
Somehow you’re not surprised when Jake gets in his car and starts creeping along the curb beside you.
He rolls the passenger window down. "Y/n, please just get in the car," he calls out to you in a frustrated but also strangely concerned tone. "Your knees are literally dripping blood. Just get in. I'll just drop you off, I swear I won’t say a thing."
"I'd rather get abducted and sold into human trafficking than sit in a confined space with you," you say without even looking at him.
He huffs and actually pulls over to hop out of the car. He tries to reach for your elbow lightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slap him again.
"Come on, you're shaking. You can barely stand. Let me just help you walk? Or at least let me hold you up until we get to the dorms."
You recoil as if his skin is made of fire, nearly losing your balance. "Please don’t touch me, Jake. I’m so tired of you."
He looks at you with wide eyes wide, trying to coax you with that soft, manipulative tone he always uses to get his way. "Baby doll, look at me. I fucked up, okay? I'm an asshole, I’m everything you said and you’re so right about me. But don't hurt yourself more just to spite me. Please."
You ignore him, focusing only on the rhythm of your limp and when he finally gets the hint, he gets back into his car and just drives slowly behind you. The whole twenty minute walk to the honors housing—he’s right behind you, lighting the road with his headlights until the brick facade of the honors housing building comes into view and you limp all the way into it. That’s when he finally floors it, the screech of his tires echoes through the empty street as he speeds off into the night.
The walk up the stairs is a special kind of hell, every step upward pulls at the scabs already forming on your knees and by the time you reach Jace's door, you're lightheaded from the pain but you still knock and wait.
When the door swings open, the sight breaks what's left of your heart. Jace looks absolutely destroyed, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot, his face is an angry red from crying. Behind him, Jungwon is sitting at the desk with his head in his hands, looking so small and upset that he looks like he's on the verge of a breakdown himself.
"Oh, Jace," you whisper, your voice breaking. "I'm so, so sorry."
You reach forward and wrap your arms around his middle and pulling him close. He immediately collapses into you, burying his heavy weight into you as he lets out a sob into your shoulder and all you can do is just hold him, whispering apologies over and over into his hair as he finally lets the terror of the night out.
The sound of Jungwon clearing his throat reaches you through the wet sounds of Jace's sobbing. Jace pulls back just enough to look toward the desk, his hands still clutching the sleeves of your cardigan as if he might fall over if he lets go. Jungwon stands up cautiously, with so much quiet sadness in his eyes for the boy who just had his entire world dismantled on a sidewalk.
"I'm going to head out," Jungwon says, his voice steady despite the visible tremor in his hands. He walks over, stepping into the small circle of light near the door and reaches out to gently take one of Jace's hands. "Listen, Jace. I really like you, like…a lot. That hasn't changed because of...anything that happened tonight."
Jace lets out a shaky breath, searching Jungwon's face for any sign of pity or regret but all he finds is only warmth.
"I understand if this is going to slow things down for us," Jungwon continues, stroking the back of Jace's knuckles with his thumb. "I know this is a lot. It's huge. And I'm ready to wait until you have it all figured out with your family and your brother. You don't have to rush into anything for me."
Your heart literally aches in your chest at his words. It feels so unfair that after finally finding someone who sees him for who he truly is, Jace has to put his happiness on hold because of Jake's selfishness. They shouldn't have to wait, they should be allowed to just be two college students enjoying a night out, not navigating a family crisis.
Jungwon leans in then, cupping Jace's tear stained face and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before moving down to his lips. It's a quiet kiss but it’s so full of a promise that isn't going anywhere.
"Please don't cry anymore," Jungwon whispers against his skin. "I'll text you tomorrow, okay? Just breathe."
With one last supportive squeeze of Jace's hand, he gives you a quick hug and slips out the door. The click of the lock seems to echo in the sudden silence of the room and Jace stands there for a moment, staring at the wood of the door, looking smaller and more fragile than you've ever seen him in all the years you've been friends.
The adrenaline that kept you walking through the pain finally vanishes and leaves both of you standing in the middle of the room, with broken hearts and bleeding knees, wondering how everything went so wrong so fast. You sit on the bed and when he follows suit, you immediately reach for his hand.
"I hate him so much," he whispers and you almost catch the words so over the hum of the air conditioner.
He twists his hands together over and over. "I hate that I share his face. I hate that I have to look in the mirror every morning and see the person who just destroyed the only thing that made me feel like I wasn't just a collection of grades and expectations."
When he abruptly turns to face you, his knee bumps yours and you gasp in pain, making him look down. "Oh fuck. Y/n, your knees," he breathes, his own grief momentarily eclipsed by horror. "Did he—Did Jake do that to you?"
"No," you say, your voice cracking as you look down at all the dried blood. "I fell trying to catch up to you. He tried to help, but I wouldn't let him."
Jace pulls himself together enough to stand up and grab his first aid kit from under the bed. He's always prepared like that—the exact opposite of Jake, who probably doesn't even own a band aid. He kneels on the floor, his hands still a little shaky as he begins to gently dab at the gravel and dried blood on your knees with an antiseptic wipe.
"He's going to tell them, isn't he? He's going to tell our parents. He can't keep a secret to save his life, especially not one that makes him feel like he has leverage."
You reach down and run your fingers through his hair, trying to provide him with some kind of anchor in the middle of his storm. "If he does, we'll handle it. But Jace, look at what Jungwon said. He's staying. You're not alone in this anymore."
"I really just wanted one thing for myself," Jace sighs, continuing to clean your wounds. "Just one part of my life that wasn't shadowed by him or lived for someone else's approval. And he took it. He took it and he made it ugly."
He takes a cotton ball soaks with some rubbing alcohol. "This is gonna hurt," he murmurs but you can tell he's the one trying to focus.
"Forget that," you say even though you nearly scream when the ball hits your raw skin. "Talk to me about the rooftop. Before the disaster happened...how was it? Tell me everything about you and Jungwon."
Jace pauses with a mew cotton ball in his hand and for a second the devastation in his expression lifts. A shy smile breaks through his tear stained face and he ducks his head, looking down at your knees to hide his expression.
"I really, really like him, Y/n," he admits with a voice that has lost that jagged edge of despair. "He's so easy to talk to. We sat there for an hour just talking about movies and his architecture stuff and it felt like...I don't know, like I didn't even have to filter myself."
"I knew it!" you chirp, trying to keep the mood light. You lean back on your elbows, completely forgetting the throbbing in your legs. "So, come on, give me the details. Who initiated the kiss? Was it you, Mr. risk taker?"
Jace's entire face turns a beautiful shade of pink, the blush spreads all the way to the tips of his ears. "No," he mumbles, carefully placing a large bandage over your right knee. "It was Jungwon but…it wasn't even like it came out of nowhere. I—uh I kind of walked right into it."
"Explain. Now."
He lets out this sheepish laugh as he pulls out another bandage. "He asked me why I was shaking so much, if I was just cold or something. And I meant to say I was just a little overwhelmed, but my brain kinda did this weird thing. I looked at him and said yeah, well, hot guys make me nervous."
You let out a scream, even though Jace groans in embarrassment. "You didn't!"
"I did," he says, hiding his face in his hands for a second. "I realized what I said immediately and wanted to sink into the ground but he just laughed and told me I was plenty hot too, then he just...kissed me. I swear it was the best four minutes of my life, Y/n. Until I heard Jake's voice."
He sighs but the blush is still there like a small flicker of warmth in the middle of a cold night. "At least I know it's real. Jake might’ve ruined the moment but it doesn’t take away the fact that Jungwon called me hot."
Jace's hands go still as he finishes taping the final bandage. The brief smile vanishes as he stares at the floor. "I should probably tell my parents before Jake can get to them. I need to be the one to say it." Jace says quietly.
"You're right," you agree, nodding firmly despite the exhaustion deep in your bones. "He could do it tomorrow when he drives back for that dinner. You just have to get there first. Go before Jake even has a chance to pull into the driveway."
Jace looks up at you with pleading vulnerable eyes. "Will you come with me? Please? I don't think I can stand in that house and face them—or him—alone."
You feel a physical wave of revulsion hit you at the mere thought of being near Jake again. "Jace, I love you," you say. "You know I'd do almost anything for you. But I don't think I can see Jake right now. To be honest, after all the things I said to him tonight? I think I’ll just make things worse. If I see his face, I'm going to start screaming again and that's the last thing you need during a family talk."
Jace sighs and his shoulders slump but he nods in understanding. He knows you're right, the air between you and his twin is currently pure poison.
"I get it," he agrees, rubbing his tired eyes. "I just...I don't know how I'm going to look at him without thinking about how he tried to ruin the best thing that's happened to me in years."
"You won't look at him," you say, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "You'll look at your parents, you'll tell your truth and then you'll remember that Jungwon is waiting for you back here. Jake is just noise, Jace. Loud, very selfish noise."
Jace rests his heavy head on your thighs, finally letting his muscles relax as you slowly run your fingers through his hair. He lets out a long, shaky sigh that seems to vibrate against your legs, the quiet of the dorm room is finally settling in around you when he suddenly blurts something out.
"It was so hot, Y/n."
You pause your hand in his hair cause you’re startled by the jarring shift in his tone. He's staring at the wall now, even though his head is still in your lap, you can see his face warming in a way that puts his earlier blush to shame.
"I was literally trying so hard not to moan when he grabbed the back of my neck," he confesses, in both awe and embarrassment. "And then... I totally popped a boner. I'm so sure he felt it, too."
A laugh slips out of you but Jace isn't finished, groaning and burying his face deeper into your lap. "The whole time, that comment you made about who was going to be the top or the bottom just kept looping in my head," he mumbles, his voice muffled. "I was standing there thinking—Oh gosh, if things actually get that far tonight, what am I even doing? Am I topping? Am I bottoming?—I didn't even have a plan for that part of the game plan."
"Jace!" you gasp, all delighted that he's finally sharing the scandalous details. "Not the full on identity crisis in the middle of a make out session." You laugh harder.
"I couldn't help it!" he defends himself, peeking up at you with a pout. "I was too focused on not passing out from how good he tasted that when my brain started asking about logistics, my body panicked."
Despite the tragedy of the night, seeing your best friend this flustered over the actual mechanics of his crush makes him feel a little more like the Jace you know—always overthinking everything, including the best kiss of his life.
"Since you were so focused on not passing out...what did he actually taste like?" You ask, giving his hair a playful little tug to pull him out of his spiral,
Jace goes quiet for a second, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he actually takes a moment to process the memory. A foggy look washes over his face and he lets out an almost mortified little laugh before looking back at you.
"Like peaches and cream," he whispers so innocently.
The silence in the room hangs for exactly half a second before you both burst into a fit of laughter, your shoulders shaking so hard it jars your injured knees. "Peaches and cream?!" you shriek, clutching your stomach. "Jace, oh my god. That is the corniest, fanfiction level thing I have ever heard in my life!"
"I'm serious!" he protests, making his face turn an even darker shade of red as he tries to hide his smile. "He had this lip balm on or maybe it was his drink, I don't know! It was sweet and soft and that's just what came to mind."
"You are such a hopeless romantic," you tease, wiping a stray tear of laughter from your eye. "Peaches and cream. Next, you're going to tell me his eyes were shimmering like the morning dew or something."
"Shut up," he makes like he’s going to hit your knee before shoving his face back into your lap to hide his grin. "I can't help it if the guy tastes like a dessert."
"A dessert you wanna devour," you tease making him shake his head from side to side like he’s trying to shake out the image you’ve put in his head.
As you sit there stroking Jace's hair, his comments fade into the background of your mind and a bitter taste of old memories take their place. This isn't the first time Jake has taken a moment of joy and turned it into something horrible. He's been a horrible person since you've known him, always needing to be the loudest and cruelest person in the room.
Your mind drifts back to junior prom. Jace had asked you to be his date, promising and swearing on heaven and earth that it wasn’t out of pity but because you were best friends and he genuinely wanted to spend the night with you. At the time, your skin was a constant map of acne and your mouth was a mess of metal braces. You felt like a project, instead of a princess but your mom had found a soft, shimmering baby pink dress that made you feel almost pretty and Jace had carefully pinned a corsage to your wrist that matched the fabric perfectly.
The three of you were standing in the foyer of the Sim house, their mom was fussing with a camera and beaming about how handsome her boys looked and how lovely you were. Jace was smiling at you, making you feel like an actual princess, like you actually belonged in a ballroom.
Then Jake opened his mouth, you remember how he leaned against the banister and looked you up and down with a sneer that almost made you start shaking. "Wow, mom," he'd dragged out, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I didn't know the local zoo was doing a shave the sheep fundraiser tonight. Is that why she's wearing so much glitter? To distract us from the fact that her dress is holding on for dear life? Honestly, Jace, I know you're the charitable twin but taking the before picture to prom is a new low even for you."
You remember how the room had gone deathly silent, Mrs Sim had gasped and Jace had immediately started shouting at his brother but the damage was done. Every time you looked in the mirror after the dance, all you saw was the before picture. Your confidence had plummeted drastically after that, if Jake thought he’d just ruined your night, he was wrong cause he’d managed to ruin your body image perception for years. All because he couldn't stand to see someone else—especially his boring brother—being happy.
Looking down at Jace now, you realize he's been fighting the same monster his whole life. Jake doesn't just ruin nights—he ruins the people themselves.
The memory of that night still leaves a sour feeling in the pit of your stomach, even years later. Mrs Sim hadn't let it slide though, the second those words left Jake's mouth, her face had turned a shade of red that rivaled your own blush and she had immediately grounded him for the next month, stripping away his car keys right there in the foyer. But the discipline didn't matter to you then because the sting of his words had already sunk in too deep.
Jace had been so patient with you that night, his hands hovering near your shoulders as you stood by the front door with tears threatening to spill over. "Please, Y/n, don't cry," he had begged, his voice soft and desperate. He wasn't being dismissive, he was trying to save the one thing he knew you'd spent hours on. "If you start now, it'll ruin your makeup and you looked so happy when you finished it. Don't let him take that away from you. You look so beautiful, I swear it."
He had spent the next twenty minutes distracting you with stupid jokes until your breathing finally evened out, showing the same kind of protective loyalty he still shows today. It's a pattern you recognize now—Jace spending his life trying to patch up the holes Jake rips into people. You continue to rub your hand through his hair, realizing that while your appearance has changed a lot since that prom, the dynamic between the three of you hasn't shifted an inch. Jake is still the wrecking ball and Jace is still the one left standing in the debris with you.
The rest of the weekend felt like a heart wrenching countdown, you hadn't even bothered going back to your own room that Friday night, crashing on Jace's bed right next to him seemed like the appropriate thing to do, the two of you talked in exhausted murmurs until the early hours of the morning.
When his alarm went off at exactly six in the morning, the room was still gray and Jace was a ghost of himself, pale and agonizingly silent as he threw a few things into his duffel bag. He had to beat Jake and be the one to set the narrative before his brother could twist it into something ugly. You watched from the window as his car pulled out of the lot and his taillights disappeared into the morning mist, then you spent the next three hours pacing your own dorm room, completely unable to sit still.
Then when your phone buzzed with a video call request from Jace, you swiped with a shaky hand to see him sitting at his parent's kitchen table. The camera was propped up against a fruit bowl or something, giving you a clear view of both him and his parents even though he was a little cut off, you could tell they were concerned but trying to keep calm. Jace's face was a mess, his eyes were already rimmed with red and his hands were shaking so violently on the tabletop that he had to clasp them together.
"Mom...Dad..." His voice was a thin thread that threatened to snap at any second. "I...I have to tell you something. I've been...so scared to say it because I didn't want anything to change but I can't keep it inside anymore. I'm...I'm gay."
The silence on the other end of the line felt like it lasted a century, it lasted so long that Jace let out a sob that sounded like he was choking and dropping his head as he waited for the blow to fall, like he was waiting for his life to officially be over.
But that never came.
You saw his mother immediately stand up and move around the table, she gathered her son's head against her chest, stroking his hair exactly the way you had the night before.
"Oh, my sweet sweet boy," she whispered, her own voice thick with emotion. "I knew. We always knew. We were just waiting for you to be ready to tell us."
Jace's dad leaned forward, his expression soft and pained. "Jaejun, why were you so scared? Did you really think we wouldn't love you the same? Why did you carry this for so long by yourself?"
"I didn't want to be another issue for you guys," Jace sobbed into his mother's apron. "With everything Jake does...I just wanted to be the perfect son. I didn't want to disappoint you."
Hearing that confession broke something inside you all over again as you sat on the edge of your bed with tears streaming down your face in silent solidarity. The relief was like a physical weight lifting off your chest—Jace was finally safe, he was finally his true self in the one place he had always felt he had to perform.
His mother looked up and finally noticed your face on the screen. "Oh Y/n, my love. Is that you?" she asked with a watery smile.
"Hi, Mrs. Sim," you managed to say, wiping your eyes and waving weakly. "I'm so happy for him."
"We are too, dear," she said. "Thank you for looking after him."
Jace pulled back and wiped his nose with his sleeve before giving you a look of nothing but gratitude. "I'll call you when I get back to campus tonight," he whispered. "I love you, Y/n."
"Love you too, Jace. Go be with them."
The call ended and you were left in your suddenly very quiet room, you spent the rest of your Sunday buried in your textbooks, the words had finally started to make sense now that the static of Jace's secret was gone. For the first time in a long time, the world felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be.
Things fell back into place barely two days after that and by Wednesday afternoon when you’re sat at a table with Jace and Jungwon in the dining hall, they’re pretty much in their own bubble, leaning so close to each other that their shoulders are pinned together. Jungwon is whispering something into Jace's ear that makes Jace duck his head and actually giggle.
"Okay, look," you say, propping your chin on your hand and giving them a fake disgusted look. "You guys are adorable, really. It's sickening. But can you please stop rubbing your new love in my face while I'm trying to eat this subpar pasta? My eyes are bleeding."
Jungwon laughs and you watch his eyes crinkle at the corners but he does lean back, finally giving Jace some breathing room. "Honestly, Y/n, I really can't understand how you're still single. I've sat in the library and heard guys talking about how gorgeous you are. You could have your pick of anyone on campus."
Jace turns to Jungwon with a teasing smirk on his face. "Oh, don't let her fool you. She's a hopeless romantic but she has these impossibly high standards, which she should obviously but the second a guy trips up or shows a hint of a red flag, she cuts them off immediately. Total ghost protocol."
"Hey, it's not my fault most guys just want to fuck anyway," you add with a shrug, making them both laugh. "I'm not interested in being someone's weekend project."
You're all laughing, it really feels like the vibes finally light and normal again but that’s when you catch a glimpse of someone standing a few feet behind Jace and your smile falters.
It's Jake.
It's the first time you've seen him since that night and for a moment, you don't even recognize him. The cocky, golden boy glow is completely gone and he looks like a total mess, wearing a wrinkled and stained hoodie with his hair is unwashed and even from here, you swear you can see the heavy bags under his eyes. He's also very pale, in a way that actually unnerves you and his eyes look bloodshot and sunken. A small flicker of worry pricks at your chest but you’re quick to brush it off, reminding yourself of how he acted just a few days ago.
When your eyes catch his and he realizes you've spotted him, he doesn't smirk or offer some rude catcall. He just walks up to the table with his eyes entirely set on Jace, not even bothering to look at you or Jungwon.
"Jace," he says in a voice that’s devoid of its usual bravado. "Can we talk? Just real quick. Somewhere else."
Jace stiffens and his hand instinctively reaches for Jungwon's under the table. "Why couldn't you just call me, Jake? Or wait until I was at the dorm?"
Jake lets out a breath that sounds more like a wheeze. "I've been texting you for days, Jace. You haven't responded once. I...I really need to talk to you."
The lack of an argument or a snarky comeback is the most alarming part and it hits you like whiplash. Jace looks at you, then at Jungwon before letting out a defeated sigh. "Fine. Five minutes."
He stands up and follows Jake towards a far corner of the dining hall, where there are less people. You watch their retreating backs, noting how Jace's is rigid and very defensive while Jake's is slumped and almost defeated. Even though the villain of the story looks like he's finally been defeated, you can't shake the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something is and feels very, very wrong.
Jungwon notices the way you're staring in the direction they’re in with your fork hovering aimlessly over your plate and he reaches over to give your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, don't overthink it. It's probably just sibling stuff. They probably just need to yell at each other for a few minutes and get it out of their systems."
You nod slowly, trying to force the image of Jake's red eyes out of your mind. "Yeah. You're right. It's just...Jake didn't even look like Jake."
"Let’s focus on something else," Jungwon says, effortlessly pivoting the conversation. "Sloane's birthday is this weekend, remember? She's doing this big dinner on Friday and then after that, all the girls are heading to that club downtown. She really wants you there but she realized she lost your number after that project ended. She told me to make sure you were coming."
The mention of a night out with Sloane and some girls is exactly the distraction you need. You immediately beam as your excitement bubbling up. "Oh, I am so there! I haven't been out in forever. I need a reason to wear something sexy."
"I figured," Jungwon grins, sliding his phone across the table toward you. "Here, take her number and text her so she can add you to the group chat or something. She's already planning the pre game."
As you're typing the digits into your phone, you start to hear Jace’s footsteps as he makes his way back to the table looking very annoyed—his jaw is set tight and he's shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"Everything okay?" Jungwon asks softly.
Jace just nods and drops back into his seat with a heavy thud. "Fine. Just Jake being Jake," he says but the words feel like he practiced them for you. He picks up his water glass but he doesn't drink and he starts looking at you and it’s not in his usual just admiring you way. It’s a weird and searching look, even a little hesitant but it makes the hair in your arms stand up. He keeps glancing at you, then quickly looking away the second you catch his eye, then looking back again.
"Jace?" you finally ask, setting your phone down. "What's wrong? You're looking at me like I've got a third head. Did Jake say something?"
Jace blinks, tearing his eyes away from you so fast he nearly knocks over his water glass. "No," he insists too hastily like he doesn’t even want you to think of Jake saying anything that would matter. "Seriously, it's nothing. Just Jake being a dramatic idiot as usual."
Before you can press him on it, he turns sharply to Jungwon, his knuckles whitening as he grips his fork. "Did you...did you tell her about Sloane's birthday yet? The dinner this Friday?"
"Yeah, just did," Jungwon replies, looking between the two of you with a curious lift of his brow. "She's already getting Sloane's number from my phone."
"Good. That's good," Jace murmurs, nodding rapidly. "You should definitely go, Y/n. You need a fun night out."
The knot in your stomach tightens again. You know Jace is usually a terrible liar but right now he seems to be vibrating with whatever secret Jake just dropped in his lap. The way he keeps avoiding your eyes feels heavy and almost protective, like he's trying to shield you from something.
Jungwon seems to want to ease the awkwardness settling over the table, he shifts in his seat and attempts to break the tension. "Hey, I just noticed," he says with a warm smile as he points a finger toward your collarbone. "You always have that gold necklace on every time I see you. It's really beautiful, Y/n."
You’re a little caught off guard by the sudden redirection but your posture soon relaxes and you beam, your fingers flying up to habitually trace the delicate gold charm resting warm against your skin. "Oh, thank you! Jace actually got it for me a while back."
Beside him, Jace cocks his head and his brow furrowing in blank confusion as he stares down at the jewelry. "I did? When?"
You let out a loud scoff before rolling your eyes dramatically at him. "Are you serious right now? You don't even remember? Wow, your memory is horrific, Jace. I literally wear it almost every single day."
It was the morning of your eighteenth birthday, it was also the bittersweet summer just before you all packed up to start college. You had woken up to a house smelling like your favorite pancakes but when you went back to your bedroom to change, you found it sitting right there on your unmade bed. A small box wrapped in deep red velvet and propped up against it was a cream colored card. There was no grand speech or birthday essay, just three words written in a hurried script—From J. Happy 18th.
When you snapped the velvet box open, the delicate gold chain had caught the morning sunlight and gleamed perfectly against the white satin lining. You had figured back then that he was just too shy to give it to you in person or maybe he didn't want to make a massive deal out of it in front of your family and friends. It was so classic Jace, so thoughtful and entirely lowkey.
You shake your head, laughing it off as you snap back to the present, giving him a playful pout. "Anyway, since you clearly have the memory of a goldfish, let’s just move on, I'm definitely going to Sloane's birthday dinner."
You’ve already decided to let it all go, if Jace wanted you to know about Jake, he'd tell you.
"And you two better not ruin my vibe by being all attached at the hip if you come to the pre game."
Jungwon scoffs playfully, shoving Jace's shoulder. "Hey, I can be independent! Jace is the clingy one."
"I am not!" Jace protests, his cheeks flushing as he finally lets out a real laugh.
Just like that, the heavy shadow Jake left behind begins to dissipate again, melting back into the comforting clatter of the dining hall. You fall back into your breezy conversation, arguing over who has the worst taste in music and planning what you're going to wear on Friday night and willfully ignoring the sinking feeling that the other shoe is just about to drop.
Friday came quicker than you anticipated, probably because after the unsettling tension of Wednesday afternoon, the rest of the week had crashes into a montage of lectures and late night studying. But now it was the night of Sloane's birthday dinner and your dorm room looked a mess from you digging through your closet.
Meanwhile, your bed had been completely hijacked. With your back turned to the room as you desperately rifled through your closet, you could hear the unmistakable sounds of Jace and Jungwon behind you. The rustle of sheets mixed with soft murmurs and the distinct, wet smacking of their lips as they kissed. It was like they physically could not keep their hands off each other for more than thirty seconds.
"I love that you guys are happy but I am begging you to stop procreating on my comforter while I'm in the middle of a crisis," you groaned, throwing another hanger onto the floor in defeat.
You officially gave up, so in a dramatic display of frustration, you threw your hands in the air and let your body collapse backward, laying flat on the cold floor in just your bra and panties.
"I'm not going," you announced to the ceiling before letting out a miserable groan. "I can't find a single thing to wear. You guys should just leave without me, go have fun and let me rot in peace."
From the bed, Jungwon let out a loud laugh. You heard him sit up from between Jace’s legs and when you rolled your head over to look at them, he was leaning on his elbows, staring down at you on the floor.
"I know I said this before," Jungwon said, shaking his head with a grin, "but Y/n, your body is fucking insane. Seriously. If I did girls, I swear I'd be all up on you right now."
"Hey!" Jace immediately piped up, his voice spiking with a funny combo of mock offense and protective best friend energy as he swatted Jungwon's arm.
"I said if!" Jungwon defended himself, laughing and lifting his hands in retreat. "I'm just appreciating the view! She looks amazing."
Their ridiculousness finally cracked your bad mood and you sat up, crossing your legs on the carpet before offering Jungwon a playful hair flip. "Thank you, Jungwon," you said, sending a smug look in Jace's direction. "At least someone in this room appreciates the effort it takes to look this hopelessly single."
Jace rolls his eyes playfully, leaning over to drape his arm over Jungwon's shoulders. "Oh, please. Don't let Jungwon feed your drama. You have plenty of clothes. What about that black two piece?"
You blink up at him from the floor. "Which one?"
"The one you wore to that lounge downtown like three months ago," Jace says, pointing a finger at you like a detective solving a case. "I literally remember because I had to play bodyguard the entire night. Three different guys at the bar approached you within the first hour of us getting there. One of them literally choked on his drink when you walked past."
A lightbulb instantly goes off in your head. "Oh my god," you gasp, jumping up from the carpet. "Jace, you are an absolute genius."
You dive back into the depths of your closet, tossing aside a few stray cardigans and tops until your fingers finally brush against the familiar, sleek fabric of the two piece. It's perfect.
You quickly slip into the outfit, smoothing the skirt down over your hips and adjusting the top in your full length mirror. Turning around, you strike a dramatic pose for your audience of two. "Well? Does the bodyguard approve?"
Both boys look up and right on cue, they nod in total satisfaction. Jace looks like he’s proud of his own styling skills, while Jungwon lets out a low whistle, shifting back against your pillows with a grin.
"Yeah, definitely that one," Jungwon says, giving you a lazy smirk. "That's hot. Sloane is going to lose her mind."
"Finally. Can we go?" Jace asks, getting up from the bed and taking Jungwon’s hand in his.
"We are getting trashhh-ed, we are getting loose, no more books, just cranberry and booze!" you belt out at the top of your lungs as you step out of the room, doing a ridiculous, little shuffle right down the middle of the dorm hallway. You toss a dramatic hip shake into the choreography, the heels of your knee length boots clicking against the linoleum.
"Sloane is turning older and I am looking fly, if a frat boy breathes near me I am gonna make him cry!"
Behind you, Jace and Jungwon start losing it over your rap. "Oh my god, please lower your voice, the RA is going to write us up before we even hit the lobby," Jace wheezes, pressing a hand over his mouth as his shoulders shake with laughter. He jogs a few steps to catch up, playfully nudging your shoulder.
"Don't listen to him, Y/n, it's a lyrical masterpiece," Jungwon hypes you up from a few feet back, pulling out his phone to record your makeshift victory lap. He's grinning from ear to ear, clearly entertained by the striking difference between your stunning outfit and your chaotic energy.
"Give us another verse!" Jungwon challenges, keeping his phone camera pointed right at you as he jogs a couple steps to keep up with your backward walking pace.
You don't even hesitate before you drop your voice an octave, adopt a ridiculously serious facial expression and point a finger gun directly at his camera lens. "Pop the bottles at the table, yeah we doing it right, Jungwon's paying for the drinks so we can party all night!"
Jace lets out a loud gasp, slapping his hand against the wall as he cracks up. "Oh, shit! She got you!"
Jungwon drops his phone slightly, his eyes widening in a mix of genuine surprise and amusement. "Yo, hold on, that actually went hard," he says, nodding his head to an imaginary beat while Jace cheers you on. Jungwon steps up beside you, looking impressed by your quick wit. "The flow? Y/n, be honest with me, have you ever considered a career in rapping? Because I think you just found your true calling."
₊ 𓈒⊹
Jake Sim has a lot of problems in his life, for example there's his absolute joke of his grades, his mountain of unread texts from people who only want him for his car or his fake ID and there's also soul crushing fact that his twin brother thinks he's a raging homophobe. But his absolute worst problem was the fact that girl he was completely and painfully head over heels in love with absolutely hated his fucking guts and honestly why wouldn’t you?
He didn't always mean to be a monster, it just always came out that way whenever he got within five feet of you, like a defense mechanism he'd perfected over years of watching you look at Jace like he hung the fucking moon.
For years, Jake had been trapped in his own head, completely convinced that you and Jace had a secret thing going on. You were always whispering with his twin, always sharing looks he couldn't quite catch, always a single unit. It was the exact reason he'd never confessed or ever opened up all these years, he simply couldn't face the humiliation of competing with his perfect brother for your heart. So instead, he played the role of the obnoxious guy cause it was easier to be hated for a fake persona than rejected for who he actually was.
The night of the lit major mixer while he was leaning against a makeshift table by the bar and running his mindless routine on some girl whose name he hadn't even caught. He wasn't paying attention to her, already bored of her giggles and pathetic attempts at flirting. His eyes were scanning the room looking for something or someone else more entertaining and that's when he spotted you standing with your friend.
You looked incredibly sweet, you always did in a way that always tugged at his heart. Your dress, the way your hair was styled, the sight of you landed like a hammer against his ribs, you were so beautiful in a way that made him feel that familiar, pathetic ache all over again. Then he heard you and your friend let out a synchronized squeal over a phone, you looked so happy and it couldn't help but want to be in your space immediately. So he abandoned the girl at the bar without a second thought, he moved into your space while he masked his pounding heart with his trademark smirk.
"Well, well," he said, stepping directly into your personal bubble, ignoring how you instantly stiffened. "That's a very pretty dress, baby doll. What aisle of the candy store did you come from? Cause you look incredibly sweet tonight."
Your face twisted in total disgust as usual. "That is the worst line I have ever heard, Jake. Seriously, stop."
He didn't flinch, definitely used to the lashings by now. He offered a smooth "And hello to you too, Sandra" to your friend, completely unbothered when she corrected him that her name was Sloane. He shrugged it off, eager to get back to the only person he cared about. "Sloane, Sandra...both beautiful, just like you. What's the difference?"
"So, where's my boring other half? I figured if you were here, he'd be trailing behind you like a lost puppy."
"He's not here, Jake. And for the record, you are the boring one," you snapped, ditching him to head straight for the exit.
Panic immediately spread in his chest, he didn't want you to leave, he was desperate and something in him told him he'd never get you alone without Jace like this again. But when you asked him why he was even here, his brain scrambled and all he could throw out was a crude comment, jerking his thumb toward the bar girl and making a vile joke about trying out lit major pussy, just to see if it would get a rise out of you. It worked but not the way he wanted. You looked at him, repulsed and swiveled to bolt down the stairwell.
"Hold on for a sec," he called out to you, his teasing facade shifting a little.
"Go away, Jake!" you yelled back.
"Wait up, I'm serious," he pleaded, his heavy boots clattering down the concrete stairs behind your platform slippers. By the second floor landing, the smug layer was entirely gone and he was completely desperate. "Y/n, stop. I actually have something important I need to ask you. Just...hold on." He needed to know, needed to finally ask if you and Jace were actually together because the uncertainty had started to eat at him.
You made it to the ground floor, your hand slamming onto the heavy metal handle of the exit door. Jake lunged forward, throwing his hand over your head to hold the door shut, trapping you. "I'm not joking, listen to—" But his eyes shifted to the glass and his words deserted him. He didn't need to ask you anything because his answer was right there just through the door, in the form of his twin brother pinning a guy to the bike racks and kissing him with such fervor.
"What the fuck?" Jake breathed out in a deep exhale and a massive puzzle slammed together in his head and it left him utterly breathless, in fact he wanted to faint.
Jace was not straight.
All those years...all those years of Jake staying away from you, trying to keep his mouth shut, torturing himself because he thought you and Jace were secretly dating or harboring feelings for each other—it had all been a lie. A massive and colossal misunderstanding. You weren't a couple, you were just best friends and Jace had been hiding this massive secret from everyone, including him.
The anger that boiled up in Jake in that exact second wasn't because Jace was kissing a guy. It wasn't homophobia, it was just a violent wave of betrayal and resentment. He was angry partially because Jace had hidden it but mostly because Jace's silence had accidentally locked Jake out of ever pursuing the only girl he loved, leaving him to waste years acting like a villain while his own brother kept him in the dark.
The shock hardened into an unreadable, defensive mask and without hesitating, Jake hurled the door open and stormed into the night.
"Jake, stop! Please, just leave them alone!" you sobbed behind him, grabbing his arm with both hands to anchor him. He didn't even look at you as he violently jerked his shoulder away, shoving you off so hard you stumbled back against the cold brick wall of the stairwell. He didn't mean to hurt you—he never wanted to hurt you—but his blood was boiling too hot.
"What the fuck, Jace?!" Jake's voice boomed through the quiet courtyard.
The two boys sprang apart and Jace turned deathly pale.
"Are you serious right now?" Jake stepped closer, his looming posture dripping with guard that fully looked like aggression. "You're gay? You've been playing this whole honors student part while you're out here kissing dudes? Lying to our parents? Why didn't you say anything?"
The questions were frantic, maybe too accusatory and completely lopsided by his own internal panic. He was essentially screaming—Why did you let me believe you guys were together? Why didn't you trust me? But that's definitely not what everyone else was hearing.
You threw yourself between them, pressing your hands against Jake's chest. "Jake, shut up! Stop it right now! This isn't the time or place. Leave him alone!"
Jake didn't budge, staring directly over your head into his twin's terrified eyes. He wanted Jace to explain, to say something that would make sense of the years of distance between them.
But Jace just let out a bitter, icy laugh. "Wow," Jace spit. "You find out your brother is gay and your first instinct isn't to wonder why I was too scared to tell you. It's to accuse me of living a lie because it bruises your pathetic ego."
Jace's eyes turned cold. "You truly are a vile excuse for a human being, Jake. I've spent twenty two years sharing your face and every day I wake up wishing I could tear it off just so I don't have to look like someone so completely devoid of anything decent. You're not my fucking brother. You're just a mistake that happened four minutes before me."
The words left an invisible wound in Jake, he could've sworn getting stabbed would've hurt less. He stood there frozen as Jace turned and ran, wanting to scream that Jace had it all wrong, that he wasn't mad about who Jace liked, he was mad because the lie had cost him everything, cost him time. He thought of you but the blinding hatred and tears he had seen in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. You would never believe him, you would always choose Jace.
The blinding rush of anger only broke when he heard the sickening sound of your shoes catching on the uneven pavement. He tore his eyes from Jace just in time to see you crash heavily onto the concrete sidewalk, your body tumbling forward in the dark. He rushed over, dropping to his knees, his hands hovering over your shaking shoulders. All he wanted to do was lift you up, clean the dirt and blood already seeping from the wound and carry you somewhere safe. He wanted to be the one to protect you.
But the moment he reached for you, you flinched away as if his touch were poison. The look of burning hatred you hurled at him through your tears froze the air in his lungs. You wouldn't budge. You screamed at him to stay away, even with your voice raw and broken and no matter how much he begged you to just let him help, you refused to let him near you. You tore into him, calling him a shadow Jace has been trying to outrun and finally saying the words that made his jaw tighten in unmistakable heartbreak. "I hate you. I think I've always hated you."
He tried to deny it, ignoring the crack in his voice as he growled out that you didn't mean it but it was more like he was trying to convince himself and not you. But you just laughed right in his face and doubled down, like you wanted to ensure every single word cut like a knife.
His hands were shaking violently at his sides as he muttered for you to stop, but you just wouldn't. Maybe you really did hate him and his presence was only making you spiral deeper into distress, so he finally backed off but he refused to just leave you bleeding in the dark. So, he got back in his car and kept his foot light on the gas, tracking your slow limping figure from the street, driving right beside you along the curb. He ignored the honks of other cars, keeping his lights blinking, purely focused on ensuring you made it across campus and straight to the safety of Jace's dorm building.
The second the heavy glass doors of the honors dorm closed behind your shivering form, the last string holding Jake together snapped.
He slammed his foot on the accelerator and the engine roared as he sped recklessly through the campus gates, tearing down the empty roads all the way back to his off campus apartment. He doesn't remember much of the actual drive or how he even managed to park the car without wrecking it, he does remember how his eyes blurred so violently from tears that the streetlamps bled into long streaks of yellow light down his cheeks. He remembers stumbling through his front door and wanting to not be around anymore the moment the gravity of his own wreckage finally collapsed on top of him.
What had he done?
He had wanted to fix a years long misunderstanding, maybe finally clear the air so he could be a man and tell you how he felt. Instead, in the span of less than ten minutes, he had severed his bond with his twin brother, terrified the girl he loved and cemented himself as the villain in both of their stories.
Jake inevitably fell into a deep, dark slump that very weekend. By Saturday morning, he was desperate to numb the static buzzing in his brain, so he took a random pill he'd bought off some guy at a party weeks ago. Which was a massive mistake because instead of taking the edge off, it triggered a severe drop in his serotonin, sending him spiraling into a hollow depression.
He spent all of Saturday and Sunday locked in his room, staring at the ceiling as his phone rang out with calls from his parents. He didn't make it to the Sunday family dinner, how could he? Jace wasn't picking up his calls or answering any of his frantic texts and the fear of facing his parents kept him paralyzed. He knew exactly what would happen if he went home—Jace had probably already told them everything about how he had acted and he knew wouldn't take his side, they never did.
Wrapping his arms around his head in the dark, he finally had to admit it to himself for the first time in his life, the armor and the denial wasn't working—he was depressed.
The thought felt heavy and bitter in his chest, it was a truth he had spent years violently sprinting away from. He had never, ever admitted it to himself before, sure he'd sat in those sterile therapist offices his parents forced him into. He'd watched the doctors scribble notes on their clipboards, speaking in those careful tones that made him want to rip his own skin off. And yeah, he'd been put on medication and he did the work, swallowing those little pills because it was easier than fighting his mother about it.
But taking them had never meant he accepted it. To teenage Jake and even to an older one, the diagnosis wasn't a medical reality for him, it always felt more like a verdict. It was proof that everyone around him, from even his mother to his twin brother, looked at him and saw something defective, maybe even broken that needed to be chemically altered just to be tolerable.
The meds were just a reminder that Jace was born right and Jake was born wrong.
So he'd hidden behind the noise and built this fuck boy persona, where he drank too much and laughed too loud, treating everything like a joke so he could prove to the world and to himself that he was fine and he was normal. He had convinced himself that if he just ran fast enough, that shadow wouldn't catch him.
But sitting there in the dark, with his serotonin and dopamine entirely depleted by a reckless choice, the noise was gone. Jace wouldn't answer his calls, you hated his guts and probably wouldn't even spit on him if he were on fire and his parents were a looming storm he couldn't face.
He didn't step foot outside his apartment until Wednesday afternoon and the only reason he did was because he absolutely had to see a professor for a class he was currently failing. His head throbbed, his skin felt itchy under his wrinkled hoodie and he hadn't taken a shower or eaten a single thing in days. He tried to make one good decision, to get some food in his system so after meeting with the professor, he made his way to the dining hall, only to be hit with the sight of you as soon as he walked in.
You were sitting at a table laughing with Jace and the guy from that night. Watching the three of you made a bitter thought loop in his head.
Jake had always been jealous of Jace, always and it wasn't just about you, though that was the sharpest ache in his ribs. It was everything, Jace got to be the real golden boy, the honors student, the twin who didn't have to put on a loud mask just to feel like he existed or have to choose between feeling hopelessly sad or being numbed by his medication. Jace got to be soft and people loved him for it, he got to have genuine friendships, while Jake was surrounded by leeches. And now, Jace had the love of that guy along with the freedom of being completely honest and out.
Most of all, Jace had you.
Even when you were all just laughing at a table he couldn't sit at, you were looking at Jace with that protective warmth Jake would have given anything to experience just once. Jace got the best parts of the world without even trying and Jake was left standing in the shadows with the exact same face but a drastically different result.
The sight of you laughing and smiling triggered a painful memory for him. May 2021, a week before junior prom when he was sitting at the breakfast table with his family, his fingers tightly gripped around a glass of orange juice. He had spent days building up the courage to finally say the words out loud.
"I think I'm going to ask Y/n to the dance," he had announced, trying to sound casual, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs. "I want to buy her a corsage and take her."
His dad had let out a low chuckle into his coffee cup but didn't offer a real comment. Jace on the other hand, had laughed right in his face. "Are you serious, Jake?" Jace had scoffed with a shake of his head. "Y/n wouldn't even want that. We already planned to go together anyway. You'd just make it awkward for her."
Jake's chest had tightened but the real blow had yet to come, then his mother came from his reached across the table, trying to soften the impact but her words only hurt him more. "Sweetie, your brother is right. You know how sensitive Y/n is. It's probably a better idea for Jaejun to take her instead. They're best friends and he knows how to look after her."
That rejection had upset him far beyond what he even thought he was emotionally capable of handling. He was only seventeen after all, just a kid who didn't possess the emotional maturity to process the concept of his own mother openly admitting that Jace was better suited for the girl he loved. In the mind of an insecure seventeen year old Jake, it felt like his family was explicitly telling him he wasn't good enough, that he was too rough around the edges to ever deserve you.
The hurt had turned into a toxic anger and a vow to make everyone else feel as small as he felt in that kitchen table. It made him cruel.
A week later, when he stood by the banister in the foyer and watched you walk in, the cruelty spilled over. You looked so pretty in your baby pink dress, despite the braces and the acne you were so insecure about. But the second he noticed that once again, you were looking at Jace like he was your whole world and Jace was smiling back as he pinned a corsage to your wrist, Jake's heart went cold. If he couldn't have you look at him like that, he was damn well going to make sure Jace didn't get to enjoy it either. He tore you down because his own mother had torn him down first and he had been repeating that same broken cycle ever since.
Unfortunately, the exact millisecond those harsh words left his lips in the foyer, the weak armor of his anger shattered. He watched the light completely drain from your face and the tears well up in your eyes, in an instant, a surge of regret hit him. He wanted to reach out and swallow the words back down his throat, letting you know he didn't mean a single syllable of it. He didn't even care that his mother had immediately stepped in and grounded him for the next month, taking away his car keys right there in front of everyone.
The punishment was nothing compared to the burning pit in his stomach, he only wanted to make it right, pull you aside and beg on his knees for your forgiveness but he never got the chance. Jace had seamlessly stepped in, guiding you out of the house to the safety of his car while comforting you and his mother had coldly pointed toward the stairs, sending Jake up to his bedroom like some pariah.
He spent hours in the dark, listening to the muffled silence of a house that felt like it was actively rejecting him. When Jace finally came back late that night, the tension in their shared bedroom was undeniable. Jace didn't even look at him as he changed out of his tux, then out of nowhere, Jace spoke into the dark, "You know, Jaeyun, I consider Y/n more of a sibling than I consider you. She's my real twin and if I ever had the choice, I'd pick her over you in a heartbeat. And after today, I don't want you to ever come near her again."
A clean snap, if everyone in his life thought Jace was the better twin, if even his own mother openly favored Jace's gentleness over him and now his own identical brother, the person who shared his actual face, would choose you over him without a second thought—where did that leave him? It left him with absolutely no one. He was entirely alone in his own home.
That was the exact night, five years ago, Jake Sim buried his feelings for you so deep that no one could ever dig them back up. If loving you meant constantly being reminded of how inferior he was to Jace, it was safer to pretend he didn't care at all, he figured it'd be easier to be the villain they all assumed he was anyway and if he couldn't be loved for who he was, he would make sure he was desired for what he could pretend to be.
The very next week, he had asked out the prettiest girl in school and basked in the shallow attention it brought his way, only to coldly dump her for her best friend three weeks later. He didn't care about the collateral damage, he just needed to feel like he had some semblance of power, some form validation to drown out the memory of Jace's voice telling him he'd never be chosen.
He carried that exact same toxic behavior right with him to college and when he arrived on campus, he quickly realized he didn't fit in with the honors students or the artsy crowd where you and Jace flourished. Instead, he found that he only fit in with the frat boys, guys who valued the same superficial bravado he used to mask his own emptiness. He became the guy who drank too much, laughed too loud and treated girls like conquests, all because the real Jake Sim was still a heartbroken seventeen year old kid hiding in the dark, terrified of being rejected again.
In the middle of the crowded dining hall, Jake felt completely hollow with his body aching from the lingering weight of a chemically induced weekend crash. He watched the three of you from a distance, before he saw your head shift in his direction and your smile instantly vanish at the sight of him, he knew you'd spotted him. A part of him wanted to throw up his usual, cocky armor, maybe to smirk or throw out a hollow catcall at you just to hide how empty he actually felt but he simply didn't have the energy. The fake golden boy act was dead but he forced his heavy feet forward and made a direct line for your table. As he approached, he deliberately locked his eyes onto his twin, completely avoiding your gaze. He couldn't look at you cause he couldn't bear to see more of the disgust and fear that was undoubtedly written all over your face after what happened on the rooftop. He just needed his brother.
"Jace," "Can we talk? Just real quick. Somewhere else."
He watched Jace instantly stiffen, his brother's arm defensively dropping under the table, likely reaching for Jungwon's hand. Jace glared up at him all tight and unyielding. "Why couldn't you just call me, Jake? Or wait until I was at the dorm?"
Jake let out a rough breath and used his eyes to beg his twin to just cooperate for once. "I've been texting you for three days, Jace. You haven't responded once. I...I really need to talk to you."
He didn't fire back with a snarky comment, nor did he roll his eyes. He just stood there, pale and exhausted, too exposed under the bright lights. He thanked a higher being that Jace seemed to sense the genuine desperation behind the lack of an argument.
"Fine. Two minutes," Jace muttered.
Jake immediately turned around and headed toward a less crowded corner of the room, he could feel your eyes burning into his retreating back but all he could focus on was the faint hope that he could finally make his brother understand the truth before it was too late.
"Look, Jace," Jake started, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie. "First of all...I'm really sorry. About that night, I shouldn't have blasted you out in the open like that."
Jace let out a dry scoff, he didn't look like he was believing a word of what his brother was telling him. "Are you serious right now, Jake? You think an apology fixes that? You cornered us and you made it sound like I was committing some crime."
"Because I was losing my mind, Jace." Jake erupted, his defense mechanism instantly flaring up as he went into a frantic rant. He paced a small line on the tile. "You don't get it. You've never gotten it. I didn't care that you were kissing a guy, Jace. I was angry because you hid it. I was angry because you let me believe that you and Y/n—"
"Don't—Do not drag her into this," Jace cut him off in a protective growl and Jake couldn't deny the anger in his twins eyes. "Do not bring Y/n's name out of your mouth, Jake. You've done enough damage to her to last a fucking lifetime."
"You're not even listening to me." Jake pulled his hair, feeling the desperation finally snap what was left of his restraints. He stopped pacing a little and stared directly into his twin's face. "I am dragging her into this because she is the reason. I have been helplessly, devastatingly in love with her, Jace! I've been in love with Y/n since we were like fucking fourteen and I stayed away because I thought you two were together!"
The part of Jake that thought Jace would finally see things from his point of view immediately died when his face didn't even move an inch, in fact his eyes narrowed in utter disgust.
"Cut the shit, Jake." Jace said, completely unyielding. "Seriously, just stop. Whatever twisted game you're playing at right now, it isn't going to work anymore. You don't love her. You just can't stand that she's part of my life and completely wants nothing to do with yours."
"I'm not playing a game." Jake choked out, crying already with tears finally pricking the corners of his eyes and blurring his vision. "I—I'm telling you the truth."
"You have issues, Jake. Real issues and I think you need serious help." Jace said softly before looking at him with agonizing pity—the one expression Jake absolutely loathed more than anything else in the world. It always made him feel small and broken.
"Have you even been taking your meds?" Jace asked, voice filled with concern. "Because you're completely spiraling and I'm not going to let you use one of your episodes as an excuse to wreck my life or Y/n's."
A tearful gasp escaped Jake's throat before he could stop it and his hands formed tight fists inside his pockets as the tears finally spilled over his pale cheeks.
"Screw you," Jake spat as he took a step back, shaking his head violently and backing away from Jace. "Screw you, Jace. This has nothing to do with that. You just...you never want to see me as anything else, do you?"
That question seemed to hurt Jake more than any insult his brother has ever thrown his way because the topic of his depression and his medication had always been strictly off limits in their family. It was the one deeply guarded secret that was kept hidden away from the rest of the world—even you didn't know about it. So for Jace to weaponize that private vulnerability and drag it into the light of a public space just to invalidate him, that felt like a level of calculated cruelty Jake never thought his brother was capable of.
Jace let out a long sigh and ran a hand down his face as if he was dealing with an exhausting chore rather than a breaking his own blood. "Look, I know how you get, Jake."
"So maybe...I don't know, maybe all of this is just a manifestation of you being off your meds again."
Jake stared at his twin and just felt completely paralyzed as the words hung in the air between them. He genuinely could not believe what he was hearing. The logic was so twisted that it left him breathless—the fact that Jace thought the only possible explanation for Jake truly loving you, the only way his years of silent and agonizing pining could ever make sense in his brother's mind, was if it were the byproduct of a severe depressive spiral or a manic episode. To Jace, Jake's genuine heart was nothing more than a chemical glitch and just another symptom to be managed.
A bitter laugh bubbled up in Jake's chest but it quickly turned into a sob as he nodded his head violently. He looked at the identical face staring back at him with that pity and the last shred of his attachment to his twin vanished into thin air.
"And I thought I was the vile twin," Jake whispered but didn't bother waiting for a response or giving Jace another second to dissect him. He simply walked away, fully intending to forget all about you and his brother too.
He threw the doors open, ignoring the way the heavy wood slammed against the drywall with a loud crack. On the drive back, he had squeezed the steering wheel until his hands went numb, staring so hard at the road his eyes burned. He hadn't let himself continue to cry, he had just breathed through his teeth, pushing down the lump in his throat because he refused to break down in his car over a brother who looked him in the eye and called his heart a clinical glitch.
He just needed to get inside his apartment, he was ready to lock the world out again and let the darkness take over.
Instead, when he unlocked his apartment door and pushed it open, his feet stopped dead. The lamp in the corner was throwing a little light across the living room and sitting right there on the couch she bought him was his mother.
The second she heard him come in, her head snapped up, taking a long look at his pale face, the deep bruises under his red rimmed eyes and the sad way his hoodie hung off his shoulders, and she stood up fast. Her face broke open with a look of real panic and maternal dread.
But Jake was blind to it.
His brain, already skinless by Jace's execution of his dignity, went into immediate defense mode. He didn't see a mother who had driven over out of worry for her son. He saw an intruder and the woman who had spent his entire youth looking at him like a problem to be solved, standing in his sanctuary and his walls went up, turning his agonizing hurt into razor sharp venom.
"What are you doing here?" Jake spat at her, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. He made sure the words came out harsh and deliberately ugly. "Why are you inside my apartment unannounced? Who the hell gave you a key?"
He could see his mother visibly recoil, her shoulders dropped as though she'd been struck but she didn't get angry at him. She took a tentative step toward him, her hands hovering in the space between them.
"Jaeyun, please, just stop," she whispered, her voice trembling as she glanced around the room. "I've been calling you for three days. You haven't answered a single text. I was just worried about you." She gestured helplessly to the state of the room—the stale air, the chaotic piles of dirty clothes that always signaled he had stopped functioning weeks ago. "Look at this place, Jake. Look at you. I'm worried about you."
He walked right past her, brushing his shoulder against hers as he headed deeper into the apartment. "There's nothing to be worried about," he muttered dismissively as he threw his car keys onto the messy kitchen counter. "I'm just tired. Leave it alone."
"Jake, please, just listen to me," she pleaded with him, her voice cracking as she hurried after him. She reached out, using her fingers to desperately catch the rough fabric of his sleeve, holding onto him to force him to stop moving.
Jake gave her one irritated breath and looked down, ready to wrench his arm out of her grip but his throat closed around the words.
In her other hand, clutched tightly against her palm, was his prescription container of Lexapro.
Through the translucent plastic, he could see the unmoved crowd of tablets inside. Yes, the bottle was still full with the exact same amount of pills it had contained a month ago when he'd first picked up the refill. She didn't just suspect it anymore—she knew with absolute certainty, that he hadn't been taking them.
Silence fell over the kitchen and his mother looked up at him with eyes shining with unshed tears, silently begging him to acknowledge the proof right in front of them.
Jake's rolled his eyes and a bitter sneer twisted in his features as he reached down. One by one, he pried her fingers off his arm, pushing her hand away from him.
"I'm fine." He said in an unyielding line as he stepped backward out of her reach. "I told you, I'm fine."
"You think a handful of pills fixes a broken son, is that it?" Jake asked her with a sickly smile on his face, "You think if I just swallow your little compliance capsules, I suddenly become the son you actually wanted?"
"Jake, stop it! That is not what this is!" She cried out, clutching the plastic bottle tight against her chest like a shield. Tears were streaming freely down her face now and her posture entirely broken. "It's medicine! You are hurting and you are spiraling and I am watching you destroy yourself!"
"Because I am defective, right?!" He suddenly roared, stopping in his tracks. "That's what you and Jace think! Even dad! That's what you've always thought! You look at him and you see the perfect child, the brilliant twin, the one who does everything right! And then you look at me and you just see a project that needs a chemical fix!"
"That is not true!" she sobbed, shaking her head so violently her hair fell out of its clip.
"Don't lie to me!" Jake screamed as his face turned an unhinged red. The years of suppressed emotion and agonizing reality of living in Jace's shadow, finally tore out of his throat in a breathless torrent.
"You love him more. Just admit it. You've always loved him more, every—every single day of my life, you looked at me and wished I was just like Jace. You wished I was quiet, you wished I was stable, you wished I didn't have a broken fucking brain! You look at my identical face and you just wish you could erase me and double your investment in him!"
"No! Jaeyun, stop, please, my god, stop!"
His mother dropped the pill bottle and the plastic clattered against the hardwood floor, making the tablets scatter across the floor. She lunged forward, not caring about his harsh words and grabbed his face with both of her shaking hands, forcing him to look at her.
"That is not true! It has never ever been true!" She wailed in his face. She held him tightly, digging her fingers into his cheeks as she forced his wild eyes to lock onto hers. "I love you, Jake. I love you. Just the way you are. I have never wanted you to be Jace. I have only ever wanted you to survive this . You are my son. My beautiful, fiercely loving boy and it hurts my heart to see you in this much pain."
Her words seemed to snap his violent armor as the heat left his body all at once, leaving him gutted to his core and trembling. Jake's eyes quickly welled up and the heavy tears finally spilling over his lashes, tracing hot paths down his pale cheeks. His mouth opened but not a sound came out at first, just a serrated gasp for air as his shoulders caved inward. He didn't pull away from her touch this time, he collapsed into it, letting his heavy hands come up to grip her wrists but instead of prying them away like he's sure she thought he would do, he used them to hold his body upright.
He was crying completely now, his breaths came hard with rattling sobs that sounded like a dying man. He looked at his mother, stripped entirely of his pride, his anger and his defense mechanisms, reduced to nothing but bleeding nerve endings.
"Then why doesn't Y/n love me back?" Jake whispered, his voice cracking so deeply it was barely a breath, entirely devastated. He stared into his mother's eyes, looking like a broken sixteen year old boy. "If I'm not broken, Mum...if I'm not less than him...then why doesn't she want me? Why does she look at Jace like he's the entire world and look at me like I'm nothing?"
To his surprise, a gasp of relief mixed with laughter
escaped her throat, it was like even through the agonizing weight of his confession, she was just grateful to have her boy back. She gave another little before she lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling his heavy frame tightly against her chest.
Jake stiffened, as the sudden warmth caught him off guard. He was still crying when he felt his nose running and knew his face was a total mess of tears and snot. Realizing he was ruining the back of her cashmere sweater, he awkwardly tried to pull away, his shoulders tense. "Mum, wait, I'm getting..."
But she didn't care and she didn't let him go. If anything, she only squeezed him tighter, burying her face into his shoulder and rocking him back and forth as if he were still a little boy.
"Oh, my darling, darling boy." Her voice muffled against his hoodie. "My sweet Jaeyun...Y/n loves you more than you could ever even comprehend."
Jake froze in her arms, his breath went uneven in his throat. The words sounded so utterly ridiculous, so completely detached from the brutal reality of that night, that they felt like a cruel joke. He pulled back just enough to look at her and a sad laugh bubbled up through his fresh tears. He shook his head. "Don't...Mum, don't make fun of me. Please. You don't know what she said to me. She hates me."
"She doesn't hate you, Jaeyun," his mother doubled down instantly, her hands moving up to cup his face again, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. Her gaze was unyielding, and filled with so much certainty a part of him wanted to badly to believe her. "Y/n is just deeply hurt. Your actions...the things you did to protect yourself, they pushed her away. But that is not hate. You have to believe me."
Before he could argue or before his brain could spiral back into the darkness as your voice flooded his head again, she guided him toward the living room. Jake didn't fight her, he let her pull him down onto the thrifted couch, his long legs cramping up as he curled into her side and buried his face in her lap just like he used to do when the world got too loud. She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair with a gentle hand and whispering sweet nothings into the quiet room.
"You're going to be okay, my sweet boy," she murmured, kissing the top of his head. "We're going to fix this. I love you so much, Jake. You are so so loved."
For a long time, the only sound in the apartment was the steadying of Jake's breathing as the storm inside him finally began to pass. He felt exhausted drained but lighter than he had in years.
Suddenly, his mother's soothing hand paused mid stroke. Her head turned and her eyes set on the armrest right next to Jake's head. Sitting prominently on the plush of the expensive couch was a pair of dirty boxers he had lazily tossed days ago.
She exhaled slowly like her overwhelming maternal instinct instantly was shifting from emotional crisis mode to domestic intervention.
"First thing tomorrow," she started with her voice returning to its usual brisk tone as she kept one arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, "I am calling professional cleaners. Because this is absolutely biological warfare, Jaeyun."
He laughed at her words, trying not to seem too embarrassed. Once his breathing finally leveled out, his mother gently nudged him up so she could get to work. She wasn't the type to sit idle for long and before Jake could even protest, she was moving through the apartment like a whirlwind. She cleared the mountain of beers cans and pizza boxes from the coffee table, threw his discarded clothes into a hamper and disappeared into the small kitchen to rifle through the bare refrigerator.
Jake stood leaning against the doorframe, his throat still felt raw from crying, he watched her slice vegetables, so confident in ways only a mother could be.
"Mum, you don't have to do all this," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can cook."
"You can but you haven't," she pointed out smoothly, not looking up as she tossed chopped peppers into a pan. "Grab those glass containers from the cabinet. Let's meal prep ,okay? So I know you'll actually eat a real vegetable this week."
He did as she told him to, stepping up to the counter beside her. The domestic quiet was a far cry from the emotional explosion from earlier but it felt grounded and Jake felt safe. As they worked together, dividing the food into neat containers, she kept the conversation light, she deliberately steered them away from the heavy topics of Jace, you and his own head.
"Your father installed a greenhouse last weekend," she remarked with a little smile on her lips as she handed him a serving spoon. "He's gotten obsessed. He spent a good deal of time trying to explain the kind of soil required for heirloom tomatoes to me. I had to tune him out after twenty minutes."
Jake let out a real but still quiet laugh. "Dad and gardening? He barely manages to keep the lawn alive without the gardeners."
"Don't let him hear you say that," she chuckled and lightly tapped the back of his hand with a spoon. "He bought a wide brimmed straw hat and everything. He looks ridiculous."
By the time the kitchen was clean and the fridge was stocked with home cooked meals, the exhaustion of the emotional fallout finally caught up to Jake. His eyelids felt like lead, so his mum ushered him off to his bedroom, pulling the heavy blankets over his shoulders just like she used to when he was a kid.
"Go to sleep, Jaeyun." She whispered to him before brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "I'll handle the rest."
He fell asleep almost instantly, slipping into a deep slumber. Sometime during the early morning hours, his mind drifted through a foggy state of semi consciousness. He vaguely heard distant clatters, the muted hum of a vacuum and the quiet murmur of voices in the living room but the sounds didn't alarm him. They felt like a background track to a dream and he simply rolled over to bury his face deeper into his pillow.
When he finally woke up the next day, the apartment was dead silent and he woke up to an unfamiliar lightness in his chest. He stood up and walked out into the living room and true to her word, his mother was gone but she had clearly unleashed a small army of professional cleaners on the apartment. The space was pristine, with the air smelling crisply of citrus and fresh linen, the floors practically gleamed and every single piece of clutter had been meticulously organized.
He walked into the kitchen, his bare feet cool against the spotless tile and resting in the center of the completely empty kitchen island was his container of medication.
Propped up perfectly against the plastic bottle was a bright yellow sticky note. He stepped closer, immediately recognizing his mother's elegant handwriting.
Just start with one, it read.
Jake stood frozen in front of the island, staring down at the little bottle for a quiet moment. His mind began to wander, the gears turning as he faced the wreckage of his life with a newly cleared head. The reality of everything he had broken over the past few weeks came rushing back but the paralyzing dread was gone and all he felt now was a quiet determination.
He thought about you, about the brutal words you had screamed at him on the pavement, the absolute hatred in your eyes, it all made his heart violently ache. How do I win you over? he wondered as his heart tightened. How do I even begin to show you that I'm not the selfish person you think I am?
But then there was still Jace and the disgust in his twin's voice during their hallway fight from yesterday still rang clearly in his ears. He knew the apology he had attempted had barely even scratched the surface. How do I make Jace forgive me?
He knew it would take time, in fact it would take proving to his brother that he wasn't just a ticking time bomb using his episodes as an excuse to wreck everyone else's lives.
He looked back down at the sticky note. Just start with one.
It just happened to be a terrifyingly small step, an admission that he couldn't fix everything on his own, that he actually needed the help he had spent his entire life rejecting. But as he looked around his clean kitchen, Jake didn't want to run anymore, he didn't want to hide behind the noise or the anger or even the bravado.
So with a steady hand, Jake reached out and unscrewed the cap. The plastic clicked and slowly, he tipped the bottle, catching a single pill in his palm, without giving himself another second to even overthink it or let the old demons drag him back down, he popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry.
The whole day passed for him in what he could only describe as his own hard won type of peace. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the constant buzzing of anxiety in his chest had subsided into more manageable hum. He actually ate his meals, sat down at his spotless kitchen table and devoured the containers his mother had left behind, forcing himself to chew and swallow until they were empty.
With his body finally fueled by something other than cheap liquor and adrenaline, he spent a solid chunk of the afternoon trying to patch up the mess that was his academic life. He stared at the brightness of his laptop screen as he drafted an uncharacteristically humble email to his economics professor. He practically begged for a chance to submit a heavily overdue assignment, trying to sound like a student who had simply lost track of time rather than one who had been entirely incapacitated by his own mind. It wasn’t easy and his brain protested the sudden inflow of words and numbers but he forced himself to stay glued to the chair until he finally clicked send.
By the time night fell, the clean apartment started to warm up to him. He put on his absolute favorite movie and watched the familiar dialogue and the predictable soundtrack filling the quiet spaces of the room. Then, he booted up his console and buried himself in video games for hours, letting the mindless reflex loops of the controller numb the remaining edges of his thoughts.
Throughout the entire day, his phone had vibrated periodically against the coffee table, lighting up with a steady stream of notifications from his frat brothers. He completely ignored them, not even bothering to swipe the lock screen open cause he already knew what they wanted and it wasn't because they were worried he had suddenly gone missing from campus. The previews on his lock screen told him everything he needed to know—they were asking about who was covering the alcohol tab for the upcoming mixer, where the keys to the frat house basement were or which girls were showing up to the pregame. It was all so agonizingly shallow, so painfully superficial and Jake for the life of him just couldn't deal with the exhausting effort of putting on the mask again. He couldn't fake that loud and hedonistic persona they all expected from him when his nerve endings were still this raw.
Yet, despite the movie, the video games, the textbook chapters and the deliberate isolation, he couldn't completely clear the air in his head. Through all of this, the one absolute constant was you. You stayed pinned to the very front of his mind, like a painfully beautiful fixture that he just couldn't escape. Every time the game loading screen went black, he saw the reflection of his own face and remembered the disdain on your face.
Every time he took a breath of the clean air in his living room, he wondered if you were still out somewhere with Jace, completely happy and relieved that he was finally out of your picture. He wanted to reach for his phone a thousand times just to type your name and beg you to just let him explain but the weight of his own mistakes held his hands still. He was working on himself, just like his mother had asked him too but the hardest pill to swallow wasn't even his own medication—it was the fact that even if he got better, he still had no idea if you would love him back or love him for him.
That same crushing burden of you on his mind carried all the way into Friday night. By then, the apartment that had warmed up to him, felt like it was itching to spit him out. He was sitting at the foot of his bed, working on another overdue assignment, when his phone suddenly vibrated against the mattress.
Jake swore he must have somehow summoned you into existence because there it was. Your name was glowing bright and impossible against the dark screen.
It was an incoming call from you and saying his heart skipped a beat would’ve been an understatement because it slammed into his stomach and back up into his ribs .
He felt paralyzed staring at the flashing letters, he also felt so incredibly confused and that made a thick wave of nauseating anxiety rise in his throat. Why were you calling him? Were you calling to berate him again? To deliver the sequel from that confrontation and finish stripping away whatever minor scraps of dignity he had left?
Or had something happened to Jace? His mind raced a mile a minute, he felt his chest tightening at the thought of his twin but he instantly shot it down. No, if Jace was hurt, you definitely wouldn't be calling him for help, you wouldn't even want him anywhere near a crisis.
He sat there overthinking, trapped in a loop of panic, watching the phone screen flash over and over. He kept debating whether to answer, his thumb was hovering an inch above the green answer icon, until the ringing abruptly stopped and the screen went dark.
A shaky breath left him and his shoulders sagged as a strange sense of relief washed over him. He wiped a sudden sweat from his palms against his sweatpants. It had to have been a mistake, maybe a pocket dial or an accident. You probably realized who you were calling and hung up in disgust.
The his phone started to vibrate again and your name flashed on the screen for a second time. This wasn't no accident, you were intentionally trying to reach him and he realized that ignoring it twice would completely kill whatever microscopic thread was left between you, the panic in his chest turned into raw adrenaline and he didn’t even give himself the chance to talk himself out of it, he reached out and swiped answer on the screen before pressing the phone tightly against his ear.
"Hello?"
"Jace?"
Your voice came through the speaker, but it didn't hit him with the sharp precision he had been bracing for. It was soft and unfocused, actually it was entirely wrong.
Jake's chest deflated and familiar pang of disappointment settling right in his heart.
Oh, yeah. It was a mistake, he thought to himself.
You hadn't meant to call him, you had meant to call the twin who actually mattered, you had probably clicked the wrong contact in a hurry.
He opened his mouth to tell you but before he could say even get a single word out, you spoke again.
"Jaceeee...where are you?"
He comically pulled the device away from his ear for a fraction of a second and checked the caller ID just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. You didn't sound like yourself at all, your voice was much whinier than usual and your syllables were dragging and bleeding into one another in a clumsy slur.
"Why aren't you here to pick me up yet?" You complained in a tone that had Jake thinking there was definitely a pout on your face. "The music inside is too loud and my feet hurt, Jace. You said you'd come get me." "But I—I’m looking around and there’s no you."
Jake stood up quickly as his brain started putting two and two together. It was Friday night and you were out somewhere and from the sounds of it, you were absolutely wasted.
His first instinct was to just tell you the truth—that you had dialed the wrong twin and he was the wrong person. He wanted to tell you to hang up and call his brother or he even thought about hanging up himself and calling Jace to let him know you were stranded somewhere. But the memory of his Wednesday exchange flashed in his mind and Jace's voice echoed in his ears. Have you even been taking your meds? I'm not going to let you use your episodes as an excuse to wreck my life or Y/n's.
Jace wouldn't answer his call. If Jake tried to ring his brother right now, Jace would see his name on the screen, assume it was another episode or another frantic rant and decline it instantly. Meanwhile, you'd be sitting wherever you were, completely incapacitated and unprotected.
He couldn't leave you like that, he really didn't care if you hated him, he wouldn’t let you be vulnerable.
"Hey," Jake started, trying his absolute best to mimic the steady tone Jace always used when things got chaotic. "Hey, it's okay. Just breathe for a second. Tell me where you are."
A loud giggle came through from your end of the line, followed by a wet hiccup. "You sound so funny," you muttered and he could hear the distinct sound of wind rushing past the microphone, like you were wandering around outside. "Why do you sound so serious? Are you mad at me? Don't be mad at me, Jacey."
"I'm not mad," Jake lied through his teeth, paying no mind to how his heart was pounding, he was already grabbing his car keys off the nightstand with his free hand. He began pacing the clean floorboards of his bedroom with his anxiety spiking. "I'm not mad at all, I promise. But I need you to listen to me. I need to know where you're standing right now so I can get to you."
"I'm at...um..." You trailed off, laughing softly to yourself as if you had forgotten the question entirely. "There's a really big sign. It's pink. No, wait, it's red. It looks like a giant grape."
"A grape?" Jake pinched the bridge of his nose, stepping out into his living room. He tried to think of every bar, club and lounge near campus. "Y/n, think for me. Is it a bar or a club? Are you downtown?"
"It's a secret." You whispered loudly into the phone and followed it with another fit of giggles. "If I tell you, you're gonna make me leave and the girls were being nice. Well, some of them. One of them spilled an entire gin and tonic on my boot, Jace. Look at it."
"I can't see your boot, Y/n," Jake said while his patience was fraying into terror for your safety. He could hear heavy bass thumping faintly in the background but the air around you sounded wide open. You were definitely outside the place, likely on a sidewalk or an alley. "Please, just look around you. Read the words on the building for me. Just play along, okay? Read the words."
"Fine, party pooper," you whined, huffed loudly into the receiver before he heard the sound of scuffing of your boots, then a quiet gasp. "Oh! It says…cellar. But it’s blinking. It goes click click cliiiiick. It's soooo annoying."
Cellar. Jake knew exactly where that was—it was an underground club a mile off campus but deep in the warehouse district.
"Okay. Okay, I know where that is," Jake said, already out of his front door. He didn't care that he was crossing a massive line or that when you sobered up, you would probably despise him even more for tricking you. All that mattered was getting you into the backseat of a car before someone else noticed how helpless you were. "Stay right there under the blinking sign, Y/n. Don’t move or go back inside and don't walk away. I'll be there right now."
Jake drove as fast as he could through the dark streets, the neon signs of the city blurring into long streaks of color against his windshield. He was definitely breaking speed limits but his heart was beating so wildly that it was the last thing on his mind, he was simply fueled by the dread of you being left alone in that part of town.
When he finally veered into the cracked parking lot of the club, he slammed the brakes and lo and behold, you were actually standing exactly where he had told you to, your small frame was illuminated by the flickering red light of the giant cherry sign.
As he looked at you through the windshield, all he could think of was how easily Jace could tell you to do something and you'd just do it without a single question, simply because you trusted his twin blindly. The only reason you were standing there right now, shivering and swaying on your feet under that broken sign, was because you thought Jace had told you to stay put.
Jake killed the engine and pushed his door open, moving quickly across the pavement toward you.
The second you caught sight of his figure approaching, your face completely lit up. That reaction alone made his heart physically ache but he ignored it. You thought he was Jace and he knew with outright certainty that if you were sober or if you had any idea it was actually Jake standing in front of you, you would have already turned on your heel and walked away into the dark.
Instead, you let out a slurred cheer, stepped off the curb and threw your arms right around his neck.
"You came!" you giggled and your alcohol scented breath brushed against his ear as you squeezed him tightly. "My sweet, sweet best friend. I knew you’d never leave me."
Before he could even process the sudden warmth of your body pressed against his, you leaned back slightly and pressed a drunken kiss right against his cheek.
Jake’s whole body couldn’t move, his breath was stuttering in his lungs. He had to stand there and pretend like his entire body wasn't going completely crazy from the gesture. This was the closest he had ever been to you in his whole life—closer than he had ever dared to dream during all those years of silent pining. Every fiber of his being felt like it was on fire from the ghost of your lips burning against his skin.
But right now he knew he needed to be the responsible one and get you somewhere safe.
"Okay, okay," Jake mumbled, his tone was a little rougher than he intended but still, he gently brought his hands up to grip your waist to try to guide you toward the passenger side of his car. "Come on, let's get you into the car before you freeze."
But you were being completely difficult, you whined and stuck your face back into the crook of his neck, your hands tangling into the fabric of his hoodie as you purposely made your legs go limp. "Nooo, don't want to get in the car yet. The ground is spinning, Jace. Carry me."
A real smile cracked on his face. He really couldn't help it though, he had never in his two plus decades of knowing you seen this side of you before. The you he knew was always guarded and fiercely protective around him, especially after high school, so to see you like this, just stripped of your walls, giggling and pouting like a sleepy child, was a view of you he never thought he'd be allowed to witness. It was beautiful and by God it was intoxicating, like the most bittersweet moment of his life.
"Jaceeee, take off my booooots." You whined and he watched in awe as you actually stomped one foot on the cracked pavement like a little child. The sight made him give a defeated sigh but there was no real annoyance in it. He simply reached down and carefully unzipped the tall boots from your knees one by one until you were standing in just your socks.
He managed to get you over to the passenger door to hold it open for you, practically hovering over you to make sure you didn't tumble over and carefully helping you slide into the seat. He leaned across the console, ignoring how the unfamiliar scent of your perfume filled his senses while he pulled the seatbelt across your lap, clicking it securely into place. After gathering your boots and your bag, he tossed them safely into the backseat and closed the door.
He took in a steadying breath of the cool night air before walking around to the driver's side but the exact moment he climbed into his seat and pulled the door shut, the atmosphere in the vehicle had shifted.
You were staring at him, very angrily in fact. In a way that made his heart violently drop right into his stomach again. A cold sweat broke out across his neck as he froze under your glare, terrified that the illusion had finally shattered. His mind raced frantically—had you finally realized he wasn't Jace? Maybe the interior of the car had given him away. Jace's car didn't look like this or smell like this and you knew Jace's things better than anyone. He braced himself for the screaming that he was so sure was coming.
Shockingly though, the anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared and you burst into another helpless fit of giggles before slumping back against the headrest.
"Wow," you shook your head, looking at him with your glassy eyes. "You and your brother are so identical." You said and threw your hand to his shoulder to play with the hair on the back of his head.
He hoped you were too drunk to notice how his whole body went stiff or how he wasn't even breathing.
You emptied your lungs in an exhale, staring aimlessly out the passenger window as the car started to move.
When he was stopped at a red light and he took the opportunity to look at you, there was a heart tugging smile at the corners of your lips as you murmured, "Remember when I liked him? And I was Mrs. Jake Sim..."
Jake had no idea it was even possible for his heart to drop any further but it did. It felt like his chest had completely caved in.
What? You liked him? Him?
His hands were shaking so violently he could barely g hold the steering, his mind was screaming, like a train wreck of shock and crushing regret. He forced himself to keep driving though and he needed to keep you talking, he needed to know more. So he forced a casual laugh through his teeth, pretending to be Jace just looking down memory lane. "Oh yeah?" He asked, "Remind me...when was that again?"
"You knowww—hiccup—Up until fresh...man year," you mumbled, your hand had dropped to the middle console by now.
Jake's foot twitched violently on the pedal and he nearly slammed on the brakes right in the middle of the street. Freshman year, that was almost four years ago. Four years of him pining for you, four years of him deliberately keeping his distance because he thought you belonged to Jace and all the while...you had liked him before?
"But he's just..." You trailed off, giving a hiccup that interrupted your words and shook your shoulders. Suddenly, your tone shifted and turned into a frustrated ramble as you stared out the windshield. "He's just so horrible, Jace. He's so mean to me. Why is he like that?"
Jake gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were numb, the leather even squeaked under his palms. Every word felt like an earthquake inside him but he stayed silent and let you speak.
"I wish..." You stumbled over the words, your hand coming up to wave vaguely in the air before dropping back on his shoulder to tug at his hair again. "I wish he were better. I wish he was just a little bit better so I could...so I could love him easier. But he makes it so hard. He throws those parties and...and sleeps with all those girls and he says the most awful things and he just...he pushes everyone away. Especially me." Another hiccup caught in your throat and your voice cracked, sounding like you were just incredibly tired. "He made it so hard to stay. I wanted to...I really wanted to but he's just...he's an asshole."
Jake kept his on the dark road ahead, hearing the exact words you had screamed at him not too long ago, repeated right now in this gentle confession was a new kind of torture. You hadn't always hated him, if anything you had wanted to love him and he had ruined it all by himself.
In no time he was pulling up into the parking lot of your dorm building, it was like you felt the car come to a halt and you came around. "We're here?" you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand like a sleepy child and tilting your head toward him.
"Yeah. We're here," Jake said to you and if you weren't so wasted, he's sure you would've heard how think with unshed tears his voice was. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached into the back to grab your boots and bag before stepping out into the night.
He moved around to your side and opened the door, watching as you swayed immediately you unclipped your belt, your socked feet dangling over the edge of the car.
"I can't walk, Jace." You looked up at him with wide eyes and held your arms up in the air. "My feet are cold."
Without a word like he really needed the whole night to just end, Jake leaned down and swept one arm behind your knees and the other around your waist, lifting you easily against his chest. You hummed and rested your head right in the crook of his neck, your fingers knotting into the fabric of his hoodie. The heat of your breath against his skin made him shudder but he managed to carry you up the stairs to your dorm door.
"Keys?" He gently asked, not wanting you to fully wake up from the sleep you were already entering. "In my purse."
He was able to fish for them with you clinging to him and found a way to unlock your door, kick it open with his foot and carry you inside. He set you down gently on the bed and placed your boots and purse neatly by the door.
He knew he should leave because the second you woke up tomorrow and realized he was the one who picked you up, the disguise would blow up in his face. But before he could even pull back, you drunkenly snapped right out of your drunken sleepy spell and changed the subject completely, babbling at a hundred miles an hour.
"And another thing!" You announced loudly, waving a lazy hand in the air, your words running together in a slurred mess Jake found adorable. "Sloane's birthday dinner? Oh, it was a disaster, Jace. Complete disaster. You know why?"
Jake lingered right in front of you. "Why?"
"Because she has some absolute bitches for friends," you stated with utmost seriousness, pouting so hard your lip practically stuck out. "Like, total, certified mean girls. One of them looked at my outfit tonight like I was wearing a trash bag. A designer trash bag, maybe but still a trash bag!"
A laugh burst out of Jake's chest before he could stop it. He had always been helplessly charmed by you but this was new—you were funny as you grinned triumphantly, like you were proud of yourself for making him laugh and then you slumped back into the pillows. "I wanted to put her in her place so bad but it was Sloane's birthday and gosh I love Sloane so much. She's basically your sister in law." You giggled like you made a joke only Jace would get but Jake didn't get it.
As Jake stood there watching you giggling to yourself, a wave of crushing regret and bitter jealousy hit him hard. You were so funny like this. So real, affectionate, cute and so so unfiltered. Jace got to see this side of you all the time, this silly Y/n who laughed freely and let her guard down. Jake had spent years only getting the defensive glares and the cold shoulders, all because he was too wrapped up in his own anger to show you who he actually was. And while he was getting a glimpse of heaven right now, he had to remind himself that it was built on a lie.
"Get some sleep, Y/n," he spoke softly.
"Jace, wait." You slurred out, reaching up and grabbing his hoodie. Your grip was weak but it stopped him anyway. You squinted up at him and pulled your brows together as if the fog in your brain was finally starting to clear just enough to notice something was off. "Why do you...why do you look so sad?"
"I'm not sad," Jake lied immediately, trying had to make his voice sound convincing. "I promise. You're just tired and you need to rest up."
He eased your fingers free from the hem of his hoodie, he needed to leave fast. He quickly helped you settle beneath the covers, tucked you in and then paused, sweeping his eyes over the room. Knowing how much you had consumed, he grabbed the small plastic trash can from under your desk and placed it right beside your bed, within easy arm's reach cause he had a very strong feeling you were going to throw up at some point during the night.
Giving you one last look as your breathing slowed into sleep, he quietly slipped out of your dorm and left the building as fast as he could.
Many times, he contemplated leaving Jace a text, just a brief message to let his twin know you were safe, how you had called him by mistake and everything that had just happened. But every time he thought about typing such text, he pictured Jace's disappointed eyes and decided against it. Jace wouldn't listen, he'd probably just assume Jake was crossing boundaries again.
Minutes later, when Jake was lying flat on his back in his own bed and staring up at the dark ceiling, sleep was just impossible. His mind was practically vibrating from the insane influx of information he had just been handed.
You actually did love him. Or, at least, you used to.
His mum had been right all along, you didn't hate him because he was inherently unlovable, you hated the walls he built and the bitter distance he forced between you two.
He rolled over to nuzzle his face in his hands as a twinge of regret pierced his chest because knowing the truth didn't make the air any easier to breathe. Rather, it made the weight ten times heavier. Knowing you had once wanted him didn't mean he had any idea how to fix the broken pieces now or how to make you look at him without seeing the monster he had let himself become.
Jake had no idea when he actually managed to fall asleep, only that when it finally happened, it felt less like resting and more like slipping into a coma.
The next thing he knew, he was being forcefully pulled out of said sleep by someone yelling his name, the muffled shouts echoing off the hard surfaces of the clean apartment.
"Jake!"
A door slammed open down the hall, followed by the furious clatter of boots against wood.
"Jake! Where the fuck are you?!"
The voice was breathing hard and barreling through the rooms like a storm looking for a place to strike. Jake lay paralyzed on his mattress for a fraction of a second, he could feel his heart pounding in an immediate panic but his fogged mind struggled to process the sound, struggled to bridge the gap between his lingering dreams and reality, until the cadence of the voice finally registered.
It was Jace.
Groggily, Jake shoved his duvet off his legs and swung his feet onto the cold floor, rubbing his hands over his face to force his eyes open. "Jace...?" He called out, his voice deep from sleep.
He didn't even make it three steps toward the bedroom doorway before the door was thrown wide and hitting the drywall with a slam. Jake didn’t even get a chance to create to the sound before a pair of hands slammed into his chest and shoved him backward with enough force that he stumbled back a few steps.
"What the fuck is your problem?!" Jace barked, his face was red in anger and his eyes were wide and burning in anger.
Jake reeled back, lifting his hands defensively in front of his chest, still swaying slightly from disorientation. "What...what are you talking about? What?"
"Don't you play fucking stupid with me!" Jace yelled at him, stepping right into his personal space and pointing a finger directly into Jake's face. "Don’t sit there and pretend like you have no idea what you did!"
Jake blinked against the daylight flooding the room, of course he knew what he did, there’s only one reason Jace could be here yelling at him.
"Jace, just calm down for a second—"
"Calm down?" Jace responded with a harsh laugh, pacing a tight circle on the floor before snapping his eyes back to Jake. "I woke up an hour ago to a text from Y/n. Want to guess what it said? She was thanking me. She texted me thanking me for coming to pick her up from that club downtown and making sure she made it back safely."
Jace stepped closer again to his twin before delivering the other half "Except I didn't leave my dorm last night, Jake. I was with Jungwon all night and we fell asleep so I didn't go to pick her up. And there is only one other person on this entire planet she could have mistaken for me."
Jake's posture straightened as the sleep faded from his system and a flare of defensive heat rose up his chest. He took a step back and matched Jace's glare with a cold look of his own. "She called me, Jace." Jake said, his voice rising from how frustrated Jace was making him. "What do you think happened? You think I was just driving around that part of town at midnight looking for drunk girls to pick up?"
Jace crossed his arms tight over his chest as he glared harder at his twin. "Honestly, Jake? I wouldn't put it past you."
His words settled between them and normally, in the old days, like two weeks ago, before everything had shattered, that sentence alone would have been the exact trigger to blow the room apart. Jake's fist would have flown before his brain could even process the insult. He would have slammed his twin against the wall and proved every single vicious thought Jace had about him right.
Instead, Jake just stood there with his chest rose and fell but his hands never left his sides. He slowly shook his head and a look of quiet dissatisfaction settled over his features.
"I'm not going to fight you, Jace." Jake said calmly. "I'm not doing this with you."
Jace blinked, like he was momentarily thrown off by the lack of explosive rage but his jaw remained set and his eyes stayed burning.
"I did the right thing," Jake continued, staring his brother dead in the eye. "She was wasted, Jace. Standing outside some sketchy ass club in the middle of the night, slurring her words and thinking she was talking to you. I was going to hang up and call you—I really was. But I know damn well that if my name popped up on your phone at midnight on a Friday, you wouldn't have picked up. You would've let it go to voicemail thinking I was having another episode."
Jace opened his mouth to snap back but Jake cut him off by stepping forward until they were barely a foot apart. "So tell me, dear brother." Jake demanded, "What was I meant to do? Leave her stranded there? Let some random walk up to her while she was barely standing? I picked her up, brought her to her dorm, put her to bed and I walked out. That's it."
"And you know what else?" Jake added, like it was slipping out before he could stop it. "You're the one that promised to pick her up and you didn't go. Too busy shacking up with your man or whatever. So really, who the fuck is at fault here?"
Jace flinched as if he'd been struck and his chest hitched like he was about to say something but Jake didn't give him room to speak.
"You're looking for a fight and I'm not going to give you one," Jake said but now his tone was drained of heat. "Just see yourself out."
"This is my apartment too, Jake," Jace snapped.
Jake didn't even bother to respond, he had already turned his back on his twin to walk away from the confrontation and head straight back toward his bed, just ready to pull the sheets over his head and block out the rest of the world for another hour or two.
"I told you when we were seventeen to stay away from Y/n." Jace spoke after him, stepping fully into the room now. "And right now, I'm telling you again—stay the fuck away from her."
Jake stopped his feet and slowly turned to meet the pair of eyes burning holes into his skin. "Or what?" Jake asked softly.
Jace's eyes widened slightly and again, he was caught off guard by the unyielding challenge in Jake's eyes. But Jake didn't stop there. He walked around the side of the bed, moving deliberately toward his brother, every inch of his body felt tense, like he was radiating years of suppressed rage.
"No, really. What the fuck are you going to do that you haven't already done, Jace?" Jake asked in a louder voice. "What are you gonna do? Continue to hide the fact that she was in love with me too? Take it to your grave?"
The color drained from Jace's face for a fraction of a second but his expression quickly hardened into a contemptuous sneer. "Oh, please," he scoffed, throwing his hands up in mock disbelief. "You really want to take some stupid childhood crush seriously?"
"Oh yeah? And since when do childhood crushes last up to freshman year of college, Jace?"
Jace opened his mouth, like a sharp retort was sitting right on the tip of his tongue but no sound came out and for the first time since he had stormed into the apartment, Jace was totally at a loss for words, his defensive posture faltered as the silence stretched further between them. He didn't have a defense, Jake knew there was no lie he could spin or justification he could give that would erase the fact that he had kept that truth buried for years.
His jaw twitched, his throat was working hard as he seemed to swallow down his pride. Unable to meet his brother’s unflinching glare any longer, Jace's eyes darted away toward the floor. He squared his shoulders, as if to desperately try to piece back together whatever authority he had left but the cracks in his composure were wide open by now.
"Just..." Jace started, totally stripped of his earlier explosive rage. "Just stay the fuck away from my best friend, Jake. I mean it."
Without waiting for a response, Jace turned sharply on his heel. His heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway before the front door slammed shut behind him with a deafening, final thud that rattled the picture frames on the wall.
Jake stood alone in the quiet of his bedroom, his chest heaving as the echo of the door slamming gradually faded into complete silence.
"Just..." Jace started, his voice strained and lower now, stripped of its earlier explosive rage. He pointed a tense, trembling finger at Jake's chest, leaning in one last time. "Just stay the fuck away from my best friend, Jake. I mean it."
Jace didn't wait for Jake to say anything else, he was already turning to leave and Jake just stood there listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway before the front door slammed shut that it rattled the picture frames on the wall.
Jake's shoulders didn't drop for five minutes after he left, his body felt heavy again, like his muscles were aching in that same way. He was starting to feel like a brand new person cause this Jake immediately grabbed his medication and swallow, followed by the rest of a bottle of water on his nightstand. He was about to toss the bottle in the trash when his phone burst to life on the wooden surface with a call.
Jake was willing to let it go to voicemail but the caller caught his eye—Jay.
Out of all the guys in his fraternity, Jay was one of the very few Jake actually respected and was tolerate. Jay wasn't like the rest of the frat brothers who enjoyed the surface level pleasures, Jake could've easily branded him the most level headed person he'd ever met, he was sensible and rarely got dragged into useless drama, so if Jay was calling, it was usually important.
And that's why Jake picked up. "Hey, Jay," Jake said into the phone.
On the other end of the line, an unruly irruption of sound immediately hit him, there was the muffled sound of a speaker playing somewhere outside. He could hear the chatter of a crowd and the sound of the wind like they were in the middle of a backyard kickback.
"Jake! Man, where the hell have you been?" Jay's voice came through, loud but genuine as usual. "It's been like three days since anyone at the house saw your face. Are you good?"
Jake rubbed a hand over his face, dragging his palm down his jaw as he stepped out of his bedroom and walked into the living room. "Yeah, man. I'm fine." He lied without missing a beat. "Just...been handling some stuff at home."
"Alright, well, as long as you're alive. The guys were starting to think you went completely off the grid," Jay said with a short laugh.
As Jake was about to respond, a giggly female voice broke through the speaker on Jay's end, it was loud enough to cut over the background music. "Jay! Who is that? Who are you talking to?"
"It's Jake," Jay replied away from the mic.
"Jake?!"
Oh no.
A quick squeal of thrill reached Jake's ear, followed by a brief rustle of static like the girl grabbed the phone directly out of Jay's hands.
"Jakey!" Her voice sang into the receiver, immediately heavy handed and flirty. "Oh my goodness, where have you been hiding? I've been looking everywhere for you!"
Jake froze in the middle of his living room, his brows pulling together as he tried to match the voice to a face. His mind was a total blank, he couldn't remember her face, let alone her name but he knew her voice was familiar. She was the one of a girls he'd been hooking up with for the past month or so.
"I literally left my top at your place last week," she huffed playfully. "I've been needing it back so bad. Can I come over right now to pick it up? Are you home?"
"Oh hi...you." Jake greeted awkwardly, attempting to play along to cover up the fact that he didn't have the faintest clue who he was talking to. He cleared his throat, his eyes dancing around the clean surface of the coffee table and the back of his sofa. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, you can come pick it up."
Holding the phone tightly between his shoulder and his ear, Jake walked back to his room and actively began searching for the top.
"Oh yay! I'll be there real soon."
When the call finally ended, Jake tossed his phone onto the bed and ran a hand through his messy hair.
Finding the random pieces of clothing girls would leave behind used to be easy when his place looked like a hurricane had hit it but ever since the cleaners had gone through the apartment, everything was impeccably neat. Every surface was wiped clean and every stray item had been safely tucked away.
That's why it took him nearly twenty minutes of digging through his closet and then the stack of folded laundry before his fingers brushed against a cropped piece of fabric. He pulled it out and held it up by the straps, only to scoff at the sight of it. It was the most basic black tank top imaginable, something that couldn't have cost more than five dollars. She obviously didn't care about the shirt and it was just a weak excuse for her to come back over to his place.
He walked back out to the living room and set the top on the arm of the couch, then he pulled a meal prep container out of the fridge and quickly heating it up so he could force himself to eat every bite. Once he was done, he headed straight into the bathroom to wash off the film of the morning's drama that was hard to ignore.
He was vigorously rubbing at his wet hair after his shower and just as he reached the living room, an expectant knock hit the front door.
"Timing's great." He muttered to himself, dropping the
towel around his neck and grabbing the top off the arm of the sofa, just ready to hand it over and send her on her way.
But when he pulled the door open, she had other plans. He extended his arm to her with the piece of fabric in it before he even fully looked up. "Hey."
"Here's the top." The girl with her oversized sunglasses pushed up onto her hair didn't reach for it. She quickly pouted and crossed her arms over her heavy chest instead. "Really? What? You're not even gonna invite me in?"
"I'm actually pretty busy right now," Jake threw out, taking a small step forward to block the entrance.
"Oh, come on, it'll take two seconds." She rolled her eyes, already sliding right past his shoulder into the apartment and because she had spent the night there a bunch of times, she didn't hesitate for a second before heading straight to the kitchen as if she owned the place. "I am absolutely parched, Jakey. You have any iced coffee?"
"Look, you really need to go," Jake said to her as he followed her bouncing frame, his patience wearing dangerously thin. "I have stuff I need to deal with today."
She completely ignored him, opening his fridge and humming to herself as she scanned the shelves. "Ugh, the frat house has been so boring without you these past few days, Jakey. Honestly, it's been a total drag. Some guy from lacrosse tried to hit on me last night literally ten minutes after he came out of a room he was fucking my friend in. Like, gross, right?"
She grabbed a bottle of sparkling water, snapped the cap off and took a long sip, simply blatantly ignoring Jake's rigid posture and icy expression.
Jake leaned back against the edge of the kitchen island, tossing the black tank top onto the countertop beside him. "I'm serious. You got your shirt, now you need to head out."
Instead of moving toward the door, she closed the distance between their bodies, stepping right into his personal space so she was standing just inches away from where he leaned against the island. She tilted her head back to look up at him, intentionally arching her back so her low cut top left very little to the imagination as his gaze dropped for a split second.
"You're so tense." She drawled, reaching out to rest a manicured hand lightly on his bare chest, right over his collarbone where the towel was still resting. She looked up through her lashes, before dropping her tone into a suggestive whisper. "I really missed you, you know? You've been making yourself so hard to find."
Jake had to actively suppress the urge to cringe right in her face. The way her eyelashes fluttered and the exaggerated pout of her glossed lips felt so intensely performative that it almost made his stomach turn.
Before he could take a step back, both her hands slid up from his chest and wrapped tightly around the back of his neck, digging her nails into the skin just above his towel. She arched up on her tiptoes and tugged him down until their faces were barely an inch apart.
"Well?" Her eyes searched his face and she was clearly unbothered by his lack of enthusiasm. "Are you gonna answer me, Jakey? Did you miss me too or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?"
Jake looked down at her, desperately trying to summon a name. Kylie? Chloe? Ashley? His brain remained a frustratingly blank.
She was pulling out every single classic play in her book, every calculated and seductively slow move that would have worked on him without a second thought just a week ago. Seven days ago, he would have picked her up, thrown her over his shoulder and taken her straight to his bedroom without asking a single question, just to use her body to drown out whatever residual noise was rattling around in his head.
But right now, none of it was working. The touch of her hands on his neck felt almost invasive, the smell of her perfume wasn't sweet this time.
The only reason he hadn't immediately untangled her fingers from his skin and marched her straight out the front door was because his brain was currently burning alive. The sound of your voice all soft and slurred, confessing that you had wanted to love him was still ringing in his ears. Jace's furious face, accusing him of crossing boundaries and being intrusive was flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked.
The unbearable load of regret and anger was pressing down on his chest so hard that he could barely draw a clean breath.
He needed a distraction, needed something, in fact anything to make the noise stop, to tear your face out of his head and burn down the memory of his twin's accusations.
So his hands moved before his rational mind could stop them. Jake reached down his to grab her small waist with a firm pressure that had her gasping. He pulled her flush against his body, leaning down until their lips were close.
"Mm. You wanna remind me why I missed you?"
He just needed to lose himself in the mindless effort it would take to fuck this girl, all he wanted to do was drown out you and his brother, even if it was only for an hour or two.
When she tiptoed up to kiss him, he didn't pull back, leaning into it and encouraging her instead, his hands moved lower to grip her hips before lifting her completely off her feet. He hoisted her up and set her down on the edge of the island, the startling movement sent a stray glass sliding an inch to the side.
She let out a soft moan against his mouth as her hands moved, she even reached down to take his hand and guide it under her shirt, pressing his palm flush over her breast for him to squeeze. Jake obliged, his fingers tightened lazily over her skin as he groped her like he was just going through the motions.
Except something was deeply wrong because even with the heat of her body and the desperate way she was clinging to him and the low noises she was making as she kissed his neck, his body simply wasn't responding the way it was supposed to. Between his legs, he was completely numb. Yes, his heart was racing but it wasn't from desire, it seemed to be from the adrenaline of trying to force a reaction that wasn't there, in other words—he was flaccid.
She worked a trail of wet kisses down the side of his jaw, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered something breathless and needy. Jake squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as he tried with everything in him to concentrate, he was trying to picture anything or anyone that’ll get his body to cooperate and drown out the mental noise.
Realizing the kitchen island was only making him feel more detached, he reached under her thighs and easily picked her up off the counter. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, giggling happily into his neck at the new shift as he carried her out of the kitchen and down the dim hallway toward his bedroom.
He tossed her onto the mattress with a soft thud, the heavy blankets shifted under her weight when she tumbled back. Her giggles buzzed against the quiet of the room, so high and eager, she was already pushing herself up onto her elbows and looking up at him through heavy lids, she really wasn’t wasting a second, quickly scrambling forward on her hands and knees across the bet to reach out and tug his sweats down.
Jake stood over the edge of the bed, panting in shallow breaths while his mind was still feeling like thunderstorm. He wanted this to work, he needed this to work.
She yanked the sweatpants down over his hips, pulling his underwear down with them. Then she froze. Of course she did, he still wasn’t hard one bit.
Her hands hovered right near his thighs as her eyes registered what was in front of her, the man wasn’t even showing a trace of an erection.
"Oh...?" She hummed, her flirtatious smile was already faltering into a look of confused disappointment. She tilted her head up to look at his face and a sharp spike of mortification hit Jake like a bucket of ice water, burning hot across his chest and cheeks. He quickly gave an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
"Ah...sorry," he muttered in a strained voice. "Just...give me a minute, yeah? It's been a long morning."
"Take your time, Jakey." She said sweetly but Jake could hear the faint edge of impatient judgment in her voice and it only made his skin prickle more. She sat back on her heels and watched him with expectant eyes.
Jake looked down at himself, biting his inner cheek so hard he tasted blood. He grabbed himself, wrapping his fingers around his cock as he stroked it roughly, he needed to summon the physical response that usually came so easily but his body felt detached from his brain, he was numb to the touch of his own hands and numb to the girl sitting on his bed waiting for him with her tits out.
Come on, he growled at himself internally. Come on. Get it together.
Frustrated, he squeezed his eyes shut to cut off the sight of the bedroom and the girl on the bed. He was trying to think of anything that turned him on, any primal thought that could pull him out of his own head and force his blood to pump where it was supposed to. He tried to recall old memories, random hookups, dirty videos, anything that had ever worked before but nothing stuck. Everything washed away in the overwhelming fog of his own exhaustion.
And then, unexpectedly, his mind supplied a memory from just a week ago and it wasn’t even a sweet memory.
It was you, standing on the cold sidewalk outside, illuminated by the warm streetlights, your chin tilted up as looked at him like he was the scum of the earth. He heard your angry voice slicing right through him, berating him, calling him every horrible thing you could think of, screaming at him for ruining everything.
He remembered the intoxicating power you held over him in that exact moment, the burning fervor in your eyes locked onto his, demanding his undivided attention, caring enough to hate him with every fiber of your being. It hit him like a lightning strike and his pulse spiked immediately, the blood rushed south and in seconds, before he could even push the image of you out of his head, his cock twitched and hardened in his hand until he was throbbing and leaking.
He opened his eyes to look at his, almost not believing it was real. The girl's eyes widened as she watched the sudden transformation, she let out a delighted laugh. "Well, damn," she beamed as her earlier annoyance disappeared instantly. "Guess you really just needed a second."
Without waiting another beat, she leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around the base of his length, taking him deep into her mouth.
Jake threw his head back, his fingers tangling in her hair, he couldn't deny that she was good at what she was doing. The physical sensation was undeniably amazing, she was swirling her tongue effortlessly around his sensitive tip, gliding down his length and taking him deep into her throat without even a hint of a gag.
Every wet suck sent a jolt of pleasure straight up his spine, forcing involuntary grunts to leave his lips. Yet, as good as it felt physically, his mind was miles away, still held hostage by the thought of you.
A wave of humiliation washed over him, turning his stomach into a tight knot. He had never felt so utterly wrecked and exposed in his entire life. How the fuck had the vivid memory of you tearing into him, screaming at him, scolding him with those furious eyes give him a rock hard boner when a gorgeous, willing girl naked on his bed couldn't even make him twitch?
Was it some sick, twisted masochism? Or was it simply the terrifying reality that it was you? That even your rawest anger and deepest hatred were more intoxicating to him than anyone else's pleasure?
He felt filthy. Was he really so tragically gone for you that even the memory of your anger was the only thing capable of pulling him out of a slump?
It was a dangerous realization, like a true loss of control that made his skin feel like it was burning from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, gripping her hair tighter until she whined.
And then, just as he was getting close to edge, her tongue was doing wonders, the warmth of her mouth slipped away abruptly, her hands released his hips too and his eyes snapped open. He looked down at her sat back on her knees and staring up at him with a frown. Her lips were slick with his precum but it was the way her eyes narrowed with both confusion and rapidly mounting offense that threw him off.
"What?"
"What's wrong?"
"Who the fuck is Y/n?" She snapped in a clipped way that definitely wasn’t flirty or sexy anymore like it was minutes ago.
Jake froze and if he was about to deny it, he’s pretty sure the speed at which his features lost color would’ve given him away.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Don't what me, Jake." She sneered, throwing her hands up in utter disbelief as she scrambled backward toward the headboard, pulling the top sheet over her naked chest. "You just said her name. You moaned it, actually."
"No, I didn't," Jake said instantly, in all honesty he had no idea if he had actually said your name. "I didn't say anything. You're mishearing things."
"I am not mishearing things!" She shouted out of nowhere. She pointed a sharp finger straight at his face, her eyes widening even further as a memory seemed to click in her head. "Wait...hold on. Isn't Y/n that girl always trailing your brother around campus? His best friend?"
The room suddenly felt like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. Every muscles in Jake’s body locked all at once as panic gripped him tight.
"Shut up," Jake hissed at her. "Just shut the fuck up. You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Oh, really?!" She screeched louder, throwing the sheets off her legs and scrambling off the mattress with embarrassed rage. She grabbed her discarded top off the floor and held it to her chest. "I don't know what I'm talking about? I literally had your whole dick in my mouth and you're groaning another girl's name!"
"You are fucking unbelievable! You could've just said you didn't want me here. You could've just told me you weren't in the mood instead of pulling this psychopathic shit!"
"What the fuck are you on about?!" Jake barked back at her as she walked out of the room, he was pulling his sweats from his ankles, yanking them up over his hips and following her into the hallway.
"I told you to leave like three fucking times! I literally blocked the front door! You're the one who forced your way inside, went to my fridge and came onto me!"
"Whatever, Jake! Whatever!"
Her voice hit a piercing frequency, like the sting of rejection had morphed into total scorn. "I can't even believe this! You're actually sitting here fantasizing about your brother's best friend? Are you insane?"
"Keep her name out of your fucking mouth." Jake snarled, stepping right into her space and towering over her frame.
"Why? Because it's the truth?!" The girl was unbothered by his glare, now that her pride was completely shredded. "Isn't Y/n basically like your fucking sister?! You guys grew up together! That is so incredibly sick, Jake. You are an absolute weirdo. A pathetic, sick fucking weirdo—"
"Just get the fuck out!" Jake yelled, his voice booming off the high ceilings as they spilled into the living room. His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were stark white, his chest heaving as he pointed a rigid finger straight toward the front door. "Get your shit and leave my apartment right now!"
"Gladly!" She snatched her purse off the island with a clatter. She spun around like she was about to deliver one last insult but the words never came.
The front door was swinging close and standing right in the middle of the living room with Jace’s spare key dangling loosely from trembling fingers was you.
Your lips were parted and your breath panting in your chest while your wide eyes were darting between the half dressed girl standing in the middle of the living room and a shirtless Jake in stunned horror.
Every single word she had just shrieked had clearly met your ears, every accusation, every mention of your name, every sick detail of what had just transpired in his bedroom, they were still resounding off the walls of the living room.
The world around Jake went fully mute, like the ringing in his ears was melting into a sickening stillness as his eyes locked onto yours.
The girl's mocking laugh cut through all that very quickly though. "Oh my God," she wheezed in fake amusement as she looked between your frozen frame and Jake's stiff body. "Not the Y/n actually showing up. Wow. That is just...that is rich."
She turned toward you, crossing her arms over her chest with a malicious smirk. "Do you know that your childhood friend thinks about you when he's getting his dick sucked?"
Before another word could leave her mouth, Jake snapped, as if the last of his restraint broke. He crossed the short distance between them in one terrifying stride, his hand shooting out to lock around her wrist. He didn't say a word or even yell. He just hauled her backward, yanking her straight to the door and ignoring the offended gasp she let out, he was already slamming the door in her face though.
"I...I'm sorry," you stuttered out.
"I was looking for Jace," you blurted as the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate attempt to explain away your presence, seeing as you’ve never been here before. "His...his location said he was here. I was just worried he wasn’t answering his texts but...I uh I guess it's just his phone he left behind."
You pointed at the floor near the entryway rug.
Jake followed your line of sight to Jace’s phone, sitting right beside the baseboard, it must have slipped out of Jace's pocket during his explosive exit earlier and he just didn’t notice.
Jake stared at you, just speechless as you quickly bent down and scooped the phone off the floor, slipping it into the back pocket of your jeans with shaking hands.
"I'm...I'm just gonna leave now," you refused to even look him in the eye as you backed up toward the threshold again, your fingers blindly reached behind you for the doorknob. "I'm sorry. I'll just go."
The humiliation of the whole situation, the lingering chemical haze in his system and the agony of having you standing right there, looking at him like he was a complete freak, it all exploded into another wave of defensiveness.
"Yeah," Jake muttered under his breath, turning his back to walk to his room. "You're real good at that."
The words were low but in the quiet apartment, they hit like a whip crack.
"What is that supposed to mean?" You scowled at him.
Jake stopped by the couch and grabbed a shirt he had tossed there earlier and yanked it over his head in a harsh move. "It means what it means," he started, staring you right in the eye. "You're fucking amazing at running away, Y/n. It's basically your signature move."
"What the fuck does that mean, Jake?" You doubled down, stepping further into the apartment and letting the door click shut behind you. Your voice rose, trembling from leftover hangover nausea and a new anger. "I literally just walked into your apartment while you were—while some naked girl was screaming at you! I came here looking for Jace! What the hell are you even talking about?!"
Jake laughed in your face but it was a humorless laugh as he rubbed a hand aggressively over his face, only to push his damp hair back off his forehead. He took a long breath, before just waving an offensively dismissive hand toward the door.
"Whatever," he tossed out flatly, like he was trying to shut it down before he completely lost his mind. "Forget it. Just go."
"No. No, absolutely not," you snapped, planting your feet firmly and placing your hands on your hips as you glared at him. "Tell me what you meant. You don't get to say shady shit like and just tell me to leave. Tell me what I'm running away from, Jake."
"From me!" The sudden volume of his voice shattered the fragile air between you. He took two steps forward until he was looking over you. "You run from me! You run from whatever the fuck happened between us and you run from your feelings for me!"
You stared at him as your mouth helplessly dropped open in bewilderment, right before your features hardened into a wall of resistance. "I don't have any feelings for you, Jake."
"Are you out of your mind? I have never had feelings for you. Unless you’re talking about how much I hate you."
"Sure," Jake scoffed and smirked but it didn’t match the way his eyes looked broken. "Sure you don't. Newsflash, Y/n—I don't know if your brain was too fried from all the alcohol to remember anything from last night but I was the one who came to pick you up from that sketchy club downtown."
You blinked at him, your hands dropped from your hips to your sides as you stumbled over your own tongue. "What...? What are you...no, Jace took me home—"
"Yeah, Jace," Jake cut you off, throwing his hands up in mock celebration. "Oh great guy, Jace! Except Jace was sound asleep in his dorm with Jungwon all night! It was me, Y/n. I answered your call. I got in my car at midnight, drove twenty minutes downtown and dragged your wasted ass off the sidewalk!"
"You're such a liar," you whispered but you couldn’t ignore the dread you left as you flipped through your drunken memories from last night. "You're lying to make me feel insane—"
"Am I?"
"Do you want me to list everything out for you? Do you want me to remind you how you slurred your words into my shoulder while I carried you up three flights of stairs?"
"Stop it," you pleaded while your chest started to feel tighter. "Jake, stop—"
"You told me all about how I make it hard for you to love me," he just kept going even with pain in his voice vibrating off the walls. "You told me you loved me all the way up to freshman year. You said it, Y/n. You said it right to my face! Mrs Jake Sim"
"Stop!" You screamed and shoved his chest with both hands with enough force to make him step back. Tears of mortification were already spilling over your eyelashes. "You had no right! You had no fucking right to be there! You should have called Jace! You should have left me alone!"
"You called me!" Jake shouted back, throwing his arms wide in complete frustration. "You called my number! And even if you thought you were calling him, what was I supposed to do, Y/n?! Leave you stranded on the side of a dark road in the middle of the night?!"
"Why does everyone in my fucking life act like I'm some kind of monster?!" Jake yelled, his voice cracking down the middle. "Why does Jace and why do you think I'm horrible enough to just leave you stranded out on the road, just helpless for some random guy to pick up?! For fuck's sake, Y/n, no matter how much you hate me, no matter how much shit has gone down—how could you ever think I wouldn't come get you?"
"You are horrible, Jake," you spoke so calmly that it made Jake shiver but he was laughing right after.
"I'm not." He shook his head. "I'm not, Y/n and you know I'm not. If I was really as horrible as you keep pretending I am, you wouldn't have been so in love with me for that long."
Watching your wide eyed reaction, Jake saw the realization hit you like a train but he couldn't stop the dam from bursting. He had kept these poisons locked in his chest for far too long.
"I know I've been a bad person," he started. "I know I've fucked up! I know I've pushed everyone away, I know I've made terrible choices but I am trying, Y/n. I am trying so hard to fix myself and to make things better."
A tear finally escaped his right eye but he didn't even bother to wipe it away.
"Do you have any idea?" he choked out as each breath scraped his lungs. "Do you have any fucking idea how long I've been in love with you? Did Jace ever tell you how I was the one who wanted to take you to the dance? Did he tell you how my whole family basically bullied me out of it?"
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it felt bruised.
"Did I ever say a single word when you gave Jace all the credit and all your love for that necklace?" Jake continued as his eyes dropped down to your chest where said necklace sat. "The one you still wear around your neck every single day?"
He pointed right at the delicate chain tucked beneath the collar of your shirt.
"I got you that, Y/n." Jake sobbed out softly but a bitter smile was touching his lips as well. "I spent four months saving up my allowance to buy you that thing. I think I actually gave it to your mum but somehow you just assumed it was Jace."
The floor seemed to shift under you suddenly remembered Wednesday in the dining hall, when Jungwon had asked about it and Jace had no memory of buying it when you claimed he did, you had teased him for having such a terrible memory that he couldn't even remember buying his best friend her favorite piece of jewelry.
Except there was no memory for Jace to have, he hadn't forgotten buying it—he had never bought it at all.
It had been Jake. It had always been Jake, standing in the corner, watching you give his brother all the love, all the smiles and all the credit for a gift he took time out to get for you, while he took the blame for being the distant and heartless twin.
You had no idea when you started to sway where you stood but the room was spun sideways as the crippling heaviness of his confession hit you all at once. It was like the narrative you had spent years carefully constructing and believing was crumbling into dust and the next thing you knew he was catching you from falling.
"Woah—hey," Jake breathed out with his voice now filled of protective concern, his hands shot out to catch you by the waist, steadying your weight before you could lose your balance completely. The new proximity was so sudden and when your palms reflexively landed on his broad chest, all you could feel was the erratic beat of his heart.
The heat rolling off him was almost stifling the narrow space between you and when you slowly tilted your head up, your eyes wet with tears met.
Jake was also left in pieces, his eyes were glossy too but also lined with exhaustion and stripped of the usual cocky defiance you were used to. He looked down at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor, like you were his whole world while his thumb was brushing a shaky circle against the side of your waist through the fabric of top.
The silence hanging in the air was so fragile, both of you knew it was stretched to its absolute breaking point but Jake still spoke.
"Please," he started, voice barely louder than a breath. "Please tell me you still love me, Y/n."
You couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, Jake Sim loved you? Jake Sim loved you too?
"I—I’ve never stopped loving you."
New tears blurred your vision and poured down your face as you looked up at him through the haze. "You made it so hard, Jake...why did you do that? Why did you love hurting me?"
The heartbreak in your voice knocked the air right out of his lungs and his face contorted into a look of remorse.
"I'm sorry." His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer as if afraid you'd vanish, like his next words would have you leaving. "I'm so fucking sorry, Y/n. I was a child...but that doesn't even excuse a single thing I did. I was a fool. A blind and arrogant fool and I just…I didn't have the maturity to handle what I felt for you, I didn't know how to love you right."
He leaned down and pressed his forehead directly against yours, making you feel his uneven breath fanning over your lips.
"I can make it right," he pleaded in a desperate whisper, using his thumb to brush away a stray tear on your cheek. "I can make it right now, Y/n...if you just let me. Please, just let me."
You had no words left, every wall you had built over the years to keep Jake Sim out was gone, every argument burned away by the passion hanging between you. Your bodies were pressed flush together and his chest was rising and falling against yours with his hands placed tightly to your waist. This was the closest you had ever been to him, way closer than the years of stolen glances, closer than the shared childhood memories, closer than the bitter screams in your memories.
His lips were right there, inching barely a breath away and calling out to you in a way you had spent years trying to ignore and heaven help you, you couldn’t fight your feelings for a single second longer, you leaned up and kissed him.
Jake was immediately inviting, how could he not be? His mouth opening against yours with a starving fervor that made your head spin. His hands slid down to firmly wrap around your thighs, hauling you up just enough that your feet were barely tiptoeing on the hard floor but you were pinned directly into his heat and that’s all he wanted.
The kiss deepened in a matter of seconds, slick with tongue and an eager battle of years of unspoken yearning finally breaking through. When he parted his lips from yours, he dragged his mouth down the sensitive path of your jaw, burying his face into your neck and kissing over your skin, sending a helpless whimper tearing from your throat.
Your impatient self couldn't take the space, you were already reaching up and tangling your fingers tightly into the locks of his hair to forcefully tug his head back up and capture his lips again.
Jake groaned into your mouth and reality crashed over him through the sensory overload, he felt the dangerous momentum building between you two, he really did try to create a inch of distance, his hands shifted to press gently against your shoulders.
"Wait—Y/n, wait," he rasped out, trying to catch his breath. "Let’s—let's just breathe for a second—"
But it seemed like you weren’t having it, you were far too deep, too consumed by the thought of him actually loving you as heartbreakingly as you loved him.
Without pause, you grabbed the hem of your top and yanked it over your head to toss it blindly onto the floor. Before he could even process the sudden flash of your bare skin and commit it to memory, you reached for his shoulders again and jumped this time, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he was forced to catch you.
Jake’s arms reacted on pure instinct and his hands shot out to firmly scoop under your thighs, supporting your entire weight as his chest heaved against yours and looked up at you like he was putty in your hands, you could ask the man to kiss your feet right now and he’d do it without thinking.
All you could think of in that moment was how many nights you had spent deep in this exact fantasy. A stray thought crossed your mind—would the girl who had just stormed out get a kick out of finding out that you had always fantasized about Jake, too? That all her cruel insults were useless because you had wanted him just as terribly?
Jake turned and carried you straight down the hallway toward his bedroom, your legs locking firmer around him and your hands buried in his hair. He was fully aware of the sickening irony that you were the second girl he had carried down this exact hall in the space of two hours but as he looked up at you, he knew you were the only one that actually mattered.
When he set you down on the edge of the mattress, his hands lingering on your hips for a fraction of a second before slipping away. He just stood there, just frozen and watching as you kicked off your shoes and shed your jeans. He was totally enthralled by you, taking in every single inch of bare skin like a man seeing water after a lifetime in the desert.
Following your lead, he quickly stripped off his sweatpants. "You're so gorgeous, Y/n." He said to you. "So fucking gorgeous."
He closed the distance between you again, leaning down to capture your mouth in another deep kiss, his hand slid around to your back and his fingers made quick work of your bra clasp. The front popped loose and as his palm immediately cupped your bare breast, his thumb and forefinger lightly pinched your sensitive nipple.
A gasp broke against his lips, one he could feel in his chest. His grip tightened around your waist as he pulled you along with him and sat back on the edge of the bed, guiding you to straddle his lap. As you settled over his thighs, you tried to ignore his bulge poking against your thong, he was already leaning down to bury his face in your chest, taking one of your nipples deep into his mouth.
He sucked it into mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak until your hands scrambled for purchase against his broad shoulders and your back arched further into him. "Mmm Jake." You moaned out, unable to help the way your hips began to roll and tilt over his lap.
Jake grunted against your breast, gripping your thighs to keep encourage your movements, moaning at the feel of your wet folds against the bulge in his boxers. He was about to switch to your other breast but before his mouth could move, your hands shifted up to his shoulders and you firmly pushed him back.
He let himself fall at your will, landing flat against the mattress with a laugh. "Oh, okay," he grunted softly, a smirk full of ecstasy catching the corner of his lips as he looked at you.
You shifted your flimsy thong to the side and you your body turned in his lap, reversing your position so your back was to him. He didn’t get the chance to even ask what you were doing before you were lowering yourself over his face, bringing your wet folds right above him.
Jake’s eyes widened at the view but he quickly regained composure and his hands immediately locked around the sides of your hips and he knew exactly what to do.
He also knew he was amazing at it, too and an arrogant confidence settled into the way his hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place.
He parted his lips and buried his mouth right into your dripping pussy, wrapping his wet mouth around your swollen folds. The first touch of his tongue sent a shudder straight through you, making you moan instantly.
"Nghh—Jake. Fuck."
He seemed to be taking his time with the way he glided his tongue deliberately around your throbbing clit, setting a steady gentle tug that made your hands scramble wildly for purchase against his knees and the sheets. The heat of his mouth was utter torture, every flick of his tongue kept hitting the exact right spot, precisely driving you over the edge until your hips began to roll helplessly against his lips and you were riding his face not even caring if you smothering the man.
Jake was just as drunk on the pleasure as you were, so lost in the scent and taste of you as you rode his face, also not caring that you were smothering him. His hands dug firmly into the plush of your thighs and add, holding you down against his mouth as his tongue worked in the best strokes you’d ever felt.
"Ohh shit! J—Jake!" You sobbed out. "Mmm yes."
He met every roll of your hips with long, wet licks, sealing his lips tightly around your swollen folds. Every time he got a moan out of you, he vibrated a muffled chuckle straight into your skin, just loving every second of how you were using him. He loved the total weight of your body pressing over him, loved the helpless way your thighs shook against his ears and he loved knowing that every winded gasp echoing through his bedroom was because of his mouth.
"God, fuck...you taste so good, Y/n," Jake said against your wetness. "So fucking good for me."
Overwhelmed by the fervor, you tried to reach down for the waistband of his boxers. "Need...need yo—," You attempted to speak but your words were cut off when he wrapped his lips around your clit and started to suck just like he did your nipple.
You hooked your fingers under the elastic and dragged his boxers down just far enough to free his thick length. You were totally driven by the desire to drive him just as crazy as he was driving you, you adjusted and lowered your head down toward his lap to take his cock into your mouth. But the moment the warm head brushed past your lips and tasted his precum, Jake swirled his tongue directly over your clit again and your entire train of thought shattered.
"Oh god Jake! Your tongue—! Ahah—!" You cried but your voice was muffled with his shaft slipped into your mouth.
The pleasure was simply too much for you to function, so you ended up just resting your lips over the head of cock. “Mmmph...Jake, you’re gonna make me cum,” you whined softly around him, not able to actually suck him off the way you intended because your mind was far too fractured. You just hovered there, moaning and trembling, letting your hot mouth wrap around his tip while you rode the wave of agony his tongue was pounding into you.
Jake let out a moan of his own into your folds as your moans vibrated directly against his cock. His hips twitched up beneath you, his nails curled into the softness of your thighs while he picked up the pace.
"It’s okay, love. You don’t have to suck it, just moan around it." You heard him say. "Mhmm, just like that. Let me feel you."
He shifted his focus to your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over the swollen knot in fast licks that grew sharper and faster with every second.
"Jake—Jake, stop, wait—!" You wailed sitting up as your whole body started to shake cause you were right at the verge of cumming. "I'm—ah!"
He realized you were about to try to run away so he held on tighter as your back arched and your thighs trembled uncontrollably against his head.
"Can I put a finger inside you?" Jake asked you but the tone of his voice made you completely freeze up.
There was no suave or cocky authority in it. It was thick with desperation in a way you hadn’t expected.
"Please, Y/n," His whines were softly muffled against your pussy and a small, pathetic sound caught in his throat as his forehead pressed hard against your hip. "Fuck...please? Just one. Let me..."
You gasped, the shock of it really cut through your pleasure. For years, you had built up this image of Jake in your head—imagining that if he ever got you into his bed, he would be completely in control, demanding and just ruthlessly dominant. But here he was, literally squirming beneath you, with his voice high and breathless while he begged for your permission like a boy who couldn't bear the thought of taking a single thing without you giving it to him first.
A squeal tore from your throat. "Yes! Yes, Jake, please—"
The moment the words left your mouth, he let out a needy breath of relief and not wanting to waste another second, he slid a thick finger deep into your tight heat.
"Ah! Jake! More!"
"God, you're so damn tight...fuck," Jake said, his other hand trembling as he began curling his finger downward, desperately seeking out that one spot inside you.
He didn't hold back at all, already pumping his finger in and out in deep thrusts, opening you up and working you until your pussy gushed wet heat all over his hand. The whimpering noises he made against your skin were unhinged, he was practically sobbing into your core as his tongue lapped up every single drop of slick pouring out of you while he continued to finger you. He moved his tongue on your clit, turning your moans and cries into music like he was begging you with every stroke to just let him give you more.
Before you could even catch your breath or get used to the finger inside you, Jake slid a second finger right beside the first.
"Jake…that’s..hmmm yes!"
He pumped them in and out so good, crooking them downward to hit places deep inside you that you couldn't possibly reach on your own. Every targeted thrust had you bucking against his face, losing your mind over the depth he was reaching.
Driven completely out of his mind too, Jake latched back onto your clit again, harder this time like he had forgone all restraint. He was gloriously messy about it, sucking hard, spitting and slurping at your swollen pussy with loud, wet noises that bounced around the room. A continuous moan coiled straight from his throat directly into your pussy as your wetness gushed freely, running down his jaw and dripping onto his neck.
He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, but instantly replaced them with his tongue. He thrust it deep inside your entrance, curling and working it to stretch your pussy as far as it would go, mimicking the exact rhythm of his fingers while his hands clamped onto your hips to keep you still.
In the blinding veil of it all, you managed to lift your heavy eyelids open and through your blurry vision, you looked down past your chest to find Jake’s hips twitching involuntarily against the mattress, his thighs shook with every stroke he gave you. His hard cock was twitching against air, unattended with steady stream of precum leaking from the tip and making a path down a prominent vein.
He was so overtaken by giving you pleasure that his own body was weeping for relief, yet completely at your mercy. You watched with lust as he shifted his heels firmly into the mattress, digging them in as his hips began to thrust up into the bare air.
Watching him twitch and squirm beneath you was intoxicating and driven by curiosity and a sudden surge of power, you reached down to wrap both of your hands tightly around his leaking cock.
"Ahhh—no, please—!" Jake yelled into your pussy, his whole body jerked at the sudden contact and his hands tightened on your hips so hard his knuckles turned white. "Y/n, fuck, don't—"
But you didn't listen, you twisted and pumped your hands over his slick length, establishing a tight rhythm. The combination of your hands working his shaft and the taste of you on his tongue threatened to send him completely over the edge. His tongue started faltering, like he was losing all focus, even starting to slur unintelligible words directly against your wet folds.
"Oh...shi—, Y/n...please..." He begged but his hips were thrusting upward directly into your grip and he was chasing the friction of your palms with needy little twitches.
You were simply amazed at the sight, the sight of this loud, guarded, stubborn guy completely unraveling in your hands, whimper for whimper, totally at your mercy. He was so close, he knew he as and he couldn’t stop his core from shaking as he bucked into your touch.
"I'm—I'm gonna cum—Stop! Shit, Y/n, I'm gonna cum! P—Please!" He cried out and before he could let go completely, he suddenly grabbed your wrists and stopped your pumping hands in their tracks with a harsh tug.
He was flipping you over quickly and the world spun as he manhandled you onto your back, pinning your wrists beside your head as his bigger frame settled over yours.
He closed his eyes for a painful minute, the he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, letting out a low stream of curses into your skin, every muscle in his shoulders locked tight as he fought back the edge he had almost tumbled over.
"Fuck...fuck," he groaned in a shaky voice. He lifted his head and opened his eyes to look into yours with nothing but desperation. "I was so fucking close...but I can't. I want to make love to you first, Y/n. Please? Can I please?"
You didn't answer with words, you reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his pulsing cock to line the thick head directly against your drenched hole.
Jake gasped at the sensation, his hips twitching forward but as his hand moved down to shove your thong further out of the way, the thin lace gave out under his eager grip, tearing down the middle with a loud rip.
He paused for a second, looking at the torn fabric hanging in his hand. "Oh...I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking back up at you but the expression on his face completely betrayed him—his eyes were blown out with lust and a faint smirk tugged at his lips that showed he wasn't really sorry at all.
Before you could scold him for it, he grounded his hands firmly into the mattress on either side of your head, resting the hot tip of his cock against your entrance, his jaw clenching as he slowly began to push inside.
"Jake...mmh, wait—it's so big..."
The moment the words hit his ears, Jake had to tightly shut his eyes again. "Don't—fuck, Y/n, don't say that," he pleaded with a voice so strained as he fought the urge to just slam all the way home.
Realizing how tight you were around him, he forced his hips to stay still for a moment and reached down between your bodies, using his thumb to find your swollen clit and began to rub soothing circles against it, deliberately trying to coax your body into relaxing for him.
"Breathe for me, love," he whispered against your skin, leaning down to press soft kisses to your lips, then to your cheeks and down to the corner of your jaw.
As your body melted under his touch and the tension in your thighs began to give way, Jake took advantage of the shift, groaning low in his chest and slowly pushing the rest of his cock all the way inside your tight pussy, burying himself to the hilt.
The sheer feeling of him stretching you to your absolute limit was overwhelming and every small shift of his hips brought another helpless whine spilling from your lips.
"Jake, fuck...it’s too big," you repeated, your fingers dug into his shoulders as your breath hitched in your chest. "You’re so...ah, Jake...Mm my pussy."
Jake gave a tormented grunt, trying to pull back just an inch to establish a new pace but your walls were clamped so tightly around his length that he could barely move.
"Y/n, shhh—fuck, stop whining like that." His words choked him. He buried his face into your neck again, like he was fighting for control. "You’re so fucking tight, love...I swear to God, if you keep making those noises, I’m gonna cum right now."
He managed to stay completely still for a second, locking his hips flush against yours while his breath came out hot against your skin, he was trying with everything in him not to lose his mind inside you before he even truly started.
Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, blurring the sight of him as he finally established a deep pace. The sheer size of him, mixed with how deep he was sinking into you with every roll of his hips, made your head spin.
"Jake...fuck," you moaned out as you looked up at him. "You’re—you’re in my stomach..."
Jake’s eyes snapped to yours, suddenly drunk on how vocal you were being for him. A possessive spark lit up his face. "Where?" he asked, pausing his hips for a second but making sure he was deep. "Where, my love? Show me."
Shaking uncontrollably, you lifted one hand from his shoulder and pointed to the lower curve of your belly, right where you could feel the solid pressure of his cock stretching you.
A melting look softened his sharp features and a breathless coo escaped his lips as he looked down at your hand. "Right there, doll? Hmm? I'm right there?"
You gave a quick nod, so pathetic while your bottom lip trembled as more tears ran down your face.
"Fuck, you're so sweet for me," Jake was undone by the sight and now driven by the urge to get even deeper, he
reached down and grabbed your ankles, hauling your legs up and tossing them directly over his shoulders.
The new angle opened you up completely, plunging him straight to your absolute limit in one sharp, powerful thrust.
"Oh my god! Jake! I—I can’t!" The new depth hit the sensitive sweet spot inside you that Jake had been looking for.
"Mm? You like that?" Jake growled out, a triumphant smile catching on his lips as he picked up the pace a little more. His broad palms slammed flat against the mattress beside your head and his hips thrusted into you with a faster pace, every deep stroke brought out even louder moans that drove him out of his mind.
"I want to cum...fuck, Jake, I want to cum so bad!"
The unbearable coil in your lower belly tightened to a breaking point and driven wild by the deep pounding, your hand scurried down between your sweaty bodies. Your fingers found your swollen clit and started rubbing fast circles over the tender nub. That made your walls clamp down on his cock harder, literally sucking him deeper with every involuntary pulse.
Every nerve ending in his body screamed at him to just let go and cum inside your pussy right then and there.
"God—You’re driving me crazy, Y/n."
He dug his knees into the mattress, the muscles in his shoulders and thighs locked up as he fought with everything in him to keep his own orgasm at bay. He refused to end it yet, too intoxicated on the sight of you taking him so well, too addicted to the unfiltered sound of your moans and the loud slapping of your bodies colliding together.
"That's it, love…mmhm take it," he grunted through his gritted teeth, pushing his hips forward in intentional grinds that pushed your fingers directly into your clit. "Cum for me. Come on. Let go."
The unrelenting pressure inside you snapped all at once and a gasp was caught in your throat as your orgasm shattered through you like an earthquake. Your pussy walls contracted so tightly and with so much force, that you practically expelled his cock, pushing him back out of your entrance as your whole body arched off the bed.
Jake let out a startled noise, eyes dropping down to look between your legs where your pussy was pulsing in hard waves and your folds were fluttering, literally soaking the mattress beneath you in hot gushes that spurt freely over his thighs and the rumpled sheets.
"Fuck...fuck, Y/n." Jake gasped out, awestruck as he stared down at the wet mess you were making all over his bed.
"Hmm...no, don't look!" You squealed, as embarrassment suddenly washed over you, you threw both hands over your eyes, trying to hide your face from his gaze.
"Don't look?" Jake echoed but his voice was so dark with possessive satisfaction that you had to look at him. "God, I am so fucking in love with you. Look what you did to my bed, love."
You couldn’t even offer him another word of defense or tell him that you loved him too, he had grabbed your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. You gasped as he gathered your hips, pulling your lower body back to bring your trembling thighs flush against his.
Then he guided his thickness right back against your pussy. "Look at you hiding your face like you didn't just wreck me."
He was already thrusting and pulling you back to meet him. "Oh fuck mr! Jaeyun! Yes yes yes!" You screamed into the pillow.
Jaeyun?
Now that he had already seen you completely unravel, all his restraint was gone. His grip on your waist got tighter and began pounding into you with a powerful rhythm. Every thrust was harder, faster and deeper than before, the wet slapping sound of his hips against your ass hit your ears as he took you over and over again.
"I love you, Y/n." Jake grunted right against the shell of your ear. He slammed forward, his hips drove his fat cock straight into exactly where you needed it. "Fuck...I love you so much."
You couldn't even form proper sentences anymore, your body was reacting on pure instinct and your tight walls were pumping slick cream all over his shaft with every single hit.
"Oh godddd! Jaaaake!" Your hands clawed at the sheets beneath you. "Right there—fuck, right there Jake!"
"I'm so fucking in love with you, baby...I can't even think straight..." He pulled your body up so your back was to his chest and his palm was pressed to your belly, right where he could feel his cock thrusting into you.
The confession plus the blinding sensation of his cock grinding against your sweet spot, broke down whatever remaining barrier you had left.
"I love you too!" You threw your head back against his shoulder. "I love you, Jake! Ah—!" "You—You’re going to make me cum again!"
Hearing those words spill from your lips was the final straw for Jake, he gave one last guttural sound from the back of his throat, his grip tightened around your stomach as he placed kisses and bites on your neck, his thrusts turned fast and unhinged as he chased his own final peak right along with you.
He grabbed you by your hair and slammed you down into the pillows, pinning your face firmly as he delivered his final thrusts. The possessive weight of his hand held you completely anchored, leaving you helpless under his hips.
"Cum with me, love." "Fuck...cum on this cock right now. Please."
"Yes! Yes, Jake!" You responded, sliding your arm between your wet thighs, you pressed your palm flat against your swollen clit, slapping and grinding against the swollen knot.
The visual shattered whatever fragile hold Jake had left, watching your hand work wildly over your clit while he pounded into you, mixed with the tight spasms of your walls suddenly clamping down around him again, it all pushed him right over the cliff.
"Fuck—! Y/n!" Jake roared, his entire body locking up, he slammed his hips all the way forward and shoved his thick length to the absolute hilt deep inside your pulsing pussy. His chest heaved as he came violently, an endless torrent filling you up completely as your body shuddered under his. His grip on the back of your head softened into a tender hold, his forehead dropped to the pillow beside your head as you both rode out the overwhelming waves of your shared release.
Jake collapsed over you, carefully keeping most of his weight propped up on his forearms, refusing to crush you. His skin sweaty just like yours and when he shifted his weight, reaching down to wrap a thick arm around your waist to pull you flush against his chest because he wanted nothing more than to hold you close while your heartbeats slowed together.
"Hey..." he called out to you and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
"Don't." you choked out, pressing your hands hard against his broad chest.
Jake’s heart almost stopped beating. He looked down at you and his brow squeezed together in instant confusion. "Y/n...?"
As the feverish haze of the moment rapidly cleared, the air in the room suddenly turned cold and when he looked down into your face, he didn't see the soft look of someone who had just confessed their love. He saw the sudden panic and a crushing look of regret staring back at him and a sharp spike of fear shot straight through Jake's chest,
"No...no, wait," he muttered, watching as you forcefully pushed yourself up off the mattress, breaking away from his touch as if his skin burned you. "Y/n, baby please wait,"
"Don’t—Don’t call me that, Jake. We...God, we shouldn't have done that."
"What?" Jake sat up instantly, not knowing what to do while you searched the room for your discarded clothes . "Y/n, what are you talking about?"
You didn't look at him, your hands were trembling so badly you could barely function as you frantically searched the floor, snatching up your shirt and scrambling to pull the pieces of your clothes together.
"This was a mistake," you whispered. "Jake, I...I have to go."
"Y/n, stop! Please, talk to me!" Jake panicked, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and quickly pulling his boxers on. His eyes were wide and terrified as he realized you were pulling your clothes back on, the confident, loving man from seconds ago entirely shattered by the sudden distance between you.
"Look at me! Please, don't just leave like this—what do you mean a mistake?"
"I mean we shouldn’t have had sex!" You blurted out loudly, shoving your arms through the sleeves of your top. The panic in your chest was consuming, making your hands shake so badly you could barely button it. "Oh God...what would Jace say?"
Jake went completely still. "What?" Jake asked in disbelief. "Jace? What the fuck does Jace have to do with this?"
You didn't answer, you just couldn't, so you grabbed your shoes from the floor, desperate to reach the door and escape the room. But before you could take two steps, Jake moved, stepping directly into your path, using his hands to grip your shoulders gently and blocking the doorway. His touch wasn't forceful but it was solid enough to ground you and stop your escape in its tracks.
"Y/n, stop. Just—please, calm down for a second so I can speak." He pleaded, eyes searching yours. He took a deep breath, sliding his hands down to wrap around your trembling wrists.
"Look, I know I sound like a broken fucking record by now," Jake started, "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Yes, I know we shouldn't have just had sex right now. I know the timing is fucked up and I know everything between us is so complicated. But I can't take it back, Y/n. And...Fuck me, I'm not even sure I would take it back."
You were already starting to cry again.
"I know I can't ever take back the things I've done to hurt you," Jake continued, softly stroking over the pulse points on your wrists with his thumbs. "I know I fucked up in the past. But by God, Y/n...I want to try. I want to learn how to love you the way you actually deserve to be loved. I'm so done running from this." He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw as he addressed the name hanging like a rainy cloud between you.
"And Jace?" Jake said softly, looking straight into your eyes without flinching. "I know he's going to have his reservations. I know he's going to hate me and I know he's going to try and protect you from me. And I'm ready for that. I'm ready to deal with whatever Jace throws at me because losing you again? Not fighting for you right now? That's the only thing in this whole fucked up world that actually scares the shit out of me."
The tears welling in your eyes fell down your cheeks and Jake’s thumb quickly brushed them away. His own eyes were glossy as he continued to speak.
"I know I can't fix everything in a day, or a week, or a month," he whispered. "I know it might take a whole fucking year—or longer. But however long it takes for me to make it up to you, Y/n...I'm here. I'm not going anywhere this time. I am fucking anchored to you."
He took a shaky, ragged breath, his broad palms rising to cup the sides of your face, holding you like you were made of glass, like he was terrified that one wrong move would cause you to shatter right through his fingers.
"I've been in love with you my whole life," Jake confessed, "I know this is what I want. I've always known. I want the fight, I want the mess, I want every single piece of you. But...if you don't want this? If being with me hurts too much, if looking at me just reminds you of everything I broke...I'll understand. I'll step back and let you hate me."
You stood utterly frozen in his hold, the violent trembling of your shoulders slowing as his words settled deep into your chest. You looked up into the dark depths of his eyes.
Through the wet sheen of your tears, the light caught a warmth in your expression, there was something undeniable and overflowing in it, like a quiet truth you couldn't hide even if you wanted to.
Just pure love.
Jake's eyes widened as he caught it and his grip on your jaw tightened just a fraction, his heart hammered in his chest as he waited on the cusp of his entire life. Your lips parted and a ruined gasp left them as you opened your mouth to finally give him your answer—
₊ 𓈒⊹
The fabric of the silk floor length gown, the jaw dropping piece you knew for a fact had cost more than your entire university tuition, courtesy of Jake’s ridiculously deep pockets, well it was currently bunched in heavy folds around your waist.
Instead of walking out the door toward the car, you were pressed flat against the back of the small sofa in the entryway, your heels digging uselessly into the rug as Jake buried his face between your bare thighs.
"Jake—fuck, stop!" You gasped out, your fingers tangling frantically in his styled hair. "We don't...Oh fuck—! We don't have time for this!"
He didn't listen, apparently sight of you stepping out in the backless dress had wiped his composure off the map and now his hands were locked around your thighs, holding you pinned while his tongue lapped relentlessly at your dripping center.
Every time you tried to push him away, he’d flick his tongue just right over your clit, turning your stern protests into embarrassingly pathetic moans that were music to his ears.
"I'm serious!" You whimpered, your head falling back against the cushion as a heavy surge of heat coiled low in your belly. "Jace and...oh God, Jace and Jungwon are going to kill us if we're late for their anniversary dinner!"
A low vibration hummed straight against your wet folds as he chuckled and the vibration alone sent a shudder straight to your belly.
"I’ll handle them," Jake’s voice came out completely muffled, his words slurred against your drenched skin before he clamped his lips over your clit and sucked hard, letting go cause he just couldn’t shut up. "They can wait...you look too fucking good to leave this room..."
He flicked his tongue deep into your entrance, tasting the slick mess he was making of you, his hands pushed harder into your hips to pull you even closer into his mouth, just indifferent to the clock ticking down on the wall.
His tongue got messier, slicker and even ruthless, sending wet licks all the way up to your clit before dragging his tongue straight back down into your tight entrance and shoving it in.
"Jake, nooo—your shirt!" You tried to remind him as you felt the crisp cotton of his dress shirt against your inner thighs. "You're gonna ruin it, baby, come on—"
"Don't give a fuck," he grunted out against your skin, not slowing down at all.
His mouth went completely wild, lapping at you with heavy, frantic strokes as he used his grip on your waist to guide you into riding his lips.
The angle was lethal, your heel clad feet were kicking in the air from the pleasure and as you dug your fingers deep into his scalp to keep yourself steady, the small band of the gold promise ring he’d given you for your six month anniversary pressed firmly into his skin. The subtle bite of the metal seemed to turn him on even more and a low groan rumbled through his chest.
A breathless smile broke across your face, followed by a helpless little giggle as the pleasure began to build in your belly.
"Jake...oh God, it feels so good," you whimpered out, your hips rolling helplessly over his tongue. "I'm—I'm gonna cum, Jake, I'm so close!"
"Mmh I know, baby. Cum on my face," he encouraged, squeezing your hips to keep you riding his mouth through the rising tide.
Your back arched as a breathless cry tore through you, your whole body trembling as a drenching climax crashed over you. Your inner walls fluttered desperately, flooding his mouth with your sweet release.
Jake didn't miss a single drop, holding you firm and humming in satisfaction as he greedily licked up every trace of your orgasm, lapping at your sensitive folds until you were completely weak and breathlessly melting back into the sofa cushions.
He grinned up at you from his position on the floor, then he stood up to help you slide your panties back up over your legs, smoothing the delicate fabric over your hips with entirely too much care. But the second they were in place, his palm came down with a stinging slap right against your ass.
"Hmm...mine," he rumbled with a smug grin.
Before you could swat his hand away, he was kissing your lips and taking your hand to his hair so you could tug at his hair just the way he likes. But as your fingers tangled into his locks and his tongue parted your lips, your thoughts drifted backward, sinking deep into the blurred timeline of the past year.
It really hadn't changed overnight.
Those first few months had been a delicate tightrope. As expected, Jace had been violently skeptical, refusing to even sit in the same room as Jake without a tense silence filling the air. There were nights you spent crying, terrified out of your mind that loving Jake meant losing Jace forever. But slowly, so painfully slowly, they had started the long process of repairing what had been broken. It wasn't perfect but the wall between the twins was finally coming down, inch by inch.
Your mind flashed back to the day you finally sat down with their family, terrifyingly nervous, to announce that you and Jake were officially together. You had prepared a whole speech, only for their mom to look up from her tea, roll her eyes dramatically and mutter, "Finally. It only took you two a decade." Before giving you a hug.
When Jake’s tongue brushed against yours, you remembered last summer at the Sim lake house. With the heat, the smell of pine and freshwater, the endless sound of laughter echoing off the dock with Jace, Jake, Sloane, Jungwon, and even Jay. You had spent the days swimming until your skin burned and lounging in the sun, surrounded by the people who mattered the most.
Jake really couldn't keep his hands off you for more than a few hours at a time that entire week. The memory of him sneaking you away from the group to drag you behind the boat house or locking the door to the guest cabin, just to push your sundress up or shift your bikini bottoms out of the way and bend you over whatever surface was closest because he was so starved for you.
You moaned into his mouth, kissing him deeper as you remembered the morning after one particularly loud night in the cabin, sitting at the breakfast table while Jay and Sloane relentlessly teased you about the wooden bed frame creaking through the thin walls until sunrise. Before you could die of embarrassment, Jake had just casually raised an eyebrow as he poured his coffee, instantly turning the blame on his twin and his boyfriend, claiming they were the ones keeping the whole house up with their own late night activities. The sheer chaos that exploded at the table after that had given you both just enough time to slip away unnoticed again.
"See? Perfect," Jake bragged, breaking the kiss and snapping you out of your head, pointing to his spotless shirt. "Didn't ruin it at all. You worried for nothing, baby."
"You are unbelievable," you muttered, rolling your eyes but the softness in your chest from every memory brought you right back to him, grounding you completely in the present.
Jake just chuckled, stepping in close to wrap his arms around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest and leaned down, pressing another lingering kiss directly to your lips and now that you weren’t elsewhere you could taste yourself on his lips.
"I love you," he whispered against your mouth, his eyes softening into that warm, devoted look that always made your chest ache.
"I love you too," you murmured back, then he leaned back with a dangerously playful spark lighting up his eyes. A smirk spread across his face as he offered you his arm.
"Shall we...Mrs. Jake Sim?"
Your jaw dropped. "Jake! Stop!" you squeaked out, smacking his shoulder in pure embarrassment as you tried to hide your face from him. "Stop teasing me with that! Oh my God, I was like six!"
"What? It's a nice name," he teased, laughing softly as he caught your hand and kissed your knuckles then your wrist, definitely enjoying how flustered you were over the childhood nickname you used to call yourself. "Okay, okay, I'll stop."
He offered you his arm again, leading you out the door toward his car but as you stepped into the hallway, a quiet determination settled deep in his chest.
F1DRIVER!JAY loved to have you cheer him on during races, seeing you on the sidelines with a big supportive smile spreading across your face──which was guaranteed to motivate him a little bit more. every, single time.
F1DRIVER!JAY who always liked to flaunt you to the public. especially in front of the cameras. whenever paparazzi would be around, jay would love to wrap his arm around your shoulders. or even snuggle his hand around your waist if he felt like feeding the media a bit more. just because he wanted everyone to know that you were his.
whenever F1DRIVER!JAY came home from long days of practice, he would immediately flop on the bed next to you. complaining about how they’d make him drive the same track over and over, wishing that you’d be in the seat next to him. even though you might fall out of the car from how fast it was.
F1DRIVER!JAY who would spoil you rotten to the point where your closet spewed out clothes. Insisting that you’d be the best dressed at all of his races──although he would still get jealous and overprotective if people looked your way.
F1DRIVER!JAY who’d let you put his helmet on just for fun, eventually choking up the loudest laugh ever because of how silly and big it looked compared to your head. you would snicker, smiling ear to ear saying, “what? i think it looks pretty cool on me.”
F1DRIVER!JAY found it so hilarious yet adorable that you collected lego cars of his team. his face would light up when he would walk in on you sprawled out on the floor of your bedroom. the pieces scattered on the ground as you built it brick by brick.
“you still collecting this stuff?” jay would ask, letting out a soft chuckle as he sat beside you to start helping you build. the concentration written on your face always made his heart flutter.
you would just nod as you continued building your lego, fingers piecing it all together. “yes i do, and you have no choice but to watch.”
synopsis: Using a dating app in order to find a lover rarely worked properly to you, which was the reason you never planned to do so. But bumping into someone so charming as you texted your possible future love interest wasn’t on your plans either.
my's note: hello!!! it's not only my first time writing in english but also my first time using tumblr to post a story i’m honestly kinda nervoussjdjdjs. a few things I want to say before anything: those are fictional characters, also i know almost nothing when it comes to other country’s educational systems sooo i’m sorry if something is off, and mostly important: enjoy!!!
i wasn't planning to write this much but i think i got a little carried away lol
warnings: quick mention of alcohol (all characters are of age!), slow burn kinda?, at least one ‘kms’ joke srry, strangers to friends to lovers, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, sugar, etc..), lot of language, jake is downnn baddd, there’s a slightly jay x y/n moment (they go on a date lol) but not too much dw!!!, reader blushing/turning red! eventual smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) - jake is kinda a sub, oral sex (both), unprotected sex (don’t do it!!!), j. cums inside (consensual), overstimulation (m), slight dacryphilia. enha’s jay, sunghoon and heeseung + lesserafim’s yunjin and chaewon as side characters. LMK IF I FORGOT SOMETHING.
wc: 22k
NOT PROOFREAD.
EXTRA (epilogue kinda?)
As comfortable as your couch was and even though you very much loved watching “Pitch Perfect”, that wasn't the fun weekend you had planned, actually you didn't plan anything at all. But there you were, licking your fingertips in order to clean up the salt flakes of the chips you devoured during the last minutes.
It wasn't like you really cared about what your lifestyle was turning into during the few months that passed by, opting to stay at home doing your little things here and there, taking a fair break from the crazy parties at suspicious places alongside a lame try to hang out with very random people...
The initial excuse of "I'll focus more on my studies" was holding a bit, however you couldn't help but feel bored at your choices at this point.
You sighed, opening the message app on your phone and re-reading the last texts you received in your friend group.
Jinnie 💘: my sweet little y/n
i’ve been here watching you ROT down in your apartment and i’m tired!!!
sure you don’t wanna party anymore or wtv BUT FOR GOD’S SAKE
i love you but truth be said YOU NEED TO GET LAID!!!!
download the app pleeeeasseeee
it’s not like you’re gonna match with a weirdo (i guess
Chaebae 💖: Worst case scenario you just call me and I go to rescue you with my very muscly arms
Best case scenario you win a good fuck !
You laughed again at the texts, picturing Chaewon with her baby face and a very packed body. Would she be able to really punch someone on the face in order to protect you? For sure she would. And she didn't even need muscly arms or whatever.
Being friends for God knows how long you thought about trusting them. They wouldn’t try to mislead you, right?
You always had little to no interest in dating apps. The few times you tried you constantly felt like you were practically selling yourself as some product with specific traits, where the buyer doesn't have enough chance to get to know more parts of you before anything, chasing for the next step so eagerly.
Although your heart beats fast for people you just met seemingly outwardly interesting, the real feeling of wanting to be with them, to go out on dates, to trust enough to let parts of yourself to be shown comfortably needs time and usually grows slowly.
You never really dated anyone in order to fulfill momentary desires, your own body wouldn't let it happen as you lose interest as soon as you feel too pressured by the other part or when the connection wasn’t clicking right.
Chaewon and Yunjin were different though. They had the free spirit to just hit that one night stand and be happy about it. You were happy about it, loving to listen to their crazy dates and nights out, sharing the most terrific stories about it while drinking some wine on your balcony.
Nevertheless, you were kinda desperate. Your last relationship ended one year ago, the one you rooted for a very long time – two years and five months, to be exact, until one day you caught him cheating on you with one of his "best friends that you don’t have to worry, baby". Very much cliché but also a big trauma in your life, leading you to this very moment of neediness but not enough courage to trust someone again.
Since then you have been hooking up once and a while with random people you met at parties, but never felt right or enough especially because you tried so hard to either not get attached – and with that lose the brief sexual interest – or on the very other side of the hand, to build up some kind of relationship.
Every single one turning into a big failure.
Sighing again, your fingers typed on the screen keyboard.
You: Can you send me the name again?
Chaebae 💖: OH???
YUNJIN
Jinnie 💘: I KNOW
[LFS]
hope you enjoy!! hihi
You: What's with the acronym lol
Chaebae 💖: "Love at First Sight"
You: Oh god
And you rly think it’s a good idea?
Chaebae 💖: ..yeah?
Jinnie 💘: a great idea actually!
You chuckled. What could go wrong?
Everything went wrong.
Not every single thing, but a bunch for sure.
You didn’t know if your taste was too specific or if overall men were just that boring. You had good features, your pics weren’t that bad either and your personality… Liking video games, some astronomical stuff, movies and dogs couldn’t be a big red flag, right?
But every match got you thinking “what happened to the old ‘hi, how are you?’”. Maybe because of those exact traits you put on display made the weird nerds attracted to you as a potential match, thinking their fantasies would be fulfilled by you.
Of course you understand people on those kinds of apps sometimes have very clear goals setted, but how frustrating is it to try to have a good conversation and the least creepy answer be “is it weird that i want you sucking me while i play league of legends? lmao”?
No matter how defeated you were feeling you weren’t one to give up. And that leads to this very moment as you type fast on your phone with your current attempt.
Park Jongseong, or just Jay, was hot. Like, very hot. And his talking wasn’t going to weird places so far, which at this point was a big win. He was funny and somewhat endearing, sharing avidaly about his travels and his music interests with so much passion that you started to rethink your own life choices thus far – was the ongoing college degree a good choice? Should you give up everything and start to live as an artist?
Lost in your train of thoughts about maybe having found somebody worthy of your time as you walked down the hallway heading to your next lecture of the day, you didn’t expect to hit your face straight into someone’s chest. A very strong and hard chest by the way, you thought briefly, scented with some woody essence that got straight into your senses. The sweet voice of the owner wasn’t expected either.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!”, the boy uttered with a worried tone looking down at you trying to see if he had hurt you in some way. You almost didn’t catch his thick accent. “Are you okay?” he questioned softly, still concerned. You blinked a few times before coming back to reality, looking up confused at his face and answering hurriedly with slightly widened eyes.
“I’m the one who should be sorry! God, I’m so stupid, I should be more careful,” you started to blather as you lost yourself in that pretty face you just hit into. The whole combo was breathtaking. Plump glossy red lips and puppy eyes full of worry; the silky brown hair was just as normal as any other brown hair but what the fuck was that face? “I was looking down at my phone and I didn’t see y–”, you were interrupted by the honeyed voice again “I mean, I was also using my phone and didn’t see you either,” he chuckled. “You’re fine, sweetheart.”
Your eyes widened even more at the same time as a smirk decorated his beautiful lips. You don’t know what got you more flustered, the pet name or the double meaning of that simple phrase. You could feel your cheeks burning hard and your first instinct was to look down to the floor and wonder if hiding yourself beneath the tile was a good option.
“Well, sorry again,” he said and you forced yourself to swallow down the saliva that got stuck on your throat and to look up again, facing now a cute small and shy smile that made your heart beat fast. Too fast. “See ya!” and just like that he went his own way, not even waiting for your response.
You were sure someone had glued the sole of your shoes on the ground while you two had that small and awkward talk, because there’s no way your legs stopped working properly just because of him.
You looked over your shoulder in order to see his back going away but it was already too late, since he wasn’t around anymore. You thought to yourself he was certainly a new student, because you would have noticed him sooner. How could you not?
His chocolate eyes and sweet voice were the only things on your mind as you picked up your phone to text back Jay, trembling a bit from the encounter still.
You: of course we can see each other this friday!! :)
You tried your best to fully focus on your upcoming assignments, but your library time has reduced quite a bit and even in your house your attention was wandering constantly. For the last three days you walked around your whole campus trying so hard to bump into that good-looking visage one more time, going back and forth that hallway hoping to see that guy.
Describing his appearance to Chaewon and Yunjin didn’t help a bit, especially because everything you could remember was his sweet voice, his silky brown hair and his very beautiful smile. Just like any other guy.
But he wasn’t.
He looked smooth, confident and whatever other compliment you could build to him – like, you never really met him to know more than just the appearance, and his looks exuded that so you just guessed. The fucking “sweetheart” coming from his mouth sounded too good for your own heart. And that was everything you got from him. Not even a glimpse of something else like what classes he got or anything like that.
“I don’t know, I’m starting to worry you are seeing ghosts or making people up, girl”, Yunjin said as her hands unwrapped her sandwich right before she took a big bite.
“I’m not!” you whined with a pout. “I swear to god he exists. I need him to exist. He’s too fine,” you whispered the last part, even though they both heard you.
“This is definitely something someone who is starting to see things would say, y’know that, right?” Chaewon said with a laugh, making you chuckle a bit because, well, it’s true. How does one prove a person exists given that no one but you saw him?
The campus was big enough for you not to see him ever again, however after the quick encounter you noticed he walked towards the end of the hallway, to classes that only someone with an area of study similar to yours would go to.
“This is frustrating,” you stated, looking at the people wandering around still hoping to see him. Your lunch already forgotten in front of you.
“Don’t you have a date in like a few hours?” Chaewon questioned with a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we be worrying about you and that hot Jay guy instead of you and the we-don’t-even-know-if-he-exists guy?”
“She’s right, baby,” Yunjin added. “Jay looks adorable. You should focus on him.”
You nodded defeated, sighing and forcing yourself to re-read your texts with the said guy. “You’re right”, you smiled a bit.
Jay: Looking forward to our date tonight! <3
You: yeah, me too :)
And just like that the afternoon has arrived and you got yourself in a dilemma of clothing and accessories and shoes and makeup and even between your perfumes! Everything seemed terrible together, nothing was right, no cloth piece looked good enough to match Jay’s insane visuals and taste in style. Through his photos you noticed the way he fashioned himself, wearing fancy brands with a generous constancy, looking too good for yourself.
You were on the verge of crying when Yunjin called you, as if she felt in her guts you needed her.
“Hey,” you answered the call, quickly accepting the change to a video call and propping your phone on your desk. “How we doin’, baby?” She asked curiously with a big excited smile. “Why aren’t you ready yet?” You noticed she had makeup on and was doing her hair while talking to you.
“Not doing well, Jinnie…” you pouted, looking at the mess around you. You were dealing with a lot of emotions at the same time and felt so lost. “I don’t know what to wear,” you said sincerely. “I feel like nothing I have here is enough to match Jay’s.”
In your defense, it’s been a long time since you ever went on a date, especially a dinner date and with someone so elegant like Jay.
You weren’t expecting Yunjin almost screaming at you. “Don’t you dare to say anything like that ever again!” You startled. “Y/N, you will look good in any clothing you decide to wear, because you are hot. Not your clothes or accessories or anything. They just complement your own beauty!”
While Chaewon normally was the one who would speak up for the whole group in terms of defending her girls, Yunjin worked on the other part of bringing the mood and the self esteem up. And both of them always did a great job.
“You are so fucking right, Yunjin,” she smiled proudly after you spoke, continuing her job on doing her hair.
You looked around one more time, getting out of the frame just to change yourself in a simple black dress long enough to cover half of your tights and the exact amount of tightness that hugged your curves with close perfection. “Thoughts?” You appeared again in front of the camera after a few minutes of trying some accessories.
“Sexy. And pretty. You are so getting laid tonight!” You chuckled. “I think I’m not the only one, though?” You wiggled your eyebrows playfully and she just giggled, before saying a quick goodbye and ending the call.
Just like you, she had things to get done.
Putting on some lip gloss as a final touch, you were ready. And just in time as you felt your phone vibrating inside your purse with Jay's text.
Jay: I’m here :)
You: Coming!
The big car greeting the door of your building was expected at some point, nonetheless your shocking expression was hardly disguised with a nervous smile. As Jay stepped out of his car, you quickly analyzed his outfit and had to take a breath because his white button up shirt with the sophisticated black trousers was getting yourself out of orbit. You felt a little dizzy when his hand positioned on your waist as he leaned to greet you with a little kiss on the cheek and a pretty smile.
He opened the door for you and when you both had settled down on the car seat, he said “You look great, Y/N”. With his help, you put on the seatbelt and thanked with a kind smile. "You look good yourself too, Jay."
The drive to the restaurant was quite normal, a few words being exchanged here and there, the conversation was pretty ordinary. You were a pile of nerves and you had to almost physically stop yourself from moving your legs up and down due to the feeling of anxiety. It’s not like Jay was making you uncomfortable, but you didn’t felt too comfortable either. The whole fancy type of thing was getting you too hesitant for a first date. You were more like a cafe date girly, stargazing at some open air park or maybe a picnic. Now you were blaming yourself for not letting that out beforehand.
Jay parked the car at the parking lot. “We’re here”, his voice broke you out of your mind and when you glanced up at the restaurant you felt like dying inside.
Too fancy.
“It’s… amazing,” was everything that slipped out your mouth as you got out of the car with Jay’s help. “I’m glad you liked it, princess.”
The pet name didn’t get you the much you hoped it would, actually it made you think about the fucking hallway guy and his smooth “sweetheart” saying, sending shivers down your spine.
When both of you reached the table reserved under the name Park Jongseong and you looked through the menu, you knew you were fucked up. With no shame, though, you asked “Could you order for me? I know little to no ingredients on this paper.”
Jay let a small breathy laugh and nodded ordering for both of you. He picked a wine impressively saying the name and the year and whatever other things wines have in its description trying to impress you. However, your focus was on the view that you finally noticed on your right side that faced a big window. The night sky was impressive and the moon was shining prettily.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked after sipping a bit of his wine. “Yeah, it’s incredible. I love the moon, actually I–” you didn’t had the chance to even start on your probably long talk about how much interested you are in the moon, being cutted of by Jay.
“Did you know that once I almost had the chance to go to the moon?” Your head snapped so fast towards his direction that you thought you would break your neck. “What?” The discredited and doubtful expression adorning your face was so clear still you were not afraid of showing it off.
With that, you discovered a not so good part of Jay: his somewhat annoying and exaggerated personality of trying to impress you with exorbitant things, too different from the texts you guys had exchanged. You had no interest knowing that his first birthday present was diamonds or that his dad bought him a car even before he turned eighteen. Let alone that he traveled to every single place you said during the conversation.
The way he would blurt out interrupting you in order to say "It's so amazing there! You would love the beaches and the museums, and the..." so it goes, every single time was really angering you.
Feeling left out in a duo talk was a new experience to you. How could someone be so full of himself and act like his life is the only one that matters? His gentlemanly aura was falling down very fast.
“You don’t seem to be enjoying our date,” he pointed with elegance when you went full quiet, looking directly at you. You sipped a bit of the wine that actually tasted too bad for your palate, noticing how half of your food was left out on your plate. You forced yourself to eat as much as you could handle, but the aftertaste of that food was worse than the taste itself.
“Oh, now you noticed me,” you artificially smiled.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, a bit offended. You got nervous, but didn’t let that get on you. “I mean that for the past two hours all you talk about is yourself. At first I was like ‘okay, this is how we know each other!’, but since then I haven’t had the chance to talk about anything related to myself, like my likings or whatever,” you vented, having to take a deep breath and drink some more wine afterwards.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t get it,” Jay seemed honestly confused.
“Are you stupid?” the question slipped your tongue a bit too fast for your own thinking. You widened your eyes and covered your mouth with your hand. “I’m sorry I–”
“I don’t think I’m stupid, but I really don’t get it. It’s my first date in a while and I don’t really remember having to listen to the girls at all…”
Squinting, you questioned genuinely, “What do you mean? Like, the girls you took out on dates just… listened to you bragging about diamonds and travels?” He kinda mimicked your expression and replied as if it was obvious “...Yeah…”
After you blinked a few times you recomposed yourself and drank the whole wine on your glass at one go wishing you could just get drunk enough to forget that night. Jay watched you with a fazed expression as you got up from your chair. “I’m sure you’ll find someone that likes you the way you are. But with all due respect, to me, you kinda… Y’know. So I’m leaving.” You pointed with your thumb to your back, not even knowing if the exit was that way. “It was… an experience, I think.” You forced a smile. “Do I have to pay for something?”
“No, don’t worry about that,” he was quick in his response, feeling a bit ashamed and soon adding “But I can get you home, you just have to wait for me to p–”
“Nah, I’m fine. I’ll call a cab or whatever,” you interrupted him as soon as you could, not wanting to spend any more second with him. Being in a closed space with him for more than a few seconds would be too embarrassing.
“Y/N, come on. It’s the least I can do for you. You don’t have to walk alone at night, it can be dangerous.” You sighed, tapping his shoulder softly when you got closer to him. “Jay, it’s fine. It was not meant to be,” you tried to sound certain but what left your mouth was a mix of sneering with a doubtful tone. When he said nothing more, you left.
You were free. And also hungry. And a bit tipsy.
Maybe it was not the best idea to walk alone at that time of the night, but somehow you managed to feel better outside than with Jay. He was great, but definitely not for you.
You questioned yourself if calling Yunjin or Chaewon or maybe both could be a good idea, but knowing them they would show up in no time and try to beat the crap out of Jay and you weren’t in the mood to witness a murder. Actually all you needed was food. And maybe a cozy place. Nevertheless you typed on your phone just to update your girls.
You: Date went down the hole
Guy’s kinda suck ngl
Chaebae 💖: WDYM
ARE YOU OKAY
DO YOU NEED ME TO GET THAT BASTARD OR WHAT
WHAT DID HE DO
WHERE ARE YOU
Jinnie 💘: i’m very much drunk rn but tell me his address and i'll kick his ass
and get you home
or are you home already?
You laughed at the quick replies you received and typed some reassurance to them while continuing your walking process. Your goal at that point was to find a convenience store where you could get some lamen and perhaps a soda.
While you wrote down your last message walking slowly not to trip, you bumped into someone, face straight to their chest.
Firm and cunning hands held you by the waist since you lost balance because of your heels, preventing you from falling. Before you could even say anything, that fucking woody essence went directly through your senses and it was as if history was reescribing itself, like a gift from fate. This time, you were fully in his arms.
You looked up. “I’m so– Oh, you again?” He showed his charming smile. Because of the proximity you noticed how the corner of his lips were a bit curvy. So attractive and for what?
Just like the last time, you blinked twice before realizing what really was happening, feet fixed on the ground. “I’m starting to consider that you like bumping into my chest, sweetheart,” he said with a grin, his mentoled breath hitting straight on your face.
Thank god his hands still held your waist, otherwise you would definitely fall. Your baffled expression had him chuckling a bit. “Did I hurt you?” he asked with care, looking directly at your eyes. His pretty chocolate eyes were hidden behind black specs this time.
You kept gazing stupidly at him like he was a distinct specie, an alien or something, not being able to say a word. Your throat was dry, you were sure you had lost the ability of talking. “Have you forgotten how to talk, pretty one?” He sniggered and bold but gently placed a strand of your hair behind your ear with his free hand. You shivered and almost leaned into the touch. “I remember you having such an endearing voice,” and just like that you finally let your body respond and blushed, taking a deep breath while starting to move away from him “I’m sorry, I didn’t see yo–”
“Cut that off, sweetheart," he let you go, making sure you were stable on your feet. You missed the warmth of his body on yours right away. Also you took your time to appreciate his clothing. The deep red shirt with white stripes covered with a black jacket looked too good on him. "I’m worried our encounters will keep happening like this. You might end up getting hurt for real,” the concerned tone did not go unnoticed, even mixed with the teasing-flirtatious one.
Your eyes wandered his face quickly before you let out a chuckle and diverted your attention away. You decided to ignore the buzzing sound of your phone as you put it inside your purse. “That wouldn’t be fun, would it?”, you said.
“Definitely not,” you looked back at him, caughting the shining eyes staring at you already like all he had down his sight was you. “A beautiful face like yours cannot be hurt, am I right?” And again there was that too attractive sly smile adorning his lips. You decided to smile back but shyly yet unable to hold the visual contact for more than a few seconds, cheeks still reddened.
“I don’t know you enough to say that but you seem a bit… off”, he was now looking at you with his gleaming puppy eyes, head slightly tilted to the side. “Yeah, I might be a little bit tipsy.”
Normally you would be mad at the fact the small amount of wine was hitting that hard, blaming your weakness towards alcohol for making you feel kinda dizzy and too bold for your own good – you internally debated if that dizzines came from the alcohol or from other sources, like the very good looking man standing in front of you.
Still you thanked the fearless feeling running through your veins at that very moment, otherwise where would you find enough courage to say what you said next?
“Are you down to get some lamen at some random convenience store with me?”, you had no idea what your words could mean to him and honestly weren’t expecting much, but as soon as his face lit up like you told him he won a good amount of money, you felt victorious. “Is this your way of flirting? Because if it is, it’s working on me.”
“That’s good to know, nameless boy”, you scoffed with a seductively undertone, the little smirk on your lips and your now boldness to maintain eye contact making him laugh as a failed attempt to hide his flustered self. The next moment you both were greeting each other with a quick handshake after he offered his hand to you. “I’m Jake”.
The hallway boy finally got a name, and not only that, you were now sure of his existence.
Sitting on a bench at the little shop you managed to find, the angry owner’s expression facing you two was as clear as crystal water and got you thinking if you were being too loud. Without caring much you just let it be, since being with Jake apparently meant you will be noisy eventually. It was not necessarily his fault, the both of you just shared too many common interests that made it difficult not to get overly excited during the conversation.
It all began with just a normal “no way you like this flavor!” – with a very strong Australian accent from his side – and since then the flow went smoothly. His company had been greatly enjoyable so far and you let yourself be more and more comfortable about sharing some self information.
For example at some point you discovered he was a physics student, and with that you instantly shared about your love for the moon – also the lack of acknowledgement about it. You explained that you were affectionate to the moon because of its beauty, shining brightly in the sky even when behind heavy clouds. Looking at it always made you feel somehow free, especially when some breeze hits your body simultaneously.
Jake carefully listened to you with fond eyes and after you finished, he started to explain a bit of theory to you, sounding too smart. He looked very attractive saying words you didn’t even know the meaning behind and you noticed you were paying way too much attention to the way his charming lips were moving as he did so.
And just like that you traveled around many subjects. You being more emotional and Jake more rational, respectfully giving each other the chance to speak, constantly but easily finding ways to match one’s energy. You finally felt heard that night. And one of the topics being, of course, the whole date situation.
“Ok, so what you’re telling me is that this Jay guy told you about his whole financial status, which I admit makes me kinda envious, and you still managed to end up here with me at some very random convenience store eating cheap lamen?”, he shook off the empty package of said lamen, staring at you with an amusement look.
“Yep,” you nodded, slurping the last bite of your food. “And also I called him stupid.”
“At his face,” he completed the very important piece of information, finishing his food as well. Jake licking his lips to clean it up didn’t go unnoticed by you. “I swear if I was Jay I would be crying right now,” he stated as a fact and you groaned.
“Don’t make me feel bad for him, please,” you uttered with a whine and he laughed at you, his eyes turning into little crescents as he did so. “I swear he was nice and prolly had good intentions, but y’know…” you left unfinished, but Jake concluded for you. “He bragged about diamonds hoping you would fall for him or something.”
You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head before drinking the last sip of your soda, “yeah, definitely not my type.”
Jake decided to restrain the urge of asking what your type would be, a little afraid he was off league. “Well, at least you got on a date with me,” he sneered. You chuckled.
“I knew I would hit my pretty face directly on your so toned chest when I walked out that date,” you said sarcastically and then added “that’s why I decided to go in the first place.”
You were feeling way better now, belly full of good food that really pleased your taste buds and not drunk anymore, although you still let the boldness command your words through the talking once and while. You found out that behind Jake’s flirtatious and teasing way of speaking to you, there was also a very sheepish boy that would get flustered from time to time, like right now. He laughed off and drank the rest of his soda in order to run away from your very sharp but playful eyes.
Jake was so entertained by you. The way you expressed yourself so cheerfully and vibrantly. Whenever some topic of your liking was on the track your eyes would instantly get an almost childish sparkle as your hands motioned in a very exciting way and your detailed explanations would be voiced out.
Also he discovered you were a lot more confident than he thought you could be. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t liking this side of yours, audaciously flirting with him whenever you got the chance to do so, without holding back your bold responses. The feeling of the top of his ears burning knowing they were very much red was starting to become common for him. He did not had to know that you not only noticed his reactions, but was loving every minute.
Despite that, he tried to keep his cool.
“What are you up to after here, sugar?”, Jake asked forcing a nonchalantly tone while playing with the rings adorning his fingers, and yet again you were forced to remember the fucking cute pet names that got you flushed everytime he dared to say them. You looked away for a bit before answering.
“I don’t know, maybe go home… Watch some videos until I fall asleep”, you shrugged. Early on that day you weren’t expecting to find yourself in a situation like that, actually the whole program was to get “dicked down” – as Chaewon worded. However, you weren't disappointed either with how the evening turned out to be.
“Come on, Y/N,” your name went out too smoothly on Jake’s plumpy lips, his honeyed voice never failing to make you flutter slightly. Still you tried to keep your composure. “It’s friday and you’re wearing such a beautiful dress to what? To go home, watch videos and sleep?” He mocked the last part and you chuckled before lazily smiling in his direction, fully facing him. You recognized the tiredness starting to consume your body slowly which did not go unnoticed by Jake. Your tinted cheeks from the compliment also did not go unnoticed by him.
“And what would you recommend me to do, Jakey?”
“Jakey?” He raised an eyebrow, liking the way you pronounced the nickname a bit too much, thinking it was definitely something he could grow used to.
You just kept smiling, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You perceived how close on the seat you both were as if a magnet pulled you two together through that night, your bare shoulder slightly brushing against his clothed one from time to time.
“To be honest I just wanted an excuse to point out how gorgeous you are in this dress,” he licked his bottom lip as a habit while you didn’t even have the chance to properly receive the compliment, Jake being too smooth with it. “I don’t have any good recommendations, but if you’re down we c–”
The sound of your phone ringing interrupted Jake’s possible plans, making both of you startle. You saw Yunjin’s name on the screen and wondered whether to answer or not.
“Aren’t you gonna pick up?” Jake asked with curiosity.
“Actually, yes I will,” you remembered you left your friends hanging on your texts and have been unintentionally ignoring them, so it was only fair to give a quick update just to make them sure you are still alive.
“Hi baby”, you picked up the call with a smile, hearing a very drunk Yunjin on the other side. “No, I’m not home yet”, Jake watched as you talked on your phone with a neutral expression. He himself feeling a bit worried with the usage of nicknames and with your cute tone towards the person.
He knew you just went out on a date, assuming that you were at least looking to have some fun, however that fact should not be enough to stop you from being unavailable. Jake thought that a pretty girl like you probably already had a love interest in line.
“Don’t worry, Jinnie. You don’t have to come pick me up”, you glanced over at Jake who was now paying too much attention to the table in front of him, lost in his own mind and also trying to give you some privacy. You grinned, “I’m not alone.” Jake accidentally heard a very loud “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT ALONE?” through your phone and had to hold back a laugh. “I’m with… Someone,” you kept your eyes on him as you spoke to Yunjin, grabbing his attention when you indirectly mentioned his presence. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” and then you ended the call with a “Love you, bye.”
“I didn’t mean to hear it, but I’m intrigued…” you knew where Jake was going with that, so you just kept your smile. “‘Someone’, huh?” He said with a smirk, clearly messing with you.
You turned your head to someplace else because no matter how bold you can be sometimes, the following line that you let out made you hesitate a bit beforehand.
“Well, in my defense I don’t plan to introduce you to my friends through my phone, let alone as a mere guy I just met,” although you tried to keep your cheekily tone, it was obvious how shy you were feeling, gazing briefly at Jake’s direction as you said.
Jake hadn’t noticed until now that he was holding his breath a little, relievedly letting it out as he watched your pretty face and expressions. Regardless, the whole phrase made his head spin, replacing previous thoughts with new, more intense ones, all at once. What do you mean by that?
“Then how are you planning to introduce me?” he boldly questioned leaning towards you a little in order to find a way to look you in the eye again, finding adorable your demeanor right now breaking every little eye contact way too quickly.
You giggled.
Jake thought he had just found his favorite sound in the world.
“We’ll see, Jakey.”
Jake rode you home.
He noticed how lazy your hooded eyes started to look and decided to end the “date” instead of taking you to somewhere else, which you particularly found endearing. The bar was low, you admitted to yourself, but a cute guy being considerate for your entertainment other than just leading you anywhere else for his own amusement made your heart flutter.
However, the moment he offered to take you home you immediately refused, emphasizing that he didn't need to worry and that you would not let him waste gas for nothing. The reply he gave was a not so subtle “I don’t care”, alongside with “I’ll not let you freeze outside waiting for a cab and I don’t trust you enough to let you borrow my jacket for tonight,” making you laugh at his little mischievous tone, especially because as soon as you both were in his car he put his black jacket on your shoulders.
“I thought you don’t trust me enough to have it?” You referred to the jacket, feeling too inebriated by its smell.
“There's a big difference between leaving it to you alone without knowing if you'll ever hand me back and letting you have it under my watch, sweetheart.” His smug face looked too charming as he spoke and the damn sweetheart again got to you with ease. You chuckled while watching the street lights passing by.
The ride was calmer than you expected. The radio played on some random station working as a beautiful background to the soft words exchanged between you two. You noticed Jake’s attractive side profile as he focused on the road rambling some physics thing in a very excited way. Your body felt too tired to keep any thoughts on track, leading you to just listen to his sweet voice embracing you mildly until you both arrived in front of your apartment building.
Of course he didn’t let you open the door and also helped you to get out. The touch of his warm hand under yours sended a shiver down your spine.
“Thank you for the ride, Jake,” you said with a gentle smile.
“My pleasure, sugar,” your cheeks reddened hard as you started to take off his jacket. “You don’t have to,” he shook his hand in front of him, refusing to get the clothing piece back. You looked at him with a stunned-confused expression, lips parted a bit. Before you could even protest he interrupted you. “I need an excuse to see you again, right?” And send you a wink.
As if he said just a normal thing, he confidently got back to his car, letting behind a very flustered you.
Little did you know how shaky his hands rested on the wheel as he drove off, looking forward to meeting you again.
Of course you had to spend your whole weekend waiting for Monday to come – a peculiar behavior you admitted to yourself. But neither you nor Jake got each other's phone number so all you could do was to wait and hope for the best. You didn’t even know if you would meet him again at the campus because you searched for him nonstop the last few days and never got the chance to do so, making you regret even more about not getting any information about where to find him.
His jacket rested on your desk chair as you deeply stared at the little stars adorning your bedroom ceiling. Stars that remembered how shiny Jake’s eyes looked when he started to talk about Theory of relativity or anything like that. You also remember paying just enough attention to understand and to keep the talking flow, focusing more on the way his lips moved as doing so.
You groaned, rolling on your bed sheets. How long a weekend can be? You were acting like a teenager for having a crush on a stranger! You knew little to no things about Jake. You knew his age – one year older than you, you knew his majoring and you also found out the reason behind him being at your campus block – he had to deliver some paperwork to a friend of his. But other than some common interests and his music taste, that was it.
Was him a good person? He showed you a good personality for sure, to the point your heart sank with the idea of losing all that excitement to see him again just because he’s good looking and has a great talk. Still you kept questioning yourself. What if he was the player type? Just hitting for one night stand and that’s it?
Monday morning arrived but you did not had enough time to develop any more thoughts when you got to the university. As soon as you reached it, Chaewon and Yunjin flooded you with a very long investigation about what the hell happened that friday.
Talking in person was always an option for the three of you, the feeling of looking eye to eye and reading each other's expressions was more interesting than having to guess it over a phone or video call. Normally you three would pick a place to go and have a little "friends date" and talk about the stuff that happened for hours. However this time you choose to use the excuse you were busy studying, having too many assignments left behind which neither of them bought it from you.
“So Jay sucks?” Chaewon asked. “I don’t like putting it like that,” you murmured. “But yeah, we just didn’t hit it off, y’know?” You just shrugged.
You three were walking towards the class you shared that morning, not caring much about being a little late.
“Baby, you’re too nice,” Yunjin hugged you sideways and smiled at you. “You can say a man is stupid.”
“Actually I did,” you smiled mischievously and they both looked at you with shocked expressions. “Not my proudest moment, but I said it to his face. Unintentionally, I swear!”
Chaewon and Yunjin broke down the shocked expressions to laugh out loud with the idea of you calling your failed date a stupid right to his face.
“And what’s with the jacket?” Yunjin questioned when you stopped to grab your things from your locker.
She knew every clothing piece you had as if it was hers because of your constant need for help in terms of putting together what you like, and even though the jacket looked good on you, definitely wasn't part of your wardrobe.
“It’s Jake’s, I’m planning to send it back to him today.”
They already knew about Jake, but not too much. You shared a little through texts not wanting to fill too much of their expectations. Knowing your two best friends, they would go crazy if you detailed your night out.
They both exchanged glances before Chaewon spoke “If he really exists.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, picking up all you needed from your locker before answering. “He does. And he’s… pretty nice.” You tried your best not to sound too whipped at that time, especially because you were still worrying if he would be loyal to his words or if the whole talk about meeting you again was just a big bluff.
But apparently one thing about Jake it’s that he can counter you with ease. As if you summoned his presence, the honeyed voice that you didn’t realize until now you missed hearing, said from behind you.
“Hey, pretty one.” your head snapped to the direction faster than you would like to admit, meeting the beautiful plump lips turned into a little smile. He looked you up and down, checking on you. “I don’t think I’ll need the jacket back. You look better on it anyway.” His eyes were locked at you, and only you. You had to remind yourself to breathe, because, God Jake was so hot.
That day he opted to wear just a normal white shirt with dark jeans and black shoes. At first he thought about really getting his jacket back, because you didn’t know that but that jacket was his favorite. But as soon as he put his eyes on you and noticed how cute you looked with his clothing piece seeming too big like an oversized one, he gave up.
“H-hi,” you damned yourself for stuttering, being fully aware that your friends looked as astonished as you at that moment, but for different reasons. You started to get the jacket off your body by saying “Of course I have to give it bac–”, he shushed you with his index finger before you could finish and your eyes widened, making you stop all your movements.
“Don’t worry, I meant it when I say you look good on it,” you gulped as you nodded speechless. “Here,” he handed you a little paper and your shaky hands took it, you saw numbers written. “It’s my number, you can text me whenever, yeah?” He licked his lips suddenly feeling nervous.
Apparently being around you was an easy break of his flirtatious self. However, he forced himself on this one and said “I gotta go now, I’m kinda late,” he ruffled your hair gently before leaning close to whispering on your left ear, lips lightly touching your skin “See you around, sugar.”
You immediately choked on your own saliva, your cheeks burning like hell, fully unable to say a word. “And bye to you both as well!” Jake referred to the girls as he started to run down the corridor to his own campus building.
“Bye!” both Yunjin and Chaewon said in unison. You had to blink twice before realizing what just happened. “Girl!!!” Yunjin screamed and you noticed Chaewon covering her mouth as well. “What the fuck?!?!”
“I–” you tried saying anything but you couldn’t, not only because of your own brain turning into mush, but because your friends were way too hyped and interrupted you.
“The way he looked at you?”
“THE PET NAMES!!!”
“‘Pretty one’!? He so down bad, what the actual fuck?”
“And he’s cute as hell!!!”
You were overwhelmed with all of that, walking just because the two girls were forcing you to move forward while keeping squealing about Jake's actions.
“I know that nose can do wonders,” Yunjin said cheekily as soon as you sat in your class seats and you immediately turned to look at her with a terrified expression.
“Huh Yunjin!!!”, you smacked her shoulder with wide eyes and she just laughed together with Chaewon.
As your ordinary Monday normally would go, you were now sitting under a tree reading the latest book your teacher assigned for an assignment. You always loved to take a break from the library and to literally touch some grass, using your free time to catch up with all the paperwork you needed.
A shadow approached you, blocking the sunlight and catching your attention. You didn’t expect to see Jake hovering over you. With a raised eyebrow, you asked. “Are you following me?”
“No, I just missed you.” He ironized, taking a seat near you and looking at your book. “You’re such a nerd,” he mimicked your position, so his head was also resting on the tree behind you two but he was facing you. Too close.
You nervously gulped before saying, “Yeah, cuz I’m the one who likes to show myself off to a girl talking about Theory of relativity and other physical terms”, you sounded too sarcastic and instantly felt bad. “I’m not complaining, by the way,” you whispered looking away, part of you hoping for him not to hear but due to the proximity he obviously heard. And smiled.
Jake was afraid you could hear his heartbeats at that moment. Your side profile enchanted him in ways he could not describe. Your shy little smile got him thinking if it would be too weird to take a picture to have it with him forever.
He looked away, enjoying the silence.
“It’s very calm over here,” he said in a deep low voice, resting his chin on his knee. You took advantage of him not facing you anymore and watched him as he watched other people wander around, almost forgetting to say something back.
“Yeah, I like it here because it’s always calm like this,” he looked back at you when you talked. You forced yourself to keep eye contact for as long as you could, trying your best to ignore your burning cheeks.
Jake looked away. You noticed he was flustered too.
“And what about you, Jakey?” The little nickname spilling out your mouth like sugar, he almost melted. “Isn’t your campus like a few blocks from here?”
He chuckled, “Yeah, but I’ve got like an hour to spare before my next class.” You hummed. “So I decided to come over and thought I could maybe bump into you again,” he slyly smiled at you. You laughed at the term he used.
“But I can go away if you want me to, sweetheart.”
You instantly shook off your head and almost grabbed his arm as if trying to stop him from getting up. “You can stay.”
“Okay.”
And he did.
There was a brief silence moment before you plucked up the courage to ask. “What’s with the pet names?”
“You don’t like them?”
The worried puppy eyes he gave you almost broke your heart. “It’s not that… It’s just, y'know…”, you shrugged, trying to find the right way to put it. “Do you use them with everyone?”
You needed to know. You noticed Jake shuffling on his seat a bit, as if he was uncomfortable. And well, he wasn't fully comfortable either. There was no good explanation to why he called you all of that, and no, he didn’t use pet names with no other people but you. He dated two other girls before and of course called them cute pet names while being with them, but now you were the only one on his mind since the first encounter and he could not help it.
Jake was a believer of “love at first sight”, however he understood the necessity of getting to know the other person if he wanted to build something with them and never really got carried away with the primary delusional feeling.
With you he was kinda different. He let his flirtatious side shine way more easily than he would normally do. When he noticed how cute the girl who bumped on his chest that day was, he just let it all out. Little did you know that his first instinct of flirting with you was due to his nervousness.
Now he would be down to a one night stand type of thing if you wanted to, but didn’t sound right to do so. You looked too precious to him. He wanted to be close to you and get to know every single piece of you before anything. He wanted to know your likings, interests and overall personality.
He could let himself fall in love with you.
Immersed in his own thoughts, he didn’t even realize he had become quiet and left you hanging kinda in a compromised position.
“You know what? Forget it,” you shook it off, feeling embarrassed. It wasn't like he owes you any explanation about his life or what he does with it. If he decided to play with your feelings, then you should know your position of not falling for it. “Tell me something very nerdy about your area,” you asked brightly. “I’ve got a few minutes still.”
You noticed how bold you became around Jake. Apparently that's how it worked between you two.
He would be the one starting the whole thing, making you get too flustered for your own good with the cute names and shameless flirting, until he breaks out the character for a few seconds, enough for you to be the audacious one and make him blush.
At some point you started to get used to Jake’s presence in your everyday life. Both of you would constantly reach for the other during free time just to hang out, and sometimes to grab some food together. Yet you never let him get too close, fearing that you would let yourself get too attached to the feeling. You made it a rule not to fall for him and you’ve been holding on so far, even with Jake making it way too difficult.
Jake was sweet, caring and not afraid to express his feelings when he needed to. Not only that but he also would remember little details about you, like your favorite coffee order or the fact that you can only listen to the first half of a song because you think the rest sucks – Jake always skips it when playing on his car radio.
He got along with your friends easily as he’s a well spoken person as well, and even introduced you to his own friends. You met Heeseung and Sunghoon, the last one being a classmate of Jake while Heeseung studied music, both older than you. You found out that Heeseung was the said friend who made Jake wander around your campus causing the whole bumping-into-each-other situation and it became an inside joke among all of you.
Jake made it normal to ask you out from time to time within the excuse that both of you were overwhelmed with the university duties and deserved to see the outside world.
So after today’s classes you walked down the parking lot after receiving a text from him saying he would take you to a place – he refused to tell you where you were going.
He was already waiting for you, being too attractive as he leaned against his car while looking at something on his phone. Your heart started to pump fast in your chest, making you take a few deep breaths beforehand.
“Hey,” you greeted when you got closer and he glanced over at you, immediately opening a big smile and embracing you in a hug.
“Hi, gorgeous,” you took your sweet time to feel the warmth of his body and perfume. “Ready to go?”
You moved back from the hug and watched as he opened the door car for you.
“Mhm, but you got me extra curious, so I’m having high expectations,” you tried to exaggerate in your words in order to get a little hint, but of course Jake was already getting immune to your tricks at this point so he just laughed.
“I’m sure you’ll like it, sweetheart.”
You settled yourself in his car, feeling way too comfortable with the amount of time you already spended there with him as you threw your bag on the backseats and chose the song for the trip.
Jake dared you to show him your favorite songs every time you two drove together, but you wanted to get to know his music taste as well so you two decided to alternate who chose the songs for that day. And it was your turn.
“Paramore for today, huh?” He pointed out with a small smile.
“Yeah, you don’t like it?”
“I love it.”
One of the reasons your heart beat fast when around Jake was the freedom to be yourself and just do whatever you wanted to do, without even noticing you caused the same to him with your charming behavior. Every time he stopped at a red light he would look at you bobbing your head and lip syncing to the lyrics excitedly while doing a little dance.
He tried his best to not show how dearing he was looking at you, but you caught the cute brown eyes facing your side from time to time and the only reaction from both of you was to look away and blush.
As the conversation flowed, he shared a bit of his day to you, telling about how stressed he has been because of his study partner being a pain in his ass, and the only hint of where you were going he let out was “And because of that, I need to de-stress and that’s why we goin’ where we goin’”.
You pouted and forced the best puppy eye you could while looking at his direction. He almost broke out. “You’re mean. You don’t make a girl curious like that.”
“Don’t worry, we are almost there.”
You gave up trying to figure out where you were going and hoped for the best. You knew that with Jake nothing could be bad, because his presence alone was enough.
Jake felt similar to you, not admitting out loud that just the fact that you were with him already reduced a lot of his stress. You may not know that but everyday he was eagerly waiting for the moment you both would meet during the day, and when you couldn't find time to do so, he was thrilled to receive a simple text from you.
Your presence was enough to make him happy.
It didn't take longer than a few songs for you to arrive at the place you instantly recognized as a beach.
“A beach?” You sounded excited, but also a bit confused. You don’t think you have clothes to enter the water and the sun was already starting to set, so you didn’t get much of his idea at first.
Jake parked the car and as usual, he opened the door for you. “Yep. I know it’s kinda late for a swim or anything like that, but it wasn’t planning to do anyways,” he helped you to get out.
Normally he would let your hand go as soon as you felt stable on your feet after leaving the car, but that day he decided to hold your hand as he gently pulled you in the direction he wanted to take you.
You said nothing. How could you? The slender fingers holding yours had broken you down. The air felt thick in your airways as you walked alongside him, heart beating louder and louder while you watched the beautiful view of the sun finding its way down the horizon. The cold breeze hit your face and brought so much peace to your inner self. You could live forever like that.
Jake suddenly stopped walking and since you were a bit behind him, you bumped slightly at his back, hands still together. You looked over his shoulder and gasped. The place you two were now had a better view of the sunsetting and the waves calmly hitting the rocks sounded way too heavenly.
You blinked slowly, reluctantly letting Jake hand go as you walked a bit forward. Behind you, he watched as your hair flew due the breeze.
"It's so pretty..." you uttered under your breath, mesmerized by the look of the orange and pinkish colored sky. You felt like crying.
He took a few steps and glanced at your serene expression.
While you enjoyed the view, Jake enjoyed you.
"Yeah, very pretty."
You had no clue of how fast Jake’s heart was beating right now. He was hypnotized by you, a sudden urge to kiss you building up his mind right away.
“I now understand why you come here to de-stress”, you said after a while, the sound of your sweet voice bringing him back to reality. He had literally lost himself on you at that very moment.
You lazily smiled, feeling extra calm and glanced at Jake, who was already looking at you with soft eyes.
“Thank you, Jakey,” you hugged him sincerely. “For bringing me here and for being here with me. I needed that.”
Jake sighed, hugging you tightly. At this point there was no way he could hide the thump-thump in his chest, and honestly? He stopped caring if you noticed or not.
He stopped caring if you noticed he was – not so slowly – falling for you.
It was a stressful week for you, not only were you on your period but also dealing with a bunch of deadlines. You considered throwing yourself in front of a bus when you realized how left behind you were in your assignments. Your finals getting closer and closer didn’t help either.
For good and long days you almost locked yourself at the library in order to catch up with everything, because even with the help of some friends that shared the classes with you you were barely holding on.
Jake would appear out of nowhere and give you a cup of warm coffee, some muffins and a little kiss on your forehead before heading out and letting you do your thing.
“I just wanna make sure you’re eating well, princess,” he would say every time. And no matter how lovingly his actions would be, you couldn't allow yourself to feel them because of your anxiety of failure.
And yes, ever since you asked about the nicknames and stuff he started to use them more often than your heart could handle, especially after he discovered that you liked them, even if you didn't admit it out loud.
Friday arrived. You wished you could get excited about going out to the little party Jake said Heeseung would be throwing that evening, but you needed a good night of sleep and your whole body was aching due to your period. You just wanted to sink on your bed sheets after taking a hot shower.
One thing that became normal in your life was getting a ride with Jake some days of the week, unfortunately he didn’t have any classes on fridays so you just had to walk your way home. You took your sweet time to feel the cold autumn breeze hit you on the face hoping it would take away all your stress. The buzzling sound of your phone caught your attention as you saw Jake’s text on its display.
Jakey 🐶: Hey there princess
It’s been three days since I last saw you and I’m ngl, I kinda miss your pretty face lol
I hope you’re doing well
I left you a little smth at your apartment.
At the door, ofc
Don’t freak out, I didn’t stole your keys or broke into your house or smth
Please, don’t stress yourself too much <3
And dw, I’m not mad you’re not going to the party
Have a good rest, pretty girl.
AND PLEASE don’t forget to eat!!!!
You almost cried reading all of that and blamed your hormones for being a mess of feelings.
You: Hi Jakey!!
Kinda miss you too
you left something to me? i’m kinda scared
I’m dealing with cramps rn so I’m not so fine, but I’ll eventually, dw!
And yeah, I’ll make sure to eat and rest well
enjoy your night, pretty boy
<3
You noticed you felt much braver through texts than in person, but this was the first time you were the one using a nickname so you were shaking a bit.
Jakey 🐶: AJDKSSJDJS
SORRy
I
Yeah, uhm
No need to be scared, princess, I’m sure you’ll like it
Cramps? Take on some medicine, please!!
Do u want me to come over?
Are u home yet?
He sounded so desperate and nervous that genuinely made you laugh out loud. But with a simple text back saying “no, you go enjoy your night out and I’ll enjoy my bed” you finished the conversation as you finally arrived home.
Near your apartment’s doormat, there was a pretty bouquet of daisies alongside a little box of chocolates. You noticed a little hand note inside the bouquet.
“I remember you saying you like these flowers and everyday I pass by a flower shop and always think about buying it for you, so today I finally did. There’s chocolate too. Hope you like it.
Have a good rest, princess.
Jake”
You took a deep breath in order to hold back the tears trying to escape. Not falling for Jake was a difficult rule to follow, and you didn’t know if you wanted to keep doing it anymore.
“So what you're telling me is that Jake left his house on a fucking Sunday morning and brought you ice cream because you... were feeling too lazy to go buy it yourself?”
“When you put it like that…”
Chaewon, Yunjin and you were sitting at one of the furthest tables in the cafeteria that you usually went to when the three of you wanted to gossip or just meet to catch things up. It was a late afternoon on a Tuesday and you barely had time to see them in the last few days, mainly because you had missed a few classes to finish reading other teachers' required books.
“The real question is: why aren’t both of you dating already?”
Yunjin was flabbergasted by what you were describing about Jake. There’s no way that guy wasn’t in love with you at this point. She didn't understand what was taking you so long to ask him out already, especially because she noticed that Jake was kinda holding himself back.
“Yeah! He follows you like a little puppy and looks at you like you are a goddess or something!” Chaewon added. “I mean, you are a goddess, but to get someone to look at you like that?!”
“Girl, you gotta bag him ASAP!” Yunjin playfully pushed your shoulder, but you weren't feeling that happy about all of it.
You sighed. “But what if I’m just a fun little game to him?”
“What?!” It was funny the way both of them said in unison, but instead of laughing you just continued with a sad voice tone.
“Y’know, he’s been flirting with me since the very beginning. I don’t know. Part of me believes his words and actions, they seem genuine. But the other part is way too afraid of trusting too much,” a single tear ran down your cheek as you frowned. “I don’t want to be hurt again.” You whispered as you looked down.
“Baby,” Yunjin, who was sitting next to you, hugged you sideways and planted a sweet little kiss on top of your head. “We know you’ve been through a lot of shit because of your stupid ex, but I don’t think Jake’s like that.”
Chaewon, who was in front of you, took your hand in hers as she spoke. “Yeah, and you know, If he tries something or if he dares to break your heart, you’ll always have me to make his life a living hell.”
You smiled through the tears running down all over your face. With a reassuring look, Yunjin asked.
“Give it a try, yeah?”
Jake knew what he was getting himself into. He would be fine if you put him in the friendship side, but the thought of having you to himself pleased him way too much. The idea of other guys touching you the ways he wanted to, knowing that none of them would treat you right, consumed his mind as much as the vision of your pretty smile.
The urge of getting physically closer to you was itching him incessantly.
Ever since he discovered that he was in fact falling in love with you, he became unable to get you out of his head. It was like a kind of mantra that chanted your name every time he saw something that reminded him of you, and almost everything reminded him of you.
He didn't had the courage to ask you out on a proper date so far, because even though the both of you had developed an incredibly nice friendship, he was too afraid that he was seeing beyond reality because of his delusional self, and more than that he was scared as hell of losing you.
You probably only thought of him as a friend who you could playfully flirt with, he would say to himself. At the same time, the way he sometimes caught you looking at him seemed much more loving than it should.
There seemed to be more love than friendship in that relationship of yours.
He was also having to deal with the hard job of avoiding kissing you. Recently he found himself getting lost on your lips too often. A dangerous play. Still he kept you as close as he could, hugging you or having at least one of his arms around your shoulder or waist in order to fulfill a bit of his neediness.
Thinking about you and only you, he sighed, finishing his business at his locker, finally reaching the book he was looking for and placing it in his backpack.
"Ok, quick question", Jake almost screamed at your sudden appearance when he closed the metal door, widening his eyes and dramatically putting a hand on his chest. You laughed.
"Firstly, what are you doing here?” He said after catching his breath. “Secondly, why do you like to scare me so much?", he kinda whined and you laughed.
"I just wanted to know if your name is really Jake or if it's a nickname", you smiled innocently. Jake on the other side of the hand didn't buy your "pure" expression, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.
"Why would you run all the way through here just to ask about my full name, which I’m pretty sure you already know?" He wasn't buying any of that.
"Because I wanna manifest you in my life," you answered like it was obvious and you both began to walk side by side. You were going to be very late to your class but your professor has to understand that sometimes you have more important things to do other than attend classes.
"I thought I was already in your life...?" Jake was trully confused.
"Yeah, but I kinda wanna you in my life more than just what you are right now.”
"What are you talking about, Y/N?" Saying your name was an indicator that either he was serious or very confused, either way you didn't care much so you just carried on with your talking.
“Go on a date with me.” He stopped walking and so did you. Jake looked at you, blinking without saying a word. "On a date, you know,” you motioned with your hands, losing a bit of the courage you had to build up to do all of that. “We go to someplace, grab some food, wait for the night to fall down and boom, stargazing while we talk about our amazing theories of life or whatever.”
Jake gulped, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Normally he would be the one programming the whole thing and just saying you are both heading to somewhere, but to have you asking like that… If he understood it right, you were asking him to go on a real date.
"Sounds like something we already do." He let out a breathy and nervous laugh, still trying to thoroughly understand what you were saying, looking if there was some kind of joke hidden behind your eyes.
You looked extra attractive today, as if you dressed yourself up just for this moment. Just for him. He noticed you were wearing his jacket as well.
"It pretty much is, but at the end of this one I want to be able to kiss you,” you said in one go. “On the lips, if it's not clear."
Jake now was more speechless and completely baffled than ever. He was sure he was dreaming. It became normal routine for him to dream of you lately so of course this was all a trick of his own mind trying to compensate for his neediness of you.
He was so fucking dreaming.
With the lack of response, you thought you fucked up.
“I-I’m sorry, I–”, you started as you felt your confidence running away from you immediately. “Just forget about what I just said, I should not have said anything to begin with. I’m so sorry, ok?” You noticed your hands trembling. Due to your nervousness, everything you had on the back of your mind just went out. “I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to come here and try to take our relationship to a next level or something. But it's been so hard to be around you without wanting you even closer,” you whined. “And I finally got the courage to ask you out on a proper date, but you clearly don't see us like that so forget about it. I’m sor–”
No one. Not a single soul could prepare you to be silenced by Jake’s lips on yours. His hand automatically grabbed your waist as yours went to rest on his chest.
Kissing in the middle of the university hallway wasn’t the ideal way of tasting each other's for the first time so Jake decided to not take too long on holding the contact, breaking it to say “I’m sorry, I needed you to shut up.” His lips brushed on yours as he spoke. You blinked twice and breathed heavily, feeling the touch of his warm hand on your skin as he cupped one of your cheeks. You looked for his brown honeyed orbs, catching them exchanging glances between your lips and your eyes.
“We can go out on a date,” he brushed his thumb softly on your bottom lip. “The one where we go to some place, grab some food, do whatever you want and I can properly kiss you.”
Jake was fighting demons not to kiss you again. He was absolutely certain he would go crazy, just a little taste of you and he already felt like he was starving, his body totally dependent and reactive because of you.
“Okay,” your voice was barely a whisper and you had to use all your strength to stop yourself from leaning in to feel his touch again. Instead, you reluctantly pulled away, immediately missing all of his touches; you felt your skin tingle in every place he had touched you. Still his hand rested on your waist, unable to let you go. “I gotta go,” you noticed how his eyes wandered all over your face, like he was taking a picture with it in order to save it from the rest of the day.
You smiled, hesitantly sliding your hands away from his chest.
“Alright, sweetheart,” before you could let him go, he grabbed one of your hands and planted a gentle kiss at the back of it. “I’ll text you later then?”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
You had to hold a scream when you heard your doorbell ringing. Chaewon and Yunjin who were in a shared video call squealed for you.
They looked more excited than yourself and you really appreciated the effort they took to help you out even with their busy schedule for the day, deciding to call you not only because they knew you would be nervous as fuck but also because Yunjin was willing to help you with your outfit choice.
You ended up wearing something cute, but cozy and warm: a matching pair of a top and long loose skirt, patterned with a black background and some stars and moons, a black boot and as a final touch: Jake’s big jacket. You also did a little hairstyle with two small braids at the front and the rest of your hair loose.
Yunjin noticed how confident you were in choosing the clothing and even doing your hair, showing that you didn’t need much of her help – which normally she would dramatically react to, but today she just felt proud and happy for you.
Jake made you comfortable enough to be yourself whenever you were with him.
And you were going on a date with him.
A fucking proper date.
You said a quick ‘goodbye’ to your girls who replied with a very high pitched ‘good luck!’ and then hung up, walking towards the door and needing to take a few deep breaths before opening it.
As you did, you greeted a very smiley – and hot – Jake.
He was glowing.
Not only was his face glowing but he seemed overall confident. He was wearing a reddish flannel jacket that covered an oversized black shirt together with his everyday silver necklace, jeans and black boots. A perfect combo, especially to you who loved to see a man in red – you once told him about this preference of yours and was questioning if he did it on purpose.
The silky brown strands fell perfectly in place again when Jake ran his hand through it and licked his lips after shamelessly checking you out.
“Hi b– Oh my god, you look stunning.”
Early the day through your texts you decided to go simple but special on the planning due lack of time. The whole idea was kinda in a hurry, but after getting to taste a little of how it is to kiss Jake, you needed the action of kissing him to become an everyday routine as soon as possible, so the initial plan – the date will be happening on a chill day for both of you, mostly likely Friday – was replaced by a very eagerly “Ok, I’m taking you to a place” said by you.
“And you look hot,” the wording flew out your mouth faster than you expected and instantly your eyes went wide.
Jake smirked as he leaned into the door frame. “Appreciate it, baby.”
Baby.
You were so fucked up. There’s no way your heart could handle this the whole night.
Jake noticed the way you just blinked at him without saying a word and he just knew you were absorbing the whole situation before becoming confident over him. It was the way you worked and he loved that.
So he decided to take his sweet time and take a bit of advantage over your flustered self as he walked closer to you. “I brought what you asked,” he sounded a bit too sexy saying such simple words and little did you know that he deepened his voice a bit just for fun.
Due to the closeness, Jake scented your perfume and swore he was getting drunk, too intoxicated by your sweet smell.
You looked at the bag he lifted and nodded, fully in a trance. You forced yourself to snap out of it as you reminded yourself you have a fucking date and finally spoke “Oh, right. I’ll go pick up what I’ve prepared for us!” You walked towards the kitchen. “Do you want anything? Water maybe?”
“Just you.”
You choked on your own saliva as your cheeks started to burn. You foolishly thought that at least Jake wasn’t aware of your reaction, but as soon as you got back from the kitchen after picking up the picnic basket with the sandwiches you made, you realized he was very much aware and messing with you with the flirting as usual. You could see in his eyes a strange mix of false innocence and mischievousness. And of course, in that little game of yours you would always win.
“Well, you already have me,” you winked at him as you pulled yourself together and now was time for Jake to lose his composure, blushing. “Let's go?”
“Y-yeah.”
You gave him an address and he drove you both to the place, fully trusting you. You wanted to surprise Jake since he was usually the one who surprised you, but you hadn't gotten your driver's license yet so you needed him to do the driving in order to achieve your goal. That's why you decided to give him an address a little further away from your final destination, so both of you could walk there without him suspecting anything.
Jake was feeling like a happy puppy, very excited about what was going to happen tonight.
He was curious about your plans, especially after you asked for a picnic blanket and some beverages – “a night picnic?” he asked as you two texted. He remembers you just replying with “lol don’t fool yourself”.
He didn’t know what to expect about the place really, and not only that, he couldn’t stand the urge to kiss you properly. God, he was so in need of you it hurted. Having you next to him, your scent all over him, your sweet and lively presence, and not being able to touch you was driving him insane.
“I don’t wanna you to get high on expectations, Jakey,” you said softly after a while with a concerned voice. Jake had stopped at a red light and the silence wasn’t awkward, but it was undeniable that you were worried about the outcome of that night.
What if Jake doesn’t like what you’ve prepared? What if he thinks you’re too dumb and leaves you? What if he doesn’t really wanna be with you?
“I’ll like whatever you’ve planned, sweetheart,” just like Jake was reading how anxious was your mind, he uttered. “You are my company for tonight. That’s all I need,” he reassured you, holding your hand and resting it on your thigh.
You glanced over at him to see his lips turned into such a gorgeous smile you almost cried. Jake was perfect.
“Okay,” you brought his hand to your lips and planted a small kiss. You tried to let it go after, but he refused.
Jake drove the rest of the way holding you, only letting it go when needed, but catching it again as soon as he could.
The warmth and softness of his touch took all the worry out of your head in a minute, and just like you arrived. Jake parked where you told him to do so and opened the car door and helped you to get out as usual. This time though he intertwined your fingers as he let you guide him through the way.
“Don’t we need to bring the things?”
“Nah, we have something to do before,” you tried to sound enigmatic, forcing an expression which made Jake laugh, totally endeared by you.
“Ooh, so mysterious.”
You both walked for a bit rambling about the surroundings. It was kinda in the middle of nowhere, with nothing much around and plenty of open space. Jake noticed there was a big building and before he could say a thing, you began to explain.
“So I know we both like astronomical stuff, right?” He nodded, looking at you. So pretty. “May I say you especially in a very nerdy way,” you softly pushed his shoulder with yours and he playfully rolled his shining eyes while failing to hold back a smile, full of adoration for you. “I thought about this when I realized I wanted to be more than just friends with you,” you stopped walking to completely face him, holding both of his hands. “Behind you at this exact moment there’s a stellar observatory,” you stopped him from turning around wanting to finish your speech first. “Apparently fate had worked through this, since today they don’t normally open to everyone. Only for reservations or something like that.”
You finally let Jake turn around and take a proper look at the place. You watched as his eyes began to shine even brighter, it looked like he was about to cry. You also noticed how his hand tightened around yours, as if he was nonverbally thanking you.
Jake was genuinely flabbergasted. How the fuck did he managed to find someone that amazing?
“I’m not gonna ask how you managed to get a reservation here,” he joked.
You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?” He just laughed it off. “Well, I kinda didn’t,” you suddenly felt small, even tried to restrain your hand from his but he refused to let you go.
You ran away from his intense gazing, not wanting to see the disappointment on it as you kept talking “We’re not going into the observatory. We’re gonna use the telescopes they have open for use down here,” you explained. “Since today it’s a reservation only or whatever day, we get to use it freely. It’s definitely not the same thing, but I’m sure it can be cool.” you forced a smile still afraid to look at Jake’s direction. “I tried to book it for us I swear I did, but it was too expensive,” you uttered apologetically and again you were rambling due to your nervousness.
Jake not saying a thing helped nothing either. Little did you know he was as speechless as amazed with your witty self for figuring out a way of making that night special in such a short amount of time. He knew how hard it is to come up with ideas like that and to make it work. And you did it. Flawlessly.
He was so falling in love with you.
“...I’m so sorry if I raised your expectations too high. I wanted to do something nice since you’re always doing nice things to me, you deserve bett–”
Jake once more interrupted your nonsense speech by pressing his lips on yours and you instantly melted in his arms, your hands moving up to find comfort on his shoulders as his own went down your back until they rested on your waist, squeezing lightly.
You moved your head to the side wishing to deepen the kiss, the whole fantasy of waiting for the special moment to finally kiss him was already blown apart as both of your bodies searched for the other’s.
Your heart was beating fast and all your senses were heightened and sensitive, as if Jake had awakened a new sensation in you. A genuine sense of desperation for closeness. You needed more. Like reading your mind, Jake’s tongue touched your bottom lip at the same time your fingers scratched the back of his head, getting lost through his soft strands as you pulled him closer.
Jake touched you with care, he was kissing you so tenderly yet you could still feel his hunger for you. You weren’t different either. One of his hands came up to hold your face to help with the movement of your heads. You quickly found a pace, like two puzzle pieces being a perfect fit.
Neither of you wanted to part away, feeling too addicted to the contact. So whenever one broke down to breathe the other would reach over and start again, until your lips were a little bit sore. You pulled away unwilling, leaving little pecks on his plump lips as he did the same on yours.
Jake was unable to hold back his smile and didn’t even tried to, too happy about finally kissing you. “We have a little problem, baby,” he whispered as his dazzling eyes wandered all over your features. You looked even more stunning under the moonlight. “What?” You quietly asked back. “I don’t think I can or want to stop kissing you.”
You giggled, feeling shy under his intense but gentle gaze. He was adoring you and you could feel every piece of it.
“You don’t have to stop.”
And just like that you kissed again. And again. And again.
You felt like a drug to Jake, so addictive, so intense, so you. He had the impression that all his problems would be solved instantly if you just kissed him. He decided that from now on at the end of a stressful day, he would search for your touch and your touch only.
“But I kinda want you to stop for a bit, so we can go see the stars,” Jake chuckled when you broke the kiss to say.
“You love stars, don’t you, pretty girl?” He gave you a final cute little smooch while hugging you tightly.
“Yeah.”
And even though you had observed dozens of stars that night, none of them shone brighter than your eyes together.
You were dating.
Actually there was no big difference from what you and Jake acted before, other than the fact that everyday that he went to pick you up to the university, you got to kiss him, which made you two develop the routine of waking a bit early just to get enough moments together.
Also you started to feel comfortable to call him cute names, your favorite being pretty boy, very effectively when you wanted to fluster Jake and see him giggling.
The dynamic was similar, but way better.
When you told your friends about the night, they literally screamed. Of course you kept as a secret how romantic it was to lay down under the moon and starlight with Jake as you cuddled and shared kisses. But everything about Jake sounded dreamy.
He was so cute and you were not so slowly falling in love. He would leave you at your classes everyday and kiss you good luck. Due to his recent research project his time was getting tighter, nevertheless he would squeeze his whole schedule just to see you for a minute or two. And of course, to steal a kiss from you.
Most of your lunch time was with him, either when you had time to grab some food and eat in peace or when some of you two were in a hurry. On days like that, you normally would find him in the library, leaving him some snacks, water and a sweet kiss. He would do something similar to you.
Gradually your relationship was growing stronger, however you still hadn’t done anything on the bed yet other than kiss and sleep together. You weren’t complaining! You loved to kiss Jake and to feel his warm body embracing yours.
He was very respectful towards you and you really appreciated that. He would initiate the kisses sessions most of the time, but rarely deepen it waiting for you to do it. His hands would never go further down your hips, even when you tried to force him to do it by putting it on your ass he relocated them back up.
But you were a woman after all. A woman with desires and needs. Strong desires and needs.
Even though you had a long-term relationship, it was only after the breakup that you discovered that your ex didn't give you any pleasure – or gave you anything at all. Your previous relationship was a mess, to be honest. Talking to people and listening to their experiences made you realize how shitty you were being treated back then – in every aspect!
You knew how to please yourself and most of the time was enough. However, it’s been a while since you last had sex and you could live without it normally, but there was Jake, all over you.
His smell, his pretty face, his touches, his lips, his fucking nose and his slender fingers… The way his veiny hands would hold the steering wheel drove you insane. You needed him.
It was a cold Saturday and you were watching him play your video game. Yeah, apparently Jake liked your video game more than you – this was you being dramatic every single time he stopped to pay all of his attention to you and decided to play something, but as soon as he starts to celebrate for defeating a boss, you just smile and forget about the drama.
Today was a bit different though. Normally you would pay attention to either the screen or to his pretty face and reactions, loving how expressive he was, always thinking Jake was a sculpture or something. But on this very specific day you paid more attention to his hand movements.
The way his grip was strong on the controller and how his fingers moved on it was making you mad. He was biting his lip more than usual as well in order to concentrate and, God, you could feel your panties get wet just by watching him like that.
Part of you felt like a perverted.
At some point he groaned. Apparently something bad happened to him on the game, but you didn’t gave a fuck. The sound he left woken a strong feeling inside you.
“Why is this so difficult?” Jake asked frustrated, throwing the controller away on the couch in defeat and looking at you.
He wasn't expecting to meet your intense gaze on him, eyes darkened as your tongue traveled through your lips to wet it.
His confused puppy eyes and parted lips were your last straw.
You straddled over his lap, hungrily kissing him. You almost instantly sucked his bottom lip, looking for a more intense contact. You could feel he was a bit confused, hesitantly resting his big hands on your hips, not knowing what to do.
When you bite his lip you heard a whimper and that alone made you grunt against Jake’s mouth in response, pulling him even closer. You pulled a few strands of his hair and again he let out a sound for you, feeling him getting hard beneath your body.
Before you could continue doing your job, he said in an urge, his breath heavy. “I gotta go.”
You shook off your head whispering “No,” and pulled him again to keep making out with him, lewd kissing sounds filling the room, a total mess happening in your living room.
The feeling of his hardened bulge hitting directly on your covered wet cunt was making you rub yourself against it, hoping to get more friction. At this exact moment Jake forced you to move away from him, gripping your hips to stop your movements.
“I really gotta go, I have some uni stuff to do,” he was breathless. You noticed how his eyes were different from ever, face red and skin hot. You blinked a few times as you just watched him put you back on the couch and stand up, trying to cover his obvious boner with his oversized jacket. He gave you a little kiss on the cheek and said goodbye to you before rushing out of your apartment.
You had to satisfy yourself alone that night. And after that, you cried.
You started to question yourself.
Yeah, Jake looked at you like you were the only one in his life. But was it enough? Does he find you attractive? Or better: does he find you desirable? Sexy? Hot? Sensual?
Since that day Jake started to run away from your more passionate touches like he was running from death.
At first you thought he could be a virgin, and no problem with that. You would let him feel comfortable enough with you to try to do something more, however you knew he had other relationships and weren’t inexperienced either.
Actually you even went to Sunghoon and Heeseung to ask them about it, to which they answered that Jake may be “boyfriend material” and only have intimate moments with people he somehow trusts, but he definitely wasn't inexperienced in that field.
So doubting yourself was your only option. You could also ask directly why he never did more than just kisses with you, but that option needed more courage from you than you had.
“What’s with the frown, baby?” Yunjin asked you one day as you both decided to lunch together. You were giving excuses to Jake during the whole day in order not to talk to him, saying you were too busy and that maybe today you wouldn’t be able to meet him.
You sighed, playing with the food on your plate. “I don’t think Jake likes me.”
“What? There’s no way. He almost licks the floor you walk on. What did he do?” She was ready to throw hands.
“The real problem it’s the opposite. He don’t do it.”
“Do what, baby?”
“We’ve been dating for weeks and we haven't had sex yet. I’m almost crawling on my bedroom walls.”
“Wow,” Yunjin was shocked, eyes widened. For the way you two acted together, she thought that every single room of your house was blessed already. “Well, have you asked him why? Because that’s pretty much a ‘he’ problem as it seems.”
“I’m afraid,” you stated sincerely.
“Of what, baby?”
“Of him saying something I don’t wanna hear. I don’t wanna lose him, Jinnie,” you uttered with sorrow.
“Y/N, my pretty baby, remember we are talking about Jake. The man who woke up in the middle of the night and went to your house to kill a cockroach because you called him. The man who has a photo of you in his wallet. The man who had literally skipped classes just to spend some time with you because apparently he can’t live without you,” you started sobbing. “He likes you very much, Y/N. And he has shown to be someone who listens to you with adoration. Anything you say or ask him he would do his best to listen and talk about it, you yourself said that to me once when we were ranking green flags, remember?” You nodded.
It was the truth. He was Jake. The man who demonstrates so much affection in every action.
“I’ll talk to him. Thank you, Jinnie.”
“You don’t need to thank me, sweetie.” She kissed the top of your head. “You know I’m always here for you and just want you to be happy. You deserve it.”
You decided to talk to Jake on the next day. You weren't planning to “arrange a sex meeting with him” or anything similar, but to talk about it. So you invited him over that day, knowing he would be completely free because it was a Friday. You did a test early that day and were free as well.
Since he was going to your apartment quite often you gave him a key to make things easier for both of you, so when you heard the front door opening as you drank some water your heart started to beat fast in advance.
His scent followed all the way through your house directly to you. You felt his arms hugging you from behind and for a few seconds you let yourself get lost in his warmth. “Hey, gorgeous. How are you?” He whispered close to your ear, kissing your neck. You turned around to face him. “You look sad. What happened? Are you ok?” He flooded you with questions as his eyes worriedly wandered over your face. You just pecked him quickly before taking his hand on yours and leading him to the couch.
Jake felt his heart sinking.
He maybe was going crazy, but he felt that you had purposely ignored him the day before, constantly finding a rather lame excuse for every solution he gave. He preferred to believe that you were not having a good day and respected your decision. But when you invited him over, it became undeniable how anxious he was feeling.
And the way you welcomed him at that moment made him even more worried, especially when you said the cursed phrase.
“I wanna talk to you about something.”
He swallowed, trying to keep it cool by saying gently “What is it, sugar?” as he reached for your hands to mildly squeeze it in reassurance.
Even though Jake was quite tense, he would always prioritize you and the fact that you had some difficulty verbalizing what normally was bothering you, so he knew it was consuming you just as much.
“I– Actually I don’t even know how to say it,” you started shyly with a low voice, avoiding Jake’s gaze. “But I’m…”
“Y’know you can say anything to me, right?” Jake tried to encourage you as he gently pulled you closer and just like that you moved to sit on his lap, each of your knees on either side of his legs as you trapped him underneath you.
Without saying a thing, you hugged him to hide your face on his neck. Jake wasn’t fully aware of what was happening, but he wanted to give you some comfort so his hands caressed your back slowly.
After a while you muffled his skin with your breath while asking “Do you think I’m unattractive?”
Oh?
Jake had a delayed reaction to your question. “Baby, what?”
You drew apart from him enough to see his confused expression before looking away. “I don’t know if you aren’t sexually attracted to me or what, but you can always tell me y’know. I’m sure we can figure something out,” your voice was almost a whisper due your worried self about confrontations.
“Baby, I’m so confused right now. What are you talking about?”
“I– I’d prefer you saying to my face you don’t wanna have sex with me instead of pulling me away from you every time we go further with our kisses,” as you finished saying, you felt your cheeks burning.
Jake frowned, completely baffled.
Little did you know that Jake lost track of how many times he woke up with a painful boner after dreaming of you. Or how fast he would run away from you after a makeout session with you because of his body response to it.
He would first try to cool down with a shower, but everytime he ended up jerking himself off to get some relief, you being the only one in his mind, always moaning your name when cumming.
But, God, every single time he felt nasty, disgusted with himself. You deserved better. You're like a divinity to him, a beautiful and sweet woman, you needed to be handled with care and love and he was so afraid of hurting you.
The day you told him about your ex and how badly he treated you, especially in the sexual field by not caring about anything but his own pleasure, Jake got mad. Really mad.
How could one in their right mind leave you hanging, when your expressions of pleasure alone were enough to drive any man crazy? He could treat you way better.
Sometimes Jake would get carried away while kissing you, going down to your neck to trail his lips over there biting and sucking slightly. And when he backed a bit to look at your face, he always met you with closed eyes nibbling your bottom lip, a ridiculously lustful view.
Too hard to handle.
He had to almost physically hold himself back every time. He was afraid of scaring you with how much he needed you, with how much he wanted to get lost between your legs, making you scream nothing but his name, with how much he was willing to make you feel good.
And now he got to know that his actions were the ones making you doubt yourself, making you doubt his feelings and needs for you… He was feeling so dumb.
“I– I’m sorry, Y/N.”
You froze. No nicknames, just your regular name.
“I never wanted to make you feel like this. I’m really sorry.”
You gulped the guilty feeling down your throat. “It’s okay, Jakey, I get it,” you smiled awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. That meant that Jake didn't want you in that way, right?
You were about to start rambling as usual and before you did so, Jake shut you up with his mouth on yours. You startled before reacting, moving your tongue with his and dipping your fingers into his silky strands, both of your bodies starting to get hotter.
Jake squeezed your ass while pulling you closer. “I want you, Y/N,” he was serious when you drew apart to catch your breath. “I want you so bad, my darling,” he was so desperate, your panties dampening just by how his voice sounded.
“Yeah?” You smirked, breathing heavy. “How bad, Jakey?” You noticed his eyes darkening. “Show me.”
Getting back to work with his mouth in yours, kissing you very messily, Jake impulsed to stand up with you in his arms. You surrounded your legs around him to keep yourself steady as he stumbled a little on the way to your room. You giggled against his lips when he dropped you softly on the mattress and hovered over you, not breaking the kiss for a second.
Jake’s mouth tasted so sweet and hot on yours, you couldn't help but scratch his back and neck with your fingernails thinking how good he would be doing all that job down your cunt. His dick was getting harder and you could feel it, your mouth watering at the thought of sucking him off. You wanted so bad.
He parted away from your lips just to trail his own plump ones to your neck and collarbone, kissing, sucking and nibbling all the area before finally whispering against your skin, sending chills throughout your body.
“I really wanna eat you out,” Jake sounded determined. “I wanna taste you before anything, sweetheart,” your only reaction was a sigh mixed with a “please” that you were unsure if he heard.
But Jake was catching all of your sounds, from the quietest little whimpers to the slightly more intense ones, like the one you released when he removed your shirt and bra to work on your tits, his mouth sucking your left one while his hand cupped the other before he switched to do the opposite.
Before he continued to get down on you, you quietly asked him to remove his shirt and as he did, he revealed to you part of his perfect body. By the superficial touches over his clothes and of course the preview bumps, you knew he had a toned chest, but to see it all on display to you… You literally moaned at the view.
You promised yourself that later on you would give every bit of that skin the attention it deserved.
You watched him smile shyly before kissing your inner thigh, without breaking eye contact. Jake was absolutely certain he would cum in his pants at any given moment. The mix of your little sounds with the way you were looking at him like you were about to eat him alive triggered a strangely pleasant feeling.
“Can I remove these?” He asked between kisses on your skin, pointing to your shorts. You nodded. “And these?” He pointed now to your panties and you nodded again, head resting on your pillow. “Yes, please. I want you.”
Jake noticed how wet you were through your last clothing piece and he literally had to hold himself back to not just dive right into you. He was getting dizzy by your smell, eyes hooded as he removed the only thing that stopped him from touching you like you deserved.
Jake salivated admiring your pussy, breathing heavily as he swallowed nothing.
At this point you were on the verge of crying due to your desperation and his unnecessary slowness, so you spread your legs even more and pleaded. “Please Jakey, I really want you,” you whined, grabbing his hair with your hand and forcing it down your cunt. “I don’t want you to hold yourself on me, pretty boy.”
And as if you casted a spell, Jake looked at you one more time before burying his face in you.
You gasped.
He felt you dripping on his mouth and grunted, collecting some arousal with his tongue to spread all over your area before flicking it on your clit, sometimes sucking just the right amount and sometimes doing big licks. His tongue worked so damn well, you just rolled your hips in order to get more. You were so sensitive and so needy. His grip on each side of your body got stronger as he pulled you closer.
You moaned Jake’s name when he decided to use one of his fingers together with his mouth, pressing it on your entrance with care, just to familiarize you with the sensation before adding one more. After all, he just wanted you to feel good and not to be hurt.
You kept rubbing yourself on his face and now grinding on the two fingers inside you. Jake was doing such an amazing job on you, curling his fingers the moment he needed to like he knew you from inside out, using the tip of his nose to rub your clit as his tongue and mouth worked in the rest.
“You’re doing such a good job, pretty boy,” you praised between moans and heard Jake groaning between your legs and intensifying his movements, eating you out as his life depended on it.
“I wanna you to cum all over my face, princess,” he said, muffled. His skilful fingers moved at a steady pace. “I need that, give it to me, babe, please.”
Your orgasm was already building up inside your core. You felt the familiar sensation growing bigger and bigger until you let it out the loudest moan of the night as your back arched. Jake’s words and all the combo of his warm mouth and fingers inside you were enough to make you achieve your climax, trembling beneath his touches, grabbing his hair tightly.
Jake drank you like it was his favorite drink, licking every single drop of you with pleasure, his dick now painfully compressed in his boxers. He could get himself off just by eating you out.
He drove you through your high, movements slowing as he felt your grasp on his hair softening and your body less shaky. He kissed your pussy a few times and then crawled over you to kiss you on the lips. You watched your juices decorating his chin, nose and a bit on his cheeks before you felt your own taste in your mouth.
Jake's hard, covered bulge rubbed against your bare cunt and you whined, breaking the kiss to down your hands all the way to his cock and to utter “Babe, you’re so hard.” Jake whimpered against your mouth and you flipped over to be on top of him. “Let me help you with that.”
And as you promised yourself, you trailed kisses all the way down his chest, putting your mouth and tongue to work through his soft skin, making him squirm a bit underneath you.
You stopped once you got to the waistband of his pants, taking it off with Jake’s help and removing his boxers as well. You sighed, mouth salivating at the view of his veiny dick right in front of you.
However, you needed to feel him inside you, so you let your other desires for later, starting to move in a way you could sit on him.
“I wanna ride you,” you announced as if it was your only goal in life. “Like, really bad.”
“Fuck, babe,” Jake groaned, watching you positioned yourself comfortably on top of him, quickly moving his hands to hold your hips. “Go on. Use me,” he threw his head back to just enjoy the sensation of finally feeling your walls around him, before realizing something was off. “But wait– Sugar,” he said with widened eyes, sitting up to hold you before you did anything. “You’re going in raw?” Jake questioned in disbelief.
You blinked at him, confused. “You’re clean, right?”
“Yeah, but–”
“So am I. And on birth control, don’t worry.”
Since you were still wet due your orgasm and because Jake’s little sounds aroused you enough, you pushed him back to bed, giving him a little peck before holding his dick and placing it on your sensitive area.
Jake knew he wasn't getting out of there alive. There was no way. How would he survive you? God, you were insane. And the way you slowly slid down on his length, using its precum to lubricate, sent him out of orbit in an instant.
He did nothing but open his mouth and moan, eyes rolling back to his head with the amazing feeling of your pussy coating him so tight and warm. He could feel you everywhere. He almost cummed just because of that alone, having to close his eyes tightly in order to concentrate enough to not let it happen.
“Oh, fuck,” Jake bit his bottom lip the moment you moved a bit, adjusting yourself. “You feel so fucking good already, fuck.”
You watched every reaction of his, enjoying it as a show. The frowned face in pure pleasure, the red wet lips, face all flustered and glowing, not to mention the dim light of your room working to make the view even more gorgeous and pleasant.
Jake felt you staring and how you stayed still for a while, finding support on his chest with your hands. He opened his eyes to glance at you. You gave him a little smile and he reciprocated, caressing the skin of your body under his touch as he waited for you to feel comfortable enough to move by yourself. Jake watched as you started to move back and forth slowly on his cock, your eyes closing with how good he was filling you up.
Although Jake's hands rested on your hips, he didn't force a single movement, letting you find your pace. He admired you for a moment, “you look so, so pretty right now, baby,” he praised sincerely, watching the way your expressions changed to pure pleasure as you moved faster.
You leaned forward to find his mouth with yours, kissing him, missing those pretty lips of his on yours. Your moans got lost between your mouths as you continued to move faster until you found the pace of your liking, Jake now helping you to keep it going.
Lewd sounds of your bodies shocking against each other filled the room, mixed with whimpers as well as the wet kissing sounds.
Jake reached down with one of his hands to rub your clit, and by the way his cock twitched inside of you, you deduced that he was close to cum and didn't want to do it alone.
You drew apart from the kiss to rest your head on the curve of his neck, sucking the skin as well as whimpering against it. The position leaded Jake to have his mouth directly on your ear, and with all the stimulus happening at the same time, his dick hitting your g-spot, his finger rubbing your sensitive nerve and his voice moaning your name in your ear, you started to clench furiously on Jake’s length.
“Wait–”, you barely heard him saying, too lost in your pleasure already. “Where do I c–”
“Inside,” you answered quickly before he tried to pull off.
“Fuck.” Jake’s head was spinning, he was seeing stars. “Be my girlfriend,” he let it out in one breath.
“What?” You asked back under your breath, questioning if you were hearing things due pleasure.
“Let me be your boyfriend,” he said panting. “Officially. Be my girl, please. Be mine,” he begged with a groan, cumming inside of you.
You openly moaned his name, rolling your eyes back as your orgasm also hit you. You thought that alone could answer his question, keeping on the movement to ride you two through your highs, his strong hands gripping you tightly and your whole body shaking.
You stood over Jake's body for a while after you stopped your movements, catching your breath and feeling his liquid leaking from inside of you.
He helped you to lay back on the bed, both still panting, both so happy about what just happened. You forced yourself to stand up just enough to kiss him before you said, looking deep into his eyes.
“I’m already yours, pretty boy.”
That weekend was intense. Still, you just couldn't get enough of Jake. And he wasn't too different.
Now your routine had changed a little more. He was still the sweet and kind Jake, worrying about you, asking about your day, listening to you rambling about random things, and always bringing you food on your busiest days. But it seemed like you had awakened a monster inside him.
Of course you didn't complain, especially because the one who was getting the benefits was you, who wasn't that different either, never getting enough of him.
Whenever Jake was stressed, he would usually take you somewhere to watch the sunset or to stargazing while talking about life and theories and obviously, kissing you.
Now he started eating you out. Almost every time. And sometimes he would mix these two, taking you somewhere beautiful and eating you out inside his car.
Jake had eaten you out in every room of your apartment, saying that him eating you out got him off more anything else, and you actually witnessed him cum untouched a few times, looking so fucking hot while doing it.
Nevertheless you still couldn't had the chance to give him a proper head. Jake would be saying you didn't have to do it, like you felt obligated. Little did he know that you wanted to feel his dick filling up your mouth and his cum going directly down your throat. Oh, you wanted so badly.
At this exact moment, you were sitting on your kitchen counter with your legs spreaded being supported on Jake’s shoulders as was getting lost between them, diving in your juices, making you cum with his tongue deep inside you. You reached for his hair with your hands, grabbing to bring him up and kiss him fervorous.
“Take me to the bedroom,” you demanded with an urge.
And how would Jake deny such a sweet request?
The moment you got into your bedroom, you tossed him on the bed. You were hungry for him, and him only.
You saw his already hardened cock marking his sweatpants and without giving Jake time to complain, you removed all his clothing pieces – he was already shirtless – and had him naked underneath you.
As usual, he thought you would ride him. Out of all the positions you’ve tried so far, this was a favorite of his – to look at you while you use him for your own pleasure felt too insanely good, so he got excited in advance. But you decided to surprise him this time, contradicting his expectations as you bend over to be at the same height of his pulsing cock, head pretty close to it.
He panicked.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” He asked and tried to sit, but as soon as he did you pushed him back to the bed.
“Imma suck you off,” you said like it was obvious. You wrapped your hand around his length and started to pump it.
“Y–you don’t have to, princess,” he stuttered, feeling hot under your soft touches. “Let me fuck you, mhm? You deserve to feel good.” He tried to sit again and you pushed him back one more time.
“Sucking you off will make me feel good too, Jakey,” you blew a bit of air on his shaft, he shivered. “Don’t you get that?” Your hands worked slowly on his dick, moving up and down, smearing the precum out of his slit with your thumb. He bit his lip to hold back a whimper. “Or do you think you're the only one who gets horny by giving pleasure to others?”
You ran your tongue all over his shaft, closing your eyes as you felt the salty precum taste spreading through your mouth, playing a bit with his tip.
Jake kept hiding his sounds from you.
His hands were squeezing the duvet under his body to the point his knuckles started to get white when you gave a little more attention to his head, realizing that this was his sensitive area. You took advantage of that.
Without a warning, you put his whole cock in your mouth in one go, feeling it hitting on your throat.
“Mhm,” he tried to contain his grunt, hips thrusting forward slightly and his left hand smacking the bed one time before grabbing the sheets again.
You held your position for a few seconds, making sure to breathe through your nose, before moving back and forth twice. Jake squirmed under you, still quiet.
“Why are you hiding from me, pretty boy?” You asked with a low voice when you backed off to breathe, hands replacing your mouth as you did so. Jake finally let it out a little whimper and you smiled. “I wanna hear you, baby.”
“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically, once more biting his lip in order to contain himself.
The reason behind his choice of behavior under your touches was literally due his fear of scaring you off. He would be a total mess if he let it all go as he really felt. Your hot mouth around his dick sent him to hell and heaven all at once, you didn’t had to do much for him to start seeing foggy and being a whimper mess.
Jake felt your lips coating him again and groaned, back slightly arching.
“So gorgeous, Jakey,” you backed off only to encourage with a smile, jerking him off before going back to suck him. He couldn’t hold back his loud moan, eyes rolling when you sucked his sensitive tip. You quivered. You wanted more of him. “Keep on making these pretty noises for me, yeah?”
Although he was afraid of scaring you off, one thing he loved to do was to obey you, to fulfill all of your requests. Whatever you told him to do, he would do it. So when you told him to be vocal, he started to be vocal.
Your mouth swallowed all his throbbing cock, his tip going deep in your throat, precum going down on it. Jake threw his head back, open mouthed, spilling all the little noises you loved. “Fuck, mhm, that’s it, babe,” he breathed out between groans and put one of his hands on your head without forcing you down or anything, just resting there.
The way your throat was pressing his sensitive tip as you swallowed around it, God, he was getting stupidly close. Jake dared to look down at you, meeting your strong gaze as you devoured him like a last piece of meal. “Fuck, you’re doing so good,” he gasped, rolling his eyes. Jake felt a familiar burning wave all the way through his body. “Fuck, I’mgonnacum”.
You kept your movements steady, lightly scratching his thighs before you felt Jake’s body start to shake, his moans intensify and his cum hitting down your throat. You swallowed every drop of it before letting his dick with a pop and using your thumb to clean up the corners of your lips as you crawled back to kiss him passionately.
At this point you were already horny again, so as you kissed him, feeling his shaky hands all over your body, you pressed your bare cunt on his softened shaft and moved a bit. He parted the kiss, trying to push you away.
“I– I don’t think–”, he tried saying. “I’m sensitive, baby– Ahh...”
“Yeah?” You rubbed your bare cunt on his dick with a sly smile. “So you don’t want me to ride you, Jakey?” You kept waving your body on him, forcing a disappointed face with a fake pout.
Jake trembled, feeling his eyes water in a painful pleasure. “Of c–course I– I do, fuck.”, his voice cracked, eyelids closing. He was fully unable to stop you at this point, and he didn’t wanted to anyway, so he just started to sob as you kept sliding on him, back and forth, slowly, painfully slowly.
You were sending him into overstimulation, loving his reactions, loving how desperate he looked. Legs squirming beneath you, eyes tearing up, hands messily trying to figure out what to do, facial expression switching in a mix of pain and delight.
“Please…” He begged. He didn’t even knew for what. Neither did you, so you asked. “Please what, Jakey?” You stopped moving. “You want me to stop?”
He hurried to answer “No! Please, don’t– Don’t stop.” Definitely his begging wasn't about stopping. His breath was short as you started to move again, still slow. Too slow. “Go faster, please darling.”
And how could you deny such a sweet request?
The wet sound of your pussy rubbing against his cock was too lewd. You leaned to kiss Jake, who wasn’t able to kiss you back properly due his undergoing situation. His was dick hardening again against your folds and that was your last straw.
Yeah, he was desperate because of overstimulation, but you were desperate to feel him inside you. So you repositioned yourself to slide him deep on you in one go, making both of you scream.
You threw your head back and instantly started to grind on him, making circle movements, sending both of you to cloud nine.
“Babe I– I’ll not last long– damn.” Jake said breathlessly, hands helping your hips to move.
“Make me cum with you, please,” you begged and of course he would never leave you hanging, so he did his work, rubbing your clit at the same pace as you bounced on him.
You felt your climax building up rapidly, breath getting heavier and heavier, body shaking as you heard Jake saying under breath "I'm cumming", while throwing his head back and filling you up with his warm liquid. You shivered, moaning louder and achieving your peak right after.
Your body fell over Jake’s, who immediately hugged you, panting, all sweaty. “This was…” He started to say after a while, still inside you.
“Good?” He analyzed your expectant eyes when you got up to look at him and chuckled at the difference of the demon eyes you were giving him earlier. “Incredible,” he kissed your forehead. “You are always incredible, my love.”
It was a weirdly sunny day when Jake seated you on his car hood, fitting himself between your legs while his hands rested on your hips, drawing little circles there.
You both decided to go out that day to celebrate your new job. But instead of going for a fancy dinner or anything similar, you decided to follow the roots of your relationship and asked Jake to take you to see the sunset.
And he would never deny anything to you. So here you were, looking at the pretty sky behind Jake’s back when he himself was sunk on your neck.
"Why does the sky turn orange during sunsets?" You asked nonchalantly, feeling Jake's kisses on your skin. He was inebriated by your scent and acting as if he was getting drunk on you.
He loved that.
He loved you.
"It has something to do with the light traveling through the atmosphere. Don't make me do my homework right now, baby," he said muffled, unable to leave your warm embrace. You chuckled.
You loved that.
You loved him.
"Sorry," your fingers slid through his hair, scratching slightly. He hummed in response.
It’s been two weeks since you started to call him your boyfriend and he started to call you girlfriend, the honeyed voice always making you melt.
Nevertheless none of you said I love you yet. Not that you two needed to. You felt Jake’s love on every action of his. The way he would look at you so dreamily at any point of the day, how he would embrace you so tightly at the end of a stressful one. Or how he would always clean you up after the sex, even when he was tired as hell. He treated you like a goddess. You felt it.
It was as clear as crystal water that you loved him too, at least you thought.
You would purposely ask questions about astronomy just to have him speaking animatedly in technical terms that you often didn't understand very well, but loved to see him sparkle in joy. Or when you cooked his favorite meal just to see his puppy eyes widening in surprise and thank you with a sweet kiss. Or even when you watched him play video games for hours without complaining, actually enjoying and hyping him up, sometimes playing together when he asked you to.
Jake, actually, noticed every bit of it.
He himself making sure to love you every moment of his day, making sure you were safe, fed, warm, and most important: happy.
Jake loved your smile. He loved to see you ramble about your favorite songs and flowers and chocolates and movies and everything.
He loved everything about you.
You exhaled. The feeling was consuming you, you had to let it out. The ache of holding it to only your actions wasn't enough. You needed to say it.
And you did. In one go.
“I love you.”
Jake lifted his face off your neck to look you in the eyes, kind of shocked by your sudden statement. “I don’t care if you don’t love me back, but I love you. More than stargazing, more than feeling a cold breeze under the moonlight, more than listening to my favorite artist. None of those feelings overcomes the feeling of having you around,” you caressed his cheek. Jake listened to you with attention.
“You color my world by just being around. Every part I go I look out for you,” you could see Jake’s eyes watering. “And I do find you in everything, because, Jake, you became my everything. It’s scary how much I need you. It's scary how much I can love you,” you rested your forehead on his, closing your eyes. “So yeah, I love you,” you whispered at the end.
Jake's breath got heavy as he assimilated all your words.
God, he loved you as much as you did. Lately he had to deal with the urge of telling you the three words, afraid of scaring you off as always. But now he knows you are as much in love with him as he is with you, and he felt so damn lucky.
"You wanna know something that has nothing to do with physics?" Jake spoke softly after a while in silence trying to find the right words. You weren't expecting that question after your confession. "What?" you asked in a whisper.
He looked so gorgeous under the golden light.
"I can watch a hundred sunsets with you," he said softly, loving eyes at you. He gently put a strand of hair behind your ear, as usual, and continued, "And you’d still be the prettiest view."
Jake didn’t had to verbalize “I love you” after that, but he did.
He did it continuously. He did it before you went to sleep and when you woke up. He did it before leaving you at your classes and as soon as he picked you up. He did it out of the blue, while you were vacuuming your apartment and he was dusting the furniture. Because no matter how much he said, it didn't seem enough.
It was love at first sight, blessed by the moonlight keeping their love secrets and under the sunset light, keeping their sweet passion burning.
How would you describe the Sim twins? Jace Sim is your sweet, caring and nerdy best friend while his identical twin Jake is everything his brother isn’t—a hedonistic frat boy you want absolutely nothing to do with. Too bad it seems he’s decided to stop hiding just how much he’s in love with you.
pairing ── jake sim x afab reader
content tags/warnings ── angst, a lot of miscommunication and misunderstandings, smut, oral, sixty-nining, use of alcohol, intoxication, impersonation, mistaken impersonation, unprotected sex, angry sex, arguing.
fic word count ── estimate ≥ 35k
teaser word count ── 1.2k
release date ── 24th july tag list now closed
You feel irritation surge through your body all over again and by now you've reached Jace's door. Not even bothering to knock, you shove it open dramatically. "Jace, I swear to God I think it's finally time for me to try celibacy."
Jace is sat up in his bed in gray sweatpants and a compression shirt, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks up from his laptop to blink at you slowly. "Mmm? Why?"
You kick the door shut behind you, "Cause men are the worst and I'm tired of kissing so many frogs just because I want a prince!"
"Tell me more."
He says softly and sets his laptop aside as you dramatically throw yourself onto the end of his bed with a groan loud enough to let him know you're genuinely upset. You stare at the ceiling before you start ranting again. "First of all, he had the personality of a plastic spork and I'm not even joking, the conversation was so bad, like a solid three out of ten."
"This man," you continue, pointing accusingly at absolutely nothing, "had the audacity to insinuate that he would only pay for dinner if I was going home with him!"
Jace's eyebrows immediately pull together. "What? That's so messed up."
"Exactly." You sigh before sitting up abruptly again. "He said it like he thought it was charming and sexy too. Like I was supposed to giggle and throw my panties at him across the table."
You watch as Jace grimaces at your words, "Please tell me you didn't stay after he said that?"
Damn. How do you tell your best friend that not only did you stay you actually went home with this guy and had sex with him? If you could call that sex. "I was very horny, okay? I'm literally ovulating and I thought ugh maybe the sex could be good?" Yeah, that works.
"Oh come on, Y/n. You're better than that." He seems so disappointed in you that you have to try to ignore the fact that he even let the conversation get this far.
"And not to add to your disappointment but the sex absolutely sucked. Just added a body to my count and that brings me to a whoppingggg...two." You say and start giggling to yourself
Jace lets out the most disbelieving laugh imaginable. "Oh my God."
"It was so bad, Jace. Like genuinely horrible. I've had more chemistry with self checkout machines." That manages to get a startled laugh out of him. "He kept asking me if I liked that every three seconds."
If you'd just slow down to take a look at your best friend's face, you'd see a smirk you'd never seen before but of course you don't cause you're so mad at the whole situation, more at yourself too. "And then when I tried to—like—guide him a little?" You gesture wildly. "He got defensive."
"Hmm, defensive how?" He asks, eyeing you weirdly now. "Defensive like when I tried to guide his fingers to my actual clit he—"
Your words are cut off by the door swinging open and your irritation immediately flares at the sight of who is standing in the doorway, shifting your gaze back to the twin on the bed, you let out a groan of annoyance. "Seriously, Jake? Can you give us five minutes of peace?" you mutter, rolling your eyes toward the doorway, expecting to see Jace's twin brother hovering there with his usual grating smirk.
But instead the room just goes dead silent and curiosity forces you to actually look at the person standing in the threshold. You rake your eyes over him, ready to snap some insult about him intruding on your conversation but the words die in your throat. Because why is he standing there so confused and wearing his brother's clothes and carrying his textbooks?
Why is the custom silver bag chain you had to hunt down for Jace's birthday hanging from Jake's bag?
Your stomach drops in a sickening free fall sensation. If that's Jace...then who the hell are you sitting next to?
"What are you even talking about?" the twin standing in the door asks, his voice threaded with a weary frustration. He looks between you and the bed, his brow furrowing deeper. "Jake, I told you—I don't know how many times I have to say this—stay the hell out of my room when I'm not here. Why are you even here?"
You slowly turn your head to look at the person sitting on the bed and he's already watching you, his gaze no longer just amused, it's now sharp, and terrifyingly aware of the fact that you have just realized exactly who he is. He's also completely dropped the persona of his brother he'd been carrying, there's something in the way his eyes can go from earnest and sweet just like his brothers to predatory so quickly.
This isn't the first time, maybe that’s why you feel the sting that makes your vision blur with heat so quickly. Jake has made a sport of this, a twisted game of shadows where he slips into his brother's life just to see how long it takes for you to figure it out. But your anger isn't just directed at him this time around, it's the way he makes you feel so stupid you can’t stand. You've known Jace for years, he’s your best friend and yet you just laid your entire sexual history bare to a predator in a compression shirt because he mirrored an earnest tilt of the head and a quiet "Tell me more."
Jace lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, "Jake," he says in a frustrated but practiced tone. "Get off my bed. Now."
Jake doesn't move immediately, still lingering in the dip of the mattress and watching the way your chest pants with outraged breaths. Only when Jace takes a step further into the room does Jake finally rise, moving with an infuriating lack of urgency and stretching in the mirror. You watch as his muscles pull taut against that borrowed shirt—Jace's shirt.
"Relax, professor. I'm leaving," Jake says, his voice losing the faux earnest quality he'd used to bait you just a moment ago. Now he’s just Jake, arrogant and loud Jake. "Mom called. She wanted me to tell you that if you don't call her back by six to confirm for Sunday dinner, she's going to stop by your lab and embarrass you in front of your recluse friends."
"That could have been a text, Jake. A five second text. You didn't need to come here."
Jake tilts his head, a lazy, jagged grin cutting across his face. "I know," he smiles wider, the amusement dancing in his tone. "But where's the fun in a text? I prefer the personal touch."
He begins to move toward the door, his shoulder intentionally brushing yours as he attempts to pass. But then he stops and leans in, letting the heat radiate off his skin in a way that makes you want to scramble backward but you're pinned by the stupid audacity of his proximity.
His lips hover inches from the shell of your ear, dropping his voice into a low volume that Jace couldn't possibly catch over the sound of his own frustrated rustling.
"For what it's worth, baby doll," he breathes, "I could definitely get you off. And I promise you wouldn't have to show me where anything was. I'd find it just fine on my own."
SYNOPSIS ─── After a car accident that costed you 3 years worth of memory, you find yourself trying to start a new beginning in a new city with "new" people. Only God knows why would the universe make you cross paths with the cute guy nextdoor.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : neighbor AU, fluff, slight angst, smut (MDNI)
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : yearner!jake, swearing, loss of memory, mention of a car accident, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f. receiving), jake is an ass grabber, praising, creampie, mutual orgasm, switch!jake, loss of virginity, jake and reader's first time, fingering, riding, domestic scenes
𝐰𝐜 : 25.5k
❕# this is my goodbye gift !! Hope you’ll all like it :)
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ──────
♯ 134340 - BTS
♯ Unconditional - JAEHYUN
♯ I.F.L.Y - Bazzi
♯ is it cool? - Steve Lacy ft. SZA
♯ pov - Ariana Grande
♯ XO (Only If You Say Yes) - ENHYPEN
♯ Get You - Daniel Caesar
♯ intro (end of the world) - Ariana Grande
♯ 3005 - Childish Gambino
♯ Tek It - Cafuné
♯ Roommates - Malcolm Todd
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉
You wouldn't have thought that the cardboard box in your arms would be heavier than it has any right to be, given it's mostly filled with towels and a lamp that probably won't survive the move. You shift it against your hip, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as Jungwon's voice crackles through the speaker.
"—and the landlord said the water pressure is good, but you should still check the boiler room, okay? Just in case. Mom keeps asking if you've eaten."
"I've eaten," you say, dumping the box onto the kitchen counter. The sound echoes in the empty space. "I ate a granola bar on the drive."
"That's not eating. You usually eat much more than that, Y/N."
You almost laugh. The corners of your mouth twitch, yet the energy to actually produce the sound feels too expensive. The new apartment is small, already making you hyperaware of your own breathing. White walls, beige carpet, a window that overlooks a fire escape and the back of a laundromat. It's nothing like your old place. And that's totally the point.
"There's a coffee shop down the street," you say instead, peering through the smudged glass of the window. "I saw it when I pulled in."
"Good, you should go there. Drink something with sugar and call me if you need anything."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The line goes dead, and the silence in the apartment rushes back in to fill the space. You stand there for a minute, only breathing, letting your new life settle into your bones. New city with a new apartment, and no memories of the last three years to trip over on your way to the bathroom.
You grab your keys and head out. The neighborhood is weirdly quiet even in the afternoon, it feels like everyone is holding their breath. Old brick buildings line the street, their facades streaked with years of rain. A bodega on the corner, a laundromat, and there, wedged between a bookstore and a clothing shop, the coffee shop. It's decorated with mismatched chairs and a counter cluttered with jars of homemade pastries. You order a black coffee because you don't trust your brain to make decisions, and you take it to a table by the window. You're halfway through the cup, watching a pigeon peck at a discarded wrapper, when the sky opens up. The rain comes down in sheets, loud and violent, rattling against the glass like it's trying to get in. You watch it for a while, then check your phone. It's already 5 PM.
"Excuse me," you say, approaching the counter. The barista, a tired-looking woman with flour on her apron, looks up. "Do you have an umbrella I could borrow? I just moved in across the street, I'll bring it back."
She blinks at you before she disappears into the back, returning a moment later with a flimsy black umbrella. It looks like the one you buy at a bodega for five dollars and immediately regret. "Keep it," she says. "We have like twelve of these."
The rain hasn't let up by the time you step outside. You pop the umbrella open, holding it tight as the wind tries to wrestle it from your grip. The street is a river now, the buildings blurred through the curtain of water. You walk quickly, splashing through puddles, your sneakers already soaked.
The apartment building is a relief when it comes into view. You duck into the alcove of the entrance, shaking water from your hair, and fumble with the umbrella to close it. The mechanism catches on something, and you jerk it, frustrated, only to have it flip open in a violent snap. A spray of water arcs outward, catching the person passing behind you square in the chest.
You freeze.
He freezes.
For an agonizing long moment, neither of you dare to move. He's standing half in the rain, half out, his white t-shirt now clinging to his torso with a growing dark patch. His hair is damp at the ends, dark brown and curling slightly. His eyes ; wide and startled ; scan your face with intensity, making you want to quickly apologize, but the words get caught somewhere in your throat.
His expression falters for the briefest moment. The certainty in his eyes gives way to hesitation, his gaze tracing your features as though something refuses to add up. His head tilts slightly, thoughtful rather than confused. You brace yourself for annoyance. For the kind of clipped anger that would be entirely justified.
Rather than that, he blinks, and a smile touches the corner of his mouth. It's not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one, uncertain and clumsy. "Hi," he says. His voice is a little rough, maybe from the cold. "Sorry, I was—do I know you?"
You shake your head, clutching the umbrella tightly. "I don't think so. I just moved in. I'm sorry about your shirt."
He glances down at the wet patch before looking back up at you. "Don't worry about it. It's just water." He's still looking at you, though. Too fucking long. His gaze lingers, waiting for...something. Whatever it is never comes. With a shake of his head, he drags a hand through his wet hair before a tiny smile finds its way onto his face, warming the corners of his eyes. "I'm Jake. I live in 9C down the hall."
"Y/N," you say. "5C."
"Welcome to the building."
"Thanks."
The rain continues to fall, filling the space between you with noise. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and you realize you're both just standing there, awkward and dripping, with nothing else to say.
"Well," he says, "I should probably go change. Before I catch a cold."
"Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry again."
"Don't be."
He heads for the elevator, and you watch him go, his wet footprints staining the floor. He pauses with his hand on the button, and for only a second, you think he might turn back or might say something else. But then the door swings open, and he disappears inside.
You stand there for another minute, the broken umbrella dangling from your hand, the rain hammering against the awning above you. The feeling of his gaze on your face lingers, unsettled, like a half-remembered dream.
You close the apartment door behind you and lean against it. The key is still in your hand. The broken umbrella is still in the other. Your socks are soaked through because you forgot to wipe your feet.
None of that registers.
Because Jake ; apartment 9C, white t-shirt, gray hoodie, hole in his jeans ; had a face that shouldn't exist outside of Renaissance paintings and the occasional fever dream. Sharp jaw and messy hair that looked intentional even though it definitely wasn't. And his eyes, soft and curious, doing that slow scan of your features like he was reading something he couldn't put down.
You slide down the door until you're sitting on the floor.
This doesn't happen to you.
No—correction. This has never happened to you. You've read about it, sure. Pages in secondhand paperbacks where the protagonist trips and falls into a stranger's arms and he just happens to have cheekbones that could cut diamonds. You've rolled your eyes at those scenes and called them unrealistic. You told yourself that real life doesn't come with lighting cues and slow motion. However, standing on those steps with rain dripping off his chin and an animal shelter's worth of grime on his wrist, he had no business being that striking. That disarming. That stupidly attractive.
Your brain caught on the way he'd looked at you. Not like he was checking you out but more like he was searching for something. A flicker of recognition that didn't meant nothing if you recoil on it. And after that the shrug, and the introduction so smooth it had to be accidental.
Jake.
You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. Are you freaking kidding me ?
"You're being ridiculous." you tell the empty apartment.
Three hours later, you've unpacked exactly one box ; where it cointained your sheets and a single mug shaped like a cactus that Jungwon bought you as a joke three birthdays ago. The mug is now sitting on the kitchen counter, empty, staring at you judgmentally.
He keeps finding his way back into your thoughts. Not because you're trying to hold on to him, and surely not because you can't move on. It happens almost absentmindedly, the way your brain revisits familiar things when it's left alone. How his voice sounded slightly wrecked, like he'd been yelling or laughing or both. The smudge on his wrist ; potting soil, probably, if the canvas bag full of clinking jars was any indication. Pickles? Jam? The man had twelve jars of something and dirt on his hands and he lived four apartment next to yours.
You catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror and frown at yourself.
"Girl, you don't even know his last name." you say.
You go to bed early because there's nothing else to do. The new apartment sounds are unusual, there's more creaks and fewer sirens. At 2:17 AM, someone in the building starts playing the guitar badly. You fall asleep to a mangled rendition of "Wonderwall".
─────────
The alarm drags you from sleep sharply. You bat at your phone until the noise stops, and lie there, blinking at the still unfamiliar ceiling, reacquainting yourself with the fact that this is your life now. Everything was going to be new now.
By the time you've wrestled yourself into something presentable, you're already running five minutes behind. You skip breakfast, grab your bag, and lock the door behind you.
The elderly home sits at the end of a tree-lined street, a squat brick building, you almost mistook it for a community center. The receptionist gives you a visitor's badge and points you toward the common room, where a handful of residents are scattered across armchairs, some dozing, some staring at a muted television, one engaged in a heated argument with a plant.
You're barely through the door when a woman appears at your elbow, small and bright-eyed, with a name tag that reads Hanni in cheerful block letters. "New hire?" she asks, already steering you toward a supply closet. "Thank god. I've been doing double shifts for three weeks. I'm Hanni. You're Y/N. I read your file. It said you have experience with dementia patients. That's good, because Jacob over there—" she jerks her chin toward a man in a cardigan who's now trying to feed his coffee to the plant, "—thinks he's a squirrel."
You blink. "A squirrel?"
"Don't ask. Just go with it. If he offers you acorns, take them."
The day unfolds. You help Mrs. Han find her glasses (they were on her head), you listen to Mr. Eom's stories about a bakery he ran forty years ago, and you learn the exact difference between the "good" applesauce and the "bad" applesauce. Hanni works beside you with effortless competence, cracking jokes under her breath and seamlessly redirecting residents who wander toward the exit. "You're pretty good at this," she says during a break, as you both stand at the nurses' station, scribbling notes. "Most new people get that deer-in-headlights look for at least a week. You just sort of absorbed it."
You shrug, not sure how to explain that this ; the slow pace, the gentle repetition, the small dignities of helping someone remember their own name ; it feels like the only thing you're certain about these days. "It's not that hard. They just want to be seen."
Hanni studies you for a moment, something curious flickering behind her eyes. Then she nods, and the moment passes.
Your shift ends, your feet ache and your brain feels pleasantly fuzzy, which doesn't leave room for anxiety. You change out of your scrubs, say goodbye to Hanni, and step out into the evening air.
The street is calm, the rain from yesterday reduced to a thin dampness on the pavement. You're walking toward your building, hands shoved in your jacket pockets, when you round the corner and nearly collide with someone coming the other way.
Fuck, it's him.
Jake.
He's wearing a different shirt ; navy this time, sleeves pushed up to his elbows ; and he's carrying a cardboard pack of beer tucked under one arm. His hair is dry, pulled up in a little ponytail at the back, and the sight of him in the golden light of early evening hits you like a delayed punch.
"Oh," you say. Why now?
He stops. For a heartbeat, something unsettles his expression, his eyes lingering on you a fraction too long. Then, it melts away, something softer taking place. "Hey. Y/N, right?"
"Oh, you remembered." The words come out flatter than you wanted them to be, yet your pulse is doing a ridiculous drum solo again.
"I remember a lot of things," he says, there's a strange weight to the phrase, like he's saying something else underneath it. He gestures with the beer. "You're heading back?"
"Yeah. I just finished my first day at the elderly home down the street."
"How was it?"
"Exhausting. Good, though. I think. One of the residents offered me a fake acorn, so I'm taking that as a sign of approval."
He laughs, low and surprised, you can see that he didn't expect to find it funny. "That's a pretty solid endorsement. I'd trust fake acorn guy over most people."
You fall into step together, and you notice how he adjusts his pace to match yours, shortening his stride just slightly. The street stretches ahead, lined with those old brick buildings, the sky above streaked with pale orange and lavender. You nod toward the beer. "Expecting company, or is that just for personal purpose?"
He glances down at the pack, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm having friends over tonight. A couple of guys from the shelter—I work at the animal shelter a few blocks over. We do this thing every other Thursday. It's mostly just eating takeout and arguing about which dog breed is objectively the best."
"Which one is?"
"Rescue," he says immediately. "All of them."
You snort. "I think so too."
"Right? This is why we're going to get along." He says it casually, the words land in your chest with an unexpected weight.
The building comes into view, its facade warm in the fading light. He holds the door open for you, and you step into the foyer, the familiar smell of old carpet and someone's cooking drifting through the hallway. At your door you fumble for your keys, and he lingers, shifting the beer from one arm to the other.
"Good first day," he says. "At the job, I mean."
"Thanks." You find the right key, fit it into the lock. "Have fun with your friends. Try not to let the argument escalate into a physical altercation."
"No promises. We're very passionate about this." He's already turning, already stepping back toward his door, when something makes you call out : "Jake."
He stops and looks back.
"Thanks for walking me," you say. "Even if you didn't have to."
A small shrug. "It's fine. I wanted to, anyway." And he's already gone, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, and you're left standing in your doorway, keys still in hand, watching the space where he was.
You unlock the door, step inside, and close it behind you. The apartment is mostly empty, since your laziness won over you to unpack the rest of your stuff. You press your back against the door and stare at the ceiling.
This, you think, is exactly the kind of thing I'd roll my eyes at in a book.
Regardless, you can't stop the smile that spreads across your face, slow and helpless and embarrassingly real.
You're sprawled across the couch, legs tangled in a throw blanket, the glow of the television painting your face in shifting blues and reds. Some reality show about people competing to bake things that look like other things. It's mindless and perfect, exactly the sort of programming that requires zero cognitive effort. Your oversized t-shirt hangs off one shoulder with Justin Bieber's face from his Purpose World Tour, faded and cracked from years of washing. Below that, nothing but a pair of plain cotton panties. Your hair is messy, and there's a half-empty mug of tea growing cold on the floor beside you. You're comfortable. Vulnerable, maybe, but in the privacy of your own space, and that's all that matters.
Your gaze wanders into the kitchen and lands on the trash bin that is overflowing with flattened boxes and crumpled packing paper, the remains of a move you’re still halfway through. It doesn’t look like much, but you know it’ll be the first thing to irritate you in the morning if it’s left untouched. You weigh the options. Get dressed and actually put on pants, find a bra, the whole tedious ritual, or just…go. It's a quick trip. The trash chute is at the end of the hallway, maybe twenty steps from your door. The corridor has been empty all evening. And Jake has friends over. He's occupied. He's not going to be lurking around corners, waiting to ambush you with his inconveniently-timed presence.
Nobody will see you, you tell yourself. It's fine. You're fast as fuck.
You pad to the door, press your eye to the peephole. The hallway stretches, empty. Clear. You crack the door open, just wide enough to slip through, and you're out, barefoot, the cold floor sending a shiver up your legs. The trash bag is heavier than you expected ; you hoist it against your hip, jogging in that awkward, flat-footed way of someone who's both in a hurry and deeply aware of their own exposure. The chute is a metal hatch in the wall. You heave it open, shove the bag inside, hear it clatter down into the abyss. Mission accomplished.
You turn, already planning your retreat, and—
He's standing three feet away. Oh fuck off.
Jake.
He's holding a bulging trash bag of his own, the clink of glass bottles audible as he adjusts his grip. His eyes travel from your face down to the faded Bieber shirt, then back up, and there's a beat of silence where neither of you move. Your brain short-circuits and your mouth opens. What comes out is a garbled mix of syllables that might have been intended as "hey" but emerges as something closer to "heh—uh—I—"
He blinks. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitches. "Didn't mean to startle you," he says, and his voice is level, calm, almost like he's trying to soothe a startled animal.
"You didn't—I mean, I was just—" You gesture clumsily at your attire, then at the trash chute, then back at yourself, as if this chain of context will explain everything. "The trash was full. And I didn't think anyone would be—I mean, you said you had friends—"
"Friends," he confirms. "They left about ten minutes ago. I was just cleaning up."
"Of course you were. That makes sense." You're still standing there, bare-legged, the shirt barely grazing your thighs, and the hallway suddenly feels like a wind tunnel. You cross your arms over your chest, which does absolutely nothing to help the situation. Jake doesn’t leer nor does he joke. He meets your eyes with that same searching look, softened now into quiet amusement. "You know," he says, "you have a habit of running into me in unexpected situations."
"This is your fault," you say, and the words come out sharp without real bite behind them. "You're supposed to be busy. That was the whole point."
"Sorry to inconvenience you by taking out my trash."
"You're not sorry, are you?"
"No," he admits, his half-smile edges into fuller one. "I'm not." He steps past you toward the chute, and you catch a whiff of a clean and comforting scent, the ordinary scent of someone who's recently showered. He drops his bag in, closes the hatch with a metallic thunk and turns back. "See you around, Bieber," he says, the warmth in the nickname makes your stomach flip.
He's walking back toward his apartment door, and you're standing once again, your face heating in an inexorable crawl. You wait until his footsteps fade before you scurry back to your door, slip inside, and press your back against the wood. The television is still playing, some contestant weeping over a collapsed trompe-l'oeil. You stare at the screen, unseeing.
Bieber.
You look down at the faded face on your shirt, at your bare legs, at the utter mess of your appearance, and you press the heels of your palms into your eyes like the day before. You're still standing with your back against the door, willing your face to return to a normal temperature, when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps.
Your entire body goes still. The television babbles on, oblivious, as you press your eye to the peephole. Jake. Of course. He's standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor, he's waiting for something. He's changed into a gray sweatshirt, hood down, hair slightly mussed. You don't open the door. You can't, not after what he just witnessed. Not with this shirt still on.
"What?" you call through the wood, and your voice comes out higher, strained.
"Y/N," His voice is muffled but clear. "I know you're in there."
"I'm not opening the door."
A pause. "I'm not asking you to."
"Why are you here then?"
He pauses again. You can hear him shift his weight. "I just wanted to say—" He stops, and you imagine him running a hand through his hair, figuring out how to phrase something. "The shirt. I really like it."
You press your forehead against the door. "You're lying."
"I'm not. I had that exact one in middle school and I wore it until the print started peeling off."
"That doesn't make it better."
"Maybe not." His voice carries a smile, you can hear it, the slight lift in the vowels. "I thought you should know, though. That's all."
You stay silent, unsure how to answer. The pause settles in, comfortable rather than tense, and you notice he isn’t hurrying to fill it.
"Anyways," he says finally, "goodnight, Y/N."
You hear footsteps, receding. You wait until the sound fades completely before you let out a breath you were holding deeply. Your reflection stares back at you from the peephole's warped glass, only a blur of color, but you can feel the heat still lingering in your cheeks. You push off from the door, walk back to the couch, and collapse into the cushions. The reality show contestants are still crying about pastries. You look down at Justin Bieber's faded face. At the cracked screen print and the worn collar.
He had this exact one in middle school, what a coincidence.
You pull the hem of the shirt, stretch it, let it snap back. A small, involuntary sound escapes your throat. It might be a laugh or anything else. You grab your phone, open your messages, and type out a single line to Jungwon.
Y/N [11:52 PM]
I think I'm in trouble.
But you delete it, toss the phone aside, and stare at the ceiling until your heartbeat settles to normal again.
It takes a while.
─────────
The morning came faster than you thought. You grab the umbrella on your way out ; the same flimsy black one that started this whole foolish chain of events ; and stop by the coffee shop before your shift. The barista barely glances up as you set it on the counter.
"Thanks," you say. "For letting me borrow it."
She waves a hand, already reaching for a pitcher of milk. "Keep it next time. We've got a whole graveyard of those things in the back."
You almost tell her there won't be a next time, yet the words feel like tempting fate, so you just nod and head out.
The elderly home is already rumbling when you arrive. Hanni greets you with a coffee cup thrust into your hands and a breathless update about Mr. Eom's missing dentures. You take a sip, let the caffeine do its work, and fall into the cadence of the morning.
By early afternoon, the sun is actually warm enough to justify a walk. You round up three residents ; Mrs. Han, who's having a good day and remembers your name, Mr. Chen, who doesn't say much but mumbles tunelessly under his breath and Jacob, who offered you the fake acorn. He's wearing a different cardigan today, mustard yellow, and he keeps patting his pockets like he's checking for something. The path behind the building winds through a small garden, past benches and bird feeders and a sad little fountain that hasn't worked in years. You walk slowly, matching their pace, letting Mrs. Han point out flowers she's identified incorrectly and pretending to take Jacob's commentary seriously.
It's peaceful, nearly meditative. A moment like this makes you wonder if this new life really is as bad as you thought.
Abruptly, a dog comes out of nowhere. A golden retriever ; young, gangly, all oversized paws and manic energy ; bounds across the grass with the focus of a missile. It's not aggressive and not even barking. It's excited, and its excitement is directed straight at Jacob, who is the slowest-moving, most startle-prone member of your little group. The dog lunges up before you can react, front paws slamming into Jacob’s chest. He rocks back, arms windmilling, then drops in a slow heap, feeling like it’s happening in two conflicting speeds at once.
"Jacob!" You're at his side in an instant, dropping to your knees, hands hovering unevenly. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?"
Jacob blinks up at you, more confused than pained. His glasses are askew. "I dropped my acorn," he says.
"I'll find it. Just—stay still. Tell me if anything hurts."
A voice cuts through the chaos, alert and breathless. "Oh god—I'm so sorry—"
You look up. Jake is sprinting toward you, the dog's leash trailing behind him like a forgotten flag. He's in work clothes ; a navy polo with the shelter's logo, dirt smudged on his forearm ; and his face is veiled with unguarded panic.
The dog, oblivious, is now trying to lick Jacob's ear.
"Leo, down!" Jake grabs the dog's collar, hauls him back with a firm yet gentle tug. "I am so, so sorry. He got loose—I was just bringing him out for a walk and he saw the—are you okay? Is he okay?"
You're already helping Jacob sit up, checking his wrists, his neck, the back of his head. No swelling or bleeding. He's still patting his pockets for the acorn.
"He's fine," you say, your voice flat. "He's just disoriented."
"Thank god." Jake exhales, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "I really am—I should have had a better grip on the leash. He's young, he's still learning, but that's not an excuse—"
"You're right." You stand, brushing grass from your knees. "It's not."
The silence that follows is stiffling. Mrs. Han is watching with curious eyes, Mr. Chen has stopped mumbling, and Leo is now sitting at Jake's feet, tail excitedly wagging. You turn to Jake fully. "You work at a shelter. You know how unpredictable dogs can be. Especially around elderly people. One wrong jump, one fall, and it's a broken bone or a concussion. That could actually hurt someone."
Jake meets your gaze without a trace of defensiveness or excuses. He simply nods slowly, his jaw tightening in restraint. "You're right," he says. "I wasn't careful enough. I got distracted, and I let him pull ahead, and I should have anticipated that this could happen." He glances at Jacob, who is now patting Leo's head with a delighted smile. "I'm really glad he's okay. And I'm sorry you had to deal with that."
The words settle with an unexpected weight, disarming you. You were ready for deflection, for something casual and rehearsed. Regardless, he stays still, accepting it without trying to cushion the blow.
You let out a breath. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a shaky residue. "Be more careful," you say, and your voice is quieter now. "Please."
"I will." He holds your gaze for another beat, and crouches down to Jacob's level. "Hey, sir. That was my dog. He's really sorry. Are you okay?"
Jacob looks at him, then at Leo before his gaze goes back at his empty palm. "I lost my acorn," he says, there's a note of genuine distress in his voice. Jake doesn't miss a beat. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small smooth stone and presses it into Jacob's hand. "Here. I found this, it must've been yours."
Jacob stares at it. His face splits into a wide, gap-toothed smile. "Thank you," he says, and clutches it like treasure.
You watch it unfold, something uneasy tightening in your chest. Jake stands and meets your gaze again. A flash crosses his face ; rueful, or closer to hope. "I'll make sure he's more secured next time," Jake says, nodding toward Leo. "And if there's anything I can do—"
"There isn't," you say, but the sharpness has gone from your voice. "But still...keep a closer eye on him."
"Always." He turns and walks back toward the path, Leo trotting obediently at his heel. You watch him go, the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, how he glances back once before rounding the corner.
Mrs. Han sidles up to you. "He's cute," she states. "The boy. Not the dog."
You open your mouth, not a sound escaping your mouth. You try again.
"Mrs. Han," you say, "you're supposed to be on my side."
"I am on your side," she says, patting your arm. "That's why I'm telling you."
You help Jacob to his feet, find his acorn in the grass, and start the slow walk back to the building. Your thoughts drift elsewhere, replaying Jake crouching down to Jacob’s level, finding the stone without hesitation, saying 'I will' like he truly meant it.
You shake your head, focus on the path ahead.
After you end your shift, you walk back to your apartment. The sky has gone hazy, and you keep your hands in your pockets, replaying the afternoon in fragments. You unlock your door, kick off your shoes, and collapse onto the couch. The television is still on from last night. You turn it off, let the silence settle.
You decide to pull out your phone and call Jungwon. He picks up, but the background noise is a wall of bass and overlapping voices. You can hear a bunch of voice shouting "CHUG CHUG CHUG!!!" and loud cheers. You hear a door slam, the noise muffles.
"Y/N?" His voice is slightly breathless. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," you say, and you mean it. "I just wanted to check in. You sound busy, though."
"I'm at a mixer party with my house and sororities. It's loud so I stepped outside." He stops for a second. "Are you sure you're okay? You never call this late."
"Late? It's like seven."
"Yeah. You're usually asleep by now."
You fairly laugh. "I've been more awake lately. I had a long day."
"Tell me about it."
So you do. You tell him about everything. You don't want to mention Jake.
"You sound good," Jungwon says when you finish. " Really good. Not just saying you're good."
"I think I am," you say, the words surprise you with their honesty.
"That's all I needed to hear." There's a muffled shout from behind him, someone calling his name. "I should get back. But call me anytime, okay? Even if it's just to complain about old people and dogs."
"Old people and dogs. The two pillars of my existence now."
"Don't let the dogs jump on you," he mentions, you can hear the smile in his voice.
"I won't. Have fun at your party."
"Love you."
"Love you too."
The line goes dead. You hold the phone for a moment before setting it aside, letting the quiet wrap around you. You stand, stretch, and gather your clothes for a shower, a clean towel, a change of underwear, the softest pair of sweatpants you own. You pad toward the bathroom, already anticipating the hot water, the steam, and the small escape from your own head.
You're two steps from the bathroom door when the lights flicker.
Once. Twice. It dies.
The apartment plunges into absolute darkness. No sound from the refrigerator, no glow from the microwave clock, just black, thick and total. You stand there, motionless, one hand gripping your towel, the other reaching for the wall. You feel along the switch, flick it up and down. There's nothing.
You step to the window to peer out. The streetlights are on. The building across the way is lit, warm rectangles of gold in every window. The coffee shop's neon sign still glows. You check your phone to see your battery at 60%. You switch on the flashlight, sweep it across the room. So it's only your apartment. The refrigerator is dead. The outlets are dead. The overhead light, the bathroom ; all dead. You flip the circuit breaker in the tiny panel by the door. Shit. You try the main switch. Nothing.
You stand there in the beam of your phone, your reflection ghostly in the dark window glass, wearing that stupid Justin Bieber shirt and holding a bundle of clean clothes, and you realize you have no flashlight, no candles, and mostly, no backup plan.
The silence presses in. 9C. A certain neighbor who might have a working outlet and a willingness to share. A part of you notes, almost critically, that this would be the kind of contrived convenience you’d hate in a book.
You sigh, grab your keys, and head for the door.
The hour stretches like taffy. You've tried the circuit breaker three times, called the landlord four times, and texted him twice, giving you no results. The voicemail picks up on the first ring, a generic recording without a name. You sit next to your door and consider your options. There's a motel two blocks away. There's the coffee shop, but they close in fifteen minutes. It got to be a joke.
And there's the door at the end of the hallway.
You pace. You argue with yourself. You list all the reasons this is a terrible idea ; all the incidents that happened and degraded your confidence, the fact that you've known this man for approximately forty-eight hours and he's already seen you at your most unguarded multiple times. But the need for a shower wins. You smell like old people and grass, with the sublte tang of anxiety sweat. You can't go to work like this tomorrow and you can't sleep like this tonight. So you put on a pair of shorts ; the longest ones you own ; and a different shirt, and you walk toward his door with the weight of your own dignity dragging behind you.
His door is at the end of the hall. You knock before you can talk yourself out of it. The door swings open. Jake stands there in a faded gray t-shirt and sweatpants, hair slightly damp, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He's holding a half-eaten apple. His eyes land on you. Travel down to your shorts, back up to your face.
His mouth curves into a smile so wide, so unapologetically amused, that you feel it like a punch right in your guts.
"Bieber," he says. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Don't call me that." The words come out weak, deflated. "My power's out. The landlord won't answer and I absolutely need a shower."
He takes a bite of his apple. He chews slowly, considers you.
"Just the shower," you add, and you can hear how defensive you sound, how utterly transparent.
"I didn't say anything." He steps back, holds the door open. "Come in."
His apartment is small too, but lived-in. A couch with a blanket draped over the back. A stack of books on the coffee table. A guitar propped in the corner. The kitchen is visible from the living room, dishes drying on a rack, a pot of something that smells like garlic and tomatoes simmering on the stove. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door on the left," he says, pointing with the apple still in hands. "Towels are in the cabinet. Use whatever you need."
"Thanks." You pause at the threshold, suddenly aware of the absurdity of this. "I'll be quick."
"Take your time." That smile again, softer now. "I'll keep the apartment from burning down while you're in there."
You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling. Hot water, steady pressure, a luxurious flow that makes you forget every indignity that led you here. You stand under the spray as long as you can, letting it beat against your shoulders, your neck, the tension you've been carrying since yesterday. When you finally step out, wrapped in a towel, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Wet hair and pink cheeks. A stupid smile that you can't suppress.
Stop it. You wipe the steam from the mirror, and that's when you notice it. On the edge of the sink, next to a half-empty bottle of cologne, is a keychain. A small, plastic orange. Slightly faded, the paint worn at the edges.
Your breath catches. You have that exact same keychain. It's been on your keys for as long as you can remember. Well, as long as your memory goes back, which is not even a year. It's one of the few objects that survived the move, one of the small constants in the fog of your past.
You pick it up and turn it over. It's identical, even the little chip in the paint near the stem matches. You stare at it for a long moment. You dress quickly, step out into the hallway, and find Jake in the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove. "Everything okay?" he asks without turning.
"Where did you get this?" You hold up the keychain.
He turns and sees it. For an instant, his expression falters into recognition before it smooths itself back into neutrality. "Oh, that." He sets down the spoon, wipes his hands on his sweatpants. "I found it, actually. A few years ago, on the street, I think. I kept it because—" He pauses, and you notice the way his eyes shift, slightly, like he's rearranging words in his head. "It reminded me of something. I don't know. I just liked it."
The explanation comes out too smooth and too rehearsed. You're wondering if he's said it before, practiced it, polished it until it sounded natural. You're not even sure why, something about how he said it, but you don't have the energy to interrogate right now. "Funny," you say, pocketing your own keys, where your matching orange dangles. "I have the same one."
He looks at you. You feel like you're standing on the edge of a cliff, for a jump you're not ready for.
"That is funny," he says, and his voice is softer now, almost distant. "Small world."
You nod, not trusting your voice. The moment stretches, fragile, and you're the one who breaks it. "I should go. Thanks for the shower."
"Anytime." He walks you to the door, and the teasing smile has returned. "If the power's still out tomorrow, you know where to find me."
"Bold of you to assume I'll survive that long."
"I have faith in you."
You roll your eyes, yet you're smiling as you step into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you. You stand there for a moment, your keychain warm in your palm, and wonder what exactly you've just walked into. It's probably nothing, you tell yourself.
Oh it's definitely something.
─────────
A few days pass, you're unpacking one box at a time, learning where the light switches are without having to think about it, catching the same bus at the same time each morning until the driver starts to nod at you like an old acquaintance.
You see Jake in the hallways more often than coincidence should allow. Tuesday morning, you're leaving for work and he's coming back from a run, sweaty and out of breath, and he raises a hand in greeting without breaking stride. Fuck he's hot.
Wednesday evening, you're carrying a bag of groceries and he's hauling a bag of dog food toward the elevator, and you end up walking side by side without discussing it. Thursday, you don't see him at all, and you catch yourself checking the peephole before bed like a woman waiting for something she won't admit to wanting.
Friday arrives with gray skies and the particular exhaustion of a full week. You've just changed into sweatpants.
Three taps. You know who it is before you look. Jake is standing in the hallway wearing a knitted sweater and he's holding his keys in his hand. He looks different at night ; softer, somehow. The hard angles of his jaw blurred by the low light.
"I'm heading to the convenience store," he announces.
You lean against the doorframe. "It's eight o'clock."
"I'm aware. That's why I said convenience store and not, like, a sit-down restaurant." He jingles his keys. "You want to come?"
You hesitate for a second too long, and he catches it. His expression shifts into something hesitant. "For the accident," he adds. "Last week, with Jacob. I've been meaning to…I don't know. Make up for it, in a small way. This is the small way."
"You're making up for catastrophe with a trip to 7-Eleven?"
"Don't call it that. I'd rather call it a restitution." He pauses. "Also they have those frozen slushies that turn your tongue blue, and I don't want to drink one alone because that feels sad even by my standards."
You look down at your sweatpants. "Give me two minutes," you say.
"You look fine."
"I know I look fine. I want to look like I didn't just spend an hour lying on my floor thinking about nothing."
He blinks. "That's—"
"Two minutes." You close the door and change into jeans. You don't know why. It's just the convenience store after all. Although you put on real pants anyway, and you run your fingers through your hair, and when you open the door again, he's still standing there, checking his phone. "Cute," he says, not looking up.
"Shut up."
The walk is short ; five blocks, past the coffee shop with the broken umbrellas, past a laundromat, and past a house with a porch light that flickers like it's sending morse code. The air is cold enough to see your breath, and Jake walks on the street side of the sidewalk without making a thing out of it.
You two arrive at the convenience store, with the buzzing lights overhead. A bell dings when you walk in. The guy behind the counter is watching a small TV mounted in the corner, some sports game apparently.
You grab a basket and Jake grabs another. "This is a competition now," he says.
"It's always been a competition."
The snack aisle is narrow, forcing you to stand closer than necessary. You reach for a bag of chips. He reaches for the same bag. Your hands collide, and he lets you take it without a fight, which is suspicious. "You're being nice," you say.
"What do you mean? I'm always nice."
"No but, like, you're being strategically nice."
He grins. It's crooked and quick, making your chest tighten. "I just want you to let your guard down so I can steal the last bag of sour stripes."
"I don't even like sour stripes."
"Everyone likes sour stripes. That's like saying you don't like breathing."
You move down the aisle, scanning the shelves. Your fingers hover over a bag of shrimp crackers ; the spicy kind, bright red packaging, which Jungwon used to make fun of you for buying in bulk. You reach for them at the same time he does. "These," he says, pushing the bag toward you. "Get these."
"I was going to."
"They're your favorite, right?"
You stop. Your hand freezes over the bag. "I didn't tell you that."
He's already looking at the next shelf, picking up a pack of chocolate cookies, turning it over to read the nutrition facts. His expression doesn't change. His voice is casual, almost bored. "Everyone likes spicy shrimp crackers," he says. "It's not some niche preference. It's a classic. Like salt and vinegar. Or barbecue."
"That's not—"
"I'm getting these," he interrupts, holding up the cookies. "You want a drink? They have that weird melon soda. Everyone says that it tastes like liquid gummy bear."
You stare at the back of his head in confusion. He's walking toward the drink cooler, shoulders relaxed, like the conversation is already over. You grab the shrimp crackers and follow him.
The park is two blocks from your building, a small wedge of grass with three benches and a set of swings that face a community garden. The swings are old, their chains rusty, seats scratched with names and dates, but they hold your weight when you sit. Jake takes the swing next to yours. The plastic bags dangle from his wrist, crinkling every time he moves. You've split everything down the middle ; your shrimp crackers, his chocolate cookies, two bottles of the melon soda, a shared bag of sour striped that he claimed were for everyone, still you've noticed he keeps eating.
The soda fizzes when you open it. The park is empty except for the two of you and a cat sitting on a bench across the grass, watching like it's waiting for something to happen. You swing a little, just enough to rock. The chains squeak.
"My brother," you say, because the silence feels good but you want to fill it anyway. "He's the reason I moved here. Not because he lives here—he doesn't. He lives like four hours away. He helped me find the apartment and with all the packing."
Jake doesn't say anything. He's unwrapping a chocolate cookie, breaking it in half.
"He's in college now," you continue. "Fraternity guy, and he’s so serious about it, which is funny because he's also the least intimidating person I've ever met. Once he cried because I didn’t want to go with him at the dentist."
"That’s cute."
"He's sensitive." You shrug. "He'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this."
"I won't tell."
The cat on the bench yawns. The swings creak. You take a sip of your melon soda and watch the clouds move past the streetlights.
"Jungwon," Jake says.
You almost choke.
"What?"
"Your brother." He's looking at his hands, turning the cookie over and over. "His name. You said it. Jungwon."
You frown. Your brain backtracks through the last thirty seconds, replaying your own words. You definitely didn't say his name. You've been careful about that by habit. Jungwon is precious to you. His name is something you keep close, like a photo in a wallet. "I didn't say his name," you say slowly.
His chewing stops. His throat moves as he swallows. The openness on his face is convincing enough to pass for genuine, if not for the faint impression that he's worn it many times before.
"You didn't?"
"No."
"Huh." He dusts cookie crumbs off his fingers. "Maybe I heard it wrong, or you mentioned it before and I remembered. I don't know."
"I've never mentioned his name."
The silence stretches. The cat on the bench stands up, circles once, lies back down. He sets the cookie down on the plastic bag between you. He wipes his hands on his jeans. For a moment, he looks like he's going to say something else that might explain the way he looked at you that first night on the steps, like he was trying to place you.
His shoulders drop. "He came by," he declares. "Before you moved in. Your brother, Jungwon." He says the name carefully, testing each syllable. "He was checking out the building and making sure the landlord wasn't sketchy. I ran into him in the hallway."
You stare at him.
"He asked me about the neighborhood," Jake continues. "Whether it was safe. Whether people were friendly, and all that stuff." A small smile, almost self-deprecating. "I think he was doing a background check on all the tenants."
"That sounds like him."
"Yeah." He picks up his soda to take a long drink. "He mentioned you, and that you were moving in. I remembered."
It fits, it’s plausible. Jungwon would absolutely do something like that ; interview strangers in hallways, gather informations, build a mental map of everyone who might cross your path. He's been doing it since you were kids, since before the accident, before you forgot a quarter your life.
Nonetheless, something about how Jake tells it feels off. The words are right and the timing is too. Yet, his hands are still, and his hands are never still on the daily basis. He's always tapping or fidgeting or running his fingers through his hair, and right now, sitting on this swing in the dark, he's perfectly motionless. You want to push further. There's something in the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you couldn’t put a finger on. You can’t, the evening is too nice, and he's bought you snacks. You let it go.
"Small world," you say, echoing his words from the night when you took a shower at his place.
"Small world," he agrees.
─────────
You walk into the elderly home with your hair still damp and the taste of the spicy shrimp crackers lingering at the back of your throat. Hanni's already at the nurses' station, flipping through a clipboard with focus, she’s been here for hours. "You look less dead than yesterday," she says without looking up. "That's progress."
"I slept." You hang your jacket on the hook and grab your name tag. "Almost eight hours. Uninterrupted."
"Must be the neighborhood atmosphere." She finally glances at you, there's a knowing tilt to her mouth. "Or something else."
You ignore that last part. The morning unfolds like every other morning ; the slow parade of residents who need help finding their glasses or their dentures or their way back to their rooms. Mrs. Han asks you three times if you've met her son, and you say yes each time, and each time she looks satisfied and moves on. You're in the common room, helping Mr. Chen with a puzzle he's been working on for weeks, when your gaze drifts toward the window. The street outside is quiet, the morning light still pale and thin. And there, on the other side, is Jake. Can he not look hot for just one day?
He's walking three dogs at once ; a golden retriever, a wiry terrier, and a bulldog that seems to be leading the pack. The leashes cross and uncross as the dogs weave around each other, and Jake's holding them with the practiced looseness of someone who's done this a hundred times. He's wearing a worn denim jacket and a few strands of hair are falling on his face, and when he glances up and spots you through the glass, his whole face shifts. He lifts his free hand to give you a small wave, fingers wiggling. You wave back, your brain couldn’t catch.
The bulldog tugs him forward and he's gone, swallowed by the next block. You turn back to the room. Hanni's standing beside you, arms crossed, watching the empty street with an ambiguous expression plastered on her face. "That’s him?" she asks.
"Yeah."
She hums in a considering sound. "He's fucking hot."
You snort, but it comes out wrong, sounding a bit too defensive. "Yeah. He knows it too, I think."
"He doesn't seem like the type who knows it." She shrugs, uncrossing her arms. "He's unaware of his own face."
You don't respond. You're already looking back at the window, though he's long gone. "His nose," you say, the words stumbling right out of your head. "That's the thing. I can't—" You stop yourself, shake your head. "It's nothing."
Hanni could only nod, she understands and hands you a stack of folded towels. "Focus on the towels," she says. "The nose can wait."
You take the towels and get back to work. The image of him across the street stays with you for the rest of the shift.
The sidewalk cracks under your feet as you walk, the sky a pale gray that threatens nothing in particular, hopefully not rain. You pull out your phone, scroll to Jungwon's contact, and press call. He picks up after some time, which means he's either not busy or he's avoiding something.
"What’s up?" he says. "You're calling at a normal time. That's kind of suspicious."
"I'm walking home from work and I thought I'd fill the silence."
"Fill away."
As you ramble on everything, you don’t allow yourself to bring up Jake yet.
"Yeah." You kick a pebble off the curb. "It's weird, though. Sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be starting over. It just feels like—I don't know. Like I've been here longer."
"You have been there longer. In a way." His voice drops, careful. "You lived there before. Remember?"
You stop walking. A car passes, its headlights cutting through the dusk. You do remember—fragments, not really. The knowledge that you'd been in this city before the accident and the three-year gap in your memory. You'd chosen to come back because something about it felt familiar, even if you couldn't know why.
"Yeah," you say. "I keep forgetting that part."
Silence on his end. You start walking again. "There's this guy," you say carelessly, and you already regret it. "In my building. His name is Jake. We keep running into each other."
"What kind of running into?"
"Literally and figuratively. He nearly killed one of the old folk at my work. Long story." You suddenly pause. "He has this orange keychain. The same one I have. You know, the little fruit thing on my keys."
You can hear him breathing, he's seems like measuring his response. "That's weird," he says. "That's a weird coincidence."
"Yeah, I know." You wait for him to say more but he doesn't. "He also said he met you when you came to check out the apartment before I moved in. You talked in the hallway, isn’t it?"
"I did talk to someone. I don't remember his name, though."
"Jake," you repeat. "You don't remember him?"
"Lot of people in that building. I was there for like an hour." He laughs but it sounds flat. "Why are you asking?"
You don't know why you're asking. The question hangs there, unanswered, as you round the corner and your building comes into view. "Pure curiosity," you say. "He's nice. We went to the convenience store last night."
"The convenience store at night. Like a date?"
"Not a date, it was an apology. His dog knocked over an old man at my work."
Jungwon is quiet for a beat before talking again. "Don’t tell me that you like him."
"It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that. I can hear it in your voice."
You stop at the front door of your building, hand on the handle. It’s cool under your palm. "I don't even know him. We've talked, like, four times."
"And you're already calling him by name. That's more than you do with most people."
You leave the question unanswered. The door opens, and the smell of aged carpet and lingering cooking oil greets you before anything else. "I'll talk to you later," you say.
"Okay. But Y/N—"
"What?"
"Be careful, okay? Just—" He stops. "Just be careful with yourself. You're still figuring things out. I love you."
"I know. Love you too." You hang up and stand in the foyer, phone warm in your hand. The hallway stretches ahead, empty and quiet as usual. You climb the stairs slowly instead of taking the elevator, each step slow. What is happening? Something doesn't add up.
─────────
The banging comes from somewhere down the hall. Sharp and insistent, the sound of a fist against wood or maybe a shoulder against a frame. You freeze mid-step, your keys still in the lock, heart lurching into your throat. The apartment building is usually calm at this hour with the muffled sound of someone's guitar upstairs or television, but nothing like this.
You press your eye to the peephole but the angle is wrong, the fish-eye view showing only the empty stretch of hallway directly outside your door. The banging continues, punctuated by a voice. It’s raised, female, too muffled to make out words but carrying an obvious edge of distress.
The smart move would be staying inside, lock the door, call 911 and wait it out. The sound carries a note of despair that makes you pause. Your mind drifts to the building's elderly residents and the possibility that someone is in trouble. Before the thought has time to settle, you're unlocking the door and pulling it open.
You step into the hallway.
Jake is there, about twenty feet down, his back half-turned to you. A woman stands in front of him, her posture stiff, her hands gesturing in jagged movements. She's undeniably pretty ; dark hair pulled back, a denim jacket, boots that look expensive. Her face is flushed, and even from here you can see the tension in her jaw. "It's not fair," she's saying, her voice cracking. "You can't just—I've been trying for months, Jake. Months. And you just—"
"Luna." Jake's voice is low, placating, his hands raised in that universal gesture of de-escalation. "I've told you. It's not like that. I'm not—"
She scoffs, loud and bitter. "Not what? Not interested? You've made that fucking clear."
You're frozen in the doorway, unsure whether to retreat or announce your presence. The woman's head snaps toward you, her eyes widening for a split second before narrowing.
"Oh," she says, the word dripping with annoyance. Her eyes scan you for approximately 5 seconds. "Great. She’s back." She brushes past you without another word, her shoulder colliding with yours hard enough to make you stumble back a step. The elevator doors close behind her, and it's just you and Jake in the hallway now. He's still standing there, hands lowered now, his face a mingle of exhaustion and embarrassment. He runs a palm over his jaw, lets out a long breath.
She's back. What?
"That," he says, "was not how I wanted you to meet my coworker."
You blink at him. "Coworker?"
"Luna." He points loosely toward the elevator. "She works at the shelter with me. We've known each other since we were kids."
You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms. "She seemed upset."
"She's been upset for a while." He rubs the back of his neck. "She's had a thing for me. For years. And I keep telling her I don't feel that way, but she doesn't—" He exhales again. "She doesn't take it well."
You raise an eyebrow. "So she followed you home and banged on your door?"
"She showed up unannounced. I was trying to calm her down. She's not a bad person, she just—" He hesitates, searching for the right words. "She's stubborn, and she doesn't like hearing no."
You study him. His shoulders are still tense, his hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He looks genuinely rattled, not like someone who's been caught in a lie. "Childhood friends," you repeat. "she's been flirting with you, and you felt bad for her."
"First, I’m not flirting with her and I’m not planning on it. I felt bad because I know she's lonely. She's been through some stuff. But I can't—" He looks at you, his expression transforming invisibly. "I can't give her what she wants. It wouldn't be fair to her. Or to anyone else."
"I’ve never seen you so flustered," you declare softly. He huffs a laugh, short and breathy. "Yeah, well. You bring out the best in me."
You push off from the doorframe. "She seems like she'll be fine."
"She'll be fine. She always is." He pauses. "Thanks for not assuming the worst."
"I assumed the worst," you admit. " A girlfriend and an angry breakup."
"Not a girlfriend," he says. "Not even close."
You nod, and the moment stretches between you, comfortable but charged. "Goodnight then, Jake."
"Sleep tight, Y/N."
You close the door behind you and lean against it, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall.
Not a girlfriend. Is he lying?
You don't know why that detail settles in your mind the way it does. You’d rather sleep it away.
─────────
You're coming back from a late shift, leaving your feet sore and your brain half-fogged, when you round the corner to your floor and find the hallway occupied. Four of them, clustered around Jake's door like they're waiting for someone to let them in. You recognize Jake immediately ; he's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, laughing at something one of the others said. The other three are strangers, but they have that easy familiarity with each other, displaying years of friendship.
Jake spots you first. His face shifts, the laugh settling into a smile that's more reserved but no less warm. "Y/N," he says. "You're back late."
"There was a lot of work to do." You slow your pace, your keys already in hand. "I wasn't expecting to see a lot of people today."
One of the strangers ; tall with sharp features and a casual slouch ; he steps forward, extending a hand. "Jay. I've heard about you."
"Good things, I hope."
"Debatable." The one next to him grins, softer, with eyes that crinkle at the corners. "I'm Heeseung. This is Sunghoon, and that's Jenna, his girlfriend."
Jenna waves from where she's tucked under Sunghoon's arm. She has a face that immediately puts you at ease, round and open and curious.
"We were about to have a drink," Jake announces. "You want to join?"
You hesitate. The exhaustion is tugging at your limbs, but the alternative is your empty apartment and the leftover convenience store chips you've been picking at for days. "Sure," you say. "Why not."
His apartment is the same as before, but with four extra bodies it feels smaller, more alive. Jay immediately claims the couch, sprawling like he owns it. Heeseung perches on the armrest. Sunghoon and Jenna take the floor, backs against the coffee table, and Jake gestures for you to take the single chair by the window.
"Drinks are in the kitchen," he says. "Help yourself."
You grab something from the fridge ; a cheap beer, nothing fancy ; and settle into the chair. The conversation flows around you, natural and unforced, as they talk about work and mutual friends and an inside joke about the shelter.
After two or three drinks, someone suggests a game. "Chug or dare," Jay announces, the glint in his eye makes you immediately suspicious. "You know the rules. Pick chug, you finish your drink. Pick dare, you do whatever we come up with. But you’re forbidden to back down."
"Really?" you say. "This is how you treat your guests?"
"Guests are the most fun," Heeseung says. "You're fresh meat."
Jake shoots them a warning look, veiled with exasperation. "You don't have to play. They're idiots."
"We’re not," Sunghoon protests. "Jake, it’s been years since we know each other. Don’t be surprised."
You look around the room. The faces watching you are expectant, amused, a little bit reckless. The knot in your chest loosens. "I’m in. I'm taking Jake down with me, though."
The first few rounds are tame. Heeseung chugs three times in a row and declares himself champion. Sunghoon dares Jay to do a handstand, which he fails spectacularly. Jenna picks dare and has to call her mom and tell her she loves her, which she does with zero hesitation and an extreme level of sincerity.
After that, the bottle lands on you. "Y/N," Jay says, rubbing his hands together. "Chug or dare?"
You weigh your options. Your drink is half-full. "Dare."
Jay leans forward, eyes glittering. "I dare you to tell us what you first thought when you saw Jake."
The room goes quiet. Jake's hand stops mid-reach for his bottle.
"That's not a dare," you say. "That's kind of embarrassing."
"It's the correct functionality of a dare." Heeseung is grinning now, too. "Answer the question."
You look at Jake. He's watching you with a curious expression.
"You want the honest answer?" you ask.
"Always."
"His nose." The words come out neutral. "I thought it was ridiculous how perfect it was. It’s like someone sculpted it. It's annoying, honestly."
A beat of silence. Then Jay doubles over, slapping his knee. Heeseung lets out a wheeze of a laugh. Sunghoon is covering his mouth, eyes wide. Jenna just shakes her head, grinning. Jake's face has gone slightly pink. He looks down at his bottle, then back at you, and his face softens. "That's not what I expected," he says.
"I had to be unpredictable."
The game continues. Jenna gets dared to chug and does it with ease. Sunghoon gets asked if he'd rather fight a bodybuilder or five horses, and he spends five minutes arguing the logistics. Heeseung picks chug three times in a row and is visibly struggling to stay upright, his ears turning bright pink.
It's Jake's turn. "Chug," he says immediately.
"Whoa, not too fast." Jay says. "You're not getting out of it that easy. I'm changing the rules. You have to pick dare."
"Since when can you change the rules?"
"Since I'm the one asking." Jay grins. "Dare : show us the most embarrassing thing on your phone."
Jake's eyes narrow. "I'm not doing that."
"Then you have to answer a question instead," Sunghoon offers. "From anyone in the room. You pick who."
Jake considers this. His gaze scans the room, passing over Jay and Heeseung, settling on you for a moment before moving to Jenna. "Jenna. Ask me anything."
Jenna tilts her head, thinking. "Why did you move back to this city?" The question lands differently than the others. The light atmosphere falters slightly. Jake's jaw tightens, and for a second you see an unguarded expression crossing his features.
"Personal reasons," he says. "I needed to be back here."
"That's vague," Heeseung notes.
"It's still an answer." Jake picks up his bottle. "I'm drinking now." He finishes his drink in one long swallow, and everyone lets it go.
The bottle spins again, lands on you. Jay's turn to ask. "Chug or dare?"
You're feeling the warmth of the alcohol now, loose and careless. "Dare."
"I dare you to kiss Jake."
The room goes dead quiet. You hear someone inhale sharply ; maybe Jenna or yourself. Jake's head snaps toward Jay, disbelief and uncertainty show on his features.
"Jay," he mumbles, his voice has an edge to it. "That's not—"
"Too late," Jay cuts him off. "She already picked. Rules are rules."
You look at Jake. He's sitting across from you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his bottle dangling from his fingers. The light from the kitchen catches the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. That stupid, perfect nose. Lord, why would you make me cross paths with a guy that I obviously can’t have? He’s going to be fucking weirded out since I haven’t kiss a single soul in my entire life.
"I don't have to, right?" you say. "I can chug instead."
"You're not chugging." Jay's tone is firm. "That's not how the game works."
The silence lingers. Jake holds your gaze, his expression betraying him ; hesitation, or resolve masquerading as it. Whatever it is, it stays unspoken.
"Jake," you say, and your voice comes out steady. "What do you think?"
He studies you in silence for what feels like an eternity. Then he sets his bottle down with delicate care, rises, and slowly closes the distance between you. "Okay," he says lowly. "If you're okay with it."
You're not sure if you're okay with it. I mean, he’s hot for sure. You're lost right now, while his hand finds the back of your chair, he leans down, his breath is warm and smells faintly of beer. His lips brush your cheek. Soft, quick, almost unsure. It's not a kiss, not really ; it's the ghost of one, lingering just long enough to leave a hot mark. He straightens up and steps back. The room erupts into wolf-whistles and laughter.
"Cheater," Jay yells. "That's not a kiss."
"Mind you, those are my favorite kind." Jake says, and he's looking at you, not at Jay. You touch your cheek, where the warmth of his lips still lingers. Your face is burning, you're not sure if it's embarrassment or something else. "You're a coward," you say, your tone weak.
He smiles, slow and crooked. "You’re going to thank me later."
The game dissolves after that, the energy beginning to loosen, more rambling. Jenna falls asleep against Sunghoon's shoulder. Heeseung starts recounting a story about one of his high school exes. Jake moves to the floor, leaning against the couch, and you find yourself beside him, your shoulders almost touching. Your head starts to pound.
The game continues. The bottle spins, lands on Jay, then Heeseung, then Jenna. People chug or dare with increasing abandon, the alcohol loosening tongues and lowering inhibitions. Sunghoon admits he once cried while arguing with Jenna. You're on your fourth bottle, maybe your fifth. The edges of the room have gone soft and blurry, and you're laughing at something Heeseung said that you're not entirely sure was a joke. Your face feels warm, your limbs loose, and when you lean back against the couch, your shoulder brushes Jake's once again.
The bottle spins again to land on you. Jay's turn, because it's always Jay. "Y/N. Chug or dare?"
"Dare." You're feeling bold, the alcohol humming in your veins. Jay's grin is wicked. "I dare you to spend ten minutes locked in Jake's bedroom. Just the two of you, with no phones."
The room erupts. Sunghoon lets out a low whistle and Heeseung chuckles while nearly passing out on the couch.
Jake shifts beside you. "Okay, let’s stop here—"
"You cheated earlier," Jay cuts him off. "You’ll have to make up for that."
You glance at Jake. His expression gives nothing away, even though the tightness in his jaw wasn't there a moment ago. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction.
"Ten minutes?" you say. "That's it?"
"That's it."
You stand, and the room tilts slightly. You steady yourself against the arm of the couch. "Fine."
Jake stands too, as hesitant as before. He leads you down the short hallway to his bedroom, and you hear the hoots and catcalls from the living room as the door clicks shut behind you.
The room is small and neat. A bed with rumpled sheets, a dresser with a lamp, a window overlooking the street. And on the nightstand, next to a half-empty glass of water, a photo frame turned face-down.
Jake leans against the door, arms crossed. "You don't have to do this. We can just sit here and wait it out."
"Where's the fun in that?" You're already wandering around, peering at books on the shelf, a guitar propped in the corner. Your eyes keep drifting back to the photo frame. You walk toward it, curiosity tugging at you. "What's this?"
Jake's body goes still. Before you can reach for it, he's there, his hand catching your wrist, turning you toward him. "No, please don’t," he says, and his voice is urgent.
"Why? Is it embarrassing?"
"Something like that."
You're close now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, his pupils are dilated, there’s a slight sheen on his lower lip. The alcohol has made you bold and afraid of nothing.
"I want to see," you say.
He leans in for his lips find yours. The kiss is warm, lingering, carrying a soft urgency that feels almost like a plea. Even though you thought you had no experience in kissing, doing it with him nearly felt natural, as much as muscle memory. The world seems to melt around you. Your thoughts dissolve, and the photo frame slips from your mind as completely as if it had never been there. You stumble backward, your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and you fall onto the mattress, pulling him with you. He catches himself on his hands, hovering over you, but your legs are tangled and the momentum shifts and suddenly you're in his lap, straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips.
His hands find your waist, then slide down, settling on your butt. He squeezes, and you gasp against his mouth. He kisses you again, deeper and slower, his tongue brushing your lower lip. You arch into him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans, low and rough.
The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you breathing hard. He's looking up at you, his eyes pleading, his lips parted. "Y/N," he murmurs, your name sounds different in his mouth, sounding like it means something more.
You finally get the hang of it and you kiss him again. His hands tighten on your ass, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of him through both your clothes. The world outside this room fades into static.
Ten minutes pass. Even longer than that.
You feel him shift beneath you, his hips rolling upward in a slow motion, sending a jolt through your entire body. His hands are still firm on your backside, guiding you, and you follow the movement without thinking, your own hips tilting to meet his.
The kiss breaks just long enough for you to gasp, and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth to your jaw, your neck, and the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you feel the low vibration of a sound that might be his voice or yours, you can't really tell anymore.
He grinds up into you again, and you feel the full heat of him through the denim, the friction of it making your head spin. Your breath is coming in short, uneven bursts, and his is the same ; harsh and ragged against your skin. His hands slide up from your backside to your waist, then back down, pulling you closer, harder, like he's trying to fuse you to him. You're not sure who moves first, but suddenly you're both lying back on the bed, him beneath you, your legs still straddling his hips, the kiss deepening into something messier. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and slip beneath, grazing the bare skin of your lower back, and you shiver.
Someone bangs at the door. Insistent knocks on the bedroom door. Heeseung's voice, muffled but audible. "Time's up! Ten minutes are over! You're not dead, are you?"
You both stop in your tracks. Your foreheads almost touching, your breath mingling in the small space between. He laughs from half-exasperation and half-relief. He drops his head back against the pillow, and you feel the tension in his shoulders subtly ease.
"Ignore him," he says while he's already loosening his grip on your waist, giving you space to pull back. You sit up, your thighs still bracketing his hips, and run a hand through your tangled hair. Your face is burning. Your lips feel swollen. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between you.
"We should—" you start, yet you don't know how to finish the sentence.
"Yeah." He's watching you from beneath half-lidded eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Heeseung bangs again. "I'm not leaving until you open the door! Jay's timing you!"
Jake groans without real frustration in it. He sits up slowly, his hands finding your waist and steadying you as you climb off his lap. You stand, smoothing down your shirt, and he gets to his feet, adjusting his jeans with casualness.
He opens the door.
Heeseung stands there, arms crossed, a triumphant grin on his face. "Took you long enough. What were you doing in there?"
Jake steps past him into the hallway. "Mind your own business."
You follow, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, you catch Jenna's teasing glance and Jay's eyebrows have shot up past his hairline. You already have to resist the urge to hide behind Jake's shoulder.
"Drink," Heeseung says, shoving a fresh bottle into your hand. "You've earned it."
You take it carelessly. You stand there, feeling the phantom weight of Jake's hands on your waist, the lingering heat of his mouth on your neck. How the fuck am I going to face him after that?
Or any day after.
─────────
A week passes.
Seven days of routine, of work and sleep and the occasional text from Hanni about something absurd a resident did. You walk the same hallways, take the same elevator, pass the same doors. But you don't see Jake ; not in the corridor, not at the coffee shop and not on the street. It's like he's vanished into the walls of the building, existing only in the memory of that night ; the heat of his hands, the press of his mouth, and how your name rolled over his tongue in such a delicate way.
You tell yourself it doesn't matter, that it was just a game, just alcohol, just ten minutes in a locked room that somehow stretched into something you can't stop replaying. You tell yourself you're not looking for him when you walk past his door nor listening for his footsteps on the stairs.
You can’t even lie to yourself.
Jungwon arrives on Friday afternoon, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a grin that takes up half his face. He hugs you in the doorway, squeezing too tight, and you let him because you've missed him more than you realized.
"Damn. It’s smaller then I remember," he announces, dropping his bag on the floor. "Like, really small. How do you live here?"
"I manage."
"Barely, by the looks of it." He peers at the stack of boxes still in the corner, the ones you haven't touched since you moved in. "You haven't unpacked everything."
"I'm getting to it."
"Yeah, right."
The weekend unfolds. You take him to the park, to the coffee shop, to the elderly home to meet Hanni and Jacob and Mrs. Han. He charms everyone, that's what he does the best, and by the end of the first day he's already promised to visit again.
Sunday afternoon, you're walking back from the park, the sun warm on your shoulders. Jungwon is telling you about a girl in his sociology class, someone he's been dancing around for weeks, he met her that one mixer party, and you're listening with half your attention, the other half occupied by the streets and the weight of your keys in your pocket. You round the corner into your building's corridor.
No way.
Jake.
He's standing by his door, keys in hand, like he's just coming back from somewhere. He looks up as you approach, and for a moment, A subtle change passed over his face. His eyes lit with recognition, followed by a fleeting trace of relief that was quickly replaced by his usual impassive stance.
"Y/N," he says. "Hey."
"Hi."
Jungwon's gaze flickers between you, sharp and assessing. "You're Jake," he says, there's a weight to the words that makes you look at him. Jake's posture shifts, almost imperceptibly. "Yeah. And you're Jungwon."
"You remember me."
"I remember a lot of things." Jake's voice is calm, yet there's a tension in his jaw that wasn't there before. You look between them, suddenly aware that you're missing something. "You two already know each other. From before I moved in, right?"
"Briefly," Jungwon says, and the word is clipped. He turns to you, his expression softening. "Y/N, can you go inside? I want to talk to Jake for a minute."
"What? Why?"
"I—" He hesitates. "I'll explain later. Please."
You look at Jake. He's watching Jungwon with an expression you can't read, and when he meets your gaze, there's something almost apologetic in it.
"Please," Jungwon repeats.
You hesitate, the key in your hand feeling heavier than usual. Jungwon has never asked you for much, and the look on his face is earnest in a way you rarely see. "Fine," you say, and you don't miss the way both of them exhale just slightly. "You better tell me later."
You slip into your room and quietly shut the door behind you. Remaining still, you lean close until your ear rests against the wood, listening for the hushed conversation outside. Only faint murmurs reach you, too muffled to make out.
You stand in the middle of your apartment, staring at the closed door, your hand still resting on the handle. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant sound of traffic from the street. You count the seconds, then the minutes, your mind spinning through possibilities you can't figure out.
When the door finally opens, Jungwon steps inside and closes it behind him with a soft click. He doesn't meet your eyes immediately, and his shoulders are set in an unusual way ; the tension he carries when something is bothering him but he doesn't want to talk about it.
"Everything okay?" you ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly. "Yeah, it’s fine. It was—" He stops, shakes his head. "He's a little weird. That's all."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know." He shrugs too quickly. "It’s just the way he talks. He sounds like he knows more than he's saying. It's probably nothing."
You study him. His jaw is tight, and there's a crease between his brows that he's trying to smooth away. You've known him your whole life, or at least the parts you remember, and you can tell when he's holding something back. "Jungwon." You keep your voice level. "What did you talk about?"
He moves past you toward the kitchen, opens the fridge, and stares inside with focus. "I just wanted to get a read on him and make sure he's not some weirdo who's going to cause problems for you."
"And?"
"And he's not." He pulls out a bottle of water, twists off the cap to take a long drink. "He seems fine. Genuine, even. I just—" He pauses and sets the bottle down. "I don't know. There's something about him that feels familiar, and I can't figure out what it is."
Your stomach tightens. "Familiar how?"
"I don't know." He says it again, more frustrated this time. "It's probably nothing. I'm probably just being overprotective."
The unease that's lingered since the moment you saw the keychain resurfaces with renewed force. Jake's searching gaze keeps replaying in your mind, refusing to be ignored. Questions crowd your thoughts, but one look at Jungwon's guarded expression tells you this isn't the time to press him. You know he'd only withdraw further.
"Okay," you say. "If you say it's nothing."
"It's nothing." He meets your eyes, something in his gaze that's almost pleading. "Drop it, okay? For now."
You nod, even though every instinct is telling you not to. He relaxes for a bit, and the moment passes. Something is happening. Something you don't understand. And you're starting to think that the answers might not be as simple as you hoped.
─────────
As the door shuts behind Jungwon, the apartment returns to its usual calm. You stand quietly, replaying the fragments of a conversation you were never meant to hear. Whatever Jake said has stayed with him, but his expression is firmly closed off.
You wander into the living room, grab your phone and scroll through notifications. A news alert catches your eye ; an article about the sequel to that movie you've been waiting for, the one you've watched half a dozen times since you moved. Your stomach drops as you read the date. The premiere was last week. You missed it.
You're already moving toward the door before you fully decide to go. Your shorts are fine. The hoodie is fine. It's just a movie, and the theater is only a few blocks away. You don't bother changing or checking your reflection. You grab your keys and step into the hallway.
Jake is at the elevator, walking out as you're heading down. He stops when he sees you, his gaze traveling over your outfit, the urgency in your stride.
"Whoa," he says. "Where's the fire?"
"Movie." You're already past him, one hand on the buttons. "The sequel to that film I've been waiting for. I missed the premiere. I'm trying to catch a showing."
He watches you for a beat, then his hand lands lightly on your arm, stopping you. "Wait. Which movie?"
You tell him the title. His eyebrows lift.
"I like that one too," he says. "I actually have it. The original, I mean. On my laptop. I downloaded the sequel the day it came out."
You blink at him. "You downloaded it?"
"Yeah. I was going to watch it tonight, actually." He drops his hand and shoves it into his pocket. "If you want, you could watch it with me, at my place. Instead of running to the theater in shorts."
The simplicity of his offer makes it harder to dismiss. You think about the movie theater and everything that comes with it, but those thoughts are quickly overshadowed by the past week without him, the lingering uncertainty between you, and the rush of your heartbeat. "That's not weird?" you ask. "Watching a movie with your neighbor you haven't talked to in a week?"
He shrugs, a small smile playing at his mouth. "It's a good movie. And I promise I won't talk during the quiet parts."
You consider it. The hallway is dark, the evening light filtering through the window at the end. He's standing there, patient, and waiting for your answer.
"Okay," you say. "I don’t want to share my snacks, though."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
You follow him to his door, your footsteps echoing in the hallway. His apartment is just as you remember it ; the guitar, the books, the soft warm lights. He gestures toward the couch while he grabs his laptop from the coffee table and plugs it to the TV. You settle into the cushions, pulling your knees up, the hoodie swallowing you. The screen lights up, the opening credits rolling. He sits at the other end of the couch, a respectful distance between you, and hits play.
The movie plays on, but neither of you is really watching anymore. The scenes blur into background noise, punctuated by your shared laughter at a line you both find cliché, a character you both hate, a moment that still makes you cringe after all these years. Between scenes, you talk ; about the original movie, about other films, about nothing at all ; and the space between you shrinks with each exchange.
You barely register the moment his arm comes to rest along the back of the couch. The small brush of his fingertips against your shoulder goes unnoticed too. It's only when his hand settles there, warm and reassuring, his thumb lazily drawing slow circles over your hoodie, that you become aware of just how close he is. The blanket is draped over both of you, a thin barrier against the cool air of the apartment. His other hand slips beneath it, finding your thigh, resting there with a casualness that feels anything but like it. You lean into him, your head drifting toward his shoulder, the conversation fading into comfortable silence.
The movie continues, although you can feel your eyes becoming heavy. The warmth of his hand on your thigh, the rhythm of his breathing, the low murmur of dialogue from the TV ; it all blends into a haze of contentment. Your eyelids droop, flutter, close.
"Y/N." His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "You're falling asleep."
"Mmm." You don't open your eyes. "I know."
"Do you want to go back?"
The room stays quiet as his words linger. Beyond the door waits a dark hallway, an empty apartment, and a bed that has already gone cold. The image settles over you like a burden, leaving you with little desire to leave.
"I don't want to move," you murmur, the words slurred with sleep.
He's quiet for a moment before he decides to speak. "You could stay here if you want. I have an extra blanket, or—" He pauses. "The bed's big enough."
You lift your head, blinking at him. His face is so close, his eyes soft in the low light of the screen. There's no expectation in his expression, no pressure. It’s an offer.
"Okay," you say.
He stands, extends a hand, and pulls you gently to your feet. You both walk shortly to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers, and you slip in, the mattress dipping under your weight. He climbs in behind you, his arm finding your waist, pulling you close. His chest presses against your back, his legs tangling with yours, and you feel his breath warm against the curve of your neck.
"You smell so good," he murmurs, the words a low vibration against your skin.
You laugh, low and drowsy. "I haven't showered."
"Don't care." His nose brushes your hairline. "You always smell good."
His arm tightens around you, his hand splayed across your stomach. His lips press a soft, absent kiss to your shoulder, then another, barely there. "Your skin is so soft too," he confies, you can hear the smile in his voice. "I wanted to tell you that before. When you got out of the shower at my place, that first time. But I didn't want to be weird."
"You're being weird now," you mumble, but you're smiling too.
"Keep acting like you don’t like it." He nuzzles into your neck. "I'm okay with it."
You feel his hand slide from your stomach to your hip, his thumb tracing slow circles against the bone. His breath evens out, his body relaxing behind you, and you feel yourself sinking into the warmth of him.
"Jake," you say, barely audible.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for letting me stay."
He squeezes you gently, his lips pressing against your hair. "Anytime, Y/N."
Curled against his chest, you slowly surrender to sleep. His arm remains securely around you, its warmth grounding you until the last of your thoughts dissolve.
─────────
The sunlight filters through the curtains, and you blink awake slowly, your mind still thick with sleep. The bed is warm, the sheets tangled around your legs, however, the space beside you is empty. You reach out, your hand finding only cool fabric.
You lie there for a moment, orienting yourself. Jake's room. Jake's bed. The events of the night before trickle back in fragments. You check your phone on the nightstand. Saturday, 9:47 AM. Two days off stretching ahead of you, unplanned and open. You pad out of the bedroom, still in the oversized hoodie you wore last night, your hair a mess and your eyes half-opened. The smell of coffee hits you brutally. Jake is standing at the kitchen counter, a mug in one hand, his phone in the other. He's in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair still sleep-tousled, and he looks up when he hears your footsteps.
"Morning," he says, his voice so soft and reassuring. "I didn't want to wake you. You looked comfortable."
"You're still here," you say, your voice scratchy. "Don't you have work?"
He shakes his head. "Day off. I figured I'd take it easy."
You close the distance without giving yourself time to hesitate. Slipping your arms around his waist from behind, you rest your cheek between his shoulder blades. Warmth radiates through him, and you feel his entire body go still beneath your embrace. He stays still. His breath barely catches, and you feel the tension ripple through his shoulders. After that, his hand comes down to rest over yours, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.
"Y/N," he says, and his voice is rougher than before. "You're going to make me drop my coffee."
"Put it down, then."
He does as you say. You hear the mug clink against the counter, and then he's turning in your arms, his hands finding your waist, his face close to yours. A flush is creeping up his neck, pink and noticeable, the sight of it makes thousands of sparks flicker in your stomach.
"You're blushing." you observe.
"I’m not," he says, his ears are red now, and he's not meeting your eyes. "I just wasn't expecting a hug. First thing in the morning. From someone who—" He stops, clears his throat. "Never mind."
"From someone who what?"
He finally looks at you, vulnerability filling his gaze completely. "From someone I really didn't want to wake up alone."
Words fail you, so you simply stay where you are. He pulls you into him, holding you with gentleness before resting his forehead against the top of your head. As he breathes in deeply, the strain he'd been carrying begins to slip away.
"Your hair smells like my shampoo," he mumbles into your hair.
"Your shampoo smells good."
"It's just generic stuff from the convenience store."
"Still smells good."
He laughs, soft and warm, and his arms tighten around you. "That sounded stupid, doesn’t it?"
You smile and chuckle against his chest. "A little bit."
You only eat eggs, toasts and drink coffee, but it feels like more than that. You sit across from him at his small kitchen table, the soft light of the sun landing on his face, and the conversation flows easily between bites.
He tells you about the shelter and problems that he had when he took care of a dog for the first time, and you do the same.
"It's a good job," you say, stirring your coffee. "Exhausting, but good. They make me laugh sometimes."
"They sound like characters."
"They are." You pause, watching him over the rim of your mug. "Can I ask you something personal?"
He looks up, a hint of wariness in his eyes, but he nods. "Sure."
"Why did you move back here? You said that night at the game—personal reasons. But you didn't elaborate."
He's quiet for a moment, his fork hovering over his plate. "I had some things to figure out," he says slowly. "Things I couldn't figure out anywhere else."
"Like what?"
He meets your gaze, something you can’t quite read passes across his face. "Like whether some things are worth coming back for."
The answer is vague and careful, yet there's a weight to it that makes you not want to know more about it. So you don't.
"Your turn," you say instead. "You can ask me anything."
He sets down his fork, considering. "What made you choose this city? Out of all the places you could have gone."
You look down at your coffee. The steam rises in slow spirals. "I used to live here. Before the accident." You say it matter-of-factly, you've learned to say it over the past year. "I don't remember it, but something about it felt right. Like I was supposed to come back."
"The accident," he repeats, and his voice is measured now. "You've mentioned it before. The memory loss."
"Yeah." You wrap your hands around the mug, let the warmth seep into your palms. "Three years. Just gone. I woke up in the hospital and suddenly I was 22, and I didn't remember being 21, 20 and even 19. My brother had to tell me who I was friends with, where I'd worked, what I'd done." You pause. "It's strange. Knowing there's a version of yourself out there that you'll never meet."
Jake is watching you intently, his breakfast forgotten. "That must have been hard," he says quietly.
"It was. Still is, sometimes. There are things I know I'm supposed to remember—people, places, moments—and I just can't access them. It’s like a locked door I don't have the key to."
He's silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than before. "Do you ever feel like you're close to remembering? Or that something triggers it?"
You consider the question. "Sometimes it’s little things. A smell, a song, or an object." You think of the keychain, the one that matches his. "But it never sticks. It's just—there and it’s gone."
He nods slowly.
"Sorry," you say. "That got heavy."
"Don't apologize." He reaches across the table, his hand covering yours. "Thank you for telling me."
You look at his hand on yours, warm and soft. "Your turn," you say, trying to lighten the mood. "Ask me something else."
He thinks for a moment. "What's your favorite thing about this city? Now that you're back."
You smile, the tension easing. "The coffee shop on the corner. They have terrible pastries but really good lattes."
He laughs, and the sound fills the kitchen. "I'll have to try it sometime."
"Maybe I'll take you." The words come out before you can stop them, and you feel a flush creep up your neck.
He squeezes your hand. "I'd like that."
The morning stretches into a lazy afternoon. You've migrated to the couch, your phone in one hand, scrolling through nothing in particular. Jake is stretched out beside you, his head resting on your thigh like it belongs there, his own phone held above his face. The weight of him is warm and familiar now, and you've stopped overthinking how his hair brushes against your bare knee.
He's quiet, focused on whatever he's reading, his thumb occasionally swiping. You're half-watching a video on your own screen, the sound muted, when you feel his body shift. A pause. His thumb stops moving.
Then his free hand moves, quick and unexpected, his fingers finding the spot just above your knee. He digs in lightly, and you jolt, your phone nearly slipping from your grip.
"Jake!" Your voice comes out loud, a mix of surprise and laughter. "What are you doing?"
He grins, an unapologetic grin, and his fingers keep moving, dancing along the sensitive skin of your thigh. You try to twist away, but his head is still heavy on your lap, pinning you in place, and he's using his other hand to trap your leg.
"Stop—" You're laughing, breathless, trying to grab his wrist. "I'm serious—"
"Are you?" His voice is teasing and low. His fingers find your ribs, and you arch, a helpless sound escaping you.
"You're the fucking worst." You manage to grab his hand, but he's stronger, and he uses the momentum to roll slightly, shifting so he can reach your side. The tickling intensifies, and you're squirming, your free hand batting at his shoulder.
"Say I'm the best," he says, his voice muffled against your stomach.
"Never."
He doubles down, and you dissolve into helpless laughter, your phone clattering onto the floor. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
"Okay—okay—you're the best." The words come out in a wheeze. "You're the best, Jake. I surrender."
He stops, his hand stilling, still he doesn't move away. His face is close now, hovering over you, his eyes bright with amusement and softness beneath.
"That was easy," he says.
"Fuck you."
"You wouldn't," He settles back down, and you slap his arm for the comment. His head finding your lap again, his hand resting loosely on your knee. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you next time."
You pick up your phone with your heart is still racing, and you can feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of your shorts.
A random movie starts on the laptop screen, playing as background noise to fill the silence. You're sitting on the floor between Jake's legs, your back against the couch, your head tilted back slightly as his fingers work through your hair. He's been at it for a while now, separating strands, twisting them together, muttering under his breath when they slip apart.
"Like this?" he asks, his voice close to your ear.
"Tighter," you say. "You're not pulling enough."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. Just—here." You reach up, your hand finding his, guiding his fingers to the right section. "Hold that one. Now cross it over the middle. Yes, like that."
He follows your instructions with concentration and that makes you smile. His fingers are careful, delicate, and you feel the gentle tug as he works through a tangle.
"You've done this before, no?" you say.
"Never. I'm just naturally talented."
You snort. "We'll see about that."
Another minute passes. He's quiet, too focused, and you can feel the slight movement of his hands as he continues his work. You're both lost in the small intimacy of the moment.
"Okay," he says finally. "I think I got it."
You reach up, your fingers brushing against the braid he's made. It's lopsided, uneven, with strands sticking out at odd angles. You tug at it gently, and a section comes loose.
"It's bad," you say, and you can hear the laughter in your own voice.
He lets out a mock-offended sound. "I spent ten minutes on that."
"Ten minutes and this is what I get?"
"I'm a beginner. Tell me I’m doing good. Please."
You turn your head to look up at him. He's pouting weakly, his bottom lip pushed out, his eyes looking down with exaggerated hurt.
"Okay," you relent. "You did great."
His expression shifts instantly, the pout melting into a pleased smile. "Really?"
"For a first try. It's not completely terrible."
"High praise." His hand finds your shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'll take it."
You settle back against the couch, your head still tilted to look at him. He's looking down at you, his gaze soft, unguarded, letting you see something he usually keeps hidden.
"These past few days," he says, his voice quieter now. "They've been—I don't know. I've been comfortable. More than I have in a while."
"You're not going to get all sentimental on me, are you?"
He laughs, low and warm. "Maybe a little. Is that okay?"
You wait and watch him, the light catches his eyes, the slight curve of his mouth. The air between you feels heavier now. He leans forward, his face hovering above yours, and you feel a pull ; something that tugs at the edges of your memory. The feeling is fleeting, gone before you can grasp it, yet it leaves a warmth in its wake.
"Y/N," he says, your name sounds different on his lips.
Suddenly, his mouth is on yours, gentle and upside down, his lips soft against your own. You lean into him, your hand reaching up to cup his jaw, and the kiss deepens. His fingers thread through your hair, careful not to pull the messy braid loose, and you tilt your head further to meet him. The angle is awkward, the position of him behind you and you below making it clumsy, but you don't want to stop.
When he finally pulls back, his face above yours by an inch, his breath is uneven.
"You’re so pretty that it hurts," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could handle a little pain, though."
"You don't look bad yourself." You chuckle softly, close your eyes and let yourself feel it ; the warmth of him, the pace of his heart against your back, the small certainty that this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
Now, the movie has ended, the credits scrolling silently across the screen. Silence remains in the living room. You've shifted positions, no longer on the floor but curled together on the couch, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. His legs bracket yours, and your head rests in the crook of his neck, the warmth of him seeping through your t-shirt.
His lips find your temple first, light and sweet, a barely-there press of skin against skin. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your eye. Each kiss is soft, as he's memorizing the geography of your face. You feel the slight stubble on his jaw brush against you.
"Are you still going to kiss every inch of my face?" you murmur, your eyes closed.
"Every single one." He punctuates the words with another kiss, this one on the bridge of your nose. "I have a list. It's very thorough."
You laugh, tired and content, and his arms tighten around you. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your chin, then the spot just below your ear.
"Getting distracted?" you ask.
"Completely." Another kiss, this one on your neck. "This is your fault for being here."
"I didn't do anything."
"You’re existing right now, so deal with the consequences."
You tilt your head back, giving him more access, and he takes the invitation, his mouth trailing along the curve of your throat. His kisses are still gentle, almost reverent, but they linger a little longer now.
His fingers find your hand, lace through yours, squeeze once. You feel the weight of his lips on your shoulder, your collarbone, the soft skin just above the neckline of your hoodie. Then back up, retracing the path, pausing at your cheek again.
"You're very thorough," you manage, your voice dreamy.
"I told you. I'm a man of my word."
He presses one last kiss to the corner of your mouth, soft and sweet, and then settles his chin on the top of your head, his arms still wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
You don’t want to move. The afternoon light has shifted, growing gold, and the room feels suspended in a bubble of warmth and intimacy.
"Jake," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For today. For all of it."
He presses his lips to your hair, a silent reply, and you feel his smile against the strands. The last kiss lingers, right against your hair, and then you tilt your head up, catching his mouth with yours. It's not the upside-down kiss from before, this one is direct and utterly intentional, your lips finding his with unexpected certainty. He responds immediately, his hand cupping your jaw, angling you toward him.
You feel his other hand slide from your shoulder down your side, settling on your hip. You shift, twisting in his arms, and before you know it, you're turning to face him properly. Your knees find the cushion on either side of his thighs, and you settle into his lap, straddling him, your chest pressed against his.
His hands find your waist immediately, gripping you through the fabric of your t-shirt, his fingers splaying across the curve of your hips. He pulls you closer, and you feel the strong warmth of him beneath you, his breath hitches slightly as you settle your weight against him.
"You're going to make it hard to stop." he murmurs against your lips while he's smiling.
"That’s too bad." you whisper back, you could feel the vibration of his laugh.
─────────
It’s been an hour. You’re still straddling Jake, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips as your mouths move together in a heated, urgent kiss. His lips are warm and demanding, although there’s a delicious clumsiness to the way he kisses you ; teeth grazing a little too eagerly, his tongue sliding against yours with more hunger than precision. He’s so turned on he can barely focus, and it shows in every shaky breath and muffled sound.
His large hands slide down your back and grip your ass firmly now, fingers digging into the soft flesh with possessive strength. He squeezes and fondles you without restraint, kneading your cheeks as he pulls you harder against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. A low throaty moan echoes from his chest into your mouth, raw and needy, sending a rush of heat straight through you.
He breaks the kiss for half a second to gasp for air, forehead lightly pressed to yours, before diving back in even sloppier than before ; lips wet, tongue eager, hands still greedily massaging and spreading your ass as he rocks you against him. His grip is tight enough to leave marks, but the way he groans your name between kisses makes it impossible to care.
You pull back to catch your breath, your hands resting on his chest as you look down at him with flushed cheeks. His eyes are veiled with want, lips slightly swollen from the messy kiss, and his hands are still firmly anchored to your ass, unwilling to let go.
“Sorry,” you whisper, voice a little shaky. “If I’m bad at this…it’s my first time doing any of it, really.”
Jake blinks up at you, his breath still ragged. For a moment his grip on your ass loosens slightly, but then he squeezes again, almost reassuringly. A soft surprised chuckle escapes him before he leans in and presses a gentler kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky and sincere. “I’ve never gotten past a kiss either. So…we’re both figuring this out.”
He pulls you closer again, one hand sliding up your back while the other stays possessively on your ass, and kisses you slower now ; still clumsy with need, still moaning softly into your mouth, but now with a shared nervousness that somehow makes everything feel even hotter.
You smile softly against his lips at his confession, a warm flutter of relief mixing with the heat in your belly. Boldness comes through you, you slide one hand down his chest, slowly tracing the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your fingertips press lightly, exploring the firm muscle beneath, and Jake’s entire body jolts under you.
He gasps sharply into your mouth, hips twitching upward as a shiver runs through him. He’s incredibly sensitive there ; every slow drag of your fingers makes his muscles tense and twitch. Another involuntary moan slips out of him, breathier than before.
“S-sorry,” he blurts out by reflex, cheeks burning as he pulls back just an inch, eyes half-lidded and embarrassed. His hands tighten on your ass again, almost like he’s grounding himself. “I’m just…really sensitive. Fuck, that feels good.”
He leans in quickly to kiss you again, clumsier now from the rush of sensation, his abs contracting under your exploring touch as he rocks you gently against him, clearly fighting the urge to apologize a second time.
You keep tracing his abs, feeling them flex and twitch under your fingertips, when his breathing grows even heavier. His hands squeeze your ass one last time before sliding up to your hips. He leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he whispers softly, voice rough with arousal.
“Take your panties off for me…please?”
The words send a fresh wave of heat through you. You hesitate, suddenly shy, cheeks burning as you bite your lip and glance away. Jake notices immediately. A small affectionate smirk tugs at his lips despite how flustered he is.
“What’s wrong?” he teases gently, voice playful, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hips. “Don’t get all shy on me now…I’m dying here.”
You swallow hard, heart racing, but the way he’s looking at you ; equal parts desperate and sweet ; makes you brave. Instead of taking them off completely, you reach the hem of your shorts and throw them next to the couch, hook your fingers into the side of your panties, and push the damp fabric aside, exposing yourself to him.
“You can touch me,” you whisper, voice barely audible.
Jake’s eyes widen slightly. He nods slowly, one hand sliding from your hip down between your bodies. His middle finger gently traces along your slick folds, testing, before he slowly pushes it inside you ; careful, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time to make sure it’s okay. His breath catches at how warm and wet you feel around his finger, and he lets out a shaky moan, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“Fuck…is this alright?” he murmurs, voice trembling with restraint as he holds still, letting you adjust.
You let out a shaky breath, hips shifting slightly against his hand as his finger moves inside you.
“That feels good,” you whisper, voice breathy and honest. “Really good…”
Jake’s eyes light up with relief and hunger. Encouraged, he slowly pulls his middle finger back, then carefully pushes two fingers in this time ; his middle and ring finger ; stretching you more. He’s clumsy about it, his movements a little uncoordinated from how turned on he is, but the gentle pressure feels incredible as he works them deeper.
He starts to pump them slowly, trying to find a rhythm, when suddenly his breath hitches.
“Wait—” he says quickly, almost like he remembered something.
Before you can respond, he curls his fingers upward, searching. The moment he hits that sensitive spot inside you, a loud, involuntary moan escapes your lips, loud and needy. Your thighs tremble around him as pleasure jolts through your body.
His face flushes deeper, a proud but clumsy grin breaking across his face even as he keeps awkwardly pumping and curling his fingers, trying to do it again. His free hand grips your ass tightly for balance, his own breathing ragged and uneven while he watches you react, completely lost in how you sound and feel.
You’re still trembling from the sudden rush of pleasure when he slows his fingers, keeping them buried inside you. He looks up at you with those wide, needy eyes, his cheeks flushed and his breathing ragged.
“Tell me I’m doing good…” he whispers, voice deep and a little vulnerable as he searches your face. “Please?”
You cup his face gently in both hands, thumbs brushing over his warm cheeks. Leaning down, you kiss him softly, tenderly, your lips lingering against his for a long moment. When you pull back just enough to speak, you gaze softens.
“You’re being so good to me,” you murmur. “It feels really good, Jake…keep going.”
A relieved moan slips from him at your words. His eyes flutter half-closed, and he presses into your touch like he’s starving for the praise. His fingers start moving again ; still a little clumsy and eager ; pumping slowly in and out while curling every few strokes to hit that spot that make you squirm. His free hand squeezes your ass tighter, pulling you closer as he kisses you back, messy and grateful.
You keep kissing him, slow and sweet, when Jake suddenly pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sound that makes you both blush. He shifts underneath you, breathing hard, and hurriedly works open his jeans.
“I need to feel you more,” he mutters, voice thick with desperation.
He lifts his hips and shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out, hard and throbbing, already leaking at the tip. You barely get a look at it before he pulls you back down onto his lap, lining you up so your bare, soaked pussy presses directly against his length. You start moving again, grinding with your panties still pushed to the side. The hot, velvety shaft of his cock slides perfectly between your slick folds, the head bumping against your clit with every roll of your hips. Jake groans loudly, head falling back against the couch as his hands return to grip your ass, guiding you faster.
“Fuck…you feel so good,” he moans, clumsy and desperate. He’s getting impossibly harder beneath you, his dick twitching and throbbing with every grind. His hips jerk up to meet yours, uncoordinated and eager, making wet sounds every time your slick heat drags along his entire length.
He looks completely wrecked already ; lips parted, eyes hazy with desire, fingers digging into your ass as he rocks you harder against him, chasing more of that delicious friction. You keep grinding against him, the slick sounds growing louder as both of you get messier. Your panties are completely soaked, the fabric clinging wetly to your folds, and his boxers ; now bunched around his thighs ; are dark with your arousal too.
Jake lets out a frustrated groan and lifts you just enough to shove his boxers the rest of the way down his legs, kicking them off. He reaches into his pocket, tears open a condom with shaky hands, and rolls it on quickly, his cock twitching hard as he does. You move to slide your panties down, but he catches your wrists gently, stopping you.
“Wait—” he breathes, voice hoarse. His eyes drop to where your soaked panties are still pushed to the side, the pretty fabric framing your glistening pussy. “Don’t take them off. They’re too pretty on you like this…looks so fucking hot.”
He pulls you back down onto him, guiding the head of his cock to nudge against your entrance through the shifted fabric. His hands return to your ass, squeezing firmly as he looks up at you with doe, desperate eyes, clearly waiting for you to take the next step while his throbbing length presses impatiently against your heat.
You brace your hands on his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him, taking every inch of his cock inside your tight, soaked heat. The stretch is intense, making you gasp and pause halfway before you breathe through it and slide all the way down until your hips meet his. Jake’s head falls back with a deep, broken moan, his fingers digging hard into your ass.
But after a few seconds, the latex feels uncomfortable and distant. You lift yourself off him, quickly peel the condom away, and sink back down onto his bare cock before he can protest. The raw heat of him makes you both moan.
His eyes fly open in panic. “Wait—fuck—baby—” he stammers, hands gripping your waist tightly as his cock throbs hard inside you. His face is flushed with alarm even as pleasure clouds his expression.
You can’t help but laugh softly at his wide-eyed reaction, the sound breathy and fond. “It’s okay,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss him.
You start moving ; not bouncing, but grinding slowly in deep circles with him fully buried inside you. The pressure against that sensitive spot makes you whimper, but it completely wrecks Jake. He moans loudly, the sound raw and uncontrolled, his whole body tensing beneath you.
Suddenly, his hands clamp around your waist and he lifts you straight up, pulling out of you with a wet pop. You blink in confusion, hovering above him as his cock twitches angrily in the open air, slick with your juices.
“I was about to cum,” he pants, voice strained and embarrassed. “You’re too warm and tight…and I’m really sensitive right now. Fuck, I almost didn’t stop in time.”
He looks up at you, chest heaving, cheeks burning red as he tries to catch his breath, still holding you suspended above his lap.
You hover above him for a moment, still catching your breath, then bite your lip shyly and whisper, “It’s okay…if it happens and you cum inside me, I can take the morning after pill.”
Jake looks up at you, eyes glassy from the pleasure, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. He swallows hard, then nods, his hands gently squeezing your waist. “Okay…but I’ll still try to be careful,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to mess this up for you.”
You smile softly at his sweetness and slowly sink back down onto his bare cock, taking him all the way inside again with a soft gasp. Once he’s fully buried, you resume grinding on him in deep circles, your soaked pussy clenching around his thick length.
He groans loudly, his head tipping back for a second before he looks down to where your bodies are joined. His hands slide firmly onto your hips, fingers digging in as he starts guiding you harder against him. He pulls and pushes you in longer, more insistent grinds, forcing your clit to rub against the base of his cock with every roll.
Sloppy sounds fill the room as your soaked folds slide back and forth along his shaft. The harder he makes you grind, the louder the sounds get, your arousal coating him completely. Jake’s moans turn ragged and desirous, his abs flexing under your hands while he stares at the way your pretty panties, still pushed aside, frame your pussy taking every inch of him.
You keep grinding on him, the wet sounds growing filthier with every roll of your hips, when Jake suddenly sits up straighter. One of his hands slides up your back, pulling you closer as his mouth finds your neck.
He starts licking and kissing the sensitive skin there, sucking gently at first, then harder, while his hips snap upward. He shifts from letting you grind to actively pounding into you, thrusting deep and fast from below. Each rough stroke makes you whimper, your fingers clutching his shoulders as pleasure spikes through you.
“I’m sorry—” he whispers hotly against your neck, voice strained and weak between open-mouthed kisses. His thrusts grow erratic, sloppy, and frantic. “Fuck, I’m so sorry…I’m gonna cum inside you.”
His grip on your hips tightens almost painfully as he buries himself as deep as he can, moaning loudly into your neck while his cock throbs hard inside your tight heat. His body trembles beneath you, clearly fighting it for only a second longer before he loses control.
You cry out as the intense rhythm pushes you over the edge right along with him. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his cock as waves of pleasure rip through your body. At the same moment, Jake groans deeply into your neck and starts cumming, pulsing hot and thick inside you with every thrust.
Still trembling and moaning from your climax, you gasp out quickly, “Finger me—please—”
You don’t need to tell him twice. He lifts you off his cock with a wet sound, lays you back on the couch, and slides two fingers deep into your dripping pussy. He keeps them buried inside you, pumping slowly and softly, curling them gently against that sensitive spot while his thumb rests lightly on your clit.
“Fuck—that’s it,” he whispers soothingly against your ear, voice gentle even as he’s still catching his breath. “You’re doing so good. Let it all out for me.”
His fingers move in slow strokes, drawing out every last pulse of your orgasm as he kisses your neck and jaw. “So pretty when you cum…keep squeezing around my fingers, baby. I’ve got you.”
He stays close, murmuring soft praises while his fingers continue their gentle rhythm inside your soaked heat, helping you ride through the aftershocks.
An hour later, you’re sprawled on the couch with your legs spread wide, one draped lazily over the armrest. Jake kneels between your thighs, his hands resting on your inner thighs to keep you open.
He starts with broad strokes of his tongue, licking up and down your slick pussy, tasting the mess you two made earlier. Then he dives in deeper, pressing his whole mouth against you and kissing your folds like he’s making out with them ; soft, wet, hungry kisses that make filthy sounds echo in the living room.
A deep moan escapes you as his tongue swirls around your clit.
Jake pulls back just enough to grin up at you, lips glistening. “Hey, you gotta be quiet,” he teases in a joking tone, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can’t hear the TV show if you’re moaning like that. Rude.”
You try to focus on the screen, but the pleasure is making you sleepy and relaxed. Your eyelids start to flutter, growing heavier as you sink deeper into the couch.
Without warning, Jake tightens his grip on your thighs and thrusts his tongue straight into your pussy, fucking you with it in deep, firm strokes. Your eyes snap open with a sharp gasp, hips twitching against his face as the sudden intensity jolts you awake.
He pulls back for a second, smirking. “There you go. Can’t have you falling asleep on me already,” he murmurs playfully, before diving right back in, tongue thrusting into you again while his nose nudges your clit.
His hands hold you firmly in place as he eats you out with renewed energy, clearly determined to keep you wide awake and moaning.
You can’t hold back anymore.
The steady thrust of Jake’s tongue inside you, combined with the way his nose keeps rubbing against your swollen clit, pushes you straight over the edge. Your second orgasm hits hard and fast. Your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out, back arching off the couch while waves of pleasure crash through you.
While you’re still cumming, he quickly pulls his tongue out and replaces it with two fingers, sliding them deep into your clenching pussy. He curls them gently against that sensitive spot, pumping them slowly and steadily to draw out your orgasm even longer.
“That’s it…cum on my fingers again, baby,” he murmurs against your thigh, voice low and husky as he watches you fall apart. “Fuck, you’re squeezing so tight.”
He keeps fingering you through every pulse and shudder, soft and deep, never rushing. His thumb moves up to circle your clit lazily, prolonging the pleasure until your moans turn into breathy whimpers and your body finally starts to relax.
Even then, he doesn’t pull his fingers out right away. He leaves them buried inside your warm, fluttering heat, gently stroking your walls while he kisses the inside of your thigh, looking up at you with a satisfied, slightly smug smile.
─────────
Both of you cuddling in his bed, and sleep finally gets to you. You're both tangled in his sheets, limbs intertwined, the warmth of his body a grounding presence against your back. His arm is draped over your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck, and you can feel the occasional press of his lips against your shoulder ; delicate, absent, as he's kissing you even in his sleep.
You should be content and you are content. Nevertheless, there's a dull ache beginning to throb behind your eyes, a persistent pressure that makes you wince when you shift against the pillow.
"Jake," you murmur, your voice rough. "I have a headache."
He stirs behind you, his arm tightening around your waist. "Mmm?"
"A headache. Do you have any painkillers?"
He blinks, his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Bathroom cabinet on the top shelf. There's a bottle."
You start to untangle yourself, but his arm holds you for a moment longer, pulling you back against him. "Don't go," he mumbles, his nose brushing your ear.
"I'll be right back." You press a kiss to his knuckles, and he loosens his grip.
You pad out of the bedroom, the cool air of the apartment raising goosebumps on your bare skin. You grab the shirt he'd left on the floor ; his shirt, the one he'd worn earlier ; and pull it over your head. It falls to your thighs, soft and worn, and you feel a small thrill at the intimacy of it.
The bathroom is as small as you could remember the last time you took a shower, the light harsh when you flick it on. You find the painkillers easily, shake two into your palm, and turn to get water.
You pause.
The drawer next to the sink is slightly open, just a crack, and something inside catches your eye. You don't know why you reach for it. Curiosity, maybe. The same instinct that made you want to see the photo frame by his bed.
You pull it open.
The drawer is filled with photographs ; loose, some curled at the edges, same as snapshots you'd find in a shoebox under a bed. But these aren't random. You recognize the faces.
Your face. And Jake's face.
Both of you, younger. His hair is different, shorter, but the smile is the same. Your hair is shorter too, your eyes brighter, and you're pressed together like you've known each other for years. In another, you're at a café, holding up coffee cups, laughing at something off-camera. In another, you're in a park, your head on his shoulder, his arm around you like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Your hands are shaking. You dig deeper, pulling out more photos. One with your parents. Your mother's arm around you, your father's hand on Jake's shoulder, and the four of you are smiling at the camera like a family.
Another with Jungwon. He's younger, his face rounder, and he's giving a thumbs-up while Jake ruffles his hair.
You drop the photos. They scatter across the floor, and you stumble back, your back hitting the bathroom wall.
This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. You don't remember any of this. You've never seen these photos before in your life. But your face is there, your smile, your eyes. And Jake is there too, always beside you, he's always been part of the picture.
The memory loss. The three years.
You feel the world tilt beneath you, the edges of your vision going fuzzy. The photos on the floor stare up at you, silent and damning.
"Y/N?"
Jake's voice. He's at the doorway, his eyes still sleep-soft, and he's holding a glass of water. He takes one step into the bathroom, then stops. His gaze drops to the photos scattered around your feet.
The glass slips from his fingers. It shatters against the tile, water spreading in a river across the floor.
"Y/N," he says again, and his voice is different now, sounding afraid.
You look at him. At the face you've come to know over these past weeks. The face you've kissed, laughed with, let hold you. The face that has been hiding everything from you.
"You knew me?" you say, and your voice comes out flat, hollow. "You knew me before?"
He doesn't answer as the look on his face says it all.
"All this time," you continue, the words spilling out now, unstoppable. "You knew everything. You knew me. You knew me and you didn't say anything."
"I was going to tell you." His voice is low. "I was trying to find the right time. I didn't want to scare you—"
"Scare me?" A broken laugh escapes you. "I've been living in a fog for a year. I've been trying to piece together who I am, and you—you've been standing right there, holding all the pieces, and you didn't tell me."
The rain starts outside, a sudden downpour that hammers against the window. You don't remember putting on his clothes, but you're moving now, past him, through the apartment, toward the door. He calls your name without you turning back.
You barge into the hallway. The stairs are a blur beneath your feet. You burst out into the rain, and it hits you like a wall ; cold, merciless, soaking through the shirt, your hair and your skin.
You don't know where you're going, and you know you can't be near him, nor look at his face and see the truth you were too blind to notice.
The street is empty, the rain turning the pavement into a river. You walk, then run, your bare feet slapping against the wet ground, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind you, you hear a door slam. A voice calling your name, distant and helpless.
Your legs don’t seem to want to stop. Your bare feet slap against the wet pavement, each step sending shocks through your legs, but you don't stop. You actually can't stop because if you do, you'll have to think, and thinking means facing what you just saw.
Your fingers fumble with your phone, slick with rain, and you manage to pull up Jungwon's contact. It rings once, twice, three times, and then the automated voice cuts in. Voicemail. Full. You try again and it’s the same result.
"Come on," you mutter, your voice cracking. "Come on, pick up. Pick up—"
The phone slips from your grip, clattering onto the wet ground. You leave it behind and keep walking, your arms wrapped around yourself, the thin fabric of his shirt doing nothing to ward off the cold.
"Y/N."
His voice. Behind you. Closer than you expected.
You keep walking faster, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Y/N, please—just stop—"
"I don't want to talk to you." Your voice is barely audible over the rain. "Go away."
"I can't do that." His footsteps are closer now. "I can't let you run out like this. It's not safe."
"You don't get to decide what's safe for me." You finally stop, spinning around to face him. He's there, a few meters away, soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving. He's stopped too, keeping his distance like you're a wild animal that might bolt.
"You don't get to decide anything," you continue, your voice rising. "You knew me. You knew me and you lied. Every single day, every single conversation—you looked at me and you knew exactly who I was, and you let me stumble around like an idiot trying to figure it out."
"I didn't lie—"
"Hiding the truth is lying." You're shaking now, from cold and anger. "You kept all of it from me. The photos, the memories—" You gesture wildly. "Everything. You let me think we were strangers." Your voice cracks. "You let me fall for you like you were someone new."
"I had to." His voice is raw. "I had to keep it from you. It was the only way—"
"The only way for what?" You're yelling now, the rain muffling the sound but not the anger. "The only way to protect yourself? The only way to make sure you didn't have to deal with the mess of my broken brain?"
He flinches like you've struck him. "No. That's not—"
"Then what? What the fuck is about?"
He's quiet for a long moment. The rain falls between you, heavy and cold, a curtain that separates you from him. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, barely above a whisper.
"Because I was scared."
You laugh, a hollow, broken sound. "Scared of what?"
"Of this." He gestures between the two of you. "Of you remembering and looking at me like you are right now. Like I'm a stranger. Like I'm someone who hurt you."
Your chest tightens. "God—Jake do you even care about me?"
"I fucking do." He takes a step closer, and then stops himself. "I loved you, Y/N. Before the accident. We were—" He runs a hand through his wet hair, his voice cracking. "We were together. For three freaking years. We lived together. We had a life."
You stare at him, the words hitting you like blows. "I don't remember."
"I’m aware of that." He's crying now, his tears mistook for rain drops. You can't tell. "I’m aware that you don't. And that's—that's the worst part. Because I've been standing here, watching you rebuild your life, and every time you looked at me like I was a stranger, it felt like losing you all over again."
"Why did you stay, then?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why didn't you just leave?"
"Because I made a promise." He meets your eyes. "A promise to your brother, to Jungwon. After the accident, when you couldn't remember anything—he came to me. He said that if I really loved you, I would stay away. That seeing me, remembering me, would confuse you. That it would hurt you more than it would help."
"So you just—walked away?"
"I tried. I moved to another city. I told myself it was for the best. But I couldn't." He stops, his voice breaking. "I couldn't stay away. When I heard you were coming back here, I told myself I wouldn't interfere and that I'd keep my distance. But then I saw you with that stupid umbrella, and—"
His words trail off, lost in the rain. You stand there, shivering, the weight of everything pressing down on you.
"I was scared," he continues, his voice still barely audible. "I was scared that if I told you, you'd run. That you'd look at me and feel nothing. That the person you were before—the person I loved—was gone forever, and I couldn't bear that. So I kept it to myself. I told myself I was protecting you. But really, I was protecting myself."
The silence stretches between you.
"You should have told me," you finally say, and your voice is weak, drained of emotion. "You should have trusted me to handle it."
"I know." He looks down at the ground. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I just—" He stops, his shoulders shaking. "I just wanted to hold onto the part of you that was still mine. Even if you didn't know it."
Your chest is heaving again and you feel the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. You're not sure when you started crying or maybe you've been crying this whole time.
"When?" Your voice cracks once again. "When did we—when did we first meet?"
He looks up, and you see the tears streaming down his face, indistinguishable from the rain. "Nineteen," he says, his voice raw and broken. "We were nineteen. You were wearing that oversized Bieber shirt, and you tripped over your own feet walking into that library, and I—" He pauses, a sob tearing from his throat. "I fell in love with you right there."
You feel the sob building in your chest, unstoppable and devastating. "I’m sorry."
"It’s okay." He's crying openly now, his shoulders shaking. "I—I needed you to know that you were loved. That you are loved. By me. Always."
Your legs give out. You don't realize it until you're sinking, your knees hitting the wet pavement, your hands bracing against the cold ground. The sobs are torn from you now, ugly and loud, your entire body shaking with the force of them.
He’s already moving. His feet splash against the wet ground, closing the distance between you in seconds. He drops to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest. His body shields you from the rain, his hands cradling the back of your head, pressing your face into the warmth of his neck.
"I'm sorry," he's saying, over and over, his voice broken and fragile. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N."
You feel his tears against your skin, his body shaking with the same sobs that are tearing through you. He holds you tighter, afraid you'll disappear, and you grip the wet fabric of his shirt, your fingers twisted in the material.
"I don't remember," you choke out. "I don't remember any of it."
"That's okay." His voice is a whisper, trembling. "That's okay. We can—we can start over. We can make new memories. Whatever you need. I'll give you whatever you need."
You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is streaked with rain and tears, his eyes red-rimmed, his expression open and completely unguarded.
You let him hold you, his arms wrapped around you like a shield against the world, and you feel something shift in your chest. The rain continues to fall, but you barely notice it anymore.
All you feel is him.
─────────
The next morning. You're sitting on the edge of the couch, your legs stretched out in front of you, the bruises on your knees a mottled purple from the fall the night before. The rain has stopped, but the world outside is still wet, the streets glistening under the gray sky.
Jake is kneeling in front of you, a small first-aid kit open on the floor beside him. His movements are gentle, careful, as he dabs at the scrapes with an antiseptic wipe. You flinch slightly at the sting, and he murmurs an apology, his fingers light against your skin.
"I could do it on my own." you say, your voice hoarse from crying.
"Let me do it for you. Please." He doesn't look up, his focus on the cut on your knee. "I should have done this last night, but you were—" He stops, swallowing. "You were upset. I didn't want to push."
You watch him as he works, the furrow of concentration between his brows, his lower lip catches between his teeth. His hands are steady despite everything, carefully smoothing the edges of a bandage over your skin.
"There," he says softly. "All done."
You're about to say something when the door slams open.
Jungwon stands in the doorway, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He's still in his clothes from yesterday, his hair disheveled, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. He must have come straight from wherever he was, must have run the whole way. His gaze sweeps the room and takes in the two of you. Jake kneeling at your feet. The bandage on your knee. Your tear-streaked face. And mostly, the visible tension in the air.
He looks at Jake and at you while shifting his gaze between both of you.
"Fuck." he says, the word heavy, loaded with remorse.
Jake rises slowly to his feet. He stands there, his hands at his sides, his face blank.
"Jungwon," he starts, but Jungwon cuts him off.
"What the fuck, Jake." He steps into the room, the door swinging shut behind him. "I told you—I told you to stay away. I told you it would be better for her. And for everyone. And you—" He stops, his jaw tight. "You couldn't keep your promise for even a year?"
"It wasn't like that." Jake's voice is steady yet a tremor is present beneath it. "I didn't plan this. It just happened."
"It just happened?" Jungwon scoffs. "You see her in the hallway and suddenly all your promises mean nothing?"
"Jungwon—" you start, both of them turn to look at you, and the weight of their gazes makes the words die in your throat. Jungwon's expression softens slightly. "Are you okay?" he asks, the question is directed at you, not Jake.
You don't know how to answer that. Are you okay? You're sitting in the apartment of a man you've known for weeks, who apparently knew you for three years before that, who you still can't remember, who you cried in the rain with, who bandaged your knees this morning because he cares about you. And you can’t understand any of it.
"I don't know," you say honestly.
Jungwon runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly. "I should have told you," he says with regret in his voice. "I should have told you about him. About everything. I thought I was protecting you, but I—" He pauses and shakes his head. "I made it worse."
"He knew," you say, voice flat. "He knew and he kept it from me. You both did."
Jake flinches and Jungwon looks away.
"I had to," Jake says quietly. "I had to see if you could remember on your own. If there was any part of you that still—" He swallows, the words caught in his throat. "I needed to know if you could love me without the memories."
Jungwon's head snaps toward him. "That's not why you did it."
"Isn't it?" Jake's voice is raw. "I wanted to believe that if I just gave you time, you'd remember, and I know that it sounds stupid. That you'd look at me and see all the years we had. But you didn't. You never did." He looks at you, his eyes glassy. "And I had to accept that the person I loved might never come back. But I still loved you anyway."
The silence in the room is suffocating. You look from Jake to Jungwon, the weight of their secrets pressing down on you, and you feel something crack inside your chest.
Jungwon is the one to break it. "I'm sorry," he says, the words are directed at both of you. "I was scared. I didn't want to lose you again, Y/N. And when I saw the two of you starting to know each other I panicked." He confesses, his composure cracking. "I just wanted to protect you and I failed. I failed both of you."
Jake stays silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.
You take a breath. The air is thick, but you force yourself to speak.
"I don't remember him," you say, looking at Jungwon. "I don't remember any of it. But I—" You stop, your voice catching. "I know I felt something. Even when I didn't know who he was. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
Jungwon meets your eyes. Then he nods, slowly.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "It does."
─────────
The afternoon has settled in, the earlier tension slowly unwinding like a knot being picked apart. Jungwon left an hour ago, his goodbye awkward but not hostile, a promise to call later that felt more like a question than a statement. You'd watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him, and then you'd turned to find Jake standing in the middle of the living room, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes uncertain.
Neither of you had spoken for a while. Then you'd walked to the kitchen, pulled out a cutting board and some vegetables, and started preparing something that might become dinner. He'd followed, hovering at the edge of the counter, until you'd handed him a knife and told him to chop the onions.
Now you're standing at the stove, stirring a pan of vegetables, while Jake sits on a stool behind you. His fingers are in your hair again, separating strands, twisting them together with a concentration that's become familiar over the past few days. The braid is better than yesterday ; still not perfect, but recognizable.
"You're getting better at this," you say, your voice quiet.
"I've had practice." An incredible softness in his voice. "Also, you're very patient. That helps."
You stir the vegetables, watching them sizzle and soften. The silence is comfortable, however, there's something sitting between you, a question you've been turning over in your mind since last night.
"Jake," you start, and you feel him pause, his fingers stilling in your hair. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
You keep your eyes on the pan. "Last night—was that our first time?"
You feel him go still behind you. His hands are frozen in your hair, and for a moment, you think you've overstepped. You feel his breath, a soft exhale, and his hands resume their work.
"Yes," he says, and his voice is careful. "That was our first time."
The words hang in the air. You nod slowly, processing. "So we never had sex…before the accident?"
He shakes his head, even though you can't see him. "We were close, and we lived together. But we never did those kind of things." He pauses, his fingers continuing to work through your hair. "We were waiting. I don't know what we were waiting for. The right moment, maybe." His voice drops. "I never really thought about it. I just knew I wanted it to be right."
You set down the spoon, turning to face him. He's watching you, his hands hovering where your hair falls against your shoulders. His eyes are searching, cautious.
"Jake," you say. "How long did you go without doing it?" You stop, not sure how to phrase it. "Without being with anyone?"
He understands. His jaw tightens, and he looks down at his hands. "It’s been a year. Since the accident." He meets your eyes again. "I couldn't. I tried to…talk to girls, once. It didn't feel right. I mean, I didn't feel right. I couldn't even hold someone's hand without feeling like I was betraying you."
You feel your breath catch. "Even when you didn't know if I'd ever remember?"
"Especially then." His voice honest. "It didn't matter if you remembered me or not. I remembered you. I knew what we had, and…I couldn't replace that. I really didn't want to."
You look at him, this man who's been carrying this weight for three years, who stayed loyal to a ghost he didn't know would ever come back. You look at his hands shaking slightly, his eyes are glassy.
"I didn't know," you say.
"How could you?"
You reach out, your hand finding his. He looks down at your fingers intertwined, and you feel the dull trembling in his grip.
"Thank you," you say, your voice almost a whisper. "For waiting. Even when you didn't have to."
He looks at you with vulnerability in his gaze. "I never really had a choice. It was always you. It's always been you."
You pull him closer, your arms wrapping around him, your face pressing into his shoulder. He holds you back, his arms tight around your waist, and you feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest.
The vegetables are still burning. You're still wrapped in his arms, your face pressed into his shoulder, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt. His hand is cradling the back of your head, his fingers gently threading through the braid he'd just finished.
He pulls back to look at you. His eyes are red-rimmed, his face still carrying the traces of the tears you'd both shed.
"I love you," he says.
The words are simple, unadorned. Only three words, spoken as they've been sitting on his tongue for years, waiting for the right moment to be released. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your throat is tight, your chest aching with the pressure of everything you don't know how to say.
Noticing your silence, he leans in, his lips pressing against your forehead, lingering long enough for you to feel the slight shaking in his breath.
Then your cheek. The corner of your eye. The bridge of your nose. Each kiss is slow, like he's tracing the contours of your face with his mouth, memorizing every inch. His lips brush your temple, your jaw, the base of your neck.
"You don't have to say it back," he murmurs against your skin. "I just needed you to know."
You feel the tears pricking at your eyes again, yet they're not the same as before. "You've been carrying this for a year," you manage, your voice thick. "And you still—"
"Still love you." He presses another kiss to your cheek, then your other cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "Yes. I do. And I'll keep saying it until you're tired of hearing it."
"I won't get tired."
He pulls back, his eyes searching yours.
"That’s good for me." he says softly, the smile that tugs at his lips is small and tentative. His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that have escaped down your cheeks. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel the warmth of him surrounding you.
"Jake," you whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Stay with me. While I try to remember. While I figure this out." You swallow. "Don't leave again."
He doesn't hesitate once. "I won't."
His lips find yours, soft and gentle, and when he pulls back, he presses one last kiss to the tip of your nose.
You were ready to rebuild your life, with everything you’ve shared from now, with him.
best friend!jungwon x best friend!reader ⸝⸝ female reader ⸝⸝ boxing au ⸝⸝ university au ⸝⸝ 26.7k words ⸝⸝ angst ⸝⸝ hurt/comfort ⸝⸝ smart!reader ⸝⸝ yearner!jungwon ⸝⸝ detailed fighting ⸝⸝ illegal fighting ⸝⸝ do not try this at home ⸝⸝ mentions of harmful substances to consume (not drugs) ⸝⸝ kisses
ⓘ :: here’s the TEASER for my upcoming jungwon fic. please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! the fic is finished but i wanted to give people some time to anticipate it!!
As you stood with the door swung open, looking into a corridor with a staircase that ran down into a lower level, you contemplated counting your blessings, driving back to your apartment, and worrying about your homework in the morning.
But this is what you lived for, right? The drama, the thrill, the investigation. Now the opportunity to explore was right in front of your face — who were you to deny yourself of that adventure? And Jungwon was probably down there. It’s probably just some rich frat house’s party venue because they don’t want to piss their parents off.
You shook your head in disbelief, no way Yang “I get my work done two weeks in advance” Jungwon was a party animal.
You shut the door behind you and trod down the stairs in a liminal space between caution and confidence.
The staircase turned right and climbed down a few more steps before the room came into view. It was shaped like a stadium — bleachers around the walls with every seat filled with cheering fans. The lights were dimmed all around except for the center where everyone’s eyes were glued. And for good reason. The center showcased an elevated boxing ring that was adorned with visible wear and tear. An announcer’s voice boomed the play by play happening in the ring, taking care to note the names of the fighters as they threw their punches.
It was useless. You’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere.
You’d also recognize that mess of floppy blond-dyed hair, that enviously tiny waist, dark cat-like eyes, and toned biceps anywhere — which is why it was a little strange that it took you a good seven seconds to compute the scene unfolding before you.
Yang Jungwon, shifting and keeping light on his feet in the middle of that elevated boxing ring. Yang Jungwon, with bloodied bandages wrapped around his fists, throwing a clean jab into the jaw of his opponent. Yang Jungwon, continuing to advance and throw punches that didn’t quite make an impact before putting all his force in one that did.
“And Jakah lands his attack knocking his opponent to the floor! Yikes! That puts BigHit in a real tight spot!”
Your head filled with a million questions: who is Jakah? What is BigHit? What is happening?
The two fighters went back to their corners, their coaches handing them water bottles and wiping the sweat off their brows. From this angle, you could see Jungwon more clearly. His flushed skin, his big muscles, and the inception of a bruise on the left side of his jaw.
“Jakah continues to show his ferocity and tenacity in the ring.” The announcer informed.
“Maybe he’s trying to compensate for his performance last week?” Another announcer theorized.
“I don’t know but what I can say is that he is relentless tonight. It seems like we might be getting our beloved champion back, what do you say folks?”
The crowd erupted in roars. It was hard to make out at first, everyone yelling out of unison but half the crowd boo’d like their life depended on it and the rest cheered with every ounce of breath in their lungs. You watched Jungwon shake his head and push his water bottle away, shaking his right wrist, and waiting patiently before he could lunge at the other guy again.
This was a side of Jungwon you’d never seen before; he was so sweet, and gentle, and caring, it was hard to think of him as someone who spent his Friday nights beating the daylight out of other people. You recalled what the announcers had said just a few moments before. If Jungwon is this “Jakah” guy then what happened last week? And what did they mean by “champion”?
Jungwon turned to scan his eyes over the stands and an awareness fell on you like an avalanche. You were the only person standing in this entire underground stadium. Crouching immediately, you hoped that he hadn’t caught sight of you yet. What would happen if he did? Would he get nervous and be thrown off? That would likely cost him his victory and part of his physical condition. Your heart started aching at the mere sight of a bruise under his jaw, you couldn’t stomach watching him get pummeled. You also hadn’t decided what to say to him or how to say it. You couldn’t even grasp your emotions under the dazedness of shock — it’d be better to talk to him later when you could think clearly.
A loud buzzer blared and the fighters took to the center of the ring. Their hands fisted up to their face — their guards up — and their feet inching increasingly closer to one another. Jungwon’s opponent started with a barrage of light jabs, causing Jungwon to pull his guard higher up. It took about five seconds to realize why this useless move was continuing on: he was pursuing Jungwon toward the edges of the ring. But Jungwon quickly found his footing and dropped into a crouch before sending a hard punch to his assailant's ribs. The crowd erupted in a collective grimace but Jungwon didn’t stop, instead he cracked his fist against the guys jaw with so much force that the sound traveled toward the stands.
His opponent fell limp on the floor, blood dripping from his face, and a referee running up to check his condition. The stadium didn’t wait in bated breath, no it roared in controversy — even as the referee stood up and held Jungwon’s hand high in victory.
It was hard to catch the crowds sentiment when they all had something to say:
“There goes my 75K won!” Someone grumbled.
“75? I put down a clean 150!”
“And that 225K is all mine now boys.” A person from the row behind them gloated.
“Yeah right, I bet 60% of the stadium also put their money down on Goldilocks.”
“60%? Not after last week.”
Your brows furrowed in deeply, what do they mean “put their money down”? Is Jungwon the prospect of illegal gambling?
ꫂ᭪݁ SUMMARY. Across seven lifetimes you and Jungwon find each other again and again. Every time, the pull is undeniable. Every time, he promises that he’ll find you in the next life. But the moon has watched you love and lose each other over and over for centuries. This time, can you finally break the cycle? Or is your love destined to be eternal and heartbreaking in equal measure in every sense of the world?
ꫂ᭪݁ WORD COUNT. 30.6k
ꫂ᭪݁ WARNINGS. explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), penetrative sex, oral sex (m and f), praise, first time, loss of virginity (m and f), major character death multiple times, war and military themes, depictions of violence, descriptions of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, tuberculosis, cancer, drowning, war, building collapse, themes of grief, car accident and hospitalization, terminal illness, strong language, emotional distress, references historical traumas
ꫂ᭪݁ PLAYLIST. What The Moon Remembers
ꫂ᭪݁ LAC4YGAL NOTE. this broke me to write them loosing each other over and over but the final life is so precious. it took me ages to figure out how I wanted to go about this idea but I think I maybe nailed it??!! listen to the playlist as you read; it adds so much more! reblogs, likes, comments and feedback are always appreciated and keep me writing. I hope you love this as much as I did writing it, enjoy!🤍
ꫂ᭪݁ TAGLIST. @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips (just ask to be added to perm taglist lovelies)
ꫂ᭪݁ MY MASTERLIST.
1770 — Jungwon’s POV
The pain is what wakes him. It’s everywhere— his chest, his side, his leg— a white-hot burning that makes breathing feel like dragging shards of glass through his lungs. Jungwon tries to move and immediately regrets it, a groan escaping through clenched teeth.
“Easy.” A voice cuts through the haze, soft but firm. “Don’t try to sit up yet.” He forces his eyes open, squinting against the dim candlelight. The ceiling above him is canvas, stained and sagging. A medical tent, he realizes slowly. The smell hits him next— blood, infection, unwashed bodies, death. He’s in a field hospital.
The battle. Right. There was a battle. He remembers musket fire, smoke so thick he couldn’t see three feet ahead, the screaming of men and horses. He remembers pain exploding in his chest, the ground rushing up to meet him, thinking this is it as the world went dark. But he’s not dead. Apparently.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, soldier.” Jungwon turns his head— slowly, because even that hurts— and sees her for the first time.
She’s young, probably close to his age, with tired eyes and capable hands currently wringing out a cloth in a basin of water. Her dress is simple, stained with blood that he hopes isn’t all his, and her hair is pulled back in a practical bun with loose strands escaping around her face. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “How bad is it?” he manages, his voice rough and unfamiliar.
She glances at him, and something flickers in her expression— pity, maybe, or resignation. “You’ve been unconscious for two days. Musket ball to the chest, missed your heart by maybe an inch. Another in your leg. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“But I’ll live?” He tries for a smile. “You’re not just keeping me comfortable while I die, are you?”
“That depends entirely on whether infection sets in.” She wrings out the cloth and moves closer, pressing it gently to his forehead. It’s blessedly cool. “And on whether you follow my instructions and rest instead of trying to be charming.”
“I can’t help being charming,” Jungwon says. “It’s a curse.”
Despite herself, she almost smiles. Almost. “Save your energy. You’re going to need it.”
Over the next few days, Jungwon learns three things. One: Getting shot hurts significantly worse than he’d imagined, and he’d imagined it would be pretty terrible.
Two: Field hospitals are hell on earth— the sounds of men dying, the smell of rot and gunpowder, the constant stream of new wounded being carried in on stretchers.
Three: The nurse— he learns her name eventually, after asking three times because she keeps deflecting— is the only good thing about being here.
She tends to his wounds twice a day, changing bandages with gentle efficiency, checking for signs of infection. She brings him water when he asks, broth when he can stomach it, and occasionally reads to him from a battered copy of poetry she keeps in her apron pocket when the nights are long and he can’t sleep through the pain. “You don’t have to do that,” he says one night, when she’s been reading for nearly an hour.
She looks up from the book, candlelight catching in her eyes. “Do what?”
“Stay with me. I know you have other patients.”
“The others are sleeping.” She marks her place with one finger. “And you’re the only one who actually appreciates poetry. Most of the men just want me to write letters to their wives.”
“Do you do that?”
“When they ask.” Her voice softens. “When they can still speak clearly enough to dictate.” The implication hangs heavy between them. When they’re not too far gone.
“Will you write a letter for me?” Jungwon asks. “If it comes to that?”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then: “It won’t come to that. You’re going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, actually. I’ve been doing this for two years. I know who makes it and who doesn’t.” She meets his eyes, fierce and certain. “You’re going to make it.”
He wants to believe her. God, he wants to believe her. “When I do,” he says, emboldened by fever or stupidity or both, “I’m going to take you on a date. Dinner, dancing, the whole thing.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now— a real smile that transforms her whole face. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’d like to.” He reaches for her hand, and after a brief hesitation, she lets him take it. Her fingers are cool and steady against his. “I’d like to know everything about you.”
“You’re delirious.”
“Maybe. But I still mean it.” She squeezes his hand gently before pulling away to return to her rounds. But the next night, she comes back. And the night after that.
They talk, in those stolen moments between her duties. He learns that she’s a farmer’s daughter, that she learned nursing from her mother, that she came to the war because her brother was fighting and she wanted to help. He tells her about his life before— the apprenticeship he left behind, the family he hasn’t seen in months, the future he’d planned that seems impossibly distant now. “What will you do?” she asks one night. “After the war?”
“If we win? I don’t know. Go home, I suppose. Try to remember what peace feels like.” He shifts carefully, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt. “What about you?”
“The same, I think. Go home. Try to forget all of this.” She gestures vaguely at the tent, the rows of wounded men, the ever-present specter of death.
“I won’t forget you,” Jungwon says quietly.
She looks at him for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. “You should. It would be easier.”
“I don’t want easier. I want—” He stops, unsure how to finish that sentence.
“What do you want?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
You, he thinks but doesn’t say. I want you. I want to survive this. I want to take you dancing like I promised. I want a future where we’re not surrounded by death and blood and the smell of gunpowder.
“I want to see you smile again,” he says instead. “Like you did the other night. A real smile, not the one you give the patients.”
She does smile then, soft and sad. “You’re a foolish man, soldier.”
“Jungwon,” he corrects. “My name is Jungwon.”
“I know.” She stands, smoothing her apron. “Get some rest, Jungwon. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“Close enough.”
The days blur together. Jungwon’s strength slowly returns— he can sit up without help now, can eat solid food, can even stand for a few minutes at a time with support. The wounds are healing, she tells him, better than expected. No infection. He’s lucky. He doesn’t feel lucky. He feels like he’s been given a second chance and doesn’t know what to do with it. “When can I leave?” he asks one morning.
She’s changing his bandages, her touch gentle but impersonal. “When you can walk unassisted. When the doctor clears you. When there’s somewhere for you to go.”
“Will you miss me?” He’s only half-joking.
“Terribly,” she says, but there’s something true underneath the sarcasm. “Who else will I read poetry to at midnight?”
“You could read to the other patients.”
“They don’t listen like you do.” She finishes with the bandage and sits back. “There. You’re healing well. Another week, maybe two, and you’ll be back to fighting shape.” The thought of going back to battle makes his stomach turn. Going back to the killing, the chaos, the constant fear. But what choice does he have? The war isn’t over. His unit will want him back.
“What if I don’t go back?” he asks quietly.
She looks at him sharply. “They’d call that desertion.”
“What if I don’t care?”
“Jungwon—”
“I could stay here. Help with the wounded. I’m no good as a soldier anyway— I got myself shot in the first real battle.”
“You’re talking nonsense.” But her voice is gentler now. “The fever—”
“I’m not feverish. I’m just…” He trails off, struggling to articulate the feeling. “I’m tired. I’m tired of war. I’m tired of watching boys die. I’m tired of pretending I’m brave when all I want is to go home.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she reaches out and takes his hand, holding it between both of hers. “You are brave,” she says firmly. “Being afraid doesn’t make you a coward. It makes you human.”
“I don’t feel brave.”
“No one ever does.” She squeezes his hand. “But you’re still here. You’re still fighting. That takes courage.”
He looks down at their joined hands, her fingers small and delicate against his calloused palms. He wants to tell her that she’s the reason he’s still fighting, that the thought of seeing her each day is the only thing that makes the pain bearable, that he’s started imagining a future that includes her in it. But before he can find the words, she pulls away and stands.
“Rest,” she says. “I’ll check on you later.” He watches her move through the tent, stopping at each bedside, offering water or adjusting bandages or simply sitting with the men who have no one else. She’s good at this, he realizes. Good at offering comfort in a place where there’s so little of it to be found. He wonders if she knows how extraordinary she is.
That night, she comes to his bedside with her book of poetry, like she has every night for the past two weeks. “Can’t sleep?” she asks, settling into the chair beside him.
“Hurts less when I’m distracted,” he admits. “And your voice helps.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“It got you to stay, didn’t it?”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she opens the book. “Where did we leave off?”
“The one about the soldier and his love,” Jungwon says. “The sad one.”
“They’re all sad.”
“Read it anyway.” She does, her voice low and melodic in the quiet tent. Around them, men sleep or moan in pain or whisper prayers to gods who seem very far away. But in this small circle of candlelight, it’s just the two of them.
When she finishes, Jungwon doesn’t want her to leave. “Stay,” he says. “Just a little longer.” She should say no. She should check on the other patients, get some sleep herself, maintain the professional distance she’s supposed to keep. Instead, she stays.
“Tell me something,” he says. “Something real. Not about the war or medicine or any of this. Tell me about you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, considering. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Anything. What makes you happy?”
“Small things,” she says eventually. “The first warm day of spring. Fresh bread. The sound of rain on the roof.” She pauses. “My mother’s garden. She grows roses, and in summer the whole house smells like them.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“It is. Was.” Her voice catches slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see it again.”
“You will,” Jungwon says with more confidence than he feels. “This war will end. You’ll go home to your mother’s roses. You’ll—” He stops, because he doesn’t know what her future holds. He barely knows what his own does.
“What about you?” she asks. “What makes you happy?”
He thinks about it. “Music. My sister plays the pianoforte, and sometimes in the evenings we’d sing together. And stargazing. There’s something about looking up at the stars that makes everything else feel smaller, more manageable.”
“I like that,” she murmurs. “The idea that we’re small. That all of this—” she gestures vaguely “—is small in the grand scheme of things.”
“Do you think the stars care about our little human wars?”
“I doubt it.” She tilts her head, considering. “But maybe the moon does. It’s closer, more personal. Maybe it watches us and remembers.”
Something about those words sends a shiver through him, though he couldn’t say why. “The moon remembers,” he repeats softly. “I like that.”
She stands then, and he feels the loss of her presence acutely. “Where are you going?”
“Just to the window,” she says. “I want to show you something.” She crosses to the side of the tent and opens the canvas flap that serves as a window, tying it back to let in the night air. Cool autumn wind rushes in, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and distant rain.
And there, hanging low in the sky, is the moon. Full and bright and impossibly beautiful. “Oh,” Jungwon breathes. She returns to his bedside, and together they look out at the moon in silence. “It’s lovely,” he says finally.
“It is.” She’s still gazing at it, her face soft in the silvery light. “When I was young, my mother used to tell me that the moon was a guardian. That it watched over travelers and lovers and anyone who needed guidance in the dark.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know. But I like the idea of it. That something up there is watching. That we’re not alone.”
Jungwon reaches for her hand again, and this time she doesn’t pull away. They sit like that for a long moment, hands clasped, looking at the moon. “Do you think the moon remembers us?” he asks suddenly.
She turns to look at him, confused. “What?”
“The moon. Do you think it remembers us? All the people who have looked up at it, throughout all of history?”
“That’s…” She trails off, searching for words. “That’s a strange question.”
“I know. But do you think it does?”
She considers it seriously. “Maybe. Maybe it keeps track of all the stories. All the lovers and soldiers and lost souls who’ve ever gazed up at it.”
“Then it will remember this,” Jungwon says quietly. “Remember us. This moment.”
“Why would this moment matter?”
“Because I want it to.” He squeezes her hand gently. “Because someday, when this is all over, I want to believe that something in the universe will remember that we were here. That we mattered.”
She’s looking at him with such tenderness that his breath catches. “You matter,” she whispers. “To me, you matter.”
And then she leans down and kisses him. It’s soft, gentle, over almost before it begins. But when she pulls back, they’re both trembling. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she says.
“I’m glad you did.”
“Jungwon—”
“When I’m better,” he interrupts, “I’m going to take you dancing. Like I promised. And I’m going to kiss you properly, somewhere that isn’t a hospital tent that smells like death.”
She laughs, and it sounds like tears. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m in love with you.” The words hang in the air between them, bold and terrifying and true. She doesn’t say it back. But she doesn’t let go of his hand either.
“Rest,” she says eventually, her voice unsteady. “You need to rest.”
“Will you stay?”
“For a little while.” She stays until he falls asleep, her hand in his, the moon watching through the open window.
For three more days, things are good. Better than good. She still maintains her professional distance during the day, but at night she comes to him with her book and her gentle hands and occasionally, when they’re alone, her lips.
He’s getting stronger. Can walk the length of the tent with only minimal pain. The doctor says another week, maybe two, and he’ll be fit enough to rejoin his unit. Neither of them talks about what happens then.
On the fourth night, something changes. Jungwon wakes in the middle of the night to find her beside him, like always. But something’s different. He feels… off. Feverish, maybe, though his skin is cool to the touch. “You should be sleeping,” she murmurs, noticing he’s awake.
“Couldn’t.” He shifts, and pain lances through his chest. “Feels different tonight.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere. Nowhere. I don’t know.” He tries to sit up and finds he can’t. “I think… I think I’m more tired than I realized.”
Concern flashes across her face. She places her hand on his forehead, checking for fever. “You’re not warm.”
“I know. I just…” He trails off, struggling to explain the feeling. Like something inside him is winding down. Like a clock running out of time. “Stay with me?”
“I’m here.” She takes his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. That’s good.” He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. “Can you open the window? I want to see the moon.” She does, and the silvery light spills across his bed.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just like before.”
“Just like before,” she agrees, but her voice is strained.
“I want you to know,” Jungwon says slowly, each word taking effort, “that these past few weeks have been the happiest of my life.”
“Don’t.” Her voice breaks. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I mean it. Getting shot was the best thing that ever happened to me, because it brought me to you.”
Tears are streaming down her face now. “Jungwon, please—”
“Listen.” He squeezes her hand with what strength he has left. “If I don’t make it—”
“You’re going to make it. You have to make it. You promised me a dance, remember?”
“I remember.” He smiles, and it costs him. “But if I don’t… if something happens…”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
“But if it does.” He’s fading, he can feel it, like sand slipping through fingers. “I need you to know that I’ll find you in the next life.”
She’s sobbing now. “What are you talking about? There is no next life, there’s only this one, and you’re going to be fine—”
“I’ll find you,” he says again, and he means it with every fiber of his being. “However long it takes. Whatever it costs. I’ll find you.”
“Jungwon—”
“Promise me you’ll remember. Promise me you’ll look for me too.”
“I promise,” she chokes out, even though she doesn’t understand, even though she thinks he’s delirious. “I promise.”
“Good.” His eyes are getting heavy. “That’s good. I’m just going to rest for a minute. Just… just a minute…”
“No, stay awake. Please stay awake. I need to get the doctor—“ But she can’t bring herself to let go of his hand. Can’t bring herself to leave him, even to get help.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not afraid.”
“I’m terrified,” she admits.
“Don’t be. I’ll see you again. I know I will.” He looks at her one more time, trying to memorize her face. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Did I tell you that?”
“No.”
“Well, you are. And I love you. I’ll always love you.”
“I love you too,” she sobs. “I love you, please don’t go—” But his eyes are already closing, his hand going slack in hers. “Jungwon? Jungwon!” She’s screaming for the doctor, for anyone, but she knows it’s too late. She can see it in the stillness of his chest, the absence of breath. He’s gone.
She collapses over him, sobbing, and outside the moon continues its silent vigil, remembering everything, bearing witness to yet another story of love and loss.
In the morning, they’ll take his body away. They’ll bury him in an unmarked grave with dozens of other soldiers whose names will be forgotten.
But she’ll remember. She’ll remember his smile, his promises, the way he looked at the moon and asked if it remembered them. She’ll remember for the rest of her life. And somewhere, somehow, the moon remembers too.
1850 — Your POV
The wedding is beautiful in the way that expensive things often are— beautiful and cold and utterly devoid of warmth.
You stand at the altar in a dress that cost more than most people earn in a year, ivory silk and French lace that weighs you down like chains. The church is full of people you barely know, friends of your father’s mostly, society figures who’ve come to witness the union of two respectable families. You don’t look at the man beside you. Your husband. The word feels foreign, wrong.
The ceremony passes in a blur. You say the words when prompted, mechanical and hollow. I do. I will. Till death do us part. Death seems very far away.
When it’s over, when you’ve signed the papers that make you his property in the eyes of God and the law, you’re ushered into a carriage for the journey to his— your— estate. And you still haven’t looked at him properly.
“Are you well?” he asks quietly as the carriage lurches into motion.It’s the first time he’s spoken directly to you all day. His voice is pleasant enough, polite, carefully neutral.
“Quite well, thank you.” Your own voice sounds distant to your ears. “And you?”
“Well enough.” Silence descends again. You stare out the window at the countryside rolling past, green and lush and utterly indifferent to your misery.
This is your life now. Mrs. Yang Jungwon. Wife to a man you’ve met exactly three times before today— once at the engagement announcement, once at a chaperoned dinner, and once in passing at a social function where you’d exchanged perhaps a dozen words.
You know almost nothing about him except what your father told you: good family, substantial fortune, respectable reputation. A suitable match. No one asked if you wanted to be suitably matched.
The estate, when you arrive, is massive and imposing. Gray stone, manicured gardens, the kind of old money grandeur that’s meant to intimidate. It works. “Welcome home,” Jungwon says as he helps you down from the carriage. Home. The word rings hollow.
The staff is assembled to greet you— housekeeper, butler, lady’s maid, cook, and various others whose names you immediately forget. They curtsy and bow, welcoming the new lady of the house, and you smile because it’s expected.
“Mrs. Choi will show you to your rooms,” Jungwon says. “I imagine you’ll want to rest after the journey.” Your rooms. Separate rooms. Of course.
“Thank you,” you murmur. Mrs. Choi, the housekeeper, is a stern-faced woman in her fifties who leads you up a grand staircase and down a long hallway to a suite of rooms that will be yours. Bedroom, dressing room, private sitting room. All decorated in shades of cream and gold, elegant and expensive and utterly impersonal.
“Dinner is at eight,” Mrs. Choi informs you. “Ring if you need anything.”
And then you’re alone. You sink onto the bed— your bed— and stare at the ceiling. This is it. This is your life now. You’ll live in this house with this stranger, produce heirs if you can manage it, and grow old in separate bedrooms. You don’t cry. You’re too numb for tears.
The first weeks of marriage establish a pattern. You see Jungwon at breakfast and dinner. The meals are formal, served in a dining room far too large for two people. Conversation is stilted and polite. He asks about your day. You ask about his. Neither of you says anything of substance.
At night, you retire to your separate rooms. He’s made no move to consummate the marriage, and you’re grateful for it. The thought of that kind of intimacy with a stranger makes your skin crawl.
You fill your days with the expected activities of a lady of the house— consulting with the cook about menus, reviewing household accounts, receiving calls from neighbors who want to inspect the new bride. It’s all terribly boring.
Jungwon seems equally miserable, though he’s better at hiding it. He spends most of his time in his study, managing the estate or whatever it is men do in their studies. Sometimes you hear him playing the pianoforte in the music room late at night, melancholy pieces that drift through the halls like ghosts. You don’t disturb him.
A month passes. Then two. You’re reading in the library one afternoon when he finds you there. “I’m sorry,” he says, hovering in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s your library.” You close the book. “You can hardly intrude.”
“I suppose.” But he doesn’t leave. Instead, he moves closer, looking at the spines on the shelves with genuine interest. “What are you reading?”
You show him the cover. “Byron.”
His eyebrows rise. “Not the usual choice for a lady.”
“I’m not the usual lady.”
“Clearly.” And for the first time since the wedding, he almost smiles. “I like Byron too. Though I prefer Wordsworth.”
“Wordsworth is lovely, but Byron has more passion.”
“Passion is overrated. Give me quiet reflection any day.”
“That sounds desperately boring.”
“Perhaps I am desperately boring.”You study him properly for the first time. He’s handsome, you suppose, in a classical way. Dark hair, serious eyes, the kind of refined features that look good in portraits. But there’s something sad about him too, a resigned quality that mirrors your own feelings.
“Why did you agree to this?” you ask suddenly. “The marriage. If you didn’t want it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “How do you know I didn’t want it?”
“Because you’re as miserable as I am.”
He doesn’t deny it. “My father arranged it. Said it was time I settled down, secured the family line. I’m the only son, so…” He trails off with a shrug.
“So you had no more choice than I did.”
“No.” He meets your eyes. “I’m sorry. For both of us.” It’s the most honest conversation you’ve had.
“We’re rather pathetic, aren’t we?” you say. “Two people with everything anyone could want, absolutely miserable.”
“Quite pathetic,” he agrees. And then he does smile, small and wry. “But at least we have good taste in poetry.” It’s not much. But it’s something.
After that, things shift slightly. You start having breakfast together in the smaller morning room instead of the formal dining room. The conversation is still careful, but less strained. You discover he has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard. He discovers you have opinions about things women aren’t supposed to have opinions about— politics, philosophy, the appalling state of labor conditions in the factories. “You’re very radical,” he observes one morning over tea.
“And you’re very traditional.”
“Not by choice.”
“None of us are anything by choice, apparently.” He laughs at that, and the sound surprises both of you.
You start spending time together outside of meals. Reading in the library simultaneously, taking walks around the grounds, playing cards in the evening. It’s not romance, but it’s companionship. Friendship, almost.
You learn things about him. That he wanted to be a physician but his father forbade it, said it was beneath their station. That he plays the pianoforte to calm his mind when he can’t sleep. That he has nightmares sometimes, though he won’t say about what.
He learns things about you too. That you wanted to attend university but of course that was impossible. That you’re terrified of thunderstorms. That you once punched a boy who tried to kiss you without permission, and your father was furious but your mother was secretly proud. “I would have liked to meet your mother,” Jungwon says one evening.
“She would have liked you.” You pause. “I think she would have been glad I ended up with someone kind, at least.”
“Kind seems like damning with faint praise.”
“It’s more than most women get.” He can’t argue with that.
Three months into the marriage, something changes. You’re coming back from a walk in the gardens when a thunderstorm rolls in suddenly, violent and loud. You make it to the house but you’re soaked through, trembling not from cold but from fear.
Jungwon finds you in the entrance hall, dripping water onto the marble. “Are you alright?” He’s at your side immediately, concerned.
“Fine. Just— the storm—” Thunder cracks overhead and you flinch badly. Without thinking, he pulls you against him, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. It’s just noise.” You bury your face against his shoulder, embarrassed by your fear but unable to help it. He’s warm and solid and he smells like sandalwood and old books.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his waistcoat.
“Don’t be.” His hand moves in soothing circles on your back. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”
You stay like that until the worst of the storm passes, wrapped in his arms, feeling his heartbeat steady against your cheek. When you finally pull back, you’re both acutely aware of how close you are. His hands are still on your waist. Your fingers are twisted in his shirt. “I should change,” you say quietly. “Before I catch cold.”
“Yes. Of course.” But he doesn’t let go immediately.
“Jungwon—”
“I know.” He steps back, dropping his hands. “I’ll have Mrs. Choi draw you a bath.”
That night, you can’t stop thinking about how it felt to be held by him. How natural it seemed. How much you didn’t want him to let go. This is dangerous territory even though you’re married to him. But you can feel yourself falling.
After the storm, you can’t seem to go back to polite distance. You start sitting closer together when you read. Hands brushing when you pass the teapot. Long looks across the dinner table that make your pulse race.
One evening, you’re playing the pianoforte— badly, you’re the first to admit— and he comes to sit beside you on the bench. “May I?” he asks.
You slide over to make room. He begins to play, something soft and lovely that you don’t recognize. His hands move over the keys with practiced ease. “That’s beautiful,” you murmur.
“It’s Chopin. Nocturne in E-flat major.”
“Play it again?” He does, and this time you watch his hands instead of the keys. Beautiful hands, long fingers, careful and precise.
When he finishes, he doesn’t move away. “You’re staring,” he says softly.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He turns to look at you, and his face is very close to yours. “I stare at you all the time.”
Your breath catches. “You do?”
“Constantly. I thought you’d noticed.”
“I… no. I didn’t.”
“Well. Now you know.”
The air between you feels electric. You’re very aware of his thigh pressed against yours on the bench, the warmth of his body, the way his eyes drop to your lips. “We should—” you start.
“Yes,” he agrees. Neither of you moves.
“This is madness,” you whisper.
“Probably.”
“We barely know each other.”
“I know.” His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “But I’d like to. Know you, I mean. If you’ll let me.”
“Yes.” The word comes out breathless. “Yes, I—”
He kisses you. It’s soft at first, tentative, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, your hand coming up to rest on his chest, and the kiss deepens. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard.
“I should go,” you say, even though you don’t want to.
“Stay.” His forehead rests against yours. “Please stay. I know we didn’t choose this. I know we started as strangers. But I…” He pulls back to look at you. “I’m falling in love with you. Is that insane?”
Your heart is pounding. “If it is, then I’m insane too.”
He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel something unlock in your chest. Permission to feel this. Permission to want. “Come with me,” he murmurs against your lips.
“Where?”
“To my room. If you want. We don’t have to— I just want to be near you.” You should say no. This is too fast, too sudden, even though you’re married and have every right. But you take his hand.
His bedroom is larger than yours, decorated in deep greens and dark wood. Masculine and elegant. The bed is massive, four-poster, imposing. “Second thoughts?” he asks, seeing you hesitate.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” You laugh nervously. “I’ve never… that is, I don’t know what I’m supposed to…”
Understanding dawns on his face. “Ah. Your mother didn’t—”
“She died before we could have that conversation.”
“I see.” He moves closer, taking both your hands. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
“I want to.” And you do. God help you, you do. “I just… don’t know how.”
“Neither do I, really.” At your surprised look, he shrugs. “I’ve had opportunities, but I never… it didn’t feel right. With anyone else.”
“And this feels right? With me?”
“Everything feels right with you.” He kisses you again, slow and sweet, walking you backwards until your legs hit the bed. You sit, and he kneels in front of you, looking up with such tenderness it makes you ache. “We’ll figure it out together,” he promises. “And if you want to stop at any point—”
“I won’t.” You cup his face. “I trust you.”
What follows is gentle and awkward and lovely. He helps you out of your dress with shaking hands, fumbling with buttons and laces until you’re both laughing. You help him with his waistcoat, his shirt, until you’re both down to undergarments and the laughter has faded into something heavier. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes, looking at you in your chemise.
“So are you.” He’s all lean muscle and smooth skin when he strips off his undershirt. You reach out to touch his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm.
“Nervous?” you ask.
“Terrified.” But he’s smiling. “You?”
“Same.”
He lays you back on the bed, covering your body with his, and for a moment you just look at each other. “I love you,” you whisper.
“I love you too.”
The first touch of his skin against yours makes you gasp. He’s warm and solid and careful, so careful with you. “Tell me what feels good,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw, your neck.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then we’ll find out.” His hands are gentle as they explore your body over the thin chemise. Learning the shape of you, the places that make you shiver. When he brushes over your breast, you arch into the touch.
“There?” he asks.
“Yes. There.” He does it again, more deliberately this time, and pleasure sparks through you. His mouth follows his hands, kissing across your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts still covered by fabric.
“Can I…?” He tugs at the hem of your chemise. You sit up enough to let him pull it over your head, and then you’re bare before him. For a moment, he just looks.
“Stop staring,” you mumble, fighting the urge to cover yourself.
“Can’t help it.” His voice is rough. “You’re perfect.” His mouth finds your breast, tongue swirling around your nipple, and you cry out at the sensation. He takes his time, lavishing attention on both breasts until you’re squirming beneath him.
“Please,” you gasp, though you’re not sure what you’re asking for.
“I’ve got you.” His hand slides down your stomach, over the curve of your hip, coming to rest on your thigh. He pauses there, giving you time to object. You spread your legs instead. “God,” he breathes. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
His fingers find you, exploring carefully. You’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he makes a sound low in his throat. “Is this alright?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He strokes through your folds, learning what makes you gasp and moan. When he finds that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex, you nearly come off the bed. “There,” you pant. “Right there, please—”
He circles your clit with careful pressure, watching your face as pleasure builds. His other hand is braced beside your head, supporting his weight, and you can see how much this is affecting him too— the flush on his cheeks, the way his pupils have blown wide.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “So responsive.”
One finger slides inside you and you clench around the intrusion. It’s strange but not unpleasant, a fullness you’ve never felt before. “Okay?” he asks.
“More. Please, more.”
He adds a second finger, working them in and out while his thumb continues its maddening circles on your clit. The pleasure builds and builds, tension coiling low in your belly. “I think—” you gasp. “I think something’s happening—”
“Let it happen. I’ve got you.”
His fingers curl inside you, hitting some spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you shatter. Your back arches, a cry torn from your throat as your cunt pulses around his fingers. He works you through it, gentle and steady, until you collapse back against the bed.
“That was—” You can’t find words. “What was that?”
“Pleasure.” He’s grinning now, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Did you like it?”
“I think I might die if we never do that again.” He laughs and kisses you, and you can taste your own arousal on his lips.
“Your turn,” you say when you can speak again.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” You reach for the fastenings of his trousers. “Show me?” He helps you strip him of the last of his clothing, and then he’s bare before you. His cock is hard, flushed and leaking, and you’re struck by how vulnerable he looks like this. You wrap your hand around him experimentally, and he hisses. “Too much?”
“No. Perfect. You’re perfect.”
You stroke him slowly, learning the weight of him in your hand, the way his hips buck when you twist your wrist just so.
“I want—” He breaks off, breathing hard. “Can I be inside you?”
“Yes.” You’ve never wanted anything more. “Please.”
He positions himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. He’s shaking. “This might hurt,” he warns. “I’ll go slow.”
He pushes in gradually, giving you time to adjust. There’s a pinch of pain as he breaches you, and you grip his shoulders.
“Breathe,” he murmurs. “Just breathe.” He goes deeper, inch by careful inch, until he’s fully seated inside you. The fullness is overwhelming, bordering on too much, but underneath the discomfort is something else. Something that feels right.
“Okay?” he grits out, clearly struggling to hold still.
“Okay. You can move.”
He does, pulling out slowly before pushing back in. The pain fades with each stroke, replaced by a building pleasure. You wrap your legs around his waist, changing the angle, and he hits something inside you that makes you moan.
“There,” you gasp. “Just like that.”
He finds a rhythm, steady and deep, his hips rolling against yours. One hand slides between your bodies to find your clit again, and the combined sensations are almost too much. “You feel so good,” he pants. “So perfect. Like you were made for me.”
“Maybe I was.” You’re babbling now, lost in pleasure. “Maybe we were made for each other.”
“Yes. God, yes.” His thrusts become more urgent, less controlled. You can feel him getting close, his cock swelling inside you, and you clench down deliberately. “Fuck,” he gasps. “I’m—I’m going to—”
“Do it. Inside me.”
He does with a broken moan, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you. The feeling of his cock pulsing, the warmth flooding you, pushes you over the edge again. Your cunt clenches around him as you come, milking him through his orgasm. He collapses beside you, pulling out carefully, and gathers you into his arms.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You just lie there, sweaty and satisfied and stunned by what just happened. “That was—” he starts.
“Incredible,” you finish.
“I was going to say ‘better than I imagined’ but incredible works too.”
You laugh and press a kiss to his chest. “You imagined it?”
“Constantly. For weeks. I was going mad with wanting you.”
“You could have said something.”
“And risk you thinking I was some beast who only wanted you for that?” He strokes your hair. “I wanted you to choose me. To want me back.”
“I do.” You look up at him. “Want you, I mean. All of you. Not just the physical parts, though those are very nice.”
He grins. “Very nice?”
“Exceptional. Earth-shattering. Is that better?”
“Much.”
You settle against him, content in a way you’ve never been before. This wasn’t what you expected when you walked down that aisle three months ago. You thought you’d be trapped in a loveless marriage, going through the motions for the rest of your life. Instead, you’ve found this. Found him.
“I love you,” you whisper.
“I love you too.” He kisses the top of your head. “My wife.” The word doesn’t sound wrong anymore.
The next few months are the happiest of your life.
You and Jungwon are inseparable. You spend your days together— riding, reading, walking the grounds. The nights are for other things, learning each other’s bodies with increasing confidence and creativity. You make love in his bed, in your bed, once daringly in the library. He learns all the ways to make you fall apart, and you learn what makes him lose control. It’s intoxicating, this intimacy. This partnership.
“I can’t believe I thought I’d be miserable,” you tell him one morning, wrapped in his arms after a particularly energetic session.
“I can’t believe I almost let you sleep in separate bedrooms for the rest of our lives.”
“What changed your mind?”
“That storm. Holding you.” He pulls you closer. “I couldn’t pretend anymore that I didn’t want this. Want you.”
“I’m glad you stopped pretending.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you think we would have found this eventually? If not for the storm?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe we would have stayed strangers forever.” You trace patterns on his chest. “I’m grateful we didn’t have to find out.”
Winter arrives, bringing cold rain and early darkness. Jungwon has been coughing more lately, but you don’t think much of it. Everyone gets sick in winter. But it doesn’t get better.
One morning in late December, you wake to find blood on his handkerchief. “It’s nothing,” he insists when you confront him. “Just a cough.”
“That’s not just a cough.”
“I’ll see the physician if it makes you feel better.” It doesn’t make you feel better. Especially when the physician comes and takes one look at Jungwon and his face goes carefully blank.
“Tuberculosis,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.” The word hits like a physical blow.
“How long?” you ask, because Jungwon seems incapable of speech.
“Impossible to say. Months, perhaps. Maybe a year with rest and good care.” A year. Maybe.
After the physician leaves, you find Jungwon in the library, staring out the window at nothing. “We’ll get through this,” you say, taking his hand.
“Don’t.” His voice is hollow. “Don’t pretend this is something we can fix.”
“I’m not pretending. I’m fighting.”
“There’s nothing to fight.” He turns to look at you, and there are tears on his face. “I’m dying. And I finally—” His voice breaks. “I finally found something worth living for.” You pull him into your arms and let him cry.
The next months are a cruel inversion of your happiness. You care for him as he weakens, watching helplessly as the vibrant man you love fades into someone pale and frail.
He tries to stay strong for you. Jokes when he can manage it, reads to you when he has the breath, makes love to you when his body allows it though you tell him he doesn’t have to.
“I want to,” he insists. “While I still can. While I can still make you feel good.” Those moments are bittersweet. Tender and desperate, both of you trying to memorize every touch, every sound.
By spring, he’s confined to bed most days. You spend hours sitting with him, reading or just holding his hand. One night in April, you open the window to let in the fresh air. The moon is full and bright, hanging low in the sky. “Beautiful,” Jungwon murmurs from the bed.
You return to his side. “The moon?”
“Everything.” He’s looking at you, not the sky. “You’re beautiful. This life we built, however brief. Beautiful.” You take his hand, fighting back tears.
He turns his gaze to the moon, a small smile on his lips. “Do you think the moon remembers us?”
The question is strange, out of place. “What?”
“The moon. Do you think it remembers us? All the people who’ve looked up at it throughout time?”
You don’t understand why he’s asking this, but you answer honestly. “I’d like to think so. That all our stories, all our love, is remembered somewhere.”
“Good.” He squeezes your hand weakly. “Then it will remember this. Remember us. How much I love you.”
“Don’t.” Your voice breaks. “Don’t talk like you’re saying goodbye.”
“I have to.” He’s struggling to breathe now, each word an effort. “Have to tell you. In case… in case there’s something after this.”
“Jungwon—”
“I’ll find you.” He says it with utter conviction. “In the next life, if there is one. I’ll find you. However long it takes.”
Tears are streaming down your face. “Don’t leave me.”
“I don’t want to.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “But I don’t think I have a choice.”
You climb into the bed beside him, careful of his fragile body, and hold him as gently as you can. “I love you,” you whisper. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” His breathing is getting shallower. “Thank you. For making me happy. For letting me love you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.” He’s fading, you can feel it. “You saved me. From a life of duty and emptiness. You gave me joy.”
“You gave me the same.”
He smiles, peaceful despite the pain. “Then we’re even.” His eyes close.
“Jungwon?” Panic claws at your throat. “Jungwon, don’t—”
“Just resting,” he murmurs. “So tired.”
“I know. But stay with me. Please stay with me.”
“Always.” His grip on your hand is so weak now. “Every life. Every lifetime. I’ll find you.” Those are the last words he speaks.
He dies as the sun rises, the moon fading into daylight, and you’re left holding an empty shell of the man who taught you what love could be. You don’t leave his side for hours. Can’t bring yourself to let go.
When they finally take him away, you return to the window. The moon is gone now, but you look up at the sky anyway.
“Remember us,” you whisper. “Please remember us.” Somewhere in the vast indifference of the universe, maybe it does.
1912 — Jungwon’s POV
The ship is bigger than anything Jungwon has ever seen. He stands on the dock in Southampton, neck craned back to take in the sheer scale of the RMS Titanic, and feels impossibly small. Four massive funnels reach toward the sky, the hull gleaming white and black in the April sun. Unsinkable, they’re calling it. The ship that even God himself couldn’t sink.
Jungwon doesn’t believe in unsinkable ships, but he believes in new beginnings. America. That’s where this floating palace is headed, and Jungwon along with it. He’s got a third-class ticket, everything he owns in a single worn suitcase, and hopes for a job in New York that might actually pay enough to live on.
England has nothing left for him— no family, no prospects, no future worth staying for. So: America. And the Titanic to get him there.
The third-class gangway is crowded with people like him— immigrants, workers, dreamers. The smell of unwashed bodies and cheap tobacco mingles with salt air. Jungwon shoulders his suitcase and joins the queue, shuffling forward slowly.
“Papers,” the officer barks when Jungwon reaches the front. He hands them over— passport, ticket, health certificate. Everything in order. The officer barely glances at them before waving him through. And then he’s aboard.
The third-class accommodations are exactly what he expected— cramped quarters, narrow bunks stacked three high, thin blankets that smell of mothballs. He’s sharing the cabin with five other men, none of whom speak English. They communicate in gestures and broken phrases, sorting out who gets which bunk. Jungwon ends up with a middle one. It’ll do. It’s only four days to New York.
He leaves his suitcase on the bunk and goes exploring. Third-class passengers aren’t supposed to wander into the upper decks, but the ship is massive and the crew can’t be everywhere. Jungwon has never been good at following rules.
He climbs stairs, follows hallways, nods politely at stewards who eye him suspiciously but don’t actually stop him. The ship is a maze of opulence and machinery— plush carpets giving way to metal floors, crystal chandeliers to bare electric bulbs.
He finds his way to the Boat Deck, where the lifeboats hang in their davits and the ocean stretches endless in every direction. The ship has pulled away from port now, Southampton shrinking behind them. The coast of England is a gray line on the horizon. Goodbye, he thinks. Good riddance.
He’s leaning against the railing, breathing in cold salt air, when he sees her. She’s first class— that much is obvious from the dress alone. Pale blue silk, cinched waist, a hat that probably cost more than his ticket. She’s standing near the stern with a man in an expensive suit, and even from a distance Jungwon can tell she doesn’t want to be there.
Her posture is stiff, uncomfortable. The man— her husband? fiancé?— has his hand possessively on her elbow, gesturing at the horizon like he owns it. She nods along, dutiful and detached.
And then she turns her head, just slightly, and her eyes meet Jungwon’s across the deck. The world stops. It’s not love at first sight— Jungwon doesn’t believe in that. But it’s something. Recognition, maybe, though he’s never seen her before in his life. A pull, deep in his chest, like a hook catching and refusing to let go.
She holds his gaze for three heartbeats. Four. Five. Then the man says something and she looks away, the moment broken. Jungwon should leave. Should go back to third class where he belongs, forget about the beautiful woman in the blue dress. He doesn’t.
He sees her again that evening in the third-class general room. Which is impossible, because first-class passengers don’t come down to third class. Ever. It’s practically a law.
But there she is, hovering in the doorway, looking around with wide eyes at the crowded, noisy space. Someone’s playing an accordion, children are running underfoot, people are drinking and laughing and speaking in a dozen different languages. She looks completely out of place and utterly enchanted. Jungwon makes his way through the crowd toward her.
“Lost?” he asks. She startles, turning to look at him. Up close, she’s even more beautiful— dark eyes, delicate features, a strand of hair escaping from beneath her hat.
“I—” She glances behind her, nervous. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Probably not. Want to stay anyway?”
A smile tugs at her lips. “Maybe. Just for a moment.”
“Come on.” He offers his hand. “I’ll give you the grand tour. It’ll take about thirty seconds.” She laughs and takes his hand.
He shows her the general room, the modest dining area, the stairs leading down to the berths. She asks questions— where is he from, where is he going, what does he hope to find in America. He answers honestly, charmed by her genuine interest. “What about you?” he asks. “What brings you to third class?”
“Curiosity. And…” She hesitates. “Escape, I suppose.”
“From what?”
“A man with too much money and not enough imagination.” She says it lightly, but there’s bitterness underneath. “My fiancé. He thinks he owns me.”
“Does he?”
“Not yet. The wedding isn’t until we reach New York.”
Something cold settles in Jungwon’s stomach. “You don’t want to marry him.”
“No. But I don’t have much choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Not for women like me.” She pulls her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself. “I should go. He’ll notice I’m gone.”
“Wait.” Jungwon doesn’t know what he’s doing, only that he can’t let her leave yet. “What’s your name?” She shouldn’t tell him. It’s improper, dangerous even. But she does anyway. And Jungwon commits it to memory like a prayer.
They keep running into each other. Or rather, she keeps finding excuses to slip away from her fiancé and come find Jungwon. It’s reckless and stupid and neither of them can stop.
She comes down to third class when she can, staying for stolen minutes in hallways and quiet corners. They talk about everything— books, dreams, the lives they wish they could have. She tells him about growing up in a gilded cage, groomed from birth to marry well and look pretty. He tells her about growing up with nothing, fighting for every scrap.
“I envy you,” she says one night. They’re on the aft deck, hidden from view behind a lifeboat. It’s late, most passengers asleep. The stars are brilliant overhead.
“Envy me?” Jungwon laughs. “I have nothing.”
“You have freedom. You can go anywhere, be anyone. I’ve never had that.”
“You could. Come to America with me. Really with me, not with him.”
“Don’t.” But she doesn’t move away when he steps closer. “Don’t give me hope for things that can’t happen.”
“Why can’t they?”
“Because I’m engaged. Because he’d ruin you if he found out. Because—” Jungwon kisses her. It’s impulsive and foolish and she should push him away, should slap him, should run back to her fiancé and forget this ever happened. She kisses him back instead.
It’s desperate and messy and perfect. His hands in her hair, her fingers clutching his shirt. Four days they’ve been on this ship and it feels like a lifetime, feels like they’ve known each other forever.
When they break apart, they’re both breathing hard. “Come to my cabin,” he says. “Please.”
“I can’t—”
“I know. But please. Just tonight. Let me have tonight.”
She should say no. She should walk away while she still can. “Yes,” she whispers instead. “Yes.”
His cabin is empty— his bunkmates still in the general room, drinking and playing cards. Jungwon locks the door behind them, and for a moment they just stand there, looking at each other. “We don’t have to,” he says. “If you don’t want—”
“I want.” She’s already working at the buttons of her dress. “Help me?”
His hands shake as he helps her undress, revealing layers of silk and lace and finally, skin. She’s beautiful, all soft curves and pale flesh, and he can’t believe this is real.
She undresses him too, fingers fumbling with buttons and buckles until they’re both bare. The cabin is cramped and cold, but neither of them cares. “Have you—” he starts.
“No. Have you?”
“No.” They laugh, nervous and giddy, and then he’s guiding her to the narrow bunk, covering her body with his.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he murmurs, kissing her neck.
“You won’t.”
He takes his time, exploring her body with hands and mouth. Learning what makes her gasp, what makes her arch into his touch. When he slides his hand between her thighs and finds her wet, she moans. “Jungwon—”
“I know. I’ve got you.”
He strokes her clit, watching her face as pleasure builds. She’s gorgeous like this— flushed and wanting, all artifice stripped away. When she comes apart under his fingers, he feels like he’s witnessing something holy.
“Inside me,” she pants. “Please, I need—”
He positions himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her wetness. “This might hurt,” he warns.
“I don’t care.” He pushes in slowly, feeling her stretch around him. She winces and he freezes.
“Don’t stop,” she grits out. “Keep going.” He does, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside her. The feeling is overwhelming— tight and hot and perfect. He has to hold still for a moment, fighting the urge to move.
“Okay?” he manages.
“Okay. More than okay. Move, please—” He does, pulling out slowly before pushing back in. Finding a rhythm, careful and deep. Her legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Like that, just like that—”
The bunk creaks beneath them, the sound embarrassingly loud in the small cabin. But Jungwon can’t bring himself to care. All that matters is this— her body beneath his, the way she’s looking at him like he’s everything.
“I’m close,” he warns. “I need to—”
“Inside me. Don’t pull out.”
“But—”
“I don’t care. I want to feel you.” That’s all it takes. He buries himself deep and comes with a groan, spilling inside her. The feeling of his cock pulsing, of his release filling her, pushes her over the edge. She comes around him with a cry, her cunt clenching and fluttering. They collapse together in the narrow bunk, sweaty and satisfied and stunned by what just happened. “I love you,” she whispers against his chest.
“I love you too.” He kisses the top of her head. “Come with me. To New York. Leave him and come with me.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. We’ll—”
“Shh.” She presses a finger to his lips. “Let’s not think about tomorrow yet. Let’s just have tonight.”
So they do. They make love again, slower this time. Learning each other, memorizing every touch. And afterward, they lie tangled together, talking in whispers about impossible futures.
Through the porthole, the moon hangs low over the water, full and bright. “Look,” she says, pointing. “The moon.”
Jungwon follows her gaze. “It’s beautiful.”
“Do you think the moon remembers us?” she asks suddenly. “All the people who’ve looked up at it throughout time?”
The question is strange, but somehow it doesn’t feel strange. “I don’t know. Why?”
“I just… I want something to remember this. Remember us. In case—” She stops, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’m being foolish.”
“You’re not.” He pulls her closer. “And yes. I think the moon remembers. I think it’s watched a million love stories just like ours.”
“This isn’t a love story. Love stories have happy endings.”
“Ours will too.” He says it with conviction he doesn’t quite feel. “We’ll make it work. We’ll—”
She kisses him, cutting off the words. They make love once more, desperate and clinging, like they’re trying to fight off the dawn.
When she finally leaves, slipping back to first class before sunrise, Jungwon lies in the bunk that still smells like her and tries not to think about losing her.
The next day, April 14th, dawns cold and clear. Jungwon doesn’t see her all morning, all afternoon. He walks the decks, hoping for a glimpse, but third class and first class might as well be different worlds.
By evening, he’s restless and frustrated. He shouldn’t have let her go. Should have convinced her to stay, to run away with him right then.
He’s in the general room after dinner, nursing a beer and trying not to think about her, when the ship shudders. It’s subtle— a grinding sensation, a slight lurch. Most people don’t even notice. But Jungwon feels it in his bones, a wrongness that makes his skin prickle. Around him, the conversation continues. The accordion plays. Children laugh. But something is wrong.
It’s another twenty minutes before the crew starts coming through, telling everyone to put on life belts and head to the Boat Deck. Their voices are calm, almost casual. Just a precaution. Nothing to worry about. Jungwon doesn’t believe them.
He grabs his coat and joins the stream of people heading upstairs. The corridors are crowded, confused. Why are they doing this? It’s freezing outside. The ship is fine. But when Jungwon reaches the deck, he sees the ice. Chunks of it, scattered across the forward deck like broken glass. And the ship— the unsinkable ship— is listing. Tilting forward, just barely, but
Crew members are uncovering lifeboats, their movements quick and efficient. Women and children are being loaded first, separating families, causing chaos. Jungwon scans the crowd frantically, looking for her. There are hundreds of people on deck now, maybe thousands. First class mixing with second and third, all the careful social hierarchies breaking down in the face of disaster.
He pushes through the crowd, searching. She has to be here somewhere. She has to— there. She’s near one of the lifeboats, her fiancé gripping her arm. She’s arguing with him, trying to pull away, and Jungwon’s heart seizes. He fights his way toward her.
“—not getting in without you!” she’s saying, tears streaming down her face.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her fiancé snaps. “The ship is sinking. Get in the boat.”
“I won’t leave you—”
“You will if I tell you to—”
“Let her go.” Jungwon doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s hard, angry, nothing like the gentle tone he used with her last night.
The fiancé turns, sees him, and his face twists with contempt. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who actually cares about her. Let. Her. Go.”
“You’re that third-class rat she’s been sneaking off to see.” The fiancé’s grip tightens on her arm and she winces. “I should have known. Guards!”
“Stop it!” She wrenches free, stumbling toward Jungwon. “Stop it, both of you!”
Jungwon catches her, steadying her. Up close, he can see the terror in her eyes. “The ship,” she whispers. “It’s really sinking, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then we need to— we have to—“ She looks around wildly at the chaos, the lifeboats being lowered, the growing tilt of the deck.
“Get on a boat,” Jungwon says. “Now. While there’s still room.”
“Not without you.”
“There’s no room for me. Women and children only.” He cups her face, memorizing her features. “Please. Get on the boat.”
“No. No, I won’t—” Her fiancé grabs her again, and this time he’s stronger, more forceful. He drags her toward the lifeboat despite her struggles.
“Jungwon!” she screams. He tries to follow but a crew member blocks his way.
“Back, sir. Women and children only.”
“That’s my—” But what is she? Not his wife. Not even really his lover, except for one stolen night. “Please, she needs me—”
“Step back or I’ll have you removed.”
Through the crowd, Jungwon watches helplessly as her fiancé forces her into the lifeboat. She’s fighting, crying, calling Jungwon’s name. Their eyes meet across the distance. I love you, he mouths. The lifeboat starts to lower.
“NO!” She’s leaning over the edge, reaching for him. “Jungwon, please! PLEASE!” But the boat drops away, down toward the black water, and she’s gone.
Jungwon stands frozen, watching the lifeboat pull away from the dying ship. She’s safe. That’s what matters. She’s safe.
The Titanic groans beneath his feet, the bow sinking lower. Around him, people are screaming now, the reality of the situation setting in. Not enough boats. Not enough time. He’s going to die here. The thought is strangely calm.
He makes his way to the stern, which is rising now as the bow sinks. The deck is tilting at a dangerous angle, people clinging to railings, crying and praying. Jungwon finds a spot near the back and looks up at the sky. The stars are brilliant, the moon nearly full. Beautiful.
He thinks about last night. Her body beneath his, the way she said his name. The plans they made that will never happen now. “I’ll find you in the next life,” he whispers to the moon, to the stars, to whatever might be listening.
The ship shudders violently. Somewhere below, something breaks with a sound like thunder. The stern is rising higher now, nearly vertical.
People are jumping, falling, screaming as they plummet into the icy water. Jungwon holds on, watching it all with strange detachment.
This is how he dies. Not in a fight, not of old age, but here on a ship that was supposed to be unsinkable, thinking about a woman he knew for four days. The ship breaks. He feels it— the hull splitting, metal screaming as the bow tears away and sinks. The stern bobs for a moment, and Jungwon thinks maybe, maybe—
Then it goes down. The water is so cold it stops his heart. He tries to swim but his limbs won’t cooperate, the freezing temperature shutting down his body piece by piece. Around him, people are screaming, thrashing, dying. He stops fighting.
As the water closes over his head, his last thought is of her. Of dark eyes and soft skin and a single night that felt like forever. I’ll find you, he thinks again. I promise. I’ll find you. The moon watches as he drowns.
In the lifeboat, she’s still screaming his name. Her fiancé tries to restrain her, tries to calm her down, but she’s hysterical. She saw the ship break. Saw it go down. Saw hundreds of people disappear into the black water. Including Jungwon. “He’s gone,” her fiancé says, not unkindly. “I’m sorry, but he’s gone.”
“No.” She’s shaking her head, denial and grief warring in her chest. “No, he can’t be. He promised. He said—” But she can’t remember what he said. Only that it felt important. That it felt true.
They’re rescued hours later by the Carpathia. She and her fiancé are wrapped in blankets, given hot soup, processed like cargo. She goes through the motions, numb and hollow.
Her fiancé tries to comfort her, tries to pretend the last four days didn’t happen. They’ll still marry when they reach New York, he says. Put this tragedy behind them. Move forward. She nods because she doesn’t have the energy to argue. But she knows the truth. She died on that ship too. The woman she was, the woman Jungwon made her feel like she could be— that woman drowned in the Atlantic. What’s left is just a shell.
On the Carpathia’s deck that night, she looks up at the moon. The same moon that watched them make love, that heard her ask if it would remember.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please remember him. Remember us.” The moon offers no answer. But somewhere, somehow, she thinks it heard.
1969 — Your POV
June 15, 1969 Dear Diary, I hate that I’m starting this like some teenage girl, but Mom gave me this journal and said writing might help. Help with what, I’m not sure. The fear? The waiting? The bone-deep terror that comes with loving someone who’s about to go to war? Jungwon got his draft notice today. He came home from the post office with this look on his face— not surprised, exactly, but resigned. Like he’d been waiting for this moment and now it’s finally here. First son. That’s what the letter said, like that explains everything. Like being born first means you’re obligated to die first too. We’ve been together for two years. Two perfect, beautiful years. We met at a protest, of all places— both of us marching against this stupid war, and now he has to go fight in it. The irony would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking tragic. He leaves in eight weeks. Sixty days. That’s all we have left. I don’t know how to do this. How to count down the days until I lose him. How to smile and be strong when all I want to do is scream. But I’ll try. For him, I’ll try.
You remember the day you met him with perfect clarity. August 1967. Washington D.C. The March on the Pentagon. You’d gone with friends from college, piled into someone’s beat-up Volkswagen van with hand-painted peace signs on the sides. The whole drive down you’d sung protest songs and shared joints and felt like you were part of something important.
The crowd was massive— thousands of people, maybe tens of thousands. You’d never seen anything like it. Everyone young and angry and alive, waving signs and chanting. “Hell no, we won’t go!” “Make love, not war!” The energy was electric.
You’d lost your friends somewhere in the chaos. Didn’t matter— you were swept up in the crowd, moving with the mass of bodies toward the Pentagon. The police were there in riot gear, a wall of shields and batons, and the crowd pressed forward anyway.
That’s when you saw him. He was near the front, dark hair falling in his eyes, wearing a denim jacket covered in pins and patches. He was shouting something at the police line, passionate and fearless, and you thought: I want to know him.
When the police charged, everything descended into chaos. People running, screaming, tear gas filling the air. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Someone grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the worst of it. It was him.
“Come on!” he shouted over the noise, tugging you through the crowd. You ran together, lungs burning, until you were several blocks away. Safe. You collapsed against a building, coughing and laughing and high on adrenaline.
“You okay?” he asked, looking you over with genuine concern.
“I think so. Thank you. For—” You gestured vaguely back toward the chaos.
“Couldn’t leave a fellow revolutionary to get trampled.” He grinned, and it transformed his whole face. “I’m Jungwon.” You told him your name, and he repeated it like he was memorizing it.
You spent the rest of the day together. Found your respective friends eventually, but kept gravitating back to each other. Talking about the war, about politics, about music and books and dreams for a better world. He was smart and funny and so passionate about everything he believed in. By the time you had to leave, you’d given him your number. He called three days later.
Your first date was at a coffee shop in Greenwich Village, the kind of place with poetry readings and folk music and cigarette smoke thick in the air. You talked for six hours straight, until the owner kicked you out at closing.
Your second date was a concert in Central Park. Simon and Garfunkel. You sat on a blanket and he held your hand and you thought you might be falling in love.
Your third date ended in his tiny apartment in the East Village, with his hands in your hair and your legs wrapped around his waist and the certainty that this was it. This was everything.
Two years later, you’ve built a life together. It’s not much— a small apartment, mismatched furniture, more books than shelf space— but it’s yours. You work at a bookstore. He’s in his second year of college, studying literature because he loves it even though his parents think it’s impractical.
You go to protests together, make love to Motown records, cook dinners that are more ambition than skill. You talk about the future— maybe moving to San Francisco, maybe joining a commune, maybe just existing in this little bubble of happiness forever.
And then the draft notice came.
June 20, 1969. We went to the recruitment office today to see if there was any way out of this. Deferment, conscientious objector status, anything. There isn’t. The officer— this smug asshole with a crew cut and a flag pin— looked at Jungwon like he was dirt. Said being a first son means he has a duty to serve. Said if he tries to dodge, they’ll find him. Said a lot of boys would be grateful for the opportunity to serve their country. Jungwon didn’t say anything. Just nodded and took the papers and walked out. I wanted to scream at that officer. Wanted to tell him that this isn’t service, it’s murder. That we’re sending boys to die in a jungle halfway around the world for a war nobody even understands anymore. That Jungwon has already served— served the cause of peace, served humanity by refusing to hate people he’s never met. But I didn’t say anything either. On the way home, Jungwon finally spoke. He said he was scared. That’s all. Just those two words. And then he started crying, right there on the subway, and I held him while strangers pretended not to notice. I’m scared too. Terrified. But I can’t let him see that. Only fifty-two days left.
July 4, 1969 Independence Day. The irony isn’t lost on us. We went to a protest in the park instead of watching fireworks. Smaller crowd than usual— a lot of people are getting tired, I think. Tired of marching and shouting and nothing changing. The war keeps grinding on. Boys keep dying. But we went anyway. Held our signs. Chanted until our throats were raw. Afterward, we walked home through the city. It was late, past midnight, and the streets were mostly empty. Jungwon stopped suddenly and pulled me into an alley. He said he wants to remember this. Us. Me. Before everything changes. And then he kissed me, deep and desperate, and we made love right there against a brick wall. It was reckless and uncomfortable and perfect. When we got home, we stayed up until dawn making love again, slower this time. Memorizing each other. Thirty-eight days.
The countdown is torture. Every morning you wake up and think: one day less. One day closer to losing him.
You try to make the most of the time you have left. You go to all your favorite places— the coffee shop where you had your first date, the record store where you spent hours flipping through albums, the park where you’ve had a hundred picnics. You take pictures, filling up two whole rolls of film. You cook elaborate dinners and stay up late talking about everything and nothing.
And you make love constantly. In your bed, on the couch, in the shower. Sometimes slow and tender, sometimes urgent and desperate. Like you’re trying to fit a lifetime of intimacy into a handful of weeks.
Jungwon is quieter now. More withdrawn. You catch him staring at nothing sometimes, lost in thoughts he won’t share. “Talk to me,” you beg one night after he’s been silent through dinner.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Anything. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I keep thinking about all the things I’m going to miss. Stupid things, like… the way you hum when you’re cooking. Or how you always steal my coffee even though you have your own. Or the sound of rain on the window when we’re in bed.”
“You’ll come back.” You say it fiercely, like conviction can make it true. “You’ll come back and we’ll have all of that again.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Don’t say that—”
“We have to talk about it.” His voice is gentle but firm. “We have to acknowledge that I might not come home.”
“I can’t.” Tears are streaming down your face now. “I can’t think about that. If I think about that, I’ll fall apart.”
He pulls you into his arms, holding you while you sob. “Then don’t think about it. Just… remember that I love you. That I’ll always love you. No matter what happens.”
“I love you too. So much.” You make love that night with tears on both your faces, holding each other like you can physically stop time if you just hold tight enough.
July 28, 1969 Two weeks. That’s all we have left. Jungwon is trying to act normal. Going to classes, seeing friends, pretending like everything is fine. But I see the cracks. The way his hands shake sometimes. The nightmares that wake him up gasping. I asked him last night what he’s afraid of. He said dying but also coming back as someone else. If he comes back at all. I said you don’t die, you’ll come back and you’ll be exactly who you are now. But honestly, I don’t know if that’s true. How could anyone go through war and come back unchanged? We had sex three times today. I’m getting sore but I don’t care. Every time feels like it might be the last time, so we keep reaching for each other. This morning he went down on me for what felt like hours, making me come twice before he even took his cock out. Then he fucked me slow and deep, whispering how much he loves me, how beautiful I am, how he’s going to remember every second of this. I rode him after, taking my time, watching his face as he fell apart beneath me. He came inside me and I thought: let me get pregnant. Let there be some piece of him that stays even if he doesn’t come back. I didn’t say that out loud. It would terrify him. Fourteen days.
August 7, 1969 Five days. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t think about anything except the calendar counting down. We went to Woodstock yesterday. Or tried to— the traffic was so bad we only made it halfway before turning back. But we could hear the music in the distance, see the crowds. It felt important somehow. All these people gathering to celebrate peace and love while the world burns down around us. Tonight we’re staying in. Just the two of us. I don’t want to share him with anyone else. Not now.
You spend the last five days in bed. Not the whole time, obviously— you have to eat, use the bathroom, occasionally answer the door when friends come by to say goodbye. But mostly, you stay in bed. Making love. Talking. Sleeping tangled together. Trying to memorize the feeling of his body against yours.
“Tell me about after,” Jungwon says on the third-to-last night. “When I come back. What are we going to do?”
“Everything.” You trace patterns on his bare chest. “We’re going to do everything we’ve always talked about. Move to California. Live in a commune. Grow our own food. Make art and music and love every single day.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“We’ll get married. Nothing fancy— just us and a few friends and maybe some wildflowers. I’ll wear a white dress and you’ll wear your denim jacket with all the pins.”
He laughs. “Very traditional.”
“We’ll have kids someday. Two or three. We’ll teach them to question everything and fight for what’s right and love fiercely.”
“I want that.” His voice cracks. “I want all of that with you.”
“Then come back to me. Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I promise I’ll try.” It’s not the same as promising to come back, but it’s all he can give.
You make love again, slow and reverent. He worships your body with his hands and mouth, making you come on his tongue before sliding inside you. You move together in perfect rhythm, years of practice making you instinctively know what the other needs. When you both finish, you lie there in the afterglow, holding each other. “I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything in this world.”
“I love you too. Come back to me.”
“I will. I swear I will.”
August 11, 1969 Tomorrow. He leaves tomorrow. I don’t know how to write this. Don’t know what to say that won’t sound trite or desperate or completely inadequate. We spent today doing normal things. Had breakfast at our favorite diner. Walked through the park. Went to the record store and bought the new Dylan album even though we can’t really afford it. Tonight we went up to the roof of our building. It’s illegal but no one cares. We brought a blanket and a bottle of wine and lay there looking at the stars. The moon was almost full. So bright I could see every detail of his face. Do you think the moon remembers us? Is what he’d asked me. I didn’t fully understand the question. He continued with how all the people who’ve looked at it, do you think the moons remember them and their stories? I said I didn’t know. He said how he wants it to remember us, remember this moment incase he doesn’t come back. I told him that it will, and I will, how could I forget him? We made love on that roof under the moonlight. It was cold and uncomfortable and the most beautiful thing we’ve ever done. Afterward, lying in his arms, he said it: if he doesn’t make it back that I should know that he’ll find me in the next life, no matter how long it take, no matter the cost. I told him he’s coming back to me in this one. He kissed me instead of arguing. And we made love again, desperate and clinging. We didn’t sleep. Stayed up all night holding each other, watching the moon travel across the sky. He leaves in six hours. I don’t know how to let him go.
The morning is gray and cold, unseasonably cool for August. You help him pack, though there’s not much to take. A small duffel bag with some clothes, toiletries, a few photos. He tucks the pictures carefully into the side pocket— one of the two of you at that first protest, one from a party last year where you’re both laughing at something, one from last week where you’re just looking at each other. “So I don’t forget,” he says quietly.
“You won’t forget.”
“No. But just in case.”
The bus station is crowded with other boys shipping out, their families crying and saying goodbye. You see mothers clutching sons, girlfriends sobbing into boyfriends’ shoulders. Everyone trying to be brave and failing. Jungwon holds you until the very last second. “I love you,” he says into your hair. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Come back to me.”
“I will. I promise.” He pulls back to look at you, memorizing your face. “Wait for me?”
“Always. Forever. I’ll wait forever if I have to.” One last kiss. Deep and desperate and tasting of salt from tears— yours, his, both. And then he’s boarding the bus with all the other boys in their too-new uniforms, and you’re standing on the platform watching it pull away.
He’s at the window. You can see him pressed against the glass, one hand flat against it like he’s reaching for you. You raise your hand in a wave. And then the bus turns the corner and he’s gone. You stand there for a long time after, staring at the empty street.
Someone touches your shoulder— another girl who just said goodbye to her boyfriend. She’s crying too. “They’ll come back,” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. “They have to come back.” You nod because you can’t speak. But you’re not sure you believe it.
August 15, 1969 I’m at Woodstock. Finally made it. I came alone. Couldn’t stand being in the apartment without him. Everything there reminds me of Jungwon— his books still on the shelf, his jacket hanging by the door, the sheets that still smell like him. The festival is chaos. Mud everywhere, people as far as I can see, music blasting from the stage. It’s overwhelming and beautiful and exactly what I need. I’m not really here, though. Part of me is still on that bus station platform. Part of me is wherever Jungwon is right now— boot camp, probably. Learning how to kill people. I hate this. I hate all of it. But I’m here, in the mud and the music, because he would want me to be. Because this is what we believe in— peace, love, community. All the things we’re trying to build while the government tears them down. I’m going to survive this. I’m going to wait for him, and when he comes home, we’re going to build the life we talked about. I have to believe that.
September 3, 1969 First letter from Jungwon arrived today. I was so excited I almost ripped it opening the envelope. ‘My love, Boot camp is hell. They wake us up at 4 AM and work us until we drop. Everything is shouting and pushups and running until I want to puke. They’re trying to break us down, turn us into soldiers. Turn us into killers. I don’t know if I can do this. But I think about you every night. About your smile, your laugh, the way you look when you first wake up. About making love on our roof under the moon. Those memories are the only thing keeping me sane. I miss you so much it physically hurts. Miss your voice, your touch, the way you steal my coffee. Miss everything. I’ll write as often as I can. Tell me about your life. What you’re reading, where you’re going, who you’re seeing. I need to know that the world I’m fighting for (even though I don’t believe in this war) still exists. I love you. More than words can say. Forever yours, Jungwon’ I read it five times. Then I went into the bedroom and cried into his pillow.
September 20, 1969 I’m writing letters every day. Sometimes twice a day. I tell him about everything— the bookstore, protests I go to, albums I buy, books I read. Stupid mundane things that probably bore him, but he asked for them so I write. His letters come sporadically. Sometimes I get three in one week, sometimes nothing for two weeks. When they arrive, I devour them. He’s trying to stay positive, I can tell. But I read between the lines. The exhaustion. The fear. The slow erosion of the person he was. He finishes boot camp next month. Then he ships out. To Vietnam. I can’t think about it. If I think about it, I’ll lose my mind.
October 12, 1969 He called today. Five minutes on a pay phone before shipping out. His voice sounded different. Harder. Older. He told me he loves me, and that no matter what happens I need to remember that. I said I love him too and to be safe, to please be safe. And then the line went dead. That was eight hours ago and I can’t stop crying.
October 30, 1969 Letter from Vietnam. ‘My love, I’m here. In the jungle. In the war. I can’t tell you where exactly (they censor that) or what we’re doing (they censor that too). I can tell you it’s hot and wet and everything smells like rot and fear. I can tell you I think about you constantly. That your letters are the only good thing in this place. That I keep your photo in my pocket over my heart. I can tell you I’m terrified. Not of dying— though I am scared of that— but of becoming someone you won’t recognize when I come home. If I come home. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t write things like that. You need hope, not my fear. I love you. I love you. I love you. Stay safe. Live your life. Don’t put it on hold waiting for me. All my love, Jungwon’ I wrote back immediately: My love, I will always wait for you. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what you’ve seen or done or become. You’re mine and I’m yours and nothing changes that. Come home to me. All my love, forever.
The letters continue. Back and forth across an ocean, across a war. Sometimes they’re full of mundane details— what he ate, what you did that day. Sometimes they’re deeper— fears, hopes, dreams for the future. You live for those letters. They’re proof he’s still alive, still him, still yours.
November 15, 1969 Haven’t heard from him in three weeks. I tell myself it’s fine. Mail is slow. He’s busy. He’s in the jungle where there’s no way to send letters. But the silence is deafening.
December 1, 1969 Five weeks now. I called his parents. They haven’t heard anything either. I’m trying not to panic.
December 10, 1969 Letter arrived today. Thank god. Thank god. ‘My love, I’m sorry for the silence. We were in the field— weeks in the jungle, no communication with the outside world. I wrote you letters every night but couldn’t send them. I’ll mail them all now so you’ll get a flood at once. I saw combat. Real combat. I can’t describe it. Won’t describe it. Just know that I’m okay. Physically okay, at least. The guys in my unit are good men. We take care of each other. That helps. I miss you so much I dream about you every night. Dream about being home, about holding you, about a life where there’s no war. Soon. I’ll be home soon. I love you endlessly, Jungwon’ Six more letters arrived over the next week. All written in the jungle, some barely legible, all filled with love and longing. I’m holding onto them like lifelines.
January 1, 1970 New year. New decade. I spent it alone in our apartment, drinking cheap wine and reading his letters. This year, he comes home. He has to.
The months blur together. Winter turns to spring. Letters arrive sporadically, sometimes cheerful, sometimes dark. You write back religiously, filling page after page with your life, your love, your hope.
You go to protests but your heart’s not in it anymore. You work at the bookstore. You see friends. You exist in a state of suspended animation, waiting.
The nightmares start in March. You dream of jungles and gunfire and blood. You dream of Jungwon dying in a thousand different ways. You wake up screaming, reaching for him, finding only empty sheets. You stop sleeping well.
April 20, 1970 Eight months since he left. I saw a news report today about casualties. The numbers are staggering. Thousands dead. Thousands more wounded. I couldn’t watch. His last letter said his unit was moving to a new position. He couldn’t say where. Couldn’t say what they’d be doing. I haven’t heard from him since. It’s been two weeks.
May 5, 1970 Three weeks. I’m trying not to think about what that might mean.
May 12, 1970 Four weeks. I called his parents again. Still nothing. I’m losing my mind.
May 20, 1970 Letter arrived today. But it’s not from him. It’s from his commanding officer. ‘Dear Miss, It is my duty to inform you that Private Yang Jungwon was killed in action on April 28, 1970, during combat operations in [REDACTED]. Private Yang died bravely, serving his country with honor. He was well-liked by his unit and will be deeply missed. Please accept my sincerest condolences for your loss. Respectfully, Captain Haruma, United States Army’ I don’t remember the rest of that day. I don’t remember screaming. Don’t remember collapsing. Don’t remember the neighbors breaking down the door because they heard me and thought someone was being murdered. I remember waking up in a hospital. Sedated. Numb. I remember his mother crying on the phone saying that he’s coming home. But he’s not coming home. Not really. Just a body in a box.
May 25, 1970 They buried him today. Military funeral. Flag-draped coffin. Gun salute. The whole terrible ceremony. I couldn’t look at the coffin. Couldn’t accept that he was in there. That the man I loved, love— vibrant and alive and so full of passion— was reduced to a body in a box in the ground. They gave me the flag. Folded into a perfect triangle. I wanted to scream at them. Wanted to throw the flag back in their faces and demand they give me Jungwon instead. But I just stood there, numb, while they lowered him into the ground. After, I went home and found a letter. Tucked into my mailbox. From him. Dated April 27. The day before he died. ‘My love, If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I wrote this just in case. Just in case the worst happens and I don’t get to say goodbye. First: I love you. I love you more than I knew it was possible to love another person. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. The brightest light in my life. Every moment with you was a gift. Second: This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. Don’t torture yourself with what-ifs. We had no control over this. Third: Live. Please, live your life. Don’t spend it mourning me. Find love again if you can. Be happy. Make art. Change the world. Do all the things we talked about doing together. And finally: I’ll find you in the next life. I don’t know if there is a next life, but if there is, I’ll find you. I’ll find you in every lifetime. This isn’t the end. It can’t be. I love you forever, Jungwon P.S. - Remember the moon? How I asked if it remembers us? I hope it does. I hope something in this universe remembers that we existed, that we loved each other. That our love was real and true and worth something, even if it was brief.’
I can’t write anymore. Can’t see through the tears. He’s gone. The love of my life is gone. And I don’t know how to survive this.
The journal entries stop after that. The pages remain blank for months, then years. You keep the journal, but you can’t bring yourself to write in it. Can’t put into words the emptiness, the grief that never quite fades.
You do what he asked. You live. You finish school, get a job, move to San Francisco like you always planned. You go to protests, make art, try to change the world in small ways. You even date again, eventually. Nice men who try to understand why you sometimes go quiet and distant, why you can’t quite let them all the way in. None of them are him.
On the anniversary of his death, you go to the cemetery. Place flowers on his grave. Tell him about your year. “I’m trying,” you whisper to the headstone. “I’m trying to live like you asked. But god, I miss you. Every single day, I miss you.”
The wind rustles the leaves overhead. The sun shines. The world keeps turning. And you keep living. Because that’s what he wanted.
But part of you— the best part— died in a jungle halfway around the world on April 28, 1970. And you’ll never get it back.
2001 — Your POV
September 11, 8:32 AM
Jungwon kisses you goodbye at the elevator, quick and chaste because you’re at work and even though everyone knows you’re married, PDA in the office is frowned upon. “See you at lunch?” you ask, adjusting his tie even though it’s perfectly straight. It’s just an excuse to touch him.
“Can’t. Meeting with the Lehman team goes until two.”
“Dinner then. I’ll cook.”
He grins. “You mean you’ll order takeout and pretend you cooked.”
“I resent that. I’m an excellent chef.”
“You burned water last week.”
“That was one time!” You swat his arm, laughing. “Okay, fine. I’ll order from that Thai place you like.”
“Perfect.” He kisses you again, properly this time, not caring who sees. “I love you.”
“Love you too. Don’t work too hard.” The elevator dings and you step inside, waving as the doors close. Jungwon watches you disappear, then heads back to his desk on the 101st floor of the North Tower.
You and Jungwon have been married for three years, together for five. You met at Cantor Fitzgerald— both of you ambitious young traders trying to make a name for yourselves in the cutthroat world of finance.
The attraction was immediate. The love took a bit longer, but not much. He proposed after a year and a half, on the roof of your apartment building under a full moon. You were married three months later in a small ceremony in Central Park, just family and close friends.
Working together has its challenges— you’re competitive by nature, and sometimes that bleeds into your relationship. But mostly it’s good. You understand the demands of each other’s jobs. You can decompress together about difficult clients. You commute together, have lunch together when schedules allow, go home together. Your entire lives are intertwined. You love it.
You step out of the elevator on the 96th floor— your department is a few floors below his— and head to your desk. The morning is already chaotic, phones ringing, traders shouting, the energy that makes you love this job. You’re reviewing overnight reports when your phone rings. “Trading desk.”
“Mrs. Yang, it’s David from IT. We’re having some issues with your workstation remotely. Would you mind coming down to the 78th floor so we can take a look?”
You glance at your computer. It seems fine, but IT knows better than you. “Sure. Give me five minutes?”
“Perfect. Thanks.” You grab your phone and ID badge, tell your supervisor you’ll be back in fifteen, and head for the elevators.
The elevator ride down takes less than a minute. You step out onto the 78th floor— it’s quieter here, mostly administrative offices and IT. David meets you in the lobby. “Thanks for coming down. This should only take a minute. Just need to check something in the server room.”
You follow him down the hall, chatting about weekend plans, completely unaware that you have eight minutes left in the world as you know it.
8:46 AM
Jungwon is on a conference call when the building shakes. No— not shakes. Lurches. Like the entire structure has been hit by something massive. The lights flicker. Someone screams. The windows on the north side explode inward in a spray of glass and fire.
The conference call drops. Alarms start blaring. People are shouting, running, diving under desks. Jungwon’s brain struggles to catch up. What the hell just happened?
“Everyone stay calm!” His manager is shouting to be heard over the chaos. “Proceed to the stairwells! Don’t use the elevators!”
Jungwon grabs his phone and jacket on autopilot, joining the stream of people heading for the stairs. The office is in chaos— papers everywhere, computers sparked and smoking, the smell of jet fuel and burning. Jet fuel. Oh god.
He dials your number as he’s moving, pressed against a hundred other bodies trying to evacuate. It rings once. Twice. Three times. “Jungwon?” You sound confused. “What’s happening? We felt something down here—”
“Where are you?” His voice is urgent. “What floor?”
“78th. I’m with IT, they needed to—”
“Get out. Right now. Don’t go back to your desk, don’t grab anything, just get to the stairs and get out of the building.”
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Something hit the building. High up. There’s fire and—” He’s being pushed into the stairwell now, the crowd surging around him. “Just get out. Please.”
“I will. Where are you?”
“101st floor. I’m in the stairwell. I’m coming down.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll meet you outside.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Be careful.” The line cuts out as he enters the stairwell. No signal.
The descent is a nightmare. Hundreds of people packed into a narrow concrete shaft, everyone trying to move at once. It’s hot and dark and the smoke is getting thicker with every floor.
Jungwon tries to stay calm. Tries to breathe through his shirt. Tries not to think about what happened, about the fire above him, about the fact that he’s 101 floors up and the only way out is down. He tries your number again when he hits the 95th floor and gets signal for a moment. No answer. Again at the 90th floor. No answer.
The stairwell is moving so slowly. People are crying, praying, helping those who can’t move as fast. The woman in front of Jungwon is heavily pregnant and struggling. He helps support her weight as they descend. “My baby,” she keeps saying. “I can’t—my baby—”
“You’re going to be fine,” Jungwon tells her. “We’re all going to be fine. Just keep moving.” He doesn’t know if he believes it.
At the 85th floor, his phone rings.“Jungwon!” You’re crying. “Oh god, Jungwon—”
“I’m here. I’m okay. Where are you?”
“I’m outside. I got out. But Jungwon, they’re saying—” Your voice breaks. “They’re saying a plane hit the building. A passenger plane. It flew right into the tower.”
His blood runs cold. “What?”
“It’s on the news. It’s everywhere. And—” You’re sobbing now. “Another plane just hit the South Tower. Jungwon, this isn’t an accident. This is—”
“I know. I know. Listen to me—I need you to get away from here. As far away as you can. Go to Brooklyn. Go to your sister’s. Just get away from Manhattan.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“You have to—”
“NO.” Your voice is fierce through the tears. “I’m not leaving you. I’m staying right here until you come out.”
“Baby, please—”
“Don’t. Don’t ask me to leave you. I won’t do it.” He wants to argue but he knows it’s pointless. You’re the most stubborn person he’s ever met. It’s one of the things he loves about you.
“Okay. Okay. I’m at the 85th floor. I’m coming down as fast as I can.”
“How fast is that?”
“Slow. There’s a lot of people. But I’m moving. I’m going to make it out.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” He stays on the phone with you as he descends. 80th floor. 75th. 70th. You talk to him the whole time. Telling him about what you’re seeing outside— the smoke, the emergency responders, the crowds. Telling him you love him. Begging him to hurry.
“I’m trying,” he says. “I’m trying.”65th floor. The building shudders. Different from before. More structural. The stairwell sways and people scream.
“What was that?” You sound terrified. “Jungwon, what was that?”
“I don’t know. The building just— it felt wrong.”
“You need to move faster.”
“I am. We all are. It’s just— there’s so many people—” 60th floor. The smoke is getting worse. People are coughing, struggling to breathe. Some are collapsing. Other people are helping them, but it’s slowing everything down.
Jungwon’s legs are burning. His lungs hurt. But he keeps moving. “Talk to me,” he says to you. “Tell me about something good. Distract me.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. Our honeymoon. Our first date. Anything that isn’t this.”
You’re quiet for a moment, and when you speak, your voice is steadier. “Remember our honeymoon? In Italy, that night in Venice? We got lost trying to find the hotel and ended up at that little square with the fountain?” He does remember. The moon reflecting off the water. Your hand in his. The way the whole city felt like a dream.
“And you asked me if I thought the moon remembered us,” you continue. “All the lovers who’d stood in that square over the centuries.”
“Did I say that?”
“You did. You said you wanted the moon to remember us. To remember our love story.”
55th floor. Jungwon is crying now, though he’s not sure when that started. “I still want that.”
“It will. The moon will remember us. I know it will.”
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If I don’t make it—”
“Don’t say that—”
“Listen. Please. If I don’t make it, I need you to promise me you’ll keep living. You’ll find happiness again. You won’t spend the rest of your life mourning me.”
“Jungwon—”
“Promise me.”
“I can’t. I can’t promise that. You’re my whole life. You’re everything.”
“Then promise me you’ll try. That you’ll at least try.”
You’re sobbing. “Okay. Okay, I promise. But you ARE going to make it. You have to make it.”
50th floor. He’s halfway. He’s actually halfway. Maybe he will make it out. “I love you,” he says. “More than anything in this world. You know that, right?”
“I know. I love you too. So much. So much.”
45th floor. The woman in front of him collapses. Jungwon and another man help her up, support her weight between them. She’s gasping for air, barely conscious. “Keep going,” Jungwon tells her. “We’re almost there.” 40th floor.
“I’m at 40,” he tells you. “Less than halfway now.”
“You’re doing so good. You’re almost out.”
“How’s it look out there?”
“Bad. Both towers are burning. There’s debris everywhere. But the firefighters are here. They’re going in to help people.”
“Good. That’s good.” 35th floor.
His phone is dying. Battery at 15%. “My phone’s almost dead,” he tells you.
“No. No, you have to keep talking to me.”
“I will. As long as I can. But if we get cut off—”
“We won’t.”
“But if we do, I need you to know—”
“I already know. I know you love me. I know we’re going to grow old together. I know we’re going to have babies and a house in the suburbs and a dog. I know all of it because you promised me.”
“I did promise you that.”
“So you have to keep that promise. You have to get out of there and come home to me.”
30th floor. Battery at 10%. “Do you remember our wedding vows?” he asks. “I meant every word. Every promise. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”
“Me too.”
25th floor. “I can see the end,” he says. “I can actually see the bottom of the stairwell. Maybe ten more floors.”
“Oh thank god. Thank god.”
20th floor. Battery at 5%. The building shudders again. Violently this time. The stairwell groans.
“Jungwon? JUNGWON?”
“I’m here. I’m still here. Something’s wrong. The building—it doesn’t feel stable.”
“You need to run. Right now. Run as fast as you can.”
“I am. We all are.”
15th floor. The lights go out. Emergency lighting kicks in, bathing everything in red. People are screaming, pushing, panicking.
“Stay calm!” Someone is shouting. “Everyone stay calm!” But no one is calm. Everyone can feel it— the building is dying. 10th floor.
“I’m at ten,” Jungwon gasps into the phone. “Almost there. Almost—” The building lurches. Metal screaming. Concrete cracking.
“JUNGWON!”
“I’m okay. I’m still moving. Five more floors.”
5th floor. “I can see the lobby. I can see the exit. I’m going to make it. I’m actually going to make it.”
“Run. Don’t stop. Just run.” He does. The last few floors are a blur— feet pounding stairs, people streaming into the lobby, firefighters directing everyone outside.
Jungwon bursts out onto the street and the sight is apocalyptic. Both towers burning. Debris everywhere. Ash falling like snow. But he’s out. He’s alive. “I’m outside,” he gasps into the phone. “I made it. I’m out.”
“Where? Where are you?”
“West side, I think. Near—” The sound drowns out everything else. A roar like the end of the world. Jungwon turns and looks up. The South Tower is collapsing. “Oh my god,” he breathes.
“What? What’s happening?”
“The South Tower. It’s— it’s coming down.”
And then the cloud hits. Debris and dust and smoke racing down the street like a tsunami. People screaming, running, diving into buildings. Jungwon runs.
He doesn’t know where he’s going, just away from the cloud, away from the collapse. His phone is still clutched in his hand, your voice tinny and distant.“Jungwon! JUNGWON!”
“I’m here! I’m still here!” He ducks into a building— a store, doors standing open. The cloud follows him in, filling the space with choking dust.
He can’t see. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except hold the phone and hope. And then, gradually, the worst passes. He’s alive. Covered in dust, coughing up gray ash, but alive. “I’m okay,” he says into the phone. “I’m okay. The South Tower collapsed but I’m okay.”
“Oh thank god. Thank god. Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Some store. I can’t see anything. There’s dust everywhere.”
“Stay there. Stay inside until the dust clears. I’m coming to find you.”
“No. Don’t. It’s not safe.”
“I don’t care. Tell me where you are.”
“I don’t KNOW where I am—” His phone dies. “No. No no no—” He tries to turn it back on but it’s dead. Completely dead. He has no way to reach you. No way to tell you he’s alive. All he can do is wait for the dust to clear and try to find you.
You’re running. Your phone went dead ten seconds after his did, and now you’re sprinting through the chaos toward where you last heard him— west side of the North Tower. The South Tower is gone. Just gone. A pile of rubble and smoke where a building used to be.
And the North Tower is still burning. Jungwon’s tower. He made it out. He told you he made it out. He’s alive somewhere in this nightmare and you’re going to find him.
You’re pushing through crowds, screaming his name, looking for his face in a sea of ash-covered people who all look the same. “JUNGWON!” No answer. “JUNGWON!” The dust is thick. You can barely see ten feet ahead. But you keep moving, keep searching.
You’re maybe three blocks from the tower when you hear it. That sound again. Metal and concrete and the world ending. You look up. The North Tower is collapsing. “No,” you whisper. And then you’re screaming. “JUNGWON! JUNGWON!”
The tower comes down in a cascade of destruction, floor after floor pancaking, the cloud of debris exploding outward. You’re too far away. The cloud won’t reach you here. You’re safe. But Jungwon. He said he was on the west side. Near the tower. He was right there.
“No. No no no no no—” You’re calling his phone but it’s going straight to voicemail. Again and again and again. “JUNGWON! PLEASE! JUNGWON!”
People are grabbing you, trying to pull you back, away from the disaster. You fight them. “My husband! My husband was there! I need to— I have to—”
But there’s nowhere to go. The entire area where the towers stood is gone. Just smoke and rubble and death. You collapse on the pavement, screaming into your dead phone. He was right there. He made it out and he was right there and now— now the building is gone. And so is he.
They find Jungwon’s body three days later. He’d made it out of the building. Made it almost two blocks away. But when the tower collapsed, the debris cloud caught him. A piece of falling concrete, the medical examiner says. He died instantly. You identify him at the morgue. His face is peaceful, covered in dust. Like he’s sleeping. You don’t cry. You can’t. You’re too empty.
At the funeral, they play the voicemail you left him after the towers fell. The one where you’re screaming into the phone, begging him to answer, telling him you love him. You don’t remember leaving it.
You don’t remember much of anything from those first few days. The city buries thousands. You bury your husband. And then you have to figure out how to keep living.
Ten years pass. You never remarry. Never even date. How could you? Jungwon was your whole life. Your whole heart. You move out of New York. Can’t stand to be in the city where you lost him. You end up in a small town in Vermont, working at a library, living a quiet life.
Every year on September 11th, you visit the memorial. Stand at the reflecting pool where the North Tower used to be, looking at his name etched in bronze. YANG JUNGWON. You trace the letters with your fingers and remember.
Remember his laugh. His smile. The way he kissed you goodbye that last morning. Remember the phone call. His voice getting weaker as he descended. The way he said “I love you” one last time before his phone died. Remember standing in the street, watching the tower collapse, knowing he was gone.
At night, you look at the moon and think about what he said. About the moon remembering love stories. “Do you remember us?” you whisper to the sky.
The moon doesn’t answer. But you hope it does. Hope that somewhere in the universe, someone remembers that you loved him. That he loved you. That what you had was real and beautiful and worth something, even though it ended too soon.
You survive twenty more years. Never stop missing him. Never stop loving him. When you die at 65— heart attack, quick and painless— your last thought is of him. I’m coming, you think. Finally, I’m coming to find you. And maybe, somewhere, the moon remembers.
2026 — split POV
Jungwons POV
Jungwon is running late. He overslept— stayed up too late studying for his anatomy exam, his alarm didn’t go off, and now he’s sprinting across campus with his backpack half-open and his shirt probably on inside out.
Pre-med is killing him. Everyone said it would be hard, but no one mentioned it would be “survive on three hours of sleep and questionable dining hall coffee” hard. He rounds the corner by the library at a full run, checking his phone to see just how late he is to his 9 AM lecture—
And crashes directly into someone. The impact is total. Books go flying. Papers scatter. And Jungwon’s coffee— his precious, desperately-needed coffee— explodes all over the person he just barreled into. “Oh my god,” he gasps, stumbling back. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—” He looks up and his brain short-circuits.
It’s a girl. A beautiful girl in a white shirt that is now completely drenched in his coffee. Dark hair falling around her face, wide eyes, an expression of pure shock. And the second their eyes meet, something in Jungwon’s chest cracks open. He knows her.
He doesn’t know her— he’s never seen her before in his life— but he knows her. Knows her the way he knows his own heartbeat. Knows her in a way that makes no logical sense but feels more real than anything he’s ever experienced. “I—” His voice doesn’t work. He tries again. “I’m so sorry. Your shirt—”
She’s just staring at him. Not angry, not upset. Just staring like she’s seeing a ghost. “It’s okay,” she says finally, but her voice is shaky. “It’s fine. I just—”
They’re both still frozen, standing in the middle of the path while other students flow around them. Jungwon forces himself to move. He shrugs out of his hoodie— thankfully he’s wearing a t-shirt underneath— and holds it out to her. “Here. Please. I’m so sorry. Take this.”
She looks at the hoodie, then back at him. “I can’t—”
“Please. I ruined your shirt. It’s the least I can do.” Slowly, she takes it. Their fingers brush and Jungwon feels electricity shoot up his arm. What the hell is happening?
She pulls on the hoodie— it’s too big on her, sleeves hanging past her hands— and something about seeing her in his clothes makes his heart do a weird flip. “Thank you,” she says softly. “I’m— uh. I have a class. I should—”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He’s already pulling out his phone. “Can I get your number? So I can pay for dry cleaning. Or replace the shirt. Or—”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Please. I feel terrible.”She hesitates, then rattles off her number. He types it in with shaking hands. “I’m Jungwon, by the way.”
“I know.” Then her eyes widen. “I mean— I don’t know. You just— you look like a Jungwon.”
That doesn’t make any sense, but he smiles anyway. “And you are?”She tells him her name, and Jungwon commits it to memory like a prayer.
“I really am sorry,” he says again. “About the coffee.”
“It’s okay. Really.” She’s backing away now, but she keeps looking at him. Like she can’t quite make herself leave. “I should go. I’m late.”
“Me too. But—” He doesn’t want her to go. Can’t explain why, but the thought of her walking away makes him feel panicky. “Can I text you? About the shirt?”
“Sure. Yeah. That’s fine.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll— I’ll text you.”
“Okay.” She finally turns and walks away, and Jungwon stands there watching her go, his heart pounding for reasons he can’t explain. He’s never believed in love at first sight. Thought it was bullshit, something made up for movies and romance novels. But something just happened. Something big and important and completely inexplicable.
He doesn’t know what. But he knows, with absolute certainty, that he just met someone who’s going to change his life.
Your POV
You make it to class five minutes late, wearing a stranger’s hoodie, your heart racing. What the hell was that? You’ve never believed in fate or destiny or any of that romantic nonsense. You’re a history major, you deal in facts and evidence and things that can be proven.
But when you locked eyes with that boy— Jungwon— something shifted in the universe. You knew him. Know him. Even though you’ve never seen him before in your life. And the way he looked at you— like he knew you too. Like he’d been waiting for you.
You slide into your seat in the lecture hall and your best friend Mina immediately notices the hoodie. “Whose is that?” she whispers.
“Some guy’s. He spilled coffee on me.”
“And gave you his hoodie? That’s very chivalrous. Is he cute?”
You think about dark eyes and messy hair and the way his hands shook when he typed your number into his phone. “Yeah,” you admit. “Really cute.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Your phone buzzes. Unknown number: Hi, this is Jungwon. The coffee disaster guy. Just wanted to make sure I got your number right. And to apologize again. I really am sorry about your shirt.
You smile despite yourself and type back: It’s fine. Really. The hoodie is very comfortable.
Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.
Your heart does a stupid flutter: I should probably return it at some point.
How about tomorrow? I could buy you coffee. To replace the shirt.
You shouldn’t. You don’t know this guy. He could be anyone. But you’re already typing back: Tomorrow sounds good.
Perfect. I’ll text you details. And again— really sorry.
Stop apologizing. It was an accident.
Still feel bad.
Don’t. I’m fine. Great, even. I got a free hoodie out of it.
Ha. Fair point. See you tomorrow?
See you tomorrow.
You put your phone away and try to focus on the lecture. But all you can think about is tomorrow. About seeing him again. About why the thought of it makes you feel like you’re coming home.
Jungwon’s POV
Jungwon changes his outfit three times before leaving his dorm. “You’re being ridiculous,” his roommate Jake says, sprawled on his bed playing video games. “It’s just coffee.”
“It’s not just coffee.”
“It’s literally just coffee. You’re meeting a girl you spilled coffee on to buy her coffee to apologize for the coffee. It’s coffee inception.”
“Shut up.”
Jake grins. “You like her.”
“I don’t know her.”
“But you like her.”
Jungwon doesn’t answer because the truth is yes, he does like her. Has been thinking about her non-stop since yesterday. Can’t explain it, can’t rationalize it, but it’s true. He settles on jeans and a simple black shirt, checks his hair one more time, and heads out.
They agreed to meet at the campus coffee shop— ironic, given the circumstances— at 2 PM. Jungwon arrives ten minutes early and immediately regrets it because now he has to stand around looking awkward.
He’s checking his phone for the third time when he sees her walking up. She’s wearing casual clothes— jeans and a sweater— and she’s carrying his hoodie, neatly folded. Her hair is down today, falling past her shoulders, and Jungwon’s brain goes momentarily offline. “Hi,” she says, smiling.
“Hi.” He sounds like an idiot. “You came.”
“I said I would.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Get it together, Yang. “Should we go in?”
They order coffee— she gets a vanilla latte, he gets an americano— and find a table by the window. For a moment, they just sit there, both suddenly shy. “So,” you say finally. “Pre-med, right? I saw your anatomy textbook when you dropped everything.”
“Yeah. First year. It’s brutal.”
“I can imagine. I’m history. Much less brutal.”
“History’s cool. What kind of history?”
“All kinds. But I’m focusing on American history right now. Specifically the 20th century.”
Something flickers in Jungwon’s chest at that. He doesn’t know why. “That’s really interesting,” he says. “Any particular reason?”
You shrug. “I like understanding how we got here. How the past shapes the present. Plus the 20th century was just… a lot. Wars, social movements, technological revolution. It’s fascinating.”
“Do you think the past matters? Like, do you think we’re shaped by history or do we shape ourselves?” The question comes out more philosophical than he intended, but you don’t seem to mind.
“Both, probably. We’re products of our time, but we also have agency. We can make choices that change the trajectory.” You pause. “Why? Do you think the past matters?”
“I think…” He’s not sure how to articulate this. “I think sometimes the past isn’t really past. I think sometimes it echoes forward. Into the present.”
You’re looking at him with this intense focus, like he’s said something profound instead of just vaguely poetic nonsense. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I think that too.”
The conversation flows easily after that. You talk about classes, about campus life, about your respective hometowns. Jungwon tells you about wanting to be a doctor since he was a kid, about the pressure from his parents but also his genuine love for medicine. You tell him about your love of research, about wanting to be a professor someday, maybe write books.
Two hours pass without either of you noticing. “I should probably go,” you say reluctantly, checking your phone. “I have a study group at five.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Jungwon stands when you do, not ready for this to end. “Can I walk you?”
“Sure.” You walk across campus together, the conversation never stopping. It’s easy with you. Comfortable. Like you’ve done this a thousand times before.
When you reach your building, you turn to face him. “Thanks for the coffee. And for not being a serial killer.”
He laughs. “Thanks for giving a clumsy pre-med student a chance to apologize.”
“It was a good apology.” There’s a moment where you’re just looking at each other, and Jungwon feels that pull again. That inexplicable sense of knowing you.
“Can I see you again?” he asks. “Not as an apology. Just… because I want to.”
You smile. “I’d like that.”
“Friday? There’s a film festival on campus. Foreign films. Probably boring to most people but—”
“I love foreign films.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
His heart is going to beat out of his chest. “It’s a date then?”
“It’s a date.”
He walks away grinning like an idiot, and when he checks his phone later, there’s a text from you: Had fun today. See you Friday :)
He stares at the smiley face for an embarrassingly long time before responding: Me too. Can’t wait. And he means it. He genuinely can’t wait to see you again. Which is crazy. He barely knows you. But it doesn’t feel like barely knowing you. It feels like coming home.
Your POV
You and Jungwon are dating. It’s not official-official— you haven’t had the “what are we” conversation— but you’re together constantly. Study dates that turn into actual dates. Late-night conversations that stretch until 3 AM. Stolen kisses between classes. It’s fast. You know it’s fast. Mina keeps asking if you’re sure about this, if you’re not rushing into things. But it doesn’t feel fast. It feels exactly right.
You learn things about him: that he’s terrible at cooking but makes excellent coffee. That he stress-cleans before exams. That he has nightmares sometimes and won’t talk about them. That he looks at the moon when he’s thinking.
He learns things about you: that you hum when you’re concentrating. That you steal his coffee even though you have your own. That you’re afraid of thunderstorms. That you’ve always felt like you’re searching for something you can’t name.
Tonight, you’re in his dorm room— Jake is conveniently gone for the weekend— sprawled on his bed while he attempts to study for biochemistry. “This is impossible,” he groans, throwing his highlighter at the textbook. “Why do I need to know the Krebs cycle? When will I ever use this as a doctor?”
“When you’re explaining cellular respiration to a patient, obviously.”
“That will definitely happen. Constantly.” You laugh and roll onto your stomach, watching him.
He’s wearing glasses tonight— he usually wears contacts but he ran out— and they make him look unfairly adorable. “You’re staring,” he says without looking up from his notes.
“You’re pretty.”
“I’m not pretty. I’m ruggedly handsome.”
“You’re pretty.”
He looks up, grinning, and tackles you onto the bed. You shriek with laughter as he pins you down, his weight warm and solid above you. “Take it back,” he demands.
“Never. You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”
“Terrible. The worst.” But he’s smiling as he says it, and then he’s kissing you, and your brain shuts off. You’ve kissed before— many times over the past six weeks— but it still feels new every time. Still makes your heart race and your stomach flip.
His hand slides under your shirt, fingers skimming your ribs, and you arch into the touch. “Is this okay?” he murmurs against your lips.
“Yeah. Yes. More than okay.”
Things heat up quickly after that. Clothes coming off, hands exploring, breathless whispers in the dark. You’ve fooled around before— heavy petting, getting each other off— but you haven’t gone all the way yet. Tonight feels different. “Do you want to?” Jungwon asks, pulling back to look at you. “We don’t have to. There’s no pressure. I just—”
“I want to.” You cup his face. “I want you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He kisses you deeply and reaches for his nightstand, pulling out a condom. “I’ve, uh. I’ve never actually done this before.”
“Me neither.”
“So we’ll figure it out together?”
“Together,” you agree. What follows is awkward and sweet and perfect. He’s gentle, careful, constantly checking if you’re okay. There’s fumbling and nervous laughter and moments where you have to adjust and try again.
But when he finally slides inside you, when you’re joined completely, it feels right. It feels like coming home. “God,” he breathes, forehead pressed against yours. “You feel amazing.”
He moves slowly at first, finding a rhythm, and the pleasure builds gradually. It’s not earth-shattering— first times rarely are— but it’s intimate and meaningful and when you both finish (you first, then him shortly after), you feel closer to him than you’ve ever felt to anyone.
After, you lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied and happy. “That was…” Jungwon trails off.
“Yeah.”
“We should probably do that again sometime.”
“Definitely.” He laughs and pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You settle against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling utterly content.
“Hey,” he says after a while. “Can I ask you something weird?”
“Always.”
“Do you ever feel like… like we’ve done this before? Not the sex,” he clarifies quickly. “Just… this. Us. Being together. Like we’ve been here before.”
Your heart skips. “Yeah. All the time.”
“Really?”
“Really. I can’t explain it. But from the moment we met, I felt like I knew you. Like we were supposed to find each other.”
“Me too.” He’s quiet for a moment. “My roommate thinks I’m crazy.”
“My roommate thinks I’m rushing into things.”
“Are we? Rushing?”
You think about it. Six weeks is fast. But it doesn’t feel fast. It feels inevitable. “I don’t think so,” you say. “I think… I think sometimes you just know. When something’s right.”
“Yeah.” He tightens his arms around you. “I think you’re right.”
You fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, and you dream of things you can’t quite remember when you wake. Battles and hospitals and sinking ships. A jungle. A burning building. And through it all, his face. Always his face.
You’re officially together by December. Boyfriend and girlfriend. You changed your relationship status on social media and everything.
Mina has stopped asking if you’re sure and started asking when you’re getting married, which is ridiculous because you’re only twenty-one, but sometimes you look at Jungwon and think yes, that one, forever. Which is insane. You’ve only known him for three months. But it doesn’t feel like three months. It feels like always.
It’s winter break now. Most students have gone home, but you and Jungwon both stayed on campus— you have a research project, he has lab work. Which means you basically have the whole university to yourselves.
Tonight, you’re at his apartment (he moved off-campus this semester) cooking dinner together. Or rather, you’re cooking while he sits on the counter and provides commentary. “You’re going to burn the chicken,” he observes.
“I’m not going to burn the chicken.”
“The pan is smoking.”
“That’s just—” You check the pan. It’s definitely smoking. “Okay, fine. You do it.” He laughs and hops down, gently moving you aside to take over. Within minutes, he’s rescued the chicken and gotten everything under control.
“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” you accuse.
“I said I’m terrible at cooking. Doesn’t mean I can’t do basic stuff. I just prefer not to.”
“So you’ve been letting me struggle this whole time?”
“I like watching you try.”
You swat him with a dish towel and he catches your wrist, pulling you against him. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi yourself.” He kisses you, slow and sweet, and you melt into him. Three months in and he still makes your knees weak.
Dinner is actually good— turns out Jungwon can cook when properly motivated. You eat on his tiny balcony despite the cold, wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights. “I have something for you,” Jungwon says when you’re both finished eating.
“It’s not Christmas yet.”
“I know. But I saw this and thought of you and I couldn’t wait.” He pulls out a small wrapped box from his pocket.
“Jungwon—”
“Just open it.”
You unwrap it carefully. Inside is a delicate silver necklace with a tiny moon pendant. “Oh,” you breathe. “It’s beautiful.”
“I know you love looking at the moon. You always point it out when we’re walking at night. And I just… I wanted you to have something that reminded you of…” He trails off, looking embarrassed. “This is cheesy, isn’t it?”
“It’s perfect.” You kiss him. “Help me put it on?” He fastens the necklace around your neck, his fingers gentle on your skin. The pendant rests just below your collarbone, catching the light.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, but he’s looking at you, not the necklace.
That night, you make love in his bed, slow and tender. You’ve gotten better at it over the past few months— learned what each other likes, how to move together, how to make it good for both of you. When you’re both satisfied and drowsy, you curl up against his chest.
“I love you,” you say. It’s the first time either of you have said it. You’ve been thinking it for weeks, but you weren’t sure if it was too soon, if it would scare him off.
Jungwon goes very still. Then he tips your chin up so he can see your face. “You do?”
“Yeah. I do. I love you.”
“I love you too.” He says it like a revelation, like he’s just discovered something amazing. “I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Scared. Didn’t want to freak you out.”
“You could never freak me out.”
“Good to know.” He kisses you again. “I love you. So much. More than I knew was possible.” You fall asleep in his arms, the moon pendant warm against your skin, and everything feels perfect.
Your POV
Spring semester is brutal. You’re both drowning in work— your senior thesis is due in two months, Jungwon is applying to medical schools and studying for the MCAT. You still see each other every day, but it’s different now. Stressed. Tired. Neither of you sleeping enough.
One evening in late March, you’re both in the library, sitting at the same table but working on separate things. You’ve been here for six hours. Your eyes are burning, your back hurts, and you’re pretty sure you’ve read the same paragraph seventeen times without retaining any information.
You glance at Jungwon. He’s hunched over his biochemistry textbook, highlighter in hand, looking exhausted. “Break?” you suggest.
“Can’t. This exam is in two days and I’m nowhere near ready.”
“You’ve been studying for weeks. You’re ready.”
“I’m not. There’s still three chapters I haven’t reviewed and—”
“Jungwon.” You reach across the table to take his hand. “Take a break. Ten minutes. Please.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but then he sees your face and sighs. “Okay. Ten minutes.”
You both step outside into the cool spring air. The campus is quiet— it’s almost midnight, most people are asleep or partying. You find a bench and sit, and Jungwon immediately slumps against you. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles.
“I know. Me too.”
“When does it get easier?”
“I don’t think it does. I think we just get better at handling hard.”
He laughs weakly. “Philosophical.”
“I’m a history major. We’re all secretly philosophers.” You sit in comfortable silence for a while. The moon is visible through the trees, nearly full.
“Look,” you say, pointing. “The moon.”
Jungwon looks up, and something crosses his face. Something you can’t quite read. “It’s beautiful,” he says quietly.
“Makes me think of the necklace you gave me.” You touch the pendant, which you wear every day. “Do you ever wonder if the moon gets lonely? Just hanging up there, watching everyone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe it’s comforting. Being able to witness everything. All the love stories, all the lives, all the history.” There’s something strange in his voice. Something distant.
“You okay?” you ask.
“Yeah. Just… sometimes I get this feeling. Like I’m supposed to remember something important but I can’t quite grasp it.” He shakes his head. “Ignore me. I’m sleep-deprived and saying weird things.”
“I get that feeling too sometimes.”
He turns to look at you. “You do?”
“Yeah. Especially when I’m with you. Like there’s something just out of reach. Something I should know.” You’re both quiet, staring at each other, and the moment feels heavy with meaning you can’t articulate.
“Weird,” Jungwon says finally.
“Yeah. Weird.” You go back to studying, but the feeling lingers.
—
It happens on a Tuesday.
You’re driving back from the library— late night, you stayed to finish a research paper. You’re tired, ready to collapse into bed. The light is green. You’re sure it’s green. You start through the intersection and— impact.
The car hits yours from the side, metal crunching, glass shattering. The world spins. Your head slams against something. And then everything goes dark.
Jungwon’s POV
Jungwon is in his apartment, half-asleep on the couch with a textbook on his chest, when his phone rings. Unknown number. He almost doesn’t answer. “Hello?”
“Is this Yang Jungwon?” A woman’s voice, professional and careful.
“Yes?”
“This is Mercy General Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for—”
His blood turns to ice. “What happened? Is she okay? What happened?”
“There’s been an accident. A car accident. She’s alive, but she’s unconscious. You should come to the hospital as soon as possible.”
Jungwon doesn’t remember the drive. One minute he’s in his apartment, the next he’s running through the hospital corridors, demanding to know where you are. They lead him to a room in the ICU. You’re there, lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines. Your face is pale, bruised. There’s a bandage around your head.
“Oh god,” he breathes.
A doctor intercepts him before he can reach you. “Mr. Yang?”
“How is she? What happened?”
“She was hit by another vehicle. Traumatic brain injury, some internal bleeding. We’ve stabilized her, but she’s in a coma.”
“A coma.”
“Her brain is swelling. We’re monitoring closely. The next 24-48 hours are critical.”
Jungwon sinks into a chair, his legs giving out. “Can I—can I sit with her?”
“Of course.”
He pulls a chair to your bedside and takes your hand. It’s cold. “I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m right here. You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”
The machines beep steadily. Your chest rises and falls. But you don’t respond. Jungwon sits there for hours. Days. He leaves only when forced, only for bathroom breaks and when the nurses make him eat something.
He talks to you. Tells you about his day, about stupid things happening in his classes, about how much he misses you. Begs you to wake up. On the third day, your eyes open.
Your POV
You wake up slowly, consciousness returning in pieces. White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. Beeping sounds. The smell of antiseptic. Hospital. You try to sit up and pain lances through your head.
“Hey, hey, don’t move.” A familiar voice. Warm hands gently pushing you back down. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. You were in an accident.”
You turn your head— slowly, because it hurts— and see Jungwon. And suddenly, you remember everything. Not just this life. Not just Jungwon the pre-med student you’ve been dating for nine months. You remember everything.
1770. A field hospital, a dying soldier, promises whispered under candlelight. 1850s. An arranged marriage that became real love, tuberculosis stealing him away. 1912. The Titanic, stolen moments, his face disappearing into chaos. 1969. Vietnam, journal entries, a letter written the day before he died. 2001. September 11th, a phone call, watching towers fall.
Five lifetimes. Five times you’ve found each other. Five times you’ve lost each other. And now this. Now here. You gasp, tears streaming down your face. “You,” you sob. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
He looks confused and worried. “What? Hey, it’s okay, you’re probably disoriented—”
“I remember,” you say desperately. “I remember all of it. The hospital in 1770. Our wedding in 1850. The ship. The war. The towers. I remember, Jungwon. I remember everything.”
He goes very still. “What did you just say?”
“I remember. All the lifetimes. All the times we found each other and lost each other. The moon— you always asked if the moon remembers us. And you always said you’d find me in the next life. And you did. You always did.”
Jungwon is staring at you, his face white. “How do you—” His voice breaks. “How do you know about that?”
“Because I was there. I was there every time. And so were you.”
“I thought I was crazy,” he whispers. “I’ve been having these dreams since I was a kid. Different times, different lives, but always you. Always the same person. I thought they were just dreams. Just my brain making up stories.”
“They weren’t dreams. They were memories.” You’re both crying now, holding onto each other like you’re drowning.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Jungwon says. “My whole life, I’ve been looking for you. And when I saw you that day on campus, I knew. I knew it was you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it sounded insane! How do you tell someone you just met that you’ve loved them for centuries? That you remember dying in their arms in a field hospital in 1770?”
“You remember that?”
“I remember all of it. Every lifetime. Every death. Every promise I made to find you again.” He cups your face. “And here you are. You’re finally here and you remember me.”
“I almost died,” you realize. “That’s why I remember now. Being so close to death triggered the memories.”
“I don’t care why. I’m just glad you do.” He kisses you desperately. “I love you. I’ve loved you for lifetimes. Literal lifetimes.”
“I love you too. In every life, I’ve loved you.” You hold each other, crying and laughing and trying to process the impossible truth: you’ve lived before. Multiple times. And every single time, you’ve found each other. And every single time, you’ve lost each other.
“Not this time,” Jungwon says fiercely, like he can read your thoughts. “This time we’re not losing each other. This time we get our happy ending.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’m not letting you go. Not for anything. We’ve waited too long. Suffered too much. This time, we’re keeping each other.” You want to believe him. God, you want to believe him. But you’ve believed before. And it’s never been enough.
Six Months Later - Your POV
You recover from the accident slowly but completely. The doctors call it a miracle— the brain injury should have had lasting effects, but somehow you’re fine. You know it’s not a miracle. It’s something else. Something to do with the lifetimes, with the universe giving you another chance.
You and Jungwon are inseparable now. Not in the cute couple way— in the “we’ve literally died and been reborn six times to find each other” way. You talk about the past lives constantly. Comparing memories, filling in gaps. He remembers things you don’t. You remember things he doesn’t. Together, you piece together the full story.
“In 1770, you promised me a dance,” you tell him one night.
“Did I?”
“You said when you were healed, you’d take me dancing. But you died before you could.”
“Then I owe you a dance.” He stands, offering his hand. “May I have this dance?”
There’s no music, but he pulls you into his arms anyway, swaying with you in the middle of his living room. You rest your head on his chest and close your eyes. “This is nice,” you murmur.
“Better late than never.”
“Only about 250 years late.”
He laughs. “I’m nothing if not punctual.”
You dance until you’re both tired, then collapse on the couch together. “Do you think it will happen again?” you ask quietly. “Do you think we’ll lose each other?”
“I don’t know.” His arm tightens around you. “But even if we do, I’ll find you again. I always do.”
“That’s not comforting. I don’t want to lose you again. I don’t want to go through that pain.”
“Me neither. But if I had to choose between loving you and losing you, or never loving you at all? I’d choose loving you every time.”
You know he means it. Across five lifetimes, through wars and sickness and disasters, he’s chosen to love you every single time. “Marry me,” you say suddenly. “We’ve wasted enough time across enough lifetimes. Let’s not waste any more.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely serious. I love you. You love me. We’ve loved each other for centuries. Why wait?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Okay. Yes. Let’s get married. Let’s do it right this time. Let’s build the life we’ve never gotten to have.”
You kiss him, laughing and crying at the same time. “When?”
“Now. Tomorrow. Next week. I don’t care. Whenever you want.”
“Next month,” you decide. “Small ceremony. Just us and a few friends. Nothing fancy.”
“Perfect.”
You get married in October, in a small ceremony in Central Park. You wear a simple white dress. He wears a suit. Mina and Jake are there, along with a handful of other friends. The officiant asks if you have your own vows.
“I do,” Jungwon says, taking your hands. “I’ve loved you in more lifetimes than most people get to experience. I’ve died loving you. I’ve been reborn to find you. And every single time, choosing you has been the easiest decision I’ve ever made. This time, I’m choosing you for the rest of this life. However long that is. I’m choosing you every day, in every way. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you.”
You’re crying. “I promise to love you for the rest of this life and whatever comes after. I promise to remember. I promise to choose you, just like you’ve chosen me, across time and space and whatever separates us. You’re my home. You always have been.”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He kisses you, and it tastes like forever.
Fifteen Years Later
You’re both in your fifties now. Jungwon is a successful cardiologist. You’re a tenured professor with three published books. You never have kids. It’s a choice you make together— you’ve lost each other too many times, you can’t imagine bringing children into that uncertainty.
Instead, you pour your love into each other, into your careers, into making the world a little bit better. Jungwon volunteers at free clinics. You mentor graduate students. You both donate to causes you believe in. Your lives are full and meaningful and happy.
One evening, you’re both at a gala for Jungwon’s hospital. Fancy clothes, fancy food, schmoozing with donors. It’s not your favorite thing, but you do it for him. During the dancing portion of the evening, he pulls you onto the floor. “Remember when I promised you a dance in 1770?” he says, one hand on your waist, the other holding yours.
“You mean the dance we had in your apartment about twenty years ago?”
“That was a down payment. This is the real thing.”
You laugh and let him lead you around the floor. He’s a good dancer— you both are, after years of these events. “Do you ever regret it?” you ask quietly. “Choosing me? Building a life with someone who carries all this history?”
“Never. Not for a single second.” He pulls you closer. “Do you?”
“No. But sometimes I wonder what it would have been like. If we’d been normal people. If we’d met in just this lifetime and didn’t carry all that weight.”
“We wouldn’t be us. All those lifetimes, all that loss— it made us who we are. It taught us to appreciate what we have. To not take a single moment for granted.”
“That’s true.” You rest your head on his shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you too. In this life and every other.”
You’re not sure what the future holds. You’re not sure if the two of you broke the cycle. But right here, in 2026, is all that matters. You found eachother after seven lifetimes.
And no matter what, the moon will be watching. The moon always watches. And the moon always remembers.
୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.
୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 6,5k
୨ৎ Warning : aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.
Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.
The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.
The apartment was supposed to be empty.
You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home.
You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it
Then it did. Your best friend.
You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears.
The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound.
Two years of engagement, gone.
Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday.
You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.
You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.
"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.
"Too short."
"Too noticeable."
You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.
You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose. You left the engagement ring where it was.
After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.
.
.
.
Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.
Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about.
He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why.
The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.
A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.
He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet.
She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.
"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.
"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.
"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"
"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."
Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.
"How long," he said again.
She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."
"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."
"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"
"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."
She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.
"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."
"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"
"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."
"Jungwon…"
"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.
"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"
He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her. Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.
"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”
"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"
He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."
He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.
He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.
He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.
He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.
.
.
.
The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.
By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away. You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.
He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger.
That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.
His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.
You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.
"You look like you got dumped."
The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.
He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"You still have your ring on," he said softly.
You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.
"I forgot to take it off."
It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.
"You look like you got dumped too."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
"I did."
He gave a slow nod.
"So did I."
The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.
He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"
You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."
Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."
The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.
Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.
"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.
"Do what?"
"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."
"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."
You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.
He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome.
He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.
"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.
He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.
Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away.
The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.
Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.
You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.
"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.
He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.
Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.
He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.
"Look at me," he murmured.
You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.
You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.
"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.
The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.
"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.
You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.
You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.
As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.
Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.
.
.
.
A month passed by.
Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.
You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.
All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever.
Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.
You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date.
You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.
This was not normal.
Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched.
"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been.
It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere.
You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you.
One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning. Anything. All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.
By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew.
You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.
As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.
Two lines. Then two more.
You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do. The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
"No..."
The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.
You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else.
There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.
You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.
A baby.
The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.
You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.
You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know.
You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.
You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.
It didn't come.
Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.
You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.
Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.
You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.
A slow breath escaped you.
"I don't need him."
The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.
"I don't."
You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.
You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.
For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.
But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.
"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.
A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.
"It's you and me now."
The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet, somehow, they were enough.
.
.
.
The dream came to him three nights in a row. Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.
In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch.
He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.
He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.
"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."
Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"
"Yeah."
"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"
Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"
"It's a dream about fruit?"
Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to.
"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."
Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing. Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."
"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."
"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."
Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."
"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"
Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.
He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.
"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."
Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."
Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days. A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.
.
.
.
The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.
A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.
You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.
You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind.
We're not together.
If they pressed further, then—
I'd rather not discuss it.
Simple.
"Y/L/N?"
A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.
"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.
You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.
Then the door opened.
"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"
The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.
You looked up. And your whole body went cold.
He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.
The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.
Yang Jungwon.
Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.
"...You?"
It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.
You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.
Neither of you said anything.
His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.
.ᐟ.ᐟGenre: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Fluff
.ᐟ.ᐟWord Count: ~27.4k
.ᐟ.ᐟSummary: After a drunken bet leads to the best sex of your life, you and Jungwon agree to keep things casual. But when feelings get involved and a new guy enters the picture, everything gets complicated.
.ᐟ.ᐟContent warnings: explicit sexual content (MDNI), oral sex both giving and receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, use of a vibrator, 69 position, penetrative sex, multiple positions, dirty talk, praise kink, light possessiveness and jealousy kink, dominance and control play, overstimulation, semi-public sex, car sex, shower sex, hickeys, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, weed use, mutual jealousy, emotional avoidance, brief emotional breakdown, using someone as a rebound, kissing someone while emotionally involved with another, sneaking around, strong language, possessive language, mild angst, happy ending
.ᐟ.ᐟSong: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys
.ᐟ.ᐟAuthors note: hey loves!!, this fic has been living in my head rent free for way too long so i finally just said we’re doing this. please check the content warnings before reading because there is a LOT going on here. two idiots with walls up, terrible at feelings, great at everything else — that’s the whole story honestly. the smut is meant to show emotional progression so if you read closely you’ll notice how they change with each other as feelings develop. daniel was never a villain, just bad timing, please be nice to him 😭 if you made it to the end thank you from the bottom of my heart 💓. comments, likes, feedback and reblogs keep me writing so don’t be a silent reader i am begging, ps. yes the title is intentional. enjoy lovelies 🥰 my masterlist
The apartment reeks of weed, cheap beer, and too many people crammed into too small a space. It’s Jake’s place tonight, which means Maya’s been here since noon helping him “clean” (read: shove everything into closets).
You’re sprawled on the couch between Liv and Reina, a half-empty White Claw sweating in your hand, already feeling the pleasant buzz of your third drink settling into your bones. “I’m just saying,” you announce, louder than necessary, “men are fucking useless.”
“No, I’m serious!” You gesture wildly, nearly sloshing your drink. “Like, is it really that fucking hard to find the clit? Is basic anatomy that complicated?”
“Here we go,” Jay groans again from the floor, leaning back against Sunghoon’s legs. They’re playing some racing game on mute while everyone else talks over them. Reina cackles. “Who are we talking about?”
“That guy from Delta Sig I went home with last weekend.” You take a long drink. “Forty-five minutes of the most mediocre dick of my life and he had the audacity to ask if I came.”
“Did you fake it?” Liv asks, already knowing the answer.
“Fuck no. I told him the truth and he got all butthurt about it.” You roll your eyes. “Like sorry bro, maybe develop some skills.”
“Brutal,” Sunoo says, grinning as he passes the joint to Niki.
“Honest,” you correct. “I don’t have time to protect egos. If you can’t make me cum, I’m not gonna lie about it.”
Across the room, Jungwon is watching you with this amused smirk, one eyebrow raised. He’s been quiet most of the night, nursing the same beer, legs spread wide in that infuriatingly confident way guys sit when they know they look good. And he does look good—black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, hair falling into his eyes just right. “What?” you challenge, catching his stare.
“Nothing.” But his smirk deepens. “Just sounds like you’ve been picking the wrong guys.”
“Oh please.” You lean forward. “Like you’d be any different.”
Something shifts in his expression. His eyes darken, and he tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Want me to prove it?”
The room doesn’t exactly go quiet, but you feel like it does. Your stomach does this weird flip. “Prove what?” You keep your voice steady even though your heart is suddenly racing.
“That you’ve been fucking the wrong guys.” He says it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. But there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at you.
Reina makes a choking sound beside you. Someone—maybe Heeseung—mutters “oh shit” under their breath. You should laugh it off. Make a joke. Change the subject. But you’re drunk enough to be bold and curious enough to wonder if he’s all talk. “You’re that confident?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” No hesitation. “I am.”
The challenge hangs in the air between you. You’re aware of everyone watching, waiting to see what you’ll do. Maya’s eyes are wide. Jay looks like he’s trying to figure out if he should intervene. “Okay.” You stand up, and Jungwon’s smirk falters for just a second—like he didn’t expect you to actually take him up on it. “Prove it.”
You start walking toward the hallway that leads to Jake’s bedroom, and after a beat, you hear Jungwon follow.
“Are they really—” someone starts.
“Yup,” Reina says, and she sounds absolutely delighted.
Jake’s bedroom is dark and quiet, muffled music and laughter filtering through the door. You flip on the lamp, suddenly aware that you’re alone with Jungwon and you just agreed to let him— “You don’t have to,” he says, and when you turn, he’s standing close but not crowding you. “If you were just calling my bluff.”
“Were you bluffing?”
“No.”
The word sends heat straight through you. You step closer, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “Then stop talking and do it.”
For a second he just looks at you, and then his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You sure?”
“Jungwon.” You grab his shirt. “I swear to god, if you’re going to do it, then—” He kisses you. Not rough, not tentative—just sure. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and honestly? The confidence is already working for you. His lips are soft and he tastes like beer and something minty, and when his tongue slides against yours, you make a sound you’ll probably be embarrassed about later.
But he groans in response, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. You fall onto it and he follows, hovering over you, one hand planted by your head while the other slides under your shirt. “This okay?” he murmurs against your mouth.
“Yes, fuck—yes.”
His hand skims up your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bralette, and you arch into the touch. He’s taking his time, kissing along your jaw, down your neck, finding that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp. “Sensitive here?” he asks, sounding pleased.
“Shut up.”
He laughs, low and warm against your skin. “You’re mouthy.”
“You have no idea.”
“Guess I’ll find out.” He sits back and pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, and—okay. Okay. You knew he was lean but you didn’t know he looked like that without clothes. He catches you staring and smirks. “See something you like?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.” But his hands are gentle as he reaches for the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to nod before pulling it off. Your bralette follows, and then his mouth is on your breast and coherent thought gets significantly harder.
He’s good at this. The guy knows what he’s doing with his tongue, circling your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. His hand works your other breast, thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching until you’re panting. “Jungwon—”
“Hmm?” He switches sides, giving your other breast the same attention, and you thread your fingers through his hair and tug.
“Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing.” He looks up at you through his lashes, and the sight of him between your breasts does something to you. “I’m being thorough.” His hand trails down your stomach, fingers playing with the button of your jeans. “Can I?”
“Yes, god, yes.”
He unbuttons them slowly—too slowly—and slides them down your legs along with your underwear. You’re completely naked and he’s still half-dressed, and something about that makes you feel exposed in a way that’s not entirely uncomfortable. Jungwon sits back on his heels, just looking at you, and you fight the urge to cover yourself. “Stop staring.”
“Can’t help it.” His hands slide up your thighs, pushing them apart. “You’re so fucking pretty.” The praise makes your face heat. You’re not used to guys taking their time like this, looking at you like you’re something worth savoring.
“Let me know if anything doesn’t feel good,” he says, and then his mouth is on your inner thigh, kissing and biting a path upward until his breath is ghosting over where you need him most.
The first touch of his tongue is light—experimental. He licks a broad stripe up your center and you gasp, hips jerking. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he does it again, more pressure this time. “Fuck,” you breathe.
He hums against you, and the vibration makes your toes curl. Then he finds your clit with the tip of his tongue, circling it slowly, and—oh. Oh.
You’ve had guys go down on you before. Most of them acted like it was a chore, something to rush through to get to the “main event.” But Jungwon is eating you out like he has all the time in the world, like he’s enjoying it as much as you are.
He alternates between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, reading your body’s reactions—when you moan, when your hips buck, when your thighs start to tremble. And when he slides one finger inside you, crooking it just right while his tongue works your clit, you actually see stars. “Holy shit,” you gasp, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping the sheets.
He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the combination of his mouth and his fingers pumping into you is almost too much. You’re making sounds you’ve never made before, completely uninhibited, and he’s groaning against you like getting you off is getting him off. “Jungwon, I’m—fuck, I’m close—”
He doesn’t change what he’s doing. Doesn’t speed up or switch techniques like so many guys do right when you’re on the edge. He just keeps that same perfect rhythm, fingers curling inside you, tongue circling your clit, and you come harder than you ever have with another person. Your whole body goes taut, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. He works you through it, only lightening his touch when you start to squirm from sensitivity.
When you can finally breathe again, you look down to find him watching you with the most self-satisfied expression you’ve ever seen. “You were saying?” he asks, and you want to be annoyed but you’re too blissed out to care.
“Okay,” you admit. “Point proven.”
He crawls up your body, kissing you deep, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. His erection presses against your thigh through his sweatpants, and you reach down to palm him through the fabric. He groans into your mouth. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” You push at his shoulders until he rolls onto his back, and then you’re straddling him, grinding down against his clothed cock. “Unless you’re done proving yourself?”
His hands grip your hips, helping you rock against him. “Fuck no.” You lean down to kiss him while your hand slips into his sweatpants, wrapping around him. He’s hard and thick, and when you stroke him, his hips jerk up into your hand.
“Condom?” you murmur against his lips.
“Wallet. Back pocket.” You climb off long enough for him to shove his sweatpants and boxers down, and—yeah, okay, the confidence makes sense. You grab his wallet from his discarded pants, finding the condom and tearing it open while he strokes himself lazily, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Let me,” he says, taking it from you and rolling it on. Then his hands are on your waist, lifting you, positioning you over him. “Go slow. Take what you need.”
You sink down onto him inch by inch, and the stretch is perfect. He fills you completely, and when you’re fully seated, you both groan. “Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, hands flexing on your hips.
You start to move, rolling your hips, finding a rhythm. His hands guide you but he lets you control the pace, watching where you’re joined with an expression that’s almost reverent. “Touch yourself,” he says, voice rough. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
The words send a fresh wave of arousal through you. You brace one hand on his chest and bring the other between your legs, fingers finding your clit. You’re still sensitive from before, and it doesn’t take much—just a few circles while he thrusts up into you, hitting that perfect spot inside. “That’s it,” he encourages, sitting up to mouth at your neck, one hand gripping your ass to help you move. “You’re so fucking hot like this. Taking what you need.”
You’re close again, impossibly, and when he bites down on your shoulder at the same moment his cock hits deep, you shatter. Your orgasm rips through you and you feel him follow seconds later, groaning your name against your skin as he pulses inside you. You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. His hand comes up to stroke your back, gentle and grounding.
“So,” he says after a minute, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Still think I’m no different?”
You lift your head to glare at him, but there’s no heat in it. “Okay, fine. You were right.”
“Say it louder, I don’t think they heard you outside.”
You smack his chest and he laughs, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. The gesture is surprisingly tender for what just happened. “Holy shit,” you say, the reality of the situation finally catching up. “We just fucked in Jake’s bed.”
“Yeah, we should probably…” He gestures vaguely. You climb off him carefully, and he deals with the condom while you hunt for your clothes in the dim light. There’s something surreal about getting dressed in comfortable silence after what just happened. Like you’ve done this before, even though you haven’t.
When you’re both decent, you catch sight of yourself in Jake’s mirror. Your hair is a mess, lips swollen, and there’s a hickey blooming on your collarbone. “Shit.” You touch it gingerly.
Jungwon comes up behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Sorry. Got carried away.”
“It’s fine.” You try to fluff your hair into something less “I just got thoroughly fucked.” “Everyone’s gonna know, though.”
“They already know.” He grins. “We weren’t exactly quiet.”
Your face heats. He’s right—you definitely weren’t quiet. “Oh god.”
“Hey.” He turns you around, hands on your shoulders. “You good? This isn’t… weird?”
You consider it. By all accounts, it should be weird. You just fucked one of your friends on a drunken bet. But looking at him now, his hair messy from your hands, expression open and a little concerned, it doesn’t feel weird. “I’m good,” you say honestly. “You?”
“I’m great.” His smile is genuine. “That was—”
“Really good,” you finish.
“Yeah.” You stand there for a beat too long, and then you clear your throat. “We should probably get back before they send a search party.”
“Right. Yeah.” He opens the door and you walk out first, down the hallway back to the living room where the entire group is absolutely not pretending they weren’t waiting for you. The silence when you walk in is deafening.
“So,” Reina says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Scale of one to ten?”
“Reina!” Maya looks mortified.
You just laugh and drop back onto the couch. “Solid eleven.” The room erupts. Jay throws a pillow at you. Sunghoon looks like he wishes he could disappear. Heeseung and Jake are cackling. Liv just gives you a knowing look and passes you a fresh drink. Jungwon sits down across from you, and when your eyes meet, he smirks. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back.
Yeah, you think, taking a long drink. This is either the best or worst decision you’ve ever made.
It’s after three AM when the party finally winds down. People are crashed on various surfaces—Niki and Sunoo sharing the big armchair, Heeseung sprawled on the floor, Jay and Sunghoon having claimed the other couch. Maya and Jake disappeared into his room about an hour ago. You’re pretty sober now, sitting on the balcony with Liv and Reina, sharing a cigarette and watching the campus lights below.
“So,” Liv says, passing you the cigarette. “You gonna talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“You fucked Jungwon.” Reina isn’t one for subtlety. You nod.
“And?”
You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. “And it was really good.”
“We gathered that from the sounds,” Reina says, grinning when you flip her off. “But like… are you gonna do it again?”
“I don’t know. Probably not?” Even as you say it, you’re not sure you believe it. “It was just a drunk thing.”
“A drunk thing where you came so hard we heard you through the door,” Liv points out. Your face heats. “Oh my god.”
“I’m just saying.” She shrugs. “That kind of chemistry doesn’t come around often. And you’re both single. Why not?”
“Because he’s part of the group,” you say, voicing the concern that’s been nagging at you since you got dressed. “If things got messy…”
“Things don’t have to get messy,” Reina says. “People have casual sex all the time.”
“Not with their friends.”
“Sure they do.” Liv stubs out the cigarette. “Look, I’m not saying marry the guy. But if you both enjoyed it and you’re both adults… I don’t see the problem.”
You don’t have a good argument for that, mainly because you’re still thinking about his hands on your body, his mouth between your legs, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. “I’ll think about it,” you say finally.
Your phone buzzes at 4:17 AM. You’re in your own bed now, having gotten an Uber home with Liv and Reina. You should be asleep but you keep replaying the night in your head.
jungwon: you up? i can’t sleep
You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back. you: same
jungwon: kept thinking about earlier
Your heart rate picks up. you: yeah?
jungwon: that okay?
you: yeah. me too
There’s a long pause where you watch the three dots appear and disappear several times.
jungwon: look, if tonight was just a one time thing, that’s cool. but if you ever wanted to do it again with no strings. you said it yourself. good sex is hard to find
You bite your lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard. This is probably a bad idea. You should say thanks but no thanks, keep things simple.
you: no strings?
jungwon: none. just two friends helping each other out
you: friends who fuck
jungwon: exactly
you: you’re sure this won’t make things weird with the group?
jungwon: only if we let it
You think about what Liv said. About chemistry and being adults and not overthinking things. you: okay
jungwon: yeah?
you: yeah. but we need rules
jungwon: rules work
you: we can talk about it tomorrow. when we’re sober
jungwon: sounds good. for the record though
you: ?
jungwon: you taste amazing
Your face goes hot and you let out an embarrassing sound even though you’re alone in your room. you: go to SLEEP jungwon
jungwon: sweet dreams 😏
You toss your phone aside and press your face into your pillow, smiling like an idiot. This is definitely a bad idea. But god, you kind of can’t wait to make it worse.
You meet Jungwon at a coffee shop off campus, neutral territory where you’re less likely to run into anyone from the group. It’s Tuesday afternoon, and you both have a gap between classes. He’s already there when you arrive, sitting in a corner booth with two iced americanos, and when he sees you, he slides one across the table. “Wasn’t sure how you take it,” he says.
“Black’s fine.” You sit down across from him, suddenly feeling weirdly nervous. Which is stupid—you’ve literally had his dick inside you. A coffee meetup shouldn’t be the awkward part. But he seems to sense it because he grins. “This is weird, right?”
“So weird,” you admit, and you both laugh, and just like that the tension breaks.
“Okay.” He leans back, fingers drumming on his cup. “Rules.”
“Rules,” you agree. “First one: no one can know.”
“Agreed. Jay and Sunghoon would lose their minds.”
“Jay would literally try to fight you.” You take a sip of coffee. “And Maya would never let me hear the end of it.”
“So we’re careful. No disappearing together at group things unless we have a good excuse.”
“And we stagger leaving,” you add. “Like, if you leave a party, I wait at least twenty minutes before I go.”
“Smart.” He nods. “What about texting?”
“Keep it normal in the group chat. If we’re gonna hook up, we text privately.”
“Works for me.” He studies you for a moment. “What about other people?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Other people?”
“Like, are we exclusive? Or can we still hook up with other people?”
It’s a fair question, even if something in your chest tightens at the thought of him with someone else. Which is stupid. This is purely physical. “We can do whatever we want,” you say carefully. “But if either of us starts hooking up with someone else regularly, we should probably end this. Easier that way.”
“Makes sense.” He seems to hesitate. “And if one of us catches feelings?”
“Then we stop immediately.” You meet his eyes. “That’s the most important rule. This only works if we’re both on the same page.”
“Agreed.” He holds out his hand across the table. “So we have a deal?”
You shake his hand, trying to ignore how warm his palm is against yours. “Deal.”
“Cool.” He doesn’t let go right away. “So… your place or mine?”
Heat pools in your stomach. “Eager?”
“You’re the one who wore that skirt.”
You glance down at your denim mini skirt, then back up at him with a smirk. “I have class in two hours.”
“That’s plenty of time.”
His apartment is closer, a small one-bedroom he shares with Heeseung who’s conveniently at class until five. The second the door closes behind you, his mouth is on yours, backing you against the wall. “Been thinking about this since Saturday,” he murmurs against your lips, hands sliding under your skirt to grip your ass.
“It’s only been three days.”
“Three days too long.” He picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to his room. It’s surprisingly clean—bed made, clothes put away, posters of various bands on the walls.
He lays you on the bed and steps back, pulling his shirt over his head. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch, admiring the view. “Like what you see?” he asks, echoing your words from the other night.
“You already know I do.”
He grins and climbs over you, settling between your legs. “Want to try something?”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see.” His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist. “Trust me?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, and you mean it.
He hooks his fingers in your underwear and drags them down slowly, and you’re already wet just from the anticipation. He spreads your legs wider, thumb brushing over your clit almost teasingly before he slides two fingers inside you. “Fuck,” you gasp, hips rolling against his hand.
“Still sensitive from last time?” He pumps his fingers slowly, curling them just right.
“A little.”
He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moan as he works you open. When he adds a third finger, the stretch makes your toes curl. He finger-fucks you until you’re panting, right on the edge, and then he stops. You make a sound of protest and he laughs. “Patience.” He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a small vibrator.
Your eyes widen. “You just have that?”
“Ex left it here.” He turns it on, and the low buzz fills the room. “Never thought I’d use it, but…”
He presses it against your clit and you nearly jackknife off the bed. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, especially when he slides his fingers back inside you at the same time. “Oh fuck—Jungwon—”
“That good?” He sounds smug, but you can’t even be annoyed because he’s right. It’s so good you can barely breathe.
He works you with the vibrator and his fingers, watching your face intently, adjusting based on your reactions. When you’re close, thighs shaking, he leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth through your shirt.
You come with a cry, back arching, and he doesn’t stop until you’re pushing his hand away from oversensitivity. “Holy shit,” you pant.
He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Good?”
“You know it was.”
“Want to keep going?” Instead of answering, you sit up and push him onto his back, straddling him. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and you grind down against him, making him groan.
“Your turn,” you say, working his belt open. You take your time getting him naked, kissing down his chest and stomach, enjoying the way his muscles jump under your lips. When you finally get his jeans and boxers off, his cock springs free, already leaking. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he hisses through his teeth.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you cut him off, and then you take him in your mouth.
“Fuck,” he groans, hand flying to your hair. Not pushing, just holding on as you work him with your tongue. You take him as deep as you can, hollowing your cheeks, and the sounds he makes are incredibly satisfying.
You pull off with a wet pop. “You gonna tell me what you like?”
“That,” he says breathlessly. “I like that.”
“Be specific.” You lick up the underside of his cock. “I want to make you feel good.”
“Fuck—okay, um, tighter grip, and—yeah, just like that.” His hips buck when you comply. “And twist your hand a little when you—oh god—“
You find a rhythm that has him falling apart, alternating between your mouth and your hand, and when you cup his balls gently, he swears. “I’m close,” he warns, tugging your hair. “If you don’t want to—”
You double down, taking him deeper, and he comes with a groan, spilling down your throat. You swallow and work him through it until he’s shaking. When you pull off and wipe your mouth, he’s staring at you like you’re some kind of miracle. “You’re really good at that,” he says, voice wrecked.
“Right back at you.” You climb up to lie beside him. “This is gonna be fun.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, pulling you closer. “It really is.”
The first group hangout after your arrangement starts is at someone’s house party on Thursday. One of the senior volleyball guys is throwing it, and the place is packed by the time you arrive with Liv and Reina.
You spot the guys in the backyard—Jay and Sunghoon playing beer pong against Jake and Heeseung, Sunoo and Niki smoking by the fence. And Jungwon leaning against the porch railing, red cup in hand, talking to some girl you vaguely recognize from Psychology. Something ugly twists in your chest before you can stop it.
“Don’t,” Liv says quietly.
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.” She steers you toward the drinks table. “Remember the rules.” Right. The rules. You can both do whatever you want. It doesn’t matter that the girl is touching his arm, laughing at something he said. It doesn’t matter at all. You pour yourself a strong drink and down half of it.
“There you are!” Maya appears, already tipsy, Jake trailing behind her. “We’ve been here for like an hour, where were you?”
“Reina took forever getting ready,” Liv says, throwing her under the bus.
“Excuse me, this face is a work of art.” Reina gestures at her makeup. “It takes time.”
You tune them out, eyes drifting back to Jungwon. The girl is still there, but now he’s looking at you. When your eyes meet, he says something to her and starts walking over. “Hey,” he says when he reaches your group, giving everyone a casual nod before his eyes land on you. “You just get here?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” His cup is empty. “I’m gonna grab another drink. Want to come?”
It’s a normal question. The kind of thing he might have asked before. But Maya and Reina exchange a look, and you want to die. “Sure.”
You follow him to the drinks table, hyperaware of the space between you. “That girl,” you say as he pours vodka into his cup. “From Psychology?”
“Mina. Yeah.” He adds red bull, not looking at you. “She was asking about the midterm.”
“Right.”
“You jealous?” He’s smirking now, voice low enough that only you can hear.
“No.”
“Liar.” He leans in slightly. “You look really good, by the way.”
You’re wearing low-waisted jeans and a cropped black tank top, simple but effective. “Thanks.”
“Having fun yet?”
“I just got here.”
“Want to have more fun later?” The suggestion in his voice is clear.
“Maybe.” You take a sip of your drink. “If you play your cards right.”
“Challenge accepted.”
Two hours later, you’re drunk and high and dancing in the crowded living room with Reina and some people from your Communications class. The music is too loud, bodies pressed too close, and you’re sweaty and happy and not thinking about anything.
Until hands settle on your waist from behind. You know it’s Jungwon before you even turn around—you’re getting familiar with his touch. He’s behind you, moving with you, and it takes everything in you not to lean back against him. “Thought you were playing beer pong,” you say over your shoulder.
“Got boring.” His breath is warm against your ear. “This is better.”
You shouldn’t be doing this. People will notice. But the room is dark and crowded, and everyone’s drunk, and his body feels so good against yours. You let yourself grind back against him, just a little, and his grip on your waist tightens.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
“You started it.”
One of his hands slides lower, fingers playing with the belt loop of your jeans, not quite dipping under but close enough to make you ache. “Your place or mine?” he asks.
“Mine. Liv’s staying at her girlfriend’s.”
“Meet you there in twenty?”
“Make it fifteen.”
He shows up in twelve minutes. The second you open your apartment door, he’s on you, walking you backward until you hit the wall. His mouth is hot and demanding, tasting like weed and whatever he was drinking, and you can’t get enough. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he groans, hands everywhere at once.
“You were talking to that girl for like twenty minutes.”
He pulls back to look at you, grinning. “You were jealous.”
“Shut up.”
“You were.” He kisses down your neck. “That’s cute.”
“I wasn’t—” You lose your train of thought when he bites down on your pulse point.
“Whatever you say.” His hands slide under your shirt, pushing it up. “Can I take this off?”
“Yes.”
Your shirt and bra hit the floor, and then his mouth is on your breast and you stop caring about anything else. He takes his time, sucking marks into your skin that you’ll have to cover tomorrow, and when he drops to his knees in front of you, your brain short-circuits. “These too?” He’s already unbuttoning your jeans.
“Please.” He gets you naked efficiently, and then he’s lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, face level with your pussy.
“Hold on to something,” he advises, and then his tongue is on you. You grip his hair with one hand, the other braced against the wall, as he devours you. He’s not gentle about it—licking and sucking and fucking you with his tongue until your leg is shaking and you’re barely staying upright.
“Jungwon—fuck—I’m gonna fall—”
He stands up, and before you can process it, he’s lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you to your bedroom, laying you out on the bed.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much.”
He strips quickly and you admire the view—he’s fully hard, cock jutting up against his stomach. When he settles between your legs again, you expect him to reach for a condom, but instead he slides down your body. “Want to try something else,” he says, kissing your inner thigh.
“Yeah?”
“Can I go down on you while you suck me?”
Heat floods through you. “Like 69?”
“Yeah.” He looks almost nervous. “If you want.”
“Okay.” He repositions so he’s on his back, and you straddle his face, leaning forward to take his cock in your hand. The angle is different like this, and when his tongue finds your clit, you gasp.
“Fuck—sorry—” You’re distracted, and you force yourself to focus, wrapping your lips around him.
It’s intense, trying to concentrate on getting him off while he’s making you feel so good. Every time you take him deeper, he groans against your pussy, and the vibration makes you moan around him.
You’re dripping on his face, riding his tongue, and his hands grip your ass, pulling you down harder. The obscene wet sounds fill the room, and you’re so turned on you can barely see straight.
When he slides two fingers inside you while sucking your clit, you come with his cock still in your mouth, and he follows seconds later, groaning your name. You collapse beside him, both of you breathing hard. “Holy shit,” you say eventually.
“Good?”
“So good.” You turn your head to look at him. “You’re full of ideas.”
“I like making you come.” He says it so casually, like it’s a fact. “Want to see how many times I can do it.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“If you want it to be.”
You glance at the clock—it’s barely midnight. “How many orgasms are we talking?”
“How many can you handle?”
“More than you’d think.”
His smile is wicked. “Let’s find out.”
Forty minutes and two more orgasms later (one from his fingers, one from actually fucking), you’re a boneless mess in your sheets and Jungwon looks unreasonably smug. “I think I won,” he says.
“You didn’t—I made you come too—”
“Twice. You came four times.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition.” But he’s smiling, tracing lazy patterns on your hip. “You okay? Not too much?”
“I’m great.” And you are—exhausted and satisfied and floating. “You’re really good at this.”
“So are you.” He kisses your shoulder. “We work well together.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “We do.” Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it and find a string of messages in the group chat. maya: where did everyone gooooo
reina: i saw y/n leave and jungwon left like right after 👀
jay: oh god not this again
sunghoon: can we NOT
heeseung: let them live lmao
reina: i’m just SAYING
liv: leave them alone
You show Jungwon the messages and he laughs. “We’re not subtle,” he says.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Does it bother you?”
You think about it. The teasing is annoying, but it’s not like you’re ashamed. “No. Does it bother you?”
“Nah.” He stretches, all long limbs and satisfied energy. “Let them speculate. As long as we don’t confirm anything, we’re good.”
“Agreed.” You type out a response. you: i left because i was tired. stop being weird
reina: SURE
you: i hate you
reina: love you too babe 😘
You toss your phone aside and curl into Jungwon’s side. He wraps an arm around you automatically, and it feels dangerously comfortable. “Should you go?” you ask. “It’s late.”
“Do you want me to?”
You should say yes. Letting him stay feels too intimate, too couple-y. But you’re tired and warm and he’s already half-asleep. “You can stay if you want.”
“Okay.” He’s already drifting off.
You lie awake a little longer, listening to his breathing even out, trying not to think about how right this feels. It’s just sex, you remind yourself. Really good sex with someone you trust. That’s all. You almost believe it.
Friday afternoon you have Intro to Film Studies, and you’re running late because you definitely overslept after Jungwon didn’t leave until 6 AM. You slide into your usual seat next to this guy Marcus from your dorm building just as the professor starts. “Rough night?” Marcus whispers, grinning.
“Something like that.” You’re trying to focus on the lecture about French New Wave cinema when your phone buzzes.
jungwon: you left your underwear in my car
You freeze. you: WHAT
jungwon: black lace ones. very nice btw
you: how did they end up in your car???
jungwon: you really don’t remember?
And then you do remember. Wednesday night, he picked you up after your late class, you made out in his car in the parking garage, things escalated, and apparently you forgot to put all your clothes back on.
you: oh my god
jungwon: don’t worry, heeseung didn’t see them
jungwon: i hid them before he got in
you: this is a nightmare
jungwon: or it’s funny
you: WHERE ARE THEY NOW
jungwon: my pocket
you: JUNGWON
jungwon: what? they’re safe
you: you’re insane
jungwon: you like it
You bite your lip to keep from smiling, hyperaware that you’re in the middle of class. you: i’m in class
jungwon: so am i. keeps things interesting
you: i hate you
jungwon: you definitely don’t. not after the sounds you were making wednesday night
Your face goes hot. you: STOP
jungwon: come over after class?
you: can’t. studying with maya
jungwon: tomorrow?
you: there’s that party at the phi delt house
jungwon: sunday then
you: sunday works
jungwon: it’s a date
you: it’s not a date
jungwon: right. forgot. just two friends fucking
you: exactly
jungwon: can’t wait 😉
You shove your phone in your bag and try to concentrate on the lecture, but it’s useless. You’re too busy thinking about Sunday, about his hands and his mouth and the way he says your name when he comes. This is getting dangerous. But you can’t seem to stop.
The party Saturday night is massive—Phi Delt always goes hard. You show up with your girls, already tipsy from pregaming, and immediately lose track of everyone in the crowd. You’re in the kitchen mixing a drink when someone bumps into you, sloshing vodka on your hand. “Shit, sorry—oh hey!”
You turn to find Mina, the girl from Jungwon’s Psych class. Up close she’s even prettier—long dark hair, perfect skin, bright smile. “No worries,” you say, wiping your hand on your jeans.
“You’re friends with Jungwon, right?” she asks. “I’ve seen you guys together.”
Something in your chest tightens. “Yeah, we’re friends.”
“He’s so sweet.” She’s making herself a drink, completely oblivious to your internal crisis. “We’ve been studying together for Psych. He’s really smart.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Are you guys like… together? I don’t want to step on any toes.”
The question catches you off guard. “Oh—no, we’re just friends.”
“Cool!” She seems genuinely relieved. “I was thinking about asking him out. Do you think he’d be into that?”
You should say yes. Or say you don’t know. You should definitely not feel like you want to throw your drink in her face, because you have no claim on Jungwon. That’s the whole point. “You should ask him,” you say, forcing a smile.
“I think I will!” She bounces off, and you’re left standing there feeling weird and hollow.
You down your drink and make another one, stronger this time. “Easy there,” a voice says, and you turn to find Jay watching you with concern. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You’re drinking like you’re not fine.”
“I’m just trying to have fun, Jay. Is that allowed?”
He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Just checking.”
You feel bad immediately. “Sorry. I’m just… it’s been a week.”
“Want to talk about it?” You shake your head no. “Does this have anything to do with Jungwon?”
Your head snaps up. “Why would it?”
“Come on.” Jay gives you a look. “I’m not stupid. Neither is Sunghoon. We know something’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Right. And you guys just happened to leave that party within five minutes of each other for completely unrelated reasons.”You don’t say anything. “Look,” Jay says, his voice gentler. “I don’t care what you guys do. You’re both adults. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt. It’s just casual.”
“Is it?”
Before you can answer, Jungwon appears in the doorway, Mina trailing behind him. When he sees you, something flickers across his face. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
Mina touches his arm. “I’m gonna go find my friends, but text me about that study session?”
“Sure,” he says, and she leaves.
You feel Jay watching both of you. “I’m gonna go find Sunghoon,” he says pointedly. “You two… talk. Or whatever.”
When he’s gone, Jungwon moves closer. “You okay?”
“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seem tense.”
“I’m not tense.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t look convinced. “You want to get out of here?”
“I just got here.”
“So?”
“So people will notice.”
“Let them notice.” His hand brushes yours, brief but deliberate. “Come on. Please?”
You shouldn’t. You should stay at the party, hang out with your friends, stop making everything about him. “Fine,” you say. “But you leave first.”
You end up at his place again. Heeseung is gone for the weekend, so you have the apartment to yourselves. The second the door closes, he’s kissing you, and it feels different somehow. More desperate. Like he’s trying to prove something. “What was that about?” you ask when you break for air.
“What was what about?”
“With Mina.”
“Nothing. She wants to study together.”
“She wants to do more than study.”
He pulls back slightly, looking at you. “Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“You are.” He sounds pleased.
“I’m not—we have rules, Jungwon. You can do whatever you want.”
“So can you.” His jaw tightens. “Didn’t stop me from wanting to punch Marcus when I saw him sitting next to you in the library yesterday.”
“You saw that?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re just study partners.”
“I know.” He kisses you again, softer this time. “This is stupid, right? We shouldn’t be jealous.”
“Right.”
“Because it’s just casual.”
“Exactly.” You’re both quiet for a moment.
“For the record,” he says finally, “I’m not interested in Mina. Or anyone else.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “This—what we have—it works. I don’t want to fuck it up by bringing other people into it.”
Relief washes over you. “Yeah. Same.”
“So… exclusive, then? Just while this is happening?”
“Just while this is happening,” you agree.
“Good.” He kisses you again, and this time when you end up in his bed, it feels different. Slower. More intentional.
He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he exposes. When he finally settles between your legs, he looks up at you. “Tell me what you want,” he says.
“You.”
“Be specific.”
“I want—” You’re breathless already and he hasn’t even touched you yet. “I want your mouth.”
“Where?”
“You know where.”
“Say it.” His breath ghosts over your inner thigh.
“My pussy,” you say, face heating. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”
“Good girl.” The praise makes you clench around nothing, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to think. He’s devastatingly thorough, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, sliding his fingers inside you when you start to squirm. You’re panting, desperate, right on the edge when he stops.
“Jungwon—”
“Want you to come on my cock,” he says, reaching for a condom. He rolls it on and slides into you in one smooth thrust, and you both groan. The angle is perfect, hitting deep, and when he starts to move, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes against your neck. “So wet for me.”
“Don’t stop—”
“Not stopping.” His hand slides between your bodies to rub your clit. “Want to feel you come.”
It doesn’t take long. The combination of his cock and his fingers pushes you over the edge, and you come with a cry, clenching around him. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he pulses inside you. You stay like that for a while, catching your breath, his weight comfortable on top of you.
“You’re staying tonight, right?” he asks eventually.
“Yeah,” you say, and you don’t even pretend to think about it. “I’m staying.”
He rolls off you to deal with the condom, and when he comes back, he pulls you against his chest. You let yourself relax into him, listening to his heartbeat slow. This is definitely more than just casual. But neither of you says it out loud.
Three months in, and you’ve gotten good at this. Really good. You and Jungwon have the routine down to an art form. You don’t leave parties together anymore—one of you leaves, the other waits at least half an hour. You vary whose place you go to. You keep your hands to yourselves during group hangouts, no lingering touches or loaded looks. In the group chat, you bicker and joke like you always have.
To everyone else, the initial excitement has worn off. Whatever was happening between you two seems to have fizzled out. Even Reina has stopped making comments. Which is perfect, because it means no one notices that you’re fucking almost every other day.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon in mid-October, and you’re sprawled across various surfaces in Jay and Sunghoon’s apartment. Maya and Jake are tangled together on the loveseat, Liv is rolling a joint at the coffee table, Reina is painting her nails on the floor. The guys are scattered around—Jay and Sunghoon playing FIFA, Heeseung scrolling his phone, Sunoo showing Niki something on his laptop. And Jungwon is sitting across from you in the armchair, looking completely relaxed, like he wasn’t buried inside you this morning before your 9 AM class.
“I’m so fucking hungry,” Reina announces. “Can we order food?”
“It’s three in the afternoon,” Sunghoon says, not looking away from the TV.
“Your point?”
Everyone starts debating what to order, and you catch Jungwon’s eye across the room. He raises an eyebrow slightly, and you know exactly what he’s thinking about. This morning, you pinned against his shower wall, water streaming over both of you, his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet even though Heeseung wasn’t home. You bite your lip and look away before you start smiling like an idiot.
“Earth to Y/N,” Niki says, waving a hand in front of your face. “You alive in there?”
“What? Yeah, sorry.”
“I was asking about that guy you were telling me about.” He grins. “The one from a few weeks ago?”
Your brain stalls. “What guy?”
“You know, when we went to get coffee last week. You were telling me about hooking up with someone and how he was like, insanely good?”
Oh shit. You do vaguely remember that conversation—you and Niki had gotten coffee between classes, and he’d been asking about your dating life, and you’d maybe been too honest about how good the sex had been lately. You’d kept it vague, hadn’t mentioned names, but still. The room has gotten quiet, everyone paying attention now. “Oh,” you say, very aware of Jungwon’s eyes on you. “That was… nothing. Just some guy.”
“Some guy who’s apparently the best fuck you’ve ever had,” Niki says, looking way too entertained. “Those were your exact words.”
“Niki—”
“What? I’m just saying, that’s high praise coming from you.”
Reina sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. You’ve been holding out on us? Who is this mystery man?”
“It’s not a big deal—”
“Best fuck of your life sounds like a big deal,” Liv points out, though she’s trying not to smile. She’s the only one who knows the truth, and she’s clearly enjoying watching you squirm.
“Are you still seeing him?” Maya asks.
“It’s casual.”
“Is it that guy from your Econ class?” Reina guesses. “The tall one with the man bun?”
“No.”
“The bartender from that club we went to?”
“No.”
“Give us something,” Sunoo pleads dramatically. “We need details.”
You absolutely cannot look at Jungwon. “There are no details. It’s just… casual hookups. Nothing serious.”
“But the sex is good?” Reina presses.
“Yeah,” you admit, because denying it now would be weird. “The sex is really good.”
“How good are we talking?” Heeseung asks. “Like, good good, or like, mind-blowing life-changing good?”
Your face is burning. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”
“Oh my god, it’s mind-blowing life-changing good,” Reina says gleefully. “Look at her face!”
“I hate all of you.”
“What makes it so good?” Maya asks, genuinely curious. “Like, what’s he doing that’s so different?”
“Maya!”
“What? I’m trying to learn here!”
You risk a glance at Jungwon. He’s very still, expression carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else entirely. “He just—” You struggle for words that won’t give anything away. “He pays attention, I guess? Like, he actually cares about getting me off. And he’s… confident. Knows what he’s doing.”
“Size?” Reina asks bluntly.
“Oh my god, Reina!”
“What? It’s a relevant question!”
“I’m not answering that.”
“So it’s good,” she concludes. “Noted.”
“Can we please order food now?” you beg.
Jay takes pity on you. “Yeah, let’s vote. Pizza or Thai?”
The conversation mercifully moves on, and you finally let yourself breathe. But when you glance at Jungwon again, he’s looking at his phone, jaw tight. Shit.
The group ends up ordering pizza, and by the time it arrives, you’ve almost forgotten about the awkward conversation. Almost. You’re halfway through your second slice when your phone buzzes: jungwon: can you come help me with something in the car?
You frown at the message. You all walked here, no one drove. you: what?
jungwon: just come outside for a sec
You make an excuse about needing air and head downstairs. Jungwon is waiting by the building entrance, hands in his pockets. “What’s wrong?” you ask.
“Really?” He looks at you. “Best fuck of your life?”
Oh. “You’re mad about that?”
“I’m not mad.”
“You sound mad.”
“I’m not—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t love the idea of you telling Niki about us.”
“I didn’t tell him about us. I kept it vague. He doesn’t know it’s you.”
“But you were talking about me. About our sex life.”
“Is that not allowed?” You cross your arms. “We’re not together, Jungwon. I can talk to my friends.”
“I know that.” His jaw ticks. “I just—forget it.”
“No, what? Say what you’re thinking.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Did you mean it? What you said up there?”
“About what?”
“About it being the best you’ve had.”
Your stomach flips. “I… yeah. I meant it.”
His expression softens slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You step closer. “Why, did you doubt it?”
“No, I just…” He trails off, looking almost embarrassed. “I liked hearing it, I guess. Even if I wasn’t supposed to be the one hearing it.”
“You’re so weird.”
“You like it,” he says, echoing your texts from months ago.
“Maybe.” You glance back at the building. “We should go back up before someone notices.”
“Wait.” He catches your wrist. “Come over tonight?”
“Jungwon, we just saw each other this morning.”
“So?”
“So we’re supposed to be keeping this low-key.”
“I am keeping it low-key. No one suspects anything anymore.” He tugs you closer. “Please? I want to try something.”
“You always want to try something.”
“And you always like it.” He’s smirking now. “Come on. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
You shouldn’t. You’re supposed to be at the library studying for your midterm tomorrow. But the way he’s looking at you makes your resolve crumble. “Fine. But I can’t stay over. I really do need to study.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
You show up at his apartment at eleven, after spending three hours actually studying with Maya. Heeseung is home this time, playing video games in the living room. “Hey,” he says when you walk in. “Jungwon’s in his room.”
“Cool, thanks.” You’ve been here enough times now that it’s not weird anymore. Heeseung barely looks up when you head down the hall and knock on Jungwon’s door.
“Come in.” He’s at his desk, laptop open, but he closes it when he sees you. “Hey.”
“Hey.” You drop your bag by the door. “What did you want to try?”
“Impatient.”
“I have a midterm at 8 AM. Get to the point.”
He stands and crosses to you, and there’s something different about his energy tonight. More intense. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want.”
“I always tell you what you want.”
“No,” he says. “You tell me when I ask. I want you to take control. Tell me exactly what to do.”
Heat pools in your stomach. “You want me to… boss you around?”
“Yeah.” His hands settle on your hips. “Think you can do that?”
“I—” You’re flustered now. You’re used to him being in charge, confident and directing everything. The idea of flipping that dynamic is…
“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “If you’re not into it—”
“I’m into it,” you cut him off. “Just… give me a second.” He waits, patient, and you take a breath. You can do this. You’ve been sleeping together for three months. You know what he likes, what makes him fall apart.
“Okay,” you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Take off your shirt.” He complies immediately, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.
“Jeans too.” He unbuttons them, pushes them down with his boxers, and kicks them away. He’s already half-hard, and the sight makes your mouth water.
“Lie down on the bed.” He does, and you take a moment to just look at him. He’s gorgeous like this—all lean muscle and smooth skin, cock thickening against his stomach, watching you with dark eyes.
“Touch yourself,” you say. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, and you watch, mesmerized.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask.
“You.” His voice is rough. “Always you.”
“What about me?”
“The way you taste. The sounds you make when you come. How good you feel wrapped around my cock.”
You’re definitely wet now. You start stripping, taking your time, and his eyes track every movement. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathes.
When you’re naked, you climb onto the bed and straddle his thighs, just out of reach. “Stop touching yourself.” He does, hand falling to his side, and you lean down to kiss him. It’s slow and deep, and when you pull back, his pupils are blown. “I want your mouth,” you say.
“Where?”
“You know where.”
“Say it.” His breath ghosts over your inner thigh.
“My pussy,” you say, face heating. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”
“Good girl.” The praise makes you clench around nothing, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to think.
You’re straddling his face, thighs bracketing his head. The position makes you feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time. “Eat me out,” you order. “Don’t stop until I come.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. His tongue finds your clit immediately, and you gasp, gripping his hair for balance. He’s good at this—you’ve known that since the very first time—but something about being in control makes it even better. “Just like that,” you pant, rolling your hips against his face. “Fuck, your tongue feels so good.”
He groans against you, hands gripping your ass, pulling you down harder. You ride his face shamelessly, chasing your pleasure, and when he slides two fingers inside you, crooking them just right while his tongue works your clit, you actually see stars. “Holy shit,” you gasp, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping the sheets.
He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the combination of his mouth and his fingers pumping into you is almost too much. You’re making sounds you’ve never made before, completely uninhibited, and he’s groaning against you like getting you off is getting him off. “Jungwon, I’m—fuck, I’m close—”
He doesn’t change what he’s doing. Doesn’t speed up or switch techniques like so many guys do right when you’re on the edge. He just keeps that same perfect rhythm, fingers curling inside you, tongue circling your clit, and you come harder than you ever have with another person. Your whole body goes taut, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. He works you through it, only lightening his touch when you start to squirm from sensitivity.
You’re still trembling when you climb off him, and his face is wet, lips swollen. He looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Good?” he asks.
“So good.” You kiss him, tasting yourself. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
“No?”
“No.” You wrap your hand around his cock, and he hisses. “I want to ride you. But you don’t get to touch me.”
“What?”
“Hands behind your head.” He complies, lacing his fingers behind his head, biceps flexing. You grab a condom from his nightstand and roll it on, and then you’re sinking down onto him, both of you groaning at the sensation.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel amazing.”
“No touching,” you remind him when his hands twitch.
“This is torture.”
“This is fun.” You start to move, rolling your hips, finding the angle that makes you both moan. “Watch me.”
He does, eyes glued to where you’re joined, then traveling up to your bouncing breasts, your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Tell me what you want,” you say.
“Want to touch you. Want to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress.”
“Not yet.” You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs, changing the angle. “Oh fuck—right there—”
“Yeah?” His voice is strained. “That feel good?”
“So good—” You’re close again, which should be impossible but apparently Jungwon has ruined you for anyone else. “I’m gonna come again—”
“Let me see.” His hands are fisted in his hair, knuckles white from the effort of not touching you. “Want to see you fall apart on my cock.” The words push you over the edge. You come with a cry, clenching around him, and he groans.
“Can I touch you now?” he begs. “Please—”
“Yes—”
His hands are on you immediately, gripping your hips, and he thrusts up into you hard. You’re oversensitive and it’s almost too much, but then he’s sitting up, wrapping his arms around you, and kissing you desperately. “You’re incredible,” he pants against your mouth. “Fucking incredible—”
He comes with his face buried in your neck, and you hold him through it, both of you slick with sweat. When you both catch your breath, he flops back onto the bed, bringing you with him. “That was—” he starts.
“Yeah.”
“We should do that again.”
“Definitely.” You glance at the clock and groan. “Shit, I really need to go study.”
“Stay,” he says. “Just for a little bit.”
“Jungwon—”
“Please? We can study together. I have a midterm tomorrow too.”
You should say no. Should go back to your apartment and study alone like you planned. But his arms are around you and you’re comfortable and warm, and maybe staying for an hour won’t hurt. “Fine,” you say. “One hour.” You stay for three.
A week later, you’re at another party—this one at someone’s house off campus. It’s someone’s birthday, you’re not sure whose, but the music is good and the drinks are strong and you’re having fun. You’re in the kitchen with Liv and some people from your Communications class when you see Jungwon walk in with Heeseung and Jake. He spots you immediately, and you quickly look away. You’ve been good about not staring at each other at parties. Good about acting normal.
But then some girl approaches him—blonde, pretty, wearing a crop top that shows off her abs—and you watch as she touches his arm, leans in close to say something in his ear. Your stomach twists.
“You okay?” Liv asks quietly.
“Fine.”
“You’re glaring.”
“I’m not glaring.”
“You’re definitely glaring.” She follows your gaze. “It’s just some random girl. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know that.”
But when the girl laughs at something Jungwon says, her hand still on his arm, you feel something ugly rise in your chest. This is stupid. You have no claim on him. You’re not together. He can talk to whoever he wants. You turn away and pour yourself another drink.
“Want to go dance?” Liv suggests.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” You spend the next hour on the makeshift dance floor, deliberately not looking for Jungwon, deliberately not caring where he is or who he’s talking to.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
You’re getting another drink when you feel someone behind you. “Having fun?” Jungwon’s voice in your ear makes you shiver.
“Yeah. You?”
“It’s alright.” He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat. “Want to get out of here?”
“Busy tonight.”
“Busy with what?”
“Just… busy.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“You tell me.”
You turn to face him. “That girl you were talking to. She was pretty.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He steps closer. “For the record, she asked for directions. That’s it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You clearly do.” His hand brushes yours. “Come over. Let me prove I only want you.”
You should say no. Should make him work for it. But the look in his eyes makes your resolve crumble. “Fine,” you say. “But you’re leaving first this time.”
By the time you get to his apartment, you’re both frantic. You barely make it inside before you’re tearing at each other’s clothes, kissing desperately. “You drive me crazy,” he mutters against your lips, walking you backward toward his room. “Watching you dance with those guys—”
“I wasn’t dancing with anyone specifically—”
“Didn’t matter. Wanted to punch all of them anyway.” He gets you naked and on his bed, and then he’s between your legs, and this time there’s an edge to it. Like he’s claiming you, proving something. He eats you out until you’re crying, overstimulated and desperate, and then he flips you over.
“On your knees,” he orders, and you comply, ass in the air. He slides into you from behind and you both groan. The angle is deep, almost too much, and when he starts to move, you can barely breathe.
“You feel so good,” he pants, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “So fucking perfect.”
“Harder—”
He complies, fucking into you relentlessly, and you fist the sheets, moaning into the pillow. “No one else gets to have you like this,” he growls, and the possessiveness in his voice shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. “Just me. Right?”
“Yes—fuck—yes—just you—”
One of his hands slides around to rub your clit and you come with a scream, clenching around him. He follows right after, collapsing on top of you.
When you can both move again, he pulls out carefully and you both clean up in silence. There’s something heavy in the air, something unsaid. “Stay,” he says when you start to get dressed.
“I can’t keep staying over, Jungwon. People will notice—”
“I don’t care anymore.” He catches your wrist. “Stay.”
You look at him—really look at him. His hair is a mess, lips swollen from kissing, and he’s looking at you like you’re something precious. This is getting too real. Too intense. You’re supposed to be keeping things casual, but nothing about the way you feel when you’re with him is casual anymore. “Okay,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”
He pulls you back into bed, and you curl into his side, listening to his heartbeat slow. “Y/N?” he says after a while.
“Yeah?”
“This thing with us…” He trails off.
Your heart pounds. “What about it?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
But you’re both thinking the same thing. This stopped being casual a long time ago. Neither of you is ready to admit it yet.
November hits campus like a cold slap. The trees are bare, everyone’s walking around in puffer jackets and beanies, and the semester is hitting that point where everyone’s exhausted and stressed and living on coffee and spite.
You’re in Advanced Marketing on a Thursday morning, half-asleep and trying to absorb information about consumer behavior models, when Professor Chen makes an announcement. “Before we start, I want to introduce a new student joining us. This is Daniel Choi—he’s transferring from NYU. Daniel, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”
You glance up and—oh. Daniel is tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair styled back, and an easy smile. He’s wearing a navy sweater that probably costs more than your textbooks, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and confident. “Hey everyone. I’m a junior, majoring in Marketing and Communications. Just moved here from New York, so still figuring out the campus. Looking forward to getting to know you all.”
“Wonderful,” Professor Chen says. “Why don’t you take that seat next to Y/N? Y/N, raise your hand?”
You do, reluctantly, and Daniel makes his way over, sliding into the seat beside you. “Hey,” he says, smile widening. “Thanks for letting me sit here.”
“It’s not really my seat to give, but sure.”
He laughs. “Fair point. I’m Daniel.”
“Y/N.”
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Then Professor Chen launches into the lecture, and you try to focus, but you’re aware of Daniel beside you—the way he takes notes on his laptop, occasionally glancing over at your notebook like he’s comparing, the expensive cologne that’s subtle but noticeable.
When class ends, he turns to you. “Hey, I know this is random, but do you think you could help me out? I’m completely lost on where anything is on this campus.”
“There are maps—”
“I know, but they’re confusing as hell.” He gives you a slightly sheepish look. “And Professor Chen mentioned you’re a great student. I could use someone to show me around, maybe fill me in on what I’ve missed in class so far?”
You should say no. You’re busy. You have your own classes and your friends and your… whatever Jungwon is. But Daniel seems nice, and it’s just showing someone around campus. “Sure,” you find yourself saying. “I have a break after this. I can give you a quick tour.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” His smile is genuinely grateful. “Can I at least buy you coffee?”
You spend the next hour showing Daniel around campus—the library, the student center, the various academic buildings, the good food spots versus the ones to avoid. He’s easy to talk to, asking questions about classes and professors, and he’s funny in a dry, clever way that makes you laugh.
“So NYU to here,” you say as you walk past the quad. “That’s a big change.”
“Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “My dad got relocated for work, and the family moved. Figured I’d come with them rather than stay in New York alone. Plus, cheaper tuition as an in-state student.”
“That’s fair. How are you liking it so far?”
“Campus is nice. People seem cool.” He glances at you. “Present company especially.” It’s flirty but not obnoxiously so, and you feel your face warm slightly.
“Wait until you experience your first real winter here,” you say, deflecting. “Then we’ll see if you still think it’s nice.”
“I’m from New York. I can handle cold.”
“This is different. This is Midwest cold. The kind that hurts your face.”
He laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.”
You show him a few more buildings, and by the time you’re done, your break is almost over. “This was really helpful,” Daniel says. “Seriously, thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Can I get your number? In case I have questions about class or campus stuff?” It’s innocent enough. Just a new student wanting help navigating. You give him your number. “Thanks.” He saves it in his phone. “I’ll see you next class?”
“Yeah, see you.” You watch him walk away, and you’re surprised to find yourself smiling a little.
You don’t think much about Daniel over the next few days. You’re busy with midterms and work and your friends. And Jungwon. Especially Jungwon.
You’ve been spending even more time together lately—studying at his place, grabbing food between classes, and obviously still hooking up regularly. It’s gotten to the point where you have a toothbrush at his apartment and he has spare clothes at yours. It should worry you how domestic it’s becoming. It doesn’t.
You’re at his place on Saturday night, both of you on his bed with your laptops, supposedly working on separate assignments but really just procrastinating together. “I’m so sick of this essay,” you groan, flopping backward.
“How much do you have left?”
“Like, three pages.”
“That’s not bad.”
“It’s three pages I don’t want to write.” You roll over to look at him. “Entertain me.”
“I’m busy.”
“No you’re not. You’ve been on the same paragraph for twenty minutes.”
He closes his laptop with a sigh. “Fine. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Something that isn’t homework.”
He shifts closer, hand sliding up your thigh. “I can think of something.”
“We literally had sex an hour ago.”
“So?”
You laugh and push his hand away. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He’s smiling but there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest tight.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it and see a text from an unknown number.
unknown: hey! it’s daniel from marketing class. hope this isn’t weird but i had a question about the assignment due next week?
You smile and save his contact. you: not weird at all! what’s your question?
“Who’s that?” Jungwon asks, and there’s an edge to his voice.
“New guy in my marketing class. He transferred from NYU.”
“And he’s texting you?”
“He had a question about the assignment.” You glance at Jungwon. “Why?”
“No reason.” But his jaw is tight, and you recognize that look. He’s jealous.
Your phone buzzes again. daniel: professor chen mentioned something about a group project? do you know if groups are assigned or if we pick our own?
you: we pick our own! usually groups of 3-4. i can add you to mine if you want? we still need one more person
daniel: that would be amazing. thank you! also totally unrelated but are you free tomorrow? wanted to check out that coffee place you mentioned and could use the company
You hesitate. It’s just coffee. Daniel is nice, and he’s new and doesn’t know anyone. It would be rude to say no. you: sure! i’m free around 2?
daniel: perfect. i’ll meet you there
You set your phone down and find Jungwon staring at you. “What?”
“You’re getting coffee with him?”
“He’s new. He doesn’t know anyone. I’m being nice.”
“Right. Nice.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“Jungwon, it’s just coffee.”
“Does he know that?”
“Know what?”
“That it’s ‘just coffee.’ Or does he think it’s a date?”
You sit up. “It’s not a date. We’re literally just getting coffee. Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“You clearly do.”
“I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Never mind. Do whatever you want.”
“I am doing whatever I want. That’s kind of the point of this arrangement, remember?”
The words come out harsher than you intended, and something flashes across his face—hurt, maybe, or anger, you can’t tell. “Right,” he says quietly. “The arrangement.”
The air between you feels heavy, wrong. You want to take it back, to explain that you don’t actually want to get coffee with Daniel, that you’d rather spend tomorrow with Jungwon like you spend most days. But you don’t say any of that. “I should go,” you say instead, closing your laptop. “It’s late.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I have an early class tomorrow anyway.” You gather your stuff quickly, and Jungwon doesn’t try to stop you. When you leave, he doesn’t ask you to stay like he usually does. You tell yourself it’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Coffee with Daniel is actually really nice. He’s waiting outside the café when you arrive, and he lights up when he sees you. “Hey! Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.”
Inside, the place is cozy and warm, smelling like espresso and cinnamon. You order your usual and Daniel gets some complicated drink with like five different modifiers. “High maintenance,” you tease as you find a table by the window.
“I know what I like,” he says, grinning. “Can’t fault me for that.”
You spend the next hour just talking. He tells you about growing up in New York, his family, his friends back home. He asks about your life, your major, your friends. He’s a good listener, asking follow-up questions, seeming genuinely interested. It’s easy. Comfortable. And he’s cute—you can’t deny that. The way he smiles, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. The way he leans forward when you’re talking, giving you his full attention.
“So,” he says eventually, stirring his drink. “Do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, or… partner? I don’t want to assume.”
Your stomach drops. “I—no. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” He raises an eyebrow, curious, not pushy.
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
You shouldn’t tell him. It’s none of his business. But something about the way he’s looking at you, open and interested, makes you want to talk about it. “There’s this guy,” you say slowly. “We’ve been… hooking up. For a few months now. It’s supposed to be casual but lately it feels like…”
“Like it’s not casual anymore?” Daniel finishes.
“Yeah.”
“Does he know you feel that way?”
“I don’t know. We don’t really talk about it.” You take a sip of your coffee. “It’s stupid. We had rules. No feelings, no complications. And I’m the one who’s complicating it.”
“Feelings aren’t stupid,” Daniel says gently. “And if he’s worth anything, he feels the same way.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then he’s an idiot.” He smiles. “For what it’s worth, any guy who has you and doesn’t want more is definitely an idiot.”
It’s sweet. Maybe a little too sweet, a little too flirty, but you find yourself smiling back. “Thanks, Daniel.”
“Anytime.” He checks his phone. “Shit, I have to go. Meeting my parents for dinner. But this was really fun. We should do it again?”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.”
“Cool.” He stands, shrugging on his jacket. “See you in class Tuesday?”
“See you then.” You watch him leave, and you’re not sure how to feel. Daniel is nice. He’s attractive and smart and funny, and he’s clearly interested in you. But he’s not Jungwon. Your phone buzzes.
jungwon: you busy tonight?
You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back. you: studying with maya. why?
It’s a lie. You don’t have plans. But you need space to think, to figure out what you’re doing.
jungwon: nothing. just wanted to see you. have fun studying
The guilt sits heavy in your chest.
You avoid Jungwon for the next few days. It’s not hard—you claim you’re busy with midterms and assignments, which is partially true. But really, you just need time to sort through your feelings.
Because the truth is, you’re falling for him. Have been falling for him for months now. And the idea of telling him and having him not feel the same way, of losing what you have, terrifies you. So you throw yourself into other things. Classes. Assignments. Your friends. And Daniel.
He texts you throughout the week—memes, questions about class, random observations about campus life. It’s friendly and light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that’s why you respond, why you agree to study together in the library, why you sit next to him in Marketing and laugh at his whispered jokes during lectures. But you know that’s not entirely true. You know you’re using Daniel as a distraction. And it’s not fair to him.
On Thursday, you’re leaving your Marketing class with Daniel when you run into the group. Literally—you turn a corner and almost collide with Maya and Jake.
“Oh! Hey!” Maya says, then notices Daniel. “Who’s this?”
“This is Daniel. He’s new. Daniel, this is Maya and Jake.”
“Nice to meet you,” Daniel says, friendly and charming.
“You too,” Maya says, but she’s giving you a look. “We’re all getting lunch. You want to come?”
“Oh, um—”
“You should definitely come,” Jake says. “Whole group’s gonna be there.” Your stomach sinks. Whole group means Jungwon.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Daniel starts.
“You’re not intruding,” Maya insists. “The more the merrier. Right, Y/N?”
“Right,” you say weakly.
Lunch is at the student center food court, and by the time you arrive with Daniel, everyone else is already there—Maya and Jake, Liv and Reina, Jay and Sunghoon, Heeseung and Sunoo and Niki. And Jungwon. He’s sitting at the end of the table, and when he sees you walk in with Daniel, something shutters in his expression.
“Everyone, this is Daniel,” you announce. “He just transferred here.”
Everyone introduces themselves, welcoming and friendly, and Daniel fits in easily. He’s charming and funny, and within minutes, he’s got Reina laughing at some story about his first week on campus. You sit across from Jungwon, and the tension is suffocating.
“So Daniel,” Sunghoon says. “Where’d you transfer from?”
“NYU.”
“Damn, that’s a downgrade,” Heeseung jokes, and everyone laughs.
“I don’t know,” Daniel says, and his hand brushes yours on the table. “I’m liking it here so far.” The touch is casual, probably meaningless. But Jungwon’s eyes lock onto it, and his jaw clenches.
“How do you and Y/N know each other?” Niki asks.
“We have Marketing together,” you say quickly. “I’ve been helping him get caught up.”
“Y/N’s been a lifesaver,” Daniel adds. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.” It’s innocent. Friendly. But the way he’s looking at you is… not. And Jungwon sees it.
“That’s nice,” Jungwon says, voice flat. “Y/N’s good at helping people.” There’s an undercurrent there that makes you flinch.
The conversation moves on, everyone eating and talking, but you’re hyperaware of Jungwon across from you. He’s barely touched his food, just pushing it around his plate, and every time Daniel says something that makes you smile, Jungwon’s expression gets darker.
“So Y/N,” Reina says. “You still seeing that mystery guy? The one who’s so good in bed?”
You want to die. “Reina—”
“What? I’m just asking!”
“What mystery guy?” Daniel asks, curious.
“There’s no mystery guy,” you say firmly. “Reina’s making stuff up.”
“I’m literally not. You told Niki about him.”
“That was months ago.”
“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Daniel asks, and there’s hope in his voice.
Before you can answer, Jungwon stands abruptly. “I gotta go. Got class.”
“But we just sat down,” Heeseung protests.
“I forgot I have to talk to my professor about something.” He grabs his bag and leaves without looking at you. The table goes quiet for a beat.
“What’s up with him?” Jake asks.
“No idea,” Sunoo says, but he’s looking at you thoughtfully.
“Maybe he’s not feeling well,” Maya suggests.
You know that’s not it. You know exactly what’s wrong. “I should—” You start to stand. “I should check on him.”
“Why?” Reina asks.
“Because we’re friends. And he seemed upset.”
“I’ll come with you,” Daniel offers.
“No,” you say, too quickly. “I mean—you should stay. Finish eating. I’ll be right back.”
You don’t wait for a response before hurrying after Jungwon. You catch him outside the building, heading toward the parking lot. “Jungwon, wait!” He stops but doesn’t turn around. “What was that?” you ask when you reach him.
“What was what?”
“You know what. Walking out like that.”
He finally turns to face you, and the look in his eyes makes your chest hurt. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”
“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”
“You really don’t know?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You show up with that guy, he’s all over you, looking at you like—” He breaks off, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re just letting it happen.”
“He’s not all over me. We’re friends.”
“Does he know that? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like he thinks you’re something more.”
“Even if he did, why do you care? We’re not together, remember? That’s the whole point.”
“Right,” he says bitterly. “The arrangement. How could I forget?”
“Jungwon—”
“Are you into him?”
The question catches you off guard. “What?”
“Daniel. Are you into him?”
“I—no. Not like that.”
“But you could be.” It’s not a question. “If things were different. If we weren’t…” He gestures between you, unable to finish the sentence.
“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Maybe. He’s nice. And he’s—”
“Uncomplicated,” Jungwon finishes. “He’s not sneaking around. He could actually take you on dates, be seen with you, give you what you want.”
“What I want?”
“More.” He steps closer. “You want more than this, Y/N. I can see it. And I can’t—”
He stops, and your heart is pounding. “You can’t what?”
“I can’t give you that.” His voice is rough. “This—us—it’s supposed to be casual. No strings. That’s what we agreed.”
“And what if I don’t want casual anymore?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “What if I want more?”
He stares at you, and for a moment you think he’s going to say it—that he wants more too, that this has been killing him the same way it’s been killing you. But then he looks away. “I can’t,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
It feels like the ground has been pulled out from under you. “Right,” you manage. “Okay.”
“It’s fine.” You’re backing away, fighting tears. “You’re right. This was always supposed to be casual. My mistake for thinking it could be anything else.”
“That’s not—”
“I should get back. Everyone’s waiting.” You turn and walk away before he can say anything else, before you completely fall apart in front of him.
When you get back to the table, Daniel takes one look at your face and frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… tired. Long week.”
“Want me to walk you home?”
You should say no. Should put some distance between you and Daniel before this gets messy. But you’re hurt and angry and you don’t want to be alone. “Yeah,” you say. “That’d be nice.”
As you leave with Daniel, you don’t see Jungwon watching from across the quad, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like his world just fell apart.
You don’t talk to Jungwon for the rest of the week. He texts a few times— casual messages asking how you are, if you want to study, if you’re okay. You respond with short, noncommittal answers.
The group notices. How could they not? You and Jungwon have been attached at the hip for months, and suddenly you can barely be in the same room. “What happened between you two?” Liv asks when you’re alone in your apartment.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been miserable all week.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re avoiding him. And he’s been moping around like someone kicked his puppy.” You don’t answer, just stare at your laptop screen without actually seeing it. “Did something happen with Daniel?” she presses gently.
“No. Daniel’s just a friend.”
“Does Jungwon know that?”
“It doesn’t matter what Jungwon thinks.”
Liv is quiet for a moment. “You should talk to him. Actually talk. Because this? This is worse than whatever you’re avoiding.”
You know she’s right. But you’re scared. Scared that if you talk to Jungwon, you’ll have to end things for real. That you’ll have to accept that he doesn’t want what you want, that these past few months have meant something completely different to him than they have to you.
So you do what you’ve been doing—you avoid him. And you spend more time with Daniel.
It’s Friday night, and there’s a party at some senior’s house. You show up with Liv and Reina, already a few drinks in from pregaming, and the place is packed. You lose your friends almost immediately in the crowd. You’re making your way to the kitchen when you spot Daniel. “Hey!” He brightens when he sees you. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.” You’re definitely drunker than you thought. “Having fun?”
“More fun now.” He hands you a drink. “Here. It’s strong, fair warning.” You take it and down half of it in one go. “Rough week?” he asks.
“Something like that.”
The music is loud, bass thumping through your chest, and Daniel leans in closer to be heard. “Want to go somewhere quieter? Maybe talk?”
You should say no. You know where this is going, and it’s not fair to Daniel or to yourself or to— “Sure,” you say.
He leads you upstairs, finding an empty bedroom, and closes the door behind you. It muffles the music, making it easier to hear. “Better?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He sits on the bed and you sit next to him, suddenly very aware that you’re alone together in a bedroom. “Can I ask you something?” Daniel says.
“Sure.”
“That guy you mentioned. The complicated one. Is it… are you still involved with him?”
You take another sip of your drink. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated.”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“I told him. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t feel the same way.”
“Then he’s an idiot.” Daniel shifts closer. “Because you’re incredible, Y/N. Smart and funny and beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to be with you.”
“Daniel—”
“I like you,” he says. “I know we just met, and maybe the timing is shit, but I really like you. And if this other guy can’t see what he has, then…”
He trails off, and then he’s leaning in, and you realize he’s going to kiss you. You should stop him. You should explain that you’re not over Jungwon, that you’re not in a place to start something new.
But you’re drunk and hurt and you want to feel wanted by someone who isn’t afraid to show it. So you let him kiss you. It’s nice. He’s a good kisser— soft lips, careful hands, nothing like—
The door opens. “Y/N, Liv’s looking for—” Jungwon stops dead in the doorway.
You jerk back from Daniel, but it’s too late. Jungwon saw. And the look on his face— betrayal and hurt and anger all mixed together—makes your stomach drop. “Jungwon—”
“Sorry,” he says, voice tight. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He’s gone before you can say anything else, door slamming behind him. “Shit,” you breathe.
“Who was that?” Daniel asks.
“I—” You stand up, suddenly feeling very sober. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Y/N, wait—” But you’re already out the door, pushing through the crowded hallway, trying to find Jungwon. You catch him on the front porch, about to leave.
“Jungwon, wait!” He stops, shoulders tense, but doesn’t turn around. “It’s not— that wasn’t—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says, finally facing you. “You can kiss whoever you want.”
“It didn’t mean anything—”
“Didn’t it?” His eyes are hard. “Looked like it meant something.”
“I was just—I was upset and drunk and he was there—”
“And I wasn’t,” Jungwon finishes. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
“You told me you couldn’t give me more! What did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t know!” He’s yelling now, and a few people on the porch are staring. “I don’t know, Y/N. But I didn’t expect you to move on in a fucking week.”
“I’m not moving on! And even if I was, why do you care? You made it clear you don’t want—”
“I never said I didn’t want—” He breaks off, jaw clenched. “Fuck.”
“What? You never said you didn’t want what?”
“You!” The word explodes out of him. “I never said I didn’t want you. I said I couldn’t give you more, and that’s different.”
You stare at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m terrified, okay?” His voice cracks. “I’m terrified because this stopped being casual for me months ago, and I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you need.”
Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. “Jungwon—”
“I see the way Daniel looks at you. Like you’re everything. And I want to be that guy— the one who can take you on dates and hold your hand in public and tell everyone you’re mine. But I’m scared I’ll fuck it up. That I’ll lose you completely.”
“So instead you’re losing me anyway,” you say quietly. He flinches like you hit him. “I’m falling for you,” you continue, and the words feel like jumping off a cliff. “I’ve been falling for you for months. And it’s been killing me because I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
“I do,” he says desperately. “I do feel the same way. I just—”
“You just what?”
“I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
“Jungwon, we’ve already ruined it. Pretending we can keep things casual when we both feel more—that’s what’s ruining it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can see him struggling with something. “If we do this,” he says finally, “if we make this real— what if it doesn’t work? What if we end up hating each other?”
“What if we don’t?” you counter. “What if it’s amazing?”
“What about the group? If things go bad—”
“We’ll figure it out. But Jungwon, I’d rather try and fail than spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”
He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, and then— “Fuck it,” he mutters, and then he’s kissing you.
It’s different from every other kiss you’ve shared. More desperate, more meaningful. Like he’s pouring everything he couldn’t say into it.
When you break apart, you’re both breathless. “So,” you manage. “Does this mean—”
“It means I want to be with you. For real. No more hiding, no more pretending.” He cups your face in his hands. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
“Even the group?”
“Especially the group.” He smiles, and it’s tentative but real. “They probably already know anyway.”
You laugh, and it feels like relief. “Probably.”
“What about Daniel?”
“I’ll talk to him. Explain. But Jungwon, there’s nothing there. It’s always been you.”
“Yeah?” His smile widens.
“Yeah.” He kisses you again, softer this time, and you hear whooping from inside the house. You break apart to find half your friend group watching from the window—Reina and Liv and Maya and the guys all grinning like idiots.
“FINALLY!” Reina screams, and everyone laughs. Jungwon pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, and for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.
“So,” he murmurs against your hair. “Want to get out of here? I think we have some things to talk about.”
“And by talk you mean—”
“Actually talk,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “We should probably figure out how to actually do this relationship thing.”
“We should,” you agree. “But maybe we can do the talking back at your place? I’m still kind of drunk and these heels are killing me.” He laughs and takes your hand— openly, for everyone to see— and leads you toward his car.
As you leave, you glance back at the house and catch Daniel watching from the doorway. He looks sad but understanding, and he raises his cup in a small salute. You mouth “sorry,” and he nods. You’ll explain everything to him later. Right now, you just want to be with Jungwon.
You wake up to sunlight streaming through Jungwon’s window and his arm draped across your waist. For a moment, you just lie there, listening to his steady breathing, trying to process that this is real now. You’re actually dating Jungwon. Your phone buzzes— multiple times. You reach for it and find the group chat exploding.
reina: SO ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT LAST NIGHT OR
maya: I KNEW IT
liv: you all owe me $20 btw
jay: jungwon if you hurt her i’m fighting you
you: good morning to you too
reina: GOOD MORNING??? THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY???
you: yes we’re official
reina: EXTREMELY
you: and we’ve been hooking up since that party in august
heeseung: AUGUST?????
reina: I FUCKING KNEW IT
Jungwon stirs beside you, eyes fluttering open. When he sees you, he smiles— soft and sleepy and genuine. “Morning,” he says, voice rough.
“Morning.” You show him your phone. “We’re famous.”
He scrolls through, laughing. “They’re ridiculous.”
jungwon: i’m not going to hurt her
jay: good
reina: now that that’s settled TELL US EVERYTHING
The “mandatory celebration” ends up being at Jay and Sunghoon’s that evening. By the time you and Jungwon arrive— together, holding hands— everyone else is already there. “THERE THEY ARE!” Reina shouts. “The happy couple!”
Maya rushes over to hug you. “I’m so happy for you!”
Jake hands you both drinks. “So, real talk. How long have you actually had feelings for each other?”
“I’ve liked her since before we started hooking up,” Jungwon says. “Remember that party in July? When you wore that black dress?”
Your face is burning. “You never said anything.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t think you were interested. And then the bet happened and… well, you know the rest.”
“What about you?” Liv asks.
“Probably that first morning after,” you admit. “When we were texting about the arrangement and he was being all careful. That’s when I started thinking he might be different.”
Several drinks later, everyone’s sprawled around the living room. You’re tucked into Jungwon’s side on the couch, and it feels so natural. “Real talk,” Jay says, tone serious. “I’m happy for you guys. But—” He looks at Jungwon. “—you hurt her, and we have a problem.”
“I know. And I’m not going to hurt her. I’m—” He looks at you. “—I’m in love with her.”
The room goes silent. Your heart stops. “What?” you whisper.
“I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I was just too scared to say it.”
“I love you too, you idiot.” You’re shaking your head. “I’ve been in love with you for months.” His smile is brilliant. He kisses you, and this time it’s softer, more tender.
“Okay, we’re leaving,” Reina announces. “Before this gets too cute.”
After everyone leaves, you and Jungwon stay on the couch. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “About loving you.”
“I meant it too.” You shift to straddle his lap. “I love you, Jungwon.”
He cuts you off with a kiss. “Want to go home?”
You end up at his place. The second you’re inside, he’s on you, kissing you with urgency. “Bedroom,” you gasp.
“Too far.” He lifts you, carries you to the couch. You land in a tangle of limbs, laughing, then his mouth is on your neck. “I love you,” he murmurs.
“Show me,” you challenge.
He does. He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin. When you’re both finally naked, he hovers over you. “This is different now. Better,” he says. “I get to keep you.”
“You always had me.”
“I know. But now I don’t have to pretend I don’t want forever.”
“Forever?”
“Too soon?”
“No.” You pull him down. “Not too soon.”
He makes love to you slowly, thoroughly. More intimate. More real. Every touch feels like a confession. He enters you with a groan, and you wrap your legs around him. The rhythm is unhurried, sensual. He angles his hips just right, and his hand slides between your bodies to rub your clit. “God, you feel so perfect,” he breathes. “So tight and wet for me.”
“Jungwon— fuck— don’t stop—” He doesn’t. He keeps that perfect pace until you’re trembling. When you come, clenching around him, he follows right after with a moan of your name.
When you’re both spent on his couch, you feel something settle in your chest. “We should move to the bed,” he says eventually.
“Heeseung’s going to be home soon.” You gather clothes and make it to his room. “Stay,” he says.
“Obviously.” You curl into his side. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The next morning, you wake to Jungwon’s alarm. Your head is pounding. “Turn it off,” you groan.
“We have brunch in an hour.”
Forty-five minutes later— after a shower where Jungwon pressed you against the tile and made you come on his fingers— you’re dressed and heading to the diner. You walk in holding hands. The sight of your friend group crammed into booths makes you smile.
“There they are!” Maya calls. You slide in next to Liv, Jungwon beside you, arm over your shoulders.
“So,” Sunoo says. “Now that you guys are official, does this mean we have to watch you be gross?”
“We’re not going to be gross,” you protest.
Jungwon immediately kisses your cheek. “Can’t promise that.”
“How long did you actually know?” you ask.
“I knew from the start,” Liv says. “You’re my roommate. You think I didn’t notice when you’d come home at 3 AM with hickeys?”
The conversation shifts to other topics, and it’s easy. Normal. Like nothing’s changed except now you don’t have to hide.
Later that day, you’re back at Jungwon’s, on the couch watching a movie. “Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Always.”
“Why did you kiss Daniel?”
“Honestly? I was drunk and hurt and he was there. It was stupid.”
“Did you… were you interested in him?”
“No.” You shift to look at him. “He’s nice, but I was so hung up on you.”
“Good.” He kisses you. “Because I was losing my mind.”
“Every time I was with him, I kept thinking about you.”
“You have me now.” His arms tighten. “For as long as you want me.”
“Forever, remember?”
“Forever,” he agrees.
“Want to order food and spend the rest of the day in bed?”
“Is that code for something?”
“Food, bed, probably some making out, definitely a nap.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Later that night, after Chinese food and another round of sex— with you riding him while he gripped your hips and watched you with dark eyes— you’re lying in his bed. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For what?”
“For being brave enough to tell me how you felt. I would have lost you if you hadn’t.”
“You wouldn’t have lost me. I was too far gone.”
“Speaking of which,” he says. “You could just keep some more stuff here. Make it official.”
“Jungwon, we’ve been officially dating for less than 24 hours.”
“So? We’ve been unofficially together for months.”
He has a point. “Fine. I’ll bring some stuff over tomorrow.” And he’s grinning from ear to ear
Three weeks later, you’re at another party— pre-Thanksgiving. This time, everything’s different. You and Jungwon arrive together, hands intertwined. When he pulls you onto the dance floor, you don’t worry about who’s watching. “Having fun?” he asks.
“So much fun.” You loop your arms around his neck. “This is better than hiding.”
“Way better.” He kisses you.
Later, in the kitchen, Daniel approaches. You haven’t really talked since that night. “Hey,” he says. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” Jungwon gives your hand a squeeze and steps away.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Daniel starts. “For that night. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“No, I’m sorry. I should have been clearer. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“It’s okay. I get it now.” He glances at Jungwon. “That’s him, right?”
“Yeah. Not so complicated anymore.”
“Good. You seem happy.”
“I am. Really happy.” You hesitate. “Are we okay?”
“We’re okay. Friends?”
“Friends,” you agree.
He leaves, and Jungwon returns to your side. “That looked like it went well.”
“It did.” You lean into him. “Everything’s good.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Everything’s really good.”
You stay like that, watching your friends scattered around— your family. And Jungwon, solid and warm behind you. “I love you,” you say.
“I love you too.” He kisses your neck. “Want to get out of here?”
“And do what?”
“Go back to my place. Watch a movie. Make out. Order food. Fall asleep together. All the boring couple stuff.”
“That sounds perfect.” You say goodbye to your friends and head out.
“Your place or mine?” Jungwon asks.
“Yours. I already have a toothbrush there.”
He grins. “Look at us, being all domestic.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
As he drives through the quiet streets, his hand finds yours, and you think about how different things were just months ago. When you were both pretending, both scared, both holding back. And now you’re here. Together. For real. “What are you thinking about?” Jungwon asks.
“Just… how happy I am. How glad I am that we figured this out.”
“Me too.” He brings your joined hands up to kiss your knuckles. “Best decision I ever made.”
“Proving you could make me come?”
He laughs. “No. Although that was a good decision too. I meant taking a chance on this. On us.”
“We both took a chance.”
“And it paid off.”
“Yeah,” you agree softly. “It really did.”
Back at his apartment, you fall into your routine— changing into his drawer of your clothes, brushing teeth side by side, collapsing onto his bed. “Movie?” he asks.
“Sure. Nothing too intense though.” He puts on a comedy, and you curl into his side. This is your favorite part. Not the sex— though that’s amazing— but this. The quiet moments. The casual intimacy.
“Hey Y/N?” Jungwon says softly.
“Hmm?”
“I’m really glad you’re mine.”
You lift your head. “I’m glad I’m yours too. And that you’re mine.”
“Always,” he promises, and kisses you.
Lying there in his arms, warm and safe and loved, you believe him. This is just the beginning. And you can’t wait to see where it goes.
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