Aki

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[lac4ygal]

MUSTANG & MILKSHAKES ⋆˙⟡ ── 박성훈

⤷ ˚‧ You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere ˊ˗

PAIRINGS. 박성훈 x f !reader

TROPES. Tutor/student, forbidden romance, class difference, small town/big dreams, learning disability representation, opposites attract, second chance love

SUMMARY. Millbrook, Indiana. 1989. Your life is perfectly planned—until you’re assigned to tutor Park Sunghoon, the school’s most infamous senior. He’s failing English (again), lives for street racing, and couldn’t care less about rules. But he’s not stupid—just misunderstood. As you help him learn, he shows you a different way to live. Somewhere between late nights and quiet moments, your carefully mapped future starts to shift… and so do your feelings.

WORD COUNT. 20.4k

WARNINGS. Explicit sexual content (18+), kissing, penetrative sex, grinding, fingering, safe sex, depictions of undiagnosed learning disability, academic struggle, parental pressure, familial conflict, class differences, street racing, alcohol consumption, period-typical attitudes, strong language.

LACEYS NOTE. this was asked for a few times and I finally decided to post it so pls enjoy😽😽 this anon asked for it so ty for asking xx I hope you love Sunghoon and this story as much as I loved writing him. Thank you for reading— reblogs, likes and comments always keep me writing! Please enjoy

Principal Morrison's office smells like coffee and disappointment. You've been here before—student council meetings, scholarship recommendations, the kind of visits that end with praise and college brochures. Today feels different. Today, Mrs. Morrison's smile has an edge to it.

"I have a special assignment for you," she says, settling behind her desk. Outside, the hallway bustles with the chaos of first period passing. It's only the second week of senior year and you already have three AP classes, student council, yearbook committee, and exactly zero free periods.

"Of course," you say automatically, because that's what you do. Say yes. Exceed expectations. Maintain the 4.0 that's going to get you into Stanford. "What do you need?"

"I need you to tutor someone." She pauses, and something in that pause makes your stomach drop. "Park Sunghoon. Senior English. He's taking it for the fourth time."

Oh. Everyone knows Park Sunghoon. Hard not to when he rolls into the parking lot every morning in a black Mustang that's louder than the first bell, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, looking like he walked out of a movie about teenagers your parents wouldn't let you watch. He's in your English class this year—always in the back row, usually late, definitely not paying attention. "I don't know if I'm the right person—"

"You're exactly the right person. Top of the class, excellent communication skills, patient." Mrs. Morrison leans forward, her expression softening into something that looks almost like desperation. "He needs to pass this class to graduate. And between you and me, I think he needs someone who won't give up on him."

The weight of expectation settles on your shoulders—familiar, heavy, accepted. This is what you do. You help. You achieve. You make your parents proud and your teachers grateful and everyone believes you can fix anything if you just try hard enough. "When would I—"

"Tuesdays and Thursdays after school. Library, four to five. I've already cleared it with him." She smiles like this is settled. "Thank you. I knew I could count on you." You leave her office with a sinking feeling and the distinct impression that you've just been assigned the impossible.

—

Thursday afternoon, 4:02 PM. You're in the library with your AP Lit textbook, notes on The Great Gatsby, and growing certainty that Sunghoon Park isn't going to show up.

At 4:15, you're proven wrong. He walks in like he's doing you a favor—leather jacket, ripped jeans, boots that definitely violate dress code. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and when he spots you at the corner table, something crosses his face. Resignation, maybe. Or irritation. "You're my tutor?" he says by way of greeting, dropping his backpack on the table with a thud that makes the librarian shoot him a warning look.

"Looks like it." You gesture to the empty chair. "Have a seat." He sits, sprawling in the chair like he owns it, and pulls out an absolutely destroyed copy of Of Mice and Men. The cover's hanging by threads, pages dog-eared and crumpled. "So," you start, trying to figure out where to begin. "Mrs. Morrison said you're taking senior English again?"

"Fourth time." He says it flat, like it doesn't bother him, but you see the tension in his jaw.

"Okay. What's giving you the most trouble?"

He laughs—short and bitter. "All of it. The reading. The writing. The whole goddamn thing."

"Have you read the book?" You nod at Of Mice and Men.

"I tried." He flips it open randomly, stares at the page like it personally offended him. "The words just—they don't make sense. I read the same line five times and still don't know what it says."

Something clicks in your brain. The way he's holding the book. The frustration that seems deeper than just dislike. The fact that he's clearly not stupid—he wouldn't have made it to senior year four times if he was—but something's not connecting. "Can you read this page out loud for me?" you ask gently.

His expression shuts down immediately. "No."

"Sunghoon—"

"I said no." He's already standing, grabbing his bag. "This is pointless. I'm not some charity case for you to fix so you can put it on your college applications."

"That's not—" You're standing too now, and the librarian is definitely watching. "I'm trying to help."

"I don't need help. I need people to stop pretending I'm going to magically get this shit." His voice is low, controlled, which somehow makes it worse. "I'm stupid. Everyone knows it. Let's not waste each other's time."

"You're not stupid."

He looks at you then—really looks—and for a second you see past the armor. There's hurt there. Years of it. "Yeah?" he challenges. "Then why can't I read a fucking book that every other senior finished in a week?"

"Because I think you might be dyslexic." The word hangs between you. He goes very still.

"What?"

"Dyslexia. It's a learning disability that affects reading. The way you described it—reading the same line multiple times, words not making sense—those are classic signs." You're speaking carefully now, aware that this could go very wrong. "My cousin has it. He's brilliant. Mechanical engineer at Purdue. But reading was hell for him until he got diagnosed and learned strategies."

Sunghoon is staring at you like you're speaking another language. "That's not—I'm just—" He stops. Tries again. "Nobody ever said—"

"Have you ever been tested?"

"No. Teachers just kept saying I wasn't trying hard enough." The bitterness is back, but underneath it there's something else. Hope, maybe. Fragile and dangerous.

"Sit down," you say quietly. "Please. Let me show you something." He hesitates, then slowly sinks back into the chair. You pull out a blank piece of paper and write a sentence in clear print: THE CAT SAT ON THE MAT. "Read this."

He stares at it for a long moment. "The... cat... sat..." He stops, frustrated. "Some of the letters keep moving."

"Exactly." You pull out a red plastic sheet—the kind photographers use for color correction—from your bag. Your cousin's old trick. "Try reading it through this."

He looks skeptical but places the red sheet over the paper. His eyes widen. "The cat sat on the mat." He reads it perfectly. Looks up at you with an expression you can't quite name. "What the fuck."

"Colored overlays help some people with dyslexia. The colored filter reduces visual stress and makes the letters more stable." You're trying to keep your voice steady, professional, but your heart is racing. "This doesn't mean you're stupid, Sunghoon. It means your brain processes visual information differently."

He's still staring at the paper through the red sheet, reading the sentence over and over like he can't believe it. "All this time," he says finally, voice rough. "All these fucking years, and it was just—"

"Not your fault," you finish firmly. "Never your fault." He looks at you then, and something shifts in his expression. The armor cracks, just a little.

"Can you—" He stops, clears his throat. "Can you teach me? Actually teach me, not just make me read shit I can't understand?"

"Yes," you say without hesitation. "But we're going to need more time than an hour twice a week."

"I work at my dad's garage after school most days. Can't really get out of that."

"Evenings?"

He hesitates. "There's a diner. Miller's, out on Route 40. They have booths in the back, it's quiet. I could meet you there. After the garage closes. Seven?"

Your mother is going to have opinions about you spending evenings at a diner with Park Sunghoon. Your father is going to ask if this is really the best use of your time when you should be focused on AP classes and scholarship applications. "Seven works," you hear yourself say.

His smile is small but genuine. "Okay. Tuesday?"

"Tuesday." He leaves with the red plastic sheet folded carefully in his pocket, and you sit there in the empty library wondering what you've just started.

Mrs. Henderson, the librarian, appears at your elbow. "That was kind," she says quietly.

"I just showed him a color filter."

"You gave him hope." She pats your shoulder. "Sometimes that's more important."

You pack up your things slowly, thinking about Sunghoon's expression when he read that sentence. About years of being told he wasn't trying hard enough. About intelligence that doesn't fit in the boxes that schools make. About the fact that you just agreed to spend your evenings in a diner with the most dangerous boy in school.

And the scariest part? You're looking forward to it.

—

Tuesday night arrives too fast and too slow at the same time. You tell your mother you're studying at the library. It's not technically a lie—you are helping someone study. She doesn't need to know the someone is Park Sunghoon or that the library is actually a diner on the edge of town.

Miller's Diner looks like it hasn't changed since 1955. Red vinyl booths, checkerboard floor, a jukebox in the corner playing Tiffany. The smell of coffee and frying oil. A handful of truckers at the counter, a couple of farmers in the corner booth, and exactly zero people from school.

Sunghoon is already there, sitting in the last booth by the window. He's changed out of his leather jacket into a plain black t-shirt, and there's grease under his fingernails. He sees you and something in his expression softens. "You came," he says, like he half-expected you to bail.

"I said I would." You slide into the booth across from him, setting down your bag full of books and teaching materials. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"People make promises they don't keep." He shrugs. "Had a few tutors give up before."

"I'm not going to give up."

"We'll see."

A waitress appears—Sally, her name tag says, probably in her fifties with kind eyes and a skeptical expression when she looks at Sunghoon. "What can I get you kids?"

"Coffee, black," Sunghoon says. "And a chocolate milkshake."

You raise an eyebrow. "Both?"

"Coffee's for staying awake. Milkshake's for when reading gives me a headache." He looks almost defensive. "What?"

"Nothing. I'll have the same."

Sally writes it down, her skepticism softening into something that might be approval. "Be right back."

When she's gone, you pull out your materials. You've spent the past four days researching dyslexia, strategies, techniques. Your cousin sent you a care package—more colored overlays, a reading ruler, special paper with slightly tinted backgrounds that's easier on dyslexic eyes. "Okay," you start, spreading everything out. "First things first. I'm not a diagnostician, so I can't officially test you for dyslexia. But I can teach you strategies that help people with dyslexia read more effectively."

"Like the red sheet."

"Exactly. Different colors work for different people." You push the stack of overlays toward him. "Try these on a page of your book. See which one makes the words most stable."

He pulls out Of Mice and Men, that same destroyed copy, and starts testing. Blue—no good. Yellow—better. Green—worse. Red— "Red's still best," he says finally.

"Then red it is. I also got you this." You slide over a reading ruler—a long transparent strip with a colored bar that helps track lines of text. "And this paper." Special cream-colored pages. "Some people find it easier to read on colored backgrounds."

He's looking at all of it like you've just handed him gold. "You did all this for me?"

"It wasn't a big deal. My cousin had extras."

"It's a big deal to me." His voice is quiet. Genuine. "Nobody's ever—" He stops. Starts again. "Thank you."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "You're welcome. Now let's see if we can get through chapter one together."

For the next hour, you work. You read passages out loud while he follows along with the red overlay and reading ruler. You stop every few paragraphs to discuss what's happening, to make sure he's comprehending. When he gets frustrated with a particularly difficult section, you break it down sentence by sentence. The milkshakes arrive halfway through. You're both so focused you barely notice Sally setting them down.

"This is about friendship, right?" Sunghoon says suddenly. You're on chapter three now, George and Lennie planning their dream farm. "Like, George takes care of Lennie even though it makes his life harder."

"Yes. Exactly." You're surprised by how quickly he's grasping the themes. "Why do you think George does that?"

"Because Lennie's the only person who sees him as more than just some ranch hand. Because having someone need you is better than being alone." He pauses. "And maybe because George knows what it's like to be different. To not fit."

You stare at him. That's a deeper reading than half your AP class came up with. "That's—that's brilliant, Sunghoon."

He looks up, startled. "Really?"

"Really. You're understanding the emotional core of the story. That's harder than just reading the words."

"But I can't write a paper about it. Can't spell half the words I'd need."

"So we'll work on that too. Writing strategies. Spell check. Audio recording your ideas and transcribing them." You're already making notes. "There are ways around every obstacle."

"You really believe that?"

"I really do."

He takes a long drink of his milkshake, studying you over the rim of the glass. "Why are you doing this? And don't say it's for college apps. You've got those locked down."

The question catches you off guard. You consider lying, giving some easy answer about community service or helping others. But something about the way he's looking at you—open, genuine, vulnerable—demands honesty. "Because nobody should feel stupid when they're not," you say finally. "Because intelligence comes in so many forms and school only tests for one. Because you deserve someone who sees you as more than just a problem to fix."

His expression does something complicated. "You don't even know me."

"Then tell me about you. Who is Park Sunghoon when he's not in the back of English class?"

He hesitates, then: "I work at my dad's garage. Park's Auto Repair, down on Fifth Street. Been working there since I was twelve. Can rebuild an engine blindfolded."

"Really?"

"Really. Cars make sense to me. They're logical. If something's broken, there's a reason. A fix. It's all mechanical. No hidden meanings or metaphors or bullshit."

"Unlike English class."

"Unlike English class." He grins—the first real smile you've seen from him. It transforms his whole face. "But mostly I build cars. Race them, sometimes."

"The Mustang?"

"The Mustang. '67 Fastback. Bought it for five hundred bucks three years ago when it was basically a rusted shell. Been rebuilding it piece by piece ever since." There's passion in his voice now, the same passion that's been missing when he talks about school. "She's almost done. Just needs a new transmission and some body work."

"She?"

"All cars are she." He says it like it's obvious. "You probably think it's stupid. Racing."

"I think it sounds exciting. Terrifying, but exciting."

"You scared of going fast?"

"I'm scared of everything going wrong."

He studies you for a moment. "You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Stuck-up. Judgmental. Like everyone else who's got their shit together." He's playing with his milkshake straw now, not quite looking at you. "But you're not. You're... nice. Actually nice, not fake nice."

"You're not what I expected either."

"What did you expect?"

"Honestly? Someone who didn't care. Someone who'd blow off tutoring or not even try." You pause. "But you're trying really hard. You care about this even though it's difficult."

"I care about graduating. Getting out of this town."

"Where would you go?"

"Anywhere. Indianapolis, maybe. Or Detroit. Somewhere with real garages, real racing circuits. Somewhere I'm not the Park kid who can't read." The bitterness creeps back into his voice.

"You can read. You're reading right now."

He looks down at the book, the red overlay, the progress you've made. "Yeah. I guess I am."

For a moment, you just sit there. The diner's nearly empty now, the jukebox playing something slow. Through the window, you can see the Mustang parked under a streetlight, all black paint and chrome, beautiful and dangerous. "Same time Thursday?" you ask.

"Same time Thursday." He pauses. "And... thanks. For not giving up on me after one session."

"I told you I wouldn't."

"Yeah, but people say a lot of things."

"I'm not people."

His smile is small but genuine. "No. You're really not."

You leave the diner at nine, and your mother's waiting up when you get home. "The library was open until nine?" she asks, voice carefully neutral.

"I was helping someone study. Lost track of time."

"Someone?"

"A classmate." Not technically a lie.

She studies your face, and you wonder if she can see it—the flutter of something new and dangerous. The feeling that tonight was about more than just teaching someone to read. "Just be careful," she says finally. "Senior year's important. Don't let anyone distract you from your goals."

"I won't, Mom."

But later, lying in bed, you think about Sunghoon's smile when he read that first sentence. About the passion in his voice when he talked about his Mustang. About the fact that you're already looking forward to Thursday. And you wonder if maybe, possibly, you're already distracted.

—

The next six weeks blur together in a pattern: School. Student council. Thursday tutoring in the library for appearances. Tuesday and Thursday nights at Miller's Diner for actual progress.

You learn things about Sunghoon: He drinks his coffee black because his dad taught him that's how men drink it, but he'd secretly prefer cream and sugar. He's left-handed. He has a younger sister, Soo-ah, who's in eighth grade and wants to be a vet. His mom left when he was ten and he doesn't talk about it. He can identify any car by the sound of its engine. He's terrified of failing English again. He thinks Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye is whiny but he understands why the character's so angry at everything.

You learn how to teach him: Breaking chapters into smaller sections works. Audio books help, but he feels guilty using them, like they're cheating. He comprehends better when he can discuss ideas out loud rather than writing them down. His spelling is creative but phonetic. When he's frustrated, he needs five minutes to walk it off before trying again. Positive reinforcement matters more than criticism. He works twice as hard as anyone you've ever met.

You learn things about yourself: that you look forward to Tuesday and Thursday nights more than any other part of your week. You started leaving your hair down instead of in a ponytail. You think about him during AP Calc. The sound of an engine makes your heart race now, wondering if it's his Mustang. You're lying to your parents about where you spend your evenings and you don't feel guilty enough about it.

By mid-October, Sunghoon's reading at a tenth-grade level—not great, but light years beyond where he started. He got a B-minus on his Of Mice and Men essay. Mr. Peterson, the English teacher, wrote "significant improvement" on the top. "I can't believe it," Sunghoon says, staring at the paper like it might disappear. You're in your usual booth at Miller's, chemistry homework spread out in front of you (because you still have actual classes), his English work in front of him.

"I can. You earned it."

"We earned it. I couldn't have done this without you."

"You did the work. I just showed you different strategies."

He looks up, and there's something intense in his expression. "It's more than that. You believed I could do it. That matters."

The air between you feels charged suddenly. You're very aware that you're sitting in a back booth of a diner where nobody from school ever comes, that it's just the two of you and Sally wiping down counters, that Sunghoon is looking at you like you're something more than just his tutor. "I should—" You gesture vaguely at your chemistry homework. "Midterm next week."

"Right. Yeah." He clears his throat, looking away. "You want help?"

"You want to help with chemistry?"

"I'm good at it. Sciences make sense. They're like cars—everything has a reason, a reaction, a cause and effect." So you trade. He helps you understand molecular bonds and chemical reactions, explaining them with an ease that surprises you. You help him with his reading comprehension questions for Catcher in the Rye.

It's past ten when you finally pack up. Sally's given up pretending she's not watching you two, a small smile on her face as she tops off Sunghoon's coffee for the third time. In the parking lot, you walk toward your car—a sensible Honda Civic your parents bought you junior year—but Sunghoon catches your wrist. "Hey," he says. "You want to see something?"

"See what?"

"The Mustang. Properly. I finished the transmission last week."

You should say no. It's late. Your mom's going to ask questions if you're not home by ten-thirty. You have homework still. "Yeah," you hear yourself say. "I'd like that."

He leads you to the Mustang, parked under the streetlight like always, but this time he opens the hood. The engine gleams underneath—chrome and steel and meticulous care. "You rebuilt all of this?" you ask, genuinely awed.

"Most of it. Dad helped with some of the specialized stuff, but yeah. Took three years." There's pride in his voice. "Want to hear her run?"

"Please." He slides into the driver's seat, and when he turns the key, the engine roars to life. It's loud and powerful and sounds like controlled chaos. He revs it once, and you can feel the vibration in your chest.

When he kills the engine and gets out, he's grinning. "What do you think?"

"I think she's beautiful."

"Yeah?" He's standing close now, close enough that you can smell motor oil and coffee and something that's just him. "You want to go for a ride sometime?"

Your heart's racing. "Where would we go?"

"Anywhere. Nowhere. There's this place, about twenty minutes out of town. The quarry. People race there sometimes." He pauses. "I could teach you to drive stick shift."

"My parents would kill me."

"They don't have to know."

It's a terrible idea. Sneaking around. Going to the quarry where kids race and drink and do all the things that good students don't do. Getting into a car with a boy your parents definitely wouldn't approve of. "Saturday?" you ask.

His smile is worth every risk. "Saturday. Pick you up at eight?"

"I'll meet you. The QuickMart on the edge of town."

"You don't want me picking you up at your house."

"My dad owns a shotgun and strong opinions about boys. So no."

He laughs—full and genuine. "Fair enough. QuickMart at eight."

You drive home with butterflies in your stomach and the sound of that engine still echoing in your ears. When you slip in the front door at 10:45, your mom's reading on the couch. "Library close late again?" she asks.

"Big project. Sorry."

She studies you over the top of her book. "You're smiling a lot for someone who's been doing homework all night."

"Just had a productive study session."

"Uh-huh." She doesn't believe you, but she doesn't push. "Get some sleep. You look tired."

In your room, you try to focus on chemistry but your mind keeps drifting to Saturday. To the Mustang. To Sunghoon's smile and the way he looked at you in the parking lot. Your phone rings. The landline extension in your room. You pick up. "Hi." It's him. You don't know how he got your number, but you're glad he did.

"Hi."

"I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"I'm fine. It's like fifteen minutes."

"I know. But still." He pauses. "I'm looking forward to Saturday."

"Me too."

"Good. Get some sleep. I'll see you Thursday."

"See you Thursday." You hang up, and you're smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. Your best friend Wonyoung is going to lose her mind when you tell her about this. If you tell her about this. Because maybe some things are meant to be secret. Maybe some things are just yours.

—

Saturday night at 7:55 PM. You're standing in the QuickMart parking lot wearing jeans and a sweater, telling yourself this is fine. This is normal. Lots of people go to the quarry on Saturday nights. (Except you're not lots of people. You're the girl who spends Saturday nights doing extra credit or organizing student council activities or watching movies with Wonyoung while she talks about her on-again-off-again thing with Jake Sim.)

The Mustang rumbles into the parking lot at exactly eight, all black paint and chrome gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Sunghoon leans over to open the passenger door, grinning. "You came."

"You sound surprised."

"Half-expected you to bail. Come to your senses."

"Maybe I came to my senses by showing up."

His grin widens. "Get in." You do. The interior's been restored too—black leather seats, a tape deck, the smell of new upholstery and possibility. "Buckle up," he says, and then he's peeling out of the parking lot, and you're pressed back against the seat as the engine roars.

He drives fast but controlled, taking the roads out of town with easy confidence. The radio's playing—some rock station, The Bangles bleeding into Bon Jovi. The windows are down and the October air is cold and crisp and perfect. "Where'd you tell your parents you were going?" he asks over the music.

"Wonyoung's house. Movie night."

"She covering for you?"

"She doesn't know. I'll call her later, make sure our stories match if anyone asks." You glance at him. "Where'd you tell your dad?"

"That I was going to the quarry. He doesn't care as long as I'm home by midnight and don't wreck the car."

"Different parenting styles."

"You could say that."

The quarry is exactly what you expected and nothing like it at the same time. It's an old limestone quarry, abandoned for years, now filled with water that's probably freezing and definitely not safe to swim in. There's a flat area at the top that's become the unofficial racing strip—a quarter mile of cracked pavement with enough room for two cars to line up side by side.

There are maybe twenty cars already there when you arrive. You recognize some from school—Jay Park's Camaro, Jake Sim's pickup truck, a few others. Music blasts from someone's stereo. A group of kids stands around a bonfire that's definitely illegal. Sunghoon parks at the edge of the group, and immediately people start gravitating toward the Mustang. "Yo, Hoon!" A guy you vaguely recognize from auto shop class—Jay, you think—jogs over. "Transmission finally done?"

"Finished her last week." Sunghoon gets out, popping the hood. "Want to see?" You get out too, feeling wildly out of place in your neat jeans and sweater while everyone else is in leather and ripped denim and the kind of casual confidence that comes from belonging.

"Holy shit," Jay says, looking at the engine. "You did this yourself?"

"Mostly. Dad helped with the specs."

More people gather, asking technical questions about compression ratios and torque and things you don't understand. You stand slightly apart, and that's when you notice her. A girl about your age, leaning against a cherry-red Corvette, watching you with undisguised curiosity. She's gorgeous—leather jacket, dark lipstick, the kind of effortless cool you've never managed. She walks over. "You're new."

"I'm—yeah. First time here."

"I can tell." She's not mean about it, just observational. "I'm Ryujin. That's my car." She gestures to the Corvette. "You're Sunghoon's tutor, right?"

Apparently everyone knows. "Yeah. How did you—"

"Small town. Word travels." She studies you with sharp eyes. "You seem nervous."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Little bit. But don't worry. Nobody bites. Well, Jay bites sometimes, but only if you ask nicely." Despite yourself, you laugh. "There we go. You have a smile." Ryujin nods toward where Sunghoon's still showing off his engine. "He talks about you, you know."

Your heart skips. "He does?"

"All the time. 'My tutor this, my tutor that. She's so smart. She actually believes I can pass.'" Ryujin's expression softens. "It's good for him. Having someone who sees past the reputation."

"What reputation?"

"Park's delinquent kid. The one who can't hack it academically. The loser who's going to end up pumping gas at his dad's garage for the rest of his life." She says it matter-of-factly, but there's an edge of anger underneath. "People are assholes."

"He's not—he's brilliant. He's just dyslexic."

"I know. But nobody else seems to get that." She glances back toward Sunghoon. "Anyway. I'm glad he brought you. He doesn't bring people here. It's his space, you know? The fact that he wanted to share it with you means something."

Before you can process that, Sunghoon's back, sliding an arm around your waist casually, naturally, like he's done it a hundred times before. "You good?" he asks.

"Yeah. Ryujin was just introducing herself."

"Ryu's good people. Wins half the races here."

"Only half?" Ryujin says, mock-offended. "Try three-quarters, Park."

"You want to test that?"

"You challenging me?"

"Maybe." They're grinning at each other, and you realize this is friendship. This is his people—the ones who see him as more than the kid who failed English three times.

"I'll race you later," Ryujin says. "Right now, I think you were going to teach your girl to drive stick." Your girl. The words settle warm in your chest.

Sunghoon leads you back to the Mustang, away from the crowd. "You ready for this?"

"To drive your baby? The car you've spent three years restoring?"

"To learn something new." He opens the driver's door. "Come on. Slide in." You do. The driver's seat feels different—powerful, dangerous. Sunghoon gets in the passenger side, talking you through the basics.

"Clutch, brake, gas. Three pedals instead of two. You're going to push the clutch all the way down, put her in first gear, then slowly let the clutch out while giving her gas. Too fast, she'll stall. Too slow, she'll—" The engine dies immediately. "—stall. That's okay. Everyone does that the first time. Try again."

It takes six tries before you manage to actually move forward without stalling. By try seven, you're doing laps around the parking area, grinding the gears occasionally but mostly getting it. "You're a natural," Sunghoon says, and he sounds impressed.

"I'm terrible at this."

"You're learning. That's different." He guides you through shifting to second, then third. "Feel that? The way she catches when you hit the right spot? That's perfect."

You do three successful laps, and on the fourth, you catch him watching you instead of the road. "What?"

"Nothing. You just—you look happy."

"I am happy."

"Good."

You park after the fifth lap, heart racing with adrenaline and something else. Something that might be dangerous. "That was amazing," you say.

"You did great."

"No, I mean—this. Being here. Learning something completely unrelated to school or college applications or my parents' expectations. Just—doing something for me."

He's looking at you with that intense focus that makes your stomach flip. "You don't do things for yourself much, do you?"

"I'm busy."

"That's not an answer."

"No," you admit. "I don't. Everything I do has a purpose. An end goal. Get into Stanford. Make my parents proud. Secure my future."

"What do you want? Not your parents. You."

The question catches you completely off guard. Nobody's asked you that before. Nobody's cared to ask. "I don't know," you say finally. Honestly. "I've spent so long doing what I'm supposed to do, I'm not sure what I want anymore."

"That's sad."

"That's realistic."

"Maybe." He shifts in the seat, turning to face you fully. "You want to know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're scared. I think you've built this perfect life, this perfect plan, and you're terrified of anything that might mess it up. But I also think—" He pauses. "I think you're only here, in this car, at this quarry, because part of you wants something different. Something real."

Your heart is pounding. "And if I do?"

"Then maybe you should let yourself have it."

You're sitting in his Mustang, at a quarry where people race and break rules, with a boy who makes your heart race faster than any engine, and you're tired. So tired of being good. Of being perfect. Of doing everything right. "Teach me to race," you say suddenly.

His eyes widen. "What?"

"Teach me to race. Actually race. Not just drive around a parking lot."

"That's—do you know how dangerous that is?"

"I'm asking anyway."

He studies you for a long moment. "You're serious."

"Completely."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "Okay. But not tonight. You need more practice first. Real practice. We'll come back next Saturday. And the Saturday after that. I'll teach you everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything." The word hangs heavy with promise. The night continues. You meet more people—Jay, who's loud and funny and clearly Sunghoon's best friend. Yuna, who drags her boyfriend Sunoo around by the hand and asks you about student council. Niki, who's only sixteen but drives better than half the seniors here.

You watch three races. Ryujin wins two of them, Sunghoon wins the third. The way he drives is like watching art—controlled chaos, perfect timing, raw skill. At eleven, he takes you back to your car at the QuickMart. "Same time next week?" he asks.

"Same time next week."

"And Thursday. Diner."

"I'll be there."

He leans across the console, and for a moment you think he might kiss you. But instead, he just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Drive safe," he says.

"You too." You call Wonyoung from the parking lot, apologizing for the short notice, establishing your alibi. She's suspicious but covers for you without question, because that's what best friends do.

When you get home, your mom's asleep but your dad's still up, reading in his study. "Good movie?" he asks.

"Great movie."

"You and Wonyoung have fun?"

"Always."

He studies you over his reading glasses, and you wonder if he can see it—the change. The fact that his perfect daughter just spent the evening at an illegal street racing spot with a boy he'd definitely disapprove of. "Get some rest," he says finally. "You have SAT prep in the morning."

"Right. SAT prep."

In your room, you strip off your sweater, and it smells like motor oil and bonfire smoke and freedom. You should wash it immediately. Instead, you fold it carefully and put it in the back of your closet, where the smell might linger just a little longer. You lie in bed thinking about Sunghoon's hands on the steering wheel. About the way he looked at you when you said you were happy. About the fact that for the first time in your carefully planned life, you have a secret that's just yours.

And you're not sorry about it at all.

—

November arrives cold and sudden, turning Millbrook into a postcard of autumn—all orange leaves and early frost, the smell of wood smoke and approaching winter. You and Sunghoon fall into a rhythm. Tuesdays and Thursdays: Miller's Diner. Books and milkshakes and watching him improve week by week. He's reading at grade level now. Got a B on his Catcher in the Rye essay. Mr. Peterson keeps looking at him like he doesn't quite believe the transformation.

Saturdays: The quarry. Learning to drive—really drive. Stick shift, speed shifting, the physics of acceleration and control. The first time you beat Niki in a practice race (his reaction time was slow, you didn't actually outdrive him, but still), you screamed so loud Sunghoon laughed until he cried. Weekdays: Stolen moments between classes. His hand brushing yours in the hallway. Notes passed during English (ironic, since he can actually read them now). The way your heart jumps every time you see the Mustang in the parking lot.

It's not dating. You're not calling it dating. That would make it real, and real things have consequences. But it's something. Something that makes you smile when you should be concentrating on calculus. Something that has Wonyoung giving you knowing looks across the lunch table. "You're going to have to tell me eventually," she says one Monday, stealing a fry from your tray.

"Tell you what?"

"Who he is. The guy you're sneaking around with."

Your heart stops. "I'm not—"

"Please. You smell like motor oil every Saturday night. You smile at your phone. You're distracted in student council meetings." She grins. "I'm your best friend. I know everything."

"It's complicated."

"Complicated is fun. Uncomplicated is boring." She leans closer, voice dropping. "Is it Park Sunghoon?"

You nearly choke on your water. "What? No. Why would you—"

"Because he looks at you in English class like you're the only person in the room. And you look back the same way when you think nobody's watching."

"We're—I'm tutoring him. That's all."

"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." But she doesn't push, because Wonyoung gets boundaries. "Just be careful, okay? I know you. You're all-or-nothing. When you fall, you fall hard." The problem is: she's right. You're falling.

—

The first time Sunghoon holds your hand (really holds it, not just brushes against it), you're at the diner on a Thursday night in mid-November. You've just finished analyzing a chapter of Lord of the Flies, and he's frustrated because the symbolism still doesn't quite click. "Why can't the conch just be a conch?" he says, stabbing at his milkshake with a straw. "Why does everything have to mean something else?"

"Because that's how literature works. Golding's commenting on society, civilization, human nature—"

"Through a fucking seashell."

"Through a symbol that represents order and democracy." You're trying not to smile at his frustration. "You're overthinking it."

"I'm underthinking it. That's my problem. Everyone else sees this deep meaning and I just see a story about kids on an island."

"The story IS about kids on an island. The symbolism is just another layer."

He looks at you, and something in his expression softens. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like I'm not stupid even when I don't get something."

"Because you're not stupid. You just learn differently."

His hand reaches across the table, covering yours. It's not accidental this time. It's deliberate, warm, sending electricity up your arm. "Thank you," he says quietly. "For everything. For not giving up. For making me believe I could actually pass this class."

Your throat is tight. "You're going to pass. You're going to graduate."

"Because of you." He doesn't let go of your hand. Neither do you. Sally comes by to refill coffee and doesn't comment on it, but you see her smile.

When you leave that night, he walks you to your car like always, but this time he doesn't step back. He stands close, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him even in the November cold. "I've been wanting to ask you something," he says.

Your heart's in your throat. "Okay."

"There's a race next Saturday. Real race, not just practice. Winner takes two hundred bucks." He pauses. "I want you to come. Not to race. Just to watch. To be there."

"I'm always there on Saturdays."

"I know, but—" He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncertain for the first time since you've met him. "I want you there as mine. Not my tutor. Not my friend. As—as my girl."

The world narrows to just the two of you, standing in a diner parking lot under harsh fluorescent lights that suddenly feel romantic. "Sunghoon—"

"I know it's complicated. I know your parents wouldn't approve. I know I'm not the kind of guy you're supposed to be with." The words rush out. "But I like you. More than like you. Have for weeks. And I think—I hope—you might feel the same?"

You should say no. Should remind him about Stanford, about your carefully planned future, about all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Instead, you reach up and kiss him. It's brief and sweet and tastes like chocolate milkshake and possibility. When you pull back, he's staring at you like you've performed a miracle. "Yeah," you say, breathless. "I feel the same."

His smile is brilliant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You kiss him again, longer this time, his hands coming up to cup your face, gentle and sure. "I'll be there Saturday. As yours."

"As mine," he repeats, like he's testing out the words. "I like the sound of that."

You drive home giddy and terrified, the taste of him still on your lips. Your phone's ringing when you get to your room—the landline, Sunghoon's voice on the other end. "Hi," he says.

"Hi. You just saw me twenty minutes ago."

"I know. I missed you already." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Is that stupid?"

"No. It's—" Perfect. Terrifying. Everything. "It's really sweet."

You talk for an hour about nothing and everything. About his sister's soccer game and your student council drama and what it felt like to finally kiss each other after weeks of dancing around it. When you finally hang up, it's past midnight, and you have a chemistry test tomorrow you haven't studied for. You don't even care.

—

Saturday's race is different from practice runs. There's money on the line, real stakes. The crowd's bigger—maybe thirty cars, fifty people. You spot a few seniors from school and hope they don't recognize you. Sunghoon's racing against Jay, best two out of three. The Mustang versus the Camaro. Both engines roar at the starting line, and you're standing with Ryujin and Yuna, heart in your throat. "He's good," Ryujin says, watching the cars line up. "But Jay's reckless. Could go either way."

"Sunghoon's better," you say with more confidence than you feel.

"Look at you. All defensive of your man." She grins. "It's cute."

The flag drops. They're off—two bullets of metal and gasoline, neck and neck down the quarter mile. Sunghoon takes the first race by half a car length. Jay takes the second by less. The third race is for everything.

You can barely watch. Can barely breathe. The engines scream, the crowd roars, and then Sunghoon crosses the finish line first by inches. The crowd erupts. Jay's laughing, shaking Sunghoon's hand, because it's all good fun until it's not. Money exchanges hands. And then Sunghoon's walking toward you, adrenaline-high and grinning, and he picks you up and spins you around right there in front of everyone. "Did you see that?" he says, breathless.

"I saw. You were amazing."

"I had good motivation." He sets you down but doesn't let go, his forehead resting against yours. "Wanted to win for you."

"Sunghoon—" He kisses you, right there in front of everyone, and it's not brief or sweet. It's deep and claiming and says mine more clearly than words ever could.

When you break apart, half the people there are staring. Including Jake Sim, who's in your AP History class and definitely knows who you are. "Shit," you mutter.

"What?"

"Jake goes to our school. This is going to be all over by Monday."

Sunghoon's expression hardens. "Is that a problem?"

"My parents—they're going to—"

"Hey." He cups your face, making you look at him. "If you want to keep this quiet, we can keep this quiet. I get it. I'm not exactly parent-approved material." The hurt in his voice kills you.

"No. I don't—I don't want to hide." The words surprise you, but you mean them. "I'm tired of hiding. Of being perfect. Of living my life for everyone else's approval."

"You sure?"

"Completely."

His smile is slow and genuine. "Good. Because I'm done pretending you're just my tutor."

The rest of the night is perfect. You meet his friends properly—Jay and his girlfriend Jungwon, Niki who's secretly a poetry nerd, Yuna and Sunoo who are the most wholesome couple you've ever seen. They accept you immediately, and it's strange and wonderful to be part of a group that doesn't care about GPAs or college applications or any of the things that usually define you.

Around eleven, Sunghoon pulls you away from the crowd, leading you to a spot overlooking the quarry. The water's black and still below, stars reflected on the surface. "I've been thinking," he says, sitting on the hood of the Mustang and pulling you to stand between his legs. "About after graduation."

Your stomach drops. "What about it?"

"I'm not going to college. Can't afford it even if I wanted to, and honestly? I don't want to. I want to work with my dad, take over the garage eventually. Maybe open my own shop someday."

"That sounds perfect for you."

"But you're going to Stanford. All the way across the country." The reality of it sits heavy between you. You've been so focused on now—on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturday nights—that you haven't let yourself think about graduation. About what happens when your carefully planned future collides with this unexpected present.

"Maybe I don't go to Stanford," you say quietly. His eyes widen."Maybe I stay. Go to Indiana State or Purdue. Somewhere closer."

"No." He says it firmly. "Absolutely not. You're not giving up Stanford for me."

"It wouldn't be giving up. It would be choosing—"

"You'd resent me. Eventually. You'd look back and wonder what if, and you'd hate me for it." He takes your hands. "I care about you too much to let you do that."

"So what, we just break up when I leave?"

"I don't know." The honesty in his voice breaks your heart. "I haven't figured that part out yet. All I know is that I want you to go chase your dreams, even if it means losing you."

You kiss him to shut him up, to stop the conversation from going somewhere too painful. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer, and for a while there's nothing but this—the two of you, the Mustang, the stars overhead. "We have seven months," you murmur against his mouth. "Seven months before we have to figure any of that out."

"Seven months."

"So let's make them count."

"Yeah." He kisses you again, deeper. "Let's make them count."

You stay like that for a while—his hands in your hair, yours in his, the city glittering below and the night cold around you—and the kissing shifts into something else slowly, the way things do when you’ve been holding back for a long time and the holding back finally stops. "Hey," he says softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "You sure?"

You’ve never been more sure of anything. "Yes." He kisses you again—slower now, intentional, one hand sliding down your waist—and then he’s reaching past you to recline the passenger seat, and you climb over the console and into his lap, and the Mustang’s interior is small and warm and entirely yours.

He undresses you carefully, methodically, like he’s done everything in his life—with patience and complete attention. Your sweater first, then his jacket, his eyes on your face the whole time, watching for hesitation. There isn’t any.

"You’re beautiful," he says, and it’s so simple and so honest that it lodges somewhere in your chest and stays there.

His hands are warm everywhere they touch—down your sides, over your hips, learning you the way he’s learned everything that matters to him: slowly, thoroughly, like he means to know it forever. When his fingers find the hem of your jeans, he pauses. "Still yes?"

"Still yes." He takes his time. That’s the thing about Sunghoon—he has always taken his time with things that matter. His mouth finds your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, and you’re acutely aware of the city lights through the windshield and the sound of both of you breathing and how small and perfect this space is.

He works you open with his fingers first—slow and attentive, watching your face, adjusting when your breath catches—his thumb circling your clit in a rhythm that makes your hips roll against his hand involuntarily. You grip the headrest behind him and he says your name, just your name, low and reverent. "Okay?" he asks.

"More than," you manage. "Don’t stop." He doesn’t. He keeps going until you’re shaking and breathless, until you come with your forehead dropped against his shoulder and his name in your mouth like a prayer. He holds you through it—both arms, steady—and presses his lips to your temple like it matters, which it does, which everything does with him.

When you finally shift, rising over him, his eyes stay on yours. His hands settle warm on your hips, steadying but not directing—letting you set the pace, the depth, the whole thing, because that’s always been how he is with you. He gives you the wheel.

You take him in slowly. He exhales long and low, jaw tight, hands gripping your hips hard enough to feel it, and you understand in that moment that he’s been holding back too. That there has been patience on both sides of this for months, accumulating. "You okay?" he asks, voice rough.

"Perfect," you say, and mean it in every possible sense. You move together—unhurried, finding the rhythm, his cock filling you completely, his thumb finding your clit again as you roll your hips—and it’s nothing like you expected and exactly what it should be. He tips his head back and watches you with dark eyes and that unguarded expression he only ever gives you, the one that has no performance in it at all.

His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits, and you arch into the touch. He sits up, mouth finding your throat, and the change in angle makes you gasp. "There," you breathe. "Right there—"

"I’ve got you," he says against your skin, and he does. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him, and he rocks into you from below, steady and deep, and you hold on and let go at the same time. The second orgasm builds faster, sharper, and when it breaks you’re holding his face in your hands and looking right at him and he’s looking back with something in his expression that you have no word for but will spend a long time remembering.

He follows you, his whole body pulling you closer as he does, your name on his lips like a finish line he’s been driving toward this whole time.

Afterward you stay tangled together in the reclined seat. The city still glitters through the windshield. His heartbeat slows under your palm. Your head fits perfectly in the curve of his neck, like it was made for exactly that purpose, which you are starting to believe it was. "Seven months," you say quietly, into the warmth of his chest.

He presses his mouth to the top of your head. "Seven months," he agrees. "Every single one."

—

Monday arrives with exactly the fallout you expected. Jake Sim must have told someone, who told someone else, who told everyone, because by second period the entire school knows you're dating Park Sunghoon. The reactions vary:

Wonyoung: "FINALLY. I've been waiting for you to admit it. Also, he's hot. Well done." Your lab partner in Chemistry: "I didn't know you were into bad boys." Some random freshman: "Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

The worst is lunch. You're sitting with Wonyoung and your usual student council crowd when Sunghoon appears. "Can I sit?" he asks, looking directly at you, ignoring everyone else.

The table goes silent. This is unprecedented. Park Sunghoon doesn't sit with the honor students. The honor students don't sit with the kids who've failed English three times. But you're not most honor students. "Yeah," you say, scooting over to make room. "Sit."

He does. Drops his lunch tray next to yours like he belongs there, which apparently he does now. The student council people exchange glances. Wonyoung's grinning like Christmas came early. "So," Sunghoon says, stealing a fry from your tray. "What are we discussing? Student council stuff? World domination?"

"Both," Wonyoung says immediately, because she's never met an awkward silence she couldn't fill. "We're planning the winter formal. Theme, decorations, the whole thing."

"What's the theme?"

"Winter Wonderland. Very original, I know."

"You could do Winter Racing. Decorate with checkered flags and—" He stops, looking at your expression. "What?"

"That's actually not a terrible idea."

"Don't sound so surprised."

The conversation continues, and slowly, impossibly, your two worlds start to merge. Wonyoung asks Sunghoon about cars. He asks her about whatever Jake drama is currently happening (apparently there's always Jake drama). Your student council friends warm up when they realize he's funny and not actually scary. By the end of lunch, it almost feels normal.

Until you're walking to English and Principal Morrison stops you in the hall. "Can I see you in my office?" she asks. Not quite a question.

Your stomach sinks. "Now?"

"Now."

Sunghoon squeezes your hand once before you follow Morrison down the hall. Her office still smells like coffee, but there's no warmth in her smile today. "I've been hearing things," she says once the door closes. "About you and Mr. Park."

"We're dating." You say it firmly, even though your heart's racing. "Is that a problem?"

"That depends. Is this relationship interfering with your tutoring duties?"

"No. He's doing better than ever. You've seen his grades."

"I have. Which is why I'm concerned." She leans forward. "You're an exceptional student with a bright future. Stanford. Pre-law. You've worked very hard to get where you are."

"I'm aware."

"Park Sunghoon is a nice young man, but he's not on the same path you are. I'd hate to see you distracted. To see your focus shift away from your goals." The implication is clear: he's not good enough for you. He's going to drag you down.

"With respect, Mrs. Morrison, my personal life is my business." Your voice is steady even though you're shaking. "I'm maintaining my grades. I'm fulfilling my student council responsibilities. What I do outside of school isn't up for discussion."

"I'm just trying to look out for you—"

"I don't need looking out for. I need people to trust that I can make my own decisions." You stand. "Is there anything else?"

She sighs. "Just—be careful. That's all I'm saying."

"I will be. Thank you." You leave her office furious and shaking, and Sunghoon's waiting in the hall even though he's definitely supposed to be in class.

"What did she say?" he asks.

"That I'm making a mistake. That you're going to ruin my future." The words taste bitter.

His expression shuts down. "Maybe she's right."

"Don't." You grab his hand. "Don't do that. Don't let other people's opinions make you doubt this."

"I'm not good enough for you. Everyone thinks it. Hell, I think it sometimes."

"Good enough according to what? Their standards? Fuck their standards." The profanity feels good, rebellious. "You make me happy. That's what matters."

"Your parents are going to lose it when they find out."

"They'll find out when I'm ready to tell them." You kiss him quick, not caring who sees. "And when they do, I'm not changing my mind."

His smile is small but real. "You're kind of badass when you're angry."

"I'm learning from you."

"Nah. This was always in you. You just needed permission to let it out."

—

Thanksgiving arrives, and with it, the dreaded family dinner where your parents expect you to discuss your college applications and your perfectly planned future. Instead, you spend the morning texting Sunghoon while your mother prepares turkey. Sunghoon: What are you wearing?

You: Why, are you coming over to see me?

Sunghoon: No, but I'm thinking about you. Want to picture it accurately.

You: Sweater and jeans. Very exciting.

Sunghoon: Everything about you is exciting.

You: Smooth talker.

Sunghoon: I'm working on my English skills. My tutor's really good.

You: Your tutor thinks you're pretty great too.

Sunghoon: Just pretty great?

You: Fishing for compliments?

Sunghoon: Maybe. Is it working?

You: You're incredible. Happy now?

Sunghoon: Very. What time's dinner?

You: Six. Why?

Sunghoon: Because I'm picking you up at eight. There's a place I want to show you.

You: It's Thanksgiving. I can't just leave family dinner.

Sunghoon: Sure you can. Tell them you're going to Wonyoung's.

You: I use that excuse too much.

Sunghoon: Then tell them the truth. That you're seeing your boyfriend.

The word stops you. Boyfriend. He's never used it before. You've never defined what this is, too scared to put labels on something so new and fragile. You: Is that what you are? My boyfriend?

The little text bubble appears, disappears, appears again. Finally: Sunghoon: I want to be. If that's okay with you.

Your heart soars. You: It's more than okay. I'll see you at eight, boyfriend.

Sunghoon: See you at eight, girlfriend.

Dinner is exactly as expected—your dad asking about Stanford applications, your mom discussing scholarship opportunities, your older brother (home from MIT for the holiday) pontificating about the importance of networking. Around seven-thirty, you clear your throat. "I'm going out after dinner," you announce.

Your mother looks up from the pumpkin pie. "Out where?"

"To see someone."

"Wonyoung?"

"No. A friend. From school."

Your father's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "What friend?"

This is it. The moment of truth. You could lie, make up another excuse, keep hiding. Instead: "His name is Sunghoon. He's my boyfriend." The silence is deafening.

"Boyfriend?" your mother repeats faintly.

"Since when do you have a boyfriend?" your brother asks.

"Since October. We've been seeing each other for about two months."

Your father sets down his fork carefully. "Who is this boy? Do we know his family?"

"Park's Auto Repair. His dad owns it."

Recognition flashes across your father's face. "The Park boy? The one who's failed English multiple times?"

"He's passing now. Because I've been tutoring him."

"That's what this is about?" Your mother's expression clears with relief. "You're tutoring him. That's not dating, honey."

"It started as tutoring. It became dating. There's a difference."

"Absolutely not." Your father's voice is firm. "You are not dating that boy."

Your heart pounds, but you keep your voice steady. "I am. And I'm going to see him tonight."

"You are not leaving this house."

"I'm eighteen. You can't stop me."

"We can take away your car. Your allowance. We can make this very difficult for you."

The threat hangs in the air. Your mother looks distressed, your brother shocked, your father furious. "Do what you need to do," you say quietly. "But I'm still going." You stand, grabbing your coat, and your father stands too.

"If you walk out that door to see that boy, there will be consequences."

"I understand."

"You're throwing away your future for someone who isn't worth it."

That snaps something in you. "He's worth more than you know. He's kind and smart and he works harder than anyone I've ever met. The only people who can't see that are people who judge based on grades and class and things that don't actually matter."

"Grades matter. Your education matters. Stanford matters."

"I know. And I'm still going to Stanford. I'm still maintaining my 4.0. I'm still doing everything I'm supposed to do." You pause at the door. "I'm just also choosing to be happy." You leave before they can respond.

The Mustang's idling at the end of your driveway, and when you climb in, Sunghoon takes one look at your face and knows. "You told them."

"I told them."

"And?"

"And my dad's pissed. My mom's horrified. My brother thinks I've lost my mind." You buckle your seatbelt. "But I did it. I chose you."

His expression does something complicated. "You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did. I'm tired of hiding. Tired of living my life for other people's approval." You take his hand. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere special. You'll see."

He drives out of town, past the quarry, along back roads you've never seen. The radio plays soft—Fleetwood Mac, "Landslide"—and his hand stays linked with yours. After twenty minutes, he pulls onto a dirt road that leads to a field. In the distance, you can see Indianapolis's skyline glittering, all lights and possibility. "What is this place?" you ask.

"My spot. When everything gets too much—school, my dad, all of it—I come here." He parks, and you both get out. The November air is freezing, but he pulls a blanket from the trunk, spreading it on the hood of the Mustang. You climb up, and he settles behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder. The city sparkles in the distance, close enough to see but far enough to feel like a different world.

"I've been coming here since I was fifteen," he says quietly. "Whenever I felt like I didn't fit anywhere, I'd drive out here and look at the city. Remind myself that there's more than just Millbrook. More than just people who think I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"I know that now. Because of you." He holds you tighter. "You changed everything for me. Not just teaching me to read—though that's huge. But making me believe I'm worth something. That I have value beyond fixing cars."

"You always had value. I just helped you see it."

"Same thing you did for me, you did for yourself." He turns you to face him. "Before us, you were so focused on being perfect that you forgot to be happy. Now look at you. Standing up to your parents. Choosing what you want instead of what you're supposed to want."

"I'm terrified."

"Good. Being terrified means it matters."

You kiss him as the city lights blur behind your closed eyes, and it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff—scary and exhilarating and exactly where you're supposed to be. "I'm falling in love with you," you whisper against his mouth. The admission feels huge, terrifying.

He pulls back to look at you, his expression soft and open and completely vulnerable. "Good," he says. "Because I fell in love with you weeks ago. Just been waiting for you to catch up." You laugh, and cry, and kiss him again, and in the distance Indianapolis glitters like a promise that maybe, just maybe, everything's going to be okay.

—

Your parents aren't speaking to you. Well, they're speaking—terse, polite conversations about dinner times and whether you need the car—but the warmth is gone. Your mother looks at you like you're a stranger. Your father's disappointment is a physical presence at every meal.

They took away your allowance but not your car (you need it for student council, and they're not quite willing to sabotage that). They've forbidden Sunghoon from coming to the house. They've made it clear that this relationship is temporary, a phase, something you'll grow out of when you come to your senses. You've made it equally clear that you disagree. The upside is: You're no longer sneaking around. The downside: Everything is harder now. But you have Sunghoon, and somehow that makes it bearable.

—

The first real snow falls on a Tuesday in mid-December. You and Sunghoon are at Miller's Diner, working through a Lord of the Flies essay that's due Friday. He's gotten good at this—organizing his thoughts verbally, using voice-to-text for first drafts, then going back to clean up spelling and grammar. "So Piggy represents intelligence and reason," he says, "but nobody listens to him because he doesn't fit their idea of what a leader should be."

"Exactly. What does that say about society?"

"That we're idiots who value the wrong things?" He grins. "That sound about right?"

"Bit cynical, but not wrong." You're making notes for him to reference later. "What evidence supports that?"

He flips through the book—using his red overlay, reading more fluently than he did three months ago. It's not perfect. It's probably never going to be easy. But it's worlds better than where he started. "Here," he says, pointing to a passage. "Where they're voting for chief and everyone picks Ralph because he's good-looking and has the conch, even though Piggy's clearly smarter."

"Perfect. Use that quote, explain why it matters, connect it to real-world examples."

"Real-world examples like people thinking I'm dumb because I can't read?"

Your heart squeezes. "Yeah. Like that."

He's quiet for a moment, then: "You know what's weird? I used to hate English. Hated everything about it. But now—" He gestures at the books, the notes. "It's not so bad. Some of it's actually interesting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, Golding's kind of depressing, but he's got a point. People do judge based on stupid shit. They make assumptions. And the conch thing—order versus chaos—that actually makes sense when you think about it."

You're grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. "You're doing literary analysis. Voluntarily."

"Don't sound so shocked."

"I'm not shocked. I'm proud."

His smile is soft, genuine. "Thanks. For not giving up on me."

"Never." Sally brings your milkshakes—chocolate for him, strawberry for you, a routine she's memorized by now. The diner's nearly empty, just a couple of truckers at the counter and you two in your usual booth.

"How are things at home?" Sunghoon asks carefully.

"Tense. My mom keeps leaving college brochures on my desk like I've forgotten about Stanford. My dad barely looks at me." You stir your milkshake. "But I'm not backing down."

"I hate that I'm causing problems with your family."

"You're not. Their expectations are causing problems. I'm just finally standing up to them."

"Still." He reaches across the table, taking your hand. "If you ever want to—if this gets too hard—"

"Don't." You squeeze his fingers. "I'm not giving up on us. Not for them. Not for anyone."

"Even if they cut you off? Refuse to pay for Stanford?"

The fear in his voice breaks your heart. "I'll figure it out. Loans, scholarships, whatever it takes."

"You shouldn't have to—"

"But I will. Because you're worth it." You mean every word. "Besides, I'm not doing this just for you. I'm doing it for me. For the first time in my life, I'm choosing what I want instead of what everyone else wants for me."

His expression softens. "What do you want?"

"You. Stanford. A future where I don't have to choose between love and ambition." You pause. "Is that too much to ask?"

"No. It's exactly right."

You work for another hour, then Sunghoon walks you to your car like always. The snow's still falling, turning the parking lot into a winter postcard. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you close. "You cold?" he asks.

"A little." He shrugs out of his jacket—that same leather jacket he always wears—and drapes it over your shoulders. It's warm from his body heat and smells like him, motor oil and cologne and something that's just Sunghoon. "You're going to freeze," you protest.

"I'll survive. Besides, you look good in my jacket." You do. You've seen yourself in mirrors, in car windows—his too-big jacket swallowing you up, making you look dangerous and claimed and exactly like someone who'd date Park Sunghoon.

You kiss him in the falling snow, and it's perfect. Movie-perfect. The kind of moment that would be cheesy if it wasn't so real. "I love you," he says against your mouth.

"I love you too."

"Even though I'm causing problems with your parents?"

"Especially because of that. You make me brave."

His smile is everything. "You were always brave. You just needed permission to show it."

—

The winter formal is the third Saturday of December, your mother assumes you're going with Wonyoung or solo. She's bought you a dress—beautiful, conservative, exactly the kind of thing the future Stanford student should wear. "I'm going with Sunghoon," you tell her Friday night at dinner.

She nearly drops her fork. "Excuse me?"

"To the winter formal. Sunghoon's my date."

"Absolutely not."

"I'm going either way. You can't stop me."

Your father sets down his newspaper. "We can forbid you from going at all."

"Then I guess I'm forbidden." You stand, taking your plate to the sink. "But I'm still going. So you can either accept that I'm going with Sunghoon, or you can spend the evening knowing I'm there against your wishes. Your choice." You leave before they can respond, and you're shaking but proud. Standing up to them is getting easier, but it still takes everything you have.

Saturday arrives clear and cold. You get ready at Wonyoung's house—she's going with Jake (they're on-again this week), and she helps you with your hair and makeup. "You're really doing this," she says, watching you in the mirror. "Going with him. In front of everyone."

"Yeah."

"Your parents are going to lose it."

"They already have."

"And you're okay with that?"

You think about it—really think about it. About the future you'd planned, the one where you did everything right and made everyone proud. About the future you're building now, messier and scarier but entirely yours. "Yeah," you say finally. "I'm okay with it."

The dress your mother bought hangs in your closet at home. Instead, you're wearing something Wonyoung helped you find—still nice, still appropriate, but edgier. A dark red dress that your mother would call too much and you call perfect. Sunghoon picks you up at Wonyoung's at seven, and when he sees you, he stops mid-step. "Wow."

"Good wow or bad wow?"

"Incredible wow." He's wearing actual dress clothes—dark slacks, button-down, tie. He looks unfamiliar and handsome and still completely him. "You're beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself."

He hands you flowers—simple roses from the grocery store, but the gesture makes your heart melt. "Ready?"

"Completely."

The dance is in the school gym, transformed with the Winter Racing theme that won the student council vote (Sunghoon's idea, your influence). Checkered flags, silver and white decorations, lights that make everything sparkle. When you walk in together, conversations stop. People stare. This is unexpected—the valedictorian and the kid who failed English, together at the most visible school event of the year. But Sunghoon's hand is firm in yours, and you're done hiding. "Want to dance?" he asks.

"I should warn you—I'm terrible at it."

"Then we'll be terrible together."

He leads you to the dance floor just as a slow song starts. His hands settle on your waist, yours on his shoulders, and you sway to music that's probably supposed to have actual dance steps but you're both improvising. "People are staring," you murmur.

"Let them."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Used to. But then I figured out that people's opinions don't change who I am. I'm still the guy who rebuilt a Mustang from scrap. Still the guy who's finally passing English. Still the guy who's somehow dating the smartest, most beautiful girl in school." He pulls you closer. "Their opinions don't matter."

"When did you get so wise?"

"I have a really good tutor." You laugh, and the tension breaks. The next song is faster, and Wonyoung drags you both into a group dance with her and Jake and some other student council people. Sunghoon's terrible at dancing but enthusiastic, and watching him attempt choreography he's clearly making up is the highlight of your night.

Around nine, you slip outside for air. The December night is freezing, and you're shivering in your dress when Sunghoon's jacket settles around your shoulders. "You need to stop giving me your jacket," you say. "You're going to get hypothermia."

"Worth it." He stands behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. "You having fun?"

"The most fun. You?"

"Better than I expected. Though I still think the refreshments are weak. Diner milkshakes are better."

"Obviously."

You stand there in comfortable silence, watching your breath fog in the cold air, and you think about how much has changed since September. How you've changed. "What are you thinking?" Sunghoon asks.

"That I'm happy. Really, genuinely happy. And that scares me."

"Why?"

"Because happiness like this doesn't last. Because we're graduating in June and you're staying here and I'm going to California and—" Your throat tightens. "Because I don't know how to keep this when everything's pulling us apart."

His arms tighten around you. "We'll figure it out."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. But we will." He turns you to face him. "I love you. That's not going to change just because you're three thousand miles away."

"Long distance is hard."

"So? Lots of things are hard. Reading's hard. Racing's hard. Standing up to your parents is hard. But we do them anyway because they matter." He cups your face. "You matter. We matter. And I'm not giving up on us just because it's going to be difficult."

You kiss him, tasting determination and promise and the future you're both trying to hold onto. "Seven months," you say. "We have seven more months before Stanford."

"Then let's make them count."

The rest of December passes in a blur of finals and family tension and stolen time with Sunghoon. You ace your finals (because some things don't change). He passes English with a B-minus (because some things do). Christmas is awkward. Your parents got you practical gifts—a new laptop for college, organizational systems, things that say we're investing in your future whether or not we approve of your present.

You spend Christmas night at the quarry with Sunghoon and his friends, sitting around a bonfire, drinking hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps that Ryujin brought. "To surviving senior year," Jay toasts, raising his mug.

"To graduation," Niki adds.

"To getting the hell out of Millbrook," Ryujin says.

"To the people who make staying worthwhile," Sunghoon says, looking directly at you.

Everyone drinks, and you lean into Sunghoon's side, warm despite the December cold, surrounded by people who've become your friends as much as his. This is what family should feel like, you think. Not obligation and expectation, but choice and acceptance and love. "What are you thinking?" Wonyoung asks. She's on Jake's lap (they're very on-again), but her eyes are on you.

"That I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Even though it's complicated?"

"Especially because it's complicated."

She smiles. "Good answer."

Later, Sunghoon drives you home, but instead of dropping you off, he parks down the street. "I got you something," he says, pulling a small wrapped box from his jacket pocket. "For Christmas."

"Sunghoon, we said no gifts—"

"I know. But I saw this and thought of you." You unwrap it carefully. Inside is a keychain—simple silver, with a tiny Mustang charm attached. "It's from my car," he explains. "Well, a replica. Because wherever you go, whatever happens, you'll have a piece of us. A piece of this."

Your eyes are burning. "It's perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You lean across the console to kiss him. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too."

You sit there in his Mustang, engine off, snow falling outside, and you make promises you hope you can keep. That distance won't change things. That you'll make it work. That love is enough. You want to believe it. You have to believe it. Because the alternative—losing him—is unthinkable.

—

January through March pass faster than you want them to. Stanford acceptance letter arrives in early March—thick envelope, congratulations, everything you've worked for. Your parents are ecstatic. They throw you a celebration dinner, invite relatives, act like your relationship with Sunghoon is a phase that's ending now that you've gotten into your dream school. You don't correct them. You just smile and accept congratulations and hold the letter that represents your future while thinking about the boy who represents your present.

Sunghoon's proud when you tell him. Genuinely, completely proud. "Stanford," he says, kissing you in the diner parking lot. "That's huge."

"It doesn't feel huge. It feels like goodbye."

"It's not goodbye. It's—" He pauses, searching for words. "It's see you later."

"That's optimistic."

"I'm learning optimism from you."

Spring arrives with brutal honesty about the future. Graduation is June seventh. You leave for Stanford's summer orientation June twentieth. That gives you less than two weeks after graduation before everything changes. The quarry races continue through April, and you've gotten good. Not as good as Sunghoon or Ryujin, but good enough to win against Niki (who's actually trying now) and to place second against Jay (who's still reckless but respects your skill). "You should race for real," Ryujin says one Saturday night in mid-April. "There's a circuit in Indianapolis. Real tracks, real prizes. You could do it."

"I'm going to California in June."

"But you're here now."

You look at Sunghoon, who's watching you with that expression that means he's proud and scared and trying not to show either. "One race," you say. "Before I leave. A real one."

His smile is beautiful and sad. "Yeah. One real race."

You tell your parents you're staying after school for a student council project on the last Friday of April. Instead, you drive to Indianapolis with Sunghoon, Ryujin following in her Corvette, to register for your first real race. The track is terrifying and exhilarating. Professional. Dangerous. Everything the quarry isn't. "You don't have to do this," Sunghoon says as you're filling out forms.

"I want to."

"Why?"

"Because I've spent my whole life playing it safe. Doing the smart thing. The responsible thing." You sign your name with a flourish. "I want one irresponsible thing to remember. One time I did something just because it scared me."

"Racing scares you?"

"Terrifies me. That's why I have to do it."

The race is scheduled for the second Saturday in May. That gives you two weeks to practice, to prepare, to possibly come to your senses (you don't). You practice at the quarry every Saturday, and Sunghoon teaches you things he's learned from years of racing. How to take curves at speed. When to brake and when to accelerate. How to listen to the engine, to feel when the car's about to lose traction. "You're good at this," he says after a particularly clean run. "Natural."

"I have a good teacher."

"Best teacher you ever had?" He's grinning, cocky.

"Most humble, definitely."

The night before the race, you can't sleep. Sunghoon calls at midnight. "You nervous?" he asks.

"Terrified."

"Good. Use that. Fear keeps you sharp."

"What if I crash?"

"You won't."

"But if I do?"

"Then I'll be there to pull you out and tell you you're an idiot for racing in the first place." His voice softens. "But you won't crash. You're too good for that."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because I've watched you do impossible things. Ace AP classes. Stand up to your parents. Take a kid who couldn't read and teach him to love literature. Racing is just one more impossible thing you're going to conquer." You fall asleep with your phone pressed to your ear, his breathing steady on the other end, feeling brave and terrified and ready.

Race day arrives sunny and perfect. The track in Indianapolis is packed—real racers, real crowds, real stakes. You're racing in the amateur division, but that doesn't make it less intimidating. Your parents think you're at a college prep seminar. Wonyoung knows the truth and made you promise to be careful. Sunghoon's in the pit area, having helped prep the Mustang (you're borrowing his car for this, because yours is sensible and slow and entirely wrong for racing). "You ready?" he asks, checking the tire pressure for the third time.

"Ask me after."

"You're going to be great."

"You're biased."

"Completely. Doesn't make it less true."

Ryujin appears, already in her racing suit. "You're up in fifteen. Stop overthinking it."

"I'm not overthinking—"

"You're absolutely overthinking. It's what you do." She grins. "Just drive like you do at the quarry. Pretend you're trying to beat Niki's sorry ass."

"I heard that!" Niki calls from somewhere nearby.

The fifteen minutes pass too fast. Suddenly you're in the Mustang, helmet on, strapped in tight. The engine's roar is familiar now, comforting. You can do this. The flag drops. You're off, and for the first few seconds you can't think, can barely breathe. Then muscle memory kicks in. Sunghoon's lessons, hours of practice, raw instinct.

The track blurs. You're not first—not even close—but you're not last either. Sixth out of twelve. Holding your own. Lap two: you pass someone. Fifth place. Lap three: someone passes you. Back to sixth. Lap four (final lap): You see an opening. A gap between two cars. It's risky. Probably stupid. You take it.

The Mustang responds perfectly, threading the needle, and suddenly you're fourth. The finish line approaches and you're laughing inside the helmet because you're doing it, you're actually doing it— You cross the line in fourth place. Not first. Not even podium. But fourth out of twelve in your first real race, and when you pull into the pit area, Sunghoon's there pulling you out of the car and spinning you around and kissing you right there in front of everyone. "Fourth place!" he's saying. "In your first fucking race!"

"I can't believe I did that."

"I can. I knew you would." He's grinning so wide it must hurt. "You were amazing."

Ryujin finished second (because of course she did), and she's laughing at both of you. "Not bad for a brainiac. You've got real potential."

"Thanks."

"You racing again?"

The question makes your stomach drop. Because the answer is no. You're leaving in five weeks. This was it. Your one race. Your one irresponsible thing. "Probably not," you say quietly.

Ryujin's expression shifts to understanding. "Right. Stanford." She squeezes your shoulder. "Then I'm glad you got to do this one. Fourth place is nothing to sneeze at."

The rest of the afternoon passes in a celebration. Jay brings beer (illegal but who cares), and you all sit in the parking lot reliving the race, analyzing turns, celebrating small victories. This is freedom, you think. This is what it feels like to do something just because you want to, not because it's part of a plan or looks good on applications or makes anyone proud. This is what it feels like to be young and reckless and alive.

Later, Sunghoon drives you back to Millbrook, and you're quiet, processing. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About?"

"About how in five weeks this is over. This—" You gesture between you. "—is over."

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "It doesn't have to be over."

"How? You're here. I'm going to be three thousand miles away."

"We'll figure it out. Phone calls. Visits. We'll make it work."

"Do you really believe that?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "I want to. I'm trying to."

"But?"

"But I'm scared." The admission costs him. "I'm scared that you'll get to California and realize there's a whole world of guys who aren't broken. Who can read without colored filters. Who graduated on time and don't work at their dad's garage."

"Sunghoon—"

"I'm scared you'll forget about the small-town kid who fell in love with you over milkshakes and car engines."

You reach across the console, taking his hand. "I could never forget you. You changed my life."

"For now. But in a year? Two years?"

"Forever," you say firmly. "You changed me forever."

He pulls over at your usual spot—the overlook of Indianapolis, the city glittering in the distance. Turns to face you fully. "I love you," he says. "I'm always going to love you. But I also love you too much to make you choose between me and your dreams."

"What does that mean?"

"It means—" He swallows hard. "It means when you leave for Stanford, I'm not going to hold you back. I'm not going to guilt you or make you feel bad for living your life. I want you to experience everything. To be free."

"I don't want to be free. I want to be with you."

"You can't have both. Not really. Not with three thousand miles between us."

Tears are streaming down your face now. "So what, we just break up? Pretend this never happened?"

"No. We love each other for the next five weeks. We make every moment count. And then—" His voice cracks. "And then we let each other go."

"I don't want to let you go."

"I don't want to let you go either. But we have to."

You climb into his lap in the front seat of the Mustang, kissing him desperately, trying to memorize everything—the taste of him, the feel of his hands, the way he holds you like you're precious and breakable and strong all at once. "Five weeks," you whisper against his mouth.

"Five weeks," he agrees. "Let's make them perfect."

He drives. Not back to town—not yet. He takes the back roads out past the quarry, past the field where you used to watch Indianapolis glow, until he finds a stretch of empty road where the stars are visible and the nearest person is miles away. Then he parks. Neither of you speaks for a moment. The Mustang idles and then goes quiet and the May night presses warm against the windows. "Come here," he says softly.

You go. You cross the console and fit yourself against him and he holds you so tight it almost hurts, his face buried in your hair, both of you breathing like you’ve been running. This time it isn’t urgent the way the first time was—that first night at the overlook, the months of held breath finally released. This time it’s slower and sadder and more deliberate, the way you do something when you know you’re doing it for the last time in a long time.

He undresses you like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s filing it away somewhere safe. Every piece of clothing that comes off, his hands follow—mapping your shoulders, your waist, the curve of your spine—and you do the same for him, learning by touch what you already know by heart. His chest, the line of his collarbone, the old scar on his ribs from a car part that slipped when he was sixteen. "I love you," you say, against his shoulder. Not for the first time. But with a weight to it you haven’t used before.

"I love you," he says back, and pulls you closer. He lays you back in the reclined seat and takes his time. His mouth traces down your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your breast—lips finding your nipples, soft at first and then less so, until your fingers are in his hair and you’re arching up toward him. He smiles against your skin and keeps going.

His hand slides down your stomach, fingers stroking through your folds with the ease of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing now, who has paid close attention every time before this. He finds your clit and works it slow and steady until your hips are rocking against his hand and you’re whispering his name at the dark of the car ceiling. "Sunghoon—"

"I know," he says. "I’ve got you. I always have you." He pushes two fingers into your pussy and curls them, thumb still on your clit, and you come apart quietly—the way you do now, the way you’ve learned to, teeth pressed into your lower lip, breathless and shaking and his. He holds you through it, watching your face like he’s trying to memorize that too.

Then he settles between your thighs and presses into you slowly—taking his time even now, or maybe especially now—and you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer and closer until there’s no space between you at all. He moves like the night is long and he intends to use all of it. Deep and unhurried, his cock filling you completely with every thrust, his forehead resting against yours so you’re breathing the same air, his eyes open and on yours the whole time. It’s almost too much—the eye contact, the closeness, the specific weight of knowing what this is. You don’t look away. Neither does he.

He shifts his angle and you gasp and his jaw goes tight and he keeps it there—that exact angle, the head of his cock dragging against the right place every time—until the tension winds up tight and sharp and breaks in a long wave that makes you clutch his shoulders and hold on. He follows you—"I love you," he says, rough and honest and helpless, right at the end—and stays there, arms around you, both of you catching your breath while the Indiana night hums outside.

You stay tangled together for a long time. Long enough that the windows fog. Long enough that somewhere in the dark a car passes on the far road and its headlights sweep briefly across yours and neither of you moves. "Don’t let go yet," you say quietly.

His arms tighten. "Not yet," he says. "Not yet."

—

The last five weeks of senior year pass in a blur of lasts. Last student council meeting. Last AP exam. Last time sitting in your assigned seat in English class. Last ordinary Tuesday at Miller's Diner. You and Sunghoon make a pact: No talking about Stanford. No discussing the future. Just now. Just these five weeks. It's denial and it's beautiful and it's breaking both your hearts.

Prom happens the third weekend of May. You go together—officially, publicly, to hell with anyone who has opinions. Your parents don't speak to you for three days after, but you don't care because you have pictures of you and Sunghoon in formal wear, his arms around your waist, both of you smiling like nothing bad is coming.

Senior Week is a blur of parties and celebrations. The quarry fills up every night with graduates celebrating freedom and dreading change. You race twice more—not officially, just for fun—and win once against Jay (he claims the track was slippery).

Wonyoung throws a party at her house the Saturday before graduation. Her parents are gone for the weekend (conveniently), and half the senior class shows up. "I can't believe this is almost over," she says, slightly drunk on the punch that someone definitely spiked. "We're leaving. All of us. Going to different colleges, different states. Everything's changing."

"Not everything. We'll still be friends."

"Promise?"

"Promise." But even as you say it, you wonder if it's true. If friendships survive distance and change and growing up. If anything survives that.

The Tuesday before graduation, you and Sunghoon are at Miller's Diner for the last time. You both know it without saying it—after graduation, this routine ends. Sally brings your milkshakes without asking. "Last week of school?"

"Last week of everything," Sunghoon says.

She pats his shoulder sympathetically. "You kids going to be okay?"

"We're going to try to be."

When she's gone, you're both quiet. There's no homework to do. No tutoring needed. Sunghoon passed English with a B. He's graduating. Everything you worked for together is complete. "I've been thinking," he says finally. "About us. About what happens after."

"You said no future talk."

"I know. But we need to talk about it. We can't just pretend—"

"I know." You take a shaky breath. "What have you been thinking?"

"That I love you. That I'm always going to love you. But that trying to hold onto something when we're both moving in different directions is just going to hurt more in the end."

The tears are already falling. "So what are you saying?"

"That I think we should make a clean break. After graduation. You go to Stanford, I stay here, and we don't drag it out with phone calls and promises we can't keep."

"I could keep them. I would keep them."

"For how long? A semester? A year? Eventually you'd meet someone there. Someone smart and ambitious who's going places. Someone who fits your future better than a mechanic from Millbrook."

"Don't do that. Don't diminish yourself."

"I'm being realistic. You deserve someone who can give you everything. I can only give you parts and pieces and long-distance phone calls."

You're crying harder now. "You give me everything that matters. You make me happy. Isn't that enough?"

"Not when it means holding you back."

"You're not—"

"I am. Your parents are right about that." He reaches across the table, taking both your hands. "You're meant for amazing things. And I'm so proud to have been part of your journey. But I can't be the thing that keeps you from flying."

"I don't want to fly without you."

"You don't have a choice. We both know this was always temporary. We just pretended it wasn't."

You're sobbing now, and Sally's watching from behind the counter with sad eyes, and Sunghoon's crying too even though he's trying to hide it. "I don't want this to end," you manage.

"Neither do I. But it has to." He stands, pulling you up with him, holding you while you both fall apart. "But we still have four more days. Let's not waste them being sad."

—

Graduation Day arrives. You're wearing your honor cords, valedictorian medal, all the symbols of everything you've achieved. Sunghoon's in his cap and gown next to you in the alphabetical lineup, grinning like a kid because he's actually here, actually graduating. "We did it," he says.

"You did it. This was all you."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

The ceremony is long. Principal Morrison gives a speech about futures and potential. You give your valedictorian speech about change and growth and becoming who you're meant to be. (You wrote it thinking about Sunghoon. Everyone assumes it's about college.) When they call his name—"Park Sunghoon"—the cheering is loud. His dad is in the stands, looking proud and slightly shocked. His sister's jumping up and down. You're clapping so hard your hands hurt.

He walks across the stage, accepts his diploma, and when he looks out at the audience, he finds you. Smiles. Mouths "we did it." You mouth back "you did it."

After the ceremony, there are pictures and celebrations. Your parents are polite to Sunghoon when he appears in family photos, but the frost is still there. His dad shakes your hand, thanks you for helping his son, doesn't quite meet your eyes. "Party at the quarry tonight," Jay announces to everyone. "Everyone's invited. Last blowout before we all scatter." You and Sunghoon exchange glances. Tonight. This is it.

The quarry is packed for graduation night. Someone's brought a whole sound system. The bonfire's huge. There's alcohol and celebration and the particular bittersweet feeling of knowing everything's about to change. You stay close to Sunghoon all night. Dancing when the music's good, sitting on the hood of the Mustang when you need quiet, kissing like you're trying to memorize the taste of him.

Around midnight, he pulls you away from the crowd. "Come with me. I want to show you something." He drives out to the overlook—your spot, where Indianapolis glitters in the distance. Parks the Mustang and leads you to sit on the hood, arms around you, both of you looking at the city. "I'm going to miss this," he says quietly. "Every part of this."

"Me too."

"You changed my life, you know. Before you, I thought I was stupid. Broken. Going nowhere. But you saw something in me that nobody else did. You made me believe I could be more."

"You were always more. I just helped you see it."

"Same thing." He turns you to face him. "I'm going to let you go tomorrow. It's going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. But I need you to know that you're the best thing that ever happened to me. That these eight months were the happiest I've ever been." You're crying again, and he wipes your tears with his thumbs. "I need you to promise me something," he continues. "Promise me you'll go to Stanford and be brilliant. Promise me you'll chase every dream. Promise me you won't look back and regret this. Regret us."

"I could never regret us."

"Promise me anyway."

"I promise." Your voice is shaking. "But only if you promise me something too."

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll be happy. That you won't let anyone make you feel small again. That you'll remember you're brilliant and talented and worthy of everything good."

"I promise." You kiss him one last time at the overlook, the city glittering behind you, and it's desperate and perfect and goodbye.

The next morning, you're packing for Stanford. Your room is full of boxes, your whole life sorted into keep and leave behind. There's a knock on your door. Your mom. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

She sits on your bed, looking at all the boxes. "I've been thinking. About you and that Park boy."

Your stomach drops. "Mom—"

"Let me finish." She takes a breath. "I don't approve. I want to be clear about that. I think he's a distraction. I think he represents everything you're supposed to be moving away from."

"Thanks for the honesty," you say bitterly.

"But." She looks at you, really looks. "I've also watched you this year. You've been happier. More confident. More yourself than I've seen in a long time. And I can't ignore that he's part of that." You don't know what to say. "I'm not saying I approve. I'm not saying I think this will last. But I am saying—" She pauses. "I'm saying I see that he matters to you. And that you matter to him. And that's worth something."

"We broke up," you say quietly. "Yesterday. Decided it was better to end it than try to make long distance work."

Her expression softens into something that might be sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Are you really?"

"I'm sorry you're hurting. Even if I think it's for the best." She leaves, and you sit among your boxes, holding the keychain Sunghoon gave you for Christmas, crying for everything you're losing.

—

You leave for Stanford orientation on June twentieth. Your parents drive you to the airport, help you check your bags, hug you goodbye. "We're proud of you," your dad says. "So proud."

"Make the most of this opportunity," your mom adds. "Don't waste it." You nod, unable to speak around the lump in your throat.

The flight to California is long. You press your forehead against the window and watch Indiana disappear beneath you. Somewhere down there is Millbrook. Miller's Diner. The quarry. A black Mustang and a boy who taught you to fly. You pull out your phone, scrolling to his contact. He hasn't called or texted since graduation night. Clean break, like he said.

Your finger hovers over his name. One call. One message. Just to hear his voice. You don't do it. You're strong enough to keep the promise you made. Instead, you clutch the Mustang keychain and cry quietly into your complimentary ginger ale while the flight attendant pretends not to notice.

Stanford is beautiful. Your dorm is nice. Your roommate is friendly. Orientation is overwhelming and exciting and everything you hoped for. But at night, alone in your new bed in your new life, you dream about engines and milkshakes and a boy who made you brave enough to claim your future. You just wish that future could have included him.

—

FOUR YEARS LATER

Stanford Law School graduation is held outdoors in perfect California sunshine. You're wearing your JD regalia, cum laude honors cord, everything you worked for. Your parents are in the stands, beaming. Your brother flew in from Boston where he's doing his medical residency. Wonyoung's here too—she's at UCLA, came up for the weekend to celebrate.

The ceremony is long. When they finally call your name, the cheering is loud, and you walk across the stage thinking about all the paths that led you here. Four years of undergraduate. Three years of law school. Summers clerking at firms in San Francisco, making connections, building a future. You have a job lined up at a prestigious firm. You have your whole career ahead of you.

You did everything you planned. Everything you were supposed to do. And you're proud. You are. But sometimes, late at night, you still dream about a diner in Indiana and a boy who taught you that plans aren't everything.

You haven't spoken to Sunghoon since the day you left. Kept your promise to make a clean break. Forced yourself not to check his social media (you blocked it all the first week at Stanford because you knew you'd be too tempted).

Wonyoung updates you occasionally. Sunghoon's still in Millbrook, working at his dad's garage. Took it over last year when his dad had a heart attack. Business is good. He's doing well. She never mentions if he's seeing anyone. You never ask.

After graduation, there's a reception. Food, drinks, celebration. You're talking to a professor about your upcoming job when your phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number. Unknown: Congratulations, Dr. soon-to-be lawyer. I always knew you'd do amazing things.

Your heart stops. You know that phrasing. That voice. You step away from the reception, hands shaking as you reply. You: Sunghoon?

Unknown: Yeah. It's me. Sorry for texting out of the blue. I just—I saw Wonyoung's Instagram. You graduating. I wanted to say I'm proud of you.

You: How did you get my number?

Unknown: Wonyoung. Made her promise not to tell you I asked for it. Didn't want to pressure you.

You: It's been four years.

Unknown: I know. Too long. Not long enough. Both.

Your heart is racing. You look around at your graduation party, at your future unfolding exactly as planned, and you make a decision. You: Are you in California?

Unknown: Flew in this morning. I'm actually in Palo Alto. At a coffee shop near campus. I understand if you don't want to see me. I just thought—hoped—maybe you'd want to grab coffee. Catch up.

This is crazy. You have a reception to get back to. People waiting. A whole celebration planned. You: Where?

He sends you an address. It's ten minutes from where you're standing. "I need to go," you tell Wonyoung, grabbing your purse.

"Go where? We're celebrating you—" She sees your expression. "Oh my god. He's here, isn't he?"

"How did you know?"

"Because you only look like that when it's about him." She grins. "Go. I'll cover for you with your parents."

"You knew he was coming?"

"He asked for your number last week. Told me he wanted to congratulate you. I didn't think he'd actually show up." She pushes you toward the exit. "Go. Find out what four years has done to you both."

The coffee shop is small and crowded with students. You spot him immediately, sitting at a corner table, wearing jeans and a button-down shirt that's so different from the leather jacket and ripped jeans you remember but somehow still completely him. He sees you and stands. Older. Broader. Still beautiful. "Hi," he says.

"Hi." For a moment you just stare at each other, and then he's crossing the distance and pulling you into a hug that feels like coming home. "You're here," you say into his shoulder. "You're really here."

"I'm here." He pulls back to look at you. "You look amazing. Different. More—I don't know. More yourself."

"You look good too. Really good."

You sit, and for a minute it's awkward. Four years is a long time. You're not the same people who said goodbye in Indiana. "So," he starts. "Law school. That's huge."

"Thanks. What about you? Wonyoung said you took over the garage?"

"Yeah. Dad's heart couldn't take the long hours anymore. So now it's Park & Son Auto Repair." He smiles, proud. "We're doing well. Expanded last year. Hired three new mechanics."

"That's amazing."

"Not as amazing as law school."

"Different amazing."

The conversation flows easier after that. You tell him about Stanford, about your classes, about the firm job you're starting in San Francisco in August. He tells you about the garage, about his sister (she's at Purdue studying veterinary science), about life in Millbrook (some things change, most things don't). "I've been following you," he admits after an hour. "Not in a creepy way. But Wonyoung posts about you sometimes. I couldn't help checking."

"I blocked your social media that first week at Stanford."

"I know. I noticed."

"I had to. If I didn't, I would have looked every day. Tortured myself with missing you."

"Did you? Miss me?"

You look at him—really look. At the boy who taught you to be brave. Who believed in you before you believed in yourself. Who let you go because he loved you too much to hold you back. "Every single day," you admit. "For four years. Every day."

His expression does something complicated. "Me too."

"Then why didn't you call? Text? Anything?"

"Because I made you a promise. To let you go. To let you have your future without me pulling you back."

"That was a stupid promise."

"Maybe. Or maybe it was what we both needed." He reaches across the table, taking your hand. "You did it. Everything you set out to do. Would you have done that if I'd been calling every week? Visiting every break? Being a constant reminder of Millbrook?"

"I don't know," you admit.

"I do. You needed to be free to become who you were meant to be. And look at you." His smile is soft, proud. "You're brilliant. You're successful. You're everything I knew you would be."

"I'm also alone." The admission hurts. "I dated. Nothing stuck. Nobody was—"

"Was me?"

"Was you."

He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "I'm still in Millbrook. Still working at a garage. Still the guy who can barely read without colored overlays."

"I don't care about any of that."

"You should. You're about to start your career in San Francisco. You're going to be surrounded by successful people. People who—"

"Are you seriously still doing this? Four years later, you're still telling me I'm too good for you?"

"I'm being realistic."

"You're being scared." You squeeze his hand. "I'm scared too. I don't know how we'd make this work. San Francisco and Millbrook are three thousand miles apart. But—" You pause, heart racing. "But I've spent four years doing the practical thing. The smart thing. The thing everyone expected. And I've been successful and professional and completely miserable."

"You're not—"

"I am. Because I've been trying to fill a hole that's shaped like you." Tears are streaming down your face now. "I love my career. I love what I do. But I don't love doing it alone. I don't love going home every night to an empty apartment. I don't love dating men who check all the boxes except the one that matters."

"What box is that?"

"Making me happy. Making me feel alive. Making me feel like myself." You're full-on crying now. "You did that. Four years ago, in a town I couldn't wait to leave, you made me happier than I've been before or since."

He's crying too. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't want practical. I want you."

"I'm in Millbrook. You're starting a job in San Francisco."

"Then we'll figure it out. Phone calls. Visits. I'll fly home every few months. You can come to California. We'll make it work."

"That's what we said four years ago."

"No. Four years ago you decided we couldn't make it work. You didn't even give us a chance." You stand, pulling him up with you. "I'm not asking for perfect. I'm not asking for easy. I'm asking for a chance to try."

He studies your face, searching for certainty. Whatever he sees must convince him because suddenly he's kissing you, right there in the coffee shop, and it's desperate and perfect and tastes like four years of missing him. When you break apart, you're both laughing and crying. "I can't believe you flew three thousand miles to see me graduate," you say.

"I've been wanting to for four years. Today I finally worked up the courage."

"I'm glad you did."

"Me too." He kisses you again, softer. "So what now?"

"Now we try. For real this time. No clean breaks. No letting each other go."

"Long distance is hard."

"So? Lots of things are hard. We do them anyway because they matter." You smile, using his words from four years ago. "You matter. We matter."

"I love you," he says. "Never stopped."

"I love you too. Let's not waste any more time pretending we don't."

—

SIX MONTHS LATER

You're back in Millbrook for Christmas break, sitting in Miller's Diner in your old booth. Sally brings milkshakes without asking—chocolate for Sunghoon, strawberry for you. "Some things never change," she says, grinning.

"Best things don't," Sunghoon replies.

The past six months have been hard. San Francisco and Millbrook are three thousand miles apart. Your work hours are brutal. His garage has been expanding and demanding more time. But you've made it work. FaceTime calls every night. Visits once a month (you fly to Indiana or he flies to California, alternating). Texts throughout the day, sharing the small moments. It's not perfect. It's often frustrating. But it's worth it. "I've been thinking," Sunghoon says, playing with your fingers across the table.

"About?"

"About the future. Our future."

Your heart skips. "Okay."

"The garage is doing well. Really well. Well enough that I could hire a manager. Take a step back from the day-to-day."

"What would you do instead?"

"Move to California. Be with you."

You nearly drop your milkshake. "What?"

"I've been talking to some shops in San Francisco. There's actually a demand for mechanics who specialize in classic car restoration. I could start my own business. Build it up." He pauses. "But only if you want that. I don't want to pressure you. I know your career is important. I know you need space and independence and—"

You kiss him to shut him up. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I want you to move to California. Yes, I want to build a life with you. Yes to all of it."

His smile is brilliant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm done with long distance. I want you there when I come home from work. I want weekends together. I want normal."

"Normal is overrated."

"Normal with you isn't."

He pulls a small box from his jacket pocket, and your breath stops. "I was going to wait until Christmas," he says. "Make it romantic. But I can't wait any longer." He opens the box. Inside is a ring—simple, beautiful, with a tiny diamond that catches the diner's lights.

"Four years ago, I let you go because I thought it was the right thing. Turns out, letting you go was the stupidest thing I ever did." He takes your hand. "I don't want to let you go again. Ever. So—will you marry me? Put up with late-night phone calls about carburetor problems? Let me mess up your very organized closet with my disorganized life? Build a future together that's messy and complicated and completely ours?"

You're crying and laughing and nodding all at once. "Yes. Yes, absolutely yes." He slides the ring onto your finger, and it fits perfectly. Like it was always meant to be there.

Sally's watching from behind the counter, grinning. "About damn time," she calls over.

Sunghoon laughs, pulling you around the table to sit in his lap. "We did it backwards. Fell in love, broke up, spent four years apart, and now we're getting engaged."

"Who says there's a right way to do this?"

"Fair point." He kisses you softly. "I love you. Have since that first day in the library when you called me brilliant."

"I love you too. Have since you looked at me like I could save you."

"You did save me. In every way that matters."

You sit in Miller's Diner, in the booth that's been yours for years, with a ring on your finger and a future stretching out ahead of you. It's not the future you planned when you were eighteen and valedictorian and sure you had everything figured out. It's better.

Because plans are just maps, and the best destinations are the ones you find by taking the scenic route. The ones that surprise you. The ones that feel like coming home.

And Sunghoon—dyslexic, street-racing, brilliant Sunghoon—feels exactly like coming home. "What are you thinking?" he asks, reading your expression like he's always been able to.

"That I'm glad I took the assignment. That day in Principal Morrison's office."

"Best assignment you ever got?"

"Best decision I ever made was showing up to tutor you. Second best was getting in this Mustang with you that first Saturday night."

"Third best?"

"Loving you. Choosing you. Over and over, every single time."

His kiss tastes like chocolate milkshake and promise and forever. "Let's get out of here," he says. "I want to take you to the overlook. Show you how Indianapolis looks on a winter night."

"Haven't we been there a thousand times?"

"Yeah, but never as fiancés." He grins. "Every view's better when you know you're keeping it forever."

You leave Miller's Diner hand in hand, and Sally calls out "Congratulations!" as the door swings shut behind you. The Mustang's parked outside, still beautiful, still loud, still the car he built from nothing with patience and skill and determination. Kind of like what you built together. "Ready?" he asks, opening the passenger door for you.

You slide in, the leather seat familiar and perfect. He climbs in the driver's side, starts the engine, and it roars to life. "Ready," you say. And you are. Ready for California. Ready for the future. Ready for whatever comes next, as long as it's with him.

He pulls out of the parking lot, and the Mustang's taillights disappear into the Indiana night, carrying two people who fell in love over milkshakes and literature and the radical act of seeing each other clearly.

Some stories end with goodbye. This one starts with it—and becomes something better.

(50/50) @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @abbyssful @yandere-stories @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza @simjakeyjake @heeseungdada @bbrianawhatt @onlyifusayyesxx @mintchocoddeonut @sillycactus143 @heexyzy @wonkiipiilled @sugarcwtie @alleiraa @firstclassjaylee

[sunishake]

give this lover girl a chance ✦ psh

After years of being buddies, Park Sunghoon can’t seem to see you as anything more than one of his bros despite you being his girlfriend. afab reader x sunghoon ! smau ! angst ! cliffhanger ! highschool romance ! friends to lovers ! spontaneously written ! awkward hoon !

꒦꒷՞ 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 ˎˊ˗

OO1 . Jacket issues ; OO2 . heart made of steel ; OO3 . Loveria ; OO4 . hair theory ; OO5 . Coming soon...

©sunishake 2026

𝐄- taglist open !!

[demusewriter]

ON THIN ICE ₊˚｡❆ P.SH

₊˚.༄ est. 13k+゛⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ ⸻ .⟡ word count

Pairings: Coach! Park Sunghoon x Coach! Fem Reader 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ Figure skater coach Au ⋆ Slow-burn ⋆ One-sided Rivalry-to-Lovers ⋆ Mutual Pinning.

Summary: You grew up chasing dreams on the ice, conquering competition after competition with your partner. Not until Park Sunghoon and his partner shattered your winning streak, leaving a quiet, unspoken bruise beneath your confidence.

Years later, as retired figure skaters and now coaches, fate loops your paths together again when you find yourself accepting his invitation to form a team after your student got drafted for the next potential pair skating to represent the country to international competition.

You thought throw jumps and harsh landings were terrifying, but nothing comes close to the unsettling and breath-catching fear of skating your emotions on thin ice.

Author's Note: The original plot of this story got deleted and the worst part? I had no backup... Sigh. I forgot most of what I wrote, so I had to start completely from scratch, which is something entirely different from the original. 😮‍💨

I still hope you’ll love this version just as much. 🫶 Warning! Not proof-read! hehe

❄️❄️⛸️❄️❄️

You've always love the cold.

Not the kind that bites or numbs or lingers too long, but the gentle kind.

The kind that hushes the world.

You were only four years old when you first discovered your love for it.

It happened during a Christmas visit to your grandpa's house, a place you always remembered as warm and welcoming, despite being nestled among tall trees and snow-covered mountains that silently tells you how cold it was outside.

At first, you hated it. You despise the snow.

You hated how quickly your hands gets freeze, how your cheeks flushed pink the moment the cold wind kissed them, and most of all, walking on the slippery paths and falling on your little butt over and over again.

There was nothing fun about it—just cold, frustrating, and irritating.

However, it all changes when your parent's insisted on going outside in the freezing cold.

You were bundled in your coat, clinging to your grandfather's neck as he carried you gently in his arms down a path you had no interest in.

Your tiny arms wrapped around him tightly, face buried into the warm crook of his neck with eyes closed, wishing you could go back inside.

Then you heard his soft whisper broke through your thoughts.

"Look up, sweetheart"

The tenderness in his voice made you open your eyes and lifting your head to follow the direction he was pointing.

And what you saw made your eyes sparkles in awe.

The lake that you loved visiting for fishing during summer stays was now completely transformed into a solid and shiny, like a giant mirror beneath the soft winter sun.

The tall, lush green pine trees that once surrounded it were now draped in snow, their branches heavy and shimmering with frost.

Even the mountains had changed. Instead of being green, their tops were now white with snow, but they still stood tall beneath the bright blue sky.

Amidst all of that beauty, what caught you the most is seeing your father glided smoothly across the frozen lake, laughing brightly as he pulled your mother along with him. The sound of her laughter echoed across the ice like a melody.

Seeing the joy on their faces made your tiny heart flutter. As if it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

You squirm excitedly in your grandpa's arms, desperate to get down. He chuckled warmly and set you down gently on the ice. You wobbled uncertainly and promptly fell on your bottom.

But instead of crying like you always do as an immediately response to the fall, you just laugh.

A big genuine laugh that bubbled up from inside you.

Your parents laugh along with you, a look of love and adoration shines in their eyes as they rushed over to you. Your father immediately scooped you up into his arms, cradling you securely as he glided across the ice with you.

The cold wind whipped across your face as he picked up the speed, and for the first time, you didn't mind the bite of the cold. You opened you arms wide and laugh with pure joy as your father spun you in a circle.

It was scary.

It was cold.

But it was magical.

You smiled as you watched the little girl giggle, her arms wide open as her father twirled her across the ice.

The sight warmed your heart despite the coldness of the rink. It reminded you so quickly, so vividly, of the very same joy you once felt at her age

"Coach?"

A sudden call of your name broke through the mist of your memories, pulling you back to the present. You blinked, your breath hitching a little as the crisp air of the rink filled your lungs.

You turned and found Haeun standing a few feet away, skates on, bundled up in her practice jacket, a puzzled but patient look on her face. She tilted her head slightly, then followed your gaze to the other side of the rink.

You shook your head slightly, a small laugh escaping your breath as you turned your attention back to Haeun. "Sorry," you softly said. "I got a little distracted."

"Come on" You skated a little closer to her, "Let's run though the jump again. I want you to focus on tightening your core when you take off. You almost had it last time, you just have to trust your landing."

Haeun nodded and started gliding across the ice, taking mental notes of your instructions as her movement steady yet filled with anticipation.

You watched as she took a deep breath, adjusting her posture, her arms extending gracefully as she picked up the speed. The familiar rhythm of her blades carving through the ice echoed in the rink.

Her brows furrowed in concentration, and for a brief moment, you could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes. But then, just as quickly, it vanished—replaced by unwavering determination.

As you continue to observe your student's posture in preparation for the Quadruple Lutz + Triple Toe Loop, a surge of pride roars in your chest when you saw that glint in her eyes as she readies herself for the takeoff.

You had been coaching Haeun since she was much younger, back when she was still clumsy and unsure, skating in local competitions with bright eyes and shaky landings.

It was your first time coaching after retiring from figure skating. You had no idea to how to do it and had no confidence that you could bring the shine in others the way you once did in yourself.

But out of hundreds of professional figure skating coaches, far more skilled and experienced, Haeun chose you.

You saw it in her eyes, the certainty, the quiet belief that she didn't made a mistake. She didn't choose you because she had no other choice.

She chose you because she believed you could bring out the best in her.

In that moment, you believed in yourself too. After years of self-doubt, after countless failures and losses that had driven you to leave the ice behind, you finally felt something shift.

For the first time in a long time, you believed you could do it.

And together, step by step, you guided her.

From local competitions, where she slowly built her confidence, to bigger regional events.

With each season, she sharpened her skills, her performances growing more polished and more commanding.

Eventually, she pierced through the tough competition to qualify for the Korean National Championships.

There, she shined.

Standing on the podium with a silver medal around her neck, she beamed so brightly you thought she might light up the whole rink.

You still remembered the pride, the overwhelming emotion that tightened your chest when they announced her name.

Now, at eighteen, she was stronger, sharper, and hungrier for more.

This season, you were both eyeing the gold. And after that? The world stage awaited.

If all went well, your next goal was the ISU Challenger Series.

A stepping stone into the international circuit. Soon, you and Haeun would be traveling abroad to compete, testing her skills against the best young skaters from all around the world.

It was a thrilling, terrifying thought.

But as you watched her now, still so full of spirit and determination, you knew she was ready for it.

And so were you.

You watch Haeun bent her knees, arms steady at her sides as she gathered momentum across the rink. You watched closely as your breath caught in your throat.

Quadruple Lutz + Triple Toe Loop is one of the most difficult and high-scoring jump combinations in figure skating. It requires a maximum effort jump followed immediately by a triple jump, with a perfect clean landing for each.

It was a beast even for the best skaters in the world.

Haeun had been working on it for months. She had the strength and technique, but the timing, the delicate balance between power and control, was where she still struggled.

You could see her steel herself, a slight tightening of her jaw as she pushed off the ice with her left foot, vaulting into the air.

For a split second, she soared, spinning fast, arms tight, body compact in the air. But halfway through, you noticed a slight tilt, the tiniest break in her axis, a danger sign.

But she fought for it.

Against the pull of gravity, against the instinct to bail, she fought to finish the rotations. Her blades sliced the air sharply.

When she landed, it was messy—her skate wobbled, her arms flailed slightly—but she stayed upright.

Your hear leapt into your throat.

She did it!

A breathless laugh escaped her lips, half-disbelieving, as she steadied herself and looked over at you, eyes wide and shining.

You grinned, clapping your gloved hands together. "You did it!" you praised, pride thick in your voice, "it might not perfect but you fought for it. That's what matters."

Haeun let out a shaky breath, hands on her knees, but she was smiling.

The jump wasn't flawless yet—she had to fix her axis, tighten her arms, work on the land—but today, she proved somethin more important.

She could do it.

That she had the guts to stay in the air and trust herself.

And you knew, this was just the beginning.

You tried to give her more instructions that she can easily understand, but when words weren't enough, you'd show her yourself—how to jump should flow, how to carry her weight, or how to shift momentum.

Even though your jumps weren't as sharp or high as they used to be, you knew it mattered to her in seeing it with her own eyes.

Despite the fact that 4Ltz + 3T had never been your strong suit back in the days you were actively competing, you were determined to help Haeun conquer it.

Because your believed in her.

You wanted to bring Haeun to her highest peak. To see her glide not just as competitor, but as a skater fully in control of her art, her power, and her dream.

After running through her training schedule and reminding her to focus on core strength exercises, you finally called it a day.

You headed straight to your little corner in the office where notebooks, sticky notes, and coffee cups cluttered your desk.

You needed to record your insights before they faded, draft another drill set for tomorrow, and finalize the next two-week plan.

You were already reaching for your pen when you noticed an email notification on your laptop.

As you check the content, you heart felt like pausing in your chest when you read the subject title.

"National Skating Committee: Pair Skating Candidate Selection"

 You quickly clicked it open as you hold your breath.

The email came directly from the Sports Committee. It was a formal invitation to an upcoming meeting—one that would discuss the committee's proposal for the national pairings, with the intent to build a strong roster for the coming national competitions and international qualifiers

The committee was considering merging top-performing athletes from singles into pairs to form competitive duos that can possibly represent the country in figure skating.

And Haeun's name was on that list.

Your lips parted, a soft breath escaping as your gaze lingered on the lines:

"Athlete Seo Haeun has been observed with notable technical capability, performance consistency, and excellent adaptability, traits with high potential for pair skating development. Her growth under your coaching has been exceptional, and she has been shortlisted as a potential candidate for partner matchups."

You couldn't stop the smile from blooming on your face. It wasn't official yet, just early talks, but still this meant something.

This meant they were noticing her.

They saw in Haeun what you'd seen the moment she first stepped on the rink with you. The determination and the quiet hunger behind every fall and every glide.

This was big—no, a huge door opening for Haeun, where she could go further than you have ever imagined, carve a legacy even wider than yours.

This felt eerily familiar.

The rush, the disbelief, the way time slowed down when a news came to you the exact same thing.

Your chest warmed at the thought that Haeun might now given the same opportunity.

As you continue to read the details, your eyes landed on the last part of the email.

Tentative List of Coaches Invited:

Mr. Park Sunghoon - representing candidate Lee Minjun and Park Chaewon.

The warm pride in your chest iced over in an instant.

Of all people.

With all of professional coaches out there, it has to be him.

The one who never let you forget that you'd never be the best, not during your figure skating career, and even now, as a coach.

His name felt like a slap in your face, a harsh reminder that no matter what you do, you'll never see your name above his, because he was always on the top.

In figure skating and even in coaching.

Staring at his name felt like a familiar sting crawl up your spine. You blinked, once, twice. But the letters didn't disappear.

They didn't fade.

They burned.

You remember the first time you received a letter from the local sports committee inviting you to join a pair skating for competition. The envelope was plain, but your name was printed neatly at the center in a formal font.

With trembling hands, you read the letter, your eyes darting over each line as your breath caught your throat. A slow, disbelieving smile began to form on your lips, growing wider with every word.

It felt surreal.

After years of sacrifice, after every bruise and fall, every early morning on the rink and every quiet doubt that crept in when progress felt slow—this moment had arrived.

The long, relentless pursuit of a dream that started on your grandpa's frozen lake, under skies brushed with pink and gold, had led you here.

There were times you questioned if it was all just a childish fantasy—if someone like you, practicing alone on cracked ice in borrowed skates, could ever step into a spotlight beyond your small community rink that your parents enrolled you in.

But someone had been watching.

The committee saw your passion. They noticed the precision in your movements, the determination that didn't falter even after defeat.

They saw the spark in your performance—the quiet fire behind every spin, every jump, every fall you refused to let define you.

And now, they were offering you something more.

A new path.

A new challenge.

You had been chosen to be part of a pair—a new kind of partnership that demanded not only skill, but trust, timing, and connection.

You once thought the small rink was your ceiling. But this letter told you otherwise.

The first time you met your partner, you weren't sure what to expect.

He was taller than you imagined, with calm eyes and quiet kind of confidence—the kind that didn't need to prove itself.

He skated like it was second nature, his movement smooth and unhurried, as if the ice belonged to him.

There was a strange stillness in that first handshake. Not cold, not distant—just cautious. Like two people trying to guess the rhythm of a song they hadn't heard before.

The beginning was clumsy. There were lifts that ended in near-spills. Twists where you pulled too early. Footwork sequences that started with promise and ended with tangled blades and muffled curses. Some days left the rink more frustrated than fulfilled.

But slowly, something began to shift. A rhythm emerged—not perfect, not polished, but promising.

You learned to read the small cues: the way his hand pressed slightly firmer before a lift, the shift of his weight that told you when to prepare.

He learned your energy—how to ground to it, how to move with it instead of against it.

You began to trust. Not just in him—but in the idea of duo.

The very first competition you compete together as a pair, the chemistry was evident from the very first exhibition.

There was something instinctive in the way your movements intertwined—like the ice had always been waiting for the two of you to meet on it.

His lifts gave your jumps new height; your spins, in turn, drew out a poetic grace in him that hadn't been noticed before.

The crowd felt it. So did the judges.

The medals began to follow. A bronze at the invitational. Then silver at regionals. Then gold—once, twice, then again.

Your names began to circulate in skating circles. Whispers turned into cheers. Local fans started bringing banners. Judge leaned forward in their seats as you perform.

You were no longer the underdogs. You both were climbing. Making so much noise.

And for a while, it felt like the ice belonged to you.

Then came the Winter Championships—the highest-profile even you'd ever entered.

The air in the rink buzzed with electricity, the kind that came from lights, nerves and the unspoken knowledge that careers could shift in a single landing.

You and your partner had just stepped off the ice, the final notes of your routine still echoing faintly in the arena.

Applause followed you as you skated toward the edge, flushed and breathless but proud. Your hands were still warm in your partner's as you exited center ice, smiles tugging at your lips.

You were making your way to the waiting area, hearts still pounding when you felt something.

A shift in the air.

As you and your partner glided toward the exit, another pair entered from the opposite side of the rink, crossing paths with you like a slow-moving current colliding with another.

Their movements were quiet, deliberate, and poised with calm of people who didn't need to prove themselves—they just were.

He was the first thing you noticed.

Park Sunghoon.

Tall, lean, with that composed, elegant posture that came from years of rigorous training. His face was unreadable, sharp, and clean like carved ice, but not cold.

There was a control in his stride that unnerved you: confident, but not showy. Precise, but unhurried. It was the kind of aura that demanded space without raising its voice.

And beside him is his beautiful and elegant partner.

She was everything graceful: good postures, serene presence, and eyes that looked straight ahead, never once flickering toward the crowd.

Her hair was tightly pulled back into a neat bun, her costume a shimmered under the lights, an echo of elegance that matched with Sunghoon's midnight-toned attire.

She glided like water beside him, silent but powerful.

They didn't look at you both as they passed. But they didn't need to.

The brief moment—those few seconds of passing—left undeniable pit in your stomach.

Was it jealousy?

Intimidation?

You didn't know what it was exactly, but as their blades sliced into the ice and they began to glide toward center stage, you felt it settle into your bones:

They're going to take this.

And they did.

When their music began, the energy in the rink changed. Where your routine had been romantic and precise, theirs was electric.

Bold.

Raw.

Sunghoon moved with strength and fluidity, lifting his partner like she weighed nothing, throwing her into perfectly timed spins and jumps that made the audience audibly gasp. Their chemistry was immediate, intense, and commanding.

You sat in the waiting area, heartbeat slowing, watching through the monitor as they stole the show.

"They're good." Your partner muttered beside you.

You couldn't form a reply, you were just busy staring, frozen in your seat, unable to take your eyes off from them.

Something in you knew. This was the beginning of an end.

By the time the score were announced—yours second place, their first—the arena was already abuzz with a new story. A new name. A new face of promise.

The prince and the swan, where media immediately named their duo, were quickly crowned as the future of Korean figure skating.

It was everything you once thought you and your partner would be.

You weren't angry, but something inside you cracked a little.

Not because of the loss, but because of what came after—how quickly the spotlight shifted. How interviews dried up. How the federation, once so full of promises, quietly pulled their attention elsewhere.

And now your partner, hungry for bigger opportunities, eventually got tired of waiting for the tides to turn, left with half-hearted apology and a sentence you never forgot.

"I just don't see this going anywhere"

Despite of being abandoned, you still tried to keep going.

You went back to solo skating, clinging to the rhythm that once gave you purpose, hoping to salvage what was left.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon—the Prince and the Swan soared.

They collected gold after gold, like pulling stars from the night sky.

Every competition became another page in their legacy. National titles, Grand Prix medals, World Championships.

And then, the Olympics.

They're the South Korea's first Olympic gold in pair skating.

They reach their heights you once dreamed of, while you remained behind—quiet, unseen, a name that slowly faded from the rankings.

And now, years later, standing at the edge of the rink as a coach, watching Haeun chase her own dream, the past feels dangerously close.

Like history creeping back in.

Especially now that Park Sunghoon has returned—not just as a name in headline, but as a coach. A rival. A shadow of everything you thought you'd left behind.

A living reminder of what could've been... and what you're terrified to lose again.

You stared at yourself on the mirror for god how many hours, trying to hype yourself up inside the bathroom.

"For Haeun" You reminded yourself again why your doing this. You blew a big breath and fix your hair that fell in soft waves before you push yourself to out to the meeting room.

The room was chilled with central air, lit by harsh overhead fluorescents that made the polished floor glint like ice.

Your smoothed a hand down your blazer, exhaled slowly, and greeted the committee members one by one with a small bow and a polite smile, the same kind you'd mastered for press interviews long ago.

The room was already half full, quiet murmurs and rustling papers breaking the silence. Other coaches glanced up briefly to acknowledge your arrival.

Familiar faces. A few nods. A few stares you couldn't quite read.

You tried to appear calm, like trying to stop yourself from fiddling with the hem of you blazer, but your nerves prickled beneath your skin.

Maybe it was the pressure of your first major coaching assignment.

Or perhaps, it was the silent knowledge that he was here.

You scanned the table for an empty seat, careful not to look too desperate. There was one near the end, and you began to head toward it—only to pause.

You eyes caught the little nameplate resting beside the seat.

Coach Park Sunghoon

And directly across from him was your name.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

No.

No way.

You glanced around again, hopeful, but all the other seats were already claimed. One coach even gave you an apologetic smile when your eyes met.

You looked back at your designated spot.

Of course. Of all places.

A bitter part of you wondered if seating chart had been intentional—someone behind the committee desk thinking it would be fun to place the two former rivals face to face, a reunion of tension wrapped in professionalism.

Reluctantly, you stepped forward and pulled the chair back. The legs lightly against the floor as you sank into it, heat pounding louder than you wanted to admit.

And there he was.

The gold Olympic figure skater—Park Sunghoon seated directly across from you like some cruel mirror from the past.

His dark hair fell in soft, deliberate waves, parted just enough to frame his sharp features.

Thin-rimmed glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, catching the light as he tilted his head slightly.

His posture was relaxed, dressed in a crisp black suit and white dress shirt, a simple tie neately knotted at his collar making him looked effortlessly refined.

But his expression still held the same unreadable calm from all those years ago—remained untouched by time.

Nonchalant, cool, and unbothered.

You couldn't help but watch him, just for a second, as if trying to match the man now with the boy you used to compete against.

Your heart was steady, but your mind was not. It wandered into memories you thought you buried years ago.

The sharp clack of his blades on cold ice. The glint of gold medals you never touched. The empty seats beside you when your partner stopped showing up.

The universe really had a twisted sense of humor.

Everything has changed, yet Sunghoon still look the same.

Still that effortless confidence, the kind that didn't need loud declarations or arrogance. Its the way he didn't need to speak to command presence.

He didn’t need to be loud.

He was the Park Sunghoon, after all.

You didn't know what you expected.

Maybe for him to look older. Maybe to appear tired, weight down by the pressure and glory.

But no.

If anything, time had only refined him.

You didn't notice how long you'd been looking until Sunghoon suddenly lifted his head. His eyes met yours, steady and unmistakably direct.

Not a glance. Not the kind of look that passes through people.

He looked at you.

And for the first time in your life, Park Sunghoon saw you.

Your breath caught, your fingers froze on the corner of the document in front of you.

It was just a few seconds. Maybe less. But it dragged.

His eyes were the same dark shade you remembered—cold on the surface, but intense if you look long enough. You wanted to look away, but you didn't

You held it.

And somehow, that hurt more.

Because now you were face-to-face in the same room, equal on paper yet your body still remembered what it felt like to be the one left behind.

To watch from the sidelines. To be invisible in the presence of someone like him.

Sunghoon broke his gaze and went back to his papers, like nothing had happened.

But something had.

And no matter how calmly you sat there, your heart was still racing from the shock of finally being seen by the person who had unknowingly haunted your career.

You were no longer the girl walking off the rink while the crowd roared for someone else.

But part of you still didn't know how to stop feeling like her.

You forced your eyes back down to the agenda as the meeting officially began. The head of the committee, an older man with silver-rimmed glasses stood at the front of the room.

"We appreciate everyone for attending today," he said. "This is an important year. South Korea's national figure skating committee is working toward forming a final team to represent us at the international invitational next season, and we want the most deserving pair. Regardless of prior titles or popularity. It will be merit-based."

You nodded along with the others, but your hands curled slightly around the edge of the paper in front of you.

Haeun…

She'd been training so hard, you've seen all her efforts to master her craft. She was talented, graceful, and determined. But this wasn't just about effort anymore.

There were other skaters in the running—more seasoned, more connected. And the problem wasn't just the other athletes.

It was the coach sitting directly across from you.

Park Sunghoon.

Of course he was chosen not just one, but two candidates.

Park Chaewon, a striking female soloist who recently made waves in the national circuit, and Lee Minju, a newer male skater who had been gaining traction for his precision and speed.

Both were chosen by the committee under his wings, an Olympic gold medalist.

A person that everyone is sports committee respected.

You could already imagined the amount of praise in headlines that would be plastered in sports news once he secured both the spots for his students.

No one cared how hard you and Haeun worked.

What mattered was who you both were up against.

You couldn't help but gaze briefly at him.

Sunghoon hadn't looked at you again. His eyes remained locked on the speaker, his chin resting on his knuckles in a posture of easy, unreadable calm. Not a single reaction. As if the outcome didn’t matter.

As if he already knew how it would end.

That quiet confidence made something twist in your stomach.

He always carried himself like this—cool and collected, even when everyone else was panicking over scoring or last-minute changes.

That air of control made people listen and trust him.

And maybe that's why the next words hit you so hard.

"To ensure fairness" the committee head continued, "we've decided not to base the final pairing decision purely on recommendation or prior placements. Instead, there will be a closed-door exhibition next month, where the coaches here will collaborate in forming temporary pairs to train together for three weeks and perform a full routine of your own choreography"

A low wave of murmurs rippled across the room. Some relieved, some tense. And you, of course, were part of the latter.

"Each pair's performance will be evaluated for execution, chemistry, artistry, and technical potential" he added. "The pair with the highest score will represent the federation."

Your fingers instinctively twined together in your lap, thumbs fidgeting over each other. An old habit, one that always surfaced when anxiety crept in your bones.

Three weeks.

Was that really enough for Haeun to learn an entire pair routine from scratch?

Pair skating wasn't just about learning steps and synchronization. It's all about surrendering half of your control to someone else's rhythm and strength.

It took years for most to adapt. Heck! including you, also struggled in adjusting before, and now Heaun had to do it in a quarter of a month?

And then the second wave of fear hit you.

Who would even want to collaborate with you?

You weren't the youngest coach in the room, but you were the least known. You didn't have a legacy or a medal count to fall back on. The others had reputations, athletes, and connections.

And you only had Haeun.

A brilliant, expressive student. Fearless, disciplined and hardworking. But the moment she stepped into a pair routine, she would be a beginner again.

You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself, but your gaze drifted pulled almost magnetically to the man sitting across from you.

Sunghoon remained stoic, body relaxed as if none of this fazed him.

Of course he wasn't worried.

He had two strong skaters, well-trained, polished, and already compatible with pair elements.

He didn't need to collaborate with the other coaches, he could simply match them together and shape them into something brilliant.

You felt a pang in your chest. Not jealousy, but something more complicated. Something twisted between admiration, intimidation, and the faint memory of standing on opposite ends of a rink, watching him outshine you without ever meaning to.

You looked away quickly, curling your fingers under the table. You knew better than to expect him to acknowledge you. In all the years you'd crossed paths he'd never once looked back at you.

And maybe that was what stung the most.

You had always seen him, but he had never seen you.

You pressed your nails into your thigh, grounding yourself.

No. You couldn't do this. Not now. Not here.

Haeun needed you, and you believed in her more than anyone ever believed in you.

She could do this. You knew she could learn, adapt, and shine fast.

And no matter how nervous or how small you felt in a room full of giants, you would give her every chance you never had.

You lifted your chin, trying to steady your breath.

You got this.

Haeun got this.

You just had to find a way to prove it.

And the first step is to find a good partner with Haeun.

When the meeting adjourned and chairs scraped softly across the floor, you took a quiet breath and approached the one coach you knew well—Coach Minseok.

A kind man, someone you’d spoken to in past competitions. His male student was one of the top choices for the selection. Collaborating with him would've been solid and safe. A good match for Haeun.

"Coach Minseok" you called gently.

He turned, smiling. "Oh, Y/n. Great to see you."

Your hear eased a little. "I was wondering if you've already decided on a collaboration partner? I think our students could complement each other well."

You saw how his expression shifted. Still gentle but now seems apologetic.

"I'm really sorry, Y/n." he said. "I've already agreed to a team-up, just finalized it a minute ago."

You blinked, the disappointment prickling but not surprising. "Oh. No worries, coach. I understand."

He gave a polite nod and moved on to join a cluster of other coaches, already deep in conversation. You stood there for a moment, gathering yourself before turning to scan the room again.

Maybe there was still someone—

Your thoughts were halted when your eyes traveled across the conference room, you suddenly felt dipped in your stomach.

Everyone was already paired off...

Small groups of coaches were chatting animatedly, comparing notes, exchanging numbers, and shaking hands in agreement.

Their faces were bright and confident, some already discussing potential lifts, or choreography ideas, their student's strengths, and their collaborative visions.

And not one of them looked in your direction.

The noise of conversations, the laughter, and the hushed excitement pressed in around you, making the space feel smaller and smaller, like you were fading into the background.

Like you weren't needed.

With a quiet breath, you slipped out of the conference room, pushing the door open as gently as you could so it wouldn't make a sound. The hallway outside was dimmer, cooler, and quiet. The kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a sigh.

You stepped forward, exhaling shakily, trying to gather the pieces of yourself again.

The day has been overwhelming, maybe you just need to go home and rest for a minute and contact any coaches that will agreed to collaborate with you.

With the final thought, you reached for your phone to book a cab in your bag. When you didn't feel the familiar size of your phone, you check the inside pocket... your coat... pants pocket...

Your phone was gone.

Shit!

You must've left it on the table during the meeting, rigth next to the glass of untouched water.

Suppressing a groan, you turned back and walked quickly down the hallway toward the meeting room.

As you turned the corner, you nearly collided with someone.

You immidiately frozen when Sunghoon blinked down at you with the faintest motion of surprise flickering behind his glases.

A first emotion you saw aside from his usual cold and unbothered expressions.

"Oh" you said dumbly, backing up a half step. "S-Sorry. I was just— I left—"

"This?" He said quietly.

You followed his gaze and saw your phone resting in his hand.

He held it out to you with the same controlled elegance he carried on the ice—steady and completely effortless.

And for one reckless heartbeat, you wondered what it would be like to collaborate with someone like him—someone with experience, authority, knowledge, and talent so refined it almost felt untouchable.

Someone who could guide Haeun in ways you were still learning.

But you shook the thought off quickly. Impossible. Sunghoon wasn’t someone you asked favors from, and clearly, you weren’t someone he’d choose.

“T-Thank you,” you muttered as you took the phone. Your fingers brushed his—barely a second of contact, light as air—yet somehow it sent a spark straight up your arm.

"No problem," he murmured

Then he said something you never expected.

"Nice seeing you again, Y/n"

Yor breath hitched. Again?

You looked up and this time, he didn't look away. His gaze held yours with warmth. Like he was seeing you for the first time, and not just as another competitor skating past him

Something fluttered too quickly in your chest.

You scrambled for words, anything at all, but all that escaped was a thin whisper "You too."

Sunghoon's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, eyes darting away as he reached up to touch the back of his neck. A small, almost shy gesture that didn't fit the confident skater everyone knew.

"Thank you again," you added, forcing a smile as you pointed toward exit. "I—I should go."

You stepped past him.

But before you got two steps, a warm hand wrapped gently around your wrist.

"D-Do you already have someone to collaborate with?" Sunghoon asked abruptly.

The question stunned you so hard you almost forgot to breathe. He sounded... nervous. Like the words were heavier than he expected.

You slowly turned to face him. "I haven't..." You swallowed, the memory of all the coaches pairing off like you weren't even there flashing through your mind "...yet."

Sunghoon exhaled softly, almost in relief.

"Then... Would it be fine with you if collaborate?" He asked.

You stared.

Sunghoon, the Olympic champion, the prodigy, and living legend—wanted to collaborate... with you?

"I—I mean" he rushed out quickly, "we're botth experienced in pair skating, and we can teach the routine properly. Since we know the techniques firsthand, we can demonstrate them ourrselves, so our students can visualize better. It gives them an advantage. And I think—"

He hesitated, voice softening nearly to a whisper. "I think we'd make a really good team."

His words blurred at the edges as your thoughts spiraled.

Sunghoon wants... you?

But you weren't like him. You didn't have medals from Wolds and didn't stand on Olympic podiums.

Your expereince lived in local competitions and national championships—not in the global arena where his name shined brightest.

Finally, you managed to speak.

"But... you have Chaewon" you said carefully. "Why Haeun? Why not pair your own athletes?"

"She declined the category " he replied. "She wants to focus on solo competition. So I only have Minju for pairs. You have Haeun. They'd compelement each other well."

You nodded slowly, the logistics made sense.

But that wasn't the real question.

"But why us?" You whispered "Why me?"

Sunghoon opened his mouth, but you spoke again.

"Sunghoon, I'm not as experienced as you think I am" your voice trembling. "After the Winter Championships, I stopped pursuing my dream. I faded out. I never made it to Worlds. I never stood next to people like you on those podiums. I barely scraped national level while you were skating pas the world.

Your throat tightened. "Why me? Out of everyone in that room... Why did you choose me?"

The hallway hummed faintly with the low buzz of flourescent lights, and you could hear the distant echo of voices leaking from the meeting room behind you.

But between the two of you, the silence felt thick, almost fragile.

Sunghoon's hand slowly slipped from your wrist, but he didn't step back. If anything, he shiifted close, just enough that you could feel the subtle warmth radiating from him.

His eyes softened, and you realied this was the first time you'd seen them look... human. Not distant or untouchable.

Just Sunghoon.

"Y/n" he began quiety, "experience isn't just measured by the medals you won."

Your breath stalled.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his nose as if he was choosing every word carefully.

"You were the one skater everyone watched when you stepped onto the ice. Not because you were loud or flashy, but because you were—"

He searched for the word and the earnestness in his face made your heart twist.

"captivating."

He rubbed the bacl of his neck, gaze dropping for the briefest second.

"I choose you" he said softly "because you're the only coach in that room who understands what it means to fight for something even after you've lost it." His gaze lifted, locking with yours.

"And because Haeun is like you. She has that same fire and I know you're the only one who can bring it out."

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst from the force of his words. Warmth surges up your chest so quickly it’s dizzying—your pulse loud, fingers trembling, vision blurring at the edges.

But nothing prepares you for the next thing he says.

"And I wanted to work with you. Not because it’s strategic. Not because it’s convenient." His eyes softened again

"Because I never got the chance to, back then."

Your lips parted, but no sound came out—not when his words settled in the hollow of your chest, nor when the quiet sincerity in his eyes pried open every locked door inside you.

It was almost cruel, how easily one moment could unravel years.

Years of swallowing disappointment until it tasted normal. Years of replaying every fall, every misstep, every fraction of a second that cost you a medal.

Years of convincing yourself that you were the reason why you and your partner never won the Winter Olympics, why you didn't go as far as everyone expected, and why the world stopped believing in you long before you stopped believing in yourself.

You carried those failure like a second skin.

You balmed yourself for the scores that never broke records, foe the programs that fell short, for not being brilliant enough to blind the judges. You held every mistake like it was proof of who you were and who you weren't

No one blames—well not directly—but you did.

Quitely

Constantly

Carrying it until now.

It was easier that way.

To be your own villain before anyone else could be.

And then ther was Sunghoon—standing there, looking at you like he could see every crack, every bruise, every feaer you kep buried under years of practice composure.

You expect pity and kind of emoty comfort peoplle offer out of obligation.

But what you got was something far more terrifying

Honesty.

Soft, unwaring honestly that you weren't prepared to receive.

Your chest tightened—not from pain, but from the unfamiliar relief creeping in. It felt like someon had reached into your lungs and finally let the air out. Like someone had loosended the straps you didn't realize you had been wearing for half you life.

For a second, you could only stare at him—because the Sunghoon you remebered from years ago never looked at you like this. Never talked like this.

Never sounded like he was speaking truths he'd been holding for too long.

"I—I donn't know what to say." A soft, shaky breath escape you.

"You don't have to say anything yet." He assured. "Just decide if you want to work with me. With Minju"

Under normal circumstances, taking time to think about an offer would’ve been the smart thing to do—especially when your student’s future was at stake.

But time wasn’t on your side. After witnessing how quickly the coaches in that meeting room had formed their collaborations, how fast they claimed partners and mapped out strategies, you knew the truth:

If you hesitated now, even for a moment, your chances of finding anyone to team up with would shrink to almost nothing.

And then there was Sunghoon. He had offered. The opportunity had already opened its door for you

If you wanted Haeun to reach her dream, you had to walk through it. You had to start now.

Your fingers tightened around your phine.

"I'll do it." You whispered. "Let's collaborate."

Something flickered in Sunghoon's eyes—relief, satisfaction and something softer, almost hidden. He nooded once.

"Good." His voice dipped. "I'll send you the training outline tonight.

You could only nod back.

The hallway lights buzzed softly between you as you stepped past him. The air felt different—heavier on skin but lighter in your chest. Confusing you in way that left your heartbeat unsteady.

You didn't know what agreeing to him meant fully.

But it felt like the start of something you weren't prepared for.

❄️❄️⛸️❄️❄️

You and Haeun arrived earlier than you had ever planned so early that the arena felt like it was still waking up with you.

The overhead lights were only beginning to brighten, stetching thin golden reflections across the untouched surface of the ice.

A chill settled deep into your lungs when you inhaled, grounding you in a moment that was heavier than it appeared.

This wasn't just another morning. This was the start of everything you had been preparing for, the beginning of a three week sprint that would determine Haeun's future and perhapas, in ways you didn't yet date to consider your own as well.

Beside you, Haeum fidgeted with her ponytail, tightening and re-tigthening it until you gently touched her arm to stop her.

"Coach," she whispered, eyes darting nervously across the rink, "what if I mess up? What if I can't keep up with everyone?"

You leaned forward slightly, softening your voice with the cal you hoped woould reach her. "Then we fix it together. Tha'ts the whole point of being here is to learn. No one expects perfection on the first day, Haeun. Not even me."

She nodded, drawing comfort from your steadiness even though her nerves were far from gone.

You both turned from the sound of footsteps echoed from the entrance. You saw Sunghoon walked in with Minju at his side, skate slung over their shoulders.

Sunghoon's hair was slightly tousled, his eyes still touched with that softness people have before fully waking up. For a moment, he looked less like the untouchable Olympic icon and more like someone who'd rushed his moening just to get here on time.

Then his eyes found you.

His expression shifted so subtly most people would've missed it. The faint tiredness vanished from his features, replaced by something softer. His back straightened, but not with intimidation. More like... wanting to look his best.

"Good morning," he said, voice low but noticeably lighter than usual, as if the greeting was meant for you first before anyone else.

"Good morning," you smiled, trying to be sound casual.

Minju bowed politely. "Coach Y/N, Heaun-ssi. I'm looking forward working with you both"

Haeun bowed so fast she nearly tripped. "S-same!"

The introductions were simple and polite, but the air hummed with a quiet tension, soft, strang, and charged with something unspoken.

Sunghoon didn't look away from you for long. His gaze kept drifting back, as if checking whether you... needing anything.

He masket it well, but not well enough for you to miss.

Training began with Sunghoon leading the warmup and safety checks. His voice was steady, focused, but you noticed how he angled himself—close enough to step in if you needed help, far enough to respect your space.

It was not suprising how he was attentive to Minju and Heaun, how can you expect less from a gold medalist?

But you can't help but notice how attentive he is with you as well...

You quickly brushed it off and instead watch Heaun carefully. You noticed immediately the tightness of her shoulders and how some of her movements is quite hesistant.

Pair skating was overwhelming on the first day. You could practically see her fear trying to swallow her confidence. This observation did not escape Sunghoon as well.

"Minju," he called, "slow down a bit. Match her ryhthm and let her find you."

Minju followed the cue without hesitation, muttering a quick apologies before djusting his pace until it matched Haeun's rhythm.

Relief washed over your student's face and her body slowly relaxing making you smile at how fast she adjust on her environment.

You also can't help but admire Minju's capability to adopt and making his partner comfortable. He's a good kid and talented, you can see how far this boy can go.

And it all thanks to his coach.

You look at him, you got caught off guard when you notice that he already looking at your way. His eyes are soft and tender, as if silenty saying that you don't have to worry about Haeun.

A warmth feeling bloomed in your chest despite the cold rink.

Maybe this could work.

Maybe the next three weeks wouldn't be as unbearable as you feared.

And maybe—just maybe—Sunghoon wasn't as unreadble as you once thought.

❄️❄️⛸️❄️❄️

Slowly, like watchig winter melt into spring, Haeun began to adjust to pair skating. Her first few days were fill of uncertain steps, but each morning she arrived a little braver.

Minju on the other hand, matched her growth with patience you didn't realize he possessed. He slowed his pace, softened his tone, encouraged her whenerver her nerves got the best of her.

Seeing their growth in just short period of time, shows how a great team this two make. You can't help but smile of the thought of them being a stable team one day.

Your students doesn't only learn from each other but also yourself, like how to stand beside Sunghon without constantly noticing how close he was.

Day by day, without fully realizing it, you were learning too.

At first, working eside Sunghoon felt like walking on thin ice.

You expect him to be sharp, strict, and intimidating—the kind of coach whose discipine forged medals and crushed anyone who couldn't keep up.

Something you expect from someone who won the Olympic gold medalist.

But the more time you spent beside him, the more those old assumptions fell apart.

He could be strict, yes—his corrections were exact, his standards impossibly high. But he was never cruel.

He explained, demonstrated, and adjusted patiently. Always patient and willing to listen to everyone's opinion.

You can see that he was like this to all his students when you observe Minju who doesn't have a second thoughts when speaking up to him when he could change something or what feels more stable for him and Heaun.

Sunghoon will agree and let his students show him, as if their insights mattered just as much as his own expereince.

And Haeun—your timid and hesitant girl was blooming under that same openness.

She asked questions, voiced her fears, and even laughed with him sometimes.

She trusted him.

And a part of you understood why.

Becaause Sunghoon wasn't the cold, untouchable legend the world made him out to be

Up close, he was warm, gentle, and quietly encouraging.

If he was attentive to his students, you can't helpt but noticed that he was extra attentive to you.

Whenever you spoke, he listened. Not out of obligation, but with a softness that made your pulse jump whenever his eyes lingered too long.

He asked what thought, what Haeun might needed, and adjusted techniques based on your notes.

He also picked up details you missed and pointed out things you hadn't learned yet, always without judgement.

You realized that he was really meant for this job.

Coaching fit him as naturally as breathing.

And without meaning to—without wanting to—you began to admire him.

Not the champion.

Not the rival.

Not the man who once stood above you on every podium.

But him.

The version of Park Sunghoon who knelt to tie Minju's loose skate lace without being asked.

The version who told Haeun, "You're stronger than you think."

The version who stayed late reviewing lifts with you, quietly pointing out ways to support your student better.

The version who smiled—truly smiled—when you praised your team for their progress.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, you learned to stand beside him without feeling inferior of the past.

You learn to be confident with your job without feeling lesser important beside him. You learn to embrace the capabilities that you keep pushing aside.

You learn to let go of the past that inslave your thoughts for so many years.

However, maybe the most terrifying part of all is learning how easy it was to admire Park Sunghoon.

How dangerously easy.

❄️❄️⛸️❄️❄️

After nearly a week, the routine finally started to resemble something cohesive.

The footwork sequence was polished enough to be recognizable. Haeun's glides carried newfound confidence while Minju's lifts were strong and stable.

But the signature element—the key lift near the end—was still a mess of mistumed grips and uneven transitions. If they couldn't get that right, the entire routine lost its edge.

You stood in the center of the rink, notebook in hand, tapping your fingers anxiously agaisnt the spine. The cold air bit at your cheeks as you narrowed your eyes at the formation.

"Maybe if Minju shifts his weight slightly to his left" you began, tracing the motion with your hand.

"It's not the weight," Sunghoon answered from your side, voice low but certain. "They need to understand the full momentum of the transition. It's a speed issue."

He turned his head towrd you, his eyes finding yours with a strange softness. "They need to see it performed properly."

For a moment, he didn't look away. There was a quiet hesistation in the space betwee you like he was debating with himself, weighing soemthing he wasn't sure he should ask.

Then he exhaled, a small sigh of surrender, as if giving the last bit of restraint he was holding onto.

With a voice gentler than you expected, he asked

"Can you show them with me?"

Your breath caught.

Wait—what?

Show them with him? As in... The full routine? With lifts? With him lifting you?

Your mind scrambled. You hadn't done pair elements in so long. The idea alone made your stomach twist. You almost wanted to laugh because it sounded like some kind of joke he forgot to smile through.

There was no way you could just casually do that.

But when you glanced to your right, any trace of amusement faded. Haeun and Minju were watching you with bright-eager eyes, waiting and ready to learn.

This wasn't the moment to be flustered or picky. The needed guidance, and Sunghoon was right they neeed visuals to properly learned it.

You drew a slow breath, preapring yourelf to answer.

But before you could speak, a member of committee called him from the across the rink who visit to supervise their session.

"I'll be right back," Sunghoon said before skating off toward the committee member.

The moment he left, you finally let out a slow breath.

Okay, you could do this. It wasn't like you'd never perforened lifts before. It had been a long time, sure years even, but none of it was impossibe. The movements were still in your body somewhere.

But if you were honest with yourself, the nerves weren't really about the lift.

You were about doing it with Sunghoon.

You were terrified you wouldn't match his level—his precision, his strength, and his reputation. He was an Olympic gold medalist, a falwless pair skater with a career people spent their whole lives trying to earn.

And you... Well, your path didn't shine the way his did. The gap between your achievement felt like a canyon.

Still, for Haeun and Minju, you were willing to try. The deserved a proper demonstration.

You checked your watch, then looked over to where Sunghoon was still deep in conversation with the comittee member. They were taking longer than expected, long enough that you nerves had eased into something calmer, something steadier.

While waiting, you guided Haeun and Minju through repetitions of the other sectiions of the routine, keeping them occupied and focused.

"Coach Y/n!"

Your head snappeed up at the familiar voice.

"Coach Jisung?" You replied, a smile forming instantly as you saw him glide toward you.

Coach Jisung, one of your colleagues, usually handled the youngest skaters but to you, he was more than just a coworker; he was an old friend.

The two of you used to practice pair skating together back when the future still felt wide and bright.

"I see you're making progress with you team," he said giving a small approving nod.

"We are," you answered. "But we're kind of stuck on the lift." You explained the situation briefly, eyes drifting again to Sunghoon, who was still occupied.

Every minute he stayed there was another minute wasted—time you didn't have, not with the committee watching and evaluating.

And then an idea sparked.

"Coach," you said, turning back to Jisung, "do you mind helping me demonstrate the lift?"

Jisung brightened instantly. "Sure thing!"

Relief washed through you. You called Haeun and Minju for a minute for the demonstration.

You stepped into position, grounding your skates. Jisung placed his hands lightly on your waist—professional and respectful.

You aligned your posture, took a steadying breath, and let yourseld rise just enough to show Minju the correct hold.

"See, Minju?" you said, voice steadying with focus. "This is the angle and height Sunghoon meant—"

You didn't notice the change in the air. Not at first.

But halfway through the demonstration, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled. A sensation, like being watched, pulled your attention toward the far side of the rink.

Sunghoon had stopped mid-conversation.

The coach he had been speaking with was still talking, still gesturing but Sunghoon wasn't listening anymore.

He was watching you.

His arms were folded tightly across his chest, not in his usual composed stance, but something more rigid, like he was holding himself in place.

His shoulders were drawn just slightly forward, his posture no longer relaxed. His gaze lingered too long...

Too fixed.

Too intent.

There was something in his expression you couldn't quite name.

Not anger nor frustation.

But something sharper. Something unsettled.

Like he had walked into a moment he didn't expect and didn't quite like.

Your breath falted for half a second.

Jisung lowered you back onto the ice smoothly, his hands steady as always

"Perfect" he said with an easy smile, giving your arm a light pat. "That should help them visualize it."

"Yeah...yeah" you murmured, nodding. But your attention had already drifted.

Sunghoon still hadn't looked away. The conversation around him had clearly ended, yet he hadn't moved. He wasn't speaking and clearly wasn't acknowledging anyone else.

It was as if the entire rink had narrowed into a single point.

You.

A small knot formed in your chest.

Did you do something wronmg?

Was the form off?

Did you misunderstand what he meant?

Your mind started to raced, picking apart every detail of the demonstration.

Was it sloppy? Too basic? What he expected?

You gaze dropped briefly then lifted again.

And that's when you noticed it.

The way his eyes flickered nnot just to you, but to Jisung.

More specifically to Jisung's hand

Which is still resting lightly against your side.

The look on Sunghoon's face shifted almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. His jaw tightened, not aggressively but controlled like he was pressing something down before it surfaced.

His lips parted slightly, then closed again, like he had something to say but swallowed it.

And for a moment, just a fleeting confusing moment, it didn't feel like he was evaluating your teaching.

It felt like he was reacting to something else entirely.

Something you couldn't quite understand.

But somehow... you felt it.

You saw Sunghoon excused himself with a short nod to the other coach, not even waiting for a response before pushing off the ice. His strides were smooth, controlled as always, but there was somthing...quicker about them now.

You straightened instintively as he approched, even before he reached the circle of your awareness. His presence always announced itself quietly before his shadow touched the ice near yours.

Jisung was mid-explanation, still talking to Minju about balance points, when Sunghoon slowed to a stoop beside you.

Closer than necessary.

"The angle is good" he said in calm, almost casual voice. But his eyes didn't leave the position Jisung had just held you in. "But the support point is slightly off."

Jisung blinked. "Oh? I thought—"

"It's fine for a demonstration," Sunghoon cut in gently, not rude, but firm enough to take control of the moment. He stepped forward, gesturing lightly. "But for execution, it needs to be here."

Before you could react, his hands settled at your waist. A slow, assured settling. Like his palms had know exactly where to go long before he put them there, making your breath broke sharp in your chest.

Sunghoon didn't rush the adjustment. He molded your posture with a precision that only came from yeard of mastery—subtle changes, tiny shifts in pressure, enough to realign your center of gravity.

But there was something elese in his touch.

Warmth and familiarity that didn't belong in a cold rink under fluorescent lights.

Minju leaned in, trying to absorb the lesson. Sunghooon's voice dipped toward you. "You're guiding her balance. Once she feels secure, she does hald the work for you."

His thumb pressed loghtly into a stabilizing point at your side.

You inhaled sharply.

And he felt it, making his eyes flicked to yours—briefly but unmistakently aware before he continued, voice smoothing back into instructional calm.

"You'll know when it's right."

Except the words didn't feel like they were only about the lift.

He adjusted you again, a gentle shift that lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. Every centimeter he moved you felt deliberate, protective, like he was not just correcting form—but reminding the entire rink that he knew your center better than anyone else did.

And he didn't step away.

Not until Jisung cleared his throat lightly and took half a step back.

"Ah. Right. Yes, that makes sense," Jisung said, scratching his neck with a sheepish smile. "You always had good precison, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon jlooked at him then—polite, composed, but with a quiet confidence beneath the surface.

"Thank you for helping" he said.

It sounded sincere.

But there was a subtext—soft, unspoken, unmistakenly firm like he can take it from here.

Slowly almost reluctantly, you felt his hands slide away from your waist. Your skin tingled where his fingers had been, awareness humming through you like the aftershock of a fall you almost didn't catch.

You turned to look at him, intending to say something—anything—to diffuse the tension.

But the moment you met his gaze, the words evaporated.

Because his eyes weren't cold, they weren't distant, they weren't annoyed, nor displeased.

They were... soft.

Soft in a way you had no defense for. Soft in a way that felt like it meant something he wasn't ready to say.

Like touching you had stirred something he was trying very had to hide.

And for heartbeat—for a single, fragile moment—you wondered if the correction had even been about the lift at all.

Meanwhile, Haeun and Minju shared a knowing looks—wide eyes, tiny smirks, the kind of expression teenagers wore then they'd witnessed soemthing they absolutely shouldn't comment on but would definitely whisper about later.

You cleared your throat.

"A-Alight! Practice the entry step agaiin from the top," you said, a little too quickly.

"Yes, coach!" Haeun beamed, suspiciously cheerful before skating off with Minju, who kept glancing over his shoulder like this was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all week.

Your face warmed.

Great.

Two teenagers now had material for teasing you.

Sunghoon pretended not to notice... But the faint color high on his cheekbines suggested he absolutely did.

Practice continued smoothly for the next half hour. Sunghoon slipped back into his professional rhythm, offering adjustment, demonstrating transitions, encouraging Minju's stability and Haeun's posture. But every so ofte when he thought you weren't looking his gaze flickered to you with softness.

You tried not to react, tried to keep focused on your notes and corrections, but the awareness lingered like a second heartbeat.

Eventually, practice wound down. Haeun finished her final spin, wobbling a little but managing to stay upright.

"Good work today!" You called out.

She grinned proudly. "Thnak you, Coach Y/n!"

"We'll practice the lift timing tonight." Minju added,

He nudged Haeun lightly, and she nudged him back, both of them glowing with excitement with that knowing look again.

"See you tomorrow!" they chimed in unison, skating towards the exit.

You packed up your clipboard, eager to go breathe somewhere far away from the memory of Sunghoon's on your waist—

"Y/n"

You breath stalled.

Sunghoon was standing a fwe feet behind you, hands in his pockets, expression unreadble except for the slight tension in his jaw.

The rink felt suddently too quiet.

"Yes?" you asked, turning slowly.

He stepped closer, enough not to invade your space, but you felt the change in the air again. Enough that your hearbeat kicked up despite every attempt to stay composed.

"Can you stay for a moment?" he asked gently. Not a comand nor casual request. Something in between careful and hesitation like he was afraid of how you might hear it.

You swallowed. "Did we miss something in the routine?"

"No," he said immadiately. Too quickly. Realizing it, he cleared his throat, gaze softening. "No. It's not about that."

Your pulse fluttered.

"Oh" you forced your voice steady. "Then... what is it about?"

He looked away for a moment, exhaling slowly, as if choosing his words with unbearbale precison.

And when he met your eyes again, there was no coldness, no walls. Just honesty, quiet and disarmingly sincere.

"If it's alright" he said slowly "I wanted us to run the whole routine together."

You frowned slightly, confusion knittling your brows before you could stop it. "The whole routine? Now?"

Your heart tightened with a strange mix of nerves and something you couldn't quite name. "W-why?"

The question lingered between you. He histated again but this time, he didn't look away instead, he held your gaze steadily.

There was no deflection in it, no easy escape. Just quiet resolve, threaded with something softer underneath.

"Becuase they need more than instructions." he said at last, his voice low but certain. "They can memorize steps. They can follow counts."

His expression softened not in a way that weakened him, but in a way that made him feel... more open.

"They need to seet it," he added. "Feel it. The connection between two people moving as one."

Your breath slowed as you listened, something in his tone pulling you in.

"and the only way they'll understand that is if we show them what it looks like."

The explanation made perfect sense, grounding in everything you'd been working toward as a team.

And yet, it feels like there something beneath it,

Something that didn't quite beling to the team alone.

You nodded slowly, your voice soften when it came out. "Okay. I can do that."

For the first time since he'd spoken, a subtle shift passed though him like he had been bracing himself for resistance you hadn't given.

"Okay," he echoed, quieter. He stopped closer, the faint scrape of his blades echoing in the quite rink. Then lifted his hand between you, palm open.

"Ready?" He asked, voice was soft almot intimate.

You inhaled deeply trying to settle your heatbeat, trying to will your legs to stop feeling like they were made of warm jelly.

Then you placed your hand into his.

With the coldness of the rink, his hand is surprising warm, it feels familiar in a way that it startled.

You nodded. "Ready."

His fingers curled gently around yours, sending a bolt of ticklish electricity that traveled in your spine.

And without another word, you both pushed off the ice—gliding forward, the world narrowing to the soft echo of blade, the rising music, and the man guiding you with a tenderness you never expected

But had secretly always wanted.

How many times had Sunghoon dreamed of this moment? He wasn't sure anymore. The number blurred with the years of quiet wishes piling on top of each other like fresh layers of ice.

But he rembered the first time he ever wished for it. That memory was carved perfectly into him.

It happened after a solo regional comeptition, back when the rink was smaller and the air smelled faintly of winter and worn out-skate,

The event had just ended, and he hadn't won. He was disappointed as he dragged his feet away from the rink, he only turned back because he realized he had forgotten his equipment.

He traced his steps relunctantly and that was when he saw an amazing girl that captivated him.

She was alone on the ice, the girl he vaguely remembered competing in the women's category, the one who also hadn't placed. But watching her now, he wouldn't guessed she lost at all.

She skated with instinct instead of choreography, gliding like the ice already knew her name.

No tension, no pressure, just pure feeling.

She spun and her laughter echoed lightly across the empty rink—soft, free, and completely at odds with the fact that she had fallen in the middle of he program earlier.

It feels like it didn't matter to her. The rankings, the stumble and disappointment. Instead, she looked like someone who believed everything would be alright, even with fresh on her shoulders.

And Sunghoon, standing there holding his forgotten bag, felt something dhift within him.

'If I ever skate with someone' he thought, 'I want it to feel like that.'

Effortless, warm, and alive.

He wished, just once, that he could be the one standing beside you on the ice.

Sunghoon finds you waist smoothly with practiced of gentlesness and lift you into the air. Your baldes catch the light as you rise, and the music swells through the cold arena.

For a split second, as he spins beneath you, Sunghoon looks up.

And there it is again.

That same feeling, that same breathless, effortless aliveness he saw in you a decades ago.

Except this time... he isn't watching from afar.

He's holding you and dancing with you.

He's inside the moment he once only dreamed about.

But the dream he held so closely, the one he had quietly guarded like something fragile never came true.

When the federation announced the new pair lineups, and he saw his name linked not with yours but with Seoin soemthing inside him cracked with quite, devastating ache.

He tried to smile though it. Tried to accept it like an athlete should but the truth was harsh and simple.

He wanted you.

Only you.

He had imagined what it would feel like to skate beside you, to match your lines, to share breath and rhythm on the ice. To lift you, to trust, and to build something beautiful together.

Losing that before it even began left him gutted.

For a moment he considered withdrawing. Considering telling the coaches he couldn't do it.

But then Seoin walked toward him with full of hopes in her eyes.

And Sunghoon realized, this wasn't only his dream anymore. Someone else was tied to it now, someone who believed in what they could achieve together.

So he swallowed the hurt and forced himself to let go of the "what if" he could built around you, telling himself that maybe dreams could be rewritten.

But it never stopped hurting.

Because whenever you competed, he was always there somewhere in the stands or somewhere backstage, watching you skate with someon else.

Every medal you earned felt like a victory he was proud of and a wound he never admitted to.

And everytime your partner lifted you, every time you glided in perfect unison with another person, something inside him whispered,

That could've been me.

That should've been me.

But he never let the though linger. He had responsibilities and a dream he couldn't abandon just because his heart leaned in a different direction.

Still the ache stayed.

You glide forward on a cue and Sunghoon meets you in the center. His hands slip smoothly to your waist, guiding you into a rotational lift.

Your breath brushes his cheek as you rise.

For a heartbeat, your eyes meet and everythin in him stops.

Sunghoon had always been afraid to meet your eyes whenever you competed against each other.

The first time your teams shared the ice in the same event, he remembered how you passed him on your way out of the rink after your performance.

He tried to look past you, pretending he didn't notice and he wasm't affected, but the moment you passed by, his resolved cracked.

Before he could stop himself, his head turned. Following your movement until you entirely leave the rink.

He was terrified that if you couaght him staring, you would see everything he was trying so hard to hide, how deeply he longed to hold your hand and dance beside you on this cold, glittering stage.

In every competition that followed, it was alwayd the same. Whenever he sensed that you weren't looking, his gaze drifted toward you. The scoreboard, the audience, and even the judges faded into background noise.

You were the only thing he sought.

He wanted to see the bright, unrestrained smile you wore when you skated well. He wanted to see the light in your eyes, the way they softened when you watched other skaters with admiration instead of rivalry.

He knew he shouldn't watch you like that, but he couldn't help it.

Because even as a competitor, he had always been your quiet admirer.

That's way it hurts him more than he ever admitted to watch the light in your face slowly dim each time your team was defeated.

It wasn't just sympathy, it was something sharper that twisted deep in his chest everytime your smile faltered or your shoulder sagged after a disappointing score.

Sometimes the pain was so strong that he questioned whether he could keep competing against you.

There wer moment that he wanted to withdraw and disapper from the ranking just so he wouldn't have to watch your heart break over and over.

But how could he abandon Seoin? How could he throw away the dreams she trusted him to share?

He only pushed forward for her because she deserved a partner who satyed, not someone who gave up because he couldn't handle his own feelings.

So he climed until he stood at the peak of his career, an Olympic gold medal hheavy around his neck.

Everyone called it the highlight of his life yet, everything felt strangely dull.

Because somewhere along the way, he'd learned you had already retired.

The knowledge hollowed something inside him, turning what should have been triumph into a bittersweet echo of what he once dreamed for himself.

But it feels like the hope is not completely vanished because the moment he heard that you had returned to the ice, but as a coach this time, his heart nearly burst with excitement

You were back!

Maybe not as the girl who spun across the rink with effortless joy, but as someone who still chose the ice.

Still belonged to it.

Sunghoon draw you into the next sequence with a gentle pull of your hand like his body already knows where you're meant  to be.

His blades fall into rhythm with you, tracing clean parallel lines before crossing, weaving together again like something practiced but this, right now, doesn't feel practiced at all.

It feels...natural.

His grip shift without thought, fingers sliding from your hand to your wrist, then settling at the small of your back as you turn beneath his arm.

God, you were beautiful when you skates, completely unaware of how you pulled him in without trying.

When you turn for a second, just one impossibly delicate second, your face are close enough that he can feel the warmth of your cheek in the cold air.

Sunghoon feel his heartbeat stumble so loud like a drum echoing in his chest the moment your eyes meet his.

He can't believed how coward he is for not meeting your eyes just once before.

Because your eyes?

God, your eyes.

They're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen on or off the ice. It looks so warm, luminous, and too honest for him to hide from.

And he thinks, with a quite ache settling his chest:

If heaven ever had windows, they would look exactly like this.

"Do it, Sunghoon." Seoin encouraged gently. Her voice was soft, carrying the kind of sincerity that didn't demand anything, only understanding.

She offered him a small smile, warm with kindess and quite acceptance.

She had know for a while.

Known that his plan to step away from competitive pair skating wasn't just about exhaustion or career growth, but about something, or rather someone, he had been quietly orbiting for years.

And if becoming a coach was the only way he could stay close to that orbit... then she wouldn't stand in his way.

"I know you've been longing to find her...to be with her on the ice" she continued, nodding as if she had always understood what he never said out loud. "This is the opportunity that's been opened for you. Grab it."

Sunghoon looked at her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them—years of shared discipline, trust, and silent understanding. Then, slowly, he nodded.

The hug that follwed was simple platonic and familiar. A quiet gesture between two people who had shared pressure and victories for years. It wasn't romantic, but it carried weight like closing one chapter without bitterness, only acceptance.

With that, Sunghoon stepped away from competitive skating and announced his retirement, choosing instead to pursue coaching.

At the time, he told himself it was a rational decision. A new directiion and a stable path forward, but deep down, he knew the truth. He hadn't left the ice at all, he just simply chnaged where he stood.

So he could finally stand closer to you.

And then, unexpectedly, he saw you again.

He almost stop breathing when you entered the meeting room after receiving an invitation for the paring competition where both of his student got drafted.

This was the first time he’d seen you after so many years, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Your beauty had only grown more refined, more breathtaking—and the way you still captured his heart so effortlessly made it feel like those years apart hadn’t existed at all.

When he finally gathered the courage to meet your gaze, his hand curled into a fist beneath the table, trying to steady himself.

His heart was pounding so hard he was terrified the whole room could hear it. It took every ounce of willpower to look away, to break the stare—because if he didn’t, he was certain he would faint right there and embarrass himself in front of you.

His cowardice almost crawled back up his spine when he hesitated to invite you for the coach pairing.

He was so nervous when he finally asked you—the kind of nervous that felt like he was performing at the Olympics again, only sharper, heavier, far more terrifying.

He might looked composed but beneath those expression, there was a quiet, stubborn hope he had never fully learned how to abandon—that maybe, this time, you would be there too.

That maybe, fate would finally stop keeping you at a distance.

And the universe finally heard him after so many years of longing because you accepted the invitation.

You saying yes to forming a team with him felt like you were letting him enter this world for the second time.

But this time, with him beside you.

As the music fades into its final notes, neither of you moves. His hand is still lightly at your waist, while yours hovering near his shoulder. Both of you are suspended in that strange silence that only exists after something too meaningful to name.

Sunghoon swallows. He should step back, he knows he should, but when your eyes lift meet his, the air in his lungs stutters.

Your gaze hits him with the same force that the longing he's fought so hard to bury claws its way up the moment you look at him.

For a second, he wonders if you can hear his heartbeat pounding between the two of you, because it feels impossibly loud, like its synchronizing with you without his permission.

And before he can stop himself, before he can remind himself of lines he's not supposed to cross—his hand lifts, hovering the space between you, trembling just enough for him to feel the vulnerability of his bones.

Your breath barely hitches but he notices. Of course he notice, he notices everything about you.

Your reaction gives him enough courage to touch your cheek with his fingertips. He exhales shakily as if he'd been drowning and finally reached the surface.

His palm completely curves over your cheek with his thumb resting just below your eye. He feels the faint heat of your skin, the subtle tremor in your breath, and the way you instinctively lean into his touch before you can stop yourself.

In that moment, with his hand trembling against your skin, Sunghoon realizes something.

He might not get his original wish or didn't stand beside you on the world stage as partners in their prime.

But standing here now, training with you, move with you, and build something with you—

Maybe his dream hadn't disappeared at all.

Maybe it had only been waiting for the right moment to finally begin.

And right, in this quiet unfolding of fate, he finally had what he once dared to wish for—to skate with you.

Even if it meant stepping onto thin ice.

Apologies for the ass ending, I'm already out of ideas hehe 🫶

₊˚.༄ ©2025 Demuse Writer. All Right Reserved.

[hoonlvrrz]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𐬻. 𝐏.𝐒𝐇

hoonlvrrz masterlist

pairing: quietclassmate!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: romcom smau, classmates to lovers, grumpy x sunshine trope

synopsis: choi y/n is the self proclaimed “lover girl.” shes the kind of person who makes everything brighter—talkative, optimistic, and a little too easy to fall in love. so when she gets paired with the quiet, unreadable park sunghoon for a college project, shes determined to break through his cold, no-nonsense attitude. at first, sunghoon barely tolerates her—short replies, dry texts, and zero interest in her constant chatter. but y/n doesnt take it personally. she keeps showing up anyway, filling the silence he leaves behind. somewhere between late-night project meetings, accidental laughter, and soft moments neither of them acknowledges, y/n realizes she’s falling for him ...(are we surprised?) buttt, what she doesnt realize is that sunghoon—who was never supposed to care—is falling even harder, and way more obviously than he’d ever admit.

contains: written parts (will be mentioned between chapters), swearing, mature jokes, angst, friendly banter, humor/crack, she fell first but he fell even HARDER, yearning hoon, jealousy, dry humor, grammar errors (ignore pls), story is set in college (all of the characters go to upenn), there lowk might be corniness if u squint, both hoon and reader are idiots but its Ok, wonyoung from ive as y/n's face claim !!

featuring: all of enha, danielle of newjeans, liz of ive, james of cortis, yeonjun of txt

reblog 4 a kiss ! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Now playing: Lover Girl - Laufey

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬. || 𐬻.

byslexic ditches | mentally Challenged

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. || 𐬻.

00. prologue

01. say wallahi bro (+written)

02. watdatmean

03.

comment to be apart of taglist!

taglist: @mel-reads@voucearse@tinyhrry@firstclassjaylee@woninlove@dina-10s-blog@sunsun-sunny@malibluess@heestiki@goosemantheweeb@sievenderz@naviastime @lacypawsss @lixxiethechicken@youngseoswife5@sunnimia@hsngx@ddolleri@ni-kimyman4real @jaeunaria0-0

[janiary]

Second Law — s.jy x f!reader

summary — Girls don't talk to Jake. But you did. The day you slid into the seat beside him in class, like you'd chosen him, his world tilted on its axis. Though, you only ever seem to text him when assignments are due, and he just can't bring himself to stop answering.

18+ mdni ⚠︎ smut with plot, humour, mild angst, fluff if you squint, college au, nerd!Jake x popular!fem!Reader, Jake pov, extremely sad and pathetic Jake, pining/yearning, "omg he took off his glasses and he's hot now" trope, unrequited feelings but complicated, slowburn, thermodynamics as metaphor, toxic relationships, moral decline, morally grey characters, emotional manipulation, transactional sexual relationships, power reversal, public humiliation, blackmail, misogynistic themes and language, toxic masculinity, power dynamics, planned revenge, ambiguous ending, awkward boners, premature ejaculation, loss of virginity, oral sex (m and f), p in v sex, mild praise kink, degradation, dom/sub undertones, verbal consent but sexual coercion (negotiated under durress), multiple orgasms, hair-pulling, begging, protected sex, everyone in this fic is genuinely a piece of shit!!! FEAT. hyung line as roommates

wc — 18.9k

a/n — i got the idea to write something extremely pathetic and Jake was the first person that came to mind. something about him screams unfortunate (i say this with love). this is a scheduled post so if you see this i'm in an exam right now please pray for me.

There are very few things out there that Jake can't figure out. The universe runs on rules, after all, and he'd spent his whole life studying them. From theoretical mathematics to quantum physics, there was never a problem he couldn't solve, never an equation that failed to make sense.

So, it kind of throws him off completely when you—all pretty, soft-looking, and sweet-smelling—plant yourself right next to him on the first day of his thermodynamics lecture. One, because how has he never seen you before? Two, because girls like you don't talk to him. Or smile at him. Or ask for his name while leaning in that close like you actually care to know it.

He tries to look straight ahead, holding his breath, hanging onto every word that leaves the professor's mouth as if he doesn't have the entire textbook memorized already. All that, just to distract himself from you. It doesn't work, though, the messy chalk writing blurring in his vision as his mind drifts.

Sure, it's a bit strange that you sat next to him when other seats were clearly open... but you probably only sat there because it's the spot with the clearest view of the board, right? That's why he chose it, anyway.

Then, you're tapping his shoulder, two fingers pressing into the fabric of his hoodie ever so lightly. He nearly jumps out of his skin as his eyes snap to you, seeing you lean in close enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Hey," your voice is just above a whisper, and with the quirk of your brow, you ask him, "Do you understand, like, anything he's saying right now?"

Of course, he understands. He knows this subject like the back of his hand. He could probably explain it in his sleep. And yet when he tries to speak... nothing.

His mouth hangs open for half a second, eyes fleeting from you, back to the board, back to you again, then down—eyes up, Jake—then up. He blinks, and finally he manages something.

"Yeah, uh—it's just the second law stuff. Entropy increasing over time," he drags a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the mop of messy brown strands that refused to stay put.

Now he wishes he'd spent more than thirty seconds getting ready this morning instead of rolling out of bed in his old high school mathletes hoodie.

"It's basically like... systems move toward disorder unless you put energy into keeping them organized, so—"

You laugh, a small teasing smile on your lips.

"You sure know your stuff, huh?"

"I just looked over the textbook during the winter break," he replies, a little less distressed this time. "Tried to get a head start. Don't wanna fall behind or anything."

Slowly, he feels less guarded, seeing how you don't scoff at him or roll your eyes or do any of the things he'd expect you to. Instead, you watch him—and not the passive kind that some people do when they're bored and have nothing else to do, but like, you're really watching like you're kind of, maybe, possibly... impressed? That's new. The thought alone has a warmth blooming in his chest.

"You studied before the class even started?" Your smile grows wider, amused, but not mean.

She's not being mean.

He lets out a laugh, half-relieved, though still half-embarrassed at how you're realizing that he's checking every stereotype in the box.

"Yeah, I get it, I'm a nerd," he waves it off, looking away self-consciously, "or a loser, or whatever you wanna call—"

"You're adorable, actually," you cut him off. Your knee brushes his under the desk, lingering just a moment before you're tucking your legs back in. Still, he feels the ghost of your touch, his ears turning red. "Guess I'm pretty lucky that I sat down next to you, aren't I?"

The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall usually make everyone look cold and stale. But to him, you're something else entirely—a star collapsing inward, and he's already slipping into orbit. Even if he knew how to calculate the escape velocity, he isn’t sure that he wants to.

You don't make sense. Though he thinks even if he tried to pull you apart and figure you out, his logic would slip somewhere along the way. How could anyone be expected to form a cohesive thought when lost between the sound of your voice and your pretty eyes which follow him like he's the most interesting thing in the room?

You: heyy :) You: did you finish the thermo assignment yet?

It's late on a Sunday evening when you first message him, phone buzzing on his nightstand just when he's about to turn off his lamp and cozy up in the sheets of his twin-sized bed.

He stares at the notification for a good second, heart skipping a beat as he reaches for his glasses. He reads it a second time and pauses. He waits five minutes—long enough to seem like he's not desperate (but he is) yet short enough to show he's not ignoring you. At least, that's what Heeseung does when he texts girls, and he's at least moderately successful.

Jake: finished last week

I-T... W-A-S... E-A-S-Y...

He starts typing, deletes. Then retypes.

Jake: wasn't too bad Jake: you? You: wow ok smarty pants

He smiles, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

You: [sent an image] You: im struggling so bad You: worried i wont finish on time :(

He swallows hard when he opens the image.

A selfie, your zip-up hoodie slipping down one shoulder, your tank top strap exposed, your textbook open in front of you. Your pouty face is highlighted by the blue light of your laptop, the rest of your room dimly lit.

Respectfully, as if you were in the room watching over him, he feels the urge to avert his gaze away from your face, and the skin you're revealing, instead looking to the background.

In the dim light, he spots an array of polaroid pictures on your wall—you with other girls at what looks like a party, you laughing with people he doesn't recognize. You're cool. Socially competent, clearly. You have a life. Yet you're here, texting him on a weekend night, sending him pictures.

He then returns to you, the subject of the image, and whatever respect he had been mentally trying to maintain only seconds ago is suddenly lost on him. His eyes drag over every sliver of exposed skin, however slight, practically drooling as he follows where the shadow dips just above the neckline of your top.

You look pretty. Tired, a little frustrated, and very, very, painfully pretty. Like, his head is going to explode kind of pretty. And from scribbles in your notebook, you don't appear to be anywhere close to finished. His heart thumps in his chest, followed by an ache.

That assignment is due tonight. There's no way you could finish it all now, even if you rushed for it. Unless...

Jake: [sent Assignment_1.pdf] Jake: here Jake: just change the answers a bit :) You: omg youre actually the best!! You: idk what id do without you You: tysm jake <3

He literally has to resist the urge to kick his feet and giggle, grinning like the biggest idiot as your messages come through.

Jake: it’s nothing haha Jake: happy to help You: youre actually so smart it's kind of unfair You: wish i had you in all my classes lol You: literally my hero <3

He's blushing to himself, biting his lip, and he rolls over onto his back, head against the pillow. His fingers tremble over the screen for a second before scrolling up. He rereads the exchange. Reflects. Analyzes.

Those emojis mean something, right? You didn't have to add a heart, but you did. Then there's the way you smile at him and touch him in class—that has to mean something. Girls don't go around just touching anyone, especially not him, but you do. You sat next to him. You're nice to him. And you asked him for help. You chose him.

With a newfound confidence, he's typing out his next message and clicking 'send' before he can give himself the chance to second-guess it.

The worst she can say is "no," right?

Jake: i could help you study for your other classes? Jake: if you want sent 3 weeks ago Jake: or not haha Jake: no pressure sent 2 weeks ago Jake: sorry if that was weird... sent 1 week ago Jake: hey! Jake: noticed you haven't been to class for a while Jake: you ok?

Three weeks go by like that. Every time his phone buzzes, his hand is on it before he even realizes he's moved, only to find what he already knows: that it isn't you. It never is. He starts keeping it face up on his desk when he studies. Sleeps with it on his pillow some nights, just in case.

It's stupid. It's embarrassing. He knows it is.

Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. You probably get messages like that all the time—from guys like him who think a smile means more than what it is. You're probably used to it. Of course, you'd think he's a weirdo. Or a creep. Or both. Probably both.

"Seriously, Jake, just move on already," Sunghoon says, not even looking at him, thumbs mashing into the buttons of his controller. He then slumps back in defeat when Jay is crowned winner for the third Smash Bros game in a row, "Fuck!"

Jake shifts on the couch, controller untouched at his side, phone in his hand instead.

He lounges in the living room along with his other three roommates, two empty boxes of pizza on the floor because they insist they'll eventually buy a coffee table for their "living room". Though it's been almost a year since they signed the lease and the room was still empty save for the couch and TV.

"When did you get so dogshit at this game?" Heeseung snorts at Sunghoon as he aims to throw his pizza crust in the empty box. It narrowly misses, rolling onto the floor instead. He dusts the crumbs off his hands, then turns to Jake, "But yeah, man. He's right. Rejection hurts, but it happens."

"You would know all about rejection, wouldn't you?" Jay mutters, about to take a sip of his drink, before he ducks his head, dodging the empty can Heeseung tries to throw at his face.

"She didn't even reject me though," Jake tries, quieter this time, "She just disappeared—"

"Which means she doesn't want you," Sunghoon says all too quickly, almost impatient. He nudges Jay, lowering his voice, "Can you believe this guy has a 4.0 GPA and still can't understand women?"

Jay laughs under his breath, and the two start to snicker.

Jake swallows, scrolling up to stare at the selfie you shared with him all those weeks ago. He thinks back on your laugh. Your smile. The way you used to sit with him in class. He misses your face, your voice.... He misses you.

"Listen, man. You put yourself out there, and I'm proud of you. We all are, right?" Heeseung starts, and Sunghoon and Jay nod their heads along mindlessly, only half listening as they argue over what map to choose next. He then brings a hand to his back, patting it a couple of times, and Jake winces from the impact, "But she's definitely not texting you back. Like. Ever."

Jake takes one final look at his screen before sighing.

"Guess not."

He closes the phone, eyes turning back to the game on the TV, not quite ready to accept what he thinks is the truth: that you were just being friendly and he misinterpreted the whole thing and ruined something good, but he knows there's no point in dwelling on it any longer.

"Aw, come on. Look on the bright side," Heeseung continues, "At least you got a cute picture out of it. Can never go wrong with good fap material, right?"

Before Jake can scoff it off and pretend like he definitely hasn't thought about that, his phone pings. And just like that, all eyes stop to turn to him, and where his phone lies face up in his lap.

Jay and Heeseung scoot closer on the couch, and Sunghoon nearly trips over one of the pizza boxes, stumbling over himself just to glance over Jake's shoulder.

You: heyy You: sorry i didnt reply i was super busy :( You: have you started assignment 2 yet? read at 9:13pm

"Oh."

"Oh, my god."

"Oh, hell no," Sunghoon gapes, "This bitch is evil."

"She's using you for schoolwork," Jay scoffs, "That's even worse than the friendzone, holy shit."

"You've been calculator-zoned," Heeseung shakes his head, "Absolutely brutal."

Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard. The room feels too small, the weight of his three roommates' judgmental gaze almost suffocating as they lean over him—the smell of someone who definitely forgot to wear deodorant also suffocating, but he's not about to play detective to figure out which one of them it is.

"What are you gonna say?" Sunghoon demands, jabbing a finger toward the screen. "Tell her to fuck off."

"No, don't do that," Jay interjects, "Just ignore her. Leave her on read for, like, a month. Make her feel what you felt."

"Jakey, my man. Don't give in," Heeseung shakes his head, "To her, you’re just a warm body with a brain and enough desperation to do her work for free."

But Jake isn't listening. He's looking at the three little dots that appear, then vanish, then appear again at the bottom of the chat window. You're typing, and the thought alone sends a jolt through him, a stupid, pathetic little flutter that overrides his rationality. He wants to know what you're going to say. He needs to know.

You: helloooo? :( You: [sent an image] read at 9:22pm

Jake opens the image, another selfie. Seems like you're really trying to impress him more this time, seeing how the angle reveals just a little bit more, your pen pressed to your lower lip, looking so kissable and soft and everything he yearns for. But he knows better. It's not enough to entice him.

It is enough to make him screenshot it, though.

"Bro, seriously?" Sunghoon deadpans, as if he isn't also staring.

"Just safekeeping," Jake mutters, avoiding his glare, "She's hot, okay?"

"Shit. I take back what I said. Become her human study guide, and lemme see more of that," Heeseung whistles, trying to take the phone, but Jake yanks it away from his grabby hands, "Come on, I'll do your dishes next week if you share."

"You don't even do your own dishes, dumbass," Jay shoots back, noticing how Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard.

In an instant, he snatches the device from him, and the three boys groan, outstretched arms trying to reach for it back. He doesn't spare a single glance as he types back.

Jake: yeah i finished it. You: really? You: uhg i wish I had your brain You: i'm so lost :( Jake: oh. Jake: thats too bad. Jake: good luck.

He throws it back into Jake's lap.

"There," Jay declares, crossing his arms. "Dignity. Intact."

"Jay, you fucking idiot," Heeseung groans, "We could've secured way more pics."

"You can find tits online if you're so desperate to jerk off," Jay retorts, slumping back down into the couch, "We're not letting our friend get taken advantage of by some campus slut."

Jake looks at the phone. He knows, deep down, Jay is right. The tiny, rational part of his brain that isn't currently short-circuited by the ghost of your knee against his agrees.

Then, the three dots appear again. And vanish. Then appear again, staying for a long, long time. All of them watch at the edge of their seat.

You: wanna come over and help me? ;)

Jake's breath catches in his throat.

"Oh, she's good," Sunghoon whispers, a grudging respect in his tone. "She's really good."

"Yeah, but she can't get our Jakey," Jay adds, a smugness in his tone, "Sure, he looks a little desperate and pathetic, and like he’s never felt the touch of a woman, but little does she know that he's way too smart for—"

Jake's thumb moves quick.

Jake: sure

The room is dead silent for a moment.

"Dude," Heeseung stares at him, mouth slightly open. "I mean, like—not that I'm one to judge but what the fuck?"

"Don't look at me like that," Jake gulps, already grabbing his hoodie from the arm of the couch, "What do you expect me to do! Say no?"

"Man," Jay laughs dryly, shaking his head. "You have to be shitting me."

Sunghoon falls back against the couch cushions, hands over his face.

"She just wants help this time. Not answers," Jake continues to explain, slipping his arms through the hoodie sleeves. "It'll be different."

"Jake..." Heeseung stands, eyeing his friend. His hands move to his shoulders, staring him dead in the eyes, "You're gonna come back here at two in the morning, heartbroken and blue-balled, and eat the leftover pizza crusts off the floor."

"You don't know that—"

"Bro." Sunghoon glares. "Yes, we do. We all know it. Even the pizza boxes know it."

He should stop. He knows it. You've given him zero reasons to defend you like this, but maybe he's tired of being logical. Maybe, for once, he just wants to feel something.

"You don't know her," he says firmly, "We don't know her. I mean. What if she really was busy, you know?"

Heeseung sighs, long and winded. And though he's shaking his head, he helps zip up his hoodie, like a mother sending off her kid to school. He spares a glance back at Sunghoon and Jay, who seem to share the same look in their eyes: pitying, a little disappointed, but resigned to the inevitable.

He returns his gaze to Jake, a hand coming up to pat his head, ruffling his already messy hair.

"Just… try not to get eaten alive, okay?"

He finds your place easily enough—another student housing unit, like his, with a porch that creaks under his weight, and a railing that's falling apart. Somewhere down the block, someone's partying, the bass a little too loud, and yet it's still not enough to drown out the sound of his heart thumping against his chest as he knocks on your door. He wipes a sweaty palm on his jeans, mentally rehearsing what he'll say. Though his mind goes completely blank when the door swings open.

So yeah. That's how he finds himself in your room, the assignment questions open on his laptop, sitting at the very edge of the bed. Meanwhile, you move about, apologizing for the mess and explaining something about your roommates being gone while picking up piles of clothes from the floor and shoving them into the laundry hamper at the corner of your room.

He swallows hard when the bed dips next to him under your weight, and he finds himself sitting upright, stiffly, like the hammock of plushies in the corner is judging him, watching his every move.

Your legs are bare beside him, wearing shorts that barely cover anything, close enough that if he shifted even a few centimetres, his knee would brush your thigh. Your tank top has one of those necklines that dips when you lean forward, which you're doing right now, peering at his screen.

"So," you say, "Where do we start?"

The fairy lights catch the curve of your shoulder, and he notes how your skin looks warm. Soft. It probably feels that way, too, doesn't it?

It takes a moment to find his words.

"I'll walk you through it," he starts, clearing his throat, "It's not bad once you get it. I swear."

"Okay," you reply with an innocent smile.

He reaches for the notebook in your grasp.

"May I?"

"Mhm," your grip loosens, and he plucks it from your hands, along with the pen. The same pen he remembers being pressed to your lips in that one photo.

Focus, Jake.

"Alright, this part," he gestures to the equation on his screen, flipping for a clean page in your very disorganized, doodle-filled notebook. "It's the same thing from last time. You just—"

His mind goes blank as you angle yourself just a bit closer, squinting your eyes at the page, and he sucks in a breath when your knee presses against his. You don't move it.

"—You just rearrange it like this," he finishes, quickly scribbling it out step by step. "Then plug it back in. Makes sense?"

"Hm," a hum escapes your lips, sounding almost breathy and whiny as you ponder the page, making him think of things he definitely shouldn't, "...I think I get it."

"Try it," he smiles, handing the pen and notebook back.

A second passes, pen tapping your chin slightly as you stare. Then blink. Then furrow your brows together.

"Actually... I don't get it."

"Okay," he nods slowly, determination not yet shaken, "Well, look, it's the same thing, you just have to—"

"Can you show me one more time?" You look at him, wide-eyed. Confused. Helpless. Your tank top strap slips off your shoulder just a bit, and his eyes follow the movement as you reach to adjust it. "Please?"

As if he's on autopilot, he takes the notebook back from you, nodding wordlessly as he writes the question for you.

He tries the same thing with the next question. Writing up a nearly identical example and solution in clear, detailed steps, explaining as best he can. But he freezes when he feels your hand on him, looking over his shoulder.

"Sorry, I just see better this way," you say so casually, like it's nothing, like he isn't losing his goddamn mind. You're then pointing, "Why does that happen?"

"Oh... because of the negative sign. So when you move it over—"

"I'm so bad at this," you sigh, voice close to his ear, "I don't even know what I'm doing."

There’s a tug at his heart.

"You're not bad!" He says almost automatically, "Not at all. Don't say that. You just need more practice."

"You think?" You ask, your hand sliding down his shoulder, until your careful fingers reach the sleeve of his hoodie. Fiddling with it, absentmindedly, you continue, "You're really patient, you know that?"

"I... I mean, I—"

"Most people would've given up by now. But not you," you whisper, "You're good to me, aren't you?"

"I try my best," he stammers out in a nervous laugh, trying not to malfunction. He taps his pen against the notebook, "How about you try the next—"

"Jake," you sigh again, though it sounds more like a whimper in his ear as your chin rests against his shoulder, "Can we just... do this one together?"

He nods, enjoying the feeling of you pressed against him too much to bother passing the notebook back to you anymore.

It's faster this way anyway, right? That's what he tells himself as he does the rest of your assignment. He can always explain it after. You'll get it once it's done.

"Really, you're the best, Jake," you repeat for what must've been the fifth time that night as he clicks the 'submit' button.

For a while now, you've been lying back against your pillows, smiling at your phone while he works, occasionally moving to watch him or leave some kind of commentary, and his roommates' warnings began to echo in his mind. Especially as he's folding up his laptop, shoving it to the side, watching you from the corner of his eye. He can't see your screen, but your hands move like you're texting someone. That thought alone makes him want to crawl into a hole somewhere and die.

"It's nothing..." his voice comes out too quiet.

Your gaze shoots up, expression changing in seconds.

"Oh, but it's not nothing!" you reply, tucking your phone. "I seriously feel like such a jerk for ghosting you! I'm sorry. I'm just so bad at texting."

Before he can process it, you're sitting up, on your knees, scooting a bit closer. Too close.

"Really, it's—"

"And doing all of this for me... You work so hard."

Your hand lands on his shoulder, gentle but firm enough that he doesn't think to resist, and you pull him back. His head hits the mattress softer than he expected.

You come into view, sitting up now, face above his. He doesn't know where to look, your eyes, your lips... definitely not where your tank top hangs low, revealing way more than you probably realize. He opts to stare at the ceiling instead. Then your face. But your face is too pretty to stare at for too long without making him nervous, so he looks anywhere else.

"You must be tired, huh?"

He's not quite sure how to even process what's happening, so he mindlessly nods.

"Poor thing," you coo, and the way you say it, soft and almost sweet, makes his chest ache, a warmth blooming in it. "I'm really happy you showed up. Actually, I was kinda nervous to ask. Thought you might be busy. Or that you'd hate me."

There's another pause as you stare down—waiting, watching with your brows furrowed in worry, lips pulled into a pout.

"Do you hate me, Jake?"

"Hate you? No. No, no, no," He's shaking his head profusely, the words tumbling out too fast. "Life gets in the way sometimes. I get it."

He should have a harder time believing it, given that he's seen you posting on your social media everyday, videos and photos from parties he'd never be invited to in a million years.

Still, how could he ever hate you when you're letting him lie down on your bed like this, looking at him like that? The memories of hurt from weeks of radio silence practically melt away like it was never even there to begin with.

"You can ask me anytime. Always. I'm free whenever."

"Whenever?" You tilt your head, mildly amused.

He swallows, mentally scolding himself as you reach for the strings of his hoodie, toying with the ends of it absentmindedly.

Come on, Jake. At least pretend like you have a life.

"Well. Not always, whenever but, I'm not busy on weekends, unless..." unless I'm playing Smash Bros with my other loser roommates. Yeah, genius. That will really impress her. "Unless I'm... studying or something."

"Is that all you do? Study?"

"I, uh..." he thinks, "I go to the gym. Sometimes."

He looks at you, searching for a reaction.

"Mm." You hum, and he swears he's going to have a heart attack when he feels your hand slide up the sleeve of his arm, firmly grasping his bicep. You barely squeeze, just once, and your hand then quickly slips away. "I can tell."

What the hell.

He gapes.

What the actual hell.

"Your girlfriend must like that."

"Girlfriend?"

"You don't have a girl?" You raise a brow.

"No—I mean—no."

"Oh?" You tilt your head, curiously, "But you talk to girls, right?"

"I'm just... I study a lot so..."

"So I have you all to myself, then?" You smile, "That's good to know."

You hum, blinking at him. Suddenly, you're reaching for his hair. He literally has no idea what the fuck is happening or how it happened, but your fingers are now in his hair, raking through it slowly. And when he feels you gently scratch at his scalp, his eyes almost close, biting down on his lip just to stop himself from making god knows what kind of pathetic noise he would've.

This isn't normal. Girls don't just do this—not to just anyone... right? He has no idea. All he knows is that he's getting embarrassingly flustered, and increasingly worried that he's misinterpreting everything all over again. It all blurs together in a messy, dizzying spiral of infatuation and anxiety.

"Do you talk to guys?"

It sounded more casual in his head. Now, it sounds stupid coming out of his mouth.

"Why?" You tilt your head, grinning, and he gulps, "You trying to see if I have a boyfriend, or something?"

"No! Just you asked, so I thought I'd ask, too. So—"

"Kidding," you sing-song, a soft laugh escaping you, "I don't really take that stuff seriously, you know?"

Jake nods, like he understands what that means. He thinks it means you at least don't have a boyfriend, which is reassuring enough. For now.

Though he can't really think anything at all, actually, because suddenly, he's panicking over a much larger problem than the thought of you talking to other guys. Your fingers, still working at his scalp, slow and deliberate, start to build a familiar heat inside him, and not the innocent kind.

Stop. Think about something else. Thermodynamics. The quadratic formula. Jay’s morning breath. Literally anything—

You graze a particular spot just behind his ear, and his whole body betrays him. He feels it immediately—a rush of need, a tightening in his jeans that he cannot under any circumstances let you notice.

He sits up so fast his vision blurs, back snapping straight.

"You okay?" Your hand hovers in the air where his head used to be.

"Bathroom," he stammers, already scrambling off the bed, nearly tripping over himself, "Um. Where's the bathroom?"

You point him down the hall.

After a good few minutes of splashing his face with cold water and thinking the unsexiest thoughts he could think of, he's calmed down enough that it's unnoticeable.

But unfortunately, when he's out, you're already guiding him to the front door, talking about some eight a.m. lecture tomorrow.

He nods along, trying to focus on tying his sneakers instead of the way you're leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him.

He finishes the second knot after fumbling with it for longer than he should've and stands up, brushing off his jeans.

Alright, Jake, this is it.

"So, um, hey," he starts, hesitantly. "Would you want to hang out sometime? Not for school stuff. Maybe... like... go see a movie, or something?"

He watches you carefully. Holding his breath. Waiting for what feels like forever.

"Sounds fun!" You smile.

The words ring in his ears the whole walk home, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, so stupidly infatuated and lovestruck by you that he barely registers the cold breeze that cuts through his sweater.

He wastes no time plopping down on his couch to tell his roommates about his new date plans, feeling on top of the world when their concerned expressions shift into grins—cheering him and patting him on the back before quickly devising his next move;

"Ask her what movie," Jay insists.

"What? No. That's way too passive," Sunghoon rolls his eyes, "Tell her what movie. Girls like it when guys are decisive."

"And make it a horror movie," Heeseung adds, nodding in agreement, "She'll get all scared and cling to you. Trust me, man."

"That's such a cliché."

"Cliché, but it works."

His roommates keep arguing—something about jump scares versus psychological thrillers, about whether first dates should even be movies at all, but Jake stops listening. He's staring at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Jake: does friday or saturday work?

He waits.

And waits.

And waits...

"I don't get it," Jake frowns, staring at the unread messages on his phone. The screen glows in the dim kitchen light, the last message he sent still hanging there, no reply.

"She said she wanted to hang out again," he continues, more to himself than anyone else. "She said, 'Sounds fun!' She even smiled when she said it."

His roommates are scattered around the kitchen like they normally are post-dinner, with Sunghoon and Jay fighting over whose turn it is to do the dishes. Meanwhile, Heeseung scarfs down his third bowl of cereal, like he hadn't just devoured a full plate of food less than an hour ago.

"No offence, but like... are you really asking that?" Heeseung doesn't even look up. Just raises the bowl to his lips and gulps down the remaining milk, dribbling a little down his chin.

Jake blinks.

"She's playing you," Jay adds, turning off the running water at the sink, sponge in one hand and a plate in the other. From that, Jake gathers he lost the dish war. "And it's working. Clearly."

"But—"

"She ghosted you for three weeks," Sunghoon cuts in, drying his hands on a dish towel. "Hit you up when she needed homework help. Then ghosted you again the second you asked her out. What part of this says 'interested' to you?"

Jake opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking back at his phone, and Sunghoon's already plucking the device from his hands before he can even consider double texting. He closes the phone, laying it face down on the kitchen table, and presses his palm flat against it like he's putting down a verdict.

"Listen, you really wanna give this homework-stealing attention whore even more attention?" He frowns, "She doesn't deserve another word from you."

His words make Jake wince a little, the pathetic urge to defend you still lingering, but he doesn't say anything. He knows what it looks like.

Heeseung sets his empty bowl down with a clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying Jake.

"Why are you so attached anyway?" He raises his brow, "Like sure, she's hot, but did you even, you know... get any action?"

"I mean."

The kitchen goes quiet, and Jake feels a heat creep up his neck. He looks down at the table, recalling his time with you last week.

"She played with my hair."

There's a pause.

"...the fuck?" Heeseung finally says.

"Like, head scratches. You know?" Jake can feel how stupid it sounds even as he says it, but he keeps explaining, as if it will make it sound any better, "She was saying all these things, and talking, and running her fingers through it. It was nice. It was—"

"Bro," Heeseung cuts him off with a laugh—not a mean one, but something close to it, "She pet you."

"Like a dog." Sunghoon grins.

"Did you start kicking your leg when she scratched behind your ears?" Jay snickers.

"Did she call you a good boy for doing her homework?"

The three of them burst into laughter. Sunghoon has to brace himself against the table, and Jay doubles over, gripping the counter. Heeseung is just shaking his head, grinning, like Jake is the saddest thing he's ever seen.

Jake flushes.

"Guys, come on—"

"Listen, Jakey," Heeseung's voice softens, "You do realize what this is, right? She uses you for your brain, then forgets you exist until she needs you again. And like a stupid, loyal mutt, you keep running back to an owner who doesn't reward you with any treats."

"I know it looks like that, but you weren't there," Jake shrinks in his chair, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, "She was talking to me. For real. Like. Touching me and—"

"And she didn't text you back," Sunghoon states. There's no bite to it. No malicious intent. Just that. That's what it is, after all.

The truth of it hurts more than he expects, maybe because deep down he knows it already. His throat tightens, and he stares down so that none of them can see how his eyes get glossy.

He just thought that maybe this was it. That maybe, for the first time, someone actually liked him. Is he really so wrong for wanting to believe that?

The kitchen is quiet now. Jay has gone back to washing dishes, but slower, quieter and Sunghoon joins him, pretending to be interested in dishes to avoid addressing the emotional tension in the room.

Heeseung is the only one who still watches Jake.

"Look, man," he starts, softer this time. "We're not trying to be dicks. We just—"

All four of them glance at the device face down on the table. No one moves. The buzz fades. Then another one. Then another.

Jake's hand twitches toward it.

"Don't," Sunghoon warns.

"It could be important."

"It's not."

Jake's hand hovers. What if it's you? What if you're apologizing? What if you have an explanation?

Sunghoon beats him to it, snatching it from the table with dishwater hands.

"Oh? Would you look at that?" he raises a brow, and Jake's heart pathetically flutters, "Let's see what the she-devil wants now."

Jake watches, holding his breath, as Sunghoon swipes open the messages. His face is unreadable for a moment.

"Gee. Shocker." He reads aloud, dripping with sarcasm. "Hey Jake, sorry I've been MIA—And there's a sad face emoji, how sweet—Did you start the next assignment yet?"

"She can't be that shameless," Heeseung states in disbelief.

Jay sets down his sponge and grabs the phone from Sunghoon, scanning the screen himself. His jaw tightens.

"That's it." He turns to Jake, holding the phone up like evidence. "This is an intervention. If you're not getting anything out of this, and I mean anything, then ignore that bitch."

"She's not a—"

"She is." Sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Honestly, it's just sad at this point. You're better than this."

Jake looks between them. His phone is still in Jay's hand, the screen lit up with your message. He can see the little three dots at the bottom of the chat box. You're still typing, probably coming up with another excuse— another reason for him to come running.

"Jake," Heeseung steps forward, blocking Jake's view of the device, "She hurt you. Do not respond. I'm serious this time. You hear me? You hear us? We're looking out for you."

Jake swallows. He wants to say that it'll be different this time—wants to say that they don't know you like he knows you. Wants to believe his feelings are reciprocated, and that your soft touch and sweet words were more than just a cheap manipulation tactic, but they're all watching. And he knows. He knows he has to concede.

Deflated, he nods, promising his friends he won't give in. Even if the memory of your hands in his hair sticks. Even if he swears it was real.

He really does ignore you. He doesn't respond to your messages, doesn't screenshot your selfies—well, he does look at them maybe a couple times, but that's not technically breaking his word. He keeps his phone on the other side of his bedroom when he sleeps. He spends his time with his friends laughing, instead of sulking in the corner over ignored messages.

The inexplicably strong ache he felt in his chest when he thought of you was nowhere near close to disappearing, an ache that couldn't decide between desire and hurt, but he could feel himself slowly, bit by bit, start to return to some semblance of normalcy.

Then you decide to show up to class for the first time in weeks.

Jake notices you the second you walk through the door. How could he not? You're all he can think about still, as terrible as he knows that sounds. How could he possibly bring himself to look away as your eyes scan the room, ultimately landing on him, making your merry way to slip into the seat at his side?

"Hey!" You're smiling, bright and easy, like no time has passed at all.

It's tempting to return the smile. God, he wants to accept your warmth again so badly, and maybe that would've worked on him a few weeks ago, but time has passed for him.

He'd spent all this time second-guessing every smile, every touch and word. Suffered while listening to his roommates call him a dog. He doesn't have it in him to continue hoping for anything more. Even if you look extra pretty today.

"Hey." Jake keeps his eyes on the board.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

Your smile doesn't waver, but something in your gaze is a little different, a little more steady than usual. You lean in close enough that he can smell you, breathing in your sweet, warm, intoxicating scent, close enough that his resolve starts to crumble before he can stop it. That's just what you do to him.

"You look cute today," you say softly. "I like your hair."

"Thanks."

He manages to keep his tone flat and his face neutral, as if he doesn't still dream of your hands in his hair, like you had the last time he saw you, still weak from the mere thought.

Stay strong, Jake. His jaw is tight. His hands are curled into fists under the desk. She hurt you. Don't give in.

Your smile then fades, if only a little.

"Hey... what's up with you?"

He turns to you finally, unable to keep up the act. In a moment of weakness, he lets you see the hurt, the confusion, the resentment.

You seem concerned. A little confused.

She's playing you. She's using you.

"Listen," he inhales, trying to sound firm, but there's a shakiness in his tone that he just can't hide. "I'm not helping you this time, okay? So don't—"

His eyes catch something on the desk that halts his thought process completely.

Your phone is sitting there, face up, dressed in a clear case like always, but with a new set of cute little charms attached—though that's not even the thing he notices first. The screen is covered in cracks, fractures spreading from a point near the top all the way to the bottom, and a chunk of glass is missing from the corner, exposing the dark screen underneath.

"What happened?" he blurts. Whatever he had been planning to say, to finally tell you, vanishes in an instant.

You look down at the phone. Then back at him.

"Oh my god, you have no idea." You're already shaking your head, "Last week, I lost my phone. Like, lost lost. Couldn't find it for days. I tore my whole apartment apart. I filed a lost and found report. I even checked the campus security office."

Jake stares at the cracked screen, your thumb swiping over it.

"Then," you continue, wincing as you recall the story, "my roommate tells me she felt a crunch when she was pulling out of the driveway. Turns out my phone was lying face down there. For three days. And she ran over it."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was. I think it must've fallen out of my pocket in the dark." You pick up the phone, sighing, "It was like this when I found it. But you wanna know the craziest part? It still works."

Jake just blinks, and you laugh a little as you hold up the device to his face, showing off the horribly cracked home screen.

"I guess you thought I was ignoring you again, weren't you?" Your expression falls, "I'm so sorry, Jake. I really didn't mean to."

"It's..." He blinks again, then shakes his head. A laugh escapes him, feeling relieved, almost giddy, and all the emotions he thought he had buried for good come rushing back to him in an instant. Just like that. "I just thought you were, like, using me for homework, or something—"

"What?" You gasp, shock flashing across your face. "Oh my gosh, no, I would never."

A hand lands on his arm. Warmth spreads through him where you touch.

"I guess asking about homework first thing when I got my phone back was pretty stupid of me, wasn't it?" You shake your head, muttering, talking to yourself almost, "I was just so stressed after the whole lost phone situation, and school was the first thing on my mind. I didn't even think about how it would look."

A nervous laugh escapes you, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater, glancing at him wide-eyed like you're scared that he hates you for real this time.  Suddenly, his roommates' words are fading to nothing in his head.

"I mean," he says slowly, and then a small smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah. It was a little stupid."

You stare at him for a second. Then you laugh, bright and real and just like he remembered, your whole face lighting up. Relief seems to wash over both of you, and when your hand lightly grazes his shoulder again, he leans into it this time.

"Okay, okay, I deserve that," you say. "But I'll make up for it. I swear."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You pull out your phone, squinting at the cracked screen as you pull up a tab in your search engine. "There's this new indie horror thing my friends keep talking about. Apparently, it's super scary, and I'm terrified of watching this kind of stuff alone."

You tilt the screen to him, rambling about different showtimes, explaining bits of the synopsis of the film, and he swears his heart is about to explode. His mind is already conjuring images of you clinging to his arm, burying your head in the crook of his neck at the sight of a jump-scare.

"So?" You finally ask, "You free Friday?"

There's a moment of hesitation as he thinks about his roommates. Their warnings. Their jokes. Their certainty that you were using him. Then he looks at your phone—the cracks, the missing chunk. The undeniable proof that you weren't lying.

Then he thinks about getting to hold your hand in a dark theater, driving you home after. Would you let him kiss you? Would you pull him closer, with your hands at the back of his head, fingers grazing through his hair again? Would you pull away, breathless and smiling, and invite him inside? Probably not that last part, but the thought still makes him blush.

"I'll check my schedule."

"Okay," Your smile turns almost shy, but your determination doesn't waver, "Well, no pressure, but you better say yes."

Jake spends the entire lecture trying not to smile back, thankful that all the pain he had felt, all the hurt, had been nothing more than his own imagination.

He's already knows he's going to say yes.

Jake is halfway to the door when Sunghoon's voice stops him cold.

"Where are you going?"

Jake winces, hand hovering just above the doorknob. His keys are already in his other hand, jingling softly. He doesn't turn around, certain that the look on his face will give him away, and to be honest, he's tired of being looked at like a lost cause when it comes to you.

"Out."

"Out," Sunghoon repeats slowly. "Out where, exactly?"

With a shaky breath, he turns finally. His eyes land on Jay and Sunghoon sprawled on the couch—same as always, controllers in hand, paused mid-game. Heeseung pokes his head out of his bedroom door down the hall, drawn by the sound of an argument brewing.

Jake allows himself a small, hopefully convincing enough smile.

"To study."

Like a cruel joke, a small foil square slips out of his jacket pocket and flutters to the floor—revealing the condom he'd stolen from the box Heeseung keeps at his bedside.

They all watch wordlessly, staring for a beat.

Jake's face flushes, bending down to snatch the condom off the floor, and he tucks it back into his pocket.

"Uh-huh. Study." Jay deadpans, setting down his controller. "Studying what, human anatomy?"

"It's a study date," Jake says too quickly, waving it off, "With uh... that one girl I was lab partners with last semester. You guys remember?"

"The girl you said you weren't into?"

"Well, I changed my mind."

He can feel the weight of their stare. Watching. Waiting. Judging.

"You think you're gonna get laid." Heeseung gestures vaguely to him. "And you didn't try to tell any of us about it?"

"It's just in case," he replies, still a little embarrassed, "Besides, why should I tell any of you? It's none of your business."

Heeseung tilts his head, studying him. The other two exchange knowing glances.

"It's not that you have to," He says, "But you would've. Which means you're hiding something."

"You're running back to your master, aren't you?" Sunghoon cuts to the chase with a grin, "Did she throw you a bone again?"

"No."

"Aw, I can see his tail wagging," Jay teases, "He's so excited. Thinks he's gonna finally get his dick wet this time if he plays fetch."

"Shut up."

"Jake, man," Heeseung almost groans, "You can't seriously think she wants you for real this time, right?"

"What's the score now? Campus slut: three, Jake: zero? You're losing pretty badly," Sunghoon whistles, shaking his head, "Just don't come crying to us about it after."

His fingers tighten around his keys, metal biting into the palm of his hand. He wants to tell them tonight will be different—and he's sure it will. It has to be. But he's done explaining himself, and he's done trying to explain you.

"I'm going on a study date with my old lab partner," he lies through gritted teeth, "And while you sit your lazy asses on a dirty fucking couch, marinating in your own filth, I'm going to actually be talking to a girl. So fuck you."

He doesn't wait for a response. He just turns, yanking the front door open and slamming it behind hard enough to rattle the frame just a bit.

The boys don't say anything. They just stare at the door, watching the frame shake in silence until it goes still.

"Well," Sunghoon pauses, "He kinda got us there, didn't he?"

He pulls up to your place, eyeing the same rickety-looking porch and broken railing he remembers, noting how the light above the front door flickers. And though it's anything but perfect, he still feels like he's in a scene from a movie as he walks up your steps—the kind where the guy finally gets the girl and sweeps her off her feet.

His heart is pounding as he knocks on the door and stops the moment it swings open, smiling as soon as he sees you, expression dropping when his brain catches up to realize you're... not dressed for a date. At all.

You look at him wide-eyed, almost shocked, a pencil tucked behind your ear, wearing an old hoodie and those little shorts he remembers from last time. And there, in your hand, is your thermodynamics textbook.

"Oh, Jake..." you say, blinking at him like you'd forgotten he was coming. "I totally lost track of time."

You're already turning away, leaving the door open for him to follow. Already walking back into the place, socked feet padding against the hardwood, muttering to yourself.

"This is due on Monday, and I haven't even started and— gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."

Jake stands still in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you plop down on the bed, looking up at him with a silent plea.

"I really thought I'd have this done by tonight. I mean, I could spend the rest of the weekend doing it, but I have all these plans and other things I have to do..." You continue to ramble, but he stops listening.

You're doing it again.

He watches you for a long, silent moment. You're already flipping through the textbook, muttering to yourself about equations and deadlines, completely absorbed.

Any butterflies he'd felt were gone, replaced with... nothing. He felt absolutely nothing, just hollow and empty and utterly deflated because he's been here before. He knows the script. He knows what happens next.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear his roommates laughing. Hell, he's sure those stupid plushies in the corner of your room are probably laughing at him, too.

"I was thinking maybe if I could just get the first few problems, I think I could figure out the rest. But I don't even know where to start."

You look up at him, and there's that look again. The same look you gave him the first day of class. The same look that made him want to solve all your problems.

Just like that, he's doing it again, too.

She needs me, he starts to think.

People get stressed, don't they? People lose track of time. You're just one of those people. It's not on purpose. It's not malicious. It's just you.

You're tugging at his sleeve, then slipping past it just to grasp around his wrist.

"I know I'm asking for a lot, but you'll help me, won't you?" You pout, "Please, Jake?"

That almost gets him. It shouldn't, but it almost does.

"But the movie—"

"I promise we'll see it another time," you cut in, "Pinky swear, on my life, we will."

Jake can feel his hands trembling at his sides. All he wanted was a date with you. Just one night. No textbooks. No equations.

He'll be damned if he lets your poor time-management skills and terrible studying habits be the reason his night is ruined.

"What if I just... send you the answers later?"

He manages a broken smile, and you blink.

"Really?" You gape, "Oh, Jake, I'd feel terrible—"

"We can't let our movie tickets go to waste, right?" He shrugs like its nothing, like he's nonchalant or something, but there is absolutely nothing chalant about the way he needs to go out with you tonight. "I don't mind. Really. Don't worry about it, okay?"

You beam at him, and with a squeal, you're jumping off the bed faster than he can process. Your arms are around him, hugging him tight, so much that he can feel every part of you pressed against him. Suddenly, he's light as a feather again. Drifting. Weightless.

"Thank you so much!" You pull away all too quickly, shoving him out your bedroom door, "Just give me a few minutes, 'kay? I won't leave you waiting too long."

Jake can barely focus on the screen, eyes drifting from the atmospheric shots of a creepy house in the middle of nowhere, towards you instead.

He's hyper-aware of you sitting there, next to him. He can't help the way he watches you, how the light flickers across your face, catching the curve of your cheek, and your gloss-covered lips. He also can't help the way he's falling apart from just the feeling of your arm brushing against his in the dark, soft, accidental, and electric all at once.

The scent of your perfume mixes with the smell of buttery popcorn, neither of you had touched yet. He can't bring himself to eat it. Actually, he can't bring himself to do anything when he can barely manage breathing in your presence.

His heart is doing that stupid stuttering thing again, the one that makes him feel like he's a teenager taking his school crush to prom, as his hand twitches restlessly at his side.

He wants to hold your hand. He's wanted to since the moment you slipped into the passenger seat of his car, wearing that sundress, but he knew he had to wait. He rehearses the motion in his head, a slow, deliberate slide of his palm against the armrest until it touches yours. He even tries, for a second, his hand slowly drifting until his pinky barely brushes yours, enough to feel the warmth of your skin.

For a moment, he allows himself to imagine what it would feel like to do it—to take your hand in one smooth, confident stride and feel your fingers interlace with his. The thought alone is exhilarating... and far, far more terrifying than the movie's been so far.

Before he knows it, he's chickening out, hand drawing back to his lap when the screen flashes.

A face appears, a shrieking sound erupting through the theatre speakers, and he swears his soul fucking leaves his body. He jumps, a full body flinch, arm nearly knocking over the popcorn bucket as his heart slams against his ribs.

And almost immediately, he glances at you, mortified at the thought of you witnessing him actually get scared at a jump scare. But you had jumped too, hands flying to his arm, fingers digging into his sleeve. It only registers in his mind after the fact that you're clinging to him, your smaller hands curled against him, just like he had imagined. Just like he had hoped.

"Sorry," you whisper, still holding him.

"It's okay," he whispers back, silently praying that you'll continue to.

You do, and he doesn't dare move a single muscle for the remainder of the film. Even as there's more blood, more screaming and horrifying faces that genuinely make him want to sprint out of that theater crying like a baby, he stays put, trembling at the thought of the nightmares he'll have for the next few days and enjoying every second of you burying your face into his shoulder, clinging to him like he's the safest thing you've ever known.

Sometime halfway through the film, your hand finds his, fingers intertwining with his, still leaning into his shoulder. In that moment, he thinks all the missed texts, all the hurt and confusion, all of it was worth it just to feel this.

"That was so good," you rave on the car ride home, smiling from the passenger's seat, "Honestly, way too many jump scares, but the cinematography... wow."

Jake's hands grip the steering wheel just a little tighter than usual, still nervous. More nervous, actually, because he's still trying to figure out what he's going to say to you when he gets back to your place. But he knows he's overthinking it; tonight had reassured him of that.

Relax, he thinks, glancing at you from the side.

"The cinematography?" Jake teases lightly, "You were hiding in my shoulder for half of it."

"Because it was scary," you swat his arm, rolling your eyes at him, "You're supposed to protect me. Not make fun of me."

"I'm just saying..."

"You're saying nothing," you shake your head, grinning, "Don't think I didn't see you flinch a few times, too."

"You got me," he winces a little, then it's his turn to grin, "But at least I didn't scream out loud at the part with the axe, unlike someone—"

"Stop, that was so embarrassing!" You groan, bringing a hand to your face. "I'm pretty sure the entire row in front of us turned around to look. I can never go back there again!"

Jake just laughs, and you're hiding your face further in the palms of your hands as you plead with him not to tease you any further.

It's nice. Easy. He only wishes the night didn't need to end. But, alas, he's pulling up just outside your place, putting the car into park, feeling a little foolish now for having slipped that condom into his pocket at all. As if tonight could have ended any other way. But he shakes the thought away. That's not what he's here for. He's just glad that he even got to hold your hand.

"Well," he starts a little shyly, "If you're too embarrassed to go back, we can do something else next time?

He looks at you. Eyes shining. Hopeful.

"Jake..." you smile, "I had a great time tonight."

His heart swells, warm and fragile, like a balloon stretched too thin.

"But..." you continue, and he feels himself start to deflate. You look down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, "I probably can't hang out like this for a while. You know how I am. Busy with school and all my other classes."

There's a silence, the engine still humming in the background.

"I'll help you," he then says. It's too eager sounding, the words just tumbling out of him as he goes on, "Whatever it is. Whatever class. I can do it."

"Really?" You look at him wide-eyed, seeing him nod enthusiastically, "You'd do that for me?"

"I'll do anything," he continues to nod without a second thought, "It's nothing to me, if it means—"

You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, and he feels himself turn bright red, butterflies exploding in his chest. He's breathing heavy as he watches you pull away, your lips against his skin forever burned into his memory.

"You're the best, Jake."

"You don't mean that," he waves it off bashfully, smiling like an idiot now.

"No, I do," you smile right back, tilting your head to the side. "You're just the sweetest thing, you know?"

He looks at you, eyes dropping to your lips.

This is the part where he's supposed to kiss you, right?

He'd pictured it so many times in his head that he couldn't even believe it might be happening. It's too surreal. Feels too far removed from anything within the realm of possibilities, and yet here he is. With you in his car. Sitting in silence.

He's not sure how it's supposed to work. Or when the right moment is, but he feels like it has to be now.

Swallowing his nerves and his fears and everything else, he starts to lean in, his eyes about to fall shut when—

"You're a really great friend."

His stomach drops.

"You're just so easy to talk to, you know?" You continue, as if his entire world isn't crumbling around him.

He pulls back. Watching you. Confused. Hurt. It doesn't hit him all at once, dizzy and disoriented from the whiplash you've just hit him with.

"Any girl would be lucky to have—"

"Friend?" The word escapes him like a sharp, ugly hiss, tasting bitter on the tip of his tongue.

"What?"

You blink innocently—or, with what he would've convinced himself was innocence only moments ago, had you not decided to rip his heart and squash it beneath your feet like it means nothing to you. Like he means nothing.

"I did your assignments for you. I took you out, paid for everything," His voice is shaking now. He can hear it, can hear how pathetic he sounds, but he can't stop. "And you think I'm trying to be friends?"

"I don't understand—?"

"I like you. You know that I like you and you still..." Shaken, he trails off, looking back at the steering wheel. He can't look at you anymore. Actually, he thinks he'll literally die if he has to spend any longer in your presence, playing whatever game it is that you've been playing with him. "Forget about the schoolwork. I'm done with you."

"Jake—"

"Get out of my car." He manages, "Please, just leave me alone."

He's blinking away tears that threaten him, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

You don't move, but something in you shifts. He can't quite place it, but it's like the air around you grows colder, distant. The softness drains from your face, replaced by something else entirely.

"Seriously?" You scoff, low and annoyed, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jake's eyes snap back to you, arms folded over your chest as you scowl. Not pouting. Not looking concerned or helpless or confused like you usually do.

"You're the most annoying nerd I've ever had to deal with. You know that?" You continue, venom dripping with every word, "Every other loser folds with a bit of flirting and a couple selfies, but you? You realize how much time and energy I've spent on you? God, I'm way too deep in thermodynamics hell to find a new pathetic little thing to deal with, but you can bet your ass that as soon as this semester ends, I'm never, ever going near you again."

Jake's jaw falls slack, and you take a deep breath.

"And I'm literally so nice to you. I had you over in my house, on my bed. I pretended not to notice your boner—which you're terrible at hiding, by the way. I even went on a fucking date with you and clung to your arm for, like, an hour," you huff, exasperated, like you've just been dying to get it all off your chest. "What else could you possibly want from me?"

He doesn't react. He doesn't know how to.

"You were pretending." His voice is timid. Weak. Everything he tried so hard pretending not to be all night. "Everything you said, playing with my hair, going out with me, holding my hand..."

"You're just making it sound bad," you sigh, "You liked all those things, didn't you?"

"I liked them because I thought they were real."

"What difference does it make?" You snap.

Jake swallows the lump in his throat. He always knew he was a loser. Always knew he was a bit of a pathetic simp. But he never truly thought he could ever be this blind—this stupid.

"Your phone," he recalls the cracks, "That was fake, too?"

"A real convenient coincidence, wasn't it? I thought for sure I'd lost you. Luckily—or unluckily—the universe gave me a real excuse," you wave it off, looking at him, "So. What is it you want, hm? I have an assignment due in a few days, and the clock is ticking. Let's get this over with."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Come on. Everyone has something," you groan, "You could show me off to your other nerd friends. Is that what you want? Or are you gonna be one of those perverts who asks for my used panties or something?"

"You've traded your panties for grades?" His eyes go wide. The image is ugly and nothing like the fantasy he'd built up of you in his head. "How far have you gone for—?"

"I'm not a prostitute." You snap, "No touching."

Right. You've done this to other guys before. Not only was he tricked, but he's not even special. He's just the latest unfortunate soul in a long line of desperate idiots who line up to worship the ground you walk on.

Campus slut, Sunghoon had called you. Jake had scoffed at the time. Wanted to defend you. Convinced himself his roommates didn't know you like he knows you. This might even be worse than any of them could've ever imagined.

That's the sad part, too. He could sit here and ask for your used panties, but he didn't even want that. He never did. Sure, he'd gotten hard over things he probably shouldn't have. Had wet dreams about you that he should probably never repeat out loud. But talking to you was never about just wanting to get laid— even if he'd thought of it countless times. All he really wanted was to be wanted.

You start to get impatient with his silence.

"Look. I didn't want to be so brutally honest, but you were starting to act like I was your girlfriend, and I panicked." You take in a breath, still watching him. "But... I could've been a little nicer, so I'm sorry, okay? Does that make you feel a little better?"

He is just looking at his hands, the hands you held in the theatre. Which apparently now meant absolutely nothing.

"Alright, fine. Maybe this time I can make an exception," your voice is a little softer this time. "What about second base? Is that enough for you?"

"I already said I don't want anything."

"Jake," you start, your hand landing at his knee, thumb stroking in slow circles. "You're a virgin, right?"

"I'm—"

"Shh..." you press a finger to his lips, your other hand now sliding up his knee to his thigh, "I know you are, it's okay. You've never touched a girl, either, have you?"

He shakes his head.

"Then I'll ask again." Your hand trails high enough that it's just barely grazing the tent in his jeans, but still somehow earning a sound from him.

You look up at him through your lashes, like you've finally caught him, and take his hand. He watches, wide-eyed, as you lead his hand closer to you, hovering just above the swell of your breasts. His hand is so close he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, almost touching.

"Is second base enough for—?"

"No."

He draws his hand back, and your expression falls... and so does something else. Both of your eyes land on the condom- the one in his jacket pocket, which had decided to choose that exact moment to fall to the floor.

His face burns with humiliation. How stupidly hopeful he'd been just hours ago, stealing it from Heeseung's bedside like it was a talisman that could make him into someone you might actually want.

He scrambles to pick it up, but you beat him to it, holding it between your fingers with an amused expression. You're grinning like you're trying to hold back a laugh, and he thinks that kind of reaction might be worse than disgust.

"No?" you echo him, reaching to tuck the little foil back into his pocket for him. You give it a few pats before drawing back your hand. "Don't get too greedy, Jake. You know I won't do that."

"I wasn't—I was just—" he shakes his head, collecting himself, "I'm not gonna ask to feel your tits in exchange for homework answers. That's just weird," He says weakly, like it hurts him. Honestly, it does, a bit, because he's about to turn down the opportunity to feel you up in exchange for something far more pathetic sounding. "But..."

"But...?"

He looks at you, thinking of how pretty you look in the dim light—how romantic this would feel if the circumstances were different. It's just not fair how badly he aches for something he knows now, for certain, that he'll never have; something real. But he thinks that if, even for a moment, he could feel the same way he had in the theatre, when you'd taken his hand and held it, that maybe he could settle for just pretending that it's real. Maybe he could go home tonight and not feel entirely awful.

"Would you kiss me?"

You blink.

"Just a kiss?"

"Yeah," he can feel his ears turning red, "But you have to kiss me like you want me. Like we're actually on a date."

Your eyes flicker over him for a good few seconds, expression unreadable. Not upset, not weirded out, just... thinking.

"One kiss, and you promise to do my work for the rest of the semester?"

"One kiss to cover the debt you owe from the past three assignments," His voice is firmer now, though his hands are still shaking, "Then we can negotiate the rest."

"Seriously?"

"You need my help more than I need your stupid kiss," he shrugs, eyes flickering to your lips. "You asked for my price. This is the cost of my labour. Take it or leave it."

"Fine." You inhale, "One kiss—"

"With tongue."

"...With tongue," you deadpan.

You sigh, reaching up to take his glasses off. Your fingers brush his temples, gentle despite everything, and you fold the glasses carefully, setting them in the cupholder.

In this light, he looks different. Not that anything about him has changed. Rather, you're acknowledging things about him that you hadn't thought too much of before. Unlike a lot of other nerds you've led on, Jake actually showers. His skin is clear, and his smile is bright. You suppose he's also a lot kinder than the rest, too, if that counts for anything. And now that you're looking at him up close, without his glasses, you're thinking that maybe he's actually kind of cute.

Still. That's not enough to make your heart race, or something. He's pathetic enough to ask for a kiss in exchange for doing your work. That says all you need to know about him.

You lean forward and press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. Slow, tentative, expecting a nervous response from him, so you're a little bit taken aback by the way he returns the kiss so eagerly. He's needy, not exactly rough, but too worked up to be gentle, and his hand comes up to your jaw a little too fast, fingers pressing in just enough to keep you there, like he's afraid you'll tear away all too soon.

He's messy with it. All tongue and desperate whimpers, not trying to hide how badly he clearly wants you— like he's been thinking about this for weeks and doesn't give a shit about hiding it anymore. It's not the most coordinated of kisses, but it certainly makes you feel something.

You start to forget that you're supposed to be pretending to enjoy it— not actually enjoying it. So much that you don't notice right away how his hands reach for your waist.

"Closer?" He practically whines against your mouth, "Please, can you...?"

You're sighing as you concede, not fully understanding why you choose to. You tell yourself it's to make him content enough so that he won't complain later when you ask for help again, but you're sliding into his lap so easily, dress riding up, suppressing your own noises as his hands roam your body so freely. It's only when you feel his hand slide up, feeling your chest, that you're coming to your senses.

You break the kiss, panting, hands on his shoulders to push yourself away. He lets you, but not without a string of saliva connecting your mouths. He's breathing heavily, lips swollen, and eyes wide with an emotion you can't quite read.

"The deal was a kiss," you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice comes across shakier than intended.

He just stares at you, chest heaving, like he's trying to process what just happened. His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, then down to where your dress has bunched up around your thighs.

"I know," he says, his voice rough. "I know. I just... got carried away."

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the solid evidence of his desire pressing right up against you. This is dangerous territory. You've always been in control of these situations, leading guys on, getting what you need, and walking away unscathed. But something about Jake's desperation, the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes, has you losing your grip.

"Please, just..." his eyes drop to your heaving chest, "Can I see them? Or like touch them?"

He's like a helpless puppy begging for a scrap of affection. And it's pathetic, really. But also... kind of hot in a weird, sort of sad way. You're not sure what that says about you, but you're there, in his lap already and against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding regardless.

You bite your lip, watching him swallow hard as you slowly pull down the strap of your sundress. You can see the hope in his eyes, the way he's practically holding his breath as the fabric starts to fall, revealing the lace of your bra. Under his gaze, fixed and intense, he reaches behind you, fumbling with the clasp until your bra falls away, and you're bare to him.

He makes a sound, a strangled, restrained sounding gasp that's part surprise, part pure, unadulterated lust. His hands are on you in an instant, not rough, but with a curiosity that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you can't help the small sigh that escapes your lips.

"You're beautiful," he breathes.

Oh. Your face heats up, and the throb between your legs suddenly becomes a bit harder to ignore.

You should stop this. You know you should. You've given him what he asked for already with this deal.

His mouth is on your chest. Sucking. And he can't control the way his hips buck up into yours, muttering sweet whispers into your skin. You allow yourself, if only for once, to enjoy it—not daring to allow any of the sounds you desperately wish to make escape you, but closing your eyes and just letting him do his thing. You couldn't even begin to remember the last time you've been touched like this, with this kind of earnestness.

All too soon, his hips stutter, and he's whimpering into your skin. His hands are at your hips, gripping you in place, moving them against his own, almost subconsciously, and you can't even form a single word as you watch him grind up against you, chasing the craps of friction you've offered him until he's coming apart. A string of choked noises leaves him as he rides out his orgasm, and you stare, unblinking, in... shock? Horror? Awe, maybe?

You stare at his pretty, big brown eyes, and his perfectly kissable lips, and the gorgeous expression on his face as he unravels beneath you until he goes still. Breathing. Forehead against your bare chest as he collects himself.

Then, you blink.

"Did you just...?"

He doesn't answer, but he nods against you, and your blood runs cold.

Suddenly, you remember where you are, who you're with, and why you're here. Suddenly, you remember you're right outside your place, in a university student-ridden neighbourhood, on a Friday night. Suddenly, you're just humiliated as he is—if not more—and sick to your stomach at the realization of just how fucking badly you want him right now.

You push him away, not too hard, but enough to make a point. He looks up at you, dazed, his lips slick and swollen.

"Did you actually just cum in your pants right now?"

"Sorry," he stammers, though he does seem like he means it, even if his eyes are glued to your tits now. "Sorry, just—"

"Yeah. You should be sorry. Because what the hell?” You shake your head, all too defensively. "That wasn't a part of the deal, you freak!"

He watches you fumble with your bra strap, watches you smooth down your dress, watches you avoid his eyes. Your movements are sharp, defensive, like you're trying to erase the last five minutes from existence.

For a moment, he had you. Now, all he was left with was the shame of the aftermath; you, looking at him with disgust. Him, humiliated. His pants, ruined, sticky and uncomfortable.

"I can't believe I let a loser like you touch me," you continue, muttering more to yourself in disbelief than anything else, "That was so... just... ew!"

Your words are like a slap in the face, only instead of knocking him down, they make him snap back to reality, like he'd suddenly just decided to ask himself the question he should've been asking all along: what the actual fuck is he doing?

He can't make you like him. He can't even make you respect him. Clearly, you can't even pretend to either, even with your grades on the line.

He feels different, like something about jizzing in his pants reset his brain and brought him back to normal again. Maybe that's just the post-nut clarity talking, but regardless, he's seeing you now. Not that fake fantasy version of you in his head, but you.

You need him. You need him far more than he needs you. Without him, you fail thermodynamics—you'll sit there, in your room all alone, staring at a textbook you don't understand, praying for a miracle.

He's not the pathetic one. You, the one adjusting your dress in the dark, acting all high and mighty, pretending like you don't trade your dignity for easy A's, are the pathetic one.

The hurt isn't close to dissipating, still heavy and aching within him. The slight flutter in his heart that he feels in your presence isn't gone either. But something else lies beneath it all, something that feels a lot like freedom.

"Get out."

"Just give me a sec—"

"Get out," he snaps, flashing a glare at you while you're in the middle of fixing your hair in the side mirror. "Transaction's over. You can leave."

"Okay, jeez!" You scoff.

You get out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you, and he drives away from you faster than he's ever driven away from anything in his life.

"Well, well, well. Look who's back."

Jake doesn't say anything upon his return, hanging his keys and kicking off his shoes. Of course, all three of his roommates are still awake, sitting on that damn couch, waiting for the resident punching bag to return so they can have a good laugh before crawling to bed.

"So," Sunghoon says, a smirk on his face. "How was the big 'study date'?"

He doesn't react. Not really. He just stands there in the doorway, tired expression taking in each of theirs. The silence is abnormally long, and he notices how Sunghoon shifts in discomfort, how Jay sits up straight, how Heeseung's smile fades to concern.

"She asked me to do her homework again," he says, his voice flat, "Asked me to help with the rest of the semester too."

To his surprise, there's no 'I told you so'. For once, there's no laughing or mocking. Just silence.

Jake doesn't want to admit how much that means to him.

"So it was her." Jay says in a low voice, finally.

"The she-devil strikes again," Heeseung lightly jokes, but his tone remains sympathetic. "She really doesn't beat around the bush, does she?"

"You told her no, right?" Sunghoon blurts before Jake can respond, "Right?"

"I said yes."

The three of them sigh almost in unison. Jay has his face in his hands, and Heeseung shakes his head like a disappointed father, and Sunghoon just glares like he can't actually believe what he's hearing.

"Then I got to feel her up."

The chorus of disappointment stops, and they watch as a grin spreads across Jake's face. Not the dopey sort of puppy-love grin he used to wear when he thought of you. It's broken, revealing the hint of something cruel beneath it.

"She said I could touch her if I send her the answers, so I did, but..." He pauses, laughing to himself under his breath, "I'm not gonna send her shit."

The room goes quiet.

Heeseung is the first to move. He stands up slowly, like he's processing. He crosses the room, footsteps heavy on the hardwood, and stops in front of Jake.

For a second, he just looks at him. Then he places a hand on Jake's shoulder. Squeezes. Then grins wide.

"That's my boy."

Sunghoon recovers first. He grins, getting up to clap him on the back, and holds up a hand for a high-five. "Respect, man. Actual respect."

Jake leaves him hanging.

"No fucking way," Jay is also beaming like a proud father, "No way you actually did?"

"I did. And I'm not doing shit for her anymore," Jake says with a timid sort of smugness, "I'm done. I saw her tits, and I'm out. I'm serious this time."

"You guys hear that?" Heeseung shakes him, "Our little Jakey's all grown up."

"I'm not little."

"Your dick is little."

"Shut up, Sunghoon."

"He's just jealous," Jay rolls his eyes, moving to pick up his gaming controller. "He's never even seen tits in real life."

"I've seen plenty of tits!"

Sunghoon moves to try and wrestle Jay on the couch, their bickering falling on deaf ears as Heeseung returns his attention to Jake. He lowers his voice just a bit this time, his gaze softening.

"For real though. You're good? Like... actually good?"

Jake thinks about it. The drive home. The way his heart sank when you called him a friend. The way your voice sounded when you called him a loser.

Then, he offers his friend a smile.

"I'm good."

Heeseung smiles back before gesturing for him to join them for the next game, and Jake then seats himself on the couch. Laughing. Enjoying the rest of his night. Trying to ease the sting of your words.

He's not good. Not right now. But he'll feel better soon.

It's only a matter of time before you come crawling back.

The assignment deadline looms, a ticking clock in the back of your mind. It follows you everywhere—to class, to the dining hall, to bed at night when you should be sleeping.

Jake still hasn’t texted you the answers, even though you let him cross way too many boundaries just to secure it. You’re stewing in your own frustration. Never in all the times you’ve traded your attention for the academic labour of sad, lonely boys had you come across someone who asked for so much.

You kissed him. You let him grope your chest. You even made him cum in his pants. How on earth was that not enough to make him happy?

But. You kinda broke his poor little heart, didn’t you?

You sigh, and you realize, sitting alone in your bedroom with your textbook open to a page you've been staring at for at least forty-five minutes now, that maybe you were harsh.

You called him a loser. You called him gross for finishing in his pants—something you'd never seen happen before, something you should feel disgusted by, and yet something that you can't stop thinking about.

The thought should make you roll your eyes. It should make you shrug and reach for your phone to find the next desperate nerd willing to do your work. That's what you always do. That's what you've always done.

But Jake is different.

Unlike the other creatures you've put up with in the past—the ones who ask for nudes or used panties or god forbid feet pics—Jake was so stupidly, sickeningly sweet.

He blushed when you touched his arm. He held your hand like it was something precious. He asked you for a kiss when you offered him more. He called you beautiful.

You shift in your seat, pushing the memory away.

What an idiot.

There’s an inexplicable heaviness that sits in your chest that you’re still trying to decode. It's not guilt. You don't do guilt. Guilt is for people who care about things like morals and consequences and other people's feelings. But there's something else there that feels a lot like guilt if you squint.

You didn't need to cuss him off. Or belittle him. Or call him a gross loser for coming in his pants—the look on his face after, now forever burned into your mind. Not angry, not defensive, just hurt. Like you'd confirmed something he already believed about himself.

And underneath that disgustingly new achy feeling that you refused to name, there was a desire far worse:

You want him to text back.

You want him to want to text you back.

You want him to want you.

The thought is so foreign, so uncomfortable, that you shove it away immediately. You don't need his admiration. You don't need anyone's admiration. You're fine on your own.

Then, you look down at your textbook and sigh.

The assignment is due tonight. You haven't started. And Jake still hasn't texted back.

So you do what any normal person would do.

You find where he lives.

Not in a creepy way. You just... have connections. Your roommate happens to have a friend who has a friend who knows a girl who went out with his roommate once. Sure, you had to do a little digging, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

You make sure to arrive dolled up, pretty as ever, hoping that when he opens that door, he'll fall to his knees and bark for you like the good mutt you know he can be. And when he answers it, he's definitely looking, but not with the same kind of desperation as before. Rather, he looks at you like he has the right to.

His eyes are entitled to wander every inch of your body freely without complaint. And to be fair, you realize that in order to get his help again, you might just have to let him. So you let him. You even give him a little smile.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone flat. He doesn't invite you in, only opening the door enough to block it with his frame. He glances a moment, back inside, distracted for a second until he turns back. "Wait, how did you even find where I live—?"

"The assignment is due," you state, plainly, "I'm collecting my end of the deal."

"Are you, now?" He scoffs, "Pretty sure that deal was broken when you started calling me a gross loser to my face."

Your eyes narrow at him, realizing he’d actually grown a semblance of a spine. How inconvenient.

"Come on, Jake, you got to take my bra off and hump me. That's way more than you bargained for."

"It's not," he says firmly, and before you can even protest that, or demand what it means, he continues, "And I'm not making deals with you anymore."

"Jake," you plead, "I'm going to fail."

"Good."

He tries to close the door on you, but you hold your arm out to keep it open.

"No. Not good," you snap, "Stop being a dick and just tell me what you want!"

"What I want, huh? Well, it's gonna take a lot more than some used panties or a pair of tits, I can tell you that much," He mocks you, a grin you've never seen him wear before spreading across his face, "What exactly are you willing to-"

You grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging his face down to meet yours at eye level. Those big brown eyes of his blink at you, and that's how you know. You know he's still in there. The Jake who looks at you like you're the sun, and he's the planet perpetually stuck in your orbit. Not the new “Jake” who ignores your texts and acts like he doesn't want your attention.

"Anything," you seethe, sounding a little more desperate than you would hope to, but that is what you are. You still need his help. You still need to know that he wants you. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He blinks, his twisted smile returning in an instant.

"You want a blowjob or something, you perv?" You roll your eyes at his expression, "You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."

You let go of his shirt, and he stumbles back as he begins to laugh, foot kicking the door. Distant laughter joins him, and the door opens just enough to reveal his three roommates sitting there on the couch, looking real amused by the scene that just played out.

"Shit, you hear that, Jake?" Heeseung calls out, "Buy one, get one free. That's a steal."

"Didn't know blowjobs were on sale this season," Jay snorts, "What's next, handjobs for half off?"

"Is swallowing included, or is that a part of the premium package?" Sunghoon grins, eyes meeting your murderous glare, "What? I'm just trying to understand the business model."

You feel your face flush with humiliation, and Jake just watches.

"Jake," you step closer, voice just above a whisper, a quiet plea, "You want something. Everyone does. Don't act like-"

He grabs you by the wrist, pulling you inside. And you both ignore the shock and teasing that escapes his roommates as he practically pushes you inside his room, firmly shutting the door behind him.

It's a small, cluttered space, but it's clean. A desk with his gaming PC, his twin bed in the corner with a rumpled comforter, and some nerdy-looking posters on the wall. It's exactly what you expected.

You open your mouth to speak again, but he cuts you off.

"I don't want a blowjob." The words cut you off, flat and final. He's already pulling out his phone, thumb swiping across the screen. He doesn't look at you. "I want something else."

He opens his roommates' group chat. Scrolls. Taps. Then, he's holding up his screen for you. A video loads, sent only a few minutes ago—blurry, shot from inside the apartment, the frame slightly obstructed by what you think is a couch pillow or someone's pocket. Though your voice is unmistakable.

"I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Jake can be heard too, but his voice is a little lower, and with his back turned to the camera, he's not easily identifiable. It could be any dark-haired guy at your school.

"You want a blowjob or something, you perv? You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."  

Your face is clearly revealed in the final frame just as the door cracks open, and just before the camera falls into the couch cushions. The video then cuts off.

You blink at what you'd just been shown, your stomach dropping, then you blink at the man before you.

"What I want is for you to promise you'll never do this to anyone ever again." His voice is steady. He locks the screen and tucks the phone into his back pocket. "Otherwise, this is getting sent straight to the university's confessions page."

You twitch, and your fingers curl at your sides.

"Jake." You let the old sweetness drip back into your voice—the one that used to make him blush, the one that used to work. "Are you really trying to blackmail me?"

"I'm not trying to." He holds your gaze. "I am."

You gape.

"My roommates want to leak it right away." He shrugs, moving away to lean back against his desk, arms crossed. "But I thought you at least deserved a chance to redeem yourself."

He lets the words hang. Lets you imagine the comments. The screenshots. The whispers in the hallway.

"You know what this would mean for you." His voice is quiet. Matter-of-fact. "Social suicide. No one will talk to you. No one will want to associate with you. You'll be..." He pauses, tilting his head. "Ah, what do you call it again? Right. A loser."

The word lands like a slap.

"Aw, don't look so down," he coos, "You'll always have me, right?"

You scoff, narrowing your gaze.

"You can't do this to me."

"Oh, please." He pushes off the desk and takes a step toward you. "You started this. It isn't even a big ask. Just stop flaunting yourself around and open your textbook for once."

You glare at him.

It isn't a big ask. But it's not about what he's asking you to do. It's the fact that he's holding this over your head, thinking he has the right to control you, acting like he's above your little con—all for what, revenge? Vengeance?

Boys are usually easy. You're not sure how you got stuck making deals with the most difficult of them all. But a boy is still a boy. And Jake is still Jake. And currently Jake is, you notice as your eyes drop, obviously hard in his pants.

His sweatpants do nothing to hide it. You watch his eyes drag over you—your lips, your chest, the curve of your waist—against his better judgment. He swallows, and you smile to yourself. He's still in there.

"It kills you, doesn't it?" You step closer, voice like silk. "Having a girl in your bedroom for the first time. Offering to let you do anything you want with her. And turning it down just to pretend like you're a hero."

His jaw tightens.

"Are you hoping to be applauded?" You tilt your head. "For saving all those poor innocent guys from the terrible fate of a pretty girl flirting with them?"

"It's more than that."

"Jake." You laugh, "All the other losers on campus aren't going to thank you. The only thing you'll get out of this is a pat on the back from your little friends. But if you make a deal with me..."

You reach out, trailing a finger down his chest, then let your palm slide over it instead. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your touch, his chest heaving as you look up at him through his lashes.

"I can make it more than worth your while."

You drop to your knees, ignoring how they dig into the cold, hard floor. The look on his face is priceless, seeing him slowly unravel in your grasp.

"You're upset, aren't you?" Your hand trails up and down his thigh, and your eyes shift back and forth from him to the desire in his pants, "I've been feeling down, too. I miss the little thing we had going on. It was easy, don't you think? You and me. Helping each other out."

"I helped you." His voice is strained. "And then you hurt me."

"I was so mean to you last time, wasn't I?" Your hand rests above cock this time, and he winces at the feeling of your palm engulfing him, even if through the barrier of fabric. You lean forward enough to nuzzle him, lips brushing over his crotch, "I'm sorry... But I can make up for it."

You tease him—slow, deliberate, mouth half parted over him.

"Just forget about the video." You purr, finally pressing your palm against him—just enough pressure to make him gasp. A strangled whine escapes his throat. "And just send me the assignment, Jake. I'll let you have your way with me. I'll scream loud enough to make your roommates wish they were you. You just have to click send."

You look up, and you know that look. It's the same one that folded for you when you brushed his shoulder at your house, ultimately convincing him to do your work. It's the same one he had in the car when you offered him second base. It's the look of someone who wants something so bad that they can't possibly deny themselves any longer.

"You said anything?"

"Anything."

He looks at you, pained. Helpless. Brows furrowed together, then he nods.

Your eyes glimmer.

He pulls out his phone. His thumb moves across the screen, and you wait somewhat impatiently. It feels like it takes longer than it should, you think, before your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

You immediately move to open it, ignoring the other notifications.

Jake: [sent Assignment_3.pdf]

He reaches out immediately, his fingers tangle in your hair. It's not gentle. It's a warning. Your phone tumbles from your grasp, landing with an ungraceful thud to the floor.

"You better act like you enjoy it."

You don't flinch; instead, you lock eyes with him, letting a sly smile curve your lips before your fingers hook around the waistband of his pants. His length springs free from its confines, baring him to you for the first time, and admittedly, you stare.

"That's a nice surprise," you coo, sounding genuinely impressed, rather than the act you had planned on, as you wrap your hand around his cock, thumb collecting the precum at his tip and spreading it down the length of him. You look up, seeing how he watches in complete adoration and awe, biting down his lip. He's barely holding himself together already, and you're already grinning at the thought. "You're big. You've really been keeping this thing hidden away?"

Your lips part around the head of his cock. Your tongue darts out , lapping up every drop of precum you can taste—salty, warm, proof that you've already got him. He whines, fingers curling tighter in your scalp.

"Ah- fuck," You hear him hiss. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

You moan around him, low and appreciative, the vibration buzzing straight through his shaft as you take him deeper, inch by inch, your mouth stretching to accommodate his thickness, taking him like your damn life depends on it- and well, your social life now does depend on it. Your tongue presses flat against the underside to trace every ridge and vein, and you can't look away from him. You're just beaming, knowing that he's struggling so hard not to lose himself this soon, when you've only just started.

His thighs tremble, muscles jumping under your hands as you grip them for leverage, nails digging in just enough to heighten the sensation. A whine slips from him, high and needy, when you take him down your throat, relaxing to let him nudge the back. You gag softly on purpose, eyes watering but never breaking contact.

"Fuck... you're really working for it, huh?" he stammers, almost in disbelief, "Maybe if you'd done this at the start, I would've done your work- shit."

His hips are stuttering into your mouth, throwing you off, and his words are laced with a mix of mockery and raw hunger, even as his body betrays him with those trembling jerks. You keep taking him anyway.

"B-but you chose to lead me on. Let me hope," He grabs your hair this time, pulling you closer despite the whines escaping him, "You're such a bitch."

Strangely, his words send a sharp pain through you, and his sounds, which grow more desperate as you work your mouth on him, start to sound less like a whimper and more like a cry, like a wounded animal. You knew you had hurt him. You just never placed yourself in a position where you had to confront that reality. But here, on your knees for him, you were forced to.

He finishes with no warning, unravelling completely in your devoted mouth, and you swallow every last drop, up until the moment he's dragging your head off of him and staring down at you. He's starry-eyed, a little distant-looking, laced with a foreign sort of desire that you don’t quite understand.

"Jake—?"

You're not sure how it happens, but you're being pushed to the bed, lips clashing into yours, tugging your clothes off your body until you're bare. You only pull him closer, removing his shirt too, and he kicks his pants to the side. He wastes no time dipping his head between your thighs, marvelling first at just how wet you were for him, then letting a shaky finger drag through the folds.

"Wanna taste you." The words escape him almost involuntarily, before he's diving right in, lapping at your folds with an eagerness that makes you gasp.

There's no teasing. His tongue laps at your folds, sloppy and unsure. There's no technique, just raw, desperate need, and yet somehow, it has you gasping for air like you've forgotten how to breathe. Your hips jerk involuntarily as he grabs you, pressing his face further into you.

You shouldn't love this nearly as much as you do. You shouldn't be showing him your cries of pleasure- you should be having to fake them. But your body betrays you. You want this. You want him so fucking badly.

Jake doesn't stop to think or second-guess; he just devours you with single-minded focus, eyes shining in wonder every time they flicker up to note your reaction, and you're losing yourself. Your fingers twist into his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, and yet it only makes him moan against your skin, adding fuel to his burning desire. Clumsy or not, it's too much, too intense, and your back arches off the bed, legs threatening to thrash around, though he keeps your thighs steady.

"Jake—ah, Jake!" The name rips from your throat, not only loud enough for everyone in the house to hear, but you'd be surprised if the neighbours didn't hear it, too. Your breaths come in sharp, uneven pants, body coiling tight.

"Come for me," he mutters into you, and you swear you feel his stupid grin between your legs. "Come for the disgusting loser you hate."

You come with a cry, trembling all over, soaking his chin as your thighs clamp around his head. But he doesn't stop. His hands lock onto your thighs, fingers digging in to hold them wide, keeping you pinned as his tongue keeps working—lapping up your release, circling your oversensitive clit with that same relentless hunger.

"Jake—ah—Too much," You sob it out, voice breaking into higher pitches, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

He just keeps going, humming against you, coaxing his name from your mouth until you're a whimpering mess.

When he finally pulls away, crawls back up to cup your face, staring at you.

"You let me do that," he breathes, "And you liked it."

It's not a question. It's a fact. He knows it. You know it. You both know it. If screaming his name like that wasn't proof of it, the stickiness between your legs and all over his chin certainly served as evidence enough.

You can fake flirt with him. You can fake a pitiful, sorry-eyed gaze that makes him weak in the knees. But you can't fake the way your body reacts from his touch. That, alone, seems to make him malfunction all over again, his face flushed, and his eyes dropping to your lips again.

And though you only just finished coming down from your high, you're pulling him down to kiss you, hungry and wet and needy and... slow. He kisses you slow this time, breathing you in, letting his mouth learn the shape of yours. You feel the length of him against your thigh, hard again, and against all common sense, you let yourself say the one thing you never thought you'd be saying to him, of all people, so easily.

"Fuck me."

He pulls away, but he blinks from the fog in his glasses. Quickly, he removes them, fumbling around as he scrambles to hover back over you. His arms brace himself on either side of the bed, and you look up. You could take back your words. But you don't. You don't want to.

"...What?"

"Fuck me," you repeat, a little slower this time like you're spelling it out for him, "I want you to fuck me, Jake."

He looks at you, and for a moment, you see a flicker of hesitation, a flicker of the Jake you'd known that first week of class, the one who was so desperate for your affection.

"Okay," he nods, a little dazed, "Okay, lemme just..."

His hand fumbles around at his bedside, half-blindly for the little foil he'd had yet to use, but you beat him to it. You tear it open, rolling it down his cock yourself. And, a little clumsily, he positions himself, though he turns to you uncertain, his eyes meeting yours.

"You know, when I said 'you better act like you enjoy it' I didn't mean like you have to. I was just kinda saying stuff," his voice is soft, sounding almost conflicted. His hands are at your waist, thumbs moving in slow circles, and though he's achingly hard against you, he hesitates, "So if you don't want this—"

"I want this," you affirm him, and you sort of raise your brow, "Do you want this?"

He smiles, then practically scoffs in disbelief at your question.

"Do I?" He laughs, a slight shakiness to it, "I've dreamed of this."

He presses his hips forward, and you both gasp at the sudden intrusion. He's big, but it's more than you expected, and the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, is overwhelming. A whine escapes him as he pushes just a little further, until he's buried all the way in. Then, he takes a moment to steady his breathing, like he's trying not to cum on the spot.

"F-fuck, I thought about this every day for weeks." The confession is ripped out of him, hands digging just a little harder into your waist at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, "You're so tight, holy shit."

He starts to move, slow, like if he dared to move any faster, it might end all too soon, though you're thankful he does, considering you feel every movement all the way in your guts. You're a mess yourself, hands digging into his shoulders for support.

"Thought about your face," he keeps going, his mouth running like he doesn't know how to stop it. His hand moves to your jaw, taking in your glossy-eyed gaze and parted lips. "Thought about you saying my name-"

"Jake," you involuntarily squeak, his hips starting to pick up the pace just a bit.

"Just like that," he half-laughs, half-moans, looking down at your chest. He brings his hand to it, "Thought about these. Thought about all the pretty noises you'd make."

You're arching your back, meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. He leans down, capturing one nipple between his lips, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak. His free hand slides down your side, gripping your hip to angle you better, driving deeper into your slick heat. You can feel every inch of him dragging against your inner walls, the friction building that delicious pressure low in your belly.

"You like this, don't you?" He breathes. Though he's bringing a hand to your face, forcing you to look at him, "You like being fucked by the nerd you used."

You can't answer, can't form a coherent thought. All you can do is feel, feel the way he's filling you, the way he's making you feel alive in a way you haven't in a long, long time. You nod mindlessly, uncaring.

One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses there, sucking into your skin like he wants to claim every part of you.

"If I'm such a gross loser, what does that make you?" His breath is at your neck, then at your ear. "Campus slut, right? That's what they'll call you."

You cry out his name, a raw, desperate sound, as his cock presses right against the right spot inside you, and he's already following you over the edge. You clench around him, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucks you through your climax, riding out his own release you until you've both gone still.

He collapses on top of you, his body heavy and warm, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For a moment, you just lie there, tangled together, the smell of sweat and sex thick in the air. It's dizzying, trapping you in a post-climactic haze, so much that you cannot suppress the way your chest swells as he nuzzles into you. You look down at his peaceful form and instinctively, your hand reaches for his head, brushing through the mop of hair on his head. The gesture draws a groan from his throat, making you smile.

"You like it when I do that, right?" You ask softly.

He hums approval into you, arms wrapped tighter around you, all sweetly like he hadn't just fucked your brains out moments ago. It's nice. It's easy.

His breathing evens out, and for a second, you think he might have fallen asleep. So you just stroke his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands. You’ve always thought his hair is soft. The kind of soft that makes you want to bury your face in it and never come up for air.

"Jake?" You whisper.

"Mm?"

Your words get caught in your throat for a moment, your heart beating faster than you're used to. It makes you want to laugh at yourself.

"I liked holding your hand in the movie theatre," you finally say, with an unintended shakiness to your voice that makes your cheeks grow warmer, "and I liked kissing you in the car after."

He tilts his head at you, smiling. Wordless. Unreadable. You're not sure why it makes you nervous. You're not really sure what kind of response you had been hoping for, either.

"Just... thought I should let you know."

You scratch a particular spot close to his ear, and he lets out another happy grunt.

Your phone pings the floor, discarded somewhere along with your clothes, but you ignore it, deciding Jake's arms are too warm, and his bed is too comfy. But then it pings another time. Then another. Then his head turns to you.

"Not gonna check that?"

"Should I?" you raise a brow, and he shrugs.

You sigh, begrudgingly pushing yourself from the bed. It's probably your roommates texting about someone's dirty dishes, or your friends blowing up the group chat. But when you dig your phone up, you're blinking at the notifications.

Crawling back into the bed, you swipe through them as they filter in. Tags, messages, reactions, and your stomach drops at the one that stands out most—a mention in the university confessions page.

It's the video. From outside his door. Your voice, your face, your words: "You want a blowjob or something, you perv? "

There are already hundreds of comments, the video having been posted sometime an hour ago.

He sent it an hour ago.

You scroll in a panicked haze, skin crawling where his arms move to hold you again.

Laughing emojis. Jokes about your "business model." People you've never met are calling you a dumb whore, a desperate bitch. Campus slut. People you have met are calling you that, too. Your 'friends' have already unfollowed you, posting gossip to their stories, reposting memes.

Your social life is over. You could say goodbye to parties, to the circle of popularity you'd clawed your way into, to the image of perfection you'd upheld for years.

Pathetic. That's what you were, and that's all you'd ever be known for on campus from now until graduation, maybe even after.

The phone trembles in your grasp as you turn to him. You don't have the strength to ask how or when or why, though you suppose you already know why.

"Don't worry. I'll still help you with school," his voice is steady as he reaches over, taking his glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. "But that was my price."

✰.ᐟ read the epilogue Irreversible Process

nav • masterlist • thanks for reading ♡

[paarksunghoon]

I love morally grey characters in any form of fiction, but there’s something especially intriguing about jake being that kind of person who lets his desires come into play in the most unbelievable ways. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop the entire time once I realized mc was stringing him along as you did not disappoint.

[femnoo]

half a star on letterboxd

PAIRING ~ park sunghoon x kim sunoo

GENRES ~ social media au (smau), crack, some angst, actors au, coworkers to enemies to lovers

WARNINGS ~ swearing, sexual jokes, sunoo catches strays from sunghoon, cinephile behavior ahead be warned, lots of hating, way too many internet references

SUMMARY ~ In which Sunghoon makes his big acting debut starring as Sunoo’s love interest. His rise to fame is incredibly quick, until his letterboxd account gets leaked.

Featuring ~ enhypen, jang wonyoung

────────────────────

REVIEWS

profiles one | two

01. movie so good I had to ride it

02. release day

03. so this is how the cookie crumbles

TBA.

[sunsuncafe-deactivated20260524]

(𝐬𝐧𝐬𝐧) 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 (1.5k) sunghoon takes sunoo to a cozy café, sugary treats and playful teasing turn into a hot messy reward for hoon.

(𝐬𝐧𝐬𝐧) 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 (1.5k) sunoo turns the living room into a mini costume shop, making sunghoon “rate” his costumes. sunghoon struggling to stay calm his desire flares, what starts of playful quickly turns intense leaving sunoo breathless and panicked

(𝐬𝐧𝐬𝐧) 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 (1k) sunghoon teases sunoo in the hotel bed next to heeseung’s. sunoo can’t resist sunghoon’s advances, his body betraying him under the covers.

(𝐬𝐧) 𝐰𝐰𝐰.𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐳.𝐜𝐨𝐦 (1.1k) after a long day, you unwind by browsing a webcam site, only to be captivated by a camboy with the user xxsunxxx. click subscribe to continue the live !

(𝐬𝐧) 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 (5.1k) your scared of being replaced, subtly manipulating sunoo into choosing you over new connections. what begins as guilt‑tripping and emotional dependence escalates into deliberate control, blurring the line between care and possession.

(𝐬𝐧𝐬𝐧) 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 (1.7k) sunoo prepares a cute ribbon-wrapped surprise (that sunghoon will get good use out of) for sunghoon’s birthday.

(𝐬𝐧𝐬𝐧) 𝐩𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 (1k) sunghoon delighting in the effect his teasing has on sunoo quickly has him crying and desperate for release

go back?

[juwonsicle]

DOWN BAD ⤷ a sunsun mini smau series

ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ everyone is convinced that park sunghoon is straight, no one would ever think that not only is he extremely, and fully gay─── but also totally gone for student council president kim sunoo.

may contain 🌼 profanities, suggestive jokes, mlm, member × member, sunghoon fell first & harder (lol), classmates to lovers, non-idol au, college au, grumpy × sunshine (kinda?), downbad!hoon, stern!sunoo, slow burn. taglist is open :)

☀️ INDEX [ profiles here! ]

01 decelis biggest mystery 02 what are you doing here? 03 stop following me, you stalker! 04 first choice 05 screwed

info: update schedule is indefinite, send a comment or an ask to be on the taglist, thank you for reading :)

note: lolol this is so sudden considering I have 2 ongoing series I haven't touched.. oops. I promise I'll get back to them but I'm too excited for this one hehe. have fun! also.. I finally learned how to do colored text like this and I'm so happy with how it came out :3

✉️ @areikii @hoonsocks

© juwonsicle '26

[bambiens]

MR. POSSESSIVE ⋆˚࿔ — [p. sunghoon] part one

SYNOPSIS ⟢ Park Sunghoon can easily be described in three words: stuck-up, picky, and overly critical about everything and everyone. That was until he met you, ticking off everything he likes about you in his head. One problem, he's got too much pride and ego to do anything about it. The other problem? His best friend, Jake, actually took action and got to you first––and Sunghoon really hates when people take what's his.

pairing ⟢ stubborn grumpy! sunghoon x reader

genre ⟢ written, friends to lovers (?), university au

content warnings ⟢ smut with plot (18+), humour, profanity, use of alcohol, reader is with jake for a certain period in the story, mutual pining but they don't know, sunghoon is stubborn in the beginning but should lowkey be prescribed xanax later on, everyone in the story kinda makes poor decisions (depending how you view it), softdom! sunghoon, unprotected p in v sex, multiple rounds, overstimulation, fingering, oral (m & f. receiving), mild ass play, dirty talk, use of petnames (just baby), sunghoon is downright filthy in bed.

featuring ⟢ all of enhypen, giselle of aespa & anton of riize cameo(s)

word count: ~12k

author's note: official bambiens comeback with my first EVER full-length fic!! (please be kind to me), i genuinely didn't think i'd ever post a full-length fic –– let alone this one, like i thought this shit was gonna get sent straight into the basement. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing this!! also i haven't proofread this yet let me know if there are any mistakes please!

reblogs appreciated ♡

PARK SUNGHOON was always a hard guy to please. 

Exhibit A (extracted from age 5): As a child, he’d make a fuss whenever his mom forgot to cut the crusts off of his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

To this day, he still tells his mom that he didn't throw tantrums over bread crusts because he was “picky,” but simply because he had “food sensory issues.”

Exhibit B (extracted from age 10): He liked his toy figurines organized in a certain kind of way –– aligned on his shelf, standing upright, facing forward. Nothing else, no exceptions. 

One day, he found his limited edition Superman action figure fallen face flat on the shelf. 

His parents earthquake-proofed all of their furniture. 

…he later found out that his sister was secretly playing with his toys while he was at school.

Sunghoon didn’t come out of his room for three days after that.

Exhibit C (extracted from age 15): There were even instances in high school where he would get his grades appealed if he believed they were “marked incorrectly,” which, by the way, always got re-corrected in the end. Even if he really was wrong in the first place.

It was either his way or the highway.

In other words, Park Sunghoon was a complete perfectionist, and this fastidious behaviour followed him well into his adulthood. 

Somehow along the way, he managed to score himself a scholarship and landed himself a place in a prestigious university.

But even when he got there he was sensitive about the minor details. He was extremely particular about his class timetable, stuck to a tight-grit schedule, and even had certain criteria of who could be his friend and who couldn’t. 

And when it finally came down to choosing his university friends, he managed to pick people who were all in the same major, shared the same humour, had the same hobbies, and followed similar daily schedules as him –– but before you think of anything, no, they definitely weren’t as hypercritical as he was. 

Don’t get him wrong though, despite his meticulous and seemingly strict nature, he still found time to fool around and have fun whilst in school. 

If anything, Sunghoon considered himself as… quite the witty guy. 

He kept a mental list of things he likes. He likes watching funny cat memes on his feed, playing games on his computer during his free time, going clubbing with his friends every weekend, and he also really likes how the shawarma shop beside his place always had a buy-one-get-one deal on Thursdays.

He also had a list of things he hates. He hates when he has to share his food, or anything, really; he hates when people chew with their mouths open, he hates when freshmen walk too slowly on campus, he hates when his roommates “forget” to clean their dirty dishes –– honestly, the list could go on and on.

But, for the past couple of months, what he hated most was his best friend, Sim Jake.

Sunghoon didn’t always hate him though. If he hated him from the beginning, one, he wouldn’t have befriended him in the first place, and two, he wouldn’t have asked him to be one of his roommates –– which, this entire living situation soon became an issue with him. An extreme issue, he would call it, even.

So, what was the catalyst to the start of Sunghoon’s immense hatred towards Jake, you may ask? 

Well, it was you. 

At this point, Sunghoon’s heard it all. With people constantly calling him “nit-picky” and “extremely demanding,” always complaining that he has these crazy high standards for everything and that there’s nothing — better yet, no one — he ever liked from the get-go.

How exhausting does that sound?

Though he can admit, they’re all right about him being nit-picky, extremely demanding, and right about him having those “crazy high” standards. But, they were a bit wrong about that last part.

Park Sunghoon wasn’t sure about a lot of things, but he knew he was sure he liked you.

He guessed he always, at least, subconsciously knew he liked you from the second the two of you met during freshmen orientation –– he hadn’t realized it back then, but you kind of just checked off all the boxes in his mind.

With his personality though, he had never admitted it out-loud –– even if it was pain-stakingly obvious to all of his close friends.

It honestly really was just a little crush to him at first. He started looking for your face around campus, teasing you whenever you were around, occasionally texting each other. You know, doing the usual shit slightly delusional people always do to cope with their minor infatuations who don’t like them back.

Surprisingly over time, the two of you eventually became a lot closer and stuck around for longer …and also became a little more flirtatious with each other (at least that’s what Sunghoon thinks, but he’s not too sure). 

It got to the point where Sunghoon’s friends could tell whether he was in a good mood or not depending on whether he got a text from you that day.

You and Sunghoon were good, he thought things were going well –– he’s got game… right? 

Until one day, Sunghoon’s fairytale-princess-dream of living a life with the two of you together all came crashing down. 

To be honest, you’d never met Sunghoon’s so-called “best friends” the past year the two of you had been friends. You started to wonder whether they were real or if Sunghoon was just faking it and actually has no friends.

Eventually, you came to meet them –– Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, Riki, and Jake.

Sunghoon really hated that. He never even wanted to introduce you to his friends, you guys just bumped into each other by accident.

In his mind, he kind of just wanted to keep you as his little secret. After all, he met you first, befriended you first, and liked you first. And again, Sunghoon really hated sharing.

And, it sounds a teensy bit toxic but he’d always been competitive to the bone, maybe a little too much. So when he saw you started getting a lot closer to Jake than you were with him, it honestly felt like a two-faced betrayal. But he couldn’t say anything –– his ego and stubbornness wouldn’t let him.

Sunghoon kind of just watched and let it happen, so he honestly shouldn’t even be that mad. At first, he tried to bury the thought of you and Jake being “best friends” in the back of his head. But it didn’t help when you started coming over to his shared apartment to hang out with stupid, freaking Jake.

He always wondered why you chose Jake and not him.

All of Sunghoon’s friends had just adjusted from the fact that they thought he liked you to Jake being the one pursuing you instead. 

You and Sunghoon never “fell out,” however, the friendship felt a bit more distant. But what was Sunghoon supposed to do about it? Beg you to become best friends with him instead? Whenever he thought this way, he’d always feel like he reverted back into a kid.

When you’d come over, you would say “hi,” and engage in like, three-minute small talk with Sunghoon, and then go into Jake’s stinkin’ room and giggle with him and probably have so much fun with whatever the fuck Jake is doing. 

Sunghoon wouldn’t really know though, he couldn’t bring himself to ask what the two of you did when you left their apartment.

The most information he could get was when his other roommates would tease Jake about you. There was one particular time, however, where Sunghoon was royally pissed off over the two of you. According to him, this conversation was just so juvenile and hard-to-listen to this day. 

Sunghoon was in the kitchen fixing their coffee machine while silently eavesdropping on his roommates by the couch. Jay lightly nudged Jake’s shoulder, “So, you and y/n, what’s up with that?”

The second Sunghoon heard Jay drop the first vowel of your name, his ears immediately perked up.

Jake chuckles, staying focused on the game in front of him, “Nah man, chill. It’s nothing like that.”

Liar.

Heeseung tsks, tossing his controller down after losing a match against Jake, “If it was just ‘nothing’ then you wouldn’t be texting her all day and hanging out with her more than us.”

Right? Heeseung’s so right. If it really was just “nothing” then he wouldn’t have caught Jake kicking his feet up and down while on the phone with you.

“Guys, leave it, we’re just best friends.” Jake laughs.

Yeah right, that’s such bullshit cause Sunghoon had found out you two started dating, like, exactly a month later.

That was essentially the beginning of his own hell, agony, and his pure hatred towards Jake.

Sunghoon would see you waltz into his –– their, sorry –– apartment almost every day with a huge smile plastered on your face like shit was all sweet and rainbows and butterflies when he was suffering every waking minute.

Daily he’d see your annoyingly gorgeous face, hear your stupidly adorable laughter through the walls, and watch you and Jake be all lovey-dovey right in front of him. Sunghoon didn’t even know he could like a person to this extent, you just made him like this.

It actually made him sick in the stomach. That should’ve been him.

One morning, he genuinely contemplated jumping off of their balcony when you stepped outside of Jake’s room wearing his clothes. He wanted to shout, he wanted to remind you that you were his friend first, he wanted to ask you, “what do you see in him that you don’t see in me?”

But all he managed to spit out was, “Morning, you want coffee?” while gripping onto his penguin-shaped coffee mug so tight, that it was on the brink of shattering into pieces.

Now, Sunghoon knew it was wrong, and that you’re now quite literally his best friend's girlfriend but what ever happened to “dibs?” He knew you way before than dumbass Jake did.

One night, Sunghoon couldn’t fall asleep. He had been tossing and turning for the past two hours trying not to lose his mind over the fact that you were sleeping over at their place, again.

He thought some tea might help soothe and ease his anxiety a little bit, bringing him to sleep, so he got up and made his way over to the kettle in the kitchen. He got his favourite mug out and had the peppermint tea bag sitting nicely inside when he heard a small pip-squeak coming from the rooms.

At first he couldn’t actually tell if that sound was coming from the rooms or if it was just the steam from the kettle, but then a pip-squeak then turned into a muffled gasp –– a seemingly sexual sounding one he believed.

Sunghoon couldn’t bear to stick around longer to figure out whether you and Jake were having sex. That was enough for him to abandon his cup of tea and trudge his way over to Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki’s place in his house slippers and pajamas. 

He even bought ear-plugs at the convenience store on the way there.

Sunghoon honestly doesn’t really remember much after he bolted out of his apartment that night. But according to them, he got to their place and sat in the corner of their living room with his knees to his chest –– refusing to tell any of them what the matter was –– eventually falling asleep on the floor. 

Riki also did keep mentioning how Sunghoon started rocking back-and-forth while whispering to himself quietly, but everyone knows Riki has a thing for theatrics.

While yes, Sunghoon had thoughts about you that were most definitely against the bro-code, he never actually acted on them.

Like, yeah Sunghoon hated his best friend for stealing the love of his life, but that’s still literally his best friend –– whom he hates. It’s complicated, he can’t really explain it.

Over the course of a couple months, Sunghoon thinks he’s seen and heard it all, especially the arguments you and Jake would have. On those nights, he prayed he’d wake up to news that you guys finally broke up –– which never happened by the way.

Those arguments were usually petty and small, but a particular argument was unlike the rest. 

One day, you ran out of Jake’s room in tears. Sunghoon was on the couch watching the evening news with the volume turned up so high at the time, he couldn’t even hear you guys arguing anymore. But this was just usual protocol whenever you and Jake would argue, it felt almost invasive so all of the guys agreed to blast the TV and drown out the yelling sound.

At first, Sunghoon didn’t notice you crying hysterically –– not until he looked up and saw your face.

Sunghoon’s body reacted by itself. Without even meaning to, he found himself chasing after you to make sure you were okay. You two were still friends regardless of the fact that you were in a relationship with Jake, so he thought this was totally justifiable.

When Sunghoon finally caught up to you, he grabbed your arm, “Hey,” he spoke softly, “I can’t let you leave until I know you’re okay. What’s wrong?”

You finally turn to look at him, and he sees you: mascara running down your rosy cheeks, eyes all puffy, your nose running a little. It wasn’t long till you shrugged Sunghoon’s hand off your arm.

“Stop acting stupid,” you spat, “you guys are best friends, I know you that you know already. Really, what are you even here for? To seem like some good-guy-hero? Like, what, you’re gonna go on a whole tangent about how Jake is a great guy, that this is just some miscommunication, how he’ll apologize or that, maybe even I should be the one to apologize––”

Maybe Sunghoon shouldn’t have said what he said next, because it just made things worse.

“Is that really what you think of me, y/n? Like I’m just Jake’s loyal fucking lapdog running after you so I can take his side? He’s my friend, yeah, why would you ever think that lowly of me?”

At this point, you started to feel really bad for snapping on him when in reality, he was just trying to help.

Sunghoon lowers his voice, “I don’t even know what’s going on in your relationship. I don’t even ask about it because it hurts.”

Your face of dishevelment slowly turns into confusion as you keep listening to Sunghoon, “What are you talking about?”

Sunghoon knows he probably shouldn’t be talking about this right now, that he should just end the conversation there and maybe try to gaslight you into thinking that he actually said something else –– but it all slipped out.

He lets out a frustrated sigh accompanied with a quick eye-roll, almost like he can’t believe the words that he’s about to say, “I met you first. We were friends first. I liked you first. But I just let you slip away and now you’re his –– and I can’t do anything about it. I’ve been forced to just watch you with him. You don’t even know how bitter I get seeing you guys together. He knew I liked you first, and he took you away from me. You were supposed to be with me instead.” 

You have a boyfriend, this is your boyfriend’s best friend. This whole situation is fucked up. All you do is shake your head in disbelief, “What are you trying to say, what’s the whole point of this Sunghoon?”

A pause of silence passed by, and in those seconds of quietness, Sunghoon really tried hard to think, what is the whole point of him telling you this now? What did he think would even happen?

“I–I don’t know,” he stutters, “just– nothing. Just forget everything I said please, just forget about it. Let me get you an Uber home.”

The truth was, you understood what he meant completely and you couldn’t just simply forget about it. But you had to pretend.

Just in time, you saw Jake jogging towards you two in your peripheral vision. It wasn’t long until Sunghoon noticed.

The second Jake came to you, Sunghoon took a step back and left.

You honestly forgot about your argument with Jake until he apologized and insisted he drove you home. The drive back to your place was silent. Your head was leaned against the car window with your hands between your thighs the entire ride.

Jake turned onto your street, eventually pulling up to the entrance of your apartment. The two of you sit there for a while, the only sound coming from his fingers lightly drumming on the console. Your gaze stays fixed on a tree outside, too embarrassed to break the ice first.

He moves his hand onto the steering wheel, “y/n, I’m really sorry.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him before pushing the car door open, “It’s fine, just don’t let it happen again.”

Jake watches you shut the car door, make your way inside and up the elevator before he drives away.

That night, you had a lot to ponder about –– not just because of the argument you and your boyfriend had, but also because of what his best friend had just confessed to you..

Fuck, why should you even be thinking of Sunghoon again? Jake’s right here. Jake is your boyfriend… yeah.

⋆˚࿔

Mondays were always the worst for Sunghoon. At 8 a.m., he has Theory of Computation, then once that ends at 10, he has an hour to himself before he’s got three back-to-back classes till 4 p.m. On top of that, he also told Sunoo and Riki that he’d meet them at the library at 6:30 p.m. to get a headstart on their group project. 

Great, he thought, so now he’s able to schedule an hour-long nervous breakdown before he has to compose himself like a normal citizen and attend to his responsibilities again. 

Once he got home after his final lecture of the day, he sat on his desk chair (not his bed, he had his outside clothes on) and pulled out his phone from his backpocket.

“Google am I a bad person?”

Sunghoon’s staring at the searchbar waiting for the results to load on his phone, the floorboards creaking loudly because of how much he kept bouncing his legs out of anxiety. 

All he’s done the past 24 hours was replay the conversation he last had with you, and the more he kept thinking about it, the more he started to feel like he really fucked up this time. 

His first worry was you possibly telling Jake that he had just confessed his undying love for you –– but when he heard Jake say good morning the next day while making an omelette, he crossed that fear off the list. 

His second worry was that he might actually be a horrible person. Sunghoon always understood he was insufferable since birth, but never once has he thought he was a bad guy… until now.

Like, it’s a really fucked up situation right? He put you in a difficult position, and if Jake finds out then that’s goodbye to his best friend too –– oh god, what about his roommates? Will he have to find a new place to live next year?

A plethora of different worries began to plague his mind until he finally realized the search results had loaded on his phone. He saw countless people asking the same question on different forums, where he eventually found himself on r/AmItheAsshhole, reading excerpts from literally Lucifer(s) themselves in attempts to make him feel better about his own situation.

That moment Sunghoon came to the realization that, yeah there are definitely a lot of worse people in the world with way more questionable morals than him –– and that if he was considered a bad person, then the people of this Subreddit must think he’s made out of unicorns and sunshine.

Before he left his apartment again, he took a deep breath, tried to push his feelings down and go about his day.

When he finally arrived at the library, he found Jungwon and Riki at their usual spot. Jungwon spots him walking towards them first, prompting him to move his backpack on the seat beside him to the ground, “Hey, we saved you a spot.”

Sunghoon falls into the chair, “Thanks man.”

In front of Jungwon, Riki lays his head flat on the table, “Guys, can we rethink this. We have a month till this project is due. Isn’t doing this real early almost unnecessary?”

Jungwon continues typing on his keyboard, not once looking up, “It’s just in case, and there’s nothing wrong with starting early.”

Riki rolls his eyes and releases a big sigh before raising his head to look back up at his JavaScript for the nth time today.

Once Sunghoon had opened up his computer, Jungwon left no time to waste, “I forgot to ask, have you ever used a graphical interface for designing SQL queries before?"

“Yeah, have you?”

Riki looks up at the two of them like they’re speaking a completely different language, when in reality he’s supposed to be in the same major as them –– therefore he probably should know what Sunghoon and Jungwon are talking about.

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head, “But, that’ll aid us while building this thing.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Riki groans and shuts his laptop, “Sorry Won, but I’ve been busting my ass learning this code for the past three hours we’ve been here. I haven’t even eaten anything yet.”

He pulls out his phone, face immediately lighting up green, “Fuck it, I’m ordering UberEats, y’all want something?”

Sunghoon declines, “Nah, I’m good I ate before I left.”

Inside his backpack, Jungwon pulls out a tupperware filled with fruit and a bag of beef jerky, “It’s fine, I packed myself some food.”

“Dude, what the hell,” Riki exits from the app, “Why didn’t you tell me you had food, my stomach has been grumbling for a whole hour.”

“Yeah, I know, I heard.”

Riki snatches the bag of opened beef jerky as a form of opposition against Jungwon, stuffing a handful into his mouth.

“Wait,” pausing mid-chew to swallow his food, “Anton just texted me, apparently his frat’s hosting a houseparty, mixer-thingy –– whatever the fuck –– on Friday.”

Sunghoon holds back a laugh, “Hell nah, remember what happened when their frat threw a party last semester?”

Unlike Sunghoon, Jungwon has no shame and bursts out in laughter causing the rest of the people on the floor to hush him, “Yo, we gotta go, Jake was legendary last year.”

Riki’s face falters as if he were recalling a traumatic memory, “Man, I don’t think Jake’s gonna act out, he’s been a different guy ever since he got a girl. Kinda miss the old him.”

After hearing your name being brought up in the conversation, Sunghoon looks up from his computer, fully immersing himself in the topic –– yet, he can’t bring himself to speak.

“Don’t make assumptions that he’s boring yet, I don’t think this guy has gone out since then, the guy’s a beast when he’s fucked up. Ya never know. Maybe he’ll surprise us.” Jungwon chuckles.

“Do you still have that video of him from last year?”

“Bro, of course I do. Chill, let me find it on my camera roll.”

At this moment, all of Sunghoon’s thoughts began racing. 

He can’t help it but those feelings of resentment towards Jake are all coming back again. Maybe he really is a bad person after all, because the only thing he could say was, “I think we should go.”

This is the reason why Sunghoon thinks that he might actually be a horrible person –– because why would he want to see his best friend potentially fuck up?

From then on, Sunghoon decided that this was the last time he would be selfish… he thinks.

⋆˚࿔

It was around 10 p.m. when Sunghoon had gotten home from the library. All of the lights in the apartment were turned off, which was kind of odd to him but he didn’t really pay much attention to it. He figures his roommates just went somewhere –– he honestly doesn’t care where. 

In fact, he liked it when he was the only one home. It gave him some peace and solace. He never liked to admit it, but sometimes being with other people is exhausting. 

Not that he doesn’t like being around his roommates, he does. It’s just a little daunting for him to be around people for extended periods of time. He really hates the way he thinks. He finds it a little embarrassing that he thinks it anxiety-inducing to be around other people.

He thinks his logic is flawed, and almost wishes he wasn’t like this. Look at Park Sunghoon, uptight, picky, critical, no-good-for-anyone –– yet he can’t stick around long if he’s surrounded by people or else he’ll freak out? 

Whatever, he doesn’t have time to host his own pity party when he’s got bigger fish to fry. 

In hopes of seeking relaxation after the day he’s had, he grabs a towel and heads toward the bathroom. Waiting for him was a nice, steamy-hot shower, possibly one that’s a little too hot that it makes his body physically produce steam.

What he expected to see when he walked into the bathroom was a fucking toilet, shower, and sink. But when he opened the bathroom door, he was greeted with a fucking toilet, shower, sink, and you who just happens to be brushing your teeth oh-so conveniently at the same time Sunghoon wants to shower.

Truthfully, you almost scared the shit out of Sunghoon when he saw your face, cause first of all, no one’s even supposed to be home right now (allegedly).

Your eyes widen when you come face-to-face with Sunghoon. This was the first time the two of you had seen each other since last night. He didn’t rehearse this meeting happening and now he’s internally freaking out.

Instead of the awkward encounter Sunghoon had expected, you spit out your toothpaste, finish brushing your teeth, and flash him a smile, “Hey, sorry I was just quickly brushing my teeth, you can use the bathroom now.”

A smile that almost convinced Sunghoon that maybe last night was all just a dream and didn’t actually happen in real life.

Straight-faced, he nods, clearing the doorway for you to step out. He watches you walk past his bedroom door and go into Jake’s room before he steps inside the bathroom. 

Under the showerhead, Sunghoon lets the water run down his head, staring at the drain. He had numerous thoughts running through his mind, but what stuck out most was why you just acted like nothing had happened between them?

When he looks up to grab his shampoo, he sees all of your shower products in the corner with Jake’s toiletries –– which made him come to the realization that actually, maybe nothing had happened between you two at all.

At the end of the day, you’re still Jake’s girl. Nothing changed that. Not even his stupid confession of love for you.

When he stepped out of the shower, he concluded that what really happened was: he shared his feelings for you on a whim, you basically rejected him, and now you’re probably just being nice to him, acting like everything is fine because he’s still Jake’s best friend after all.

Fuck, now he’s embarrassed. He should just forget about this whole ordeal –– right?

⋆˚࿔

For the rest of the week, Sunghoon was lucky enough to not bump into you anywhere –– not even inside their apartment. There were days where he knew you were over, but you never came out of Jake’s room when Sunghoon was around.

All Sunghoon had been looking forward to all week was Anton’s frat party. It was basically an excuse for him to abuse alcohol and make bad decisions.

Once he came home from his last lab at 7:30 p.m. on Friday, he found his quiet sanctuary (his shared apartment) filled with all of his friends and grabbed a beer from one of the cartons and went into his room to quickly change.

Sunghoon tried to act nonchalantly, pretending like he didn’t actually care about what he was gonna wear to the frat party. It’s not even like he has clothes that would upstage anyone’s outfit, he was really overthinking it for no reason.

Knock knock.

“Yo, just come in, why’d you have to fucking knock?”

A small voice spoke through the crack of his door,“Oh, sorry, um, it’s just me, y/n, the guys need help picking up the keg stand.”

Sunghoon almost got whiplash from how fast he turned his head around to look at you; you hadn’t stepped a foot into his room, the door was slightly creaked open, and your head was down –– which he soon realized it’s because he doesn’t have a shirt on.

He swiftly grabbed the first shirt that was within vicinity and threw it on, “Oh sorry, I thought you were one of the guys, you caught me off guard.”

You flail your hands, finally looking up now that he’s fully clothed, “No! It’s okay! They told me to go and get you –– wait.”

Sunghoon furrows his eyebrows, wait for what?

All he could hear was your laughter, one that he recognized all too well, “Maybe you should change your shirt, Hoon.”

Of course the shirt he had to grab happened to be the stupid t-shirt Heeseung gave him for Christmas that says “Mike Who Cheese Hairy” in bold.

Great, could Sunghoon’s life get any worse?

That night, he had a little too much to drink, actually maybe way more than he anticipated. But Sunghoon wasn’t the messy type of drunk –– at least that’s what he thinks.

He was never the type of guy who let himself get too intoxicated. He usually knew what his limits were. Oftentimes, he thought that overly drunk people in public settings were making a fool of themselves and that maybe those people just had a humiliation kink.

But as of right now, Sunghoon’s kinda having trouble holding his balance at Alpha Epsilon Phi’s mixer.

In his defence, he only got this fucked up because him and Jake were going back-to-back on that keg stand trying to outdo the other –– which only got the both of them hammered.

What made things even worse for Sunghoon, however, was the fact that 20 feet away from him were you and Jake.

Sunghoon was consumed in jealousy. How could he not? He can’t bring himself to look away from the painful scene in front of him, Jake wobbling against the island table with his hands wrapped around your waist while you fix his scruffy hair.

All he could think was: I’m drunk too. Where’s my help?

He scoffed and decided he’s had enough and went up the stairs. Using all of his strength, he managed to lock himself in a bathroom and finally took a deep breath out.

Sunghoon kept blinking his eyes while staring at his reflection in the mirror –– trying to desperately convince himself he’s not seeing double right now. 

Thinking that he might be able to sober up, he turned on the faucet, cupping his hand and drank from the sink (he also splashed a bunch of water on his face, slapped himself 10x, and tried to pull trig, which he failed to do). 

After 15 minutes had passed by and a hundred knocks later, Sunghoon decided to finally come out of his lavatory dungeon –– and of course the first person who he sees is Jake.

At this point, he’s just silently preparing himself to see you and him be all flirty and couple-y again.

Except, when Sunghoon gets closer, he realizes that Jake isn’t with you –– but another girl?

He immediately paused in his tracks, watching the scene before him. Sunghoon was confused, where were you? Why weren’t you with Jake? And most importantly, what is Jake doing with another girl?

Should he say something? He should go up to him and stop him right? But is that the best thing to do? What even is Jake doing?

The longer Sunghoon looks, the more uncertain he becomes. Jake seems a little too close to the girl, even if they aren’t kissing or doing anything… but why doesn’t this seem right to him?

Would this be considered cheating? Nothing sexual seems to be happening, just a bunch of teasing arm grabbing and touching.

But that wasn’t you, and you’re his girlfriend. If it wasn’t cheating, it still had to be fucking weird. Sunghoon was infuriated. Jake got the girl but can’t even treat her right? 

He knew then that he had to leave before he made a scene.

When he came back downstairs, he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. There were too many people, the air was stuffy, it reeked of alcohol, and the soles of his shoes were too sticky to stay inside any longer. So he decided to step outside. 

Sunghoon sat on a curb a couple of feet away from the fraternity, but still far enough that he wouldn’t be disturbed. He figured he’d stay outside till his friends decide they’ve had enough with partying –– he wasn’t really feeling the vibe of the function anyways.

At one point, Sunghoon decided to just lay down on the pavement because he was drunk and he can. Out of boredom he began counting how many streetlights ran up and down the street, eventually dozing off in the process.

Coming out of a hazy state, all Sunghoon could hear was his name being repeated multiple times. When he opened his eyes, he came face-to-face with you.

You give a big sigh of relief, “Oh thank god, I thought you died for a second dude. Don’t scare me like that!” 

“What? …y/n?” Sunghoon rubs his eyes, “Sorry, I accidentally um, fell asleep I think.”

You laugh while Sunghoon fixes his posture and sits up right again, “Can I sit beside you?”

To be honest, Sunghoon still kinda feels foggy in his half-woken drunk state right now so he can’t really think properly, “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” He pats on the ground beside him. You take a seat, bringing your chin to your knees, playing with the gravel beneath you.

“Are you not having fun?” You ask.

Sunghoon looks straight ahead and shakes his head, “Not really feeling it today.”

You nod in agreement, continuing to collect pebbles with your right hand.

After a beat, Sunghoon turns to look at you, “Hey, I, um, need to tell you something.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

He lets a deep exhale out before bringing himself to speak again, “I saw Jake inside with another girl. They weren’t like, doing anything but it’s just weird –– I don’t know if this is cheating but I thought I should tell–”

Your eyes stay fixed on the ground, “I know.”

Sunghoon furrows his eyebrows at you, “What do you mean?”

“That’s why we were arguing last week. This has always been an issue with him, even if it isn’t physically cheating.”

Sunghoon didn’t know this. All he could hear during your arguments with Jake was the volume of the TV on max. Carefully, he asked, “Is this… not the first time?”

“No.”

You almost feel ashamed that you’re confessing this all to Sunghoon. You’re scared of what he’d think of you. You already know what he’s like, what he’s probably thinking of you at this moment. You’re aware of how pathetic you sound right now.

Before he could even think about what he was saying, he blurted it all out, “I don’t get it, then why don’t you just break up with him? Isn’t what he’s doing bothering you?”

That night, you and Sunghoon found out something about each other: the two of you probably shouldn’t be together while drunk.

“...I don’t know. Wouldn’t breaking up with him mean that I won’t be able to see you anymore?”

“What? Why are you saying that?”

“If me and Jake end on bad terms, does that mean that you won’t be there for me anymore?”

⋆˚࿔

After Jake had dropped you off at your apartment that night last week, you realized you were more angry than sad. All of those tears had dried up, and now you were yelling on the phone.

“Why would he do this now when he had all that time last year and make a proper move! It’s not my fault he didn’t man up sooner!” You ranted on the phone.

You didn’t know what else to do except call Giselle and ask for some advice. 

“I don’t get Sunghoon, he never did anything about us and now he wants to tell me that he wanted me first?”

“Well, what are you going to do about it now? You’re with his best friend,” Giselle asks on the other side of the speaker.

You wipe your mascara-streaked eyes with a cotton pad, “I would have loved it if he told me all of that a year ago, that’s what I wanted. He missed his chance and now I’m stuck in this sticky situation.”

“But, you love Jake right?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, “Right.”

Before you were with Jake, Sunghoon was the one you wanted most. 

To you, Park Sunghoon was like this shiny, perfect Ken doll that you wanted so badly but couldn’t get no matter what.

Contrary to popular belief, you had made your advances towards him –– just in different ways. So you actually never knew if he caught on or not. Over time it seemed like Sunghoon really had no interest in you at all, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t heartbroken over it at all.

You decided to move on after being sure that nothing would happen with you and Sunghoon. In all honesty, you were never that interested in Jake at the beginning.

It was always him starting conversations, making plans. And after a while, you started getting used to Jake’s company.

But for some reason, the closer you got with Jake, the further Sunghoon seemed to get. At the time, you knew not to think any more about you and Sunghoon –– it wasn’t happening and that’s final.

You came to learn that Jake was a pretty outgoing and talkative guy, the complete opposite of Sunghoon. 

When Jake finally asked you to be his girlfriend, you won’t lie. You were taken aback. It’s true, you do like Jake… but what about Sunghoon? Were you really over this crush? Are you going to have to be around him all the time because he’s Jake’s best friend? You didn’t know if you could do that.

You snap back into reality when you remind yourself that Sunghoon just doesn’t like you like that.

And it wasn’t like you didn’t like Jake at all. So, you gave him a chance.

Sim Jake was extroverted, polite, and friendly –– maybe a little too friendly. Being in social settings with him almost felt exhausting sometimes. He was the kind of guy that was able to go up to anyone and be able to talk to them.

The first time he ever got too friendly with a girl, you tried to ignore it. You made excuses for him like, that’s just the way he is, maybe I’m being an overbearing girlfriend.

But then it happened a second time, then a third time, then it just kept going.

This was the main reason for most of your arguments.

The start of your arguments often looked like this: the two of you would go somewhere, Jake would get a little too close, a little too talkative to a girl, and you had to wait till you guys were alone to bring up your concerns.

“Jake, I just really don’t like how overly friendly you are with other girls. It makes me feel weird as your girlfriend.”

Jake doesn’t seem to be taking the conversation seriously, “C’mon, y/n you’re the only girl I have eyes for.”

You shrug, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Can’t you just, I don’t know, not… do that? I really don’t like it.”

He tenses his forehead, fixing his position on the bed, “...do you not trust me?”

Your eyes widen in shock, “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all!”

And that’s essentially how you and Jake got into that huge argument last week.

What a mess.

⋆˚࿔

When Sunghoon woke up the day after the frat party, he was met with constant panging in his head. He only remembers little bits and pieces of the night and genuinely cannot, for the life of him, remember how he even got home that night. 

It was only till after breakfast that he found out Sunoo had called him a cab home after he spotted him crying alone on the curbside.

Why was he even crying? He can’t remember, no matter how hard he tries to pull it out of his memory, nothing comes out.

Sunghoon’s roommates were usually out and about on Saturdays, so he decided to dedicate his Saturdays to self-care –– which in Sunghoon’s case, means watching cute videos of animals and yelling at his teammates over the mic that they suck ass all day.

He couldn’t even do that because of all that banging inside his head. Even after taking some Tylenol, it just wouldn’t stop pounding. So Sunghoon decided he should try to sleep it out on the couch.

After a couple of minutes of tossing and turning, Sunghoon finally found some tranquility –– but this was ruined the second he heard their apartment slam shut.

Sunghoon almost fell out of the couch due to the sound, “What the fuck are you slamming doors for in the afternoon?”

When he looks up to see which one of his roommates almost broke their door down, he sees Jake –– his expression annoyed and Sunghoon’s presence totally ignored. Jake slams his own door shut without saying a word.

Sunghoon always knew not to bother Jake when he was upset and to just wait for him to feel better, so instead he sent a couple texts to Heeseung and Jay asking what’s up with Jake.

SUNGHOON What’s up with Jake He just came in slamming doors looking pissy and my head fucking hurtssss

JJONGSAENG think he and y/n broke up

HEESEUNG U being deadass?

JJONGSAENG yeah but jake didn’t tell me tho heard thru the grapevine  u know how fast rumours spread on campus but pretty sure they did i’ll ask him later

Upon reading these texts Sunghoon sat up immediately. All those times he prayed for you and Jake to break up finally came into fruition. But was it right for him to be celebrating like this? Jake’s still his best friend after all.

His thumb hovers over your contact on his phone –– but what was he even going to do? Say, hey heard you and Jake broke up, I’m sorry. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'll be waiting?

He felt incompetent and stupid thinking about this, so he just turned off his phone and kept trying to sleep.

Later that night, Sunghoon found out that you broke up with him and not the other way around. Sunghoon tried really hard not to smile when Jake was explaining what had happened between the two of them to their roommates. 

They found out that you had broken up with him after he said, quote, “...she saw me with another girl at the frat and got so fucking upset about something and the fact that I was ‘acting out’ at the party, then she left without a word. It wasn’t until this morning she texted asking me to come over to talk. I didn’t know she was gonna break up with me?!”

At the frat? Was it the one Sunghoon had seen him with when he left the bathroom?

Truthfully, Sunghoon had been waiting for a text from you even though he knew it wouldn’t happen. After a week went by without hearing from you, he gave up on waiting.

Jake was up and running again in no time. He was the kind of person that could bounce back from adversities. He did admit, however, that he tried reaching out to you multiple times but never got a reply.

Sunghoon kept getting deja vu, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what’s so familiar –– until it clicked. Remnants of the night slowly started popping up again.

“What do you mean ‘I won’t be there for you anymore?’” Sunghoon asked you on the curb.

You turn your head on your knees to face him now, “I mean, would I lose you for good if Jake’s not in the picture anymore?”

Sunghoon didn’t know if he was absolutely plastered or if these words were actually coming out of your mouth right now.

“No,” Sunghoon shook his head, “No you won’t.”

The corners of your mouth turn upward, “Okay.” You stand up and brush off all the gravel from your clothes, “Are you going to be alright?”

His eyes stay fixed on you, nodding.

“Well,” you sigh, dusting your hands off, “I have to go back inside the party. Text me, okay?”

knew there was only one thing left to do.

Sunghoon was even more confused now –– on top of already being drunk and overly emotional –– so he burst out in tears. He tried his hardest to keep the tears from spilling out but the floodgates just wouldn’t close.

It wasn’t even just the whole him, you, and Jake situation that caused this –– it was also all the emotions that he had been building up for years.

Being Park Sunghoon –– stuck-up, critical, nitpicky, and insufferable since birth –– was hard. 

⋆˚࿔

Sunghoon found himself stuck in a dilemma. On one hand, he has Jake, his best friend, and on the other hand he has you –– but he wants both.

It seems like an easy decision, right? Jake’s your best friend, so ultimately you gotta kick the girl to the curb –– except Sunghoon doesn’t want just anyone, he wants you. 

It was truly a newfound feeling when he had experienced butterflies for the first time. He’s honestly never felt this deeply about a girl before. 

So what else can he do but text you when you ask? …two weeks later after mustering up the courage to type on his phone.

SUNGHOON Hey How have you been?

YOU hey!!!! u finally texted me i’ve been good thanks for asking

Sunghoon taps his foot on the ground, biting his nails, thinking about what else he could say to you to keep the conversation going.

SUNGHOON That’s good I know a lot has happened the past two weeks

You assume he’s referring to you and Jake breaking up. The two of you haven’t seen each other since Alpha Epsilon Pi’s mixer. The last conversation you had with Sunghoon really cleared a lot of the looming thoughts you had stuck in your brain.

It’s been two weeks since you broke up with Jake.

It’s also been two weeks since Sunghoon said that you wouldn’t lose him for good.

YOU yea  we should catch up let’s have a drink together like old times :))

⋆˚࿔

Like old times.

Sunghoon sat in a booth at his local university pub, just like he would last year. Waiting for you all the time.

Admittedly, Sunghoon couldn’t shake off the nerves of seeing you again after a while –– so to curb his anxiety he ordered two beers. One for you and one for him. Well, at least that’s what he intended at first, but after he finished his bottle he still felt nervous so he drank “yours.”

You aren’t even late to meet him, he’s just way too early.

Ah fuck, he thought. If you still weren’t here and he’d already drank his own beer and “your” beer, and the two of you were meeting for drinks –– wouldn’t that suggest they were going to get multiple drinks?

Sunghoon covered his mouth, murmuring to himself silently, “Oh my god, how drunk am I gonna get.” (Spoiler alert, he wasn't actually that drunk throughout the night, definitely just the placebo effect).

You actually arrive 10 minutes before your meeting time thinking you’d be early, but you were surprised when you saw Sunghoon sipping beer by himself, “Hey! You’re really early.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon grins, “I guess you are too. How have you been?”

You seat yourself on the other side of the booth, “Well,” you sigh, “you already know what’s been going with me and Jake.”

Sunghoon flinched at the mention of Jake’s name. Oh god, now he really was going to have a nervous breakdown. In the midst of this all, Sunghoon actually forgot about Jake in the equation.

Is it appropriate to be meeting his now ex-girlfriend for drinks? Like, just two of them? But wait, Sunghoon was friends with y/n way before him so would this be justified? Whatever, he needs a drink.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

You sheepishly smiled, “Why would you be sorry? Let’s order some drinks!”

After three more beers, a long island iced tea, and a mojito later, it was safe to say you and Sunghoon had all the alcohol courage you could get.

The two of you were laughing about, god knows what, for the past two hours –– but the topic of conversation never mattered between you and him. You could talk to him about anything. 

You stretch your arms up, “Do you think we should leave?” you and Sunghoon turn to look around the pub and realize they’re getting ready for closing.

Sunghoon ended up paying for all the drinks which made you feel giddy and thankful because your drinks were $15 each and you weren’t planning on going broke that night.

Outside of the pub, you and Sunghoon kept the laughter going. God, it’s been so long since you’ve hung out with him like this. You never realized how much you missed him.

“So…” Sunghoon drags out, “is this goodbye?”

You fish for your phone in your purse to check the time, “Wanna keep talking and have drinks at my place?”

He smiles at you, gesturing to the sidewalk ahead, “Lead the way Missy.”

When you finally arrive at your apartment, you push the door open and welcome him in, “My humble abode.”

Sunghoon had never been to your apartment before. Back then he thought it would be creepy and invasive if he asked to hang out at yours instead. He always knew you were a nostalgic person, but your apartment unit really personifies it. You kept all of the cheerleading medals you had stacked up in high school years ago, your fridge filled with photos of you and your loved ones, you even had a pile of every birthday card you’ve received in the corner of your desk.

Without meaning to, Sunghoon found himself meddling around your apartment inspecting everything you possessed. He wanted to know what you were like before he met you –– he wanted to know everything he could about you.

A finger taps on Sunghoon’s shoulder making him jolt, “You snooping around?” you tease.

He stammers, “No– sorry, I– I was just curious.”

You chuckle and walk towards the kitchen to grab some more drinks, “I’m just kidding, Hoon.”

Exactly like a loyal golden retriever would, he followed you behind quietly. You pass him a bottle of beer and take a sip of your seltzer. You prop yourself up the counter, legs lightly swinging from the ground, “So…”

In front of you, he puts a hand in his pocket and takes a swig of beer with the other, “...so” he repeats.

At this point, the alcohol wore off from the walk back to yours. Both of you were the right amount of buzzed –– giggly drunk.

“But seriously, how have you been? Like truthfully.” you ask.

Sunghoon tries to think hard about it –– but he’s always stuck to the same routine he’s had for the past three years. He scratches the back of his neck, “I dunno, life’s been the same as always. Wake up, eat, sleep, repeat all over again.”

You tilt your head, “Same old Sunghoon, doesn’t it get tiring sometimes?”

“What does? The routine?”

“No,” you fiddle with your fingers, “bottling everything up.”

Sunghoon’s surprised by your answer. He wonders what makes you think that, “What do you mean?”

You chug the remaining of your seltzer, “It’s just– it seems like you had a lot on your plate recently.”

At first, he wonders what you’re referring to. If he thinks hard about it, all he does is study, go to the gym, and play games. But when he finally realized what you were talking about he started getting flustered.

“...are you asking me this because of the conversation we had three weeks ago?”

He still remembers that night vividly. It had rained during the day, releasing the smell of petrichor and wet grass. The pavement hadn’t dried up yet where they stood –— he remembered because he kept his head down after Jake came to console you. He also remembers how he felt when he heard Jake come back from dropping you off. Straight guilt.

He laid in bed that night wondering what kind of “best friend” he was to say all of those things to you as if you weren’t dating Jake then. 

But now he’s standing in front of you, at your apartment, in your cramped kitchen, a little too close to each other.

“...yeah, sorry,” you apologize, “it seemed like you had a lot on your mind then.”

Sunghoon steps a bit closer, slightly wedged in between your legs, “I did have a lot on my mind then.” he confessed.

Not once breaking eye contact with you, he takes a final swig of his beer before he lightly places the empty bottle on the counter.

“Would you tell me if I asked?” you let him slide in between your thighs.

He boxes you in when he places both hands on the counter beside you, “I’d do anything you ask, y/n. You know that.”

You could hear the water drip from the kitchen faucet with how quiet it was.

“What about now? Do you still have a lot on your mind?”

Sunghoon pretends to ponder about it for a second before answering.

“Yeah.”

“...what are you thinking about right now?”

He only looks at you, fixing your hair before tucking a strand behind your ear.

“Whether this is a good idea or not.”

Sunghoon slowly leans in, almost as if he’s asking for permission before making a move –– and when you wrap your arms around his neck, he takes it as a green light and presses his lips against yours.

He thinks he’s dreamt about this moment his entire university career; what it would be like kissing you. Well now he knows. He knows that your lips taste like the cherry chapstick you always wear, that you kiss him softly, and that you get all handsy while making out. 

You drag your hand gently down Sunghoon’s chest and you assume he liked that considering you can feel him smiling on your lips. 

So you begin to outline his entire body. You trace your fingers along his jaw, the curvature of his abs, his biceps. You gently tug on his hair which elicits a small groan from him. You’re everywhere, you were ravenous.

All that time back then, when you’d pine over ice prince Park Sunghoon and throw hints at him here and there –– he never got the message though. 

But now you’re here, kissing Sunghoon, and you just can’t get enough –– and it seems like he can’t either.

Sunghoon caresses the outline of your waist, fingers slightly skimming up your skin, when he pulls away to pepper light kisses on your neck, “you know,” he mumbled, "I've been waiting for this moment ever since we first met.”

A small moan escapes your lips when he starts licking behind your ear, “Hoon,” you breathe out, “...do you want to go to my bedroom?”

He swears he can see stars now from how lightheaded he feels right now. He can’t even process that what’s happening is actually happening. 

Is this real life? 

Instead of exchanging words, he lets his body talk, picking you up from the counter walking towards your room, where he lays you down with the utmost care –– like you were his most prized possession. 

Cautiously, he asks, “Do you really wanna…”

“Yes. I do.” You shut him up with a kiss, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. You knew he understood the memo when he pulled away to throw his shirt to the ground.

He falls back into you, moving his knee between your thighs when he cups your face to kiss you again. This time, it’s messy, it’s desperate. Sunghoon wants to explore every inch of you, learn how your mind works, what you’ve experienced in life, what you haven’t, what you want to. He slides his tongue like he’s going to devour you.

Slowly, he peeled off all your clothes one-by-one until you’re left in your undergarments. You wish you had known what your plans were gonna be tonight otherwise you would’ve surely put on some better lingerie.

Sunghoon doesn’t give a fuck though, you were laying in front of him undressed and beautiful, how could he focus on something so miniscule when he has you all to himself? …but he also didn’t care because it’s going to come off anyways.

He unclasps your bra, exposing your bare chest. His kisses trailed from your throat all the way to your inner thighs. Now he was perched in between your legs next to your clothed pussy. He smirked when he saw how soaked your panties were, “You get this wet for me?”

You cover your eyes using your forearms out of embarrassment, “Just stop teasing, Hoon.”

“Hoon.”

God he loved hearing you call him by that nickname, he could feel his dick getting impossibly hard in his boxers. He’s going to absolutely destroy you.

Sunghoon delicately took off your panties before spreading your legs wider. He could see the slick from your pussy drooling onto the sheets already, and he swore he almost moaned.

You bite your bottom lip when he starts to place light kisses onto your pussy. He dragged his tongue from your fluttering hole to your clit. Park Sunghoon was a starved, starved man. He attaches himself onto your clit. He works his tongue until he gets you moaning, and when he’s decided he wants to hear you louder, he plunges two fingers in without warning.

Now he was knuckle deep inside of you, and those moans just kept escaping from your mouth, gradually getting louder and louder –– you pray you don’t get a noise complaint by the end of tonight. He pumps his fingers with vigor, eventually finding your most sensitive spot. 

He’s still lapping at your pussy while he massages your spongy G-spot. Sunghoon assumes he’s doing a great job since your legs are shaking …and also because you keep cheering him on like he’s a D1 athlete, “Ffffuck… Hoon– Please just– don’t stop. K–keep going!”

When you start to thrash around he tightens his grip on your plush thigh, continuing to work his tongue and fingers inside of you. He could tell you were about to cum from the fact that your pussy kept pulsing while his fingers were in deep.

“W– Wait,” You grab onto the sheets, “Hoon wait, I think– I feel like I’m gonna pee.”

“So what? Just relax and let it out.”

You do what he says, your juices coating his tongue. You watched him suck up every drop. The squelching sound was filthy, his fingers still scissoring you open. He brings himself up to lick at your neck while his fingers stay buried inside of your pussy, “You like that?”

What a freak. 

You never expected Park Sunghoon of all people acting this way in bed.

Your mouth drops open, nodding in agreement, “Uh huh…” Your breathing pattern still off from your last orgasm, “I fucking love it.”

He sucks at your neck, “Atta girl,” his fingers finally pull out of your cunt dragging his hand up to one of your titties, fondling it, “You gonna let me fuck you then?”

“Please.”

His lips curled into a devilish smirk, pulling out his cock out from his sweatpants. Teasingly, he raises his eyebrows at you, hand holding his cock –– silently curious about whether you could take the dick or not.

Saliva started pooling on the corners of your mouth and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. Sunghoon takes one good look at your swollen clit and puffy lips before he aligns himself at your entrance.

You’re horny and throbbing, you can barely hold your patience while Sunghoon seems to look extremely entertained taunting you by slightly pushing the head in before pulling out. He grabs ahold of your hips, bringing you closer to him. 

You laid there biting your nails wondering if he’s ever going to actually fuck you when he slides his cock inside your pussy inch-by-inch without warning. He starts thrusting in and out, grabbing your face to sloppily kiss you. All that drool you’ve accumulated from your past orgasm had been licked clean from your mouth to your chin. 

Sunghoon was insatiable. He started kneading your titties, his dick still fucking you nice and open. You probably still don’t even know that he had put the entire thing yet. He starts rolling your nipples in between his knuckles before pinching them –– bottoming out completely at the same time.

You just had to lay there and take it. Everything hurt but felt so good at the same time. You hear the shlick-shlick-shlicking sound coming from his dick relentlessly pounding into your drenched pussy.

“Mmphf! Wait, Hoon it f– feels ssoo… good.” You manage to whimper out.

“You just–” thrust, “take it–” thrust, “so fucking well.” thrust.

He was inside so raw, so deep. You thought he was inside of you to the hilt, but when he pressed your thighs against your chest, he found a new angle and somehow managed to fuck you even deeper. You could feel his fat tip battering up against your cervix with every pump –– genuinely becoming scared at one point that his cock would slide into your womb. Your moans echoed throughout your apartment unit. It honestly sounds like pornstars having sex in here.

When Sunghoon felt your walls clamp down on his dick, he knew that you were about to cum soon. He began to really pound into you now, using his thumb to rub on your clit. It felt like he really did stretch you out. You look down at where the two of you connect and you cum at the sight of his cock plunging into you, forming a ring of milky white cum during the process. 

Sunghoon groans at how tight your pussy walls squeeze him in as he fucks you through your second orgasm. You were already so overstimulated; his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive clit, his cock deep inside you, your nipples being rolled and pinched. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your whole body is quivering at this point and Sunghoon is still spearing you in half. You push at his chest, “W– Wait, hold on.”

He pulls out and looks at you with a cocky smirk on his face, “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t take the dick?”

You pant out, “I just…” You bring your hands to your legs, attempting to stop them from shaking, but it’s no use, “...I just need a second.”

“You tapping out?” he tuts.

Despite having to take a quick breather, you quickly shake your head no.

You crawl towards him now, wrapping your warm hands on the base of his cock. He groans at your touch and revels in it. You lick the tip like it’s candy.

You wait till he lets out a couple more groans before you finally wrap your lips around him and slowly slide his cock down deeper into your throat, stroking the rest with a hand.

A sense of satisfaction washed over you when you looked up to see Sunghoon with his hair tussled, head thrown back, mouth agape. It only pushed you to do more. You relax your throat to prepare for the intrusion, gliding his cock down lower and lower. Sunghoon gently grabs a fistful of your hair enough to keep his balance. All you could hear were his groans of pleasure. 

You try to keep all of him in your mouth for as long as you humanely could before pulling away from his shaft, sucking a big breath of fresh hair in.

You could see his eyes darken, “Turn around for me.”

Confused but still compliant, you follow his orders and turn your back against him. He places his hand on your lower back, moving it up your spine to delicately push you back onto the bed. He grabs ahold of your hips, perching them up.

Now you were face down, ass up on your bed. 

Sunghoon smoothed the arch of your back with his calloused palm, finding its place at the nape of your neck. He growls lowly in your ear, “You gonna be good for me?”

“Uh huh,” you manage to get out.

He removes his hand at your neck, giving your ass a squeeze before entering inside you again. He hammers into you with the same drive and vigor, steadying your legs when he feels them start to tremor again.

You melt under his touch, the curve of his dick hitting that sensitive spot once again. The sound of your moans pushing him to go even further. He lands his two hands on the moons of your ass, spreading them wide open to see his wet dick pound into your dripping pussy, sliding deeper till he feels the resistance.

“Aargh,” he groans, swiping his thumb over the rim of your asshole.

“Fuuuck…” you whine out loud.

Sunghoon watches himself disappear in between your glistening pussy lips. The sheets beneath you two were pooled with your slick, you couldn’t control your moans anymore –– you knew you were about to give out and cum again any minute now.

Your pussy just squeezes him in right, he could keep fucking you all night. You push against him, fucking yourself on his cock when he starts laughing, “How bad do you want it, baby?”

You roll your hips on him, “I want it… bad.” you mewl.

He presses himself balls deep inside of you just to watch you struggle and grind on him to desperately reach your nth orgasm tonight. He caresses your asscheek when he’s decided he’s had enough fun watching you use him like a fuck toy.

Sunghoon starts thrusting into you again, slow and deep this time, jolting your body forward on the bed with each pump of his dick. When you feel him twitch inside of you, you knew his release was close –– his groans getting louder.

He starts pounding into you again relentlessly, feeling your gummy walls hugging him tight. You could feel him chasing his orgasm. His hand snakes its way to your lower stomach, brushing against the bulge of his bulbous cockhead before he presses down on it. The added pressure made your eyes roll back, gripping onto anything you could.

“Hoon… I’m gonna– I’m gonna cum.” you cry out.

“Then do it.”

You let yourself go, cumming so hard on his cock, you swore you were about to blackout from the feeling of immense pleasure.

He fastens the speed of his thrusts; you feel them become messy and sloppier. You hear his breathing getting ragged when he pulls out, stroking himself as thick ropes of sticky, white, cum spill onto your ass. You lay still on the mattress, still panting when Sunghoon finishes milking out every drop of cum.

Sunghoon uses the back of his hand to wipe off the sweat dripping down his forehead, “Wait,” he breathes out, promptly leaving the room to come back with a towel. He cleans you up when you start chuckling out loud.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

“No, it’s just I haven’t had good sex in a while.” you giggle.

Confused, he asks, “Wait but, haven’t you…”

“Me and Jake never had sex.” you confessed.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, “But– I heard you… in his room–”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you look at him, face puzzled, “Maybe we were watching a movie?”

He decides to drop the topic and just be glad instead. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him, “I wish I’d done something sooner.”

Snug against his arms, you chirp, “Well, why didn’t you? I was throwing hints all the time!”

Now Sunghoon didn’t know this, “...what do you mean ‘throwing hints?’”

You playfully slap against his chest, “Freshman and sophomore year I was waiting for you to make a move but you never did! So I just assumed you didn’t like me like that and tried to move on…”

One thing about Sunghoon was: he wasn’t really good with social cues. He was always in his own little bubble doing his own thing. But now that he thinks about it, you were pretty obvious –– it just didn’t click to him back then.

The two of you ended up dozing off after talking for hours, and before you knew it, the sun was up again.

Both of you were awoken by a couple of hard knocks at your door. Sunghoon yawns, “Who’s at your door this early?”

Half awake, you slip into some clothes you find scattered on the floor, “I’m not sure, maybe a package I ordered?” You rub against your eyes, “These FedEx guys always deliver packages so early.”

You quickly leave the room to see who’s at your apartment door. While waiting, Sunghoon props himself up against your headboard, reaching for his phone. He placed a hand behind his head while he started scrolling through his missed notifications. For some reason, Sunghoon felt like he was forgetting something –– he wasn’t sure what.

Something was off, but he couldn’t quite pin what it was. Was he just being paranoid? What would even go wrong? He bagged the girl of his dreams, he just had amazing sex, and now he’s waiting for you in your bed shirtless, boxers on.

He tries to run through his mental to-do list in his head: he already submitted his assignments, it’s the weekend so he doesn’t have any classes, his rent isn’t due till next month, he did his laundry yesterday –– so why did he feel like he was forgetting something?

Sunghoon hears your voice echo through the apartment, “Jake! What are you doing here?”

Oh shit.

kay's note: r/amitheasshole which one of them do you think is the biggest asshole: sunghoon, jake, reader, or all of them, cause i was lowkey thinking about it myself but i'm not too sure either.

copyright © bambiens 2025.

[stwryun]

JUNO — LEE HEESEUNG | part one

synopsis : living next door to lee heeseung has always been a nightmare loud, cocky, and impossible to ignore until one reckless night at a party leaves you waking up in his bed and running before it can mean anything you try to forget it ever happened, until two lines change everything, and suddenly the one person you can’t stand is the one you can’t escape.

pairing : basketball captain heeseung x neighbourf!reader

trope : accidental pregnancy + forced proximity

word count : 19.6k

warnings : heeseung is a an absolute asshole, accidental pregnancy, alot panic and guilt, abortion / termination discussion, fear of the future, alcohol use, one night stand, dirty talking, cursing, foreplay, dry humping, oral, drunk sex ( consent is present ) , unprotected sex, mild degradation, hair pulling, creampie

🗯️ JO’s NOTES < 🐻‍❄️ 3 ! : omggg finallyy juno part one is out, hope you have an absolute amazing time when reading. navi did the proofreading for me ilysmm <3333

The bass from the apartment next door was so loud it made your pencil roll off the desk for the third time tonight thump thump thump. Each beat vibrated through the thin wall like it was personally trying to ruin your life.

You stared at the half finished notes in front of you, frustration bubbling hot in your chest. Midterms were in two weeks. Two weeks and Lee Heeseung, the campus golden boy, basketball captain, and your personal nightmare of a neighbor was throwing another one of his legendary parties like tomorrow didn’t exist.

This was the nth time. The nth damn time since you’d moved in six months ago. With a sharp exhale, you shoved your chair back and stormed out of your apartment, not even bothering to change out of your oversized hoodie and sweatpants. The hallway reeked of spilled beer and expensive cologne.

You could already hear the chaos before you even reached his door. Laughter, glasses clinking, some girl’s high pitched giggle cutting through the music.

You banged on the door harder than necessary. It took a few seconds before someone inside yelled over the noise, “Yoo Heeseung! Someone’s banging at your front door!”The door finally swung open.

Heeseung stood there in all his infuriating glory tall, broad shouldered, black hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. His button up was half undone, revealing a silver chain that rested on his collarbones and a glimpse of toned chest. Behind him, the party pulsed with red solo cups, dim lights, and at least half the basketball team.

A pretty girl with long hair and a tight dress was pressed close to his side, her hand resting possessively on his arm. He’d clearly been in the middle of charming her into his bed by the end of the night.

The second his dark eyes landed on you, that signature cocky smirk curved his lips.“Hi, miss morals,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, like he’d been waiting for this exact interruption.

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Can you turn it down? The music is too loud.”

Heeseung didn’t move. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. The girl behind him shifted, clearly annoyed at the sudden attention shift, but Heeseung didn’t spare her a glance now.

“Miss morals strikes again,” he laughed, the sound rich and mocking. It sent an unwelcome spark of irritation down your spine. “What’s the problem this time, neighbor? Come to bless us with your righteous presence?”

“I’m serious, Heeseung,” you said, voice sharp as you folded your arms tightly across your chest. “Not everyone has the pleasure of partying all night. Others have to actually study to pass their exams whereas others can just have daddy pay for everything when they fuck up.”The words hung in the air between you.

Heeseung’s smirk faltered instantly. His jaw tightened, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. For a split second, something raw annoyance, maybe even hurt flashed across his face before he quickly shoved it back into that indifferent mask. His eyes darkened, the playful glint gone.

“Whatever,” he muttered, voice suddenly flat and cold. “I’ll lower the volume.”He said, “Thank you,” you replied curtly, refusing to let the small victory show on your face even though your heart was hammering.

Heeseung didn’t say anything else. He simply stepped back and shut the door right in your face with a firm click that echoed down the empty hallway.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed wooden door, fists clenched at your sides. The music inside dropped almost immediately, not completely off, but low enough that you could finally breathe. Muffled laughter and voices still filtered through, but at least your walls wouldn’t shake anymore.

“Asshole,” you whispered under your breath, turning on your heel and heading back to your apartment.As you closed your own door behind you, you leaned against it for a second, eyes closed. Why did he always have to make everything so difficult? Why did one look from him always manage to crawl under your skin like this?

You shook your head, forcing the thoughts away. Back to studying. Back to pretending Lee Heeseung didn’t exist. But deep down, you already knew tonight’s silence between you two had just gotten a little louder.

You were halfway through rewriting your notes when your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a new message.

yunjin : you know sunghoon righttt? he’s throwing a massive party after midterms and he personally invited me. pleeease come with me?? i don’t wanna go alone 🥺

You stared at the text, already feeling the familiar dread settle in your stomach. Another party of course. You typed back quickly

you : No thanks im good have fun tho

The two dots appeared immediately.

yunjin : babe come onnnn

yunjin : it’s after midterms!! you deserve to relax

yunjin : sunghoon’s parties are actually fun i swear

yunjin : there’ll be good music, free drinks, and i heard the basketball team is coming too 👀

You groaned, rubbing your temples. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near the basketball team especially not after tonight’s lovely encounter with their captain.

you : exactly why I’m not going pass

yunjin : please please please i really like sunghoon and this could be my chance

yunjin : i’ll owe you big time i’ll even help you study for the next round of exams i’ll buy you that expensive matcha you like for a month!!

You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip. Yunjin was relentless when she wanted something. And honestly she had been there for you through every late night breakdown this semester. Saying no felt a little cruel the pleading texts kept coming

yunjin : i won’t leave your side the whole night ( she is lying )

yunjin : we can leave early if you hate it , pretty please with cherries on top?? 🥺🍒

You sighed deeply, already knowing you were about to lose this battle.

you : fine, ONE HOUR that’s it if it sucks, we’re out.

yunjin : YESSSSS!!! you’re the best i love you so much

yunjin : we can dress up together at my place okay , see you tomorrow <33

You tossed your phone onto the desk and dropped your head into your hands. Great, just what you needed. Another night surrounded by loud music, drunk athletes, and the very real possibility of running into the Lee Heeseung again.

You glanced at the wall that separated your apartment from his. The music was still playing faintly, but at least it was bearable now. Just one party, you could survive one party right?

The next morning, the art history lecture hall was already filling up with the usual mix of sleepy students and last minute crammers when you slipped into your regular seat in the middle row.

The faint scent of fresh coffee and old books lingered in the air. Yunjin dropped dramatically into the chair on your right, her long hair still slightly damp from her morning shower, eyes bright with far too much excitement for a 9 am class.

On your left, Soobin settled in quietly, tall frame folding gracefully into the seat. He placed his neatly organized notebook on the desk and pulled out a perfectly sharpened pencil, offering you a soft, reassuring smile.

Soobin was always like this calm, steady, the kind of friend who showed up without making a fuss. He was the complete opposite of the loud, chaotic energy that seemed to follow Heeseung everywhere.

Yunjin, however, was already completely distracted. She was leaning forward, chin resting on her hand, openly staring toward the front rows where Sunghoon sat chatting with a couple of friends. Her gaze was soft and dreamy, a tiny smile tugging at her lips every time he laughed at something.

You nudged her arm with your elbow, voice low and teasing. “You’re oogling him again it’s getting embarrassing at this point.”Yunjin didn’t even pretend to deny it. “I’m not oogling, im appreciating art,” she whispered back, still not tearing her eyes away. “Look at him he’s literally perfect.”

Soobin let out a quiet chuckle beside you, shaking his head as he flipped open his notebook. “Sure ‘appreciating’ that’s why half your notes from last week were just little hearts around his name.” He teased her, to which she replied,

“Traitor,” Yunjin hissed playfully, finally glancing at both of you as her cheeks flushed pink. “You two are supposed to be on my side.”The light banter continued until Soobin turned to you, lowering his voice a little. “Hey, I heard there was a party at Heeseung’s last night, did you survive the noise?”

You let out a long, dramatic groan and slumped back in your seat, the memory of last night’s confrontation still fresh and irritating. “Barely. That idiot had the music blasting so loud my textbooks were literally vibrating on the desk. I had to march over there in my hoodie and sweatpants like some angry neighbor from a sitcom again.”

Soobin listened attentively, his expression patient and sympathetic. He never interrupted your rants or told you to just ignore it. He just nodded along, dark eyes focused on you, making you feel genuinely heard.

It was one of the many reasons you treasured his friendship he was thoughtful, kind, and never loud or arrogant for the sake of it. The polar opposite of Heeseung.

“And of course he answered the door half dressed with some girl hanging off his arm like a trophy,” you continued, voice dripping with annoyance. “Called me ‘miss morals’ like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

Then when I pointed out that not everyone has a rich daddy to bail them out when they party instead of studying, he got all pissy, sucked in this dramatic breath, and slammed the door right in my face. He’s such an entitled asshole.”

Soobin hummed softly, a small frown creasing his brow. “That sounds exhausting, you should’ve texted me you know, i could’ve come over with snacks and we could’ve studied together instead of dealing with his nonsense alone.”

You smiled faintly at the offer, warmth cutting through the irritation. “Next time, maybe at least someone in this building has basic human decency.”

Yunjin finally tore her gaze away from Sunghoon long enough to grin at you. “Heeseung’s just bored and likes getting a rise out of you if you stopped reacting, he’d probably get bored and stop.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to live next door to the human equivalent of a walking migraine.”The professor walked in moments later, cutting off any further complaints.

The next hour passed in a blur of projected slides on Renaissance techniques, quiet note taking, and the occasional whispered comment from Yunjin whenever Sunghoon shifted in his seat.

When class finally ended, the three of you packed up your things and joined the stream of students flowing out into the crowded hallway. The air was filled with chatter about upcoming midterms, weekend plans, and the usual campus gossip.

As you walked side by side, Yunjin suddenly looped her arm through yours, her excitement bubbling over again. “So, about Sunghoon’s party after midterms you’re definitely coming, right? And Soobin you should come too! It’ll be so much more fun with all three of us there.”

Soobin blinked, surprised, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Wait you’re actually going?” He looked at you, genuinely shocked. “I thought you hated parties, especially ones thrown by the popular crowd.”

You shrugged, already regretting your decision a little. “Yunjin begged a lot and guilt tripped me with matcha promises. One hour max, if it sucks, I’m dragging her out.”

Yunjin squealed happily and squeezed your arm. “See? She’s coming! So you have to come too, Soobinn please?”Before Soobin could respond, a familiar voice cut through the hallway noise from behind you.

“Can’t imagine miss morals at a party but I’m looking forward to seeing you there.” Your stomach dropped, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

Heeseung was leaning casually against a set of lockers a few feet away, arms crossed over his varsity jacket, that signature cocky smirk playing on his lips. He must have overheard the entire conversation.

His dark eyes locked onto yours with clear amusement, like he lived for these moments of catching you off guard.

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Heat crept up your neck partly from annoyance, partly from the embarrassment of him hearing your plans.

Yunjin stifled a laugh beside you while Soobin just shook his head quietly, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Heeseung’s low chuckle followed you as the three of you kept walking, but you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw tight. God, you really, really hated that guy.Midterms week stretched into a brutal two week marathon, and as an art curator major, you felt every single hour of it in your bones.

Your apartment had become a war zone of curated chaos towering stacks of books on museum exhibition design, printed slides from Art Conservation and Curatorial Practices, mood boards pinned to the wall for your upcoming gallery proposal project, and color coded flashcards scattered across every surface.

Late nights blurred into early mornings as you hunched over your laptop, drafting proposals for hypothetical exhibits while trying to memorize the intricate history of 19th century European collections. Sleep was a distant dream. Caffeine was your only reliable companion.

And then there was Heeseung.

He didn’t blast music or bring girls over every single night that would have been almost predictable. No, he was crueler than that. He chose random days, like he knew exactly how to keep you off balance, turning your already exhausting study schedule into a minefield of unwanted interruptions.

The first time hit on the second night of midterms. You were deep into analyzing a case study on museum ethics when the wall behind your desk started to vibrate faintly. At first it was just low music.

Then came the giggles two distinct female voices, breathy and flirtatious. Heeseung’s deep laugh cut through it all, followed by the unmistakable sound of bodies moving against furniture.

“Fuck, Heeseung you’re so good at this,” one of the girls moaned loudly, the words carrying crystal clear through the thin shared wall. The headboard started thumping a slow, steady rhythm against your wall rhythmic, insistent, growing faster.

You could hear the wet slap of skin, her exaggerated gasps turning into full throated cries every time he thrust.You yanked your noise canceling headphones on so hard the band dug into your temples, cranking the volume until classical music drowned most of it out.

But you could still feel it, the steady bang bang bang vibrating through your desk, through your chair, through your skull. Your cheeks burned with secondhand embarrassment and pure rage.

'Of course he’s fucking some random girl while I’m trying to memorize the difference between Baroque and Rococo curation techniques.' You thought bitterly, stabbing your highlighter across the page. Must be nice to have zero responsibilities except basketball and dick appointments.

It stopped around 2 a.m., but the damage was done. You only managed three hours of sleep before your 8 a.m. lecture.

The next morning, you were running on pure spite and too much coffee when you caught Heeseung in the hallway just as he was stepping out of his apartment. He looked annoyingly fresh — hair still damp from a shower, varsity jacket slung over one shoulder, that perpetual cocky smirk already in place.

You stopped right in front of him, arms crossed tightly. “Keep it down next time,” you said flatly, voice low but sharp. “Some of us are actually trying to pass our midterms instead of auditioning for porn.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Aw, miss morals heard everything? Didn’t know you were such a light sleeper.” You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Just tone it down, the headboard banging is ridiculous.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending another spike of irritation through you. “Noted.” Then he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Though from the sounds of it last night, she seemed to enjoy the banging.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away without another word, his soft laugh following you down the hall.The next disruption came four days later. A random Thursday when you had a massive group project due on modern curatorial strategies.

You’d just settled in with your laptop open to a half finished exhibition proposal when his door slammed open down the hall. One girl this time, but she was even louder.

The moment they got inside, the sounds started again her high pitched whimpers, Heeseung’s low, cocky murmurs “Yeah? You like that? Tell me how much you want it” followed by the unmistakable wet sounds of them going at it on what sounded like his couch first, then migrating to the bed.

The headboard slammed against the wall so hard your framed print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night rattled. Her moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure, each one punctuated by Heeseung’s grunts and the filthy slap of bodies. “Harder fuck, right there, Heeseung don’t stop—”

You ended up studying in your bed instead, laptop balanced on your knees, pillows stacked around you like a fortress. Headphones on full blast. Still, every thrust made the wall tremble.

Every moan crawled under your skin and made focusing on your notes feel impossible. By the time they finally finished (or at least quieted down) around midnight, your eyes were burning and your proposal was only half done.

You hated how your body reacted sometimes not with attraction, but with pure, simmering resentment that made your stomach twist.That same night, after the noises finally stopped, you grabbed your phone in a fit of exhausted anger and texted him.

you : keep the noise down, some people are trying to study for actual grades, not coast on basketball talent and daddy’s money

His reply came faster than you expected. A picture popped up first. A close up selfie of Heeseung lying in bed, shirtless, messy hair, lazy smirk on his face, with the caption

heeseung : sorry, miss morals hard to stay quiet when they scream my name like that

heeseung : next time i’ll try to fuck quieter or maybe you can just join and tell me how to do it right?

You stared at the message, face flaming with a mix of rage and disbelief. You immediately blocked the image from your mind ( and definitely did not linger on the way his abs looked in the dim lighting ) before typing back a single furious reply

you : delete my number, asshole

The worst random night came during the final stretch, just three days before your last exams.

You were pulling an all nighter on your capstone project a full digital mock up of a contemporary art exhibit you’d spent weeks perfecting when the noises started again around 11 p.m. This time it was two girls.

Their laughter spilled into the hallway first, then straight through your wall. Heeseung’s voice was low and teasing, the kind of filthy charm that probably worked on every girl on campus.

Soon the bed was creaking loudly, headboard banging in a frantic rhythm while both girls moaned in tandem one breathy and high, the other deeper and more desperate.

“Heeseung oh god, yes fuck me like that—” mixed with wet, obscene sounds that left zero doubt about exactly what was happening next door. The wall vibrated so intensely your coffee mug slid an inch across the desk.

You sat there in your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, staring at your glowing screen, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every moan, every dirty encouragement from Heeseung, every rhythmic thud felt like a personal attack on the one thing you actually cared about your future.

Your grades, your dream of curating real exhibitions someday. While I’m over here trying not to fail out of the only thing I’m good at, you thought, fingers flying angrily across the keyboard, he’s over there living his best life with a rotating cast of girls screaming his name.

You wore the headphones until your ears rang. You even tried white noise apps, earplugs underneath nothing fully blocked it. The sex noises went on for nearly two hours that night, loud and shameless, until they finally quieted around 1:30 a.m.

By the end of the two weeks, you were running on fumes dark circles under your eyes, caffeine shakes in your hands, and a permanent knot of irritation lodged in your chest whenever you passed his door.

The random nights had been spaced out just enough to feel like psychological warfare instead of constant chaos.Heeseung never once toned it down. Never once seemed to care that someone on the other side of the wall was actually trying to build a future that didn’t involve daddy’s money or NBA scouts.

When Friday morning finally arrived and your last exam was over, you dragged yourself back to the apartment building, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. The hallway was quiet for once. Heeseung’s door looked innocently closed.

You unlocked your own door, stepped inside, and immediately collapsed face first onto your bed, still in your clothes midterms were done.But the resentment toward the boy next door had only grown sharper and Sunghoon’s party was tonight. You groaned into your pillow one hour in and out. Just don’t kill Heeseung on sight.

You took the quickest shower of your life, and changed into the first comfortable outfit you could find—a simple black crop top that showed just a sliver of your midriff and your favorite pair of dark jeans—comfortable, practical, safe.

You texted Yunjin that you were ready to head over to her place to “get ready together,” secretly hoping she wouldn’t make a big deal out of your clothes—big mistake. Yunjin’s apartment was only two blocks away, and the second you stepped inside, she took one look at you and gasped like you had personally offended her.

“No no absolutely not,” she declared, hands on her hips, eyes scanning you up and down with pure horror. “You cannot go to Sunghoon’s party looking like that.”

You glanced down at yourself, confused. “What’s wrong with this? It’s cute it’s comfortable.”“Cute? Comfortable?” Yunjin repeated, already dragging you toward her bedroom like a woman on a mission.

“Babe, we’re going to a party, not the library. You just survived two weeks of hell tonight you’re supposed to look hot, not like you’re about to give a museum tour.”

Before you could protest, she flung open her closet and started pulling out clothes with frightening speed. She held up a black mini skirt dangerously short, made of soft leather like material and a sheer black button up shirt that was practically see through.

“Try these,” she ordered, shoving the hanger into your hands. You stared at the outfit like it might bite you. “Yunjin, no way, that skirt is barely legal and the shirt is see through i’m not wearing that.”

“Yes way, you are,” she sang, already pushing you toward the bathroom. “You agreed to come to the party that means you’re under my styling jurisdiction for tonight go change now”

You argued the entire time you were changing. “This is ridiculous! im going to freeze, people are going to stare i look like I’m trying way too hard—”

But Yunjin was relentless. The second you stepped out in the mini skirt and sheer shirt ( with a black bralette underneath so you weren’t completely exposed ), she clapped her hands and squealed.

“Oh my god, yes! Look at you!” She spun you around in front of her full length mirror. The skirt hugged your hips and ended high on your thighs, making your legs look longer.

The sheer shirt draped softly over your shoulders, the black bralette visible underneath in a way that was teasing but not outright scandalous. “You look insane like, dangerously hot.”

You tugged at the hem of the skirt, cheeks burning. “I feel naked. Can't I at least wear the jeans over this or something?”“No,” she said firmly, already sitting you down in front of her vanity. “We’re doing makeup now sit still.”

For the next twenty minutes, Yunjin worked her magic. Winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, soft smoky eyes, a touch of highlighter on your cheekbones, and a bold red lip that made your mouth look fuller. She even styled your hair into loose, effortless waves that framed your face perfectly.

When she finally stepped back, she let out a satisfied sigh.“Anyone would worship the ground you walk on looking like this,” she said, grinning proudly. “Trust me tonight, you’re not the stressed out art curator girl who yells at her neighbor. You’re the girl who turns heads even Heeseung won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small flutter of nerves mixed with reluctant confidence settled in your stomach as you looked at your reflection. The outfit was way bolder than anything you’d normally wear, but you had to admit it looked good.

“Fine,” you muttered, smoothing down the skirt one last time. “But if I hate it, we’re leaving early and if Heeseung says one word about ‘miss morals’ in this outfit, I’m pouring a drink on him.”Yunjin laughed and linked her arm with yours. “Deal now let’s go make Sunghoon’s party unforgettable.”

You and Yunjin barely made it out of her apartment before your phone buzzed with a text from Soobin saying he was already waiting downstairs. The three of you had agreed he would drive so none of you had to worry about getting home later.

The elevator ride down felt too short. Your heart was already beating a little faster than usual partly from the unfamiliar outfit, partly from the knowledge that you were actually going to a party after surviving two brutal weeks of midterms.

The black mini skirt kept riding up slightly with every step, and you kept tugging nervously at the hem while Yunjin wouldn’t stop complimenting how good you looked.

When you stepped out of the building into the cool evening air, Soobin’s car was parked right in front, engine idling. He was leaning casually against the driver’s side, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up and saw the two of you approaching, his eyes widened noticeably.

Especially when they landed on you. Soobin froze for a second, his usual calm expression cracking into pure, genuine shock. His gaze traveled slowly from your loose waves and sharp winged eyeliner, down to the sheer black shirt that subtly revealed the black bralette underneath, then to the dangerously short leather like mini skirt that made your legs look endless.

He blinked once, twice, before quickly clearing his throat and straightening up, ears turning a light shade of pink.“Wow” he said, voice a little higher than his normal soft tone. “You both look really nice like, really nice.”

Yunjin grinned triumphantly, looping her arm through yours and squeezing. “See? Told you! Even Soobin is shook, she looks hot, right?”

You felt heat creep up your neck and quickly crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper aware of how different you looked from your usual oversized hoodie and jeans self.

“It’s all Yunjin’s doing. She basically held me hostage in her room until I changed. I tried to wear my normal clothes and she acted like I committed a crime.”

Soobin gave a small, shy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened the back door for both of you like the gentleman he was. “No, it really suits you, you look great tonight.” His compliment was sincere and gentle, making the awkwardness feel a little softer. “Ready to go? Sunghoon’s place isn’t too far from here.”

The car ride was filled with easy, light chatter that helped calm your nerves. Yunjin sat in the front passenger seat, already buzzing with excitement about seeing Sunghoon, while you sat in the back, occasionally tugging at your skirt and staring out the window at the passing streetlights.

Soobin kept the conversation flowing comfortably, light complaints about how brutal midterms had been, predictions about how wild the party might get, and Yunjin’s endless teasing about how

Sunghoon had “personally invited” her. Every now and then Soobin would glance at you through the rearview mirror, still looking a little flustered whenever your eyes met.

Before you knew it, Soobin was pulling up to a large off campus house that was already pulsing with loud music and flashing colored lights. Cars lined both sides of the street, and groups of people were laughing and chatting on the front lawn, red cups in hand.

The three of you climbed out of the car, and the heavy bass from inside immediately hit you like a wave. The night air smelled like a mix of cheap beer, sweet perfume, and fresh cut grass. Yunjin practically bounced on her heels with excitement as the three of you walked up the pathway toward the front door.

Sunghoon was standing right at the entrance, playing the perfect host in a simple black shirt and jeans. His sharp, handsome features broke into a warm, genuine smile the moment he spotted your group approaching.

“Hey! You guys actually made it,” he greeted cheerfully, voice carrying easily over the noise from inside. His eyes lingered on Yunjin for an extra beat, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “Yunjin, glad you came and you brought friends, nice.”

He gave Soobin a friendly nod and then turned his attention to you, eyebrows raising slightly in pleasant surprise as he took in your bold outfit. “Hey! you clean up really well. Welcome to the party, hope you guys have fun tonight.”

You managed a small, polite smile, still feeling slightly out of your element. “Thanks for inviting us.”Sunghoon handed each of you a red solo cup filled with something fruity and strong smelling a sweet cocktail that had a sharp kick of alcohol when you took your first cautious sip.

“Drinks are flowing inside help yourselves to whatever you want. There’s food in the kitchen, beer pong in the living room, and dancing. Pretty much everywhere enjoy!”

Yunjin thanked him brightly, her cheeks already a little flushed with excitement, and steered you and Soobin further into the crowded house. The interior was packed wall to wall with people.

Students were laughing loudly, dancing in the middle of the living room, playing intense games of beer pong, and making out in dimly lit corners. The music was loud but not yet overwhelming, colorful lights flashing across the walls and bodies.

For the first few minutes, the three of you stuck close together, weaving through the crowd while sipping your drinks. Soobin stayed protectively near your side, occasionally leaning down to say something quiet and reassuring whenever he noticed you looking a bit overwhelmed by the chaos.

Then you felt it. That familiar, annoying prickle on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. You turned your head slightly, and there he was.

Heeseung was leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, a red cup dangling from his fingers. He was surrounded by a small group of his closest friends—Beomgyu laughing at something on his phone, Jake with his usual bright smile, and Jay nursing his own drink while scanning the room.

Heeseung looked effortlessly good tonight in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and dark jeans that sat low on his hips. His hair was styled in that signature messy but perfect way.

The moment his dark eyes found you across the crowded room, his conversation with the guys stopped mid sentence.

His gaze dragged slowly and shamelessly down your body, taking in the short black mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs, the sheer shirt that teased the black bralette underneath, the way the outfit accentuated your curves before snapping back up to your face.

For once, his usual cocky smirk didn’t appear instantly. Instead, there was a flash of genuine surprise, followed by something darker, more heated, and appreciative.

He pushed off the wall and started walking straight toward your group, completely ignoring whatever Beomgyu was saying behind him.

“Well, well, well,” Heeseung drawled when he was close enough, his voice cutting smoothly through the music. His eyes were still shamelessly roaming over you. “Look who decided to show up. Miss morals in a mini skirt i almost didn’t recognize you damn.”

You felt your stomach twist with that familiar mix of irritation and unwanted warmth. Before you could even open your mouth to snap back, Yunjin jumped in defensively, stepping slightly in front of you with a bright but sharp smile.

“Excuse me, Heeseung? She looks amazing, and she doesn’t need your backhanded compliments,” Yunjin said, tilting her head with fake sweetness.

“Unlike some people who only know how to throw loud parties and bring random girls over during midterms, maybe focus on your own game instead of commenting on her outfit.”

Heeseung chuckled lowly, clearly amused by Yunjin’s quick defense, but his eyes never left you. Jake, Beomgyu, and Jay were now watching the exchange from a few feet away, Beomgyu smirking like he was enjoying the show and Jake looking mildly entertained.

“Relax, Yunjin,” Heeseung replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup. “I’m just saying that she cleaned up dangerous tonight, didn’t think our neighbor owned anything shorter than ankle length. Beomgyu, Jake, Jay back me up here. She looks good, right?”

Beomgyu grinned and raised his cup in a lazy toast. “Yeah, she do be looking fire tonight.”Jake nodded with a bright laugh. “For real, new look suits you.”Jay just shook his head with a small smile, staying quiet but clearly entertained.

You rolled your eyes, lifting your red solo cup to your lips to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t start with me tonight, Heeseung i’m only here for one hour, and I’d rather not spend it dealing with your nonsense.”

Heeseung tilted his head, that signature cocky smirk fully back in place now as he took another slow step closer. The way he was looking at you made the noisy room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.

“Gonna dance tonight, or are you just here to supervise everyone else’s fun like usual, miss morals?”

You didn’t even give Heeseung the satisfaction of a proper reply. Instead, you flipped him off with a sharp middle finger, turned on your heel, and grabbed Yunjin’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

Yunjin laughed loudly, clearly proud of your reaction, and let you drag her deeper into the crowded house while Heeseung’s low chuckle followed behind you. Beomgyu, Jake, and Jay were already teasing him in the background, but you refused to look back.

For the first half hour, the party actually felt manageable. You stuck close to Yunjin and Soobin, sipping from your red solo cup and people watching from a quieter corner of the living room.

The music was loud, the lights flashed in rhythm with the bass, and the alcohol slowly started to loosen the tight knot of stress that midterms had left in your chest. Then Sunghoon appeared again.

He approached your group with that easy, charming smile, eyes mostly locked on Yunjin. “Hey want to dance?”Yunjin’s face lit up like he’d just offered her the moon. She turned to you quickly, squeezing your hand. “You’ll be okay for a bit, right? I’ll be right back!”

Before you could even answer, she was gone, disappearing into the sea of bodies on the dance floor with Sunghoon’s hand on her waist, now it was just you and Soobin.

You tried to keep the conversation light, but the longer you stood there, the more the party energy started to pull at you. The drink in your cup was strong and sweet, and after two weeks of pure academic hell, the idea of letting loose felt dangerously tempting.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath. You downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn sliding warmly down your throat. Then you grabbed another cup from a passing tray and started sipping again. Why not? Midterms were over. You deserved this.

Soobin noticed and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t judge. He stayed beside you, chatting quietly, making sure you weren’t completely alone. But after a while, you started feeling guilty. He was sweet, always listening, always there and here he was babysitting you instead of enjoying the party.

“Go talk to your friends,” you told him, giving him a gentle push toward a group of guys waving at him from across the room. “Seriously, Soobin i’ll be fine, i don’t want you wasting your night stuck with me. Go have fun i’ll text you if I need anything.”

He hesitated, looking concerned, but you begged him with your best pleading eyes until he finally nodded. “Okay but stay safe, text me if anything feels off.”

Once Soobin walked away to join his friends, you let yourself drift toward the dance floor. The alcohol was hitting nicely now a warm, fuzzy buzz that made the music feel better and your body lighter.

You moved to the edge of the crowd first, swaying gently, then slowly worked your way deeper into the pulsing bodies.

You didn’t notice him at first. But Heeseung had been watching you the entire time. From the moment Yunjin disappeared with Sunghoon, his eyes had followed you. He watched you down your drinks. He watched you convince Soobin to leave.

And now he watched as you finally stepped fully onto the dance floor, hips moving to the heavy beat, the short black mini skirt riding up just enough to draw attention, the sheer shirt catching the flashing lights.

Heeseung set his cup down and started moving through the crowd toward you, slow and deliberate. When he was close enough, he didn’t just grab you like most guys would. Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice low and surprisingly respectful against the loud music.

“Hey can I dance with you?”

You turned your head, alcohol making you bold. Your eyes met his, and for once, you didn’t immediately snap at him. The buzz in your veins, the way he was looking at you like he couldn’t look away…it made something reckless spark inside you.

You nodded “Yeah okay.” Only then did Heeseung step closer. The moment he did, the space between you disappeared. His body pressed lightly against yours at first, hands hovering respectfully before you started moving together.

The music was sensual, slow and heavy, and your bodies naturally fell into rhythm. It didn’t stay innocent for long. Heeseung’s hands gradually grew bolder one sliding to your waist, the other brushing up your side, fingers grazing the sheer fabric of your shirt.

You moved closer, hips rolling against his, the short skirt brushing against his thighs. His touch grew hotter, palms sliding down to grip your hips, then slowly roaming over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him.

The air between you thickened. Your breathing grew heavier. Every brush of his body sent sparks through your skin. Heeseung leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, voice low. “fuck, not being able to kiss you right now is actual torture.”

The words hit you like a shot of pure heat. The alcohol, the weeks of built up tension, the way his hands felt all over your body everything crashed together in one reckless moment.

You didn’t think, you just acted. turning your head as you grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed your lips against his.

The kiss was messy, desperate, and instantly wild. Heeseung groaned into your mouth the second your lips met, one hand flying up to cup the back of your neck while the other tightened possessively on your waist, pulling you even harder against him.

You kissed like you were angry at each other—teeth clashing, tongues sliding hot and deep, lips moving with raw hunger.

Heeseung kissed like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His mouth was demanding, devouring, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. You moaned softly against him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging, which only made him kiss you harder.

The dance floor disappeared around you. The music faded into background noise. There was only the heat of his body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, and the way his hands roamed greedily over your curves sliding up your back under the sheer shirt, gripping your hips, pressing you so close you could feel exactly how much he wanted you.

The makeout was crazy sloppy, passionate, breathless. You bit his lower lip, and he responded with a low growl, sucking on your tongue before kissing you even harder.

Your bodies moved together to the beat, grinding slowly while your mouths stayed locked in a heated battle.

When you finally pulled back for air, both of you were panting, lips swollen and shiny. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.

“Shit” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me tonight.”The kiss finally broke, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening under the flashing party lights.

Heeseung’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown with want, and the way he looked at you sent another rush of heat straight through your body.

You didn’t think. The alcohol, the weeks of hating him, the way his hands had felt all over you everything made you reckless. You leaned in closer, voice low and breathless against his ear. “Wanna go back to your apartment?”

Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a dangerous smirk tugging at his swollen lips. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, but it quickly melted into pure hunger.

“Fuck yes”

He didn’t waste another second. His hand slid down to grab yours firmly, fingers lacing tight as he started pulling you through the crowded dance floor. People moved out of the way as Heeseung cut a path toward the front door, his grip on you possessive and urgent.

You barely had time to register anything else Yunjin and Soobin were somewhere in the house, but right now, none of that mattered.The cool night air hit your flushed skin the moment you stepped outside, but it did nothing to calm the fire burning in your veins.

Heeseung’s car was parked a little down the street. He didn’t let go of your hand the entire way, and the second you reached the passenger side, he opened the door for you with surprising speed before rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The moment the doors closed, the tension exploded again. Heeseung started the engine, but you were already growing impatient. The short drive back to your apartment building felt too long. Every red light, every stop sign made the ache between your legs worse.

You kept stealing glances at him his jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel, the way his shirt was slightly undone from your earlier tugging. At the third red light, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.“Fuck this,” you muttered.

Before Heeseung could react, you unbuckled your seatbelt, climbed over the center console, and straddled his lap in one swift motion. The mini skirt rode up high on your thighs as you settled on top of him, your hands immediately cupping his face as you crashed your lips back onto his.

Heeseung groaned loudly into the kiss, his hands flying to your waist to steady you. The kiss was even wilder than on the dance floor desperate, messy, all tongue and teeth. You rocked your hips against him, grinding down slowly at first, then harder, feeling him harden beneath you through his jeans.

His hands roamed greedily, one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast over the bralette, the other gripping your ass and pulling you tighter against his growing bulge.

“Shit you’re driving me crazy,” he muttered against your mouth between kisses, voice rough and wrecked.

You moaned softly, grinding down harder, the friction sending sparks through your entire body. The car windows started to fog up as you moved together, lips never leaving each other for long.

Heeseung’s tongue slid against yours, deep and filthy, while his hips bucked up to meet your movements, the steering wheel pressing into your back.

You were completely lost in him hands in his hair, tugging, lips sucking on his bottom lip, hips rolling in desperate circles when the sharp sound of honking suddenly pierced through the haze.

Once, twice, then a chorus of angry car horns blaring behind you reality crashed back in.

You pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, lips shiny and swollen, breathing ragged. The light had turned green, and the cars lined up behind you were laying on their horns, some drivers shouting out their windows.

Heeseung let out a breathless laugh, his hands still gripping your thighs tightly. His eyes were dark, hair messy from your fingers, lips red and kiss bitten.“Fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “We’re gonna cause an accident if you keep this up.”

You quickly scrambled back into the passenger seat, heart pounding, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal.

Your skirt was hiked up dangerously high, and you tugged it down with shaky hands while Heeseung adjusted himself in his seat, clearly struggling to focus on the road.

He shot you a heated sideways glance, smirk returning as he pressed the gas pedal.“Almost home,” he said, voice low and promising. “Try not to jump me again until we’re inside or don’t. I'm not complaining.”

The rest of the short drive was torturous. The air in the car was thick with tension, both of you stealing glances, the memory of your grinding still fresh and electric.

When Heeseung finally pulled into the parking spot outside your shared apartment building, he killed the engine and turned to you, eyes blazing.

The second you were both out of the car, he grabbed your hand again and practically dragged you toward the entrance, the promise of what was about to happen hanging heavy between you.

The second the door to Heeseung’s apartment slammed shut behind you, all restraint vanished.He had you pinned against the wood before you could even catch your breath, mouth crashing back onto yours in a filthy, open mouthed kiss.

His hands were everywhere one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast roughly, the other gripping your ass and yanking your hips flush against the hard line of his cock already straining in his jeans.

“Been thinking about this since you walked in wearing that tiny fucking skirt,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. “Look at you acting like such a good girl all semester and now you’re begging to get fucked in my bed.”

You didn’t deny it you couldn’t. The alcohol and weeks of pent up hatred had turned into pure, desperate need. You tugged at his shirt buttons, popping a few open in your haste, and Heeseung chuckled darkly before ripping the rest off himself.

The shirt hit the floor. Yours followed a second later, then your bralette, leaving your tits exposed to the cool air of his apartment.

Heeseung’s mouth was on your neck instantly, sucking a mark right below your jaw while his hands squeezed your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they were hard and aching. “So fucking pretty when you’re needy like this,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, huh?”

You whimpered when he shoved the mini skirt up around your waist and cupped you over your panties. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, rubbing slow circles over your clit.

“Shit you are dripping already.” He smirked against your throat. “Such a dirty little secret you’ve been hiding, miss morals.”

You didn’t have time to snap back. Heeseung dropped to his knees right there in the entryway, hooked your panties to the side, and buried his face between your thighs without warning. His tongue dragged a long, nasty stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you.

“Oh my god—” Your head thunked back against the door as he licked and sucked like a man starved, two fingers sliding inside you easily because you were so wet.

He curled them perfectly, pumping fast while his tongue flicked mercilessly over your clit. The sounds were obscene wet, sloppy, loud and he didn’t care. He ate you like he wanted to ruin you.

You came hard on his tongue within minutes, thighs shaking, fingers yanking at his hair as you cried out his name. Heeseung didn’t stop until you were trembling and pushing at his head, then he stood up, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed you deep so you could taste yourself.

“Bedroom now,” he ordered.

He didn’t wait for you to walk. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing, carrying you down the short hallway while your legs wrapped around his waist.

Your skirt was still bunched around your hips, panties shoved to the side. You could feel his cock pressing against your soaked core with every step.

The second he kicked his bedroom door open, he dropped you onto the bed. You barely had time to bounce before he was stripping the rest of his clothes off. His jeans and boxers hit the floor and his cock sprang free—thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.

Your mouth watered at the sight. Heeseung climbed over you, caging you in with his arms. “You want this?” he asked, voice dark, one hand stroking his cock slowly as he looked down at you. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathed, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. “Fuck me, Heeseung.”That was all it took.

He shoved your legs apart wider, lined himself up, and pushed in with one long, brutal thrust. You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out inside you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “Taking me so well already.”Then he started moving hard fast and filthy.

The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust, the same wall that separated your apartments. The irony wasn’t lost on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Heeseung fucked you like he’d been imagining this exact moment for months.Deep, punishing strokes that made your tits bounce and your breath hitch.

He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, folding you in half so he could fuck you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on where his cock was disappearing inside you. “Taking every inch like a good little slut, who would’ve thought the girl next door gets this fucking nasty?”

The degradation was light, just enough to make your pussy clench harder around him. You moaned louder, hips trying to meet his thrusts.

Heeseung’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while he pounded into you.

“Come on, baby. Come on my cock again, wanna feel you squeezing me.” You shattered for the second time, back arching, walls fluttering around his thick length as your orgasm crashed through you. Heeseung fucked you through it, hips never slowing, chasing his own release.

“Fuck— I’m close,” he growled, voice strained. “Where do you want it?” He asked, “Inside,” you gasped, still riding the high. “Come inside me.”

Heeseung cursed loudly, thrusting a few more brutal times before he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. You felt every pulse, every hot spurt filling you up as he groaned your name against your neck, hips jerking through the aftershocks.

For a moment the only sounds were both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.

Heeseung stayed inside you for a long minute, forehead pressed to yours, before he finally pulled out slowly. A trickle of his cum leaked out of you onto the sheets, and he watched it with dark, satisfied eyes then collapsed beside you.

Instead of pulling away, Heeseung immediately reached for you. He wrapped one strong arm around your waist and tugged you against his chest, your back flush to his front in a tight, warm hug. His other hand gently pulled the duvet up over both of you, cocooning your naked bodies in soft warmth.

You were still sticky with sweat and cum, thighs trembling, but the way he held you possessive yet surprisingly gentle made something soft flutter in your chest despite everything.

Heeseung pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.“Stay,” he murmured, voice already thick with sleep as he tightened his arm around you. “Just stay.”

Exhausted, fucked out, and strangely comforted by his warmth, you let your eyes drift shut. His steady heartbeat against your back and the heavy duvet wrapped around you lulled you quickly into sleep, safe in Heeseung’s arms for the night.

ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. next morning !

The first thing you registered was the pounding in your head. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains making everything feel hazy. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red 4:28 a.m.

Your mouth was dry, throat scratchy, and a dull throb pulsed behind your temples the unmistakable aftermath of too many drinks and not nearly enough sleep. You shifted slightly under the heavy duvet, and that’s when you felt it.

A warm, solid body pressed against your back. An arm draped heavily over your waist, holding you close skin against skin. The faint scent of cologne, sweat, and something distinctly masculine filled your senses.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Memories from last night crashed over you like ice water.

The party, the red solo cup dancing. Heeseung’s hands all over your body on the dance floor. The reckless invitation. The car ride where you’d climbed into his lap like you had no shame.

The way he’d pinned you against his door, dropped to his knees in the entryway, fucked you hard on his bed until you were crying out his name. The filthy sounds. The way he’d filled you up. The way he’d pulled you against his chest afterward, hugging you tight under the duvet as you both drifted off.

You had fucked Lee Heeseung

You had fucked your loud, cocky, insufferable neighbor the basketball captain you’d spent months complaining about, the one who called you “Miss Morals” like it was the funniest joke in the world.

Mortification burned hot through your entire body. Your stomach twisted violently. What the hell had you been thinking? The alcohol had stripped away every ounce of common sense, and now you were lying naked in his bed, his cum still faintly sticky between your thighs, his arm wrapped around you like you belonged there.

Heeseung was still sound asleep behind you, breathing deep and even, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. His face was relaxed in sleep no smirk, no cocky grin but you knew the second he woke up, everything would change.

He would never let you live this down. The teasing would be relentless. “Miss morals” would turn into something far worse. He’d smirk every time he saw you in the hallway, make dirty little comments about how loud you’d been, how desperate you’d sounded begging for him.

The walls between your apartments were thin he’d probably bring it up every time you complained about his noise again. Your life next door would become a living hell.You couldn’t stay here.

Panic clawed up your throat. You had to leave before he woke up. Before this became real. Before he opened his eyes and looked at you with that knowing, satisfied smirk.

Carefully, so carefully, you lifted his arm from your waist. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, murmuring something incoherent under his breath. Your heart hammered as you slowly slid out from under the duvet, the cool air hitting your naked skin and raising goosebumps.

You moved like a ghost around his room, gathering your scattered clothes as quietly as possible. Your sheer black shirt, the black bralette, the dangerously short mini skirt, your panties all crumpled on the floor where they’d been tossed in the heat of the moment.

You dressed as fast as you could, fingers trembling as you buttoned the sheer shirt and tugged the mini skirt down your thighs. Your hair was a mess, makeup probably smudged, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get out.

Barefoot, shoes in hand, you tiptoed toward the bedroom door. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening. You glanced back once at Heeseung still asleep, one arm now stretched across the empty space where you’d been, dark hair messy against the pillow.

A strange, unwelcome pang twisted in your chest, but you shoved it down hard. This never happened.

You slipped out of his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you. The living room was dark and silent. You navigated through the unfamiliar space, heart racing, until you reached the front door. The lock clicked softly as you turned it.

The hallway was empty and dimly lit when you stepped outside. The cool air felt like freedom. You didn’t even bother putting your shoes on yet you just hurried the few steps to your own apartment door next door, fumbling with your keys until they finally slid into the lock.

The moment you were inside, you locked the door behind you, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor, breathing hard.

Your body still ached in the best and worst ways. Thighs sore, a faint bruise forming on your hip from his grip, the ghost of his touch lingering everywhere. You could still feel him inside you, still taste the heat of his mouth.

You buried your face in your hands, mortified beyond words. What had you done?You had slept with the one person you couldn’t stand and now you had to live right next door to him, pretending it never happened.

Because if Heeseung ever found out you’d run away like this, the teasing would only get worse much, much worse. You spent the rest of that early morning in a haze of denial.

Your phone vibrated then again. You reached for it with a heavy sigh, squinting at the bright screen.

yunjin ( 3 new messages )

yunjin : babe where did u go?? one second u were dancing and then u disappeared 😭

yunjin : sunghoon said he saw u leave with someone?? pls tell me ur okay

yunjin : im worried call me when u wake up!!

soobin ( 4 new messages )

soobin : hey, you okay? you left pretty suddenly last night without telling both of us yunjin’s freaking out a bit

soobin : let me know if you got home safe

soobin : if you need anything or want to talk, i’m here no pressure

soobin : hope you’re resting well ❤️

You stared at the messages, throat tightening. The kindness in Soobin’s texts and Yunjin’s worried energy made fresh tears prick at your eyes. They had no idea what you had done. No idea you had spent the night in Heeseung’s bed, letting him touch you, kiss you, fuck you like you’d lost all common sense.

You typed back with trembling fingers, keeping it short and vague

you : got home safe, just drank too much and needed to leave early sorry for worrying you guys i’m okay, just tired talk later ❤️

You sent it and immediately turned your phone on silent, burying your face in your hands the memories wouldn’t stop replaying. Heeseung’s hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck. The way he had groaned your name when he came inside you.

How safe and warm his arms had felt when he pulled you under the duvet afterward. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push it all away this never happened.

After sliding down your front door and sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours, you finally dragged yourself to the shower.

You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, trying to wash away every trace of Heeseung his scent, his touch, the sticky evidence of what you’d done between your thighs. The hot water did nothing to erase the soreness or the vivid flashbacks that kept playing on loop in your head.

By the time the sun came up, you had made a decision this never happened. You would bury it so deep that even you would start to believe it. No one needed to know. Not Yunjin, not Soobin, not even yourself on most days.

You would go back to normal go to classes, focus on your art curator projects, complain about the noise next door like always. And most importantly, you would avoid Lee Heeseung at all costs.

ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. flashback !

Heeseung stepped out of his apartment with a half empty water bottle in hand, planning to grab the last box from his car before the evening practice. The hallway was quiet until it wasn’t.

A girl came rushing around the corner, arms overloaded with a massive cardboard box that completely blocked her line of sight. She collided straight into his chest with a startled gasp.

The box flew out of her hands and crashed to the floor, spilling books, notebooks, and what looked like art supplies everywhere across the hallway carpet. Heeseung instinctively reached out and grabbed her arms to keep her from stumbling backward.

She looked up at him, flushed and clearly annoyed, strands of hair falling across her face from the chaotic move. She was pretty, sharp eyes, determined expression the kind of girl who didn’t seem impressed by campus status.

A smirk tugged at his lips before he could stop it.“Easy there, neighbor,” he drawled, voice laced with amusement. “You always run into people like you’re trying to tackle them, or am I just lucky?”

She blinked, then quickly crouched down to gather her scattered belongings, avoiding his gaze.“Sorry,” she muttered, tone tight and clipped. “Didn’t see you.”

Heeseung crouched down as well, picking up a thick book on museum curation that had slid toward his foot. He turned it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow.“Art stuff, huh?” he asked casually. “You moving in next door?”

“Yeah just today,” she replied shortly, snatching the book back from him with a little more force than necessary.

He stood up first and leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he watched her struggle to reorganize everything into the box. Most girls would have smiled, maybe even recognized him as the basketball captain.

This one? She looked like she already wanted nothing to do with him.“I’m Heeseung,” he said, flashing his most charming grin. “Lee Heeseung, your new neighbor. Need help carrying that? Looks heavy.” He offered,

“I’m good thanks,” she answered without even looking up, standing quickly and slinging the tote over her shoulder.

Heeseung didn’t move out of the way. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her with open curiosity. There was something refreshing about her indifference that it made him want to push a little harder.

“Just so you know,” he added, voice dropping into a teasing tone, “The walls here are pretty thin, try not to be too loud when you’re studying or doing whatever it is, serious art curator girls do at night.”Her eyes finally snapped up to his, narrowing with clear irritation.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said flatly. “And maybe you can try keeping your parties down some people actually have to study to pass their classes.”

Heeseung let out a low, genuine laugh that echoed down the empty hallway. She had bite and he liked that.

“Welcome to the building, miss morals,” he called after her as she turned toward her door, the nickname slipping out naturally. She didn’t respond. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked her apartment, and slipped inside without another word, the door shutting with a firm click.

Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, still grinning to himself. The girl next door already hated him, and he hadn’t even thrown his first party yet. This was going to be interesting.

The gym echoed with the sharp squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic bounce of basketballs. Afternoon practice was in full swing, but during a water break, Heeseung leaned against the bleachers, towel draped over his shoulders, a cocky grin already plastered on his face.

Jay tossed him a bottle of water. “You look way too happy for someone who just ran suicides.”Heeseung laughed, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can’t help it ran into the new neighbor again this morning.”

Beomgyu perked up immediately, spinning the ball on his finger. “The girl next door? The one who already hates your guts?”

“miss morals herself,” Heeseung confirmed, his smirk widening. “I was just leaving for practice when she came out, i told her the walls are thin and she should try not to be too loud at night. You should’ve seen her face, she looked like she wanted to throw her coffee at me.”

Jake, who was stretching nearby, let out a loud laugh. “Dude, you’re obsessed! that’s like the third time this week you’ve mentioned her.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Heeseung shot back, but his grin betrayed him. “It’s just too easy. She gets so worked up over the smallest things. Last week I had a couple of people over, nothing crazy and she banged on my door at midnight like the apartment was on fire, called me an entitled asshole who only passes because ‘daddy pays for everything.’”

The group burst into laughter. Sunghoon shook his head, amused. “She’s got balls, most girls on campus would be throwing themselves at you the second they find out you’re the captain.”

“Exactly,” Heeseung said, tossing the towel aside. “That’s what makes it fun, she doesn’t give a single fuck who I am. No flirty smiles, no asking for tickets to games, nothing. She just glares at me like I personally ruined her life by existing next door it’s hilarious.”

Beomgyu grinned mischievously. “So what’s your plan? Keep annoying her until she moves out?”

“Nah,” Heeseung replied, bouncing the ball once. “I’m just getting started, next time the music’s on, I might turn it up a little louder to see how long it takes before she comes marching over again. Bet she’ll have that cute little angry face on.”

Jake, who had been quietly listening while stretching his hamstrings, suddenly straightened up with a knowing look.“Don’t you think you’re in love with her or something?” he asked casually, but loud enough for the whole group to hear.

The gym went quiet for half a second before the guys exploded with laughter and teasing whistles. Heeseung nearly choked on his water. “What the fuck, Jake?”

Jake shrugged, completely unfazed. “Think about it, she’s literally the only girl who doesn’t give a shit about you no ego stroking, no chasing after the basketball star. She treats you like any other annoying neighbor and instead of leaving her alone, you keep poking at her like a kid with a new toy. That sounds like a crush to me.”

“Bullshit,” Heeseung scoffed, but his ears turned slightly red. He dribbled the ball harder than necessary, trying to play it cool. “I’m not in love with her, she’s just entertaining. It's fun watching her get all riled up, that’s it.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sure ‘Entertaining.’ that’s why you bring her up every single practice.”

“Exactly,” Jake added with a grin. “If she suddenly started being nice to you, you’d probably be bored in a week but because she ignores you and calls you out, you can’t stop thinking about her.”

Heeseung pointed the ball at Jake threateningly, though his smirk was fighting to stay hidden. “Keep talking and I’ll make you run extra laps, Sim.”

The team laughed again, but Jake just held up his hands in surrender, still smiling. “I’m just saying, man. One day you’re gonna realize you’re not annoying her because it’s funny, you’re doing it because you like the way she fights back.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes and turned away, dribbling the ball toward the court to end the conversation. But as practice resumed and he sank a clean three pointer, Jake’s words lingered in the back of his mind longer than he wanted to admit.

Maybe there was a tiny bit of truth to it. Or maybe he just really, really enjoyed getting on your nerves.

The laughter from the team slowly died down as practice resumed. Heeseung shook off Jake’s teasing comment, channeling the slight irritation into sharper shots. He sank another clean three pointer, the ball swishing through the net with satisfying precision.

For a few minutes, the court felt like the only place where everything made sense no annoying neighbors, no complicated feelings, just the game. Then the gym doors swung open with a loud bang.

Everyone turned as a tall, sharply dressed man in a tailored coat strode in, his presence immediately sucking the casual energy out of the room. Coach paused mid instruction, nodding respectfully.

Heeseung’s stomach dropped the moment he recognized the figure his father. Mr. Lee didn’t smile. He never did when he showed up unannounced like this. His eyes scanned the court with cold calculation, lingering on Heeseung with clear disapproval.

“Take five, boys,” Coach called out, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Heeseung wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over, jaw already tight. “Dad what are you doing here?”Mr. Lee stopped a few feet away, arms folded behind his back. His voice was low but carried easily across the quiet gym.

“I came to see if my son is actually putting in the work that’s supposed to get him into the NBA,” he said flatly. “From what I’ve been hearing, it doesn’t look like it.”Heeseung’s friends lingered nearby, pretending to drink water but clearly listening.

“I’ve been at every practice,” Heeseung replied, keeping his tone even. “Coach said my shooting percentage is up this week—”

“Don’t make excuses,” his father cut him off sharply. “Your brother Heedo was never this distracted at your age, he was laser focused top scorer captainfull ride to the best program in the country. And you? You’re out here laughing with your little friends during water breaks, probably thinking about parties and girls instead of the game.”

Heeseung’s grip tightened on the basketball until his knuckles turned white.“I’m not distracted,” he said through gritted teeth. Mr.Lee stepped closer, voice dropping into that familiar, cutting tone that always found its mark.

“You’re good for nothing if you can’t even focus on what matters. All that talent wasted because you’d rather play around and act like some campus king. You think the scouts care about your popularity? they don’t, you will never be enough if you keep this up and you will certainly never be better than your brother.”

The words landed like punches. Heedo — the golden child. The one who had already made it pro overseas. The one their father never stopped comparing him to.Heeseung’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wanted to snap back, to defend himself, but years of this had taught him it was useless. His father never listened.

Mr. Lee straightened his coat, expression unchanging. “Fix it or don’t bother coming home for the holidays, i didn’t raise a failure.”Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the gym, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him with a final, echoing thud. The silence that followed was uncomfortable.

Heeseung stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, chest tight with anger and something heavier he refused to name. The team slowly went back to practice, but the energy had shifted. Jake shot him a concerned look, but Heeseung ignored it, dribbling the ball harder than necessary as he moved back onto the court.

Inside, the familiar bitterness churned.His father’s words echoed louder than any cheering crowd ever could. You will never be enough. You will never be better than your brother. Heeseung sank another shot, but this time it didn’t feel satisfying.

All he could think about was how easy it was to annoy the girl next door because at least when she glared at him and called him an entitled asshole, he felt something other than this hollow, crushing weight.

The heavy gym doors swung shut behind Mr. Lee, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. The team tried to resume practice, but the atmosphere had soured.

Heeseung stood frozen for a few seconds, staring at the spot where his father had been. The familiar sting of those words good for nothing, never enough, never better than your brother settled heavy in his chest like lead.

Jake jogged over, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man don’t let him get to you, your dad’s always been like that you’re killing it out here.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu added, spinning the ball on his finger. “Ignore him, you’re the one who’s gonna make it to the NBA, not Heedo.” Jay nodded. “Come on, let’s run some more plays we’ll crush the next game.”Heeseung forced a half smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah sure.”

He went through the motions for the rest of practice dribbling, shooting, defending but he was quiet. No cocky jokes no teasing his teammates no loud laughter. Every time someone tried to pull him into conversation or hype him up after a good play, he gave short, one word replies and kept his head down. The usual spark was gone.

Even Coach noticed, shooting him concerned glances but saying nothing.The moment practice officially ended, Heeseung grabbed his bag and left first, ignoring the calls from his friends asking if he wanted to grab food. He needed air. He needed to get away from the echoes of his father’s voice.

He walked aimlessly for a while, the cool evening air doing little to clear his head. Eventually, his feet carried him toward the small café just off campus the one with decent coffee and quiet corners where he sometimes went to think.He pushed open the door, the bell jingling softly, and scanned the room out of habit and then he saw you.

You were sitting alone at a corner table near the window, surrounded by textbooks, notes, and your laptop. Your hair was tied up messily, a pen between your teeth as you frowned at something on the screen. You looked focused serious and annoyingly cute in that concentrated way of yours.

A small, familiar spark ignited in his chest the one that always appeared whenever he spotted you. Before he could think better of it, Heeseung walked straight over and slid into the seat across from you without asking.You looked up, startled at first, then your expression quickly shifted into pure annoyance.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, voice sharp but low enough not to disturb the other customers. You closed your laptop slightly, glaring at him. “This is my table, go sit somewhere else.”

Heeseung leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, that signature smirk slowly returning despite the heavy weight still sitting in his stomach. Seeing your irritated face felt lighter somehow. Easier than dealing with everything else.

“Relax, miss morals,” he said, voice teasing. “I’m not here to ruin your precious study time. Just saw you and thought I’d say hi to my favorite neighbor.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “Favorite? We barely tolerate each other and I’m trying to work unlike some people who can afford to slack off because ‘daddy can pay for everything.’”

The jab should’ve stung more, especially after his father’s visit, but instead it made Heeseung’s smirk widen. There, it was that fire. That complete lack of care for who he was or what people usually said to him. You didn’t tiptoe around him. You didn’t try to impress him. You just called him out.

It felt strangely nice. Not in a romantic way, just refreshing ( liar liar liar he is totally in love with her ) He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Ouch straight for the throat today. What are you working on that’s got you so grumpy? Another museum thing? Planning to curate an exhibit called ‘Why Heeseung Should Shut Up’?”

You gave him a flat look, clearly not amused. “It’s for my capstone project and yes, if it helps keep loud neighbors quiet, I might include a whole section on it.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound genuine even if it was quiet. For the first time since his dad had shown up, the tight knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. He realized something in that moment. Your company wasn’t bad.

In fact, sitting here watching you get all annoyed and snappy at him felt better than sitting alone with his father’s words ringing in his head. It was simple predictable in the best way. You gave him a reaction real, unfiltered and for a few minutes, it made everything else fade into the background.

He loved annoying you. Not because he wanted to hurt you but because when you pushed back, it reminded him he was still here. Still capable of feeling something other than pressure and disappointment.

“Fine,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though he made no move to leave. “I’ll behave for now but only if you tell me what that exhibit is actually about.” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, clearly debating whether to kick him out or just ignore him. Heeseung waited, smirk still in place, secretly hoping you’d keep arguing with him a little longer.

ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. heeseung’s pov !

Heeseung woke up to a heavy, unfamiliar silence.

His eyes opened slowly, the soft gray morning light filtering through the curtains. His body felt sore in places that reminded him immediately of last night a dull ache in his shoulders, the faint stickiness between the sheets, the faint scent of sex still hanging in the air.

He turned his head to the side the bed was empty. The spot where you had been lying was cold, the pillow slightly dented but untouched now. No clothes scattered on the floor no shoes by the door nothing.

Heeseung sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. The memories came back in quiet, unflinching flashes the party you in that short black skirt.The heated dancing that turned into something reckless.The desperate makeout in his car while horns blared behind you.

How he’d carried you inside, how urgently you both had moved against each other against the door, then on this bed.The way you had moaned his name.The way he had finished inside you.

And how, afterward, he had pulled you close under the duvet, your back against his chest, both of you falling asleep in silence.

Now you were gone. He glanced at the clock. 7:23 a.m. You must have woken up in a panic sometime in the early hours and slipped out while he was still asleep. The realization settled in his stomach like a stone heavy, uncomfortable, and strangely final.

Heeseung let out a long, tired breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. This was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake.

You had always made it clear how much you couldn’t stand him. The constant complaints about his noise, the glares in the hallway, the way you called him entitled behind his back.

Last night had been nothing more than too much alcohol and bad judgment on both sides. You waking up and running away only confirmed it.He didn’t blame you. If anything, he felt a quiet wave of regret wash over him. He should have known better.

He should have stopped things before they went that far. Now things between you two were already tense, this was going to be even more awkward.

Heeseung stood up and walked to the bathroom. While the shower heated up, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were faint scratch marks on his shoulders and a small bruise near his collarbone. Physical proof that last night had really happened.

He stepped under the hot water, letting it run over his face and shoulders. It never happened, he told himself. That was the only way forward.He would forget about it. Pretend the entire night was a blur he couldn’t quite remember.

No teasing no comments in the hallway no bringing it up ever again. You clearly wanted to erase it, and honestly so did he. The last thing he needed right now was more complications in his life especially with someone who lived right next door.

After the shower, he got dressed in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants. He made coffee in the kitchen, moving on autopilot. The apartment felt too quiet now.

Heeseung leaned against the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and stared at the wall that separated his place from yours.From now on, things would go back to normal. You would keep avoiding him like you always did.

He would keep his music at a reasonable volume when he remembered. And neither of you would ever speak about what happened last night. It was better this way, cleaner and simpler.

He finished his coffee, rinsed the mug, and set it in the sink. Last night was a mistake and as far as Heeseung was concerned, it was already forgotten.

For the next two weeks, you turned your life into a carefully orchestrated mission of avoidance while your body slowly started betraying you in ways you couldn’t ignore. The mantra remained the same this never happened.

Every morning began the same way. Your alarm went off at 6:15 a.m., pulling you from restless sleep. The moment you sat up, a familiar wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, not violent, but persistent and queasy, making the room feel slightly off balance.

You’d sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, breathing slowly through your nose, waiting for it to pass. Some mornings it did. Others, you’d rush to the bathroom and dry heave over the sink, nothing coming up except bitter bile and a metallic taste that lingered on your tongue.

Once the worst of it subsided, you’d quickly get ready, choosing simple, comfortable clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. Then came the listening part. You’d press your ear to the front door, heart beating a little too fast, straining to hear any sound from Heeseung’s apartment next door.

If you caught even the faintest click of his lock or the low murmur of his voice on a phone call, you’d wait sometimes ten minutes, sometimes twenty pretending to reorganize your bag or check your notes until the hallway was silent again.

Leaving became a tactical exercise. You slipped out as quietly as possible, taking the side staircase instead of the main hallway whenever you spotted his car in the parking lot. The fatigue hit hardest during these moments.

Your legs felt heavier than usual, and by the time you reached campus, you were already drained, needing to sit down in the library for a few minutes just to catch your breath. Coming home was even more stressful.

You started timing your returns obsessively. If practice usually ended around 6 p.m., you’d stay late at the library or in an empty classroom, working on your capstone exhibition proposal until you were sure Heeseung was either out with friends or already inside. One evening, the dizziness caught you off guard.

You had just turned the corner into your hallway when the world tilted slightly. You had to lean against the wall, breathing shallowly, while a strong wave of nausea made your stomach churn.

The faint scent of someone’s dinner cooking nearby sent you rushing the last few steps to your door. The moment you got inside, you barely made it to the toilet before vomiting actual, forceful vomiting that left you trembling on the cold tile floor.

You told yourself it was stress. The constant hyper vigilance. The lack of proper sleep. The emotional weight of pretending that night had never occurred. But the symptoms kept creeping in, growing harder to dismiss.

Smells became your enemy. The aroma of coffee from the café near campus, which you used to love, now made your stomach revolt. You switched to plain crackers and ginger tea, keeping a secret stash in your bag.

Even the scent of your own shampoo sometimes triggered a gag reflex. Food tasted strange too salty, too sweet, or completely off. You lost interest in meals altogether, surviving on small portions that you could keep down.

The fatigue settled deep in your bones. You’d come home from classes, collapse on the couch, and wake up hours later feeling like you hadn’t rested at all.

Your breasts felt tender and slightly swollen, brushing against your shirt making you wince. Mood swings hit at random. One minute you were focused on your work, the next you felt inexplicably teary or irritable. All of this made the avoidance even more draining.

One Thursday night, your timing failed you had stayed late at the library, hoping Heeseung would already be inside. When you finally dragged your tired body back to the building, the hallway lights felt blindingly bright.

Just as you reached your door, fumbling with your keys, you heard the unmistakable click of his lock opening.Panic surged through you. Your hands shook so badly that the keys nearly dropped. You managed to slip inside just as his door opened, pressing your back against the wood, heart hammering wildly.

You held your breath, listening to his footsteps pass by. The moment they faded, the nausea hit like a wave. You barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, knees weak, tears stinging your eyes from the force of it.

Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your forehead resting on your knees, breathing shakily. This was getting worse.You were exhausted from the constant calculation when to leave, when to return, which route to take, how long to wait in the stairwell. The thin wall between your apartments felt like a constant threat.

You’d hear him moving around sometimes. The low sound of his music ( mercifully quieter these days ), the murmur of his voice when he was on the phone, the occasional laugh. Every sound made your stomach twist with anxiety and unwelcome memories.

You became hyper aware of everything. You avoided cooking anything with strong smells. You did laundry at 2 a.m. when you were sure he was asleep. You even changed the time you took showers, worried the sound of running water might coincide with him coming home.

Yunjin and Soobin noticed the changes. “You’ve been canceling plans a lot,” Yunjin said during one quick lunch. “And you look really tired, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a weak smile while fighting the nausea brought on by the smell of her food. “Just stressed about the capstone deadline it’s taking everything out of me.”

Soobin watched you quietly, concern clear in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Inside your apartment, the symptoms continued to build.

Mornings were brutal. You’d wake up with tender breasts and that persistent queasy feeling. Some days the vomiting was so bad you had to keep a small bucket discreetly by your bed.

The fatigue made it hard to focus during lectures. You'd find yourself zoning out, head heavy, fighting the urge to lay your head on the desk. Yet you refused to connect the dots .It’s just stress, you told yourself repeatedly. The avoidance the guilt the lack of sleep.

You pushed through, continuing your careful dance of avoidance. You timed every exit and entry with military precision. You became an expert at predicting Heeseung’s schedule ( she should become a dispatch employee )

You kept your headphones on to drown out any sound from next door. You buried yourself in your art curator work, sketching exhibition layouts late into the night until your eyes burned.Two full weeks passed in this strange limbo.

You were pale, exhausted, and constantly on edge. The nausea came in unpredictable waves. The fatigue made simple tasks feel monumental. And the fear of accidentally seeing Heeseung in the hallway kept you trapped in this self imposed isolation.

Deep down, a small, terrified voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was very wrong. But you silenced it the same way you silenced every memory of that night this never happened.

You would keep avoiding him. You would keep pretending everything was normal.Even as your body screamed louder and louder that nothing was normal anymore.

One ordinary afternoon, everything shifted. You were sitting in the small campus café with Yunjin and Soobin, the three of you squeezed around a corner table. Yunjin was dramatically slumped in her chair, one hand pressed to her lower stomach, complaining loudly.

“Ugh, my period is literally killing me today,” she groaned, stirring her iced latte with a pout. “Cramps are so bad, I can barely sit straight why does it always hit the worst during the worst season? I swear my uterus hates me.”

Soobin chuckled softly, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want me to grab you some painkillers from the convenience store?” You tried to smile and nod along, but the words barely registered.

Her period is killing her…..

The sentence echoed in your head like a siren your own period. You mentally counted the days. It should have come a full week ago. Seven days late. Maybe more.

You had been so caught up in avoiding Heeseung, dealing with the constant nausea, fatigue, and vomiting that you hadn’t even noticed the date slipping by. Your heart started beating faster.

You pulled out your phone under the table and quietly opened your cycle tracking app. The screen glowed with the familiar calendar. A bright red notification stared back at you

period : 7 days late

You stared at the words until they blurred. No no, no, no. You tried to push the thought away immediately. It had to be stress. The irregular sleep, the constant anxiety of avoiding Heeseung, the vomiting all of it could easily throw your cycle off. That was normal right?

But then the symptoms started flashing through your mind like warning lights. The persistent nausea every morning. The vomiting that left you weak on the bathroom floor. The crushing fatigue that made it hard to stay awake in lectures.

The dizziness, sensitivity to smells, tender, swollen breasts. Your stomach dropped, could you be pregnant?

The word felt foreign and terrifying in your head. No. Absolutely not. You wouldn’t get pregnant from one night. One reckless, stupid night. People had unprotected sex all the time and nothing happened.

You were on the pill…wait, were you? You had been so stressed with midterms that you couldn’t even remember if you had taken it properly that week. The thought made bile rise in your throat again.

Across the table, Yunjin and Soobin were still talking something about upcoming assignments and a group project. Their voices sounded far away, like you were underwater.You couldn’t focus on a single word they were saying. Your mind was spinning, heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it.

Yunjin waved a hand in front of your face. “Hello? Earth to you! you’ve been spacing out the entire time are you okay?”You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. Your mouth felt dry.

“I—yeah, sorry just tired,” you mumbled. “Guys, I think I’m gonna head home early today my head’s killing me.”Soobin frowned, concern clear in his eyes. “Do you want me to walk you back?”“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, already standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’ll text you later promise.”

You left the café before they could protest, walking fast, then almost jogging once you were out of sight. The nausea was back, stronger now, mixing with pure terror. Your hands were shaking as you headed straight for the small convenience store two blocks away.

Inside the store, you felt like every camera was watching you. You moved quickly through the aisles, heart hammering, until you found the family planning section. There were several pregnancy test kits.

You grabbed the most reliable looking one with trembling fingers, not even reading the brand properly. The cashier gave you a neutral look as you paid, but you couldn’t meet her eyes.

Bag clutched tightly to your chest, you practically ran the entire way back to your apartment building. You took the side stairs again, praying Heeseung wasn’t around. The moment you were inside your own apartment, you locked the door twice and leaned against it, breathing hard.

You pulled the kit out of the bag with shaking hands. The box felt heavy dangerous. You read the instructions carefully, twice. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line = not pregnant. Two lines = pregnant simple but terrifying.

You went to the bathroom, heart pounding so loudly it echoed in your ears. You followed every step exactly, hands trembling so badly you almost dropped the test. When you were done, you placed the stick on the counter and set a timer on your phone three minutes.

You paced the small bathroom, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Every second felt like an hour. The nausea was back, but this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. It was pure fear.

What if it was positive?

What if you were actually pregnant with Heeseung’s baby?

The thought made your knees weak. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the cold tile floor, staring at the test on the counter like it was a bomb about to go off.The timer was still counting down.

Two minutes left. You hugged your knees to your chest, eyes fixed on the small plastic stick that now, held your entire future in two little lines. You were so scared.

The timer on your phone hit zero with a soft chime that felt deafening in the small bathroom. You stayed frozen on the cold tile floor for several long seconds, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the pregnancy test lying face up on the counter like it was a live grenade.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up on shaky legs and stepped closer. One line was already dark and clear the control line. The second line was faint at first, but unmistakable. A pale pink line slowly darkening right beside the first one.

two lines = positive

You blinked hard, once, twice, as if the result would magically change if you stared long enough.“No…” you whispered, voice cracking. “No, that can’t be right.”Denial crashed over you like a wave. You snatched the test off the counter and held it closer to the light, turning it at different angles. Maybe it was a faulty test.

Maybe the line was an evaporation line. Maybe you had read the instructions wrong. You grabbed the box again and reread the instructions three more times, your hands trembling so badly the paper shook.

But no matter how many times you checked, the two lines stared back at you, clear and undeniable. It was positive. You were pregnant. The reality slammed into you all at once.

Your knees buckled. You sank back down to the bathroom floor, the test still clutched tightly in your hand. A sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as the full weight of what this meant crashed over you.

You were pregnant with Heeseung’s baby. The boy you couldn’t stand. The neighbor you had spent months avoiding. The one person you had sworn to pretend never touched you.

A broken sound escaped you half sob, half laugh of pure disbelief. Your free hand moved instinctively to your stomach, pressing lightly against the still flat surface. There was a life growing inside you right now. A tiny, real consequence of one reckless, drunken night.

The crying came harder. You curled in on yourself, forehead resting on your knees as sobs wracked your body. All the symptoms you had tried to blame on stress the nausea, the vomiting, the fatigue, the dizziness suddenly made perfect, terrifying sense.

You were going to have a baby. And the father was the last person on earth you wanted to be tied to. After several long minutes, the tears slowed, leaving you drained and hollow. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, staring blankly at the two pink lines.

You made a decision right there on the bathroom floor. You were not telling Heeseung anything, not a single word.He didn’t need to know. He would never know. Telling him would only make everything worse the teasing, the drama, the forced proximity, the endless complications with someone you already couldn’t stand.

You could barely handle living next door to him as it was. Bringing a child into that mess was unthinkable. This was your problem. Your body, your choice. You would handle it quietly. You would get rid of it.The thought made fresh tears sting your eyes, but you forced them back. There was no other option.

You were still in school, chasing your dream of becoming an art curator. Your life was barely stable right now. A baby, especially one with Heeseung as the father would ruin everything.

You stayed on the floor for a long time, clutching the test, letting the weight of the decision settle over you.

Eventually, you stood up on unsteady legs. You wrapped the test in toilet paper and hid it deep in the trash can under some tissues. You washed your face with cold water until the redness in your eyes faded a little.

You looked at your reflection pale, exhausted, terrified and whispered to yourself “This never happened.” You would schedule an. appointment. You would end this quietly.You would move on with your life and never speak of that night again.

But as you turned off the bathroom light and stepped into your silent apartment, the weight in your chest felt heavier than ever. You were pregnant. And for the first time since that night, the wall between you and Heeseung felt like it was closing in.

The decision sat heavy in your chest like a stone. You weren’t going to tell Heeseung. You were going to end this quietly and move on with your life. The very next morning, you tried to make the appointment.

You sat on your bed with your laptop open, hands shaking as you searched for clinics near campus that offered termination services. Your stomach was already churning with nausea again, but you forced yourself to focus.

You found a few options a women’s health clinic downtown and a Planned Parenthood branch about twenty minutes away. You clicked on the booking page for the first one. The form asked for your name, date of birth, contact number, and reason for visit.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. You couldn’t do it. Every time you tried to type your real information, panic surged through you. What if someone recognized your name? What if the clinic called or sent confirmation texts while you were near Heeseung?

What if the appointment somehow got back to campus gossip? The thought of walking into a clinic alone, explaining your situation to a stranger, and going through with it made your throat close up.

You closed the laptop without saving anything. You told yourself you’d try again tomorrow when you felt calmer. But tomorrow came and went. Then the next day. And the next. Meanwhile, the symptoms grew worse.

The nausea was no longer just morning sickness it hit you at random times throughout the day. The smell of food in the cafeteria made you gag. Even walking past the coffee shop near campus triggered violent waves that left you rushing to the nearest bathroom.

You started carrying saltine crackers and a small bottle of ginger ale everywhere, but they barely helped anymore.

Vomiting became more frequent. One afternoon during a lecture, you had to excuse yourself midway through and barely made it to the restroom before throwing up.

You returned to class pale and sweaty, mumbling something about food poisoning when Yunjin looked at you worriedly.

Fatigue wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. You fell asleep in the library twice that week, waking up with your cheek stuck to your notebook. Simple tasks like climbing the stairs to your apartment left you breathless and dizzy.

Your breasts were constantly tender, and your mood swung wildly one moment you were numb, the next you felt like crying over nothing. Yunjin and Soobin started noticing. During lunch on Thursday, Yunjin set her chopsticks down and stared at you.

“Okay, something is seriously wrong,” she said, voice firm but concerned. “You’ve been looking like a ghost for days, you barely eat anything, you keep disappearing to the bathroom, and you look exhausted even when you say you slept are you sick? Is it stress? Talk to us.”

Soobin nodded, his gentle eyes filled with worry. “You’ve been canceling plans and spacing out a lot. If something’s going on, you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re here.”You forced a weak smile, pushing your untouched food around your plate. The smell of it was making you nauseous again.

“I’m okay, really,” you lied, voice quieter than usual. “Just… really behind on my capstone. The deadline is stressing me out more than I thought. I’ll be fine once I catch up.”

They didn’t look convinced, but they let it drop for the moment. Still, you could feel their eyes on you for the rest of the meal. Even Heeseung started noticing something was off.

You had managed to avoid direct contact with him for weeks, but it was impossible to hide everything when you lived next door.

One evening, you were coming home later than usual after another failed attempt to book the appointment online. You felt dizzy and nauseous, moving slowly up the hallway with your keys already in hand. As you reached your door, Heeseung’s door opened.

He stepped out, wearing a simple black hoodie, hair slightly messy like he’d just come back from practice. His eyes landed on you immediately.

You froze for half a second, then quickly turned your face away and fumbled with your lock, trying to get inside before he could say anything. But Heeseung didn’t tease you this time.

Instead, he paused in his doorway, brow slightly furrowed as he watched you. You looked pale. Thinner. There were dark circles under your eyes, and the way you moved seemed off fragile.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For once, the usual cocky remark didn’t come.“You good?” he asked quietly, voice lacking its normal edge.

You didn’t answer. You finally got the door open and slipped inside without looking at him, shutting it quickly behind you

Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, staring at your closed door with a strange, unsettled feeling in his chest. Something wasn’t right with you. He could see it.But after everything after that night you both had silently agreed to forget he didn’t know if he had the right to ask.

Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, breathing hard. Fresh tears stung your eyes as another wave of nausea hit you. You slid down to the floor, hugging your knees. You still hadn’t been able to book the appointment.

The symptoms were getting worse every day, your friends were worried and now even Heeseung had noticed something was wrong. You pressed your forehead to your knees, whispering to yourself again and again

“This never happened… this never happened…” But the lie was starting to feel impossible to keep. Heeseung had noticed. For the past two weeks, it had become painfully obvious that you were avoiding him like the plague.

At first, he thought it was the usual the cold shoulder after that night you both had silently agreed to forget. But it quickly went beyond that. You timed your movements with military precision.

He would hear your door open and close at odd hours, always when he was either inside or already gone. You took the side stairs. You left earlier than usual in the mornings and came back much later at night.

Even at university, catching a glimpse of you had become nearly impossible. You seemed to disappear into the library or empty classrooms the moment practice ended.It was clear you were doing everything in your power to never cross paths with him.

Heeseung told himself it didn’t bother him. He had decided to forget that night too. No teasing. No bringing it up. Just normal or as normal as things could be when you lived right next door

But something was wrong. You looked terrible lately. He first noticed it in passing the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders seemed to slump with exhaustion. Then it got worse you moved slower.

Your face was paler than usual. You barely left your apartment except for classes, and even then you looked like you were running on empty.

One evening, after a long basketball practice, Heeseung was walking back to the apartment building, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The sun had already set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the path. That’s when he saw you.

You were a few meters ahead, heading toward the entrance. Your steps were unsteady, one hand pressed lightly against the wall for support.

Even from behind, he could tell something was very wrong. Your posture was slumped, your breathing looked shallow, and you looked like you were barely holding yourself upright.

Heeseung’s stomach tightened. He quickened his pace without thinking and caught up to you just as you reached the building door.“Hey,” he said, voice low and serious, no trace of his usual teasing tone. “Are you alright?”

You turned your head slightly, eyes glassy and tired. The moment you recognized him, your expression hardened.“I don’t have time for your teasing right now, Heeseung,” you muttered weakly, trying to push past him toward the elevator.

Heeseung felt a flash of annoyance, not because you were dismissing him, but because he was genuinely worried and you clearly didn’t believe it.“I’m not teasing,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You didn’t respond, just kept walking toward the elevator. Heeseung followed, stepping in right after you. The doors closed, trapping the two of you in the small space. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. He could hear your breathing too fast, too shallow.

When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out first. But the moment your feet hit the hallway, your legs buckled. You swayed dangerously, one hand reaching out blindly for the wall as the world spun around you. Heeseung moved fast.

He dropped his gym bag and caught you before you could hit the floor, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other supporting your back. Your body went limp against him for a few terrifying seconds.

“Shit—” he muttered, heart pounding. “Hey, stay with me.” You were half conscious, mumbling something incoherent about being fine. Heeseung didn’t waste time arguing. He adjusted his grip and lifted you carefully into his arms in bridal style, your head lolling against his shoulder.

Your apartment was right next to his. He fumbled for a moment with your keys ( which had fallen from your hand ) until he managed to unlock the door. He carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and headed straight for your bedroom.

The room was neat but clearly lived in textbooks stacked on the desk, a half finished sketch on the table, a small trash can near the bed. Heeseung gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your face was pale, forehead slightly damp with sweat.

He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. You looked so small and fragile like this. Nothing like the fiery girl who used to bang on his door and call him an entitled asshole.

Heeseung grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and placed it on your nightstand. Then he pulled up the chair from your desk and sat down beside the bed, watching you carefully.

Your breathing slowly evened out. The tension in your face relaxed as you slipped into a deeper sleep. Heeseung stayed there, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what was going on with you.

He didn’t know why you looked so sick. He didn’t even know if you’d want him here when you woke up. But right now, leaving you alone didn’t feel like an option. So he stayed quietly waiting.

Until your breathing became steady and deep, and he was sure you were fully asleep. Heeseung stayed. He told himself he’d only wait until you fell into a proper sleep, but the longer he sat there watching your pale face and shallow breathing, the harder it became to leave.

You looked exhausted, truly exhausted in a way that went beyond simple tiredness. Dark circles under your eyes, lips slightly chapped, skin lacking its usual color. Something was clearly wrong, and the protective instinct he didn’t know he had kept him rooted to the chair.

After almost an hour, when your breathing had deepened into steady, even inhales, Heeseung stood up quietly. He couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. He moved silently through your apartment, careful not to make noise.

Your kitchen was small and neat, but the fridge was nearly empty a few bottles of water, some crackers, and not much else. Heeseung frowned. No wonder you looked so drained. He opened the cupboards and found rice, a couple of eggs, and some ginger.

Simple gentle on the stomach. He decided to make congee something light that his mom used to make for him when he was sick.

He worked quietly, chopping what little he could find, boiling water, and stirring the pot on low heat. The smell of ginger and warm rice slowly filled the small apartment. He hoped it would help when you woke up. Maybe it would make you feel a little better.

He kept glancing toward the bedroom every few minutes, making sure you were still resting. Almost two hours later, you started stirring.

Heeseung was just turning off the stove when he heard movement from the bedroom. He poured some congee into a bowl, added a bit of water to make it lighter, and was about to bring it to you when

You bolted upright in bed, eyes wide with sudden panic. The smell of the food hit you like a wave. Your face went even paler, hand flying to your mouth as nausea surged violently. Heeseung’s eyes widened. “Hey—”

You didn’t wait. You scrambled off the bed on shaky legs and ran straight to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Heeseung followed right behind you, worry spiking through his chest. He reached the bathroom door just as you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and started throwing up violently.

“Shit—” He moved quickly, kneeling beside you without hesitation. One hand gently gathered your hair, holding it back from your face. His other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay I’ve got you, just breathe.”

You retched again, body trembling with the force of it. Heeseung stayed right there, murmuring quiet reassurances, his hand never stopping its gentle motion on your back.

When the worst of it seemed to pass, he reached over and flushed the toilet, then grabbed a clean towel from the rack and dampened it with cool water.“Here,” he said softly, handing you the towel. “Wipe your face.”

You took it with trembling hands, still breathing hard. Heeseung stood up briefly to get a glass of water from the sink and brought it back to you.“Small sips,” he instructed, crouching down again. “Don’t drink too fast.”

While you rinsed your mouth and took careful sips, Heeseung’s eyes wandered around the small bathroom, looking for anything that might help. His gaze landed on the trash can beside the sink. Something white and plastic was poking out from under some tissues.

Curious, he reached down and pulled it out, it was a pregnancy test. Two distinct red lines stared back at him clear, unmistakable, and positive. Heeseung froze.

His brain short circuited for a second. The test felt heavy in his hand as the reality sank in. Positive you were pregnant. He slowly turned his head toward you. You were already looking at him.

Your eyes were wide with pure terror, face drained of all color, lips parted in shock. You looked caught completely and utterly caught like the worst secret in the world had just been ripped open. The glass of water trembled in your hand.

Heeseung’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His gaze flicked between the test in his hand and your terrified expression.

The pieces clicked together horribly fast the avoidance, the exhaustion, the vomiting, the way you looked like you were barely holding yourself together for the past two weeks.

This wasn’t just stress this was because of that night because of him. Heeseung swallowed hard, his voice coming out quieter than he expected.

“…Is this yours?” The bathroom fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. You were still staring at him, tears already gathering in your eyes again, looking like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

Heeseung didn’t know what to say. He only knew that everything had just changed. Heeseung stared at the two red lines on the pregnancy test for what felt like an eternity.

The bathroom was deathly quiet except for your shaky breathing. When he finally looked up at you, your face was pale, eyes wide with pure terror, tears already spilling down your cheeks. He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

“…Are you pregnant?” he asked, voice low and rough. You didn’t speak at first. Your lips trembled as fresh tears rolled down your face. Then you gave a small, barely noticeable nod.

Heeseung felt something twist sharply in his chest. He looked back down at the test, then at you again. His next question came out quieter, almost hesitant.

“Is the baby mine?” The moment the words left his mouth, your face crumpled completely. You broke into heavy, broken sobs, shoulders shaking as you tried to cover your mouth with one hand.

“I’m sorry…” you choked out between cries. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t want this to happen, i never meant for any of this, it was just one stupid night and I— I’m planning on getting rid of it. I won’t bother you with any of this, i won’t get in your way. You don’t have to worry about anything, i’ll handle it quietly.”

Heeseung’s expression shifted the instant you said those words. Hurt flashed across his face raw, unguarded hurt. His brows drew together, jaw tightening as he processed what you were saying.

The idea that you were planning to terminate the pregnancy without even telling him felt like a punch to the gut. His hand holding the test lowered slowly to his side. You kept crying, words tumbling out faster now, desperate and apologetic.

“I’m really sorry. I know you didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for this either, i’ll take care of everything. You can just forget about it…i promise I won’t drag you into anything.”

Heeseung stayed silent for a long moment, staring at you as you sat on the bathroom floor, looking small and devastated.

The hurt in his chest mixed with something heavier confusion, disbelief, and a strange ache he couldn’t quite name. Finally, his voice came out low and strained.

“and you didn’t bother telling me?”

PERMANENT TAGLIST : @wonscrchy @miniij @ni-kichromeheartzz @evansfangz @jakeycakeys @addictedtohobi @babydumplingpandabamboo @simjakeyjake @angelhyuka @nodoubtily @chanchamm @ni-k1ttie @yangw0ni3 @mystgene @enheenie

FIC TAGLIST : @fluveryss @st4g1rlies @lillotus17 @mel-reads @cherrilimae @reysblr @luvksnn @papichulomacy @imsojuliaaaa @deobitifull @ckline35 @ellushic @axfyl @gthae @enhypens-hoe @nithxhoon @en-stellar @sievenderz @yunkivamp @isa942572 @starfallia @jellykitti @darjeelinglemontea @graythecoffeebean @eirlyscloud @heehee67 @lawjakesim @vananas @fancypeacepersona @hoonlvrrz @thinkinboutbin @erehkinnie30 @encorp @satorus-slut @shreyanshii11 @cylinax @zoe1love @vissnipherwifeey @lanadellarry13 @simjaeyunslut @simjaeyunlvrclub @soraokkotsu

comments and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏼

[seongishyeonvz]

enha is seven, thanks.

[sugartalked]

i hope every en-writer is an ot7 because i’d literally go lunatic if i lost heeseung in an alternate universe too

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

The fandom purposely sabotaging Enhypen is beyond me. Get a fucking grip y'all. Don't go emailing their biggest brand deals and government institutions??? It's embarrassing for Enhypen and it's not going to do Heeseung any good either. DON'T BE STUPID!

[theothernads]

Just a thought I've been having 🦌

Need to get something off my chest. I didn't want to talk about Heeseung right now. But with so many conflicting opinions, I'm wondering if Heeseung DID want this?

If he did want a solo instantly—that is fine. But the timing of this happened so illogically, that I can't HELP but think about it. This is just a rant. So.

So, here is my version of the timeline:

It's 2025. Hee released dial tragedy, and it sounded really good. And that was around... summer(?). Heeseung thinks he is definitely ready for a solo album, but he needs to get Bad Desire, the concerts, and Knife over and done with.

Hee suggests his ideas to the team once they hit November. At this point, filming En O clock. He is ready to go. He thinks he can do it within a group, and this would be a point in his life that really boosts his artistry.

The label decides that he should wait—discussions start in December of what he should do—this may include renewals, schedules, and anything to do with his solo.

He gets told that this isn't possible with their schedule. Even then, Hee wants to try and negotiate this, and he properly fights to make an album of his own while being in the group. He gets called greedy and "putting his ambitions above the group," and Hee falls into doubt. He doesn't know what to do.

Cue conflict in his head, the day dreaming, and the zoning out. At this point, it's ending December. En O clocks are filmed, but Heeseung is deeply conflicted.

January, he gets given more options of what he can do. He is told there is NO room for his artistry even though other artists are allowed time to do this. Manipulated more. Therefore, the desire to leave rises and emotions run high.

They have their comeback and are filming BTS of the comeback stages where he is visibly seen being distant on camera. My guess is that he told Jungwon/other members, and they decided that they couldn't get involved too much. But that Heeseung's idea of a solo is good. They support him. They know he talented af.

Then, cue all the interviews and shows where he says they "are planning/working on their tour," and he smiles when he accidentally "spoiled" it. They even have their comeback live where he is seen happy, less distant. So, at this point, Heeseung may feel positive with the members' support.

February arrives. He does his life, and everyone acts normal. Jungwon comes live a few more times. So does Jay. And all the members. They know discussions are happening, but nothing is negative as of yet.

Then comes the news of the fancalls, the Melbourne concert festival, and they film a video where all 7 of them are also discussing that they are excited to go! Fan calls are promoted as 7 members when fans purchase the tickets for each event, expecting Heeseung.

Heeseung is getting more irritated with being kept on hold with his album. He keeps asking. And then, March arrives. He damn well knows he needs to do something about it. Then, they deliver a dumb ultimatum on a random weekend in March that pushes him into a corner. He is now conflicted again, manipulated to be thought of as greedy, and is thinking about his future. He tells the members. They are a little bit pissed, and there could have been confrontations.

Could be the reason why all members were "sick" on that one event last week. Things went down.

Another fancall, but he says, "we're planning on coming to Europe" — indicates that they were planning for a tour.

9th March, he goes to Shanghai for the fancall. Riki isn't there because of politics. And he knows he has to make a decision.

9th-10th March overnight, something must have pushed Heeseung to do this OR the label pushed him to do this to either: cover up a scandal he did; cover up a scandal in HYBE (bc yes, Bang PD also had some criminal sentence given to him); they are hard launching Heeseung for no reason without his group; Heeseung genuinely was pushed to the brink for some reason. And does so in the middle of promotions. This is where the big gap is that we don't know among many others (and has caused fans to spiral).

Now, I want to reiterate—if Heeseung wants to leave the group, that is fine. But the lack of closure of why he left now rather than later, what pushed him to drop Enhypen, and why Belift couldn't make space for his creative freedom is now what fans demand. It doesn't make sense as to why this happened.

That is what I demand. I need the whole truth. From him. Not from AI generated letters, but from his own mouth, from the members as well. But, considering how much he was talking about touring, being with the others for their 10th anniversary, and doing activities in 2026 AS A GROUP, his words don't match this action, and has left us MORE confused.

So, for this to suddenly happen overnight means something must have happened to push this decision. I know it wasn't planned:

They planned their Melbourne trip. (Heeseung is not going to be there and cancelled his flight).

En o clock was filmed, edited, scheduled, and released for 3 weeks now. (It has now been postponed until April, even though they left it as a 2 part episode where part 1 clearly has Heeseung edited in).

They had fan calls scheduled (postponed and/or cancelled until later this month).

They have so many more activities they talked about (tours, solos, being together).

So no. It wasn't planned because otherwise, this wouldn't be as disorganised as Belift is trying to hide it as. It is the messiest departure I have ever seen with no explanation, no transparency, no truth as to what made Heeseung supposedly "choose" to commit himself elsewhere after all this in such a last-minute decision.

Onto my other point—if Heeseung genuinely chose this with all his mind, why are the members having to act as if Heeseung doesn't exist? Isn't this something he chose to do? Why wouldn't the members want to say something in SUPPORT of Heeseung going solo, knowing that the media has BLOWN UP in backlash against this decision. If this was Heeseung's whole decision, then the members, Heeseung, should reassure the fans themselves. Not the label—the members themselves. They have to act as if he was never there, which isn't a good look for anyone.

Next. It was so rushed. Usually, with departures, the member leaving usually has one last goodbye in person. Not dramatic but visible. But for Heeseung, it was a letter, no appearance, and now, we don't know where he is, if this is really in his best interests.

Next, onto his letter and statements. The belift statement said he has a distinct and different music style.

Okay? So? Lots of groups do their concept as a group and solos, and you know what? This brings in more attention and money to the group as a whole. People have speculated that Belift pressured him to do so in order to get double the amount of money—but that also is weird. If this was about money, they could still get that same amount of money even if he was IN a group. The thing that really upholds that is their timing and creative freedom. They didn't give that to Heeseung, made him feel guilty and trapped, and now, this.

Second—this is still about Heeseung's statement regarding how he doesn't want to be greedy—again, lots of groups do this and it is NOT seen as greedy. Unless you don't have eyes, solos have gotten great attention. E.g:

Daechwita (Agust D), Seven (Jungkook), GGUM (Yeonjun)

These artists, in one way or another, have brought attention and money in for themselves and their groups, all while keeping their creative freedom.

So, for Heeseung, it comes down to his team manipulating him into thinking otherwise. Heeseung also mentioned doing it in the company's suggestion, further reinforcing the idea of how the management team were not supporting him, pressuring him into choosing one or the other—

Which makes no damn sense. Even if he did choose their "suggestion", it still implies he was given an ultimatum and no choice. He was forced into a corner. Which is a problem that fans have.

Someone on tiktok also mentioned that it could be a contractual issue and it physically does not allow Heeseung to make solo music.

But that doesn't link to why he did this so ABRUPTLY. He could've left after Melbourne, after fan calls, and in a more softer way too. This was a smack in the face.

This clearly wasn't planned. It's messy. It's vague. And it has kept the fandom in the dark. Causing this explosive mania in the media. If Belift want us to truly support Heeseung, they would address our questions. Heck, get Heeseung and the members to reiterate that they should support this because it IS HIS decision.

"What if the dude wanted to go solo?"

Hm well, this again doesn't explain his abrupt exit with all the schedules. Usually, artists are happy about a decision being made. Why should he hide? Yes, maybe he is drained, but it doesn't explain why he can't make another post or why the members can not come in support of him. I will support Hee no matter what, but with the timing and schedules, it seems odd and strange. Also doesn't explain why they would do so in the middle of the week. Not to mention how much he's been emphasising tours only a few weeks ago. We need an explanation.

"You guys are being dramatic."

Well, yeah, sorry to be dramatic, but what the company has done is also dramatic. The energy is just being matched since it came out of nowhere.

"Petitions and protests aren't gonna do anything. What if he doesn't come back anyway."

You're right. It could do nothing. But it could also force an explanation out to fans about WHY Heeseung left so abruptly knowing they had schedules lined up. What was his reason? I need to see the truth bc i genuinely hate being left in this ambiguity of what is going on rn. Most of the people saying this genuinely are not part of the fandom and don't understand the sudden mania. These Petitions actually show the label how POORLY this was handled because of the confusing timing and how his actions have confused everyone. In fact, these Petitions could show how they need to be transparent in order to calm the masses down and clarify.

"He's probably sick of the mistreatment."

Yeah, sure. But then, it doesn't explain why he would stay under the same label when the burdens would just increase. With the members, he could face the burdens together. Going solo under the same label wouldn't do as much justice, I fear. It would be the same amount. Less people. Idk.

"I thought you guys hated Belift and wanted him to be creatively free. Why are you guys not letting him???"

God. The way these people pmo. First of all. He isn't even leaving Belift. He's allegedly going to be a soloist under the same group. Second of all, we are saying all this because HE ISN'T CREATIVELY FREE. Let me explain. He can't be creatively free in a group, and they couldn't be bothered to give support to him, but if he's alone, Belift will let him be creative? It isn't US not letting him be creatively free. Its Belift who is limiting him for no reason, saying that being in a group and doing solo projects is "greedy/putting his ambitions over the group" when in reality, this wouldn't be true. Letting him? Bro, we want him to be creatively free, but it shouldn't require him to leave the group; in this case, we are saying that Belift SHOULD make time for him within the group. To do so outside the group feels like it's isolating him. And if this is what Heeseung truly wanted—to leave for creativity, I still think it says a lot about how the label is restricting the other members, too. Additionally, can they not let Heeseung come on and say this to calm everyone down? Let him be visible. Let him be here for the fans who are panicking. Maybe he doesn't want to, but I think this whole incident is not helping Heeseung if he did decide to do this. So, maybe let him calm the masses? I'm confused as to why he can not stay in a group and be creatively free. That is a question I would like answered, but it wasn't in his sudden departure. Another reason why fans are going crazy.

"You guys are being parasocial. He's not dead."

Lol, what. A lot of things in many people's life gives them a safe corner (lol me), but just bc I'm upset, doesn't mean I'm parasocial. I know this is a man I have never interacted with. Idk what goes on behind the camera, but again, when fans are kept in the dark, they tend to speculate.

Adding to that note, since fans are speculating and such, why haven't the members ADDRESSED IT. I will accept whatever path Heeseung chooses, but this supposed decision has made the members act like he doesn't exist, as if they need to erase him and have left fans confused.

Simple solution. Address the confusion, the questions as I have addressed above (about the timing, cancellations, and the members), and shut the mania down. This silence from the company and members isn't helping anyone at all, especially Heeseung. If they want us to be satisfied with thst decision, let Heeseung speak fr. Let the members voice their support. Right now, it seems stiff and uncertain.

Another note I would like to add is:

DO NOT go onto other groups/producers/makeup artists or whatever and ask them to do something about it. Seriously. I think yall pissed off the producer when he has nothing to do with the company. We are targeting BELIFT and Enhypen. Don't go under TXTs account and spam Heeseung in such a silly way. Also, don't wish this on other groups (except ADP, Tarzan, Super Junior😹😹✌🏼. They deserve to go fr). DO NOT take information from twitter from random people because this is easily spread as misinformation and we don't need crazy theories right now. We need logic. Please be mindful of how you read and comprehend things before blowing it up!!

And another thing: for the other fandoms being so petty. "Well, they said bad things about Jin at the MAMA awards".

Holy shit. If we're gonna talk abt toxic fandoms, let's start with ARMYs because I'm BOTH of these. The utter irony to be petty about being asked to help with the petition is met with such aggression that it genuinely boils my blood. They're not obligated to help, of course, but you don't need to hold that over another fandoms' head when you know damn well it wasn't all of them, and say "I don't care. Why would I help you when yall said xyz? " Genuinely immature asf and chronically online asf.

As I've said. The point of all this isn't to necessarily bring him back for good. It is being done because fans are aware of the strange timing of it being in the middle of the week, that he has said things conflicting with this event, and that it clearly wasn't planned. The point of these Petitions or protests is to demand Belift to let the members be heard and seen together and see their reasoning. And for our questions to be answered. For Heeseung to, at least, be seen one more time. Not to disappear on a whim. This sudden event has left us all confused on why. We just need that answered.

And update: the members posted on weverse one by one. Probably to calm the fans. But I'm lwk still restless and need answers. It's day damn 4 without Heeseung. I'm going crazy.

Anyway, this is just a pinch of my thoughts. And you don't need to take it to heart. It is just my speculations. So yeah. I miss him :( I wish we could hear from him.

[junsfriend]

Hi everyone! I wanted to gather my thoughts here as X seems pretty inflammatory right now. I do want to start off by saying to please read the whole thing before anyone jumps me. I hope that we can all be cool-headed about the recent news. Anyway...

I think it's time to drop the outrageous conspiracy theories and look at it at face value. Heeseung, no matter if there was an ultimatum or not, did choose to leave ENHYPEN. As someone who works in marketing/public relations and has been a fan of K-Pop since 2009, I don't believe it was BELIFT's choice or best FINANCIAL interest for Heeseung to leave the group at all. He is a popular member internationally, he sings so many parts in their songs, and has many center parts in their choreogeaphy. They would have tried their hardest to keep him, no matter what. I think this was their best case scenario to keep both ENHYPEN and him (with his dreams and ambitions beyond the group), and still make money from both.

This situation reminds me a lot of Hyunseung's departure from BEAST. A few months before BEAST's contract was up, pivotal member Hyunseung left the group "due to differences of opinion between him and the other members concerning their music." He even won a solo "Best Male Artist" award while promoting with BEAST just before he left, which unironically mirrors Heeseung's UPICK Global Choice award win. The 6-member group later left the company together and formed a new group as HIGHLIGHT. The parallels are uncanny and I recommend you all read up on that situation to learn how to navigate Heeseung's departure. I'm not saying that this is the direction the boys are headed, but I just wanted to let you all know that this has happened before. It is not as unprecedented as people say. This happens in K-Pop! We will be okay! Be happy for Heeseung and please be there for the rest of them.

With the immense responsibility that falls on the remaining members, I hope we can support them without a need to be so reactive. Boycotting, historically, does not work in K-Pop UNLESS your intentions are for the group to fail. ENHYPEN are human beings with idolhood as their JOBS. You stop buying their merchandise, you stop attending their concerts, you start talking about how ENHYPEN is nothing without Heeseung... you cut off their resources and money and the ground they stand on with BELIFT. While you might think it's temporary, losing Heeseung has already caused people to leave the fandom. Do you think furthering that by decreasing support will actually lead BELIFT to take action and bring back Heeseung, who stated that he WANTED to pursue a solo career? This would probably embolden them into thinking that ENHYPEN can no longer be a sustainable group for them to keep.

This is not Mark's situation where the graduation system in NCT Dream was already set in place and people knew he would leave eventually. There was always anger and uproar even up until his graduation date that led SM to overturn their decision. This is not Seunghan's situation where a massive scandal blew up his career in an idol group. Fans were boycotting RIIZE for him to be in or out of the group. It was a lose-lose situation.

On the other hand, this feels a lot more decisive. Belift or HYBE does not flip-flop around like SM does. Please read Heeseung's statement with a more level headed lens. He says "I made a big decision to approach ENGENE in a better way according to the direction the company suggested." I don't read this the same way other people on X have. To me, this is textbook damage control (no negative connotation here, but just as a fact).

BELIFT read through this statement and made sure it was good to post. That's how PR is handled. In fact, I think this was added in to specifically take the heat off of himself and the other boys and make sure the blame is shifted to the company. At the end of the day, BELIFT will always be hated. They know that. They are okay with that. I think this was included so that there is no insinuation of ill-will on either ENHYPEN or Heeseung's side. What I dislike is people overanalyzing this part of his statement and making it seem like he had no choice in the matter.

Please don't infantilize Heeseung's decision-making capabilities. If he hated the company, he would have terminated the contract. That's been done plenty of times before in K-Pop. In fact, there's been scenarios where people leave their agency but stay in the group itself! Heeseung, based on his statement, just had a different vision for his music. We need to learn how to be okay with that as fans.

Belift is a shitty company, but they aren't stupid enough to create a financial burden on themselves to force out a pivotal member to leave their highly successful group. I don't think that's what happened. They wouldn't risk brand deals, upcoming schedules, fan backlash, etc. This departure seemed like it would have saved them the most money, which is ultimately their number one priority.

This is just the reality we need to accept and face without being in denial.

And I know Heeseung has talked about future plans with the group, I know the timing is off, I know it seemed like things were headed in a good direction. But that few weeks break, Jungwon's messages in WeVerse, and Heeseung teasing his upcoming projects aren't to be ignored either. This has been in the works, even if it came earlier than we might have all expected. It might feel like a sudden decision to us, but I'm sure it must've been a lengthy conversation for them. The boys, of course, have to put on a brave face in front of the fans. I don't doubt that they've all been hurting and dealing with so much behind the scenes during this decision and did not show us.

There's a lot of things we don't know and I hope we can learn more as time goes on, but we need to know our limits as fans. I will continue to support ENHYPEN, who I've loved since the start of I-Land. I also can't wait to see what Heeseung (or EVAN) has in store and I will also be supporting him as well. Though I understand the anger and resentment, please do not spread any harmful theories or inflammatory sentiments. They will not help ENHYPEN or Heeseung.

Anyway, thank you for sticking around if you read the whole thing. I know this is sad, but we will be okay!!! Let's support them right now. The boys really need it ❤️

[f4lling4me]

Enhypen is 7 .

[chenfleur]

sky's the limit

summary. making a fool out of himself in front of three thousand people on the regular sure never taught heeseung how to talk to pretty girls—a realization he only has when you (the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen) walk into his soul-sucking economics class and all he’s got in manpower is himself, his idiot friends, and a deeply unhelpful twitch chat.

pairing. streamer!heeseung x y/n ↳ ft jay, jake, sunghoon, and twitch chat

genre. college au, twitch streamer au, fluff, classmates to lovers

word count. 12.0k

disclaimers. heeseung-centric/pov, swearing, alcohol use, kissing/suggestive activities while drunk, smoking, some crudeness bc they're stupid college guys, pacing is highkey ass i'm sorry

released. 03.09.2026

author's note. this is a prequel to sparks but the events are slightly tweaked and can be read entirely as a standalone! my take on loser heeseung and the pinnacle of my streamer!enha career. i hope no one minds that it's told from hee's pov :( pls tell me all ur thoughts about everything!!

masterlist

any feedback is appreciated ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ᗜ<)

burgermuncher123: what fucking idiot streams their course selection

When Lee Heeseung goes live at a time of day that isn’t four in the morning, people fear the worst. 

The most widely accepted explanation is that he was kidnapped because he “looked kidnappable.” Some propose that he must’ve been beaten up by those kids he was cyberbullying on Among Us VR a few days ago. Something, something, “Mr. Beast video”—the stream notification might as well have been a national emergency alert.

But as they flood into his corner of Twitch, everyone quickly realizes that their streamer was, in fact, perfectly fine. 

There he is, in all his unassuming, wonky headset glory. The storage room he passionately defends as a bedroom is still comfortably barren, bathed in a cozy golden light by the morning sun that filtered in through the dented shutters—something softer on the eyes than the blinding white of his ring lights. His keyboard collection is tucked away in one corner, a bulky dehumidifier running in the other.

gopissgirl: Bro this fucking ragebaiter. look at his Stupid ass mavuikasbikecanrunmeover: HE’S NOT DEAD!!!!! xyz_: yo his bald spot finally isn’t reflecting the light peepoCheer

Heeseung cracks his knuckles. Twists his neck, then his back.

“Alright, chat.” A sigh from the depths of his soul leaves him. “We’re fighting a war today.”

It turns out the earth-shattering event that warrants a Heeseung stream at nine-thirty in the morning is his second-year course selection. Or, in more efficient terms, war—because if he had to spend one more second in the torture chamber that is Professor Jenkins’ circuits lecture, he will die in those trenches.

hoonbot: ARE YOU TAKING 12 COURSES HELLO jeikeushim: i will NEVER regret switching to accounting user14: why the fuck are u taking econ1130 man 😭😭

“Okay, okay, chat,” Heeseung hunches forward, elbows knocking into a crumpled Monster can before firmly planting on the desk. His hands are steepled, voice low and dead serious, as if he’s about to deliver the most unrivaled, undeniable justification for why he, an engineering student, is going to take Economic History in the Twentieth Century.

“Listen. I need to fulfill a breadth credit this year and Jay said the prof is super chill. Plus, I saw a guy on Reddit say this was a bird course. I’ll be fine.”

applesauceeater: oh this guy’s so Cooked girlqueenpussyboss67: whenever sunghoon starts talking about coding i like to come watch u cuz it reminds me that it’s ok to be a little stupid in the head <3

“I like to come watch you because it reminds me that it’s okay to be a little stupid in the he—” A loud, indignant sputter. He pushes himself up, walks to the back of the room (“the gall,” the microphone manages to pick up) before sitting back down and scooting back towards the camera. 

“Mods, ban the guy who said that. Also, ban the guy who brought up the bald spot I do not have, and ban the word ‘bald’ from my chat.” 

Heeseung needs to kill Jay.

And that one guy from Reddit. And himself from two months ago.

Some would argue that he’s being too much of a hater barely a week into the term, but Heeseung can barely find enough fucks to give about this class at all, let alone question the ethics of his internal Death Note.

Circuits with Jenkins, Heeseung decides, was heaven compared to this. The classroom hadn’t been bad. Jake and Sunghoon had shared it with him, so he could spend his classes fucking around on Roblox Fruit Tycoon Simulator rather than paying attention. Sometimes, Jenkins would grace the class by rambling on about her ongoing divorce with her good-for-nothing husband. In retrospect, what had he been complaining over? Certainly nothing worse than this.

The Economics department holds its courses in one of the campus’ oldest buildings: a quaint, beautiful thing—Romanesque in its turrets and arched windows and brickwork. It’s a shame the outside is the only part of it that seems maintained at all, since Heeseung’s lecture hall seems a cough and two sneezes away from falling apart completely.

No windows, awful ventilation, sticky tables. The sound of the professor’s gnarly smoker voice. Heeseung laments about how he can’t enjoy the daylight he never enjoys anyway—and promptly decides to make it Jay’s problem.

Jay—who’d been having a steak burrito in the student commons between classes before being intercepted by Heeseung and cursed out so colourfully he’d have thought he’d killed his parents—blinks at his friend.

“Dude,” he says, more dumbfounded than anything. “Do you not background check your classes? Even a little? The economics building is straight dogshit. Everyone knows that.”

Heeseung wonders why his hands are still at his sides and not wrapped around Jay’s throat. “That’s not the point. You said that he was chill,” he seethes.

Jay takes another bite, voice muffled by the food in his mouth. “He is chill. Plays golf with my dad on Sundays at our country club.” 

“He sounds like he chain-smokes twenty-five cigs a day. He calls everyone ‘kid’, but it’s, like, condescending. Not in a cool way like Brad Pitt does it.”

“Nothing to do with how chill he is, man. Besides, you’re lucky you only have to take an easy course and not something like econometrics.”

“I know you did not just say that to me of all people,” Heeseung grits out, having to physically restrain himself from making a colouring book joke.

A thinly veiled snicker, hastily covered up by a weak cough. “Well, you’re outta luck. Can’t drop courses until next week.”

“Whatever, I’ll just skip until then—”

“Go and I’ll give you fifty dollars for it.”

Unbothered by how Heeseung is gawking at him, Jay finishes the last bits of his food, crumpling the foil into a little ball. For all the pity he felt that Heeseung actually took the class he’d only recommended as a half-joke, he also felt a strong urge to make his friend suffer, to put it ineloquently. One of his eyebrows is slightly quirked, as if to ask if it was a deal or not.

God, rich people are freaks, Heeseung curses in his mind. On what planet does he benefit from that? What am I, his little show pony? This is ridicul—

“Deal, you son of a bitch,” he hisses, snatching his bag and storming out.

Making bank, Heeseung resolves, has to take priority.

Not that he particularly wants to indulge Jay’s sick, twisted wishes—but rather because fifty dollars is fifty dollars, and to someone like Jay, fifty dollars is a tissue to blow his nose with. 

Three more agonizing lectures go by before the day miraculously arrives: the last time Heeseung would ever have to attend this godforsaken class. Never again would he have to hear a lick about post-war economic development or anything of the sort.

The lecture hall is still as dreadful as ever, though noticeably emptier than it’d been the first week, which Heeseung decides that he cannot wait to contribute to. He slumps into an empty seat (still uncomfortably warm from whoever was sitting here before him), slots his headphones over his ears, and prepares to mentally clock out for the next two hours.

Perhaps the universe is finally on his side.

Sure, having to be here at all is a huge drag—but for once, the walk to the Economics building hadn’t been polluted with the smell of chemicals from neverending construction. His Discover Weekly had refreshed and wasn’t ass.

And now, in a few hours time, he would officially be fifty dollars richer, spending his sweet new free time playing FIFA and fucking up a bag of M&M’s and—

Someone taps his shoulder.

Heeseung jolts at the touch, eyes sliding half-open. Despite half his vision being blocked by his hood and music blasting him towards deafness, he can vaguely sense a presence next to him. Figuring it’s someone passing through, he moves to pick his bag up from where it is at his feet—but the tap comes again. 

One of his hands moves to pause his music, the other sliding his headphones off one ear.

“—cuse me, sorry. Is this seat taken?”

Heeseung finally bothers to look up, and—

Fuck. Oh, fuck my life.

There’s little that can phase a guy who accidentally ripped his pants on stream and made “BUZZ LIGHTYEAR BOXERS” the number one trend on Twitter for a full twenty-four hours. He’s seen it all, done it all—worn the maid outfit, read fanfiction of him and Sunghoon, the works. Figured he'd already been enlightened to the highest degree after watching Megan Fox in Jennifer's Body when he was fourteen.

So, maybe he should feel a little pathetic about how openly he's gawking, but he's far too busy trying to figure out if he's hallucinating the ridiculously pretty girl in front of him.

Lips pursed, you manage a small, nervous smile. Your head swivels to look around the lecture hall. “Um, if it’s taken, I’ll just—”

“It’s not taken,” Heeseung blurts out, as if his tongue had finally screwed itself back on. “It’s— no one’s sitting here, no. You can sit.”

Your eyes soften with relief, mumbling a quiet “thanks.”

Heeseung closes his eyes. Shuts them so hard that they start to hurt from the pressure and colours start exploding behind his eyelids. Anything to distract himself from how his throat is closing up because the prettiest girl he never even fathomed could exist had just knocked her knee into his as she's settling into the cramped seat.

So much for mentally clocking out.

The lecture hall quiets as the professor coughs into the mic. Lights dim, and a PowerPoint that was easily made ten years ago is projected onto the pull-down screen, crooked from the audience's point of view. Heeseung can feel the drowsiness from the warm, stuffy air threatening to pull him under.

Breathing in heavily, he’s ready to drown himself out again, but a whisper comes from beside him, making him stiffen. “This class has been going on for a while, right? Did I miss anything?”

He swallows, voice rough. “Uh, no. Just standard syllabus stuff… this guy drones a lot.” 

A giggle, followed by a sarcastic sigh. “Read his reviews so my hopes aren’t high. But it’s required, so what can you do?”

Your elbow is propped up on the seat arm between him and you, jaw cradled in the palm of your hand—just shy of brushing against the fabric of his hoodie. “I would’ve taken it in the winter term, but there was one person in a group chat I’m in who said he was ‘super chill’, so he can’t be that bad, right?”

Heeseung could kiss Jay on the mouth.

For the remainder of the lecture, the two of you are silent. You’d since slipped on a pair of clear-framed glasses, perched on the slope of your nose as you diligently take notes—while Heeseung’s trying not to piss himself every time you tuck a loose lock of hair back behind your ear in the corner of his vision.

When noon hits, the lecture hall rumbles with noise again as everyone is filing out. Heeseung from literally two hours ago would be bewildered by his current self still being in his seat rather than having already sprinted out the door.

“I never caught your name,” you say, cutting through the noise. He can hear your voice clearly now that you aren’t whispering. “I’m Y/N.”

He wets his lips. “Heeseung,” he manages.

“Nice to meet you. I’ll see you around?”

“Y— Yeah.”

Heeseung does not drop Economic History in the Twentieth Century.

He'd spent a good ten minutes logged into his student portal—the 'withdraw' button he'd been so ready to press staring him down as if daring him to even think about it anymore—before closing out of the tab. Admitting defeat.

Which means he doesn’t free up any time in his schedule to play FIFA, nor does he get fifty dollars from Jay (despite his negotiations that he’d technically fulfilled what he’d been asked to do).

All he really got out of this ordeal was unsolicited emotional turmoil over a girl he’s had barely half a conversation with.

Two full days have passed since he's met you, and not once had you strayed from his thoughts for more than a few minutes. In all honestly, he's can't remember exactly what your features look like from off the top of his head—but he remembers that you had outrageously pretty eyes and hair and a sweet lilt to your voice that makes him want to tear his hair out. The feeling you'd caused to stir in his chest lingers, stubbornly refusing to leave.

heeshings: alt revived bc my streamer got action. we all cheered washingmachine42069: Yo you talk to women ?

Heeseung groans loudly, hands dragging down his face. “You don’t get it, chat,” he fake sobs. “She’s so fucking pretty. Like—” 

Shooting up, his arms wave around as he attempts to defend himself. “—I literally sat down, ready to honk, shooo, mimimimi pass out, and then I feel this tap on my shoulder. I’m like ‘bro, who the fuck is this’. I turn my head and boom. I'm at the pearly white gates. It's God. I saw God—I literally entered heaven. You guys wouldn’t drop the class either! Stop pretending you would!” 

user8: based on how you’re reacting to this i can tell u had No game jayparkk_ ✔: respond to my msgs jayparkk_ ✔: shouldn’t u be thanking me licking my shoes or some shit i literally locked u in for life

“‘I literally locked you in for life’ you didn’t lock me into shit,” Heeseung grits out, pointing an accusing finger at the webcam. “All you’ve done is made it so I have to keep going to these fucking awful classes.”

jayparkk_ ✔: aint no one forcing you into anything lil bro 😹😹😹 rima_ovo: “all you’ve done is cause a gorgeous woman to enter my life” my steak too juicy. my lobster too buttery. We need to kill this guy xddd111: dw bout it we’re gonna manifest her for you KEEP YO CHIN UP KING 💯💯💯

The aged playground swing creaks as Sunghoon settles into it.

“I thought you dropped that class,” he comments, offhanded.

Perhaps it's a bit concerning—and sad—for three grown men to be loitering at the local children's playground at one in the morning. Even the stray tabby that likes to wander around the area is giving them what could seriously be a stink eye.

But Heeseung had been throwing so egregiously in Valorant that it was making Sunghoon rank down, so the latter had to put his foot down and stage an intervention.

Heeseung's quiet from his spot in the whale spring rider.

His lanky form is folded up in the small space, chin perched on his tightly drawn-up knees. Frigid air chips at his cheeks as he stares at no particular spot on the ground. “I was going to. Jay was even gonna give me fifty bucks for it—” neither Jake nor Sunghoon comment on how that makes no sense, “—But I raise you this: pretty girl.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “You didn't drop the course that made you want to kill yourself because of some eye candy?” he asks incredulously.

Jake snorts loudly, fishing a pack of cigarettes out from the back pocket of his jeans. Flicking the top open, he slips one out with slender fingers. “Hoon, haven't you been eye-fucking your stats TA for weeks now? Don't think you're reaaaaally one to talk.” —to which Sunghoon shamelessly ignores.

“First of all, speak on her with some respect,” Heeseung retorts. “She's not just eye candy. Have you considered that she had a good impact on my mental health? Exhibit A: I don't want to kill myself when I think of that class anymore.”

“Man, if this girl is as great as you make her out to be, you gotta shoot your shot or something,” Jake says, voice slightly muffled. “Cig?”

Heeseung declines. Lighting a flame, then taking a drawn-out drag, Jake continues: “'cause you can't just sit around on your ass all day, hoping she'll pick you if you ogle her stupidly enough.”

“Fuck off, I wasn't gonna do that anyway. Either way, literally what business do I have shooting my shot? I don't know anything other than her first na—”

“Y/N L/N,” Sunghoon's drawling cuts through the air.

“Philosophy, politics, and economics major. Wants to go to law school. Transferred from Hanhwa Women's College. Sister's...” he squints at his screen. “—sister's a big shot lawyer downtown.”

Silence. “How the fuck did you do that?”

Shrugging, Sunghoon plucks the cigarette from between Jake's fingers, bringing it up to his own lips. “Not hard. Here, want to see it again?”

He taps around on his phone for half a minute or so. “Jason's seeing Charlotte Kim. The volleyball one.”

Jake shoots up from where he's been lying on the ground, several woodchips stuck to the back of his hoodie. “He is?”

Sunghoon pulls up a photo on his screen, which Jake immediately snatches into his own hands. “Yeah. He's your neighbour, dumbass. How the hell do you not know this?”

“Dude, I've been crashing at Lambda recently 'cause Minjun's on exchange, so his room's empty. It's fucking sick, Ren's girl makes the craziest Belgian waffles—”

The sound of a car horn blares through the quiet of the night, causing a flock of birds to flee from where they'd been nestled in the trees. Heeseung's gaze snaps over, squinting as Jay's familiar figure locks the sleek convertible before slinking up to the group.

He's baffled at the sight. “The fuck are you guys doing?”

“Therapy,” Jake calls out, shaking the cigarette pack in the air. “Cig?”

Jay takes one, catching the lighter Sunghoon tosses his way. “I saw you guys on 360. You know you look really fucking weird, right?”

“We, gang. If we went down right now, you'd be part of it.”

Heeseung's hates how Jay turns to him with a gleam in his eyes.

“Listen, Heeseung,” he starts. “I know you already sorta owe me your first-born child for being the best wingman ever, but since I'm so gracious—I have a plan, and on my balls it's going to end your bitchless streak.”

Planting a solid hand on Heeseung's shoulder, he says, with all the seriousness in the world: “You've gotta talk to her.”

The three of them stare at him in complete silence, broken only by the woodchip Sunghoon chucks at the back of his head. “Shut the fuck up, dude. You're pissing me off.”

Jay hisses, shooting a scathing glare at Sunghoon while rubbing at the spot he'd been struck. “If you'd let me finish,” he snarks, turning back to Heeseung. “You've gotta get her to warm up to you. Be proactive. Women love that shit. But only if they like you.”

“And what if she, I don't know, doesn't like me?”

“That's what the talking part is for, idiot. You've gotta gauge whether she fucks with you or not. She's friends with Chaewon, so I can even help you on that front. Then, if she seems sorta into you, invite her to the Lambda party.”

Heeseung blinks. “You want me to win her over by talking to her and then inviting her to a frat party?” he sputters. “Who am I, Jake?”

“Do you want to become co-president of the eye-fucking club with Sunghoon and expect her clothes to magically be on the floor?”

Another woodchip is aimed at Jay's head, which he manages to dodge this time—only for another to fling square into his forehead, this time from Heeseung.

“Ow!” Jay yelps. “Fuck's your problem?”

“I'm not trying to fuck her, dickhead.”

Jay gives him deadpan look. “What I mean is that the bar's in hell. You've gotta raise it at least a little.”

His gaze is determined. Unwavering. Freakishly inspiring. It has Heeseung nodding along, despite not knowing and, frankly, being scared of why. As if a weird seed of motivation was planted inside of him, growing, snowballing.

Jake's cigarette is on its last legs. He's about to let it drop and snuff it out with his sole until it's snatched out of his grasp by Heeseung, who hastily presses it between his lips.

A rough inhale. Nicotine courses through his thrumming veins. A calm exhale.

He nods firmly. “I'm going to do this.”

Slam.

The wood of his desk is cold against Heeseung's forehead. “Chat, I can't fucking do this.”

Something might have genuinely possessed him last night, because whatever speck of conviction Heeseung had about getting to know you was nowhere to be found the second he woke up that morning.

He's been spiralling in a whirlpool of preemptive humiliation and despair since—so much so that he went live with the stream title “FUCK MY STUPID BAKA LIFE!!!!!!”, which his mods, fearing the wrath of Twitch's Terms of Service, lovingly re-titled to “heeseung girl crashout #2”.

Jay accompanies him this time, sprawled out on armchair at the back of the room. Legs propped up on an ottoman as he plays Geometry Dash on his phone.

“I don't know what you're freaking out about,” he says wryly, not looking up. “Plan's not flawless, but it is flexible.”

“She's gonna think I'm a sleaze!” Heeseung exclaims, dropping his face into his hands. “I'm gonna fuck up my shot before I even have a chance to shoot it!”

Setting his phone aside, Jay crosses his arms. “Alternatively, she might be into you and think that you're not into her because you're not doing anything about it.”

ikeuekeu: TRUTH NUKE xx_gamer42_xx: my brother in christ how are u gonna get a golden ticket and be too much of a pussy to go into the chocolate factory

The last message is read out by the text-to-speech, sending Jay into a fit of howling laughter, having to muffle it against the nearest cushion he can grab onto. Heeseung hardly manages a weak “shut up” that sounds lame even to his own ears.

He lets his eyes close, expecting respite. Reprieve, even.

He sees your face instead.

An aching groan rumbles from his lips. “Fine, fine! I'll do it!”

user12: any updates on the girlfriend arc ?

“Fuck.”

The sharp curse flies out of Heeseung's mouth as he watches his Valorant agent fall to the ground, shot dead. He cards a hand through his hair, murmuring a low “52, Chamber” into his comms before letting his gaze flit over to his vertical monitor.

“'Any updates on the girlfriend arc?'” he scoffs. “Is that what we're calling it?”

At that moment, a notification pops up on his phone—a small ding that vibrates against his desk.

Heeseung flips it over in his hand. The blue light of the screen reflects in the sheen of his eyes. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth, the faintest trace of a smile threatening to appear.

shinramyeo_n: IS THAT A SMILE I SEE jakelikestobake: oh my god bruh my streamer's the Rizzler

Heeseung has never, in the history of his existence, ever been this indecisive.

After fucking around the whole summer after first year, he put hardly two thoughts worth of deliberation into choosing which branch of engineering he wanted to major in. Only went to one showing when he was apartment hunting because “as long as there's an ethernet port and I can run 144 Hz, it's chill.”

Yet, he's on the path to the Economics building—a walk he's made way more times than he expected—for the sole reason that he might hit it big and catch a glimpse of you again, and he's been stuck in a never ending push and pull the entire way there.

Passes the construction site that's started up work again. ('Jay's a— a no nonsense type of guy. Straightforward and logical. Isn't he trying to bag a job at McKinsey or whatever? He's good at this solution-giving shit, right?')

Stops at a wooden bench in front of a courtyard fountain, burying his face in his hands. ('Who am I kidding? Jay? Jay made his LinkedIn in ninth grade! He doesn't have a soul—')

Eventually, Heeseung manages to back-and-forth himself into the threshold of the lecture hall's northernmost entrance, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as his eyes scan down the rows of seats.

('Alright, well. Didn't instantly see her the second I stepped in so my life's over. Time to lea—')

A hand waves at him from three rows down.

Face lit up with recognition, you turn around in your seat, whispering something to your friend before waving him over a little more energetically.

Heeseung's breath catches as he spots you. Several thoughts are whirling around in his head (the most coherent one being slight confusion about how you still recognize him). Panic seems to keep the soles of his feet glued to the floor—until they're suddenly moving.

“Heeseung, right?” A smile graces your lips, small but warm. “Do you wanna sit? I was originally saving this seat, but someone—” you shoot a playful glare at the girl next to you, “—has an interview she has to leave for.”

He vaguely recognizes her as Chaewon, one of Jay's friends from high school. She's looking at him knowingly, head cocked to the side—a look he conveniently doesn't meet.

“I...” He dares to peer into your eyes for a half a second. Doesn't catch the slightly optimistic glimmer in them before already looking away. “...Yeah, sure. That'd be great, thanks.”

Class goes by relatively similarly to the first time he met you: in sum, you're actually paying attention to the lecture while Heeseung does anything but. It's only at the end where, rather than leaving, you're still hovering next to him.

Waiting for him, he slowly realizes. “You're staying behind?”

It's the first time he sees your expression shift into something more timid. “If you're free—” you start, “—would you wanna come to the library with me? I have some things to work on, and... I'd like the company.”

It's noon on a weekday. Sunghoon would probably be at the library, slaving away at whatever computer science assignment currently had him shackled to the wall. If Heeseung, God forbid, runs into him at any point and he sees him trailing behind you, there would be a clowning in the group chat like never seen before.

And, sure enough, about two minutes after he walks by a Sunghoon-shaped figure slouched at a bureau, Heeseung feels his phone start to buzz violently in his pocket.

You tilt your head to the side, lips quirked in a teasing smile. “Popular much?”

Embarrassed, he chuckles dryly, silencing his phone with a swift click. “I wish.”

Heeseung's friendship with you is a simple one.

Uncomplicated in a way that, despite the two of you not doing too much actual talking, puts him at ease—a boat drifting on a calm wave. He's never been the type to try and fill dips in conversation by piling on more, but he'll still feel the weight of it—whereas with you, you'll simply be studying, spinning a pen between your fingers and humming a soft tune under your breath, while he tries to peek at you as discreetly as possible.

Silence with you is comfortable.

Then, when momentum builds (“I've gotta go. They're having tryouts for the moot court team in half an hour.” “...Wait—” “Hm? What's up?” “...I've got a ton of physics work to do. Uh, so I'll probably be locked up in the library for the rest of the week, haha.” “Then... then I might join you sometimes. If that's okay, of course.” “Yeah, yeah, no yeah, that's okay. Feel free.”), conversation weaves itself into the space between you.

Heeseung learns that you transferred here from the women's university across town on a scholarship. Your sister had gone here for law school, and you, wanting to do the same, figured it give you the best chance if you did your undergrad and built a network here.

All very academically diligent things that Heeseung, to put it frankly, couldn't really resonate with—but he likes watching your eyes glint as you talk about it. You're determined, he knows that much.

He learns that you're quieter than he'd assumed, based on how readily you spoke to him the first time you met. A bit clumsy, he realizes as the two of you trudge to the nearby shawarma truck and you occasionally bump into his shoulder. He has to pretend like he isn't holding his breath each time you do, and when he finally swallows his nerves down, he manages to puff out his chest enough to tease you about how you “can't walk in a straight line.”

It's sweet, he thinks. You're sweet.

fluffydogpng: someone clip this RIGHT NOW 0148593: hardstuck gold 3 but there's a pretty girl in his dms so maybe we're the real losers in this scenario 💔💔💔💔

The notification is from you. Some create mode reel that you're losing your shit over.

It's stupid. So stupid.

Eyelids drooping, Heeseung reads through it a second, then a third time, before finally flipping his phone back face-down.

Jay's gritting his teeth, trying to ground himself as the muscles in his upper body sear with heat. Two beats goes by—then, he forces himself to push the barbell upward from his body, finishing the last rep in his bench press set.

Metal clangs against metal as he deposits the bar back into its hooks. A gruff sound is drawn from his throat. He stays lying down, taking a few moments to catch his breath before his eyes dart to Heeseung, who's hovering over him.

“That's it? Just classes and the library?” Jay huffs out.

“Pretty much.” Heeseung leans his weight against the equipment. “Food, sometimes.”

Slowly sitting up, Jay unwraps the black wrist straps bound around his wrists, just to wrap them around again more tightly. “Okay, she's clearly not disgusted by you. Invite her.”

“I don't want to, man. She doesn't... seem like the type. She really cares about school.”

“What, so she's a nerd?”

Heeseung kicks him in the shin.

A loud hiss of pain. “I was kidding,” Jay mocks, trying (and failing) to swat him back. “This isn't a teen movie from the 2000s, dumbass. You think that just because she cares about school, she's not gonna want to go to a party? Look at Hoon—those aren't mutually exclusive.”

He gestures for Heeseung to toss him the G Fuel bottle at his feet. “Think about it. A party gives you an excuse to dress real fucking slutty. She'll be yours by the end of the night.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Jay clicks his tongue. “There's no harm in inviting her,” he emphasizes. “If this goes anywhere, she's gonna eventually find out all the stupid shit you do on the internet anyway. I know you want to 'get it right' or whatever, but if a party is what turns her off from you then it's only doomed from here on out.”

A sigh from the depths of Heeseung's soul is pulled from him. He rubs at his temples as an attempt to clear his mind, even if just for a brief moment.

“Did Chaewon say anything?” he eventually asks, voice quiet—not really sure what answer he's looking for.

“Nope,” Jay says, popping the 'p'. His back collides with padded leather as he lies back down. “Something about 'not tossing her to the wolves'. Says you're an open book, though.”

“Oh, fuck my life.”

Everyone knows that the voices in your head clock in each night at nine o'clock to make you go through a micro crisis where you become increasingly miserable about your life. Usually they don't get to Heeseung until really, really diabolical hours—but apparently, when it comes to you, he can barely last a few.

(11:02PM) HEESEUNG: had a quick question

The slices of moonlight that pour into the room through half-closed shutters are the only thing preventing Heeseung from wallowing in pitch-black darkness. One arm draped over his forehead, he scowls at the sent message like it personally offended him with its lameness.

“Who am I fucking kidding,” he mutters to himself.

But just as he's about to unsend it, a small, green dot appears next to your name. His thumb pauses mid-motion.

His heart starts to speed up when he sees you've read the message.

It plummets to his ass when he starts getting a call from you.

In Jay's rundown of seven different possible outcomes that Heeseung forced him to give, not once did he mention you calling him would be involved. He's half-delirious, voice shot to hell after his earlier stream with Jake and Sunghoon—and the girl he has a massive crush on chooses now, of all times, to call him for the first time.

Holding his phone in a death grip, Heeseung represses the instinct to fling it across the room like a hot stone. He prepares himself. Clears his throat. Lightly smacks himself a few times.

He uses a shaky finger pushes accept, phone then hastily pressed to his ear. “Hello?”

“Heeseung?”

Your voice is soft. Somehow melodic through the static of the line. A gentle stream of freshwater.

Heeseung's eyes flutter shut as it washes over him, subconsciously pressing the device harder against the side of his head.

“Hey, I saw your message. I would've replied, but the thing is my hands are sort of occupied. Hope this is okay?”

Slowly, Heeseung rolls over in his bed to lie on his side. It takes a moment for him to find his voice. “No, yeah, it's fine. You're busy, then?”

“No, not busy. It's just that I just did my nails, so they're still drying.” A breathy laugh leaves you. “What's up? Is this about this week's homework?”

“Oh, it's—” A feeble cough. “It's nothing important. I was actually wondering if you, uh, wanted to come to a... party. This Friday,” he says, cringing at how the words feel on his tongue.

The small 'oh' you let out makes his stomach churn, but it doesn't carry displeasure more it simply does surprise. “What kind of party? Like a frat party?”

“Yeah, a frat,” Heeseung mumbles, fidgeting with the loose thread of his blanket. “It's at one of the better known ones. Lambda Delta Nu. I don't know if you've heard of it— I know some of the brothers...” he trails off. “...This Friday's the first one of the year, so it's gonna be really big, I guess.”

You're quiet for an uncomfortably long time.

“You don't have to—”

“No, no, I've just— God, you're gonna think I'm lame,” you laugh wryly. “I've just never been to one.”

Heeseung blinks, before a grin unknowingly appears on his face. “Why would I think you've been to one? You went to an all-girls college.”

“I don't know!” you whine. “I didn't do anything in high school, either. Do you like, bring your own drink? Do you have to pay to get in?”

“No, they have drinks. And girls don't.”

“That's... shameless.”

“Tell me about it.”

Suddenly, a loud, incessant vibration comes from your end. Even Heeseung, with his questionable track record of emotional cues, can pick up on the frustration in the sigh you let out. He cautiously prods. “Something wrong?”

“No, I'm just getting a call from my mom,” you say, tone not as light as before. “I've gotta go, sorry. But I'll be there.”

A small pause. “Good night, Heeseung.”

Heeseung's fingers twitch. His heart clogs his throat.

By the time he finishes dwelling on whether to tell you 'good night'—the words already forming on his lips—you've already hung up the call.

The weight of his leather jacket—Jay's leather jacket, technically, that he'd forced him to wear—is heavy on Heeseung's shoulders.

Even though the party doesn't properly start for another forty minutes, a considerably large swarm of rowdy, half-drunk college students have already accumulated on the house's front lawn, lining up to get in.

Nothing out of the ordinary—Lambda Delta Nu always kicks off the ground with a big, flashy rager. Heeseung can only wrinkle his nose at the thought of how crowded and sweaty it'll get later.

Beer case in hand, he skips past the line, approaching the low, rickety folding table stationed at the foot of the porch. Jake, who's supposed to be helping handle payments, is quite glaringly not doing so—instead sitting backwards atop the table, the neck of an empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

“Drinking on the job?” Heeseung deadpans, lightly slamming the case down on the space right next to where Jake is leaning back on his free hand, making the latter startle.

When he turns around, Jake's face splits into a grin. Notoriously lightweight, his cheeks are already flushed a pale red. “I'd personally call it multitasking,” he drawls.

Launching himself up, Heeseung swiftly hops over the table, making his way up to the house and greeting the guys he recognizes along the way. Jake tails along behind him.

“I wanna do some crazy shit tonight,” he says, the scheming evident in his tone. “You gonna match me shot for shot?”

The kitchen island is decked out with all sorts of drinks—beer, liquor, soju, seltzers, coolers, fruit juices. Heeseung's gaze travels over the labels, landing on a Smirnoff Ice.

It opens with a satisfying crack. “Can't. Haven't finished the programming problem set yet.”

Jake stares at him. “Are you deadass?”

“You think I want to be?” Heeseung counters. “Does Minjun have a working PC in his room?”

“I mean, yeah, he does. Wait, so you're going to spend the night doing a fucking problem set?”

“I was busy with stream earlier. I'm basically already done. I'll play one game, go up, do it, and then come back down. It'll take like twenty minutes, max.”

Jake, being familiar with Heeseung's working pace, is thoroughly unconvinced.

Heeseung can't blame him—on any other day, he would be unconvinced too—but today, he would force himself power through.

Because you would be here.

Earlier in the day, you had sent him a voice message (that he replayed an embarrassing number of times) asking him when you should get there, if there was a dress code, and a small catalog's worth of other questions.

You sounded nervous, and he was so, very endeared by it.

Which is why he's so determined to finish his work, submit the shit half-assed if need be, and then come back down. He already isn't fond of the idea of getting to know you at a musty frat party, so he's resolved on at least trying to be a good host.

Fuck, why did he care so much about your opinion?

“Yo, Lee Heeseung! Get your sexy ass over here!” One of the frat brothers, Ren, hollers from beside the beer pong table, echoed by Jake's cackling in the background.

A year older than him, Ren roughly throws his arm around Heeseung's shoulder, messing up his hair as if he were a little kid. “You ready to get shit on?”

“Pfft,” Heeseung scoffs, tongue poking the side of his cheek. “Give me the fucking ball.”

Heeseung's drunk.

He's tipsy, to be more specific. Not fully drunk, but definitely on the way—and far drunker than he expected to be at this point in the night.

In his defense, it had been the game's fault. The opposite team had gotten lucky with a streak of successful shots that kept him stuck in position, so now he's about four shots (give or take, he hasn't been keeping count) deeper than he'd like to be. A guttural groan is ripped from his chest as another one lands in a cup, drowned out by sound of multiple slaps on his back and the cacophony of people yelling 'shot!' over and over.

“No, no, fuck off, I'm done for now,” Heeseung says semi-coherently, a lazy grin on his face. There's a shot cup that someone's trying to thrust into his hand from every direction. “Fuck off to hell, all of you.”

Deafening music—some shitty rap song—blares through the air, slightly fuzzy at the edges. It thrums through every single one of Heeseung's nerve endings as he drags himself out of the living room.

If someone told Heeseung that half the fucking city was in the Lambda house right now, he would fully believe them without hesitation.

Every inch of property is flooded by people. Some choose to lounge by the pool in the backyard, some chat with their friends in the kitchen. Some choose to swap spit in the most absurd corner of the house. The air is hot and clammy and smells heavily of cigarette smoke.

“My hair's gonna smell like this for days,” he groans to himself.

Heeseung nearly misses the staircase under the mountain of people piled on top of it. There isn't a single fuck in his body he has left to give about all the sweaty people he's pushing aside, his sole objective just to drive through the throng and get to the second floor without being trampled.

The sooner he can get up there, the sooner he can finish his work. The sooner he can finish his work, the sooner he can go back down and get hammered and find you.

You. Fuck, he’d gotten distracted.

You’d gotten here earlier, didn’t you? He should probably text you.

A chipped banister is Heeseung's saving grace, acting as leverage for him to haul himself up the stairs. Soft, erratic pants escape him when he makes it to the top, body bending at the waist as he leans his weight against the wooden railing.

Nearly the whole first floor can be seen from up here. Heeseung's eyes idly scan the different rooms, taking note of certain things—like how Jake's shirt is now off, Jay's drinking with some of his friends from high school, and Sunghoon's hogging the entirety of a couch to himself with a girl stretched out on top of him.

When they break apart so he can trail sloppy kisses down the side of her neck, Heeseung makes eye contact with him over her shoulder.

He cocks an eyebrow, as if to say: That's her?

Sunghoon promptly flips him off.

Snickering, Heeseung pushes off the railing to leave.

The house's bedrooms are all located along a lengthy hallway, decorated with painted oil portraits of the frat's original founders and framed photos of prior generations of brothers. Dragging himself further down, Heeseung tries each of the doors to find the one with a fucked up lock, knowing that one would be Minjun's. Eventually, he finds it at the very end of the hall, pushing into the room without much grace.

Minjun's room is actually nice, to his credit—minimalistic, sleek black walls, accentuated by silver grey details. A flag of the Lambda Delta Nu letters hangs from the dark oak bed frame, next to a hockey jersey slightly dusty from going unworn for a while. Heeseung recognizes some of the miscellaneous things (namely stray clothes) he knows belong to Jake that are scattered around the room.

Then, to top it all off, the lights are switched on, suddenly plunging the room into a deep shade of red.

He snorts. LEDs? Really? Is he fifteen?

Whatever. It doesn't matter. He has all the time in the world to flame him for it when he gets back from Barcelona.

Gingerly, Heeseung peels the weighty jacket off, the leather having begun to stick to his skin. It's draped over the back of the desk chair, leaving him in a white cotton tank top. The air hitting the bare skin of his arms and chest causes a shiver to run through him at the sudden drop in temperature.

He takes a moment, letting clean, smoke-free air circulate through his lungs, before steeling himself.

Heeseung realizes very quickly that trying to code while tipsy fucking sucked.

What he thought would only take twenty minutes to do absolutely does not take only twenty minutes. Trying to parse through walls of code is hard enough sober, let alone with his brain fighting for its life through the dense fog that had settled over it from the alcohol. The only words that leave his mouth during the process are a litany of 'fuck' and 'shit' variations grumbled under his breath each time the code doesn't run properly.

But if there's one thing that studying engineering does for someone, it's teaching them to accept that their fate is doomed from the start—so he tanks the grade, submitting the shitty code just so he doesn't have to look at it any longer.

Heeseung exhales a long-suffering sigh. He had sobered up a bit, having fished a rare water bottle from Minjun's mini fridge that is otherwise entirely filled with Red Bull and soju. The edges of the chair dig into his back as he slumps against it. His right hand aimlessly palms around on the desk, gripping his phone when he feels its boxy shape.

There's a text from Jay, he muses. Several texts.

(11:52) JAY: Yo where the fuck r u (11:52) JAY: Y/n's looking for you (11:53) JAY: Tell me Jake isn't serious is your bitchass actually doing homework rn (11:53) JAY: Do u want an award for being virgin of the year (11:53) JAY: I sent her ur way (11:53) JAY: I'm actually going to beat the shit out of u

Heeseung's brain short-circuits.

He's suddenly very conscious of how much of a mess he looks like right now—probably dead to the world, eyes bloodshot from staring at dense code, hair sticking up in a hundred different directions from how many times he's run a frustrated hand through it.

Meeting you in frat guy's bedroom at a party he invited you to probably looks really bad on his part. What if you came up and he ran his mouth? Scared you off? He shouldn't have let those fuckers shovel shots down his throat. He had to fix his hair. Wipe his sweat. Kill Jay—

There's a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

Heeseung freezes.

His heart beats four counts before he calls out hoarsely, “Come in.”

Hinges creaking, the door is carefully opened from the other side. Your head slowly peeks in, uncertainty marring your face. It relaxes with relief when you register that it's actually him in the room.

“Oh, good,” you breathe out, finally pushing into the room. You're clutching a solo cup in one hand, phone in the other. Your skin shines with a light sheen of sweat. “I was really worried that I was gonna walk in on people fucking.”

If you had looked anymore carefully, you'd notice how Heeseung's Adam's apple bobs up, then down.

The music from downstairs gets noticeably more muted. Or maybe turned off entirely? His fists clench, trying to quell his twitching fingers.

You're drenched in crimson in front of him, the red lights painting you in a way that has his mouth running dry. Every shred of his pitiful dignity seems to evaporate as he trails his trembling eyes over your body, latching onto how your shorts delicately squeeze around your thighs. How elegant your neck stretches when you crane it to the side. How your top is cut just low enough.

God help me, I am no better than anyone else.

If Heeseung wasn't so busy staring at you, he might've noticed you staring at him back.

At his tousled hair. How the muscles in his arms rippled as he flexed them unconsciously.

At his lips, maybe. Who knows.

It takes Heeseung longer than he's proud of for him to reel himself back in and tear his gaze from you. The fog clears, music returning to the volume it was at before.

“Are you drunk?” he blurts, finally standing up from his chair.

Your face breaks into a lazy smile. The alcohol in your system has your tongue feeling heavier than usual, honeying your voice and making your words connect with a barely-there slur.

“Nuh uh. I'm not that lightweight. This is only my second drink of the night.” You hold up the half-full cup, the contents swishing around inside.

Suddenly, you tilt your cheek towards him. “Here. Feel.”

Heeseung's eyes widen. “H—Huh?”

“Feel my face,” you repeat, tilting closer.

Just how drunk are you?

Lifting a hand, Heeseung hesitates for a moment before letting the back of his hand carefully press against your offered cheek. The touch is electric, sending a surge from the tips of his fingers up the length of his arm. Your skin is impossibly soft. It yields under his touch like a cloud.

It's also flushed hot, which he makes sure to point out.

You scoff lightly, feigning offense. “That doesn't mean anything.”

“It really does, Y/N,” Heeseung finds himself murmuring softly. He isn't sure what possesses him to then move his hand from your cheek to your forehead—liquid confidence, maybe—but he does.

You don't lean away.

“I met your friend. Jay, I think,” you finally say, breaking away to walk over to the desk.

Heeseung's gaze flickers with disappointment, following your figure as you plop down into the chair. Quite possibly the worst thing you could've told him, but he bites his tongue.

“He seems nice. Turns out we're in the same Econ program group chat. Was he being serious about you doing homework up here?”

The code he'd been writing is still pulled up on the computer screen, which you take the luxury of scrolling through, much to Heeseung's dread. He moves to try to steal the mouse away, which you respond to by immediately snapping your arm out to keep it out of his reach. “Don't look at that.”

“Why?” you ask, as if you're a kid being denied candy.

“Because I did it while drunk. The code can barely run. I don't even know what I wrote.”

“I'm just curious! It's not like I'm gonna judge you— I don't know jackshit about coding.”

Your brows are drawn in a knot that Heeseung has grown familiar with after a lot of staring during library sessions. It's the same look you get when you're stuck on something—whether it's some theoretical concept you can't wrap your head around, or a flashcard you can't seem to remember, no matter how many times it comes up in rotation.

Now, you're glaring at his code as if it's at fault for not magically bestowing you with god-tier computer science powers the second you'd glanced at it.

Suddenly, you're swivelling around in the chair to face him. “Teach me how to code.”

Heeseung sputters. “What?”

“Teach me how to code,” you repeat, batting your lashes.

Pursing his lips, he tries to push down a smile. “You came to the biggest party of the year and you want to learn how to code?”

“Am I high or are we not at the same party?”

“I wasn't coding willingly. Shit, you really are a huge nerd.”

You whine. “I already did all the party stuff! Chaewon introduced me to her friends and we danced and I watched a few games of beer pong. I already hit the quota I set for night. And... and I want to spend time with you,” you say, voice growing quieter towards the end.

Heeseung knows it's probably the alcohol talking, but that doesn't stop him from instantly softening around the edges.

You're just so— so cute right now. Talkative and clingy in a way that stirs something gooey in his chest, in a way that he never expected to see. He wonders if this is real at all, and yet would actively still jump into the deep end even if he knew it wasn't.

“Okay,” he murmurs softly, poking your forehead. “Don't sulk.”

Heeseung shifts so that he's leaning over you from the side, and this time, you don't resist when he takes the mouse from you, letting your hand fall away. Seconds later, a blank program is pulled up on the screen.

“Three basic things you gotta know about writing code,” he starts. “Variables, conditionals, and loops. Variables store stuff—”

His breath stutters when he feels your chin perch innocently on the nook of his bicep.

You're unfazed when he glances down at you, simply staring ahead at what he's typing. He finds his voice again, meeker than it was.

“—conditionals decide what happens, and loops loop things. So, if I wrote an if statement, like if x is greater than five, then...”

The wonderful world of Python can only keep someone entertained for so long—Heeseung thinks it a miracle you lasted as long as you did before starting to not-so-subtly hint at wanting to do something else.

Drink, that is. Fiending to drink.

The smart decision was probably to get you to pace yourself, yet Heeseung's never claimed to be smart. Nothing he's ever done really has.

He's selfish. Selfish and tipsy. He wants to savour this endearing side of you because he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to see it again.

That's how you both end up here: sat side-by-side on the floor, leaning back against the bed frame, drinking from soju bottles—yours strawberry, his grape—that Heeseung had taken from Minjun's mini fridge. Somewhere in his mind, he makes a mental post-it to buy them back for him.

Conversation flows. You talk about what it was like spending your entire life in all-girls schools, and he might've let it slip that he's a streamer (to which he immediately shuts down all attempts you make at trying to get him to show you his channel, not matter what you said or how you pouted).

Things about school, things about people, things stupid beyond imagination (“D'you think I could get Clavicular to collab with me?” “What?”)—it all comes out in a natural stream of thoughts.

At some point, you start to grow quiet. As if you're sobering up, even though your bottle is getting emptier.

Heeseung notices. He matches you. “Tired?”

You shake your head. “Not yet. This is just how I get when I drink. I get loud and then I get quiet,” you explain, words slurring a bit.

It's later in the night, so the rush of the party had settled down, though there's still a decent amount of commotion, mostly from people hanging out in and around the pool.

“Heeseung?” you mumble.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel like you're just floating through your existence?”

Heeseung's in the middle of taking a swig from his bottle. The question sends him into a mild coughing fit, the corners of his eyes instantly watering. “Don't you think that's a bit—cough—bit too loaded of a—cough—question?”

You give him a sheepish smile before letting your head drop back, a soft thud against the mattress. “Sorry. I'm a little out of it right now. Forget I said anything, actually.”

Wiping his mouth with his hand, Heeseung turns to look at you. “I've done viewer counselling sessions for my streams. My chat says I'm a good listener.” He sounds so lame to himself, but you laugh, and that matters more.

Silence falls over the two of you. Just when he thinks it's cemented itself and you no longer want to talk, you mumble: “I dunno if I actually want to be a lawyer.”

A pause. “Okay,” Heeseung says slowly. Processing the statement, turning it over a few times in his head. “Why?”

You rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms, dragging them down your face. “That's the thing—I don't know,” you groan, words garbled from alcohol. “Like, my mom wanted to be a lawyer but didn't get into law school, so that's why she's in real estate. Then, my sister passed the bar with flying colours and is now this big, successful lawyer who brings home two hundred grand a year. So... so I'm sorta supposed to do all that too, you know? Do my diligence. I'm as much my mother's daughter as my sister is. And I am! That's why I'm here in the first place—”

Heeseung's hands gently grasp your own flailing ones, stilling them before placing them back into your lap. “Woah, woah, chill. You're rambling. A lot.”

“—I just—I know I'm succeeding. I have medals and titles and resources and a scholarship here and yet—when I look at my mom and see how happy she is whenever she brings these things up, I don't... feel what she feels.”

You trail to a close like air escaping a punctured balloon, voice thin as insecurity seeps into your pores. “I don't feel what she feels and I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Heeseung remains quiet for a long time.

Horror is the only fitting word that describes the expression on your face. A shaky hand cards through your hair as you scramble to apologize. “S—sorry. I don't usually... overshare like that, fuck—”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off. “You know I'm only an electrical major because Jake is too, right?”

You blink a few times, trying to clear the dense fog shrouding your mind. “Seriously?” you croak after a moment.

“Okay, no, not fully,” he chuckles dryly. “But like, half seriously. I chose electrical because my highest grades last year were in the electrical courses they make us take. Having a friend sorta tipped it over, I guess.”

Shifting his body so that he's fully facing you, Heeseung props his elbow up on the mattress, resting his head in his hand. “Other reasons were if I chose a major I'm good at, I might have a better chance at scoring internships. Or doing a masters or some other bullshit that would "further my professional career". Point is none of those have anything to do with what I want because I don't know what the fuck I want.”

“Streaming's fun,” he hums. “My dad doesn't think it's a real job, though. So I get what you mean. At least, I hope I do.”

He takes a moment to carefully select his next words, going over them in his head to make sure they'll sound fine rolling off his tongue.

“There's no rule that says you're 'supposed' to do anything. You have free will,” he says. “Right now, being a lawyer sounds more like your mom's dream, not yours. But maybe that'll change, and you actually do want to be a lawyer in the future. Who knows. Either way, you'll be the only one to make that decision when the time comes. Not your mom. Not your sister. You.”

Heeseung can't decipher the emotions that are pooling in your eyes. He's worried it's a bad sign—he's never been the best with empathy or knowing exactly what to say, and he's certain that he's not more graceful while tipsy than he is sober—but you shift to face him.

Legs unfurling from your chest to cross on top of each other. Inching closer until your face is a breath's away from his.

Tension permeates the small space, so thick and palpable that Heeseung can practically taste it. His eyes trace the slope of your nose, the curve of your cupid's bow, the strands of messy hair that he ached to brush out of your face. Unknowingly, he wets his lips—a movement your eyes follow.

Hope is scary. Fragile. All it takes it one wrong step, one toe out of line, and it can be extinguished with the gentlest gust of wind.

Heeseung dares to hope.

“If you ask me... I think you're enough just as you are.”

You lean in. He lets you.

You hesitate. He doesn't pull away—and a hundred, thousand fireworks set off in his chest when your lips slot against his.

They're soft, tentative. Just a little bit awkward and uncoordinated in their movements, but Heeseung doesn't mind. He lets you steer the ship where you want it to go.

The kiss is brief, only lasting a couple seconds before your mouth detaches from his with a soft smack. He expects you to pull away, to no longer be able to breathe in the faint notes of jasmine in your perfume on every inhale—but you don't.

You keep the sliver between you an inch wide, nose nudging against his, breath still fanning against his skin in warm puffs. Lingering.

You push yourself up onto your knees, a yelp escaping you as you stumble, the ends of your hair skimming his face. Heeseung's hands instinctively find your waist to steady you. He revels in the way the dip feels against his palms. A meek sorry comes from you, which he returns with a small it's fine.

Shifting closer, the front of your thigh presses against his side. He sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath as you sling yourself over him, helping you down as you settle into his lap, thighs bracketing his.

Heeseung has to crane his neck up ever so slightly to meet your gaze.

You're gorgeous. He's thought that since the very day he met you, but this—your bare skin scorching his hands, the sight of you on top of him—has his mind going mushy and blank. A barely audible groan slips out of him as your arms sling around his neck, fingers gently threading through the hair at his nape.

“You're pretty.” The words come out in a rush, not caring if you know. Needing you to know. “God, you're so fucking pretty.”

“You're buttering me up,” you say, your retort lacking any real contempt. He only shakes his head, reconnecting your lips, deeper, escalating.

Heeseung's heartbeat is in his ears. The ache that's been sitting his chest, tamped down but constantly brewing, springs forth the moment he feels your tongue swipe against the seam of his lips. They part instantly, letting your tongue press in, wet and hot—the strawberry flavouring mixed with the slight bitterness of alcohol you'd been drinking hitting his taste buds.

“I want you.” You sigh the words into his mouth, and he swallows them fervently. “Please...”

Heeseung breathes out a shaky laugh. “Neither of us are sober.”

“You don't want me?”

“Fuck, I never said that.”

Eager hands fist at the hem of his tank, which he lets you slip off and toss aside, his entire top-half left bare. His skin is flushed hot, chest heaving as your lips trail down his neck, his collarbone, his sternum—unable to control the low moan he lets out as they latch onto his abdomen, sucking a hickey into the skin. “F—fuck...”

When you come back up, Heeseung pulls you back down flush against him. One hand slides under your thigh, the other slipping into the back of your shorts, lightly running over the skin there. A full-body shiver runs through him as the tips of his fingers brush against the texture of your waistband.

“Lace?” he muses, as if it doesn't undo him.

“Shut up.”

“I didn't say I was complaining. You know I'm not complaining, right?”

“Shut. Up.”

And how quickly he complies, slanting his lips to yours again. Heeseung feels feverish—choking out a high-pitched gasp as your hips grind down. He's throbbing against your ass, his entire arm wrapping around your waist like an iron band to pull you against him harder, coaxing you to give him more friction, his head lolling back when you do. He finds the ribbon of your top at your back, tugging it loose—

“Shit, someone get him out!”

Someone's shouting outside. Heeseung doesn't hear it, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra—

It grows louder. Fucking hell, shut up, he thinks, brows knitting together as he tries to focus on you, on how you feel against him—but your movements slowly come to a halt.

“What's that noise?” you whisper.

Heeseung shakes his head before feverishly kissing down your neck, trying to reassure you. “Nothing, nothing. C'mon, baby, keep going—”

But the commotion only seems to multiply, growing until it's a cacophony of panicked and confused voices. Concerned, you look over your shoulder towards the window, your grip in his hair loosening.

He groans into your skin as he feels you start to shift off his lap. It feels like he's never wanted anything more desperately than to keep you against him—but he lets you climb off, hands falling limply to the side.

Head tilting towards the ceiling, Heeseung blinks a few times, trying to clear the hazy fog from his head (and calming himself down so he doesn't explode) before standing up begrudgingly and dragging himself over to the window.

Heeseung peeks outside. His brow furrows with confusion, then concern. Instead of everyone being littered around the backyard doing their own things, every head is turned towards the pool.

Jake is currently being hauled out of the pool like a wet dog by Jay and Sunghoon, face contorted in pain.

“What's going on?” Your voice is quiet. Uneasy.

“I don't know. I think something happened to Jake,” Heeseung says gravely, breaking away from the window to pick up his shirt from the floor. “I— fuck, I'm going to kill him.”

Pebbles dig into Heeseung's socked feet—he couldn't be bothered with shoes—as he rushes out into the backyard towards where Sunghoon, Jay, and a couple other Lambda guys are crowded around Jake. He calls out, “What's going on here?”

Jake's leaning back against his hands, one of his legs outstretched in front of him. He's red as a lobster, from his face down to his neck, and also soaking wet, clothes sticking to the outline of his body, dripping water down that washes the concrete a darker shade—yet he only waves a dismissive hand.

“Nothing,” he slurs. “I'm—hic—fine.”

Sunghoon scoffs, hands on his hips. “Einstein here decided to jump from the roof and didn't realize he was jumping into the shallow end because he's shitfaced.”

He then turns to Heeseung, looking him up and down. “Where've you been? I haven't seen you in, like, two h— do you have a fucking boner right now?”

Much to his horror, Heeseung looks down to find a very noticeable tent in his pants. He exhales—zen, he thinks, be zen—before slipping his leather jacket off to tie around his waist. “Shut the fuck up.”

Apparently, Jake is coherent enough to stare at Heeseung's crotch, see that he's hard, and put two and two together. “Holy shit, did I cockblock you?”

“Yes, you fu— whatever. It's not important. We need to call the ambulance.”

“Jay's already on it,” Sunghoon says, jerking his head over in Jay's direction.

A small distance away, Ren—who's also visibly drunk but somehow still manages to climb onto a patio table with falling—cups his mouth to create a makeshift megaphone before yelling at the top of his lungs: “Alright, wrap it up! We're done here! If you're not a brother or fucking a brother, get the fuck out!”

Loud groaning resounds throughout the yard. People are evidently upset that they'd been cut off for the night, but eventually, the crowd disperses. Some staggering as their sober friends haul them out, some laughing on their phones—Jake would probably be on a hundred people's Snapchat stories and at the top of the university's subreddit by the morning.

Heeseung finds you standing in the doorway of the sliding screen door that leads to the yard. You look noticeably worried.

His eyes soften.

“What happened?” you ask as he approaches you.

Standing in front of you, Heeseung brings his hands up to cup your face, smoothing out the crease between your eyes with the pad of his thumb.

“Jake's jumped into the pool and fucked up his leg. An ambulance is on the way,” he says, chuckling at your deadpan expression.

Heeseung peers into your eyes. His heart stutters. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “About us getting interrupted, I mean.”

You shrug, arms wrapping around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. “'s whatever. In fact, I was kinda going into this whole frat party thing with the expectation that there would be some bullshit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Were your expectations met?”

A soft, pondering hum leaves you. “Quite.”

The hospital waiting room is deserted at this hour, save for the anxious mother and her sleeping son huddled together. Heeseung's shoes click against tile as he makes his way back to the area, two paper cones filled with water in his hands.

Jake had broken his leg. With his parents not in the country, Heeseung had offered to stay and wait until he gets settled with a room.

You had stayed with him.

Rounding the corner, he sees you yawning. A faint smile tugs at his lips.

“You don't have to stay here, you know,” he says, handing you a cone. It's the third time he's said it since the two of you got here—and you've been stubborn about it each time. “I'll call you an Uber.”

You accept the water, taking a sip before giving him a shrug.

“You'll be bored. Besides, I'm not tired,” you say, as if he hadn't just caught you in the act.

Heeseung looks like he's about to refute you again, but ends up dropping it. He plops down into the hard waiting room chair, throwing the water back like a shot. Ice cold water slides down his dry throat.

Silence. There's an elephant standing in the corner, staring the two of you dead in the eye.

“So,” he starts awkwardly.

You smack your lips. “So.”

“...I, uhm, I think you're cool.”

He sees you turn to face him in the corner of his vision, and absolutely refuses to meet your eyes. “Heeseung, you had your hand in my pants.”

Absentmindedly, he starts folding his empty paper cone, sealing the edges to make a rectangle while grumbling something about how you 'can't just lead in with that.'

“I might like you,” he gets out.

“I might like you,” you copy mockingly.

“I'm being serious!”

“You just told me that you 'think I'm cool.'”

Sighing, Heeseung drops his face into his hands, wrestling with his nerves and feelings and the stupid little flips you make his heart do. Eventually, his words come out in an embarrassed mumble. “I think you're really pretty and sweet and I'd like to go out with you.”

If he had been looking at you, then he would've seen you pursing your lips, trying to hold back a smile.

A few seconds pass before Heeseung feels your head rest on his shoulder.

“I'd like that.”

“Chat,” Heeseung claps his hands together, closing out of his browser so that his camera can be set as full-screen. “I posted on Twitter earlier that we have a special guest joining us today.”

user888: oh my god this is so exciting heeseungism: DAD PLEASEEE LET US SEE MOM PLEASEEEEEE

Heeseung glances out the corner of his eye.

You're sitting beside him just out of frame, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of your cardigan. The sight makes his chest tighten with fondness.

“You look nervous,” he points out.

You shoot him a look, despite letting him pull you up to stand. “Am not.”

He only laughs in return, hands warm on your hips as he guides you into view.

“Alright. Chat, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Heeseung announces, chin hooking over your shoulder. “She's a little shy, so don't be fucking weird and scare her off.”

cherryxxi: HELLO!!!!! 🥹🥹🥹🥹 applejuicemaster: bruh why am i lowkenuinely proud of u reynakisser_: Wtf she's so out of ur league. pick ME!!!!! HE DONT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE ALLAT

Half-lidded eyes scanning the racing chat, Heeseung's lips quirk upwards at everyone's reaction.

He's never, ever felt luckier.

A gentle squeeze to your waist. “They like you.”