[jaysbiceps]

`` 𝒇𝘪𝘤𝘴 › jay (+) 𝖔𝘯𝘦-𝓈𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 › jay 𝑓𝘢𝘷𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝘦𝘴 › jay ''

[cherry-lala]

Dead Space , Dead Hearts

Pairings: Jay x fem!reader x Ni-ki

Summary: Trapped on a generation ship hurtling through deep space, the quiet routine of your voyage shatters when crew members begin vanishing without a trace. As paranoia infects the vessel and the people you trust start acting like strangers, you seek sanctuary in the arms of the ship's fiercely overprotective Chief of Security. But in the infinite dark, the greatest threat isn't the cold void outside—it's what's locked inside with you.

Warnings: Dark AU, Sci-Fi/Horror AU, alien mimic/body horror (tentacles, unhinged jaws), graphic violence and gore (hollowed-out bodies, impalement), psychological manipulation/gaslighting, yandere/possessive behavior, claustrophobia, major character death, heavy angst, intense grief, NSFW/Smut.

[Masterlist]

Header by me// Minors DNI

Chapter 1: The Violet Shift

— A sudden, violent shudder ripples through the Astraeus, bringing with it inexplicable glitches and a chilling shift in the crew's behavior. When a classified directive unexpectedly alters the ship's course toward a dead planet, you realize your sanctuary is rapidly turning into a trap.

[Read Here]

Chapter 2: A Predator's Gravity

—Driven to the edge by the mounting disappearances and the suffocating tension on board, you surrender to the intoxicating safety of Jay’s private quarters. But as the ship descends further into the unknown, a simple detour forces you to witness a truth that fractures your reality entirely.

[Read Here]

Chapter 3: Extinction Protocol

—The masquerade drops, and the lethal reality of the ship's new course is finally laid bare. With the automated descent sequence locked and time running out, you and your remaining friends are forced into a desperate, bloody gamble to stop a catastrophic threat from reaching home.

[Read Here]

[javarisx-fightingthosedemons]

[leeknowpizzza]

Paid in Pleasure

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, MINORS DNI!, rough sex, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (dont be dumb), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, possessive behavior, power imbalance, strong language, praise kink, light degradation, marking, overstimulation.

The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of Jay’s sleek black Maybach as it glided through Seoul’s nighttime streets. You shifted against the buttery leather seat, the shopping bags at your feet rustling softly—Dior, Chanel, Cartier. Another night, another fortune spent on you.

Jay’s hand rested possessively on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles over the expensive silk dress he’d bought you an hour ago. “You look good in that color,” he murmured, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. “But I can’t wait to see it on the floor.”

Your breath hitched. This was the arrangement you’d fallen into three months ago: Jay Park, wealthy heir and successful businessman, took care of you completely. Designer clothes, a luxury apartment in the heart of the city, and a black card with no limit. In return, you were his—whenever he wanted, however he wanted.

The car stopped at his private penthouse. Jay didn’t wait for the driver; he opened the door himself and offered his hand like a perfect gentleman. But the moment the elevator doors closed behind you two, the gentleman disappeared.

He pushed you against the mirrored wall, mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was hungry, demanding. His tongue slid against yours while his hand slipped under your dress, fingers brushing the lace panties he’d chosen earlier.

“Jay…” you gasped as he pressed a thigh between your legs.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Imagining how wet you’d be by the time I got my hands on you.”

The elevator dinged. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you inside. The penthouse was all floor-to-ceiling windows, soft lighting, and minimalist luxury. He didn’t bother with the bedroom. Instead, he set you down on the wide marble island in the kitchen, the cool stone making you shiver.

“Spread your legs for me, baby.”

You obeyed, heart racing. Jay stepped back, eyes dark as he drank you in—dress hiked up, hair messy from his hands, lips swollen. He shrugged off his tailored black jacket, unbuttoned the top of his crisp white shirt, revealing the sharp collarbones and smooth chest you loved marking.

He dropped to his knees.

“Fuck, Jay—” Your hands flew to his hair as he pushed your panties aside and dragged his tongue up your slit in one slow, filthy stroke. He groaned at your taste, like he’d been starving for it. Two long fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made your thighs shake.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your clit, sucking lightly before flicking his tongue faster. “Soaking my fingers already. My pretty little sugar baby gets wet just from shopping, huh?”

You moaned, hips rolling against his face. He ate you out like a man possessed—messy, eager, completely focused on your pleasure. The wet sounds echoed obscenely in the open space. When he added a third finger and sucked hard on your clit, you came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around his head.

Jay rose, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. That cocky smirk made your stomach flip.

 “Good girl. But I’m not done with you.”

He pulled you off the counter and turned you around, bending you over it. The sound of his belt buckle sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You heard the zipper, then felt the thick head of his cock rubbing between your folds, teasing your entrance.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice rough. One hand gripped your hip, the other fisted your hair gently but firmly.

“You,” you breathed. “Please, Jay. Fuck me.”

He thrust in deep in one smooth stroke, stretching you open. A broken moan left your lips. He was big—thick and long enough to make you feel deliciously full every single time. He started moving, hips snapping against your ass with controlled power.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, watching where he disappeared inside you. “Taking my cock so well. This pussy was made for me.”

The slap of skin on skin filled the penthouse. He reached around to rub your clit, driving you toward another orgasm while pounding into you harder. Your breasts pressed against the cool marble, nipples hard. Every thrust pushed you forward, making you grip the edge of the counter.

“Jay—ah—too deep—”

“You can take it,” he growled, leaning over you so his chest pressed to your back. His lips brushed your ear. “You’ll take everything I give you tonight. Gonna fill you up until you’re dripping.”

You came again, clenching around him so hard he cursed. Jay pulled out suddenly, making you whine at the emptiness. He spun you around, lifted you back onto the island, and pushed back inside in one smooth thrust.

“Want to see your face when I cum,” he said, forehead pressed to yours.

His pace turned punishing for a few minutes before he slowed, eyes gleaming with a new idea. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up, folding you neatly in half until your knees pressed against your chest. The mating press position left you completely exposed and helpless beneath him.

“Oh my god—” you gasped at the new angle. He sank even deeper, the head of his cock pressing right against your most sensitive spot with every thrust.

Jay groaned, the sound low and primal. “Fuck, look at you. Folded so nicely for me.” He braced his hands on either side of your head, muscles flexing as he drove down into you with long, powerful strokes. The position made everything tighter, deeper, more intense. Every thrust made your breasts bounce and forced broken moans from your throat.

“Jay—too much—ahh!” you cried, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You can take it,” he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.” His hips snapped harder, the sound of skin slapping wetly against skin growing louder. He leaned down, folding you even more as he captured your lips in a messy kiss.

The pressure built fast. With your legs pinned and his cock hitting that perfect spot relentlessly, your orgasm crashed over you violently. You clenched around him, vision whitening as you came hard.

“That’s it, baby. Squeeze my cock,” Jay growled. A few more deep, brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came. You felt every thick pulse as he filled you up, hot and endless.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you catching your breath. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but kept them wrapped around his waist as he kissed you softly.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice gentler now.

You nodded, dazed and satisfied. Jay eventually pulled out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release trickled down your thigh. He scooped you up and carried you to the luxurious bathroom. The massive shower turned on with a touch, warm water cascading over both of you as he stripped the rest of his clothes.

Under the spray, he was careful. He washed your body with gentle hands, massaging shampoo into your hair. 

“You okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“More than okay,” you whispered.

After drying you off, he carried you to his king-sized bed and pulled you against his chest. The city sparkled beyond the windows. Jay reached into the nightstand and pulled out a small velvet box.

“Open it.”

Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a diamond J pendant.

“For you,” he said, clasping it around your neck. His fingers traced the J resting between your breasts. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”

You touched the necklace, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Jay.

”He smirked, but his eyes were soft. “Don’t thank me yet. The night’s still young.”

He rolled you beneath him again, lips trailing down your neck. His hand slid between your legs, fingers playing with the mess he’d left earlier. “Still so full of me,” he murmured proudly. “Good. I like knowing you’re walking around with my cum inside you.”

You moaned softly as he pushed two fingers back inside, slow and lazy. When he finally replaced them with his cock again, it was deep and unhurried. He held eye contact the whole time, one hand laced with yours.

“Mine,” he breathed between thrusts. “All fucking mine.”

You came whispering his name, and he followed soon after, spilling into you once more.

Later, wrapped in his silk robe and eating expensive takeout in bed, Jay watched you with that signature half-smile.

“You know this isn’t just about the money, right?” he said, feeding you a piece of wagyu. “I like having you here. Spoiling you. Fucking you. All of it.”

You leaned in and kissed him. “I know.”

He pulled you into his lap, the robe falling open. “Ride me this time,” he commanded softly, hands gripping your ass. “Want to watch my pretty sugar baby take what she needs.”

You sank down onto him slowly, moaning at the stretch. Jay’s head fell back, eyes half-lidded in pleasure as you began to move. His hands guided your hips, occasionally sliding up to play with your breasts or tug gently at the diamond J around your neck.

The pace quickened until you both came again, collapsing together in a satisfied tangle of limbs.

Jay kissed the top of your head. “Stay the night. Stay every night.”

You smiled against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[jay-verse]

Even Jongseong has once again made it clear that ENHYPEN IS SIX. It couldn't be any clearer 🔥

Everyone listen, everyone listen. We are six

Nosotros somos seis

[jaysbiceps]

Hello I’m sick of replying to people in long comments so it’s time i make a post surrounding the situation with Jungwons live.

I’ve been appearing in comment sections about what Jungwon truly meant in his live, and as someone who helped translate this live to other people for clarification, I want to explain the extent of his words.

By no means do you need to read this if you still advocate for ot7, this is to clear up any mistranslation and misunderstandings for my non-Korean speakers who are confused on what’s right or wrong.

Jungwon is known for being direct and having an undertone. this live proves it to the full extent.

Video of the ACUTAL translation below:

⠀ ⚠️ ‼️ [EN, JP, CH Subtitles]

This video translation was given by @/jjongmanul_ on x. They are a native Korean speaker and have been an ENGENE for awhile. There’s no reason NOT to believe this translation is false.

To summarize this video in the terms we need,Jungwon mentions that he’s speaking for all the members, all 6 of them “— That’s why i started this live in the first place. To talk about this, i came here on behalf of the members, and we share the same (similar) thoughts. The other five members think the same, so i hope this won’t happen anymore. I’m being sincere.” on how they felt about the fanchant in São Paulo and Peru.

Context: as you may know, many people who went to the concert decided to use the OT7 fanchant. This is was the break of the iceberg for Jungwon to start this live.

He says (roughly translated) “ENHYPEN is 6 members, and regarding the fan chants you do at concerts, i understand that too. I understand because we haven’t spoken about it (until now), — it’s not good to see engenes fighting among themselves over these words.”

“But now ENHYPEN is 6, everyone.” — He goes on to explain how they don’t appreciate seeing ENGENE fight over OT7 and OT6.

(Cont.)

“— But it’s not good (dislike) to see ENGENE fight among themselves over things like that (between OT7 , OT6) Honestly, it’s also become a big disruption during our concerts. Really. Now that i’ve clearly spoken about it today, I think those who truly like ENHYPEN and genuinely support us will know how they should act going forward.”

“Honestly, it’s also become a big disruption during our concerts. Really.” Read it over and over again. ‘Big disruption during our concert.’ ‘ENHYPEN is 6 now.’ What do you think that connects to?

They DISLIKE the OT7 fanchant BECAUSE they are not 7 anymore. They do NOT want people to fanchant OT7 because the 6 of them were the only ones working on preparing for the tour, they came as 6, and WANT respect at their own concert without the burden of Heeseungs departure. ENHYPEN has worked extremely hard in the 1-2 months left before the tour to exemplify Heeseungs positions because, to put it simply, he is NOT in ENHYPEN anymore and will NOT go on the tour.

If you understand so much, then you’d know to respect them as the 6 they are now because those 6 are the ones who put in effort to work on this tour and present it to their fans, and if you disregard this, even a bit of it, you are disrespecting their work and expect more. That is NOT the look we want to give. It makes people (OT7 fanchanters) look ungrateful EVEN when it was Latims first time seeing ENHYPEN in their country. I know ENHYPEN expected a lot more than all this disrespect. I cannot believe or fathom the amount of disrespect put on their names because of this sole fanchant.

As per every contract they MUST sign, they cannot talk about each other because it can spark up a lot of controversy and essentially, turn into the mess WE ENGENES made just to feed a delusion that shouldn’t have existed. Again, no shade to anyone. I support OT6 + 1, and this is a reminder that NO shade should be thrown to Heeseung because he CANNOT talk about it no matter the circumstance. Fans don’t always get what they want, but they must accept it. ENHYPEN and Evan however, cannot control what they want to “like” in these situations. They must deal with it until it explodes over and it is NOT good for the idols mental health.

Which is why, I ask all boycotters + OT7, why you disrespect ENHYPEN and disregard everything they’ve said with the excuse of “no official statement”? A member saying this for his WHOLE group is already a huge problem because this just means it’s out of control, not that the company had forced him to say it. If they did, why would he say “the company didn’t force me”?? They have editing teams.

(Ex.) Heeseung accidentally saying “Engene” on his solo live twice, and was later cut out of his live because he wasn’t supposed to say it

Why wouldn’t they cut off Jungwons part or delete the live? lol because he MEANT IT.

In summary:

Jungwon and the group DISLIKED the OT7 fanchant because it was disrespectful. He mentions that they are 6, and he wants to keep them labeled as 6.

He also does not want OT7 and OT6 to fight. Clearly, this was the topic that was the most misunderstood.

Boycotting ENHYPEN is ruining ENHYPENs sales and will do nothing to bring Heeseung back, you’re just making their profit go down and eventually disband without stable profiting because we know how HYBE is. Please keep ENHYPEN stable as a group.

ENHYPEN loves us and understands our views, but we also need to understand them and why they feel uncomfortable with the OT7 fanchant. Hence, he says “I will not consider people who make these claims/conflicts a fan”.

Yes, Jungwon himself said he doesn’t consider people to advocate for OT7 and force people into this belief to be ENGENES.

Disliking Jungwon and kicking him out of your “OT7 narrative” to say you’re OT6 means you’re an ENHYPEN anti. No doubt.

Let’s just live and support ENHYPEN for who’ve they become. 🥹

A.N: You can still be OT7 while respecting ENHYPEN as 6. I am personally forever OT7 but I will NOT go out of my way to disrespect all of the things they’ve done to move on and show ENGENES that they will not give up no matter the circumstance.

[wonton88]

Heyy love ur writing can u please write something about jay doesn't matter the trope just anything about him pleasee

Our Recipe

Pairing: boyfriend!Jay x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, humor, established relationship

Synopsis: After you find a recipe that "looks easy," you convince Jay to make it with you. Unfortunately, the internet lied.

Warning(s): Food chaos, mild burns from the oven (NOT serious), excessive teasing

Word Count: ~2.3k+

A/N: Hai! I have to admit that I actually have a LOT of requests in my inbox…some even from March. SO! This was one of them I decided to tackle! I hope you enjoy my loves! 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

"You know..."

Jay didn't look up from the cookbook he was pretending to read.

"Hm?"

"I think we should cook something together."

"...No."

You frowned dramatically from the other end of the couch.

"I didn't even tell you what it was."

"I don't need to know."

"You don't?"

"No."

"You already said no."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because every time you say, 'I have an idea,' my afternoon somehow becomes significantly harder."

You gasped.

"I am offended."

"I'm prepared to live with that."

You huffed before scooting across the couch until you were practically sitting on top of him.

"Jay."

"No."

"Jay."

"No."

"Jay."

He finally sighed, closing the cookbook and looking at you.

"...What?"

Without another word, you shoved your phone directly into his face. A TikTok was playing. Bright music, perfect lighting, and someone effortlessly whisking together what looked like the prettiest meal you'd ever seen.

The caption read:

“Easy Dinner! Only 5 Ingredients!”

You looked at him with sparkling eyes.

"We should make this."

Jay watched the video all the way through. Then watched it a second time.

"...Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"They're lying."

"They wouldn't lie."

"They absolutely would."

"They said it's easy."

"They also edited this into forty-five seconds."

You blinked.

"...So?"

"So I think this is a scam."

♡ 

Somehow, 30 minutes later, you both were standing inside the grocery store. Jay still wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten here. One minute he'd been comfortably sitting on the couch. The next you'd somehow convinced him that trying the recipe would be "a fun couple activity."

He pushed the shopping cart with one hand while the other held the ingredient list on his phone. Meanwhile, you'd wandered approximately six feet ahead of him, lightly dragging the cart by the front corner while looking around excitedly.

"Ooh!"

Jay glanced up.

"What?"

"They have marshmallows."

"...O…kay?"

"I think that’ll be good with the dish."

Before he could answer, you'd already tossed a bag into the cart. Then you happily continued walking without another thought. 

Jay looked down…looked at the recipe…and looked back at the marshmallows.

"..."

He quietly picked them back up and placed them on the shelf before continuing to walk.

A minute later-

"Ooh!"

"What now?"

"They have gummy bears."

"No."

"I wasn't asking."

"I know."

"They're cute."

"They're candy. This is a savory dish."

"They can be both."

You dropped them into the cart. Jay waited until you skipped ahead again before back onto the shelf they went.

♡ 

By aisle six, the cart had become an ongoing battle. You added things, and Jay quietly removed them. At one point, you'd somehow managed to sneak in a tiny potted succulent. 

Jay stopped the cart.

"...Baby."

"Hm?"

"Why is there...a plant?"

You looked down.

"Oh! I thought it looked lonely."

"...We're grocery shopping."

"I know."

"...The plant isn't coming home."

"It could."

"It won't."

♡ 

Eventually you reached the international foods aisle. You scanned the shelves confidently.

"Okay...we need...” Your finger slowly traced the ingredient list on his phone. "...gochujang..." You paused. "...glaze..." Another pause. "...reduction?"

Jay slowly lowered his phone.

"...That's not one ingredient."

"It says gochujang glaze reduction."

He gently looked at his phone.

"...Baby."

"Hm?"

"...That's the title of the section."

You leaned closer.

"...Oh." Silence. "...I knew that."

"No, you didn't."

"I did!"

♡ 

Finding the actual ingredients somehow proved even harder. You wandered in circles.

"This store is confusing."

"It isn't."

"It is."

"You've passed soy sauce four times."

"They keep moving it!!"

Jay smiled to himself.

"They're not moving it."

"You don't know that."

♡ 

By the time you finally reached checkout, Jay glanced into the cart.

"...How did we spend this much?"

You followed his gaze. There were ingredients, paper towels, a tiny whisk, a white spatula you'd insisted was "cuter.”, and three different drinks because you "couldn't decide which one you wanted to try.”

Oh yeah! And a loaf of garlic bread. 

He picked it up.

"...Why?"

You smiled innocently.

"...It looked lonely."

He laughed despite himself.

"I swear that's your answer for everything."

♡ 

The second you walked through the apartment door you clapped your hands together.

"Let's cook!"

Jay looked at the seven grocery bags.

"...Let's unpack first."

15 minutes later, the kitchen finally looked organized. Clean. Every ingredient neatly lined across the counter.

Jay tied an apron around his waist before looking up.

"...Where's yours?"

You proudly held one up. It had tiny smiling strawberries printed all over it.

"You own this?"

"Mmhm! It makes me happy!"

"...Fair enough."

♡ 

You placed your phone on the counter and opened the TikTok recipe. The creator smiled brightly.

"So first-"

You paused the video.

"Okay!"

Jay rolled up his sleeves.

"Let's do this."

♡ 

Three minutes later, everything had already gone wrong. You attempted to crack an egg one-handed while Jay watched with mild curiosity.

"..."

The egg completely missed the bowl. It landed directly on the counter.

Silence.

You stared while the shattered egg stared back. Jay slowly closed his eyes.

"...You missed."

"I noticed."

♡ 

Five minutes later, you were measuring “flour”. Or…attempting to.

"Does it really need exactly two cups?"

"Yes."

"...What if I don’t feel like two cups?"

Jay blinked.

"...what?"

"Mhm."

"It says two cups."

"I know."

"My heart says a little more."

"Your heart isn't cooking."

♡ 

When you reached for the sugar container, Jay immediately stopped you.

"...Baby."

"Hm?"

"...That's powdered sugar."

"..."

"...It is?"

"Yes."

"I thought flour looked shinier."

"..."

"...Please let me hold the ingredients."

♡ 

At some point, you somehow managed to get sauce on the counter, your apron, one cabinet, the refrigerator handle, and your own cheek.

Jay stood silently watching the growing disaster. Then, without saying a word, he grabbed the roll of paper towels. For the next twenty minutes, he simply followed behind you.

You stirred something, he wiped the counter. You opened a cabinet, he cleaned the handle you'd somehow gotten sauce on.

You dripped oil, he sighed softly before cleaning it up. Eventually, you turned around.

"...Are you following me?"

"No."

"You are."

"I'm preventing further casualties."

"I am not making that much of a mess."

He looked around the kitchen. Then back at you.

"...Would you like me to answer honestly?"

♡ 

The recipe suddenly called for three separate bowls. Then four. Then five.

Jay stared into the sink.

"..."

"...Who wrote this recipe?"

You shrugged.

"I don't know, I guess the creator."

"They assume everyone owns seventeen bowls?"

"They probably do."

"I barely own seven."

You couldn't stop laughing.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"Where are they expecting me to get Bowl Number Eight?"

♡ 

The recipe reached the "carefully dice the vegetables" step. You confidently picked up the knife as Jay looked over…looked back…and then looked over again.

"...Baby."

"Hm?"

"...Why are you holding it like that?"

You frowned.

"...Like what?"

He slowly walked over.

"...Like you're about to start stabbing the carrot."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I'm cutting it."

"You're threatening it, baby."

You giggled.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Uhhhh..." He stepped behind you, gently taking the knife from your hand before placing it back correctly. "No..." His hands carefully adjusted yours around the handle. "...Like this."

You suddenly forgot what vegetables were. His chin hovered near your shoulder as he guided your movements.

"Keep your fingers tucked."

"...Mm."

"So you don't cut yourself."

"...Mm."

"You listening?"

"..."

"...Baby?"

"Huh?"

He laughed quietly.

"I lost you, didn't I?"

"...Maybe a tiny bit..."

♡ 

Eventually, the vegetables were cut! Some were just…different shapes than intended.

"It's rustic," you insisted.

Jay raised an eyebrow.

"...One of these is like…the size of my thumb."

"I like it like that."

♡ 

Things finally seemed to be improving. Until the recipe reached the next step.

"Flip it!"

You gasped dramatically.

"I've always wanted to do that!"

Jay immediately looked up.

"...No."

"I've got it."

"No."

"I can totally do it."

"You, wait-"

Before he could finish, you confidently flicked the pan upward exactly like the person in the TikTok. For one glorious second, it actually worked! Then, the food launched straight into the air and both of you watched in slow motion.

"..."

"..."

It landed directly on the floor. Silence. Jay stared at it for a full five seconds. Then quietly asked-

"...Five-second rule?"

You burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"You are not serious."

"I'm trying to stay positive here."

♡ 

Round two went…marginally better. The second batch actually stayed inside the pan!

"I did it!"

"You did."

"You doubted me."

"I did."

"You were wrong."

"I was…don't get used to hearing that."

♡ 

Then came the oven. Jay carefully slid the tray inside.

"Okay. It needs another ten minutes."

You nodded.

"Got it."

Nine minutes later…it obviously still hadn’t been ten minutes. The timer hadn't even gone off yet. You peeked through the oven window.

"...I think it's done."

Jay glanced over from the sink.

"It isn't."

"It looks done."

"It needs another minute."

"...Just one peek."

Before he could answer, you grabbed the oven mitt. Or…what you thought was the oven mitt. Unfortunately, it was just the folded kitchen towel sitting beside it. You pulled the tray forward a little too quickly.

"...Ow!"

Jay's head snapped around instantly. The smile disappeared from his face.

"Baby?"

You immediately pulled your hand back.

"It's okay-"

"No,” He was already beside you. "Let me see."

"It's literally nothing."

"Your hand."

You reluctantly held it out. A faint pink mark had already started appearing across your fingertips. Jay gently took your wrist.

"...You reached in without the mitt."

"I thought I had it."

"You didn't..."

"I know..."

Without another word, he guided you to the sink and turned on cool water.

"There. Keep it under."

You pouted.

"...I feel dumb."

He looked over.

"You aren't dumb."

"I kind of am."

"You got excited."

"I wanted to see if it worked."

"I know,” His thumb lightly rubbed the back of your hand while the cool water ran over your fingers. "You have to slow down."

"...Okay."

"You can't just reach into an oven."

"I know."

"You scared me."

That made your expression soften immediately.

"...I'm sorry."

Jay sighed.

"I'm not mad…I just..." He looked down at your hand again. "...Don't like seeing you get hurt."

Your heart practically melted.

♡ 

Ten minutes later, the food was finally plated. You both stood in front of it.

"It..." You tilted your head. "...Actually doesn't look…bad."

Jay nodded slowly.

"I'll admit...I'm surprised."

"Hey!"

"I'm complimenting you!"

"Barely."

You handed him a fork. He looked at you, then at the food, then back at you. 

"You first."

"No..."

"You."

"What if it's bad?"

"Exactly."

“Baby…”

He laughed.

"You're unbelievable."

Taking a deep breath, he took the first bite. You watched him chew with the most anxious expression imaginable.

"...?"

"..."

"...Jay?"

He swallowed before looking down at the plate…and then back at you.

"...It's actually…really good."

Your mouth fell open.

"...Seriously?"

"Mhm."

"You aren't lying?"

"I'm genuinely annoyed."

"What?"

"You were right."

You squealed so loudly he barely had time to react before you threw yourself onto him and your arms around him. The force nearly knocked the fork out of his hand.

"Whoa-"

"It worked!"

"I know!"

"It actually worked!"

"I KNOW!"

♡ 

Dinner somehow disappeared surprisingly fast. Not because you were starving, I mean…you kind of were, but because every other bite was interrupted by laughter. Or another story. Or one of you pointing out something ridiculous that had happened earlier. By the end, your stomach hurt more from laughing than eating.

Much later, the kitchen still looked…questionable. You leaned against the counter while Jay quietly washed dishes.

"You know..."

He hummed.

"I think we make a pretty good team."

He smiled to himself.

"...Eventually."

"Rude."

"Accurate."

You wandered over behind him. Without warning, you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your cheek rested gently against his back. He paused halfway through rinsing a plate.

"...Comfortable?"

"Mhm."

"If you want you can dry that dish over there?"

"I'm okay with being emotional support."

"I see."

"You appreciate me."

"I do."

He set the last plate in the drying rack before turning around in your arms.

"You know..."

"What?"

"You almost baked the oven towel today."

"..."

"...I forgot about that."

"I know."

"And I dropped dinner."

"You did."

"And I almost used powdered sugar."

"You did."

"..."

"...I'm sensing a theme."

Jay laughed, reaching over to brush a tiny streak of flour you'd somehow still managed to leave on your cheek.

"You know what I learned today?"

"What?"

He smiled softly.

"...Never trust TikTok recipes."

You pretended to think.

"...I don't think that's the lesson."

"No?"

"No."

"The lesson..." You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "...Is that cooking with you is fun."

Jay's expression softened almost immediately. Even after everything…the mess, the chaos, the burnt fingertips, the seven bowls, and the floor incident…he would've done it all again. Just to hear you laugh like that.

"...Yeah," he admitted quietly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "...I'd make another disaster with you."

You grinned.

"So...dessert?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"...What dessert?"

You slowly pulled another TikTok up on your phone. His smile disappeared.

"...Baby."

"It only has three ingredients this time!"

"Noooo."

"Please?"

"..."

"...baby?"

He let out the deepest sigh known to mankind.

"...Go get your strawberry apron."

A smile immediately spread across your face.

"I knew you'd say yes!"

"No, I could’ve said no."

"You were going to say yes."

"I wasn't."

"You love me."

"..."

"...Unfortunately."

You laughed all the way back toward the bedroom to find your apron. Jay watched you go before shaking his head to himself.

Then, despite all his complaining, e quietly reached into the cabinet and pulled out another roll of paper towels.

Just in case.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

A/N: I think this was a cute little story and I hope you all enjoyed! I haven’t done an ENHYPEN fic in a hot minute soooo I’m glad I had the motivation to make one!

Permanent Taglist: @kienhawon @seonghwaswifeuuuu @taelvvrzz 

[rome008]

[starjngsng]

(specific) 𝓽hings i find extremely attractive — jay version

now playing : my moon my man by feist

1. jay’s sharp jawline ;

2. jay poking the inside of his mouth with his tongue ;

3. jay squinting his eye as he hits a high note ;

4. jay tuning his guitars ;

5. jay’s hands (his fingers specifically oh good god) ;

6. jay speaking in english (hm : that one live he did when he talked about his watch back in high school or something oh i’m dripping he should be on soundgasm) ;

7. jay clenching his jaw ;

8. jay’s eyes and his sharp, cat-like stare ;

9. jay adjusting his hair ;

10. jay when he spoke softly to the members ;

11. jay wearing a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up ;

12. jay telling off the sasaengs ;

13. jay’s resilience ;

14. jay dropping facts randomly ;

15. jay’s way with words ;

16. jay’s laugh ;

17. jay’s lips pouting when he’s talking fast ;

18. jay’s taste in music ;

19. jay’s passion in literally everything ;

20. jay’s interest in formula one and his love for his favourite team and driver (cause me too #LH44forever) ;

21. jay furrowing his eyebrows ;

22. jay’s confidence ;

23. jay’s guitar collection ;

24. jay’s face scrunching up when he’s had a big laugh ;

25. jay’s mannerisms (not-so-fun fact : i got into enha because in 2021 i saw a clip from the live he did with hee of them eating steak and drinking grape juice, the way he spoke and behaved during that live was so attractive i had to stan the group and bias him) ;

26. the way jay laughs with his entire body

27. jay rambling about anything

28. jay wearing my favourite colours (green and blue) ;

29. jay being a taurus stellium and him being astrologically compatible with me as a scorpio (let me live in my delusions) ;

30. jay’s mirror selfie

a/n : this list isn’t in order, i just list out a bunch of things as i go >< also i’m done with 2/5 papers for my finals i can’t wait for it to be over so i can get serious with writing my fics.

2026. starjngsng

[hoes4sale]

Prioritizing joy

[hoonguin]

⠀ ⠀ PARK YOUR ATTITUDE ❤︎ 박종성

‎‎ ‎‎‎​ ‎‎ ‎‎‎​ 𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀‎ ✶ ⠀‎your husband, park jongseong, has spent his entire life getting exactly what he wants. unfortunately for him, you're the one person completely immune to his spoiled antics. what begins as a harmless disagreement quickly spirals into an hour of relentless whining, one very exasperated wife, and a lesson your husband never realized he desperately needed.

𝟑𝟕𝟏𝟓 🗯️ ✽ ─── ⏾ 𝗵𝘂𝘀𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 park jongseong⠀‎x ⠀‎ 𝓯 ! rea ´ ꒳ ` 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : established relationship ˒ porn without a plot ˒ brat taming ˒ light angst with a nice ending ˒

𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ oral sex (m. receiving) ˒ creampie ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ handjob ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ edging ˒ degradation kink ˒ make-up sex ˒ consensual power dynamics ˒ dacryphilia ˒

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀‎ ✶ ⠀‎ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

🍸 。 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ i love love love me some submissive jay ugh ! anyways happy july guys i love you all so so muchi

"Y/N! You're being too dramatic—it's literally just a restaurant. We've been to this one multiple times, and you're only acting up now? What gives?"

Jay's voice bounces off the marble countertops of the kitchen, sharp and incredulous. He's been trailing behind you like a lost puppy for the better part of an hour, and his patience is wearing thinner than the gold trim on his daddy's credit card.

The argument is absurd, really — over a restaurant. Your monthsary dinner, to be exact. Every single time, without fail, Jay insists on the same overpriced venue with the same underwhelming menu: three kinds of salad, a charcuterie board that tastes like cardboard, and a wine list longer than the actual food options. A new place had opened across the district, equally elegant, actually varied, garlic bread that supposedly redefined the concept, and you'd simply suggested switching things up.

Jay had said no. Not because he had a real reason, but because that was his default. No was his reflex, and everyone in his life had always caved right after.

You hadn't caved.

So here he was, spiraling.

You continued walking, pacing circles through the ground floor of the house, not even granting him the courtesy of eye contact. That made it worse. Jay's jaw tightened as he trailed you from the kitchen to the living room, back to the kitchen, then into the hallway.

"Y/N, seriously?" He huffed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'll take your silence as a yes then. That solves the problem. We're going to the usual place."

You stopped. Turned. Looked at him with a gaze so flat it could've smoothed granite.

"God damn it, Jongseong. Just give me a moment, can't you? You're way too stubborn for a lot to be coming out of your mouth."

Jongseong? Jongseong. Not Jay. His real name, the one you only used when you were genuinely agitated, and it landed like a slap. His lips parted, something flickering behind his eyes, shock, maybe, that you weren't folding, that you weren't apologizing the way everyone else always did. His family, his friends, his staff, they all gave in. You never did. That was why he loved you, though he was currently too bratty to remember it.

"Me? Stubborn?" He let out a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at you with both hands. "Please. You're the stubborn one here. We wouldn't even be arguing if you just caved. It's tradition, Y/N. We always go there. Why mess with something that works?"

"It doesn't work. You just don't like change." You turned on your heel and walked toward the stairs. "Because nobody's ever made you deal with it."

"That's not—" He followed you, footsteps quickening. "That's not fair. I'm not some spoiled brat, I just—Y/N, come on. Can you stop walking away from me?"

No response. You climbed the stairs, one deliberate step at a time, and his voice climbed with you, gaining pitch and desperation. He rambled about tradition, about how the other restaurant probably wasn't even that good, about how you were being unreasonable, about how he always compromised — laughable, really, given that he'd never once compromised anything in his entire privileged life.

You reached the hallway. The bedroom door was ajar.

Then something in you simply snapped. Not with anger. With resolve. Enough was enough.

You turned, caught his wrist mid-stride, and pulled. Jay stumbled forward with a startled yelp, and you walked him the remaining steps to the bed, pressing a palm against his chest and pushing. He fell back onto the mattress with a soft thud, not hard, not violent, but firm enough that his eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water. He stared up at you from the sheets, hair fanning across the pillow, chest rising and falling faster than it had any right to.

"Y/N, what—"

"Shut up." You climbed onto the bed, onto him, knees bracketing his hips, and planted both hands flat against his chest. Beneath your palms, his heartbeat was already racing. "You've been following me around this house for an hour, Jongseong, whining like a child who got his toy taken away. Has anyone ever told you no before? Has anyone ever not given you what you wanted?"

His throat bobbed. "I—"

"That was rhetorical." You leaned down, close enough that your breath fanned across his lips. His eyelashes fluttered. "You're used to people bending for you. Apologizing. Folding the second you pout. That's not how this works. You don't get to bulldoze over me because you've never heard the word no before."

"I wasn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"You were." You shifted your weight, pressing your hips down against his, and the sound that escaped him, a broken and breathy thing, made heat pool low in your stomach. Already. Just from this. From you barely touching him. "You were trying to wear me down until I gave in. That's what you do, isn't it? Push and push until people just hand you what you want because it's easier than fighting you."

He didn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. His hands had found your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts, and his chest was heaving like he'd run a marathon.

"You're pathetic," you murmured, and the word landed soft and devastating. "A spoiled, bratty, pathetic boy who can't handle being told no. And look at you now." You rolled your hips — a slow grind that dragged the seam of your shorts directly against the growing hardness in his sweats. "You're already this hard? From me just telling you off?"

A whimper. Actual, honest-to-god whimper, high and thready, his head pressing back into the pillow.

"That worked up after just me grinding on your pathetic dick?" You ground down again, harder, watching his face contort, eyebrows drawing together, lips parting, a moan slipping free before he could catch it. "This is what gets you going, isn't it? Someone finally not putting up with your shit?"

"Baby—" His voice cracked. "Y/N, please—"

"Please what? What am I gonna do with that please of yours? Use your words, Jongseong. You had plenty of them downstairs." Another grind, slower, torturous, and his hips bucked up involuntarily, chasing friction that you immediately denied by lifting yourself just out of reach. He let out a shattered exhale, fingers tightening on your thighs. "What do you want?"

"You. I want—please touch me."

"I am touching you." You slid one hand from his chest to his jaw, gripping it firm, angling his face so he couldn't look away. "You mean you want more. Say it properly."

His eyes were glassy, overwhelmed, and his lower lip trembled. "I want more. Please, Y/N. I'm sorry—I'm sorry for being—"

"Sorry for being what?" You tilted your head, pressing your hips back down, resuming that maddening grind. The friction made your own pulse throb, but you kept your expression cool, controlled. "Say it."

"Sorry for being—a brat. For—fuck—" He swallowed thickly as you picked up the pace, rolling against him in deep, rhythmic waves. "For always needing to get my way. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, please—"

"Good." You released his jaw and reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and off in one motion. His torso was lean, flushed pink from his collarbones down to his stomach, muscles tensing under your gaze. Pretty. He was so pretty, and even prettier like this, undone, desperate, trembling beneath you like you hadn't already given him everything he'd ever asked for. "You know, Jongseong," you said, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake, "I think you needed this. Someone to put you back in your place."

He nodded frantically, a mess of ragged breath and half-formed sounds.

You leaned down and kissed him, hard and bruising, all teeth and tongue, swallowing the moan that poured from his mouth. Your hands found his sweats, yanking the waistband down along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip, straining against nothing. You pulled back from the kiss just to look at it, then at him, and let out a low, mocking laugh.

"You're dripping, baby. That's adorable." You wrapped your fingers around him, just barely, just enough to feel the heat and the way he throbbed against your palm, and his hips jerked up, a choked sound ripping from his throat. "So needy. So desperate. And for what? A little grinding and some mean words? That's all it takes?"

"Y/N—" His hand flew to your wrist, not pushing or pulling, just holding, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

You tightened your grip and stroked him once, slow, base to tip, swiping your thumb over the head and smearing the precum there. His back arched off the mattress, a whine ripping through the air, loud and unabashed.

"Look at you," you said softly, almost tender, which made it worse. "Whining and squirming like you've never been touched before. Tell me something, Jongseong." You stroked him again, setting a pace that was deliberately unhurried, grip just firm enough to feel good but too loose to satisfy. "You've had people before me, right? Of course, a pretty boy like you would have always had. Rich, charming. Probably had them lining up."

He nodded, biting his lip so hard it turned white.

"And how often did you actually finish with them?"

His eyes squeezed shut. A tremor ran through his thighs. "N-not—not often," he admitted, barely audible.

"Not often," you repeated, mocking. "Poor thing. Everyone is so busy worshiping you they forgot to actually take you apart, hmm?" You twisted your wrist on the upstroke, and his mouth fell open, a strangled moan echoing through the room. "No wonder you're like this. You've been half-satisfied your whole life and you didn't even know it."

"Only you—" He was gasping now, chest heaving, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets. "Only you can—make me—fuck, Y/N, please—"

"What? Only I can do what? Make you cum?" You slowed your hand to a crawl, and the sound he made was guttural. "Not yet. You don't get to cum until I say so. Do you understand?"

"I—I understand, please—"

"Good boy." The phrase hit him like a drug. His whole body shuddered, cock twitching violently in your hand, and you felt another bead of precum slide against your fingers. "Oh, you like that. You like being good for me."

He nodded again, frantic, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, not from sadness but from sheer, overwhelming sensation. You leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the spot below his ear that made him whimper, and then you began to move south.

Your lips traced a path down his neck, his collarbone, his chest, pausing to drag your tongue over one nipple, then the other, making him jolt and cry out, and further, over the trembling plane of his stomach, until your face hovered above his cock. It stood angry and flushed, twitching with every exhale you let fall against it.

You looked up at him through your lashes. He was staring down at you, wrecked — hair a mess, cheeks crimson, chest rising and falling like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"Hold my hair," you said.

He reached down with shaking hands, gathering your hair into a loose grip at the back of your head, and you took him into your mouth.

The sound he made was broken. Your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling, tasting salt and skin, and you sank down inch by inch, letting the heat and wetness consume him. His hips stuttered up, greedy and desperate, and you pulled off immediately, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock.

"What did I just say about being patient?" Your voice was cool, but your eyes were sharp.

"Sorry—sorry, baby, I'm sorry—"

"Be good." You took him again, deeper this time, flattening your tongue along the underside, and set a rhythm that was designed to ruin. Wet sounds filled the room as you bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, taking him as far as you could without gagging. His fingers tightened in your hair, a warning, and you felt him try to push you down, try to make you take more, and you responded by dragging your nails down his thigh.

"Ah—fuck—sorry, sorry—" he stammered, but his grip stayed, trembling, barely holding back. You pulled off again with a slick pop, and the look you gave him was pure ice.

"You want me to deepthroat, Jongseong? You ask."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he meant it, his voice fracturing on the second word. "Please—I'll be good—please keep going—"

You took him back into your mouth, and this time you relaxed your throat, swallowing around him, taking him deep, deep, until your nose pressed against his pelvis and he screamed, a shattered sound that bounced off the walls. His hips canted up involuntarily again but he caught himself this time, forcing himself still even as his thighs shook violently around you. Good. He was learning.

You set a brutal pace then, fucking your own throat on his cock, hollowing your cheeks, dragging suction that had him writhing and crying out in a mess of syllables — your name, baby, please, oh god, more, please more. His cock throbbed against your tongue, heavy and hot, and you could feel him getting close, his stomach tightening, his moans climbing higher, his hands trembling in your hair.

You pulled off.

"No—" The word ripped out of him, desperate, almost angry. "Y/N, no, I was—right—fuck—"

"Calm down, I know." You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, calm as anything, while he stared at you with wild, tear-glazed eyes. "You were close. And?"

"And I—please let me cum, please, I need it—"

"You need it?" You wrapped your hand around him again, slick with your own spit, and started stroking, slowly, so slowly, feeling every ridge and vein, every pulse of his racing heartbeat echoing through his cock. "You need it, but you've been a brat all day. Why should I let you?"

"I said I was sorry—I am sorry—" He was babbling now, words tumbling over each other, hips rocking up into your fist in tiny, uncontrollable thrusts. "I won't—I won't do it again, I'll listen, I'll go to whatever restaurant you want, I'll—ah—"

"Whatever restaurant I want," you repeated, amused. "You'd agree to anything right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Anything. Anything you want, Y/N, just—please don't stop—"

You didn't stop. You kept stroking, kept that same torturous pace, watching him climb higher and higher. His abs clenched, his toes curled, his breath came in short, ragged huffs, and his cock jumped in your grip, once, twice, right at the edge.

And you felt it. That telltale tensing, the way his thighs locked up, the way his mouth opened in a silent cry.

"Oh?" You tilted your head, voice dripping with faux surprise, your hand never faltering. "You're about to cum already? Just like that?"

"I—yes—please, Y/N, let me—"

"Do I make you that needy?" You squeezed the base of his cock, and he actually sobbed. "All those people before me, and none of them could get you there, could they? But I can. Just my hand, just my mouth, and you're already falling apart."

"Only you," he choked out, and the words were so raw, so honest, that something in your chest clenched. "Only you, Y/N, nobody else—nobody's ever made me feel like this—please, I'm right there, I'm so close, please let me cum—"

"You're close," you echoed, and your voice softened, just a fraction, just enough for the air to shift. You stroked him steadily now, grip tight, pace deliberate, leaning down so your face was inches from his. "You've been so good, Jongseong. So good for me. Taking what I give you. Learning."

His eyes searched yours, wet and pleading and so impossibly open.

"You deserve it," you said quietly. "Cum for me."

And he would have, right then, right there, with those words, but you had something else in mind.

You let go of him.

His eyes flew wide with panic, but before he could protest, you were standing, shucking your shorts and underwear in one motion, and then you were back on him, straddling his hips, and you reached between your bodies to position him at your entrance.

"You want to cum inside me, baby?" You asked, and your voice had dropped low, rough, almost as affected as his.

"Yes," he breathed. "Please—"

You sank down.

The noise he made wasn't human. A full-body shudder wracked through him as you took him to the hilt, your own breath catching at the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled you so completely that your vision blurred at the edges. You gave yourself a moment, just one, to adjust, to feel the desperate throb of him inside you, and then you moved.

You bounced on him, once, twice, three times, deep, forceful strokes that had him hitting spots that made your thighs tremble. Your hand found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, and you gripped, firm and possessive, tugging his head back so he had no choice but to look at you.

"Eyes on me," you commanded. "Don't you dare look away."

He didn't. He couldn't. His gaze was locked on yours, glassy and worshipful, tears spilling freely now down his temples, mouth open in a silent, endless moan. You rode him hard, those few strokes enough to undo everything you'd built and broken and built again, and on the fourth bounce, he shattered.

His orgasm hit like a wrecking ball. He came with a sound that was barely a word and you felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, filling you in waves that seemed to go on and on. His hips jerked up helplessly, overstimulated, and you kept moving, kept riding him through it, chasing the pressure that had been building in your own core since the moment you first ground against him.

It didn't take long. You were already so close, had been close through all of it, the power, the control, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his universe, and within a handful of strokes, your own orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock in pulses that drew a weak whimper from his throat, and your spine curved as pleasure whited out every thought in your head.

Then silence. Or something close to it, just the sound of two people breathing, ragged and uneven, slowly coming back to earth.

You collapsed forward.

Your face fell into the curve of his neck, his shoulder, and his arms came around you immediately, instinctive, warm, wrapping you up like you were something precious. His cock was still inside you, softening, and neither of you moved to change that. His hand found the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, and he ruffled it softly, tenderly, the way you'd grip him when you were commanding him. A mirror. A response. His other arm banded around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

For a long moment, you just breathed.

Then your chest hitched.

It wasn't supposed to happen. You'd been in control, composed, untouchable — but now, in the quiet aftermath, with his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek and his hands so impossibly gentle on your body, something cracked open inside you. A wave of tenderness so acute it hurt, and tangled up in it was guilt, the sharp, stinging kind that came from the realization that you'd been cruel. You'd called him pathetic. Degraded him. Treated him like he was less than, even if he'd liked it, even if he'd asked for it with every whimper and whine.

Your eyes burned.

"Baby?" Jay's voice was soft, concerned, the brattiness entirely gone. He shifted, trying to see your face, but you buried it deeper into his neck. "Hey. Y/N. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you mumbled, but your voice cracked, and you hated it. "I'm fine."

"You're not." He pulled back just enough to look at you, and his thumb found your cheek, catching the tear that had just begun to slide down your face, one single tear, the only one that escaped before you clamped down. He wiped it away with more care than you deserved, his touch feather-light. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I was mean to you," you whispered, and the admission felt like pulling off a bandage. "I didn't—I didn't want to be that harsh, I just—you were driving me crazy, and I—"

"Hey. Hey." He cupped your face in both hands, tilting it up so you had to meet his eyes. They were warm. So warm it made your throat ache. "You weren't mean. You were exactly what I needed." A small, breathy laugh escaped him. "I've never… Y/N, I've never felt like that before. Ever. You're the only person who doesn't just give me whatever I want, and I need that. I need you."

"But I—"

"You put me in my place," he said simply. "And I probably needed it a long time ago." His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, sweeping away the dampness there, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft, lingering, nothing like the bruising kiss from earlier. "I'm sorry for being a brat. I'll try harder. Okay?"

"I'm sorry too," you breathed against his mouth.

"Don't be." He smiled, the one that crinkled his eyes and made him look younger, softer, stripped of all the privilege and pretense. "And for the record—we can go to the new restaurant. I was being stupid."

A wet laugh escaped you, and he caught it with another kiss, pulling you tighter against him, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced lazy patterns on your spine.

You melted into him, every hard edge, every sharp word, every ounce of dominance dissolving into something small, soft, and fiercely tender.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @yejisair777 @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @sserafimbaby @emvss @simjaeyunslut @luvlyjaemin @kikizzz0 @ilovhoonie @prettygirlthings-world @jaesim @luv4dani @perristar @bkatarina @fialtorelle @slutforaz @adoreade @la-choiblog @hoonieslove @hearts4chosoo @ddcyvn @livonianmaia | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙

🎹 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ഒ west coast by lana del ray

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

[hoonguin]

⠀ ⠀ INSTA-GATOR ❤︎ 박종성

‎‎ ‎‎‎​ ‎‎ ‎‎‎​ 𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀‎ ✶ ⠀‎an instagram story is all it takes to leave park jongseong hopelessly flustered. what starts as an innocent walk to the bedroom turns into an unexpected discovery, a thoroughly embarrassed boyfriend, and a reminder that some secrets are impossible to hide.

𝟑𝟓𝟓𝟎 🗯️ ✽ ─── ⏾ 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 park jongseong⠀‎x ⠀‎ 𝓯 ! rea ´ ꒳ ` 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : established relationship ˒ porn without a plot ˒ mutual pining ˒ light femdom ˒

𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ masturbation (m. and implied f.) ˒ voyeurism ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ mommy kink ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ edging ˒ cum swallowing ˒ brief oral sex (m. receiving) ˒ consensual power dynamics ˒ handjob ˒ dacryphilia ˒

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀‎ꉂ (˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

📱 。 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ just found this gem hidden in my google docs (i don’t remember when exactly i made this though i’m crine) anyways not proofread so beware 😬

The hallway is cool, the air conditioning from the bedroom spills through the slightly ajar door, a thin tongue of chilled air licking at your bare ankles as you pad toward it. You've got your phone in one hand, a glass of water in the other, and the intention of nothing more than collapsing into bed beside your boyfriend after a long day.

But you stop.

Your fingers tighten around the glass because the sound that drifts through that slim crack in the door is unmistakable — rhythmic, slick, desperate. The wet sound of a fist working over a hard cock, fast and shameless, accompanied by a low, broken groan that makes heat pool between your thighs before your brain even catches up.

"—fuck, you're so damn hot—" Jay's voice is ragged, wrecked in a way you've only ever heard when he's buried inside you, when he's so far gone he can barely keep his eyes open. But he's alone. You can tell by the uneven gasp between words, the way each syllable shakes. "—mmph, Y/N, baby—god, you're—"

Your mouth goes dry. Your clit throbs.

You set the glass down on the hallway table without a sound, your breath shallow as you step closer to the gap. Through it, you can see the edge of the bed, the twist of sheets, and Jay — sprawled against the headboard, head tipped back, the tendons of his neck taut as his arm moves in quick, brutal strokes beneath the thin sheet draped over his lap. His phone is propped against his thigh, the screen glowing warm in the dim room, and even from here you recognize what's on it, the video you posted to your story barely two hours ago. The one of you fresh out of the shower, tank top clinging to the damp swell of your chest, smiling lazily at the camera like you knew exactly what it would do to him.

Apparently, it did.

"Y/N—" His hips jerk up into his fist, and the sound he makes is almost pained. Needy, fractured, pathetic in the most intoxicating way. "—please, please—"

Your hand drifts to the waistband of your shorts before you can stop it, fingertips brushing the damp cotton of your underwear. You're wet. Soaked, actually, arousal slicking your folds just from listening to your boyfriend fall apart over a fifteen-second clip of you doing absolutely nothing but existing. You press your palm against your mound and have to bite your lip to keep from moaning aloud.

"—mommy—"

The word is barely a whisper, dragged out of him on a groan that makes his whole body shudder. His hand stills for half a second, like even he can't believe he said it, before he picks up the pace again, faster now, chasing something, and the whimper that follows is devastating.

"Mommy, please—need you so bad—"

Oh.

Oh.

You pull your hand away from yourself and take a step back, a slow, dangerous smile curving your lips. The heat in your stomach has shifted into something sharper, something hungry and commanding, and suddenly the plan crystallizes in your mind with perfect clarity.

You turn up the volume on your phone. Tap open a random video, something loud, something obnoxious, and let it blare for two full seconds before killing it. Then you walk toward the bedroom door with deliberate, heavy footsteps, each one announcing your presence like a drumbeat.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Inside the room, you hear a strangled curse, the frantic rustle of sheets, a muffled thump as something — his phone, probably — gets shoved under a pillow. By the time you push the door open and step inside, Jay is sitting upright against the headboard with his hands folded neatly in his lap, the blanket drawn up to his waist, his chest still heaving, his lips parted and swollen from biting them.

He looks absolutely ruined.

His hair is a mess, dark strands fallen across his forehead, sticking to the thin sheen of sweat at his temples. His cheeks are flushed a deep, rosy pink that spreads down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his t-shirt. His eyes are wide, frantic, desperately trying to appear casual, and failing entirely.

"Hey," he manages. His voice cracks.

You lean against the doorframe, tilting your head. "Hey, baby. Are you okay? You look a little—whatchamacallit—flushed."

"I'm fine." The words leave him far too quickly, voice pitching an octave higher than usual. He coughs into his fist. "Just—a bit warm. Think the AC’s been acting up. I’ll have to call someone to check it tomorrow.”

“Really?” You tilt your head, glancing around the room. “It’s actually kind of cold.”

“I-I know." He swallows. "Guess I'm just... feeling hot."

"Mm." You let your gaze drift, casual and unhurried, down the length of him — the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the white-knuckled grip of his hands on the blanket, and the unmistakable, agonizing tent beneath the sheet pooled over his lap. He's still hard. Visibly, achingly hard, the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric in a way that makes your mouth water.

You say nothing about it. You let him see you notice, and then you look away like it's the most uninteresting thing in the world.

"Just came to bed," you say, crossing the room with that same slow, deliberate pace. You pull your shirt over your head as you go, no bra beneath it, and let it drop to the floor without looking back. You hear his breath hitch. "Tired."

You climb onto the mattress on your knees, and Jay's entire body goes rigid. The bed dips under your weight as you crawl toward him, and you watch the way his eyes track you, dark, hungry, helpless, like he's watching something he wants so badly it hurts and has convinced himself he isn't allowed to touch.

"Baby—" he starts.

You swing a leg over him and settle into his lap before he can finish.

The sound he makes is pitiful, a strangled, punched-out groan that he tries and fails to swallow as your clothed core presses down against the hard length of him, the thin fabric of your sleep shorts and his boxers doing almost nothing to dampen the contact. You can feel him, hot, thick, and twitching against you, the friction sending a sharp pulse of pleasure through your clit that you don't bother to hide.

"Hello," you say softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Fuck," he breathes. His hands find your waist instinctively, fingers digging in like you might disappear if he doesn't hold on. His cock throbs against your slit and you both feel it, his jaw clenches, his hips buck up infinitesimally before he forces them still.

You don't give him time to compose himself. You thread one hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and pull, firm and commanding, tilting his head back, and you kiss him.

You lick into his mouth with purpose, swallowing the broken moan he feeds you, rolling your hips down in a slow, grinding drag that puts firm, deliberate pressure on his aching cock. The wet heat of you drags along his length through the fabric, and he can feel it, how soaked you are, how the cotton of your shorts is doing nothing to contain the slick mess you're making of yourself on him.

"Y/N—" His voice breaks against your lips. His hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers dimpling the soft flesh, pulling you harder against him. "God—mmph, shit—"

"Do you need anything?" You pull back just enough to look at him, his blown-out pupils, his kiss-swollen lips, the flush burning across his cheekbones. You roll your hips again, slower this time, a lazy, torturous grind. "Want, need, whatever. You can tell me, baby."

He whines, high and desperate in the back of his throat, his hips jerking up beneath you like his body is acting on instinct while his brain short-circuits.

"Please touch me—" The words tumble out of him, shameless and trembling. "Please, I need you—I've been so hard for you—"

"My, my. Really?" You cup his jaw with your free hand, thumb tracing the hinge of it, feeling the muscle clench beneath your touch. "How long?"

"Since—since that stupid ass story—" He squeezes his eyes shut, mortified and unbearably aroused all at once. "I couldn't stop thinking about it—about you—your pussy—"

"Aw." Your voice drips with a sweetness that borders on condescending. You tighten your grip in his hair and tug again, harder, and his mouth falls open on a gasp. "My poor baby. Were you touching yourself to me?"

He nods frantically.

"Say it."

"I was—I was touching myself to you." His chest is heaving, words ragged and raw. "I was jerking off to your story—thinking about you—about how hot you are—how you make me so fucking horny I can't think—"

"Good boy." His whole body shudders beneath you, his cock jumping against your core, and the groan that tears out of him is visceral. You smile. "You were saying something else, too. Want to tell me what it was?"

His eyes snap open. Fear and want collide in them, horror and desperate, shameful need.

"I—"

"Come on." You shift your hips, dragging your cunt over him in a filthy, grinding stroke that makes him whimper. "I heard you, baby. I heard everything. So say it."

Silence. His throat works. His fingers dig into your ass hard.

"…Mommy."

The word comes out so quiet you almost miss it, but you don't, you never will, because the way it sounds in his voice, broken, pleading, and dripping with submission, is going to live in your head rent-free for the rest of your life.

"Louder."

"Mommy." More force this time, more need, his hips bucking up against you. "Please, mommy—"

"There you go." You release his hair and slide your hand down his chest, over the hammering beat of his heart, down his stomach, and beneath the blanket. Your fingers find the waistband of his boxers and slip inside, wrapping around his cock for the first time, and the sound he makes is almost a sob, relief and agony tangled together, his whole body arching into your touch.

He's so hard it must hurt. The shaft is hot and flushed in your grip, slick at the tip with precum that smears under your thumb when you circle the head, and he twitches violently in your palm, already close, already on the edge from nothing but his own fist and the thought of you.

"You're so hard for me," you murmur, starting to stroke — slow, loose, nowhere near enough. "So desperate. Were you close, baby? When I walked in—were you about to come?"

"Yes—" His head drops back against the headboard, exposing the long line of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple. "So close—was gonna—fuck—"

You tighten your grip and speed up, working his cock with firm, deliberate strokes that have his thighs trembling beneath you. Precum spills over your knuckles, the wet sound of your hand on him filling the room alongside his ragged, broken moans.

"You'd have made such a mess, wouldn't you?" You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice low and filthy. "Coming all over yourself to a video of me, like a desperate little thing, couldn't even wait for the real thing, could you?"

"No—couldn't—" His hips rock up into your fist, chasing the friction, fucking your hand with abandon. "You make me crazy—you make me so fucking crazy, mommy—"

"I know." You twist your wrist on the upstroke, thumbing the slit, and his entire body jolts. "I know you do. You're so damn needy for me. So obsessed."

He nods frantically, beyond words now, beyond anything but the slick grip of your hand, the heat of you in his lap, and the filthy things you're whispering against his skin.

You work him until his thighs are shaking, until his moans fracture into something desperate, until you feel his cock pulse and throb in your grip and you know — he's right there, right at the edge—

And you let go.

The sound he makes is devastating. A raw, ruined whine, his hips thrusting up into nothing, his cock bobbing between you, flushed and angry and leaking.

"Shh." You press a finger to his lips, and he takes it into his mouth without thinking, sucking at the digit, tongue swirling, eyes hazy and pleading. "Be patient. You'll get what you need."

You pull your finger free and lift yourself off his lap just long enough to hook your thumbs into your shorts and underwear, dragging both down your thighs in one motion and kicking them aside. Jay watches you with the rapt, trembling attention of a man in worship, the dark patch of arousal on the cotton is unmistakable, evidence of how wet you are, how much turning him inside out has turned you on, and his mouth actually waters.

You tug his boxers down and off, and his cock springs free, hard, flushed, slick with precum that drips down the shaft. You wrap your hand around the base, positioning him, and before he can draw a breath to beg, you sink down onto him in one fluid motion.

The noise you both make is obscene.

He fills you perfectly, thick and deep, stretching you open around him in a way that makes your eyes flutter and your mouth part on a shaky exhale. He groans like he's dying, hands flying to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and you give yourself exactly three seconds to adjust before you start to move.

But not facing him.

You turn around, shifting, adjusting, settling back onto his cock with your back to his chest, and the new angle punches a gasp out of both of you. He hits somewhere different from this position — deeper, firmer, a relentless pressure against your front wall that has sparks dancing behind your eyes.

"Oh—so deep—" you breathe, and it's not for his benefit, it just slips out, unfiltered, because he feels good, because the stretch of him is making your cunt clench and flutter around his length in a way that has him sobbing beneath you.

You plant your hands on his thighs and ride.

You bounce on his cock with a ruthless, rolling rhythm that has the bed creaking, the headboard knocking against the wall, the wet, obscene slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Each thrust drags him nearly all the way out before you slam back down, taking him to the hilt, and the friction on your clit, grounding down against the base of him, has pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly.

"Y/N—" His voice is wrecked, unrecognizable. "So fucking tight—you feel so good—you're so tight—please—"

"Feel good, baby?" You reach between your legs and press two fingers against your clit, rubbing in tight, firm circles while you fuck yourself on him. The added sensation makes you clench hard around his cock, and he whines, his hips snapping up to meet you. "You stretch me out so well—so thick—feels incredible inside me—"

"Mommy—" It spills out of him like a prayer, reverent and desperate. "Mommy, please—let me see you—"

You slow. Just barely, just enough to feel him throb inside you, to hear the whimper of protest that escapes his throat. Then you lift yourself off him entirely, ignoring the devastated sound he makes at the loss, and turn to face him before sinking back onto his cock.

His expression destroys you.

He looks absolutely ruined, flushed from his chest to his cheeks, lips bitten raw, eyes glassy and dark with want, and the way he stares at you, like you're the only thing in the world that matters, like he'd die for you, like he'd crawl through glass for one more touch, it makes your cunt clench so hard around him that he sobs.

"So handsome," you whisper, rolling your hips in a deep, grinding circle that drags his cock against every sensitive spot inside you.

"Mommy—" He's crying. Tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when you clench around him again, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and so desperately in love with you it's leaking out of every pore. "Please—please let me touch you—"

You cup his face in both hands and kiss him, deep and filthy, tongue sliding against his, and you start to ride him again. Slower this time, but deeper, each roll of your hips deliberate, punishing, taking him as far as he'll go. His hands find your ass, gripping, pulling, helping you move, and you let him — let his fingers dig into the soft flesh, let him pull you down harder onto his cock.

"Good boy," you murmur against his mouth. "Taking me so well. You feel amazing inside me, baby—so good—"

His hips jerk up into you, meeting your rhythm, and the friction on your clit is devastating, your fingers, his cock, the fullness, the stretch, all of it building and building in a tight spiral of pleasure that makes your thighs shake.

"Y/N—" He's babbling now, mindless, a broken stream of filth and devotion. "I'm close—please—can I—"

"Not yet." You wrap your hand around his throat, holding, a gentle weight that makes his eyes roll back. "You wait for me. You come when I say."

"I can't—" A sob. "I can't—please—"

"You can." You ride him harder, faster, grinding your clit against him with every thrust, and your own orgasm is right there, right at the edge, coiling tighter and tighter. "Be good for me, baby. Be mommy’s good boy and wait."

He whimpers. His fingers dig into your ass so hard you know there'll be crescent-marks tomorrow. His cock throbs inside you, twitching, leaking, fighting against every instinct to hold on.

You come first.

It hits you like a wave breaking, the pleasure crests and snaps, and you arch back with a cry, your cunt clenching in pulses around his cock as you ride through it. Your hips stutter, grind, chase every last aftershock, and Jay watches you with wide, desperate eyes, watches your face twist in ecstasy, watches your body shake above him, and the sight of you coming on his cock nearly undoes him entirely.

"Mommy—" It's ragged, a threadbare plea. "Please—please can I—"

"Come," you breathe, and he does.

It's visceral. He slams up into you one final time and goes rigid, every muscle locked, head thrown back, throat exposed beneath your palm, and a groan tears out of him so deep and raw it sounds like it's being dragged from the soles of his feet. His cock pulses inside you, thick spurts of cum flooding your cunt, and you feel every twitch, every throb, every hot rope of him filling you up.

But you don't stop.

You pull off him before he's finished, his cock still twitching, still spilling, and you slide down his body and take him into your mouth. The taste of both of you hits your tongue — salty, musky, his cum and yours mixing — and you swallow around the head, licking him clean, lapping up every drop that spills from his slit. He's crying out, overstimulated, his hands in your hair pulling you closer, holding you there, his hips twitching up into the wet heat of your mouth like he can't help himself.

"Fuck—too much—mommy—it's too—oh my god—"

You pull off with a slick pop and wrap your hand around him again, stroking, slow and firm, milking every last tremor of his orgasm out of him. His cock is sensitive, twitching in your grip, and each stroke makes him jolt and gasp, but you don't stop, not until he's completely spent, softening in your hand, his chest heaving and his eyes unfocused.

You release him gently and crawl back up his body, settling against his chest with his arms wrapping around you on instinct, holding you like you're the only solid thing in a spinning world. His heart hammers against your ear. His breath comes in ragged, shuddering pants. His fingers trace absent patterns on the small of your back.

"That was—" he manages, voice destroyed.

"Good?"

"Incredible." He presses his lips to the top of your head. "You're fucking incredible."

You smile against his skin, trailing your fingers lazily over his chest. His cock gives one last feeble twitch against your thigh, spent and satisfied, and a quiet, fucked-out laugh rumbles through his chest.

"So," you say, casual as anything, "that story really did a number on you, huh?"

He groans, burying his face in your hair. "You're never letting that go, are you?"

"Never."

"I hate you."

"You called me mommy."

"Ugh, I really hate you."

You laugh and tilt your chin up to kiss the underside of his jaw. His arms tighten around you, and you feel him smile against your forehead.

His hand slides lower, palm pressing warm against the curve of your hip, and when he speaks again, his voice is quiet, raw, and unbearably tender.

"I love you. So much. It’s stupid."

You close your eyes and let his heartbeat steady your own.

"Stupid's okay. I love you more, silly."

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🎹 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ഒ nokia by drake

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

[r0se4roraaa]

GHOST PROTOCOL- Park Jongseong fanfic

Pairings: Dom! Jay x Reader

Summary: Working under the agency's most feared commander, Park Jongseong (Jay), was never supposed to be easy. He was cold, demanding, and impossible to read, while you somehow found yourself falling for him anyway. As dangerous missions bring you closer, the walls around Jay slowly begin to crack, proving that sometimes the quietest hearts love the hardest.

Warnings: smut, blowjob, tit play, nipple play, v sucking/licking, submissive jay, riding. (In the next part, not this one)

"He never knew how to love loudly. So he loved quietly, in ways only she would learn to notice."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing another floor that looked exactly like the last—gray walls, polished concrete, and people dressed in black moving with quiet urgency.

You adjusted the strap of your bag as you stepped out, trying your best not to stare.

Everyone here looked like they knew exactly what they were doing.

You, on the other hand, were still wondering how your life had turned upside down in less than forty-eight hours.

A week ago, your biggest concern had been finishing a cybersecurity report before the deadline.

Now you were standing inside one of the country's most classified intelligence agencies after accidentally uncovering encrypted files that someone clearly never wanted found.

"Y/N?"

You turned at the sound of your name.

A woman in a navy suit approached with a polite smile, holding a tablet against her chest.

"I'm Agent Han. Follow me."

You nodded quickly before falling into step beside her.

The hallway seemed endless. Offices lined either side, agents disappearing in and out of rooms without sparing either of you a second glance. Phones rang constantly, keyboards clicked in the background, and somewhere farther down the corridor someone was already arguing over a mission report.

It was nothing like the movies.

It was... quieter.

More organized.

Scarier.

Agent Han stopped outside a pair of frosted glass doors.

"They're waiting for you."

"They?"

She simply smiled before pushing the door open.

Every conversation inside the room came to a stop.

Your stomach tightened.

There were six people seated around the table, files spread out in front of them.

Some looked curious.

Some looked annoyed.

One of them didn't look at you at all.

He stood near the window with his hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, eyes fixed on the city stretching below.

Even from where you stood, something about him felt distant.

Like he was physically in the room but mentally somewhere else.

"Agent Park," Agent Han called.

He finally turned.

Dark eyes landed on you for exactly two seconds before shifting to the director.

"So this is her?"

"Yes."

A folder was placed on the table.

"You'll be working together."

Silence.

Jay glanced down at the file before closing it without opening a single page.

"I'm not taking the assignment."

Nobody looked surprised.

The director leaned back in his chair.

"You don't have a choice."

"I work alone."

"You did."

Another pause.

Then, for the first time, Jay looked directly at you.

Not curious.

Not friendly.

Just... assessing.

As if he was already calculating how much trouble you were going to cause.

You offered an awkward smile anyway.

"Hi."

He blinked once.

"...No."

For a second, you weren't sure you'd heard him correctly.

"...No?"

The director pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly expecting this reaction.

"Agent Park."

"I said no."

"You've refused this assignment three times in the last hour."

"And I'll refuse it a fourth."

The room fell silent.

You glanced between the two men, unsure if you were supposed to say something or quietly disappear.

Agent Han gave you a sympathetic smile.

"This isn't personal."

"It feels a little personal," you muttered under your breath.

A quiet snort came from the other side of the table.

One of the younger agents quickly hid his smile behind a coffee cup.

Jay didn't react.

He kept his attention on the director.

"She's a civilian."

"Not anymore."

"She has no field training."

"Which is exactly why she needs you."

"I protect intelligence."

The director raised an eyebrow.

"You protect whatever I assign you."

Another silence settled over the room.

Jay let out a slow breath before reaching for the folder he'd ignored moments earlier.

He flipped it open.

Your photo stared back at him.

Pages of background information followed—education, certifications, work history, security clearance.

His eyes paused on the final page.

Attempted assassination.

Twice.

He closed the file.

"When do we leave?"

The director's lips curled into the faintest smile.

"Tomorrow morning."

—

You barely had enough time to process anything before Agent Han was guiding you through another maze of hallways.

"I thought he didn't want the assignment."

"He doesn't."

"Then why did he agree?"

"He read the last page."

You frowned.

"The part about someone trying to kill me?"

She nodded.

"Agent Park doesn't like unnecessary casualties."

"Oh."

For some reason...

...that answer felt strangely disappointing.

—

The agency issued you an access card, a temporary apartment inside the secure complex, and a phone that looked completely ordinary until Agent Han casually informed you it could erase itself in under five seconds.

By the time everything was finished, your head was spinning.

You stepped out into the hallway, grateful for the quiet.

It lasted all of ten seconds.

"You walk too loudly."

You turned.

Jay stood a few feet away, sleeves rolled to his forearms, one hand holding two paper cups of coffee.

You looked down at your shoes.

"I'm wearing sneakers."

"I know."

"...And I still walk loudly?"

"You drag your feet."

You blinked.

"I've known you for three hours."

"I noticed in three seconds."

He held one of the cups toward you.

You hesitated.

"I thought you didn't like me."

"I don't know you."

"That's... somehow worse."

"It wasn't meant to be better."

You accepted the coffee anyway.

It was exactly how you liked it.

Extra milk.

One sugar.

You stared at the cup before looking back at him.

"...How did you know?"

Jay took a sip from his own coffee, already walking down the hallway.

"I didn't."

"You guessed?"

"No."

"Then how—"

"You picked up three sugar packets at reception."

He didn't look back.

"You only used one."

You stood there for a moment, watching him disappear around the corner.

"...He's terrifying."

From somewhere ahead, his voice echoed down the hallway.

"I heard that."

Your eyes widened.

"You were supposed to."

A beat of silence.

Then, despite yourself, you smiled.

By the end of your second week, you'd come to one very unfortunate conclusion.

Working for Park Jongseong was exhausting.

Nothing you did seemed to satisfy him.

You organized mission files.

"They're out of order."

"They're in chronological order."

"They should be categorized by operation."

You redid them.

"...Better."

That was the closest thing to a compliment you'd ever received.

The next day, you brought him coffee.

He didn't even look up from the report in front of him.

"I didn't ask for coffee."

"I know. You looked tired."

"I wasn't."

"...Right."

You quietly took the cup back before placing it on your own desk instead.

Even your coworkers had started noticing.

One afternoon, as Jay stepped into a meeting with the directors, Sunghoon leaned against your desk.

"You know..."

You looked up from your laptop.

"I've never seen someone try this hard to impress him."

"I'm not trying to impress him."

Sunghoon gave you a look.

"You reorganized his entire office yesterday."

"...It needed reorganizing."

"You color-coded his reports."

"...Because they were a mess."

"You learned how he likes his documents printed."

"...Double-sided saves paper."

He laughed.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Your face warmed as he walked away.

—

Later that evening, everyone had already left.

Everyone except you...

...and your boss.

You were finishing the last report when Jay walked out of his office.

He glanced at the clock.

"You should've gone home an hour ago."

"I'm almost done."

"You finished your work two hours ago."

You blinked.

"...How do you know that?"

"I assigned it."

"...Right."

He nodded once before heading toward the elevator.

You waited until the doors closed.

Then you let out a long sigh.

"Unbelievable."

You shoved another file into the cabinet.

"Cold, emotionless robot."

Another file.

"Does he wake up every morning and think, 'How can I make everyone's life miserable today?'"

You mimicked his deep voice under your breath.

"'Fix the report.'"

"'Redo the report.'"

"'Print it again.'"

"'The margins are wrong.'"

You rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Just say thank you once, you grumpy—"

"The margins were wrong."

Your entire body froze.

Slowly...

Painfully slowly...

You turned around.

The elevator doors had opened again.

Jay stood exactly where you'd left him.

One hand in his pocket.

The other holding the folder he'd apparently forgotten.

Your soul left your body.

"...How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough."

Silence.

You considered every possible escape route.

There weren't any.

Jay looked at you for a moment before walking over to your desk.

He placed the folder down.

Then, without changing his expression—

"The report was well done."

You stared at him.

"...What?"

"You wanted a thank you."

Your mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve.

"Thank you."

And just like that...

...he walked away.

Leaving you standing in the middle of the office, wondering if you'd imagined the entire conversation.

The next morning, you avoided him.

Well...

You tried to.

The second you stepped into the office, you spotted him through the glass walls of his office, already reading through a stack of mission reports.

You immediately turned around.

"Nope."

"Where are you going?"

You nearly jumped at the sound of Sunghoon's voice.

"...Home."

"You just got here."

"I know."

"You've been here for thirty seconds."

"I've embarrassed myself enough for the rest of the year."

Sunghoon frowned.

"What happened?"

Before you could answer, Jay's office door opened.

"Y/N."

Your shoulders slumped.

"...Yes, sir?"

"My office."

Sunghoon gave you a look that practically screamed good luck.

You shot him one that said if I don't come back, tell my mom I tried.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked lightly before stepping inside.

"You wanted to see me?"

Jay didn't answer right away.

He continued reading the document in his hands, flipping through another page before finally setting it aside.

"Close the door."

Your heart sank.

This is it.

I'm getting fired.

You quietly closed the door behind you.

The office suddenly felt much smaller.

Jay looked up.

"You've been avoiding me."

"...No?"

He held your gaze.

"You walked into the office, saw me, and turned around."

"...I was..."

You searched desperately for an excuse.

"...Checking the emergency exit."

"The emergency exit is behind you."

"...Right."

Silence.

You stared at the floor.

Jay stared at you.

Finally, he spoke.

"You don't need to worry about yesterday."

Your head snapped up.

"I wasn't worried."

"You were."

"I wasn't."

"You've looked at everyone in this room except me."

"...There are only two people in this room."

"Exactly."

You sighed dramatically.

"...Can we please pretend that never happened?"

"No."

You groaned, covering your face.

"I'm going to have nightmares about this."

"I doubt that."

"You underestimate my ability to overthink."

For the first time, Jay's expression softened.

It wasn't a smile.

Not even close.

But there was something less guarded in his eyes.

"I've been called worse."

You blinked.

"You have?"

He nodded once.

"Much worse."

"...Did they also compare you to household appliances?"

"No."

"Then I might actually be the worst."

A tiny pause.

Then—

"I've also been called a robot."

You stared at him.

"...Seriously?"

"Several times."

"Oh."

"...Was I original, at least?"

"The vending machine comment was new."

Heat rushed to your cheeks.

"I knew I should've kept that one to myself."

"You should have."

"...Sorry."

"It's fine."

You frowned.

"...That's it?"

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know..."

"A lecture?"

"A written warning?"

"Maybe a thirty-minute presentation on respecting your boss?"

Jay reached for another file.

"If I disciplined every employee who complained about me, Human Resources would never leave my office."

You couldn't help it.

A laugh escaped you.

It was small.

Quick.

But genuine.

Jay looked up for a brief second.

"...You should laugh more."

The words left his mouth so casually that he didn't seem to realize he'd said them.

Your smile faltered.

"What?"

He paused.

"...Nothing."

He picked up his pen again.

"You're dismissed."

You stood there for another second before quietly nodding.

"Have a good day, sir."

"You too."

As you closed the door behind you, you leaned against the wall outside, pressing a hand to your chest.

He noticed... my laugh?

Inside the office, Jay remained staring at the report in front of him.

He hadn't read a single word since you'd left.

You had never called in sick.

Not once.

Which was exactly why everyone noticed when your desk sat empty Monday morning.

"Has anyone heard from Y/N?" Sunghoon asked, glancing toward your empty chair.

A few heads shook.

"She texted HR," another agent replied. "She said she wasn't feeling well."

"Did she send the surveillance analysis?" Jay asked, his eyes never leaving the report in front of him.

"No."

Silence settled over the office.

"She said she'd finish it over the weekend."

Jay closed the file in front of him.

"I'll collect it."

Sunghoon looked up.

"You'll go yourself?"

"It's needed for tomorrow's briefing."

With that, Jay grabbed his car keys and left.

—

The pain had started before sunrise.

By noon, you could barely get out of bed.

Your heating pad rested over your stomach while your phone buzzed somewhere under the blanket.

You ignored it.

The last thing you wanted was to answer questions when you could barely think straight.

A knock echoed through your apartment.

You frowned.

Another knock followed.

Slowly, you dragged yourself out of bed, wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, and made your way to the door.

The moment you opened it, you froze.

Jay stood outside.

His suit looked as immaculate as always, one hand holding a folder while the other rested casually in his pocket.

His expression didn't change.

"You didn't answer your phone."

"...I was sleeping."

His eyes lingered on your face.

"You look pale."

"I'm okay."

"You don't."

You opened your mouth to argue, but another cramp twisted through your stomach.

You instinctively pressed a hand against your abdomen.

Jay noticed immediately.

"May I come in?"

You hesitated before stepping aside.

"Sorry... the apartment's a little messy."

"It isn't."

He stepped inside, quietly taking in the room.

Everything was neat.

A mug of tea sat untouched on the coffee table.

Painkillers rested beside it.

The heating pad was still plugged into the couch.

Jay set the folder down.

"What did the doctor say?"

"I didn't see one."

His brows drew together.

"You've been in pain all day."

"It's nothing serious."

"You can barely stand."

You looked away.

"It's just..."

You sighed.

"...my period."

The room fell silent.

Jay didn't look uncomfortable.

He simply nodded once, as if you'd told him you had a headache.

"I see."

"I know it's embarrassing."

"It isn't."

You looked up.

"It happens."

You blinked.

"I just... didn't think I should tell my boss."

"You don't have to."

His voice remained calm.

"But you also don't have to pretend you're fine."

You stared at him.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

"You've been staying late almost every night."

"You've skipped lunch twice this week."

"You've looked tired since Thursday."

You let out a small laugh.

"...Do you pay this much attention to everyone?"

"I pay attention to my team."

The smile on your face softened.

Of course.

Your team.

Nothing more.

Jay glanced at the untouched tea before walking toward the kitchen.

"Where's your kettle?"

You frowned.

"...What?"

"The kettle."

"It's... on the counter."

Without another word, he filled it with water and switched it on.

You watched him in complete confusion.

"...Sir?"

"You haven't eaten."

"I'm not really hungry."

"That wasn't what I asked."

A few minutes later, he returned with a fresh cup of warm tea and placed it carefully in front of you.

"Drink."

You accepted it quietly.

"...Thank you."

He nodded.

"The report can wait."

"I can finish it tonight."

"No."

"I really can."

"That's an order."

You couldn't help smiling into your cup.

"Yes, sir."

Jay picked up the folder he'd brought with him.

"I'll inform HR you'll be out tomorrow as well."

"I don't want to fall behind."

"You won't."

He walked toward the door before stopping.

Without turning around, he spoke.

"Take care of yourself."

The front door clicked shut.

You looked down at the warm tea in your hands.

For someone everyone described as cold...

He had remembered to add exactly two spoons of honey.

You'd only mentioned once, weeks ago, that it helped when you weren't feeling well.

You hadn't realized he'd been listening.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against the nightstand.

You reached for it with a groan.

Sunghoon Good morning.

Feeling any better?

You smiled faintly.

You Alive. Barely.

His reply came almost instantly.

Sunghoon Boss postponed the briefing.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

You Why?

Sunghoon He said the surveillance analysis wasn't urgent.

You stared at the screen.

That didn't sound like Jay.

Not even a little.

Before you could reply again, another message popped up.

Sunghoon Also... don't come in tomorrow.

You Huh?

Sunghoon "Doctor's orders," according to him.

You frowned.

Doctor?

You hadn't even seen one.

—

Two days later, you finally returned to the office.

The moment the elevator doors opened, several heads turned your way.

"There she is," Sunghoon said, leaning back in his chair.

"Feeling better?"

"Much."

"You look less like a ghost."

"...Thanks?"

He grinned.

"I mean it as a compliment."

You laughed softly before placing your bag on your desk.

It felt good to be back.

Normal again.

You'd barely logged into your computer when Jay's office door opened.

"Y/N."

You looked up immediately.

"Yes, sir?"

"My office."

A few agents exchanged knowing glances.

Sunghoon gave you a dramatic salute.

"May you return safely."

You rolled your eyes before walking toward Jay's office.

A gentle knock.

"Come in."

You stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind you.

"You wanted to see me?"

Jay looked up from the documents spread across his desk.

"How are you feeling?"

The question caught you off guard.

"I'm... better."

"You sound uncertain."

"I mean, I'm fine now."

He studied you for a second before giving a small nod.

"Good."

Silence.

You waited.

He kept reading.

"...Was that all?"

"No."

He reached into one of the desk drawers.

"I reviewed your surveillance analysis."

Your shoulders tensed.

"And?"

"It was thorough."

You blinked.

"I made a few notes."

He slid the file across the desk.

"You'll find them useful."

You looked down at the folder.

There were only two sticky notes attached.

Not corrections.

Suggestions.

Your lips parted slightly.

"You..."

You looked back at him.

"...liked it?"

"I approved it."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Thank you, sir."

He simply nodded.

As you turned to leave—

"Y/N."

You stopped.

"Yes?"

"Don't force yourself to come to work if you're unwell."

Your heart skipped.

"I won't."

Another pause.

"And..."

He looked almost reluctant to continue.

"...Eat breakfast."

You couldn't stop yourself from smiling.

"I did."

"What?"

"I had breakfast."

"...Good."

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling any wider.

"Anything else, sir?"

Jay looked back down at the report.

"No."

You nodded.

"Have a good day."

"You too."

As soon as the office door closed behind you, Sunghoon appeared beside your desk.

"So?"

"So... what?"

"What did the boss want?"

You tried your best to keep a straight face.

"He told me to eat breakfast."

Sunghoon blinked.

"...He what?"

"I know."

"He voluntarily gave life advice?"

"I know."

Sunghoon looked toward Jay's office, then back at you.

"...Either I'm hallucinating..."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"...or our boss is slowly becoming human."

You laughed.

A little louder than usual.

Behind the glass walls of his office, Jay looked up from his paperwork.

Without realizing it...

He listened until your laughter faded.

The office buzzed with more energy than usual.

Agents moved quickly between departments, voices echoing through the hall as mission files were passed around.

The moment you stepped off the elevator, Sunghoon looked up from his desk.

"There you are."

"Morning."

He handed you a black folder.

"Boss wants you in Briefing Room Three."

You frowned.

"Me?"

"You."

"What did I do now?"

"No idea."

He grinned.

"But he looked serious."

"...That's not exactly helpful."

"It wasn't meant to be."

—

You slipped into the briefing room just as the meeting began.

Jay stood at the front, a map projected onto the screen behind him.

Several agents were already seated.

He looked up briefly when you entered.

"You're late."

You checked the clock.

"...By thirty seconds."

"Still late."

You quietly took the nearest seat.

Jay continued the briefing.

"Our target will attend a charity gala tomorrow evening."

Photos appeared on the screen.

"Intelligence suggests he'll be carrying a storage device containing financial records connected to the organization."

You scribbled notes as he spoke.

"The device must be copied without alerting the target."

One of the agents raised a hand.

"Who's going undercover?"

Jay pressed another button.

A photo of a ballroom appeared.

"Agent Lee."

"Agent Kim."

He listed a few more names.

Then—

"...Y/N."

Your pen stopped moving.

You looked up.

"...Me?"

"Yes."

"I'm an analyst."

"You also spent three years studying behavioral profiling."

"...That was a university elective."

"It'll be useful."

You blinked.

"I've never been undercover before."

"You'll learn."

Sunghoon leaned over, whispering just loud enough for you to hear.

"Congratulations."

"I'm terrified."

"I'd be terrified too."

Jay looked in your direction.

"Any concerns?"

You forced an awkward smile.

"...No, sir."

"Good."

The meeting ended a few minutes later.

As everyone filtered out, you remained seated.

Jay noticed.

"Something to say?"

You hesitated.

"...Why me?"

He closed the folder in his hands.

"Because you're the only person who's met the target in person."

"Oh."

"You recognized him before facial recognition did."

"...Right."

"You notice details others miss."

The words caught you off guard.

It wasn't exactly praise...

But coming from Jay...

It was close enough.

"Report to training at eighteen hundred."

He walked past you before adding—

"And bring comfortable shoes."

You frowned.

"...Comfortable shoes?"

"You'll be dancing."

"...I'm sorry?"

He didn't even slow down.

"I hope you know how."

The door closed behind him.

You stared after him for several seconds.

"...I absolutely do not know how to dance."

From somewhere down the hallway...

You could've sworn you heard Sunghoon laughing.

The rest of the week passed quietly.

Almost too quietly.

You were beginning to think Jay had reverted back to his usual self.

The brief concern he'd shown after you returned had disappeared behind neatly pressed suits, short responses, and endless paperwork.

"Morning, sir."

He looked up from his laptop.

"Morning."

"...That's it?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"What else were you expecting?"

"I don't know... maybe a 'How are you?'"

"You said good morning."

"...Fair point."

He returned to his work.

You sighed dramatically before leaving his office.

Sunghoon, who had been passing by at the perfect moment, smirked.

"Rejected already?"

"I wasn't rejected."

"You literally walked in looking excited and came out looking defeated."

"I just wanted him to act... normal."

"He is acting normal."

"I mean normal normal."

Sunghoon laughed.

"You'll be waiting a long time."

Just then, Agent Han stepped into the department.

"Conference room. Everyone."

The room quickly filled with agents.

A map appeared on the screen.

"The agency received intelligence late last night," Agent Han began. "A diplomatic charity gala is being used as a meeting point for several high-value targets."

The room fell silent.

"We need someone inside."

Jay stood beside the screen, arms folded.

"This operation requires two people."

His eyes scanned the room.

"Agent Park."

No surprise there.

"And..."

He glanced at the file in his hand.

"Y/N."

Your head snapped up.

"...Me?"

"You've translated documents for one of the attendees before. He knows your face."

"I've never been on a field mission."

Sunghoon leaned over just enough for you to hear.

"Congratulations."

You stared at him.

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"You'll be fine."

"I've never done this before."

Before Sunghoon could reply, Jay spoke.

"Training starts in fifteen minutes."

The room emptied almost immediately.

You followed everyone else toward the training floor, your nerves growing with every step.

The ballroom they'd recreated looked almost real.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, music played softly through hidden speakers, and agents dressed in formal attire wandered around pretending to be guests.

You stopped in the doorway.

"...This is a lot."

"It has to be," Jay said, walking past you. "If you can handle this, you can handle the real thing."

You nodded, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

Agent Han handed you a small velvet box.

"Your earpiece."

You clipped it into place.

"Testing," Sunghoon's voice crackled through your ear.

"Loud and clear."

"Good. Now don't embarrass us."

You rolled your eyes.

"I suddenly can't hear you."

Jay glanced at you.

"You'll be attending as my partner."

You blinked.

"My... partner?"

"For the evening."

"Oh."

"It will attract less attention."

"Right."

Professional.

Strictly professional.

You silently reminded yourself of that.

An instructor approached with a polite smile.

"Before we begin, you'll need to learn the opening dance."

Your smile disappeared.

"...The what?"

"The opening dance."

"I don't dance."

"You'll learn."

You slowly turned toward Jay.

"Please tell me you don't dance either."

"I do."

Of course he did.

The instructor gestured toward the center of the room.

"Positions."

You hesitated.

Jay held out his hand.

You stared at it for a second before placing your hand in his.

His grip was steady.

Warm.

Far warmer than you'd expected.

Your heart gave an annoyingly noticeable skip.

"Relax," he said quietly.

"I'm trying."

"You look terrified."

"I am terrified."

"Of dancing?"

"Of embarrassing myself."

His expression softened ever so slightly.

"You won't."

"You sound very confident."

"I've seen you under pressure."

"And?"

"You don't panic."

You looked up at him.

"That's... surprisingly encouraging."

"It wasn't meant to be."

A laugh escaped you.

The instructor positioned Jay's free hand lightly against your upper back before adjusting your posture.

"Closer."

Your eyes widened.

"This close?"

"If you leave that much space between you, everyone will know you're pretending."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you took a hesitant step closer.

You could smell his cologne now.

Clean.

Subtle.

Dangerously distracting.

"Eyes on your partner," the instructor reminded.

You looked up.

Jay was already looking at you.

For a brief second, neither of you spoke.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be."

The music began.

You managed exactly three steps before your heel caught on his shoe.

"Oh my God."

You stumbled forward.

Jay caught you before you could lose your balance completely.

His hand tightened instinctively around yours.

"You okay?"

"I just assaulted my boss."

"You stepped on my foot."

"I assaulted your foot."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

It was barely there.

Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

But you saw it.

"...Did you just smile?"

"I didn't."

"You almost smiled."

"I didn't."

"You did."

He looked away first.

"Again."

You grinned.

"So that was a smile."

"It was not."

This time, when the music started again, your feet found the rhythm a little easier.

Neither of you noticed that, from across the room, Sunghoon had stopped pretending to read the mission file.

He leaned toward Agent Han with a knowing smile.

"Give it another month."

Agent Han glanced at Jay and you moving carefully across the floor.

"You think so?"

Sunghoon chuckled.

"I've never seen him this patient with anyone."

Training lasted another hour. By the end of it, your feet were sore, your head was spinning, and Jay had corrected your posture more times than you could count.

"Again."

You sighed dramatically. "I thought I finally got it."

"You looked at the floor."

"I was making sure I didn't step on you."

"You'll miss what's happening around you."

You muttered something under your breath as you fixed your stance.

"I liked it better when you barely talked."

"I heard that."

You looked up at him with a groan. "...I'm starting to think you hear everything."

"I do."

That earned the smallest shake of his head before he walked away to speak with Agent Han. You watched him from across the room until a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

"You're staring."

You nearly jumped.

Sunghoon appeared beside you, following your line of sight with an amused smile.

"I am not."

"Mhm."

"I'm literally just... thinking."

"About the mission?"

"...Sure."

He laughed. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Before you could defend yourself, Agent Han called everyone's attention.

"We have a problem."

The room immediately fell silent as several photographs were spread across the table.

"Our original target changed his plans."

Jay stepped forward. "What changed?"

"He'll be arriving with his daughter."

"So?"

"She refuses to leave his side."

Another photograph slid across the table. The woman looked to be around your age—elegant, confident, and impossible to overlook.

"The target trusts almost no one," Agent Han explained. "But he trusts her."

Jay studied the file. "What does that have to do with us?"

Agent Han looked directly at you.

"She specifically requested to meet the analyst who translated her father's charity proposal six months ago."

Your eyes widened.

"...Me?"

"You signed the translation with your initials."

"I didn't think anyone would notice."

"They did."

A quiet silence settled over the room.

"This changes the operation," Jay said.

"It does. You'll spend most of the evening with the daughter."

"And Agent Park?" Sunghoon asked.

"He'll remain close enough to intervene if necessary."

You frowned before you could stop yourself.

"So... we won't actually be together?"

"Only when absolutely necessary."

For reasons you couldn't explain, that answer disappointed you. Jay didn't seem to notice. He was already marking new routes across the map, mentally rebuilding the entire operation.

The night before the gala, almost everyone stayed late.

You were reviewing guest profiles for what felt like the hundredth time when a file landed gently on your desk. Looking up, you found Jay standing there.

"Wear this."

You opened the folder to find a photo of a midnight-blue evening gown.

"...It's beautiful."

"It has reinforced stitching."

You blinked.

"...That's the first thing you tell me?"

"It also has a concealed communication device." You laughed quietly.

"...Still not 'it looks nice'?"

"It isn't relevant."

"I guess not."

Closing the folder, you smiled. "Thank you."

As he turned to leave, you spoke again. "...Are you nervous?"

He stopped. "I don't get nervous."

"Not even before missions?"

"No."

"You must have been scared at least once."

He was silent for a moment before looking back at you. "I am when variables change."

"What kind of variables?"

He held your gaze for a second longer than usual.

"...The unpredictable ones."

Before you could ask what he meant, alarms suddenly blared throughout the building. A sharp red light flashed across the ceiling as every agent shot to their feet.

"Security breach!"

"Lock the floor down!"

Your heart leaped into your throat as people rushed in every direction. You stood frozen, trying to process what was happening.

"Y/N."

Jay's voice cut through the chaos.

You turned just as every light on the floor went out, plunging the room into darkness. Somewhere nearby, a gunshot echoed, followed by a scream. Before panic could take over, a familiar hand found yours in the dark.

Strong.

Steady.

Jay's voice was low, calm, and impossibly close. "Don't let go."

For the first time, it didn't sound like an order from your boss. It sounded like a promise.

To be continued….

ᴘᴇʀᴍ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @kristynaaah

(if anyone wants to be in the taglist, feel free to ask!)

DONT FORGET TO LIKE AND COMMENT OR ILL EAT UR FAMILIES (jk2, luv yalllll) also im taking requests so pls drop ur requests!!!

[audible-smiles]

the worst part of summer is that people get sooo comfortable expressing their disgust at having to see other people’s bodies. they’re always complaining about wrinkly old men at the nude hot springs or fat women in bikinis at the beach. I hate that shit. if you’re not capable of being normal about bodies you personally don’t find attractive, just turn your head to look at something else! and if you’re not smart enough to do that, then at least do the rest of us the courtesy of suffering in silence, because we don’t wanna hear your weird comments. thanks.

[thetaehyungsgirl]

"Don’t let me freeze" | Jay (ENHYPEN)

✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂. You never expected something as simple as warmth to become a habit. What starts with small shared moments on campus slowly turns into something you can’t ignore, as you find yourself getting closer to Jay in ways that feel natural… and a little too meaningful.

✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰. Jay x fem!reader

✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮. fluff, slow burn, university au, romance, light angst, friends to lovers.

✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ 𝔀𝓬. 4.5k

✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮. I haven’t been able to write much for about a month, time really hasn’t been on my side lately, but i’ve been trying to make a little space for myself whenever i can to get back into it. thank you for being patient with me, and for still reading even when i go quiet. I appreciate it a lot, truly. I love you guys ♡😛

The first day of a new semester is always chaotic.

Students rush through campus with coffee cups in hand, trying to find classrooms they’ve already forgotten the location of over break. The hallways are louder than usual, conversations overlapping with the sound of lockers closing and professors calling attendance. Meanwhile, you’re focused on one thing only.

How unbelievably cold it is.

Your hands are buried inside your sleeves, shoulders tucked in as you shiver dramatically beside your cousin.

“I swear winter gets worse every year,” you mumble, rubbing your hands together.

“You say that every winter.”

“Because every winter tries to kill me.”

He laughs before glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, there he is.”

You follow his gaze and see someone walking toward the two of you.

He’s tall, dressed in a simple black hoodie with his backpack slung over one shoulder. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and despite the cold, he looks completely unaffected by the freezing wind.

“This is my friend,” your cousin says once he reaches you. “He transferred here this semester.”

The guy offers you a small nod.

“I’m Jay.”

You smile back, introducing yourself.

It’s a short interaction, but you notice things almost immediately.

Jay doesn’t seem unfriendly.

Just... quiet.

He listens more than he speaks, answering your cousin with short replies and a few polite smiles whenever either of you says something. There’s something calm about him, almost comforting, even if he barely talks.

“Well,” your cousin sighs after checking the time. “We should get to class.”

You wave goodbye, assuming that’ll be the end of the interaction.

It isn’t.

When you walk into your lecture hall a few minutes later, you stop in the doorway.

Jay is already there.

He notices you too, giving you the same small smile from earlier before looking back at the front of the room.

“Oh,” you whisper to yourself. “Same class.”

Just your luck.

The professor begins assigning seats completely at random, reading names from a list while everyone groans dramatically.

You don’t pay much attention until your name is called.

“And next to... Jay.”

You glance toward him.

He simply slides his chair over a little to make room.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” you joke while sitting down.

“I guess so,” he replies quietly.

The class begins.

Or at least it tries to.

It’s impossible to focus when your fingers feel like they’re about to freeze off.

You keep blowing warm air into your hands, rubbing them together beneath the desk, wondering why the classroom somehow feels colder than outside.

Halfway through the lecture, your pen slips from your fingers.

You both bend down to pick it up at the exact same time.

Your hands meet.

The moment your skin touches his, you freeze.

Not because he startled you.

Because he’s warm.

Ridiculously warm.

You blink, still holding your pen while your fingers remain against his.

“…You’re warm.”

The words leave your mouth before you even think about them.

Jay looks at you, slightly confused.

Without realizing what you’re doing, you leave your hand resting lightly over his for another second, soaking up the warmth radiating from his skin.

Only then do you realize how strange that probably looks.

Your eyes widen.

“Oh—” You pull your hand back just enough to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry... I just needed to borrow some warmth.”

For a second, Jay simply blinks at you.

Then, to your surprise, the corners of his lips lift into a tiny smile.

“…It’s okay.”

He says it so casually that your embarrassment melts away almost instantly.

The rest of the class goes by quietly, but every now and then you catch yourself glancing at him.

Or more specifically...

At his hands.

Over the next few weeks, it happens naturally.

You never plan it.

Whenever you walk into class, there always seems to be an empty seat beside Jay.

And without thinking, you always end up taking it.

Neither of you mentions it.

It just becomes routine.

You chat before lectures begin, compare notes when one of you misses something, complain about assignments, and occasionally sit in comfortable silence while waiting for the professor to arrive.

At some point, you realize Jay is no longer just leaving a random seat empty.

He’s saving it.

If someone starts walking toward the chair beside him, he quietly places his backpack there until you arrive.

Then he moves it without saying a word.

It becomes so normal that neither of you acknowledges it anymore.

One afternoon after class, you and your cousin leave the building together with Jay walking beside you.

The cold hits you immediately.

A strong gust of wind makes you shiver from head to toe.

Without thinking, you step closer to Jay and wrap both hands around his arm, pressing yourself against his side.

He barely reacts.

He just keeps walking at the same pace as if this is completely normal.

Your cousin glances at the two of you before letting out a laugh.

“You know,” he says, “I don't think I've seen you walk home without hanging onto Jay even once.”

You look up from where you're practically attached to Jay's arm, already opening your mouth to defend yourself.

Before you can say anything, Jay answers for you.

“…She's cold.”

His voice is calm, matter-of-fact, like it's the most obvious explanation in the world.

Your cousin only hums, clearly unconvinced.

“Sure,” he says with a grin. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He shakes his head, amused, as the three of you continue walking through campus.

Jay never pulls his arm away.

And somewhere between campus and the parking lot, you realize something.

You're not cold anymore.

You hadn't even noticed when it happened.

A few weeks turn into a couple of months before either of you realizes just how much has changed. Somewhere between shared lectures, coffee breaks, and walking across campus together, being next to Jay becomes the most natural thing in the world. It isn't something you plan. It just... happens.

If you arrive first, you save him a seat. If he gets there before you, the chair beside him somehow always stays empty. Your classmates stop questioning it after a while, simply assuming the two of you came as a pair. Most days, they're right.

The weather refuses to get any warmer, which means your habit of borrowing Jay's warmth only gets worse. The moment you sit down, you're already reaching for him. Sometimes it's as simple as wrapping your cold fingers around his hand beneath the desk.

Other times, you lightly tug on the sleeve of his hoodie until he sighs, already knowing exactly what you want.

“Hands,” you mumble.

Without even looking up from his notes, he quietly offers one.

You smile to yourself before holding it between both of yours, letting out the smallest relieved sigh.

“There you go.”

Jay only shakes his head, though there's the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

It doesn't stop there. Long lectures usually end with your head resting against his shoulder while the professor explains something neither of you is listening to anymore. Whenever the wind gets too cold outside, you instinctively move closer until your arms are brushing. Sometimes, without asking, you steal his hoodie.

“You literally brought your own,” he points out one afternoon, watching you zip his hoodie all the way up.

“I know.”

“So why are you wearing mine?”

You grin.

“Yours is warmer.”

He knows that's probably not true.

Still...

He lets you keep it.

Every single time.

People start noticing. One of your classmates eventually laughs as they watch you practically glued to Jay during lunch.

“You two are attached at the hip.”

You don't think much of it.

“It's because he's warm.”

“Sure,” they reply with a grin. “If you say so.”

Jay nearly chokes on his drink.

Your affection slowly becomes even more effortless. Whenever he does something nice for you, carrying your bag when it's too heavy, lending you his notes, buying you a hot drink before class, you always thank him the same way.

With a tiny kiss.

The first one lands on his cheek.

“Thank you.”

Jay freezes.

Completely.

After that, it becomes a habit. Some days it's another quick peck on his cheek before class. Other times it's against his jaw after he saves you a seat. Eventually, without even realizing you've become bolder, you stand on your tiptoes after he hands you a warm coffee and press a soft kiss against the side of his neck.

“There,” you say with a bright smile. “That one's for the coffee.”

Before he can answer, you're already walking away.

To you, they're nothing more than innocent little thank-you kisses. Small gestures for someone who's always taking care of you. You never stop to think about them because they feel as natural as borrowing his hoodie or holding his hand when you're cold.

To Jay...

They're absolutely not.

Every kiss sends warmth rushing straight to his face. Every brush of your lips stays with him for hours, replaying in his mind long after you've gone home. He tells himself you're simply affectionate. That this is just who you are.

He repeats it often enough that he almost believes it.

Almost.

That night, long after everyone else is asleep, Jay lies awake staring at the ceiling. His hand slowly lifts to the side of his neck, fingertips brushing the exact spot where your lips had been earlier.

His heart races all over again.

“…Unbelievable.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes.

Somehow...

He can still remember exactly how it felt.

By now, being together isn't something either of you has to think about anymore. It becomes part of your routine so naturally that neither of you remembers when it started. Every morning, the first thing you do after stepping onto campus is look around for Jay. If he isn't already waiting outside the building, you instinctively wonder where he is.

Without realizing it, Jay has developed the exact same habit.

He starts arriving a little earlier than usual, pretending he simply likes being on time. In reality, he's waiting for you. The moment he spots you walking toward the entrance with your backpack bouncing against your shoulder, something inside him settles.

"Morning," you smile.

"Morning."

Somehow, the day always feels a little lighter after that.

The little things begin adding up. If you skip breakfast because you woke up late, Jay quietly places a warm pastry on your desk before class starts. If the vending machine runs out of your favorite drink, he somehow finds another one somewhere else on campus. When the hallways are crowded between lectures, he naturally walks beside you, making sure no one bumps into you without ever mentioning it.

You notice all of it.

"You really pay attention," you tell him one afternoon after he hands you your favorite coffee without asking.

He shrugs.

"I just remembered."

You smile so brightly that he has to look away.

Walking home together becomes just as normal. Your cousin isn't always around anymore, sometimes leaving early for club meetings or staying late with his own friends. Somehow, that always leaves you and Jay making the walk back together.

You don't mind.

Neither does he.

Some conversations last the entire walk. Others are filled with comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional laugh. Somehow, silence has never felt awkward with him.

For you, being close to Jay is effortless.

If you're tired, you lean against his shoulder while waiting for the crosswalk light to change.

If your hands are cold, you reach for his without asking.

If you're laughing too hard, you instinctively grab onto his sleeve to steady yourself.

You never stop to think about any of it.

Jay, unfortunately, thinks about all of it.

Far too much.

At night, every little interaction plays over and over in his head. The way you smile when you see him. The tiny kisses you leave on his cheek. The way your fingers always find his first whenever you're cold.

His heart insists those moments have to mean something.

His mind immediately disagrees.

She doesn't like you.

She just likes that you're warm.

Anyone could've been in your place.

You're basically a human heater.

The thought follows him everywhere.

He hates how believable it sounds.

Whenever you hug him, he wonders if you'd do the exact same thing with someone else whose hands happened to be warmer than yours. Every kiss on his cheek feels impossibly precious... until he convinces himself it's nothing more than your way of saying thank you.

He never says any of this out loud.

Instead, he smiles.

Lets you borrow his hoodies.

Lets you steal his warmth.

Lets himself fall a little deeper every single day.

Meanwhile, you're completely unaware of the storm happening inside his head.

To you, Jay is simply the person you feel safest with.

The one you unconsciously search for in every crowded hallway.

The one whose presence makes long lectures feel shorter.

The one who somehow makes every ordinary day feel a little softer.

Being close to him doesn't just keep you warm anymore.

It feels...

Like home.

One afternoon, the two of you leave class together beneath a sky so clear it almost feels like spring has arrived early. The sun is out, the breeze is gentle, and for the first time in weeks, you aren't shivering.

You chat about an upcoming assignment as you walk across campus before stopping outside the library.

Without thinking, you step closer and wrap your arms around him.

Just because.

Jay instinctively hugs you back, his heart nearly stopping.

A few seconds pass before you pull away with an easy smile, waving goodbye as you head toward your next lecture.

He stands there for a long moment, watching you disappear around the corner.

...It's not even cold today.

His chest tightens.

Then, almost immediately, he shakes his head.

She's probably just used to it.

It's easier to believe that...

Than to hope it might mean something more.

The more Jay falls for you, the more convinced he becomes that he's headed straight for heartbreak.

He tells himself he needs to stop before his feelings get any deeper. Before he starts expecting things you never promised him. Before he mistakes your kindness for something it isn't.

So, little by little, he begins pulling away.

At first, the changes are almost impossible to notice. He stops arriving early enough to save the seat beside him. If someone else takes it before you get to class, he doesn't stop them anymore. He replies to your messages hours later instead of almost immediately. After lectures, he quietly slips out before you can catch up to him.

You notice.

Not all at once.

But enough.

The first morning you walk into class and find someone else sitting beside him, you pause in the doorway for a second longer than usual. You end up taking the seat behind him instead, wondering why it feels so... strange.

When class ends, you hurry after him.

"Jay!"

He turns around, offering the same polite smile as always.

"Hey."

"Were you in a rush today?"

"...Kind of."

You nod slowly.

"Oh... okay."

He leaves before the conversation can go any further.

You tell yourself you're overthinking it.

Except it keeps happening.

Your texts sit unread for hours. The conversations that used to last until sunset barely make it past a few minutes. More than once, you leave the building expecting to find him waiting outside, only to realize he's already gone.

The walk home suddenly feels much longer without him.

You don't understand.

If anything, you find yourself looking for him even more.

You still choose the seat closest to him whenever you can. You still reach for his sleeve whenever your hands get cold. When you're tired, your head still naturally finds his shoulder before you remember he isn't leaning toward you anymore.

He never pushes you away.

But he doesn't lean in, either.

The distance is small.

Almost invisible.

Yet somehow, it feels enormous.

One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting lecture, you catch him outside the building.

"There you are," you sigh in relief.

He gives you a small nod.

For a moment, things almost feel normal again.

You smile, stepping closer like you always do, and leave a quick kiss against his cheek.

"Thanks for sending me your notes yesterday."

The moment your lips leave his skin...

Jay takes a small step back.

It's barely noticeable.

Just one step.

But it's enough.

Your smile disappears almost instantly.

You stare at him, confused, your hands slowly falling back to your sides.

"...Did I do something wrong?"

The question comes out quieter than you intended.

Jay's expression changes the second he sees your face.

His eyes soften.

Guilt flashes across them so quickly it almost hurts to look at.

"...No."

His voice is barely above a whisper.

"You didn't."

For a second, it seems like he's about to say something else.

To explain.

To apologize.

Instead...

He lowers his gaze.

"...I'll see you tomorrow."

Before you can stop him, he turns around and walks away.

You stand there long after he's disappeared into the crowd, staring at the space where he had been only moments ago.

The wind brushes past you, colder than it has any right to be.

For the first time all winter...

You realize warmth was never the reason you kept searching for Jay.

And somehow...

You've never felt colder.

Jay tells himself he’s doing the right thing. That if he keeps his distance long enough, the ache in his chest will stop feeling so sharp. It doesn’t. If anything, it only gets worse the longer he goes without hearing your voice up close or feeling you tug on his sleeve like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

So when he arrives on campus one afternoon and sees you laughing in the courtyard with someone else, everything inside him goes still.

You’re hugging him. Not awkwardly, not politely, but openly, easily, exactly the way you usually hug Jay when you want warmth or comfort or just because you feel like it. The sight hits him so hard his jaw tightens instantly. His chest burns, his hands curl into fists at his sides, and for the first time in weeks, something in his expression finally cracks.

You notice it immediately.

The way his eyes linger for half a second too long.

The way his lips press into a thin line.

The way he turns around without even approaching you.

He looks… upset.

Not distant.

Not neutral.

Upset.

And that alone is enough to make you forget everything else.

Without thinking, you excuse yourself from the conversation and follow after him.

“Jay!”

He doesn’t stop walking.

You quicken your steps, catching up to him near the side of the building where the noise fades into silence. When you finally reach him, he’s already half turned away, like he’s trying to disappear into his own thoughts.

“Hey,” you call again, softer this time. “Wait.”

He finally stops, but he doesn’t look at you.

“So...” he says after a moment, voice tight, forced calm slipping through. “You’re busy now?”

You blink, confused by the tone. “What? No, I was just—”

He cuts in before you can finish, a small, bitter smile tugging at his mouth.

“You found someone warmer?”

That makes you freeze completely.

Your brows knit together. “...What are you talking about?”

Before he can say anything else, the guy from earlier jogs over, completely unaware of the tension hanging in the air.

“Oh,” he says casually, stopping beside you. “Mom said not to forget to feed the dog when you get home.”

The tension breaks instantly.

You let out a long sigh, dropping your shoulders. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Jay blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Everything clicks at the same time.

The guy waves, already stepping back. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

And then he’s gone.

Silence falls again, heavier this time.

You look at Jay… and it takes you exactly two seconds before you realize what just happened.

Your expression shifts.

Then you laugh.

At first it’s small, just a breath you can’t hold back, but it quickly turns into full laughter, hands coming up to your face as you bend slightly forward.

“Jay…” you manage between laughs. “You thought—”

You shake your head, laughing harder. “You actually thought—”

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

Just stands there, completely frozen, ears already turning red.

You step a little closer, still smiling widely.

“So...” you tease softly, tilting your head. “Were you jealous?”

He finally looks at you for a second.

Then immediately looks away again.

But his ears answer for him.

That evening, campus is quieter than usual. The sun is already dipping low, painting everything in soft orange light, and most students have left for the day. Jay is sitting alone outside one of the buildings, elbows resting on his knees, staring at nothing in particular.

He looks… tired.

Not physically.

Just like he’s been carrying something heavy for too long.

When you find him, you don’t say anything at first. You simply slow your steps and sit down beside him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He glances at you briefly, surprised, but doesn’t move away.

A few seconds pass in silence.

Then you lean into him and hug him.

Not teasing. Not playful. Just… holding him.

He lets out a quiet breath, almost like a small, sad laugh.

“…You’re cold again?” he murmurs, voice softer than usual.

You shake your head immediately, still holding onto him.

“No.”

That makes him pause.

“…Then why?”

You finally pull back just enough to look at him properly. Your expression is calm, certain in a way he hasn’t seen in a while.

“Because I wanted to.”

Something shifts in his face.

It’s subtle, but immediate. Like something inside him finally gives up on holding itself together.

His hand hesitates for a second before resting on your waist, careful, almost unsure if he’s allowed to. When you don’t pull away, he gently pulls you closer instead.

His eyes stay on yours for a long time.

Long enough that everything else disappears.

Then he leans in.

The kiss is soft.

Shaky.

Careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

Like he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll vanish completely.

When he pulls away, it’s immediate. Too immediate. His breathing is uneven, and panic flashes across his face as if he’s already regretting how much he allowed himself to feel.

“I’m sorry…” he starts quickly.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“I just couldn’t—”

But you don’t let him finish.

You smile.

Small. Warm. Certain.

Then you pull him back in.

And kiss him again.

This time, it lasts longer.

Slower.

Steadier.

And somewhere between that second and third breath…

Neither of you is scared anymore.

Dating Jay feels different from anything you expected, and yet somehow completely right. He’s still the same quiet, slightly reserved boy from before, still gets shy when people tease him, still looks away when he laughs too hard. But now there’s something new about him too, something that only exists when he’s with you.

He doesn’t wait anymore.

Not for you to initiate, not for the perfect moment, not for anything at all. He just… reaches for you. Like it’s instinct. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He kisses you while you’re studying, leaning over your notes until you stop pretending to focus. He kisses you when you’re scrolling through your phone, gently turning your face toward him like he can’t stand not being noticed. Before class, after class, in between steps as you walk across campus—there’s always a reason, or maybe no reason at all.

Sometimes it’s quick.

Sometimes it lingers.

Always it leaves you smiling.

“You’re obsessed,” you tease one afternoon, barely able to finish the sentence before he pulls you a little closer.

His lips brush yours again, softer this time, and he hums against you.

“…Maybe.”

That one word alone makes your heart skip.

You start testing him after that.

Small things at first. Leaning in just to see if he reacts. Giving him quick cheek kisses in the middle of conversations. Pressing a kiss to his jaw when he’s pretending to read something serious. You do it just to watch him blush, just to see that small, flustered reaction you used to get out of him so easily.

Except now…

He doesn’t freeze anymore.

Instead, he just turns toward you like it’s expected.

And kisses you back.

Once.

Twice.

Sometimes even more.

Like he’s making up for every time he was too scared to do it before.

Months later, Jay has become part of your everyday life in a way that feels almost effortless. Your cousin isn’t even surprised anymore when he walks into your house and finds Jay already there, like he’s been there longer than the furniture itself. Neither of you bothers explaining it anymore. It just makes sense.

You’re still just as cuddly as before. You still cling to him on cold mornings without thinking, pressing your hands against his like it’s instinct. Only now, you do it even when it’s warm outside, even when there’s no excuse, even when you definitely don’t need his warmth anymore. It just feels right.

One afternoon, you’re curled up on top of him on the couch while he lazily plays with your hair, fingers threading through it like he’s memorizing you all over again. There are soft kisses between words, quiet laughter, and long stretches of silence that somehow feel louder than anything else.

Your brother walks in, stops dead, and lets out a long, exhausted sigh.

“…Can you two stop kissing for ONE second?”

Neither of you even react properly.

Jay just kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world, completely unfazed by the complaint. Your brother throws his hands up in frustration.

“I swear, you’re always like this. Always hugging, always kissing, always attached like—like—just breathe for five minutes apart, please.”

You laugh softly, still tucked against Jay, and shake your head.

“I’m not hugging you just because I’m cold anymore.”

Jay pauses at that, looking down at you for a second before smiling faintly, like something in him settles.

“…Good,” he murmurs. “I was hoping you’d stay even in summer.”

You snuggle closer without even thinking, while your brother groans again in pure defeat.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all happy, I get it,” he mutters. “Except me. I’m not happy. I live here. I can’t escape it. There’s no peace. No personal space. Just constant kissing and hugging and—ugh.”

You laugh harder at that, and Jay just tightens his arms around you a little more, calm as ever.

“…We’re happy,” he says simply.

Almost everyone is.

Almost.

[stllmnstr]

all that glitters — part three.

pairing: park jongseong x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn

part three word count: 22k

warnings: angst, depictions of terminal illness, scenes that occur in hospitals, use of the american (usa) health system (aka receiving medical care is expensive), swearing, slowwwww burn, kissing

playlist: this is me trying / cardigan / mirrorball- taylor swift / yellow - coldplay / BIRDS OF A FEATHER - billie eilish / safety net - ariana grande / garden (say it like dat) - sza

note: AW I am so sad/happy/excited to be finishing this fic and putting it out into the universe. This is one of the longest stories I've released to date, and I have so much love for it. It was my first time writing for Jay, and I had the best time getting to characterize him and bring this story to life using him as inspo. His personality is so endearing to me and he's so ridiculously handsome in a very classic way. Sigh. As always, I hope you enjoy!! This fic has been a long time in the making, and I hope this ending was worth the wait. If you have thoughts/comments/screams, I'd love to hear them! Happy reading ♡

part one | part two

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Park Jongseong is everything you hate. Spoiled, entitled, and the heir to a top conglomerate in the business world you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to break into. You can’t even begin to count how many sleepless nights, skipped meals, and personal desires you’ve sacrificed just for a seat at the table he was born sitting at.

But when a piece of news in your third year of university pulls your world out from under your feet, everything starts to change. Including your feelings towards the one person you thought you’d always loathe.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The beach house is quiet when you wake. The first rays of sunlight beam through your bedside window. The waves look softer in morning light, somehow even more peaceful than the prior evening. 

And Jay…

Somewhere between dreams and reality, you found your resolve. You’re not sure what this new sense of closeness is, where exactly it comes from. You’re sure it’s just because the two of you are truly alone for the first time. 

Besides, it’s not like it necessarily means anything. You’re sure Jay is just one of those people who lets his affection be known through touch, through closeness. He did tell you he wants to be friends, after all. You’re sure that’s what all of this must be. 

But the longer you look at it, the more your stomach begins to sink. Because friendship doesn’t account for a lot of things. Namely, the way he held you last night. The way he looked at you. 

Shaking your head, you force yourself out of bed. It’s no use mulling over it now. You’re not operating under any illusions. 

It doesn’t matter how sharp his jawline is or how nice it feels to rest your head in that space between his shoulder and neck. 

You’re sick. Your future is, in generous terms, uncertain. It wouldn’t be fair, to either you or him, to let things shift too much. To let them progress towards what they teetered on dangerously last night. 

Padding gently down the stairs, you realize you were the first one to wake. Good. That will give you some time to set your resolve, to plan for how you’ll go about maintaining space for the rest of your time together. 

You only have one more day here, after all. You’ll sleep at the beach house again tonight and then drive back to the hospital early tomorrow afternoon. You can survive another day, another evening. 

And then, upon your return, reality will do what it always done, and maintaining a comfortable distance will feel natural again.  

Yawning through a stretch as you enter the kitchen, you suppose you can start evening the playing field by returning favors. You’ll make breakfast today. An undergraduate degree built mostly on ready meals hasn’t exactly made you the best chef, but your family owns a restaurant. You can manage eggs, at least. 

Rifling through the cupboards for a frying pan, a small, nondescript notebook tucked away in the corner of the kitchen counter catches your eye. Drawing closer, you realize it’s his. Jay’s. The planner he always carries around with him everywhere. 

You bite at the small smile that appears on your lips without your permission. It’s easy to imagine him drafting your itinerary with the same intense focus he uses to write out his study schedules. 

You shake your head gently and then turn, about to move on, when a small slip of paper poking out from underneath the planner catches your eye. 

It’s folded and mostly obscured by the notebook on top of it, but you swear you can make out a few letters.

And, stranger still, you swear they align perfectly with the last few letters in your name.

You shouldn’t look. You really shouldn’t. If nothing else, it’s an invasion of privacy. You wouldn’t want him poking around through your planner, after all. 

He already did it one by accident, you think as you remember the way his gaze narrowed in focus when you mistakenly handed him your bucket list instead of a napkin at the charity gala. And the consequences of that have been nothing if not far reaching. 

Still, curiosity eats at you. It’s your name, after all. Or at least you think it is. 

Glancing quietly over your shoulder just to make sure he hasn’t somehow silently materialized since your internal struggle began, you confirm that you’re alone in the kitchen. And then you reach for that small, folded piece of paper.

Unfolding it slowly, you scan it from top to bottom. You were right, you realize. It is your name at the top. Glazing over it, this time with a more discerning gaze, your eyes widen with every uncovered line.

It’s a list. Penned in his neat, even handwriting, it details all of the medicines you’re currently taking, as well as every pharmacy within a twenty-mile radius of the beach house and their current stock of it. 

Beneath it, he’s written out every nearby hospital, along with their capacity to handle illnesses of your nature and their directors’ personal contact information. 

Below is yet another list. This one is of symptoms that Hana and Doctor Kim must have told him to keep an eye on. Confusion, dizziness, shortness of breath, fatigue, headaches. 

Both of them also left him with their personal phone numbers. 

Silently, breath shallow, you fold the paper back and tuck it back beneath the planner where you found it, heart thumping traitorously in your chest. 

Again, you’re forced to confront it head-on — he cares. Enough to plan this trip, enough to face your resistance and your excuses a thousand times over, enough to research pharmacies and hospitals and medication side effects. 

It’s not altruistic. It’s not for his own benefit. He cares about you. In writing, out loud, and in the way he’s always gentle when he reaches for you. 

You think, then, for the first time, of just how much his life has changed since your diagnosis, too. After all, you used to just be someone that sat behind him in lecture halls. Someone that made an irritating point to argue with everything he said. 

Now, he’s at the hospital more frequently than his own classes. He’s paying for your medical care. He’s asking doctors and nurses how to best take care of you, and he’s here, at a beach house on the coast, because you dreamed of seeing it one day. 

You never wanted to add anyone, much less Jay, to the ever-growing list of people you owe an unpayable debt to. 

But every memory, every piece of evidence at just how inextricably intertwined you’ve become, feels like a rock sinking in your gut. 

When, or perhaps if the universe takes pity on you, if this all ends in flames, you’re suddenly terrified of just how deeply he’ll be affected. 

His care is genuine, of that much you’re sure. You don’t want him to suffer any more than he has to when the time comes to say goodbye.

You’re so wrapped up in your sudden spiraling that you don’t notice when the scent of cooking turns pungent, when the eggs start to turn from golden-brown to coal black. 

But Jay does. Startling you from your thoughts, he raises an eyebrow at you from the edge of the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he says, calmly. There’s a hint of sleepiness that still clings to his words. 

“Good morning,” you return once you shake your startle, hardly able to meet his eye. You’re flushed for a thousand reasons, all of which you refuse to name. 

His eyebrow arches higher. Nodding at the pan on the stove, he adds, “I think something’s burning.”

“Shit.” Rushing to turn off the burner, you pull the pan off the heat, setting it aside. “Sorry,” you mumble, sheeping. “I was trying to make breakfast.”

Jay’s lips twitch. “It’s the thought that counts,” he tells you. “Here, let me—”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s okay. Just let me— I can handle eggs.” 

For a moment, you think he’s going to tease you about it. But then he sees the defensive glint in your gaze. The way this suddenly feels like it’s about more than just eggs. You’ve had far more of your own self-sufficiency stripped from you than you’re comfortable with. 

It wouldn’t be an act of kindness to assume you can’t handle this task—it would be belittling. A reminder of just how much your life has changed in recent weeks. 

So Jay is just quiet for a moment longer. Then, he nods. Moving to join you, he doesn’t interfere with the eggs. Instead, he says, “I’ll start the coffee.” 

Thankfully, your second attempt is much more successful. 

With your eggs cooked to perfection this time and Jay’s freshly brewed coffee, the two of you find your seats at the dining table again. After a few bites, Jay asks for your opinion on his itinerary for the day. 

He hasn’t planned much, just a dinner at a nearby restaurant this evening, which leaves your morning and afternoon free. He has suggestions of course — heading back down to the beach, going for another ride in the convertible, sitting in the garden and just enjoying the view. 

Your indecision must play out across your features, because a beat later, he suggests starting the day close to home. You’re glad for it. 

You’re starting to feel like a broken record, but the garden really is beautiful. Two adjacent lounge chairs serve as your resting place for this pocket of time. 

Minutes slip into hours easily, the occasional lulls in conversation filled by the sound of waves and nearby sea birds. 

He mentions something about Professor Jung’s class, and a crease forms between your eyebrows. Jay notices, because of course he does, and so you tell him about the letter from Doctor Kim, your mother’s insistence that you take an official academic leave of absence for the rest of the semester. 

Jay schools his features into something carefully neutral. “How do you feel about that?” 

You sigh. “I mean, of course it’s not what I want. We’re almost to midterms already, and the thought of sacrificing all that work really sucks.” You exhale, something calm in your voice now that you’ve had time to think about it. “But it’s not the end of the world. I’ve kept up my scholarship this long, and I know I’ll be able to do it again. I suppose it’s better to focus on recovery now and then return to things when I can give it my all again. Even if it feels a little bit like failure right now.”

Jay stares at you for a moment, almost as if he expects a second head to pop out from between your shoulders. “That might be the most reasonable thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I will reach over and smack that grin off your face,” you threaten. 

“I know.” He just relaxes further into his seat, grin still spread wide across his lips. 

You roll your eyes. The conversation continues, veers towards lighter topics. It takes you all the way to early afternoon, when Jay suggests heading back to the beach. 

“C’mon,” he urges, “We can actually put our feet in the ocean this time.”

You don’t need any more convincing than that. 

It’s still slightly humiliating, the way you have to walk slowly, the way your legs don’t always seem to want to cooperate with your mind. Jay takes it all in stride. He slows even before you do, patient as he walks by your side. 

Still a few yards from the water, you lose your balance on the edge of a sand bank, teetering dangerously as you try to right yourself. Jay doesn’t let you fall. Reaching out, he steadies you with one hand on your waist and the other around your wrist. 

Even after you’ve centered yourself again, he doesn’t let go. 

“You alright?” His brow creases deep in concern. 

“I’m fine,” you nod, not quite able to look him in the eye. Not when his open palm still rests against your hip. 

Slowly, Jay releases you. But the hand around your wrist doesn't leave your skin entirely. Instead, he slides it down, all the way until his long fingers are interlaced with yours. HIs touch is warm, steadying. Has your pulse thrumming in your ears. 

“Here,” he says. “To help you balance.”

“Right.” You nod. “For balance.”

After a few more steps, the two of you are at the water’s edge. Jay helps you slide off your shoes before removing his own. Then, he takes your hand again. This time, he doesn’t bother with excuses. 

Instead, he turns to you, eyes glittering like the sunlit sea, and asks, “Are you ready?”

Are you? You’re not sure. The ocean is one of many things in your life that you never bothered to dream too hard about, mostly because it always felt out of reach. Something frivolous not worth dedicating too much attention to. 

You’re not sure how to tell him that, so instead, you nod. 

Jay smiles, gently guiding you forward until the first waves can just reach you, barely brushing your toes as water trickles up the beach. 

A gasp escapes your lips. It’s colder than you expect, almost shockingly so. 

“You okay?” Jay asks.

You nod. “Just cold.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s warmer in the summer. We’ll have to come back.” There are a lot of assumptions wrapped up in his response, ones you don’t dare to correct now. 

Instead, you follow him a few more steps forward, all the way until water pools around your feet, now ankle-deep.

It’s still cold, but you’re getting used to it now. The sand feels different here, thicker maybe, more solid. You spread your toes and giggle as it pushes between them. 

Jay zeroes in on the noise, carefully tracking your expression as you venture deeper. Now it’s him that trails you, happy to be led by his hand still intertwined with yours. 

The first time you splash him is entirely by accident. You swear you see a fish swimming near your toes and it startles you so bad you nearly fall over. Thankfully, you manage to stay upright, but your flailing sends a smattering of droplets right towards the front of Jay’s shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, but it’s wrapped in laughter. “It was an accident. I thought I saw a—”

The words die on your lips as Jay returns the favor by splashing water back towards you, this time entirely on purpose. 

“No worries,” he grins. Nodding towards the wet hem of your shirt, he adds, “We’re even now, anyway.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity. “You little shit.” It’s the only warning he gets before your next splash comes, this one wreaking far more havoc than the first as sea water soaks through nearly the entirety of his rolled left pant leg. 

You try to run before he can have his revenge, but he catches up to you easily, fingers circling around your wrist before he slides it back towards your hand, interlacing your fingers once again. Then he bends at the waist, other hand dipping dangerously towards the water as he sends droplets flying towards your jeans. 

It’s funny — even though the water swirling around your ankles, being flung at your skin, is entirely novel, something you’ve been dreaming of experiencing for years, when you look back on your memory of this moment later, you’ll realize that nearly all of your focus was not on the beach or the your soaked clothes or the even ocean itself. 

No, it was locked on the steady, warm feeling of Jay’s hand in yours. 

…..

The sun tracks a steady path across the sky, and before you know it, it’s time to get ready for your dinner with Jay.

Despite your questioning, he hasn’t divulged many details. You’re not sure exactly where you’re going, nor what kind of attire is expected. Eyeing your small overnight bag, you’re suddenly worried that everything you’ve brought will be too casual. 

Then again, maybe he’s bringing you to something a little more quaint. He said it himself — most of the businesses around here are seasonal. You doubt that the truly fine dining establishments are even open this time of year. 

Before you can make up your mind on if you should just go across the hall and ask him again, a knock sounds on your bedroom door. 

Opening it, Jay stands on the other side, a large box in hand. 

You look at it, frowning. “What’s that?”

“For you,” Jay outstretches his arms, passing the box to you. “For tonight.”

“Jay…” you trail off. Gifts from him are nothing new at this point, but something in your pride still withers with every lavish present he lays at your feet. 

“Don’t even,” he shakes his head, silencing your protest before you can put words to it. “Besides,” he adds, nodding towards the box. “This was already yours.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Already m—” Realization dawns across your features. You remove the lid from the box, confirming your suspicions. 

Inside is the gown, the one you selected from Sunghoon’s shop.

“I thought we were going to dinner,” you breathe. 

It’s Jay’s turn to be puzzled. “We are,” he confirms. 

“There’s a restaurant around here where this is standard attire?” You arch an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” Quieter, you add, “I don’t feel like getting stared at all night.”

Jay’s expression softens at your confession. “You won’t be. I promise. A dress that pretty deserves to be worn, don’t you think? Besides,” he adds, a gleam entering his gaze, “I’ll be the only one staring at you.”

“Jay,” you whine. 

“Okay, okay,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll only stare when you’re not looking.”

“I’ll still be able to tell,” you frown. 

“You haven’t so far,” he points out. 

He grins when your cheeks warm. 

And to that, you have nothing to say. Instead you ask, “What time are we leaving?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Jay says. “There’s no rush. Take your time.”

The door closes, and you’re once again alone with your thoughts. You glance down at the box in your hands before setting it on the foot of the bed. 

You sigh. You really weren’t prepared for anything so formal. Glancing at your small makeup bag, you decide you’ll have to make do. 

Thirty minutes later, it’s apparent that you weren’t born with the talent of a makeup artist, but it’ll do. You give yourself another once-over in the mirror, assessing your handiwork. The work you’ve done on your makeup and hair might be simple, but it highlights the features you like most. Makes your reflection something that shimmers a little more than usual. Despite it all, you feel pretty. 

Which leaves only one step left before you meet Jay downstairs: the dress still sitting on your bed. Padding over towards it quietly, you take a deep breath before reaching into the box and retrieving it with gentle fingers. 

It unfurls as you pull it out, skirt falling down towards the floor in an elegant wave. Here in the evening glow of your borrowed bedroom, it’s even more spectacular than you remember. 

Quietly, you step into the skirt, pulling the top of the dress up over your body and securing the straps into place. 

Reaching behind you, you fumble blindly for the zipper. It takes a moment for you to find it, fingers closing around the cool metal. You tug, but the zipper hardly makes it an inch before your own dexterity fails you. 

Frowning, you try again. This attempt is no better. No matter how many times you try, you can’t get the zipper past the base of your spine. 

That’s right, you remember, hardly stopping yourself from cursing out loud, the store attendant helped you that day at Sunghoon’s store. 

A flicker of doubt sweeps through your mind. Is it even possible to close the zipper on your own? 

It has to be. Because if you can’t get it zipped on your own, the only other viable option is—

No. 

That’s not happening. 

Grimacing, you pull again, this time with far more force, fueled by your sudden desperation. But it’s to no avail. The angle simply won’t work. 

Head lolling forward, you groan aloud to the empty room. 

And then, gathering whatever fragmented remnants of dignity you have left, you call out quietly, “Jay?”

You wait for a heartbeat. Another. No response comes. 

Walking towards your door, you crack it open slightly.

Louder this time, you call again, “Jay?”

“Yeah?” You hear him respond, from downstairs you think. “Are you okay?” There’s an undertone of urgency in his voice that you would have more time to ponder if you weren’t panicking yourself. 

“I’m fine,” you assure. “But can you…” You trail off for a moment, losing your confidence. “Can you come here?”

He doesn’t say anything, but you hear the sound of his feet padding against the stairs. It takes him less than thirty seconds to reach the top, eyes locking on yours where you still brace yourself behind the door like it’s a shield. 

His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

You can barely hold his eye. “Nothing, I just…” Biting the inside of your lip, you manage to get out, “I need help with the zipper.”

“Oh.” It’s quiet for a moment. You watch as realization sets in, his eyes widening before he remembers to regain control of his expression. “Oh,” he repeats, softer this time. 

Then, he swallows. Once, roughly. You watch the way his throat works, jaw tightening, eyes sharpening before they soften again. He sets his resolve, pace steady as he walks towards you. 

You take a step back when he reaches you, silently pulling the door open wider, allowing him into your space. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes on his feet. “I forgot that I needed help. I didn’t think I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Jay interrupts, voice rawer than it was before. “It’s okay,” he assures. “I don’t mind. Just…” He flails for a moment, words stuck in his throat. Then he whispers, “Turn around for me.”

You do. Quietly, steadily, all the way until you’re facing the bed. Jay’s presence behind you is an impossible thing to miss, especially when you hear the deep, shuddering inhale he takes. 

And then you feel it, the warmth of his hands as he wraps his fingers around the zipper. Your breath is shallow in your chest, heart pounding in your throat. 

You can feel his knuckles skimming the notches of your spine. A slow, deliberate pace as he drags them upwards. 

It’s agonizingly slow. It's over entirely too soon.

You feel his fingers reach the top, hesitating for only a moment before he retracts them. You release the exhale you hadn’t quite realized you were holding. 

Turning back halfway, you meet his eye.

“Thanks,” you manage, more breath than sound. 

“Of course,” he returns, and you don’t think you’re imagining the strain. He recovers quickly, though. Extending his arm, he offers, “Shall we?”

Only then do your eyes rake over him. Jay, it seems, has not made you dress up on your own this evening. 

Dressed in a suit so impossibly well-tailored you’re sure it must have been made with only him in mind, Jay is a vision. Dark hair falls into his eyes, loose across his forehead, flattering the angular set of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw. 

Under any other circumstances, the sight would serve as a reminder of the distance between the two of you, all the ways in which Jay will always exist just outside your reach. 

But his outstretched arm is an offering, an invitation. He’s not pulling away, not stepping back. He’s meeting you halfway, like he’s already decided that wherever you are is a place worth being. 

So you wrap your fingers around his forearm and let him lead the way down the stairs. You let him carry your purse and open your car door and smile at you from the driver’s seat. 

For a moment, it’s all too easy to pretend. That this, whatever is blossoming between the two of you, was never because of a deal. 

That you’re not dying and he’s not doing everything in his power to stop it. 

For a moment, just in the most secret parts of your mind, you’re just you and he’s just him. Two people that realized, somewhere between butting heads in lecture halls and always vying for first place, that you had more in common than you realized. That your differences were actually quite complimentary when you stacked them side by side. 

You pretend that it’s all natural to you, that you belong in the passenger seat of convertibles, wearing an average person’s monthly salary on your body and being treated like a princess. 

In your fantasy, no one feels sorry for you. No one pities you. If anything, they’re all jealous. That you’re the one on the receiving end of the ever-formidable Park Jongseong’s equally fierce affections. 

Sunoo has what he needs to follow his dreams all on his own, and your family was never wrecked by circumstances out of their control. 

You have room in your mind for yourself, for your own desires and hopes and goals. You have time for things outside of studying. There’s space in your life for friends and flings and maybe, you think, glancing over at Jay where he keeps his eyes trained on the road, maybe even enough room for love. 

It might just be a fantasy, but you decide that you don’t want to ruminate tonight. You’re tired of wallowing in your own misery and always worrying about what comes next. 

Is it so wrong? you wonder, to pretend, just for tonight, that this is nothing more than dinner with a boy?

Jay’s pulling into the parking lot before you can fully make up your mind. Taking a tentative glance at the dark building, you frown slightly. 

“Are you sure it’s open?” you ask. “It looks dark.”

“It’s open,” Jay nods. Glancing at you, he amends, “Well, it is for us.”

You balk. “What do you mean, for us?”

He shrugs. “I pulled a few strings. C’mon,” he smiles at you, “you’ll like it. I promise.”

The truth you already suspected becomes more apparent as he leads you inside. The restaurant has an understated kind of beauty. The rich colors and shimmering decor of quiet luxury. It reminds you faintly of spaces like the luxury department store, Sunghoon’s shop. Made to suit the tastes of the elite. 

Like the beach house, the far wall is almost entirely windows. With an hour until sunset, the view is breathtaking. The stretch of beach it faces must not be private, because you see figures in the distance. Couples walking along the shoreline, families splashing at the edge of the water. 

The cool weather keeps the beach from being crowded, but the sight makes you think that it’s probably never truly empty, even when winter sinks its ice-cold claws into the world. 

The restaurant, however, is strikingly empty. 

A waiter, dressed head-to-toe in a sleek black uniform greets you upon your arrival. He leads you past an array of empty tables, bare even from silverware, until he comes to stop at a small, round table pressed close to the window. 

Nodding gently, he smiles as Jay pulls out your chair for you. Once you’re both seated, he lays two menus down with a smile and instructs you to let him know if you have any questions. 

Jay thanks him, and you take a small sip from your water glass, throat suddenly feeling rather dry. 

“Jay,” you start, once the waiter is out of earshot, “why is no one else here?”

Jay shrugs, not bothering to glance up from the menu. “Must be a slow evening.”

“Jay.”

He sighs, setting it down. “Fine. You caught me. Everyone insisted this was the best dining anywhere on the coast, but when I called, they said they’d already shut down for the season. So I…” he trails off, trying to find the best words, “made a few requests.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, no real edge to your words. “I would have been happy cooking at home again, or even at that fast food restaurant we saw down the street.”

Jay’s brow furrows, something in his expression falling slightly. “You don’t like it?”

You shake your head immediately. That wasn’t the conclusion you intended him to land on. “Of course I like it,” you tell him truthfully. Something relaxes in his shoulders. “It’s incredible. How could I not? I just meant that… I don't want you to feel like you have to do all these things for me just because I’m—”

“I don’t.” He shakes his head, cutting you off. “I don’t feel like I have to. I like doing things for you. I want you to feel important and special and valued. Not because….” he trails off for a moment. “Not because of circumstances.” Meeting your eye, his gaze is imploring. “Just because you are.”

To that, you suddenly have nothing to say. 

“Jay…” You’re not sure if you’re warning him or something else entirely. 

He shakes his head, as if he can sense your internal struggle. “Let’s decide on food.”

There, you let him take the lead. Mostly because you haven’t heard of half of the menu items before. Jay is patient as he explains them to you. When your mind is made up, he waves the waiter over with a raised hand.

The sun falls a little further towards the horizon, the end of another day. Beneath you, families begin to pack up for the evening. Couples return to their cards, hand-in-hand as they make their way back up the beach. 

Distantly, you wonder what you and Jay look like from the outside. You must seem like a couple, especially now. Dressed to the nines and sat opposite from each other at the nicest restaurant in town. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume; it would only be natural. 

You can’t quite decide how that makes you feel. Suddenly, you’re rather glad there are no other patrons tonight. The only witness is your waiter. 

Dinner is a rather quiet affair. Conversation lulls before it starts again, both of you skirting around delicate topics. It’s there, though—something that simmers just beneath the surface. A truth that the two of you are too afraid to touch. 

The food is delicious, and dessert even more so. 

When the bill has been settled, Jay guides you back to his car with a hand on the small of your back. His touch is gentle, present without demand. 

Once you arrive back at the beach house, he opens your door for you, falls into place beside you as the two of you make a path towards the entrance. 

Halfway to the front door, your footsteps falter. Jay turns to you with a question in his gaze. 

The sun has already settled beneath the skyline. It’s dusk now. Everything is covered in the hazy dark glow of evening. 

“It’s our last night,” you tell him, words barely a whisper. “Can we go down to the beach?”

He passes a questioning look over the dress you still wear, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods. 

This time, it’s you that initiates contact. Quietly, traces of your hesitation plain as day in the way you bite at your bottom lip, you reach your hand towards his. 

For a moment, you just wrap your hand around his three longest fingers, holding them loosely as your thumb strokes over his pointer finger. 

Your eyes follow the motion. His are locked on you. Above you, the moon begins to glow. 

Jay sighs but makes no effort to move. He remains motionless, pliant under your gentle touch. After another moment, you slide your hand further into his, lacing your fingers together. 

Glancing up, you find him already looking at you, lips parted, eyes lidded, a distinct sense of longing in his gaze, raw and steady. 

“Let’s go,” you whisper. 

Jay makes no attempt to move. He only nods. 

This time, it’s him that trails behind you, led by the firm grip you have on his hand and you follow the path back down to the water. Your pace is slow, but now it doesn’t feel like it’s due to the limits of your abilities. 

It just feels like a moment that the two of you want to savor a little longer. 

When you do finally reach the shoreline, you release your grip reluctantly. Only because it allows you to lift the skirt of your dress up past your ankles, watching quietly as the water swirls around your feet. 

Next to you, Jay does the same. He rolls his pant legs, slightly unevenly, and you’d tease him about it under any other circumstances. 

Now, though, there’s no laughter in your throat. Only a deep sense of calm as you look up at the sky, eyes tracing the stars that have started to shine against the inky black expanse. 

The moon casts a silver reflection on the water, rippling slightly with every ebb and flow of the current. 

After another long beat of stillness, Jay turns to you, eyes tracing your profile. He asks, “Should we sit?”

You look at him, considering. “We don’t have the blanket.” The evening chill is the least of your concerns. You hardly feel it at all. But the thought of letting your dress fill with sand is enough to give you pause. 

Jay nods, then begins to shrug off his suit jacket. Even in the low light, you can see the way his dress shirt follows the motion of his body, the way it sits against his skin. “We can use this,” he suggests. 

It’s impractical and might render the jacket ruined, but if he doesn't mind, you suppose you won’t either. Nodding, you follow him a bit further up the beach, until you’re out of the reach of the gentle waves. 

He spreads it against the sand, settling down on one side. Then he looks up at you, patting the space next to him. 

You hesitate, suddenly unsure. It’s far smaller than the blanket from yesterday. There’s no room for distance, no way for you to maintain space. 

If Jay notices, he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he reaches his hand towards you. You take it, because of course you do. Even with sudden doubt flashing through your mind, his outstretched fingers will always be something you accept. 

Gently, he guides you down next to him, helps arrange your dress so that the fabric doesn’t spill over onto the sand. 

You were right to be wary. No matter how close to the edge of his jacket you sit, your knee brushes against his. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin layer of his shirt. 

For a moment, the two of you watch the waves. 

Then he asks, voice low, “Your beach trip, the convertible, were they as good as you hoped for?”

At his side, you nod, a small smile tugging on your lips. “Even better.” Turning your head, your chin nearly brushes his shoulder. You look up at him, lips parting at the sudden proximity as his gaze falls down towards you. Your voice carries a bit more weight now, the lightness from earlier swallowed by your sincerity. “Thank you, Jay.” His eyes are heavy, laden with something indecipherable. “For everything.”

For a moment, he says nothing, quiet as his eyes search yours. The longer he looks, the warmer your cheeks begin to feel. But you can’t bring yourself to look away, can hardly dare to blink. 

Slowly, he brings a hand to your temple, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across your forehead. 

He doesn’t remove his touch. Instead, he traces a steady path, fingers light as he ghosts them across the shell of your ear, all the way until they come to curve just beneath your jaw. 

“Jay,” you whisper, voice nearly swallowed by the breeze. 

His eyes follow the motion, falling to your parted lips before he finds your gaze again. 

He leans closer, just a fraction of an inch, like the motion is involuntary. Like he can’t quite help himself. 

“This was on your bucket list, too,” he murmurs, breath washing over your heated cheekbones. 

“You’re not a stranger,” you point out, voice more breath than sound. 

“Mm,” he hums. “Do you want me to go find one for you?” But he’s even closer now, his nose brushing against yours. 

You call his bluff. “You’d do that?”

“No,” he admits, thumb stroking along your jawline, angling you slightly. “Probably not.”

“Probably?” you echo.

“Definitely,” he decides, lips brushing against your own. 

You’re touching now, lips brushing, moving against each other with every shallow breath. His fingers splay against your overly warm skin. Stroking, soothing, coaxing like he can't quite stop himself. 

But he doesn’t move further. Even here, even now, he won’t take what you haven’t asked him for. 

“Jay,” you breathe, and he nearly groans at the sound of his name, a low breathy thing. 

“Mm,” he hums again, fingers flexing, nose brushing. 

“Kiss me,” you tell him. 

He releases an exhale, long, deep, desperate, and then he’s finally pressing forward. His hand beneath your jaw serves as an anchor as he finally increases the pressure, lips parted against yours like he wants to breathe you in. 

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing as he takes your bottom lip between his. His lips part against yours, and you do your best to follow the motion, moving with him. 

The pace he sets is gentle, tentative, searching. As if he has all the time in the world and plans to spend it with his mouth on yours. 

There’s nothing demanding in his touch, even as his breath begins to quicken, as his sighs start to sound more strangled, lower in his chest. 

It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s gentle and sweet and so impossibly slow. 

His hands, however, can’t seem to decide where to land. Once they’ve had their fill of your jaw, they fall to your neck, the pulse point that jumps in your throat. The skin of your shoulders, the length of your spine. Eventually, they settle at the small of your back, pulling gently as he encourages you further into his space. 

You release a breathy exhale, head full of stars and sighs and him.

Above you, the moon glows. The ocean laps against the shore. Jay moves his affections from your swollen lips to the angle of your jaw, trailing downwards below your ear until he finds a place that makes you shudder. 

But when his hand comes to your arm, he feels the goosebumps that have started to rise. 

Lips still on yours, you feel him frown. “You’re cold.”

You shake your head, mind spinning as you try to catch your breath. “I’m fine.”

It’s no use. Jay presses one more kiss against your lips before moving to your cheekbone. He lays a gentle kiss there too. One last kiss finds the tip of your nose before he leans back.

“Come on,” he urges, “Let’s go.”

“But—” you start to protest, words dying on your lips. You’re afraid to move, afraid that leaving your place on the right side of his suit jacket will shatter the illusion, will send you plummeting back to a reality you’re not ready to face. 

“I know,” Jay whispers, like he understands, like he feels it, too. “It’s okay.”

He helps you stand, and then he brushes off the sand from his jacket before settling it over your shoulder. The kiss he presses against your lips after securing it into place surprises you. He smiles at your wide eyes, something unbearably fond in his gaze as he catches your hand in his own. 

The walk back to the house is quiet, save for the sound of your breath. Once you’re both inside, Jay turns back to you, cradling your head as you look up at him in surprise before kissing you again. Once, twice, three times before he finally pulls his lips away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Sorry,” he says. “I like doing that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you shake your head. “I…” Even with his admission laid bare, it’s hard to find the courage, the honesty to do the same. For him, you manage, “I do, too.”

Jay smiles at that, leaning back as his eyes trace over you. They catch for a moment on the unmistakable flush, on your slightly swollen lips. 

He swallows, shakes his head. 

He tells you, “It’s late. We should probably get some sleep.”

You nod at the suggestion. It is late, after all, and you’ll have to drive back tomorrow. 

Tomorrow. The thought of a new day has sudden dread curling deep in your gut. 

Jay takes your hand in his again as he leads you up the stairs. At the top, he hesitates for a moment before dropping it. Eyes on yours, he tells you quietly, “Good night.”

You return the sentiment. Your words are done, but both of you hover a moment longer. Night, this night, feels like a bubble that the sunrise will inevitably burst. Neither of you are quite ready to let it go. 

Jay nods gently towards your bedroom door behind you. “Go,” he urges, even if you can see his unwillingness written across his features. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

You know he will be, but that’s not what you’re worried about, not what has you hesitating. 

Still, you nod, hoping your thoughts don’t play out as openly across your features as you fear they might. Then, you turn, walking towards your bedroom. Hand hovering on the handle, you turn back only once. 

“Good night, Jay,” you tell him again. 

He nods, expression full of something you can only call longing. “Sleep well.”

The water from your shower falls relentlessly against your skin, sharpens the events of the day into something sobering. 

You kissed Jay. You kissed him. Your thoughts swirl just as surely as the water that circles the drain, but no matter how long you search them, you can’t find anything that stings like regret. 

Even as you step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body before drying your hair. Even as you pull a pair of worn pajamas over your body, you can’t bring yourself to wish it hadn’t happened. 

You don’t regret it, you realize, pulling back the covers as you sink into your bed. It may complicate things, it will surely make them more difficult, but even if given the chance to relive the evening, you wouldn’t change anything. 

In fact, the only thing you’d do is—

No. Even in the privacy of your own mind, the thought swims like a bad idea. 

Still… 

Your eyes fall on the door across from you. You debate internally for a moment, logical parts of yourself warring with the ones fueled by self-serving desire. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you whisper out loud to your empty bedroom. And then you stand up from your bed. 

The distance from your bedroom to his feels even shorter now. Fueled by a sudden stroke of bravery, you knock three times against his door before you can talk yourself out of it. 

You’re being ridiculous. You already said goodnight. He’s probably asleep, anyway—

In front of you, Jay’s door opens, just enough to reveal him. Hair messy like he’s been tossing and turning, Jay’s eyes are wide when he looks down at you. 

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks. You’re reminded of the list you found, of hospitals and pharmacies and emergency contact information. Of just how prepared he was to take care of you. “Is something wrong? We can go—”

“Jay,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I’m fine.” But there, your words die. You hadn’t planned this far ahead. Haven't decided what to say now that he’s in front of you. “I just…” you try. Deciding that beating around the bush will get you nowhere, you ask, “Can I sleep with you?”

Jay’s eyes widen even further at that, lips parting as your request sinks in. 

Immediately, your cheeks flame as you realize the connotation. “I don’t—” Your words die on your lips, embarrassment making you struggle through speech as you try to remedy the institution. “I didn’t mean—I’m not ready for… that.” You wince internally, then outwardly. “I just,” you sigh, fingers finding the hem of your sleep shirt. “It would be nice, I think. To be close.”

For a moment, Jay says nothing. And then he opens his door further, stepping aside to let you in. 

His room is similar to yours in both layout and appearance. He hasn’t drawn his curtains shut, though. You can see the moon shining outside, casting a silver glow across the space. 

You aren’t particularly concerned with the window, though. Your attention falls to his bed. There’s enough space for you to both fit comfortably, but there are no illusions to be had here. No pretence of maintaining distance. 

Jay walks to the bed, pulling back the blanket as he looks back at you. “Here,” he nods. Considering for a moment, he adds, “Unless you prefer the other side.”

You shake your head. “This side is good.”

Slowly, you crawl into the space between the blanket and the sheets. Jay walks around to the other side of the bed, pulling back the blanket there as he does the same. 

It’s dark. Laying down against his pillows, you turn to face him. You can make out his features — the angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips — but only just. 

For a moment, the two of you just lie like that. Motionless, looking at one another. 

Then, Jay reaches for you. Hand settling around your hip, he pulls you closer, all the way until you’re nestled against his chest. 

He looks down at you, the faint trace of a smile on his lips. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you return. 

Then, slowly, he’s leaning down. All the way until his lips meet yours. 

Like the beach, it’s slow, searching. Careful, like you’re something precious. 

Night settles around you quietly, steadily. The moon climbs higher into the sky while the two of you trade giggles and whispers. And between it all, kisses. 

Eventually, the pull of sleep becomes too strong to ignore. Your eyelids flutter shut, breath evening out while your head rests against his chest. 

You’re still not sure what tomorrow will bring, what the morning light will do to whatever fragile thing has just taken flight. But tonight, wrapped in Jay’s arms with evidence of his affection on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and somewhere deep within your heart, happiness feels like it might not be so terribly out of reach as you once thought. 

….. 

You wake to sunlight. Beneath your cheek, Jay’s heartbeat is steady, even. 

He feels you stir, arm adjusting as you come to. 

“Good morning,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. 

“Mm,” you hum, still trying to shake the lingering sleepiness from your mind. The events of the previous night come back to you. The restaurant, the beach. Kissing Jay, falling asleep next to him, in his arms. 

You wait for the wave of regret to crash over you like a tidal wave. But it never comes. Instead, you squint at the sunlight streaming in through the window. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

“Almost noon,” Jay tells you. That surprises you. You can’t remember the last time you slept past eight. It also affirms your dread. “We’ll have to leave soon.”

You nod, pulling yourself up to a sitting position. 

The coming week is not one you’re rushing to get back to. Your next round of treatment starts tomorrow, which means Sunoo and your mother will be on their way back as well. You’re excited to see them, of course, but…

Glancing down at where Jay is still splayed across the sheets, you sigh. You’re not ready to leave this behind you. 

Again, you decide gratitude is in order. “Thank you, Jay,” you tell him again. “For everything. I can’t believe I actually got to come here.” Looking around, it still feels too good to be true. “I never thought I’d actually get to see the beach, to do all those things on my bucket list.”

Jay smiles up at you, a soft warm thing. “All that’s left now is the northern lights.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “That’s not going to happen. It’s okay, though. I crossed it off the same night I wrote it. It’s not an actual part of the list.”

“Mm,” Jay hums, but something in his expression tells you he’s not going to let it go so easily. 

“Besides,” you argue, changing the subject. “I also haven’t technically kissed a stranger.”

At that, Jay’s lips pull into a flat line. “I’m a stranger enough,” he grumbles. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, something sly in your gaze. It’s fun to tease him like this, you think. There’s something horribly endearing about watching him get sulky. “I don’t think it would be very safe or responsible of me to agree to spend the night in a new city with a stranger—”

Jay’s movement is so sudden it nearly has your heart jumping out of your throat. In one sweeping motion, he rises from his position against the pillows, hands on your shoulders until you’re the one beneath him.

Flat on your back, head on the pillows, he hovers above you. 

“Hi,” he breathes, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. “My name is Jay. Nice to meet you.”

“Jay, what are you—”

“Shh,” he shushes above you. “I’m a stranger.” 

There’s a gleam in his eyes, a giggle on your lips from the absurdity of it all that dies as he lowers himself. Slowly, but with intention.

All the way until his lips find yours. Like the night before, it’s slow at first. Gentle, searching, like he’s afraid you'll evaporate beneath him.

Under him, you sigh. He swallows the sound. For a moment, his lips are slack against yours. Just there, breathing. 

Then, he renews his efforts. Jay is more insistent this time as his lips find yours with a renowned fervence. 

You do your best to keep up, breath becoming more shallow with every passing second. You're having a hard time catching it until Jay decides he finds the space just beneath your ear fascinating and redirects his attention there.

Your heart beats traitorously in your chest. Sighing, singing, yearning even though you promised yourself yesterday that you would maintain distance. 

You sigh, out loud this time, hands splaying against his chest as his mouth works against your throat, fingers coming to your jaw as he angles you to his liking. 

Moments bleed to minutes until enough sense comes back to you to remember that a world does exist outside the two of you. That the time is only getting later. 

“Jay,” you sigh, just as reluctant to let go as he is. When the sound of his name seems to do nothing but encourage him further, you try again. “Jay.”

This time, he pulls back from you, only slightly. Just enough to meet your reluctant gaze.

Lips swollen, hair messy where your fingers ran through it, you have half a mind to just pull him back down to you. 

“It’s almost noon,” you remind him. By now, the hour has probably arrived.

“Yeah,” he agrees, breath ragged where he looks down at you. “Yeah,” he repeats, closing his eyes. “You’re right.”

But Jay seems to feel the same reluctance plaguing you. His movement is just as slow as yours as he begins to pack up his belongings, just as hesitant as you feel when he tells you the car is ready. 

When you slide down into the passenger seat next to him this time, he waits for a moment before starting the engine. 

Glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, he hesitates for a moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous. After everything, it seems almost laughable. 

 But his voice shakes a little when he finally says, “I have something for you.”

Another gift? You almost want to refuse, just based on the principle of it all.

“It’s nothing big,” he adds. “Just…” His words trail off as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small heart-shaped stone. “Here,” he holds it out to you. “For your collection,” he explains. 

A confused furrow builds between your brows. Taking it, you ask, “My collection?”

Jay nods. “Didn’t you say you used to collect rocks when you were younger?” Pausing, a flicker of doubt crosses his features. “I swear you mentioned it on the drive over.”

You did. But it was such a minute detail, such an offhanded comment that you hardly remember it. You certainly never expected him to. 

And you might not have added any rocks to your collection since you were seven years old, might not even know where any of your tiny treasures ended up, but that’s not the point. 

The point is that he cared enough to listen. To remember. To think of you while he walked down the beach and stumbled across a rock shaped like a heart. To pick it up and slide it into his pocket thinking that you might like it, that it might feed that same youthful delight that made you start your collection in the first place. 

If the last two days are nothing but an illusion, Jay has just made it a million times harder to let go of. 

You run your finger around the worn edges of the rock. It really does look like a heart. Then, you set it down on your lap, your smile holding steady as he pulls out of the driveway. 

Even later, once you’re back on the road, this still feels a little bit like a world that belongs to only the two of you. That neither of you are quite ready to say goodbye to. 

The illusion holds steady on backroads and down highways, all the way until you’re nearly back to the hospital when the buzzing of your phone breaks through the quiet. 

Pulling it out, you glance at the called ID. 

“Who is it?” Jay asks. 

“Sunoo,” you tell him before answering. “Hello?” you say into the receiver. 

“____.” Sunoo says your name on the other end. “Where are you?”

In your sudden scramble to answer, you don’t realize how strange of a question it is for him to be asking in the first place. 

Immediately, you suppose the most believable response is—

“Just at the hospital,” you tell him, trying to disguise the telltale lilt to your voice that always comes out when you lie. 

Jay turns to you, a question in his gaze. You shrug in response. 

“Really?” Even through the phone, your brother’s voice has a strange edge to it.

“Yes, really,” you tell him, trying not to let the speaker pick up on too much of your nervous laughter. “Where else would I be?” 

“I don’t know,” Sunoo says, “But I’m at the hospital right now.” The ice cold shock of dread that pools in your stomach is immediate. “I managed to get an extra day off, so I came early. I wanted to surprise you,” he adds, every new word making you feel like you’ve suddenly been submerged in ice.

“But when I got here,” he continues, “Hana said you weren’t here. She said you left for a couple of days.”

Your pulse spikes. You have no idea how you’re going to justify this, what excuse you could possibly come up with—

Sunoo deals his last card. “With your boyfriend.”

…..

The scene in front of you would be comical if Sunoo’s scrutinizing glare wasn’t also pointed in your direction. 

Thankfully, it’s now focused, and rather intensely at that, on Jay, who sits at your side. He shifts uncomfortably and the tiny motion has his arm brushing against yours. Just barely, but it’s enough.

Sunoo tracks the movement with a frown.

“So, you’re not dating?” He asks again, eyes narrowed like he still doesn’t believe you. 

“No,” you shake your head.

Unbidden, you remember the feel of his arms around you this morning when you woke to sunlight. The press of his lips against—

No. This is hardly the time and certainly not the place. 

“Then why did Hana say you are?” Sunoo asks.

Hana. Of course. That stupid assumption neither of you ever bothered to correct, all the way back before any of this really started. Before you made your deal, before you understood the consequences of it.

You shrug, doing your best to feign nonchalance. “She must have misunderstood. Jay is my…” you trail off, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence. After another beat of silence, you settle on, “friend. We’re in the same major, and we have some classes together.”

I owe him more than I can even begin to describe. The words remain unsaid, but they hang distractingly in the air between you and the boy at your side. 

“You never mentioned him.” Sunoo frowns. 

“It’s new,” Jay says, finally breaking his silence. “We ended up sitting next to each other in class this semester.”

At that, Sunoo’s brow only arches higher. “New,” he echoes, “but you went on an overnight trip together somewhere hours away?”

“I mean, these aren’t exactly normal circumstances,” you point out. “Yes, I suppose most people would wait longer, but…” Your words trail off, the obvious implication lingering in the air.

“Right.” Sunoo nods, lips suddenly tight. He tilts his head for a moment, considering. Then, a moment later, he turns to the man at your side. “Jay, was it?”

Jay nods, eyes widening slightly from the direct address. “Yeah.”

“I suppose it’s a little late for introductions, but I’m Sunoo.”

“I know.” Jay nods. “She’s told me about you.”

“Mm,” Sunoo hums. You don’t think you’re imagining the way he sits up a bit straighter. It’d be funny if it weren’t so embarrassing—the sight of your brother, sweet, gentle Sunoo, trying to look intimidating. Turning back to you, he says, “Well, I was about to see if you wanted to get lunch. Somewhere other than the hospital cafeteria this time.” He pauses, glancing at the clock. “Although I suppose it’s closer to dinner time now.” You think you must be hearing things when he looks at Jay again and asks, “Would you like to join us?”

If he’s as surprised as you are, Jay hides it well. You only catch a flicker of it, some unnamed emotion that crosses his features, before he nods. Once, slowly.

Then, once the idea has a moment to settle, he tells Sunoo, “I’d like that.”

Dinner is a quiet affair at first. 

Sunoo’s probing questions get one word answers at best, and you and Jay make a mission of avoiding as much eye contact as possible. 

“Okay,” Sunoo finally says after another ten minutes of uncomfortable silence. “I believe you. You’re not dating. Actually I’m starting to wonder if the two of you even like each other.”

An assumption that’s probably safer, even if the sudden memory of Jay’s bed this morning begs to differ. 

You sigh. “Sorry, Sunoo,” you apologize. “It’s just…” you glance at Jay then back to your brother. “It’s awkward.” 

“Right,” Sunoo nods. “Which is why we’re at dinner. To get to know each other. To make it less awkward.”

But between the three of you, Sunoo seems to be the only one blessed with the gift of easy conversation and small talk. 

To his credit, Jay tries. He answers Sunoo’s questions about his classes and his hobbies and his interests outside of school.

But when the food comes, he winces slightly when he bites into the steak he ordered. A minuscule movement that's gone as quick as it comes, but Sunoo notices.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “It’s not good?”

“No,” Jay shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Sunoo raises a brow. 

“Good,” Jay clarifies. “It tastes good.”

“You winced.”

“I didn’t,” Jay lies. “I just…”

“Winced,” Sunoo supplies again. 

Jay hesitates for a moment. Then he admits, “It is good. Really. It’s just a little dry.”

To both of your surprise, Sunoo nods enthusiastically. “Right?” He agrees. “I thought so, too. I’ve been researching common restaurant steak preparation methods lately. I feel like this was probably pan seared, but the heat was too high. That’s why—“

“It’s so dry,” Jay finishes for him, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah, you have to be careful when you’re searing. It’s always better to go low and slow, but the dinner rush doesn’t always leave enough time for the perfect sear.”

Watching their conversation unfold, you’d roll your eyes if you didn’t feel such a strong flash of unadulterated relief surge through you.

It would seem that the two of them have found common ground. From there, the awkward silence is anything but.

And it seems Jay was afflicted with false modesty when he told you his mom only taught him a little bit in the kitchen. Sunoo spends the rest of the evening picking Jay’s brain about different recipes and cooking techniques, all of which he seems to be intimately familiar with. 

You’d be surprised if you didn’t know him better, if you weren’t already aware of how obsessive he is about things that interest him. 

So instead, you breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, all the effort you put into keeping them from each other feels a little silly. Of course you still have no intention of letting your brother know about the deal you made, but watching the two of them talk together, you wonder if your fear of letting your family get to know more about your life was misplaced.

Jay, despite the rather unorthodox start of your friendship, seems to fit in just fine.  

Even if cooking is the only common denominator they’ve established so far, there’s something heartwarming about it. 

Something that makes you smile as you watch them go back and forth, debating spices and wine pairing and the merits of various cooking oils. 

Not for the first time, you wish things were different. That the circumstances that brought the three of you together today weren’t shrouded in secrecy. In that terrible, looming weight of your illness. 

You wonder what it would be like, under normal circumstances, to introduce the two of them. 

Maybe, you think, in this fantasy world, Sunoo’s assumption would have been correct. Maybe there wouldn't have been anything holding you back from saying yes to good things that come your way and returning affection like it’s second nature. 

Maybe, just maybe, Jay would be fighting for a different kind of approval from your brother. 

Not as your friend, not as your classmate. 

Maybe he’d be fidgeting in his seat for a different reason entirely. Trying to earn the respect and good faith of your family as your boyfriend instead of one half of a bargain you made in secret.

At first, the thought makes you smile.

Then, it makes your heart clench, sends a deep, resonant ache scattering through your bones. Then, it makes you feel a little bit like crying.

…..

Your second round of treatment begins the same morning dew freezes on the leaves just outside the window of your hospital room. 

It’s winter now. The unmistakable chill in the air is evidence enough.

Sunoo and your mother visit again, both of your hands enclosed in theirs while Doctor Kim settles the IV into place. You know what to expect now. You understand the fatigue that will follow, the wide array of symptoms that you’ll be likely to experience for the next week.

It doesn’t make it easier, not exactly, but there is a small sense of comfort in facing the known. In familiary, even if it isn’t pleasant.

And this time, Jay didn’t make himself scarce upon the arrival of your family. Instead, he greeted Sunoo with a nod and looked into your mother’s eyes while he shook her hand and introduced himself. 

When he turns to say hello to Hana, your mother mouths at you behind her hand with wide eyes and an approving smile, “He’s handsome.”

You wave her off with a glare. Sunoo just laughs, feigning some lie about a joke he suddenly remembered when Jay asks him what’s funny. 

It feels good to have them all here with you, even if it’s only for now. Your mother and Sunoo will have to return home for a few days, but until then, you’ll cherish your time together. 

Life passes similar to the way it did with your first treatment cycle. You sleep. You eat. You talk with your family, with Jay. You try reading and abandon it when your head starts to throb. Try knitting and set the needles to the side when your beginner’s mistakes make you feel more frustrated than entertained. 

Then, one afternoon, you’re disturbed from a light, restless sleep with a knock at your door.

You know it’s not your family, who left this morning with teary eyes and promises to return this coming weekend. You know it’s not Jay, who’s currently sitting in his least favorite lecture, if the string of angry emojis he sent you fifteen minutes ago are anything to go by.

Hana told you she would check on you this evening around dinner, which a glance at the clock confirms is still hours away. 

A frown creases your brow. Besides them, you haven’t had any other visitors. 

Despite your confusion, you manage a weak, “Come in.”

Then, the door to your room opens slowly, and through it, enters a man.

Tall, polished, and clean with an undeniable aura of refinement, you’re sure you’ve never seen him before. Although, the longer you look, the more he starts to bear a certain resemblance to…

The breath that passes your lips in a shaky exhale is involuntary.

If the boy you know were older, sharper, crueler, then the man making his way towards you would be nearly identical to Jay.

“Miss ___,” he breaks the silence as he comes to stand at the foot of your bed. His voice is cold, even. “I’ve been hoping to make your acquaintance.”

Your position, lying flat against your pillows, suddenly feels like humiliation. A stark contrast of the differences between you and him. As if his gaze is an assessment you’re failing horribly. Gritting your teeth through the exertion, you push yourself up into a sitting position.

“Forgive me,” you manage, voice more strained than you hoped. “Have we met before?”

The man just shakes his head. A smile crosses his lips, but there’s no warmth in it. No reassurance. Instead, it makes the temperature of the room suddenly feel ten degrees cooler. 

You suppress a shiver.

“No, I don’t believe we have. Forgive my lack of manners. I won’t waste your time, Miss ____. I can see that you’re rather…” He trails off, eyes flickering between the IV bag attached to your arm and vitals monitor at your side, “occupied,” he finishes.

Then, meeting your eye again, he confirms your worst suspicions. “I’m Park Jongseong’s father.”

Immediately, your head swims. Why is he here? What does he want with you?

True to his word, at least, he doesn’t leave you in the dark for long. 

“Tell me,” he says, voice slippery as it weaves around your ears. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son?”

Your lips press together. You haven’t learned much about Jay’s father, but nearly everything you know paints him in a rather unfavorable light. This current interaction included.

The contrast between him and his son is stark, you think. They both have a certain air to them, a brand of untouchableness that comes with money and practiced grace. But where Jay has learned to bend the unbreakable until it soothes like something soft, his father has only become more rigid.

In your hospital bed, you feel all of two feet tall. It pains something deep within you to admit it, but you’re suddenly terrified. 

Steeling your resolve, you do your best to keep your fear from becoming too apparent. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you tell him, with far more self-assurance than you feel. 

A shadow crosses his features. “I suppose it’s not,” he drawls, “but I think you’ll agree I’m well within my right to question my own family’s financials.”

Slowly, he walks closer to you, all the way until he stands just in front of your bedside table. From his suit pocket, he pulls a small stack of papers. One by one, he lays them on the surface, tongue clicking in disapproval.

The sound of paper brushing the table top is no louder than a pin drop. In the silence of your hospital room, it’s deafening. 

“What are those?” you ask.

“Bills.” He returns his stare to you, eyes even colder than before. “Settled by the trust fund my son shouldn’t even have access to yet. Tell me, have your professors ever covered the potential consequences of forgery in your courses?”

You don’t understand what this is. You don’t understand how he even found you, how he knows that you and Jay are classmates. Why he’s asking all these questions. 

“I didn’t forge anything,” you defend.

“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t. I suppose that’s a conversation to be had with my son. Forgery, however, was done on your behalf. I’d like to know why.”

You press your lips together tighter. 

Jay’s father sighs, like he expected your refusal. “Then again, I don’t really need to know, I suppose. I could just as easily sue for misuse of funds. I’d be more than happy to pass the invoices along to you and your mother. Or your brother, if you prefer. Sunoo, was it?”

At the sound of your brother’s name, your blood runs cold. 

You can’t help yourself then. “How do you—”

“I’m well-versed in due diligence, Miss ___. I know everything I need to know about you and your family. They’ve worked themselves into quite a bit of debt, haven’t they? Medical, mostly. Tell me, how are profits at the restaurant these days?”

At that, you look down, eyes suddenly stinging. It’s one of your least favorite things, the way your frustration so easily builds to tears. You won’t let them fall now, though. Even if every word is like a knife on skin. And you certainly won’t let him see. 

“So, you see, Miss ____,” he starts again, voice deceptively soft. “I know everything I need to know about you. Except, of course, the nature of your relationship with my son.”

“We’re classmates,” you work out through gritted teeth. 

He shakes his head. “Classmates don’t cover hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of medical debt with their personal trust funds. They don’t forge their father’s signature to gain access to it prematurely. Do you have something on him? Did he do something to you—”

It nearly makes you shake with rage, the casual insinuation that Jay would in some way hurt you, that he would use money to shut you up. The cold, clinical detachment with which his father discusses the conclusion he finds most logical. The obvious way with which he so easily misjudges his own son’s character.

“No,” you shake your head. You can’t let anyone, even him, follow that train of thought for even a second longer. “Nothing like that.”

He sighs again. “Very well. If you won’t be forthcoming, then I’ll cut to the chase. How much money did he offer you?”

You shake your head, “He didn—”

“Whatever it is, I’ll triple it.” His words slice through the air like a knife, send a shock of cold careening down the length of your spine. “I can change your life, Miss ___. The restaurant debt, the medical bills, they can all disappear. Just like,” he snaps his fingers, “that.”

At that, your lips part, exhale shaky like your gasping for breath. Your heart is suddenly in your throat. 

“And in return,” he continues, “you’ll agree to never contact my son again. You won’t speak to him. You won’t see him in person. You won’t communicate with him in any way, shape, or form. You’ll also need to sign a nondisclosure agreement, in regards to this conversation, my offer, and any previous relationship you held with my son.”

Immediately, your blood runs cold. It’s as if you’ve been submerged in water, hearing everything in distorted, distant waves. 

Money. Enough money. So much fucking money that everything you’ve been desperately clinging onto by your fingertips is suddenly within reach. 

Your mother could finally rest. Sunoo could quit all of his part-time jobs and commit to becoming the restaurant owner of his dreams. Every tragedy that’s ever befallen you and your family could fade to a tiny, inconsequential blip. An unvisited memory instead of a knife over your head. 

And Jay…

It’s hard to summarize your feelings, hard to put a name to things that have just begun to bloom, difficult to label wings that have never truly taken flight. 

But what was your relationship with him if not a deal? A mutual agreement that benefits both sides. 

He’ll understand, you tell yourself. He studies the same principles that you’ve dedicated your undergraduate career to. He knows that when you’re presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you’d be a fool not to take it. 

He’ll forgive you. He will. 

Still, something in you hesitates. The decision, even if obvious, is not one you’re ready to commit to just yet. 

Quietly, you tell him, “I need time.”

It’s stupid, you think. Even dirty money, misplaced hush money, whatever the hell you want to call this, has the power to change your life. To change Sunoo’s. Your family’s. 

For them, you can do it. You can ignore the discomfort gnawing at your gut, the guilt that’s begun to swirl with fervence. 

He sighs, the deepest breath yet, and then nods one. “You have twenty-four hours, Miss, ___. I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow. I hope you’ll consider your options carefully. Your resume is impressive, truly. You can have a bright future ahead of you, if you act accordingly. I trust you’ll make the correct decision.”

The correct decision. It’s so obvious. It has to be. 

Still, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, the most prominent of your emotions is doubt. 

It’s like you’re spitting on it, part of you pleads. All those years of effort, everything you sacrificed. Are you really willing to bury it all ten feet under just to take the easy way out?

But another part of you can already see the future, painted with previously unreachable possibilities. Why should you have to struggle? Why shouldn’t you take the easy way out?

Is it a moral failing or simply, as Jay’s father called it, the correct decision?

The headache that begins to build at the base of your skull doesn’t ebb in slowly. The onset is sudden, but it spreads with a vengeance, all the way through to your temple. 

Wincing, you reach for the water on your bedside table, pointedly ignoring the stack of bills still laying there like an accusation. 

Maybe, you think, through the haze that’s beginning to cloud your mind, maybe Jay will be grateful not to have you as his responsibility anymore. 

The argument sounds weak even to your own ears. It’s been a long time since you felt like a burden to Jay. Mostly because he spends every second of his time with you insisting on the opposite. 

Still, he’s not immune to rose colored glasses of his own. Maybe this is for the best. A clean break. 

He can stop worrying about you and use his trust fund to add another car to his collection instead. He’ll move on quickly, you’re sure. People like him always do. With a plethora of distractions at his fingertips, it won’t take him long to find a new source of entertainment. 

But even that train of thought will have to wait for later. 

Wincing again, your eyes shutter closed as another throbbing wave of pain circulates your skull. This one feels different from before. Sharper. Glancing at the call button next to the IV stand, you consider it for a moment. 

Hana did tell you to call her if you felt any unusual discomfort after all. 

Biting at your bottom lip, you can’t quite commit to it. She’s probably busy, you reason. Besides, this will pass. Your headaches always do. 

But as another wave of intense, narrowed pain vibrates between your ears, a tiny whimper escapes your lips. 

This time, your vision starts to swim with it, black spots crowding in at the edges. You feel dizzy all of a sudden, disoriented. Forcing air in between your teeth, even that action feels labored.

Reaching towards the call button again, you decide that this is worth Hana’s attention. But before your fingers can close around in, the dark spots in your vision become wider, as if they’re searching for light to swallow.

You feel your head loll forward. Once, twice, until the darkness feels less like a threat and more like an invitation. 

With your fingers halfway between you and the call button, a stack of bills on your bedside table, and an unmade decision waging war in your mind, the world around you goes dark. 

…..

There is no sensation in unconsciousness. 

You don’t feel Hana’s fingers on your pulse nearly an hour later, don’t hear Doctor Kim’s urgent instructions as a team of nurses check your vitals. 

You don’t feel the warmth of Sunoo’s hand against yours as he keeps vigil at your bedside, praying to whoever might be listening that you’ll wake up. 

You don’t feel the damp impact of your mother’s tears as she leans over you, don’t hear the quiet, choked sobs she releases in the somber silence of your hospital room. 

And you certainly don’t hear Jay enter quietly, hands tucked behind his back like a child attempting a surprise. You don’t see the ways his eyebrows furrow when he takes you in, don’t see the way panic claws at his throat, plays across his features when he sees how pale, how fragile you look. 

You don’t hear the way he exhales roughly when Hana finds him there, motionless. When she explains that you’ve been asleep, unconscious, for the better part of a day now. 

Don’t hear his panicked questions or her carefully controlled but undoubtedly sorrowful answers. 

You don’t see the way the two pieces of paper he’d been holding behind his back slip from his fingers, don’t hear the muted impact as they brush against the linoleum floor. 

Don’t see the way he picks them up again silently, tucking them into his pocket with all the composure he has left. 

Don’t feel his hands against your forehead, smoothing hair out of your face as his expression breaks, angry, hot tears rolling down his cheeks in the silence. 

You don’t see the way Sunoo finds him like that, pausing for a moment before he lays a palm against his shoulder, a silent consolation. 

“Jay,” he finally says, breaking the silence after a long moment. “I know this isn’t the time, but…”

Jay turns to your brother, eyes shadowed, face still crumpled. Next to him, Sunoo is equally hollow. The worry plays out across his features plain as day as he glances at you.

“But what?” Jay echoes, voice as hollow as he feels. 

Sunoo sighs. “These were on her bedside, when Hana called us here. After she found her…” he trails off. The sight of you unconscious is enough to fill in the blanks. Jay doesn’t need to hear him call a spade a spade. 

Lips dry, Jay’s mouth parts with more effort that it should. He frowns at the stack of papers in Sunoo’s hands, still half hidden between his fingers. “What are those?”

“Hospital bills.” He casts a look at Jay. Weighted, meaningful. Not accusatory, but leaden with something that carries a similar connotation. “Settled ones. In your name.”

Jay’s lips part, preparing for an explanation that his mind still hasn’t managed to conjure. 

Sunoo sighs. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on. Here,” he nods to the bills, “or between the two of you. But my mom was told that expenses were being covered under a special university fund. If something else is happening, then…”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jay mumbles. 

“Right.” Sunoo’s gaze is a bit more pointed now. “But you’re going to have to. You’ve given me no reason not to like you, but this amount of money doesn’t come for free. If my sister is being pressured into anything, then—”

“No,” Jay shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that.” He takes a breath. “We… we made a deal.”

“A deal,” Sunoo echoes flatly. 

Jay nods. “My family has money. I found out by chance that she was sick. And connected enough dots to realize she wasn’t planning to tell anyone about it, that she wasn’t planning to get treatment.”

“What?” Sunoo’s expression falls, brows slack. “Why?”

“It’s not my place to say, but I think she was scared. She didn’t want to be a burden.”

“She’s not a burden.”

“I know.” Jay nods. “Which is why I offered.”

“That’s still…” He looks uncertain. “You said you made a deal,” Sunoo reminds him. “What did she give you?”

“First rank in our class,” Jay admits. He laughs, a humorless thing. “Not that it matters. I could come dead last for all I care, but it was the only way I could think of to get her to agree.” He casts a glance down at you, as if he expects to find anything other than your expressionless face. “To let me handle it.”

Sunoo is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, he looks directly at Jay. “And the two of you are…”

Jay shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “We never talked about it. I think she’d bite my head off if I tried to ask her.” He smiles, a distinct edge of sorrow to it. “But I care about her. More than I could ever say.”

“Then why did you bring these here?” Sunoo gestures towards the bills still tucked between his fingers. 

“I didn’t.” Jay shakes his head. “I would never—” He sighs, letting the declaration fade. His anger is misplaced. Sunoo is hurting too and doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it. “Those aren’t from me.”

Sunoo’s brow furrows. “Then who did?”

Jay isn’t sure. Not entirely. But he has a suspicion that’s starting to form. That has his vision going redder with every passing second, fingers curling into fists at his sides. 

His lips pull into a thin line, jaw setting in determination. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Jay’s childhood home is hardly deserving of the name. 

Full of more carefully curated art pieces than family photos, it feels more like a museum than a home. 

He’s lived in his own apartment since he started undergrad for a variety of reasons. It’s closer to campus, it gives him the space he needs to study effectively, it’s taught him valuable lessons about the responsibilities of home ownership. But more than anything, it’s given him space away from this—the oppressive perfection expected in every corner and crevice of this house. 

Jay doesn’t stop to reminisce on his childhood as he storms through the foyer, footsteps even but heavy. There’s not much fondness to be had, anyway. He spent more time with his nannies and tutors than he ever did with his father. 

His mother tried, but even the most noble of efforts are often strangled under the crushing weight of reality. She had her own responsibilities and appearances to upkeep. And Jay, although loved, was often left in the dust. 

His father was a different story. He didn’t call upon his son or pay him any attention unless he thought there was a lesson to be learned. He was relieved when Jay was born. A son meant he had an heir. They weren’t royalty, but corporations like the one he heads value blood and tradition in the same way. 

He had his legacy, and that was that. It didn’t matter that his wife had always dreamed of a big family. It didn’t matter that Jay was all alone in a room full of toys with no one to share them with. 

His father made it clear from before he took his first steps. Jay was, first and foremost, the heir to the company. Business would always come first. Always. 

Jay didn’t get to choose his own clothes or friends or hobbies. Children can’t be trusted to make decisions, and his father knew best. 

He wasn’t allowed to finish second in anything or misspeak or do anything that could potentially tarnish the last name he was born with. He didn’t get to decide if he was competitive or self-motivated or ambitious. He was expected to be; he had to be, to survive. Jay’s entire life was a construction of someone else’s making. 

And even when he did well, rose to every expectation and impossible standard, even when he surpassed them, the most he ever got from his father was a mildly pleased nod.

Never a thank you. Never a congratulations. Never a well done. 

Just the same lack of admonition he watched his father use with his least hated subordinates. 

Of course Jay escaped his golden cage the second he could. Even if the responsibilities and expectations remained, at least now he had a place to curse them in peace. 

Jay hasn’t been back to his father’s house since his presence was required at the last family dinner, and that was nearly three months ago. Still, he walks the hallways with certainty. He remembers where everything is. He has a feeling he always will, no matter how much time passes. 

He turns past the second-floor kitchen and follows the curve of the hallway all the way to the end where he knows his father’s home office stands just as solitary as ever. A home office, because the actual office he already spent nearly every waking hour in apparently wasn’t enough. 

Jay wraps his hand around the handle, and without any fanfare or announcement, barges right in. 

Across from the rich, mahogany desk, his father quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Surely you haven’t been out of good society long enough to forget all of your manners,” he drawls, voice even. “You were raised to knock.”

Jay ignores him. Instead, he steps forward, slamming the stack of bills from your hospital room on his father’s desk. The force sends them scattering across the surface, one falling to the floor in his rage. 

Neither man bothers to pick it up. 

“What the fuck is this?” Jay fumes. 

At that, his father’s expression turns sharp. “I don’t know what you came here intending to do, but you are my son, and you will remember yourself. You will not come into my home, into my office, and curse at me.”

Jay’s eyebrows pinch together. Again, without the profanity, he repeats, “What is this?”

His father casts the bills a scathing glance, as if they’re little more than a buzzing fly. An annoyance he’d rather be rid of. “I should be asking the same to you.”

Jay’s lips part, shoulders tense as he tries to piece it together. “Why did you— How did you even—”

“Again,” his father interrupts, with the same cold detachment of a dictator, “I should be asking you. Luckily, our investment firm has quite good security cameras. Tell me,” he drawls, “how long did it take you to learn to forge my signature?”

Even standing above him, Jay suddenly feels like a child again. All of four feet tall. Begging for scraps of his father’s approval, his attention. 

But even caught red handed, he won’t back down. “It’s my money,” Jay argues.

His father shakes his head. “It’s not, actually. Not in any sense of the law. Not until you’re twenty-five. And even that’s operating under the assumption that you’ve been formally initiated into the company. Something that I fear is becoming less likely with every… questionable decision you make.”

Jay does his best to keep his expression blank, even as the fury threatens to boil over in his chest. “Saving a life is questionable?”

His father all but rolls his eyes. “There are charities if you’ve suddenly developed a bleeding heart. Reputable ones. Take your pick, and I’ll have our publicist set up a photo opportunity—”

“I know her.” Jay’s breath is erratic now, even as he tries to control it. He sounds like he’s run a marathon. “She’s my… she’s my classmate. And she was going to die.”

In the stillness of his father’s office, the truth feels unbearable. Jay hates it, resents the way even something as tragic as death can’t seem to shake his father into something resembling empathy. 

“That’s precisely the problem,” he says, with all the cold calculation of a businessman looking to cut his losses. “It’s personal. And you didn’t even take proper precautions. No contract, no non-disclosure agreement… You’ve made yourself into a liability.”

Jay shakes his head. There have to be exceptions, even to the best kept rules. “She’s not going to tell anyone. She’s the one who begged me to keep it a secret—”

“For now,” his father interrupts again, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “But what happens when she realizes just how easy it is to extort money from you? When she threatens to take her story, real or fabricated, to the press unless you cough up another thousand? Another ten thousand? Another million?  When she posts something incriminating on social media and we lose half of our shareholders for it?” His eyes hold nothing but disdain when he reminds, “All from your carelessness.”

Jay realizes then that he can argue until he’s blue in the face. He can search for shreds of his father’s humanity for as long as he wants. He won’t find them here.

He asks the question that’s been dangling at his fingertips since the beginning. “So I should have let her die?”

His father sighs. “You should have spoken with me first—”

“You would have said no.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I would have acted in the best interest of this family.”

Jay scoffs, no humor in it. “This company, you mean.”

“One day you’ll understand that the line between them is not so strong as you thought.” When he looks at Jay now, his gaze is evaluative. Disappointed, as if he’s failed some test. “For now, you don’t. Which is why you aren’t yet burdened with decisions regarding our philanthropy.”

“So I’ll ask you again.” Jay won’t let it go so easily. Won’t let him wrap cruelty in niceties. “I should have just let her die?”

But his response is even crueler. “From the looks of it, she’s going to anyway. How long has she been unresponsive now? A day?”

The quiet, mangled sound that escapes Jay’s throat is involuntary. The reminder of your current state, the thought of his father keeping tabs on you, makes him feel ill. “How do you—”

“Don’t act surprised,” he scoffs. “You decided to involve our name. I have to stay informed now to clean up any potential fallout from the mess you’ve made.”

“And this was how you did it?” Jay gestures towards the scattered pile of bills. “Threatening her with medical bills you knew she could never pay?”

“I merely made her aware of the reality of the situation. Made my offer one she couldn’t refuse. I’m sure when,” he pauses, “if she wakes up,” he amends, “she’ll confirm our deal.”

Jay feels his blood run cold. “What fucking deal.” It’s not a question.

His fathers eyes turn sharp. “Watch your mouth. I won’t tell you again.”

“What,” Jay repeats, voice low, “deal.”

“Money, of course. What else?” He waves his hand flippantly. “It’s all people like that ever want.”

Jay flounders for a moment, scrambling to make sense of it. “You just berated me for giving money. How is this any different?”

“Because mine,” his father enunciates, “comes with stipulations. Protection.”

Jay can feel his heart starting to sink in his chest. He has his suspicions, but he has to be sure. “What are you talking about?”

“She’d have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, of course. She wouldn’t be allowed to speak of our agreement or any members of our family or company in private or public.” His eyes turn to his son. Assessing. “And you.”

“What about me?” Jay holds his breath. 

“She agreed to cut all contact with you. Any form of communication would immediately negate the contract.”

Jay falters, for just a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. “She agreed to that?”

His father watches the way his expression falls, lips tightening like he’s just confirmed a terrible suspicion. “I gave her a day to think it over. She lost consciousness before she could sign anything.”

But still. You’d considered it. You were willing to cut Jay completely from your life for whatever amount of money his father had offered you. 

The sudden punch to the gut must play out across Jay’s features. Across from him, his father scoffs. 

“Let this be a lesson,” he advises. “It’s always money. Always. No one can resist the way it glitters. Whatever… affections,” his voice wraps around the word like a sneer, “you hold for her clearly aren’t returned. Cut your losses, and move on. I’ll handle it from here.”

“Like hell—”

“You’re lucky you haven’t been stripped from your titles completely,” his voice is sharper now. More reprimand than conversation. “That I’m still giving you the opportunity for shareholder initiation at all. Let me be very clear, Park Jongseong, when I tell you that you’re very lucky you haven’t been disowned. I’d have done it already if your mother wouldn’t put up such a fight.”

Jay’s shoulders slump, fight draining from his body as reality begins to sink in around him. 

“You want to save that girl?” his father goads, “Then stay as far away from that hospital as you can. Focus on your studies.” And then, more mockery than reminder, “I expect great things from you.”

It’s his way of ending the conversation. Of reasserting their relative positions, his control over everything. 

Jay’s footsteps feel like defeat on the way out. A coward’s retreat. He feels as if he’s been backed into a corner with no way out. 

With fingers wrapped so tight around the steering wheel his knuckles have turned white, he thinks that the worst of all is that you’d agreed. Or had at least been close to it. Enough to not refuse his father outright. 

You were going to do it. To take the money. To cut Jay out of your life like none of this ever happened, like he was nothing to you. 

Like the time you spent together in lecture halls and hospital rooms and the passenger seat of his car was disposable. Worthless. 

Like the moments you shared in the secrecy of a beach house were easy to let go of. To move on from without so much as a goodbye. 

Despite his father’s assumptions, Jay is intimately aware of what money does to people. The way it warps them, the way it eats at every moral and standard and principle until they’ve rotted down to the bone. 

He knows it’s hardly fair for him to pass judgement. He’s never known the struggle of missed meals or eviction notices or irregular paychecks. 

He tries to understand why. And he lands on the only conclusion he can think of. You’re doing it for them, for your family. 

You haven’t told him everything, but you’ve told him enough. He can guess what it would mean to you—to them—to have all those worries disappear overnight. 

But it still…

It still fucking hurts. 

The thought that you’d so easily agree to just cutting him out of your life completely. He knows that whatever is building between the two or you is soon, it’s sudden. He doesn’t expect to be a priority, for the connection between you to supersede your dedication to your family. 

It makes him want to shout, to scream until his ears bleed. He’d give you the world if you’d let him. But you won’t. The most you’ll do is take reluctant fragments and feel guilty all the while. 

And now, with his father’s iron claws embedded into everything, Jay can’t so much as see you without jeopardizing the future you’ve abandoned him to ensure. 

But even those fears feel small in the face of reality. You’re unconscious. For over a day now. The doctors have you under constant monitoring. They’ve done everything they can think of, but you’re not waking up. 

You didn’t even get the three months you were promised.

Jay’s never studied medicine, but he knew what the look on Doctor Kim’s face meant when he saw him speaking to your mother in the hallway, understood that deep, resigned gaze when he stood over your hospital bed, adjusting the IV dripping into your arm. 

It was the face of a man who recognized what he saw. Who was looking at nothing more than a possibility he expected. Doctor Kim wasn’t surprised when you became unresponsive. Just sighed like he was worried it might come to this. 

But Jay can’t… he can’t quite wrap his head around it. 

There are so many things he wants to say to you, do with you. He wants to make some snide comment and watch you roll your eyes. He wants to take you out for coffee and suppress a smile when you let him hold your hand. 

He wants to hold you, wants to kiss you till you’re breathless. Wants to get caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella and laugh while both of your clothes get soaked through. Wants to wrap you in a blanket afterwards and fuss over drying your hair so you don’t catch a cold.

He wants to bring you to his apartment and cook you dinner. Wants to wake up with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders as he scatters tiny kisses against your hairline. 

He wants to watch you graduate, to earn that degree you worked so hard for. He wants to obnoxiously scream your name as you walk across the stage to accept your diploma, laughing at the way your cheeks flush red in embarrassment. 

He wants to watch you realize every last one of your dreams, wants to remind you how much you’re cared for, how capable you truly are, even on the days they seem impossible.

He wants, more than anything, to be given the chance to fall in love with you.

Mostly because he knows he’s already started to. 

He thinks of that night, back in his car, when you agreed to get treatment. When he watched the beginnings of hope bleed back into your eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking. 

When he realized it was never never altruism that made you hesitate. When he saw for himself that with every fiber of your being, you want to live. 

You have to live, he thinks. You have to. 

All of it, his father’s threats, your agreement to cut him out of your life, he can face it. He can. He can find a way for it to all be okay. 

You just have to live. 

Minutes later, alone in his bedroom with no one to bear witness but the expanse of his own four walls, Jay lets loose the tears that have been threatening his lash line the entire drive home. 

He cries, he sobs, deep, gut-wrenching, gasping. 

And when he reaches into his pocket, he finds it— the surprise he planned to give to you at the hospital earlier today. The two pieces of paper he’d picked back up off the hospital floor. It already feels like a lifetime ago.

Tickets. Plane tickets to Iceland. First class on a flight leaving in three weeks, right when the northern lights are projected to reach peak visibility. 

Helpless, he crumples them between his fingers, squeezing as tight as he can until they form an unidentifiable mass of jumbled letters and misplaced hope. 

Still sobbing, he hurls it at the wall across from him with enough force to put a hole in it.

But empty dreams are still empty. And paper is still paper.

The mangled plane tickets bounce harmlessly off his bedroom wall and fall to the ground in a silent heap.

…..

Life moves in patterns, cycles. 

And despite the unpredictability of it all, it always moves forward.

Days pass. Then weeks. Months. 

Jay knows better than to anger his father, but he also knows that nothing has been signed yet. There’s no agreement to violate. 

Winter sharpens its icy grip on the world, and he spends most days at your bedside. He talks to you, tells you about his day, about all the little things he wishes you could have seen too. 

He holds your hand, pulls your blanket a little more snug around your body whenever your fingers feel cold. Does his best to ignore the way they always feel cold. 

He talks to Sunoo, too. To your mother. Learns about their lives, about your place in them and their place in yours. He likes seeing you from their eyes, loves learning just how fiercely adored you are.

Sunoo rolls his eyes at an old memory, complaining but only half-heartedly, “She always babied me.” 

Reminiscing makes them laugh until it makes them cry. But whatever it is, it beats the hollow, empty feeling Jay goes home with most nights. 

December breaches the horizon, and the semester ends. Jay finishes first in the class, although most of it is due to the work he completed at the beginning of the semester. He’s been on the receiving end of more than a few conversations conveying concern for his more recent academic progress.

Your official leave of absence is given to the university, and one afternoon in early December, Professor Jung makes a visit to the hospital. When she finds Jay already sitting at your bedside, fingers interlaced together, all she does is raise an eyebrow. 

“Jay,” she greets, like she’s not entirely surprised. 

“Professor,” he returns, voice hoarse from overuse. 

The flowers she leaves are beautiful, truly to your taste. Jay tells her as much, and all she does is offer a knowing smile. 

“Take care of yourself,” she tells him. 

Jay spends Christmas with your family, eating food served from the hospital cafeteria. There have been three family dinners that he’s missed since the last conversation he had with his father, but his absence for the holiday is the most egregious of all. 

His mother calls him, and after staring at her name on his screen for several long seconds, he finally picks up on the sixth ring.

“Jay,” she tells him, voice full of admonishment and worry in the way only mothers can manage. “Come home. It’s Christmas.”

But Jay refuses to step foot in that house, refuses to look his father in the eye. To sit across from him like this holiday is some sort of celebration. To pretend that the blood that connects them is anything other than a formality. 

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he whispers into the receiver, guilt rolling when he swears he hears her stifle a sob on the other end. But his mother is used to masking her emotions, and the sound is gone as quickly as it came. 

New Year’s passes, and Jay feels nothing. It doesn’t matter if the date’s last digit has changed. His life feels frozen, stuck in this hospital room. Watching you cling to the last fragments of life left in your body. Hoping against all odds, that today will be the day everyone’s agony can finally end. 

After all, hope is the only thing that’s left. Some days it feels like a bird with wings, ready to soar and fly and sing at the first sight of morning light. Some days it feels frayed around the edges. A torn, tattered thing threatening to dissolve at a moment’s notice. 

But it’s always there. Steady, constant. Alive. 

Slowly, winter begins to loosen its grip on the world. 

Scattered snowstorms turn to rain showers. Spring starts to take root. Jay sees flowers now, on his drive to the hospital. Sees some of the green returning to the trees that line the highway. 

Sunoo and him exchange recipes. Your mother notices the way he fidgets with his hands whenever he’s been sitting at your side for two long and teaches him how to crochet one quiet afternoon. 

Classes start again, and Jay’s mind is anywhere but textbooks. This is his last semester, and it should be a celebration. The end of a chapter, the segue to new beginnings. 

He’s been promised a place in his father’s company upon graduation for as long as he can remember. After their last conversation and his blatant dismissal of his father’s wishes, he’s not sure if the offer still stands, and he doesn’t care to ask. 

When he hounds Doctor Kim for updates, he just looks at Jay with that same resigned expression he’s come to resent. Like he’s seeing probabilities instead of you. “The same,” he always says, voice carefully controlled like he’s been practicing empathy all his life. “We’ll tell you if anything develops.”

Life continues like that, an endless cycle of days that feel repeated, until one Tuesday afternoon in early April. 

Jay is sitting in the library, waiting for his next class to start, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Retrieving it, he checks the caller ID only briefly before answering. 

“Sunoo,” he breathes into the receiver. 

“Jay,” he hears the younger boy say. “She…” his voice trails off for a moment. “Her finger twitched.”

“What?” Jay asks, even though he’s already sitting up straighter in his seat. Already shoving his laptop into his bag. 

“I was holding her hand earlier, and I squeezed her fingers, and she…” he pauses again. “I mean, it was weak, but I swear,” he emphasizes. “She squeezed back.”

Jay feels it then, for the first time in a long time, the kind of hope that feels like wings instead of a cage. 

“I’m on my way.”

You don’t wake up that afternoon, even with Jay, Sunoo, your mother, along with Doctor Kim and Hana, all practically sitting vigil around you. 

But nearly a week and a half later, you do. 

The light makes you squint. It’s too bright, and your eyes have been closed for… You’re not entirely sure.

Frowning, you reach for a memory, something to center yourself. Breakfast this morning, maybe. Dinner last night. A conversation with Sunoo or Jay or maybe Hana. 

Sunoo. Eyes squeezed shut, you search your mind for pieces of the familiar name. Your brother, you think. Sweet, gentle, younger than you. 

And Jay is a bit more disorienting. The emotions that surge at the sound of his name are more complicated, more difficult to sift through. There’s annoyance, frustration, emerald green envy, all tangled together with a strange, budding sense of affection. A deep, poignant gratitude. Bashfulness. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, you think. 

And Hana. She’s… she’s your nurse. Your nurse because you’re at the hospital. Because there’s a malignant tumor sitting just behind your heart. 

Suddenly, the gaps in memory feel terrifying. Why don’t you remember breakfast this morning? Why do you have the strangest, dizziest sense that time has passed without your permission?

Scanning your body, you try to make sense of it. There’s a distinct heaviness in your limbs. They feel exhausted, but not the kind that comes with exertion. No, it’s the kind that comes with disuse. 

Your throat feels as if someone has taken sandpaper to it. Almost painfully dry like it’s been months since you had a sip of water. 

And your head — the ache is dull, throbbing. Persistent against the front of your skull. Like someone is knocking from the inside, begging to be let out.

You don’t hear anything but the steady beep of something mechanical. The faint rush of blood from your own pulse in your ears. 

Slowly, you try to open your eyes again. It’s still bright, but if you squint, you can manage. 

To your left, the beeping becomes frantic for a moment before it evens out again. But it’s enough to draw attention. 

You hear it then, the quiet, desperate sound of your name. The scattered scuffle of footsteps against linoleum as multiple people rush to your bedside. 

A hand against both of yours, a palm against your forehead. 

“Call Hana,” you hear, intelligible even through the surge of emotion in the voice. “And Doctor Kim. Tell them she’s…” The voice trails off, a sob, a choked sound of elated disbelief breaking the sentence in two. “Tell them she’s awake.”

…..

Your memories return slowly, in disjointed fragments. 

Doctor Kim explains that it’s normal, that you’re lucky to be recovering your memories at all. 

There’s no accurate description for the kind of disorientation that comes with missing months of your own life, but you’re grateful to have people at your side who’ve made it their mission to do their best at filling in the gaps. 

For days, it’s enough to just listen. To your brother’s enthusiastic stories and your mother’s fond memories and Jay’s gentle retellings. It helps you to hear their perspective, to stack it against the reconstructions being built within your own mind. 

If your memories return slowly, then strength comes at a snail’s pace. It takes you nearly two days to sit up again, almost a week to walk. 

But you do. 

The flowers are blooming outside of your window, and even on cloudy days, sunlight slants across the linoleum floor in a way that’s almost beautiful.

One afternoon, nearly three weeks after you wake up, Doctor Kim comes with a clipboard and something that almost looks like a smile. 

“It’s working,” he tells you. “Better than before. You’ll be strong enough for surgery soon.” The final step in his treatment plan. Removing the tumor that sits just behind your heart. 

At your bedside, your mother and Sunoo all but collapse into one another, tears streaming as smiles overtake their features. 

Next to you, Jay interlaces your fingers with his, strokes gently with his thumb against the back of your hand. His eyes shine too, and when he looks down at you, you see hope in his smile. 

It’s rare these days for the two of you to find yourselves alone. But one spring morning, nearly five weeks after you regain consciousness, your mother and Sunoo have stepped out for a moment. 

And the last of your scattered memories have clicked back into place. 

“Jay,” you call gently, startling him from his handiwork. In the chair next to your bed, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he works his crochet needles around a particularly difficult pattern. You haven’t told him yet how terribly endearing you find his new hobby. “What are you making?”

“Just a coaster.” He holds up the half-finished work so you can have a better look at it. “Your mom says I’m getting pretty good, though. She’s going to show me how to do dishcloths next.”

“Mm,” you hum, smiling. But there’s still something sitting heavy in your chest. After a moment, you ask, “Can we go for a walk?”

Jay’s eyes widen in surprise. “Are you up for that”

“I think so,” you nod. “We might have to go slow.”

It’s how you do everything these days, with a body that’s still learning to work again. 

Jay doesn’t mind. You have a feeling he’d crawl if you asked him to. “Slow is perfect,” he tells you.

The small garden just outside the hospital is bright with fresh blooms and morning sunlight. It reminds you of a beach house months ago. Of the time the two of you spent there, of everything that happened between you. 

It makes the beginnings of this conversation feel even more difficult to work out. 

“Jay,” you tell him, drawing in a long breath of fresh air. You hesitate for a moment, reluctant to break the peace between you. 

Jay just waits, patient as ever. 

“Last winter,” you continue, “right before I lost consciousness.” You pause. Inhale. “Your father came here, to the hospital. To see me.”

At your side, Jay’s exhale is audible. Then, he tells you, “I know.”

You turn to him, eyes wide. “You do? You never said…”

“Is it terrible if I say I was hoping you’d forget?” He smiles, but there’s no joy in it. “I was afraid if you remembered, then…”

Even as his words trail off, you an fill in the blanks well enough. “You know what he told me, then,” you say. “What he offered me.”

“Not specifically,” Jay shakes his head. “But enough.”

There’s no use hiding it then. No use prolonging it any further. Breathing deep, you gather the last of your courage, your honesty.

“I was going to tell him yes,” you say. At your side, Jay’s footsteps falter. Stopping, you turn back to face him. Eye contact is suddenly difficult to maintain, but you owe him that, at least. “For a moment, I was going to accept his offer. I told myself it was for the best. That you’d forgive me.”

Jay takes half a step closer to you. He shakes his head, hair loose across his forehead, scattering with the motion. “I wouldn’t,” he vows lowly. “I wouldn’t forgive you.”

“I know.” You nod. You do look down then, if only to admit, “I don’t think I could have forgiven myself either.” You meet his eye again, gaze glassy. “Not just because of you, although I’d be lying if I said that didn’t play a part.” 

You sigh, glancing at the flowers before you begin again. 

“My whole life, money has felt like a knife over my head,” you explain. “LIke sand between my fingers. There was never enough of it. I learned how to stop wanting things, to stop asking for things, to stop thinking I deserved things, because it made the truth a little easier to bear.”

You look at him again, trying to regain control over the emotions that threaten to rise. “But I’ve always wanted things. I wanted a better life for my family, of course, but there were so many other things, too. Stupid things, frivolous things. I wanted nicer bedsheets that didn’t feel so scratchy when I slept. I wanted a new computer that didn’t crash every time I had too many open tabs. I wanted nice clothes and pretty jewelry and to finally feel like I belonged in the world I worked so hard to fit into. When I looked at you, all I saw was everything I never had. I resented you for it. I was so horribly jealous of you for it.”

Jay’s eyes are shining now, too. But he doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

“And then,” you continue, “you swooped in with this deal like some knight in shining armor, and I think I hated that most of all. That I couldn’t just save myself. That I needed you, at least in some capacity, if I wanted to live. I never wanted someone to save me, and I certainly never wanted to depend on anyone else. It felt like debt. Like owing you something I could never repay. I was scared, too. Accepting help meant accepting the possibility that it could be taken away, and then I’d be right back where I started. Maybe even worse off. Losing hope is worse than never having it at all, I think.”

You pause for a moment to breathe, to gather your thoughts.

“And then your father visited me, and he promised me all this money. It felt… I don’t know. Safer, somehow. Because it felt like I was losing something, too. But then I thought about it and if I took that money from him… what would that make me? I’ve made it this far without it, haven’t I? I can do it.”

You nod, resolve steeling as you voice your thoughts out loud. “I almost died. But I’m not a victim. My life isn't some tragedy. It’s just my life. There are hard things and good things and everything in between. But if I took that money from him, I’d become a victim. One of my own making. Someone that abandons people they care about and has to resort to underhanded deals just for the easy way out. That’s not me. It never has been.”

You look down at your sleeve, tugging at the hemline as doubts start to take shape in your mind. “I don’t know if it’s stupid. I don’t know if I’ll regret it. But I know that if I took that money, I wouldn’t be able to look Sunoo in the eye even if I gave him the restaurant of his dreams. I wouldn’t be able to tell my mother to rest without the words tasting bitter in my mouth. And,” you look back up at him. “I would miss you. So much. More than I even think I understand.”

You bite at your bottom lip, as if the slight, sharp pain will distract from the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“I can struggle. I can. I have and I will again. But I can’t lose myself. I refuse to change everything about me. Although,” you consider voice losing its edge as something lighter seeps into it, “there are a few changes I have been thinking of making.”

“Really?” Jay asks. His voice is rough as he breaks his silence, scraped raw. “Like what?”

“Well,” you tilt your head, a quivering smile crossing your lips. “For starters, I think it might be nice to have a friend.”

“A friend?” He echoes.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Who knows?” you shrug. “Maybe I’ll even get really crazy and get two friends.”

Jay wants to press the conversation further, wants to go back to the all of the admissions you’ve just laid at his feet and dissect them one by one. But he knows you. He can tell that your sudden shift in topic, in tone, is intentional. 

Admitting it once was enough. For right now, at least, you want to move on. And Jay can do that for you.

So instead of demanding answers, he just gasps playfully. “I never thought I’d see the day.” A moment passes. Still, he can’t help but press his luck a little. Something in his gaze shifts, becomes heavier. “Is a friend the only thing you’re looking for?”

At that, your teeth find your bottom lip again, eyes falling down to the flowers at your feet. It’s spring. If there was ever a time to breathe life into something fragile that’s just begun to blossom, it’s now. 

“I’m still deciding,” is what you tell him. But even as you look at him now, you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours, months ago in the sanctuary of a beach house he chose just for you. 

It burns like a reminder, sings like a promise. 

Between the two of you, at least, you’re certain of this. Things have just begun. 

…..

epilogue

When your phone starts working again, the first notification that comes through is from your brother. 

It’s a selfie of him and the new set of cookware he special ordered last week. As it turns out, years of saving every last penny from every part-time job added up all on their own. Without any of your help, Sunoo has nearly saved enough to turn his dream into a reality. 

All on his own. 

The idea still resonates somewhere deep in you, still tastes a bit bittersweet. For as long as you can remember, a huge part of your identity has come from supporting your family. You’ve prided yourself on helping Sunoo, on easing his struggles. On making his dreams come true.

But your brother has been growing up, too. He’s not a fragile little kid anymore that needs you to shield him from the world. He understands responsibility and disappointment and hard work just as well as you. He’s survived difficult things and come out the other side stronger. He’s not crumbling under the weight of life’s challenges. 

 Like you, like everyone, he’s learning how to live with them and get through them and thrive all the while. 

The restaurant is still a long way from being profitable, and there is still work to be done. Work that you’re happy to do your share of. But the burden doesn’t feel like it falls solely on your shoulders anymore. The responsibility that you decided was your alone has been divided, shared. 

It feels like a collective effort now, and somehow, that’s even more gratifying.

Trying new recipes! he writes beneath the picture, along with a ridiculously long string of smiley faces. 

Beneath it, he tells you, 

Have the best time ever! I want to hear about all of it when you get back. And send pictures!!

You smile at the message. From the seat next to you, Jay leans over into your space, shoulder brushing yours. “What is it?” he asks. 

“Just a message from Sunoo,” you tell him. “He wants me to send pictures.”

“Mm,” he agrees. “Good.” With gentle fingers, he reaches for the phone tucked between your hands. 

Confusion creases your brow as he takes it from you. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture,” he says like it’s obvious. Turning the camera towards you, he instructs, “Smile.”

“Jay,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t slept since the layover, and I didn’t put on any makeup this morning. I look gross,” you protest.

But he’s not having any of it. “You look beautiful,” he tells you. “Now and always.” Gently, he wraps his fingers around one of your wrists. Not forcing, just urging. “Move your hands, pretty girl.”

Peeking from between your fingers, you don’t dare to lower them completely. “You can take my picture after I’ve showered,” you bargain. 

He won’t give in so easily. You should have known better than to think he ever would, even now. “C’mon,” he urges. “It’s a memory. Your first international flight.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “You don’t have to send it to Sunoo if you don’t want to. It can just be for you. For us,” he amends. 

You sigh. “Fine,” you agree, dropping your hands. “But you have to be in it, too.” 

“Deal,” Jay grins. Next to you, he switches your phone to the front-facing camera. Then, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he smiles for the picture. Leaning into him, you do the same. 

You suppose it really doesn’t matter. Whether you’ve showered, whether your makeup is done, whether it’s been thirty minutes or twenty-four hours since your last full night of rest. Whether the plane lighting washes you out or makes your dark circles look a million times worse.

You’ve just touched down in Reykjavik, after all. Over a year since you first wrote it, the last piece of your bucket list is becoming a reality. 

Looking back at it now, it’s almost hard to believe how much time has passed. 

So many things have changed — your energy is still low, even on good days. Sometimes, your memories feel harder to access than they should. You’ll be returning to school for your final semester after winter vacation, and you’re already preparing for extra difficulties due to the brain fog you can never seem to fully shake. 

Doctor Kim assures you that it’s normal at every check-up you have. Promises that it will get better with time, that your body is still recovering from losing so many healthy blood cells, from the surgery you underwent. That it’s natural to feel more tired than you did before, both physically and mentally. 

That there is plenty to celebrate, too. Namely, the fact that months after your first clean bill of health was given, there are no signs of any new malignant cells forming. That the tumor behind your heart was removed successfully. Completely. 

That the three months he estimated have come and gone. That your life is, once again, yours to live. 

And other things, stranger yet, have remained exactly the same. 

For starters, you still feel uncomfortable whenever Jay gets a little too outlandish with his gift ideas. You made him promise you that he wouldn’t get you anything for your birthday or the next three Christmases before you begrudgingly accepted the first class plane ticket to Iceland that brought you here now. 

He broke it, of course, but he at least had the decency to look sheepish.

You have gotten a bit better at it, though. At letting him love you the way he wants to, at letting things go. 

Like when the gate agent apologized for difficulty sorting out the rebooking fee, and you looked at him with a question in your gaze. Jay waved it off, rattling off some excuse about inclement weather that hardly made any sense. More suspicious yet, you swore his cheekbones were dusted with a sudden rosy pink that hadn’t been there before. 

Still, you let it go. The sudden avoidance of his gaze, along with the tension in his shoulders, made you think it perhaps wasn’t a memory he was quite ready to revisit. 

Besides, you know that he’ll tell you in his own time, when he’s ready. That’s the way things are between the two of you now. Affection, fondness, and even something that shimmers a whole lot like love, it’s all built on a solid foundation of trust. 

It’s why you didn’t press the issue in the airport. Why you didn’t hound him for updates on his status in his father’s company post-graduation, even though you saw his updated resume when he accidentally left it open on his laptop one evening. 

Why you waited, until he was ready to tell you himself, that he accepted a different position, one in a much smaller company, one that he got on merit alone instead of the weight of his family name. 

It’s changed things for him, you know. His mother’s smile still sometimes doesn’t quite reach her eyes when she looks at him. He still hasn’t spoken to his father since the day he threatened you in the hospital. 

It took time, it’s taking time, but Jay is happier, too, you think. He’s more sure of himself these days. Trusts his decisions, his instincts, more than he did before. 

It’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but the beginning of his career is something that belongs to him and no one else. He smiles when he talks about it, even the difficult parts, like he’s proud of it, like it means the world to him that he gets to call it his. 

And you, even now, as the dust settles and leaves a million possibilities in its wake, you can’t find yourself to regret any of it. Not the decisions you made, nor the reasons you made them. 

If you could go back in time and choose a different career path, a different field of study, you’re not sure what choice you would make. Without the tragedy of Sunoo’s childhood, if business would still be the path you followed. 

But you can’t go back in time. You can’t erase the past, and you can’t change what happened. You can’t conjure wealth from thin air, and you can’t erase all of your family’s struggles or pain with a snap of your fingers. 

All you can do is move forward, give every past version of yourself grace for making the decisions she thought were best at the time. Trust the version of you that exists now to make decisions going forward. 

At the very least, the future isn’t something you look at with trepidation anymore. After everything, failure doesn’t feel quite so terrifying, after all. 

You’re a miracle now, too. Someone that’s been through hell and back and has come out with the scars to prove it. 

You don’t need perfection. Your life doesn’t have to be something that you wrap into a bow and hand deliver to someone else on a silver platter. 

You’re allowed to take care of your family, and you’re allowed to want things for yourself, too. It doesn’t make you greedy or selfish or ungrateful. You’re learning, too. There are times when it’s hard, but you’re doing your best. Especially when it comes to accepting things from others.

When Jay told you he wanted to bring you to Iceland to see the northern lights, it wasn’t because he wanted to watch you squirm uncomfortably at the differences in your finances. It wasn’t because he wanted you to feel like you owe him or because he felt pity for everything you’ve been through. 

No, it was because he could see it all in his head — you, eyes turned towards the stars in the night sky, a wide, barely controlled smile breaking across your lips as the first rays of light began to dance across the universe above you. 

He told you already once before. Love isn’t some transaction you pass back and forth. 

When you brought him a coffee and a photo of the two of you to christen his new office, he wasn’t totalling up the amount you spent on the frame. He was thinking about how lucky he is to have someone that cares enough to think of him at all, how much it means to him to have a picture of you to glance at and smile whenever his meetings start to run too long. 

Even now, as the plane draws to a stop on the tarmac, he takes both your bag and his, sliding it over his shoulder like the effort means nothing to him. Like it’s as natural as breathing. Not because you’re weak. Not because you’re fragile. Just because he likes doing things for you. 

And as you stand to disembark, your gaze lands, not for the first time, right on the back of his head. Hair slightly mussed from the hours you just spent in the air, the sight makes you smile. 

Biting at your bottom lip, you have a sudden memory of hours spent in lecture halls, staring at the back of his head, cursing the way it always seemed so out of reach, so effortlessly perfect. How desperately you wished you could have been like that too. 

Reality, you think, no matter how messy, strained, and imperfect it may be, will always be so much better. You’re grateful for every day you’ve been given, for all the ways in which you’ve been able to see through the facade and your own misconceptions. For all the ways that you’ve gotten to know him, for all the ways you’ve let him get to know you, the real you.

Reaching up, you brush a few misplaced strands back into place with your fingers.

Jay turns back to face you, a soft smile on his lips, a question in his eyes. “What was that for?” he asks.

“No reason,” you tell him, returning his smile like it’s a secret just between the two of you. 

[soltyshshs]

Midnight Rain

pairings: chef!jay x model!fem reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 8.5k

warnings & content: green flag jay, red flag reader, problematic reader, swearing, the reader chooses her career over jay

synopsis: jay was pure sunshine. zero dark days. zero regrets. being with him felt like having your own golden star orbiting around you, lighting up every corner of your life. so why did you leave the most beautiful relationship you’ve ever known? because staying meant hiding from the future, and right now, you're busy chasing your own dreams…

now playing: “midnight rain” by taylor swift

My town was a wasteland

Full of cages, full of fences

Pageant queens and big pretenders

But for some, it was paradise…

The teenage love story began on a summer afternoon on Jeju Island. The sun shone brightly, and a cool breeze swept across the coast. You sat on a nearby rock, enjoying the ocean-blue view. You had always been passionate about art; every time you saw a perfect landscape, you would immediately grab your supplies to capture the scene on canvas.

Jay, on the other hand, was peeking silently behind you as your brush moved across the canvas, adding lively details. He was a classmate and one of your closest friends. The boy was a total menace, teasing you every chance he got. His antics usually ended with you pinching his ear in annoyance. Yet, despite the endless jokes, Jay was remarkably thoughtful. Because you often forgot to eat while focused on your work, he always made you a packed lunch, scolding you gently for skipping meals. You might have pretended to be annoyed by his nagging, but you loved his cooking. Jay had already shared his dream of becoming a successful chef, and you had promised to be his very first customer when he opened a restaurant. You even made a pinky promise to seal the deal. You, meanwhile, dreamed of a future in the fashion industry. People were often struck by your presence and the artistic way you carried yourself.

“How much is your painting, miss?” he jokingly asked, startling you.

“Oh my god, Jay! Can you please stop sneaking up on me? You're going to give me a heart attack,” you said dramatically, looking up at him.

Jay sat down on a large stone beside you.

“What do you need?” you frowned, assuming he was about to start another round of teasing.

“You?” he countered, framing it like a question to himself.

“Jay, I'm not in the mood for your pranks,” you replied, turning back to your painting.

“I'm serious. I need your opinion on a dish I made earlier,” he pleaded, his expression softening.

Hearing him mention food made you whip your head around, instantly all ears.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you're only friends with me for my cooking,” Jay sulked.

“Maybe you're right. Come on, just tell me, Jay,” you teased, flashing your signature smile.

He let out a defeated sigh. “So, about the dish. I made my own version of crispy pork belly. I want you to taste it because I trust your honesty.”

“Jay, you know I'm always down for food. Let's go right now,” you said quickly, packing up your art materials in a flash. 

Your sudden eagerness left Jay stunned, jokingly wondering if the food was more important than the company.

As you stepped onto the damp rocks, your foot slipped. Losing your balance, you tumbled forward. You braced yourself for a fall, but before you could, Jay caught you. Thanks to his quick reflexes, you were safe.

Held in his steady grip, a part of you didn't want to step away. In truth, you had been secretly fond of Jay since the first day he looked after you. Your heart always fluttered at his acts of service. It was the first time anyone had treated you with such genuine care. Jay was unique, and it made you appreciate him even more despite his mischievous attitude.

You looked at him closely, noting how the sunlight caught his features. His expression was gentle as he stared directly into your eyes. The tension between you grew as the moment stretched on. Finally, Jay softly asked for your permission to share a closer moment.

“Can I kiss you?” he nervously whispered. You felt the weight of the moment as the silence between you deepened.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, closing your eyes as you pressed your lips against his. A swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach. Though caught off guard by your sudden boldness, Jay quickly recovered. He helped you stand up straight without breaking the connection, moving with a rhythm that felt natural. It was a moment of pure happiness for both of you.

When you finally parted, the air felt different. Jay kept a steady hand on your arm as you looked at one another. He waited a moment before asking the question on his mind.

“Can I take you out on a date?”

“No,” you replied. The sudden rejection caught him completely off guard.

“No?” he stammered, his heart sinking.

“Because I would love to go on a date with you!” you exclaimed, laughing at his panicked expression.

Jay grinned and pulled you into a tight hug, feeling like the luckiest person in the world that day. 

My boy was a montage

A slow-motion, love potion

Jumping off things in the ocean

I broke his heart 'cause he was nice…

Jay always brightened up your mood. You felt like you had your own personal sunshine orbiting around you whenever you needed him. You never had dark days when you were with Jay. He provided you with positive energy just like real sunshine. You never regretted saying yes to him that day at the seashore.

The two of you were now seniors in college, and in just a few months, you would graduate together. Jay had pursued his dream of becoming a chef, which was the reason he took up the Culinary program. Meanwhile, you have also followed your dreams by taking Arts and Design as your degree.

You were currently sitting in one of the chairs at the dining table, quietly admiring your boyfriend's back as he stood facing away from you, stirring the chicken risotto he was cooking.

“Love, you look hot just by cooking,” you said out of nowhere, making Jay flustered by your words.

“I am always hot. You just realized it now? I feel bad that you're so late to notice,” Jay quickly responded, turning around a little to show his signature Roblox smile.

Nothing had changed; Jay was still as annoying as hell. Sometimes you just wanted to choke him for being such a menace, but you secretly loved this side of him.

“Risotto a la Ottosir is finally done,” he announced. Even his dish's name was corny, just like him. He called out to you as he gently scooped the risotto onto one of your favorite plates.

“Yeyyyy! Thank you, chef Jjongsaeng, for this wonderful dish,” you thanked him while taking a picture of the food he had made for you.

Naturally, you always captured the dishes with the chef in the frame, too.

“Say cheese for the camera, love,” you told him. Jay made a weird, funny face for the photo.

“Let's dig in now!” Jay said, taking a spoonful of risotto to feed you.

You opened your mouth as he fed you. 

Once again, Jay’s dishes never disappointed. It was always delicious. Sometimes, a hint of sadness hits you at the thought of ever being unable to eat his signature dishes someday.

“I love you, Jay,” you blurted out, making him blush at your sudden words.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your temple softly, full of love and care.

…

You were at the mall with Jay. The two of you had agreed to go out on a date since there were no classes today. As you window-shopped, you stopped by a jewelry store. Jay's mother was celebrating her birthday next week, so he was looking for the perfect gift. 

You sat on one of the chairs inside the store to wait for him. While waiting, a lady in her late 30s approached you. She greeted you politely and extended her hand for a handshake. Being respectful, you stood up and shook her hand with a warm smile.

“Hi, Miss! Nice to meet you. I hope I am not disturbing you, but I would like to introduce myself. I am Mina, and I work for Cosmo Company. We're currently casting new models for our upcoming project to be launched in the U.S.A. next year. This is a great opportunity for you if you're interested. You're so beautiful, and you're exactly the type of model we are looking for,” the lady encouraged, smiling sweetly.

You were still processing the information, but you knew for a fact that you would grab this opportunity. You had dreamed about this since you were a kid. This might be your fate, and you mentally thanked your boyfriend for asking you out today.

“Oh my god! I would love to join. I've always dreamt of being a model someday,” you exclaimed excitedly.

“That's good to hear, Miss. By the way, may I know your name?” she asked.

“I am Y/N. I am still in college, a graduating student,” you said, your smile never fading.

“Wow! Advanced congratulations, Y/N! Here's my business card. The address of our company, as well as my contact details, are on it. You can call me whenever you have decided,” she smiled, handing you the card.

“Thank you, Miss Mina! It's my pleasure to meet you. I'll probably think about it first, but I am definitely considering this,” you reassured her, earning another smile.

“Alright, thank you again! I hope to see you at our company office in the next few months!” she said as she bid you goodbye.

You were reading the business card when Jay suddenly appeared in front of you.

“Who was the lady you were talking to earlier, love?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, the lady approached me and asked if I could be one of their models for a project launching next year in the U.S.A.,” you answered Jay happily, waiting for his response.

“Really?! Are you for real?! I'm so proud of you, love!” Jay hugged you tightly as he spoke.

“But I’m still considering it,” you said.

“No more considering. Grab the opportunity right in front of you,” he quickly assured you, making you feel at ease.

“Thank you, love,” you said softly, holding his hands.

“Don’t thank me. You always support me with my passion, so I'm just doing the same for you. I know how much you love this, and I don't want to be the reason you don't reach your dreams,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

...

You had now graduated with Latin honors, and so had Jay. The happiness you felt was overflowing, but in an overwhelmingly good way. The two of you decided to celebrate your post-graduation success at Jay's apartment.

“Wow, love! So many dishes! Is this all for the two of us?” You were shocked by how much food was served on the table. Most of them were your favorite dishes, lovingly cooked by Jay.

“Yes, my love. This is for the two of us to dig into until morning, or until we get a stomach ache,” Jay joked. He gently wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug from behind.

“I have a surprise for you, Jay,” you softly whispered, tilting your head back as he pressed gentle kisses against your neck.

“Where is it?” Jay asked.

“Let me go first, chef,” you chuckled, successfully escaping his embrace.

You ran to the living room and quickly came back with your laptop in your hands. You handed it to Jay, letting him read the email you had received that morning.

“No freaking way!? You're a model! My baby is a model now!” Jay shouted excitedly. He quickly set the laptop down on the dinner table just so he could lift you up and spin you around the kitchen.

“When did you audition, love?” he asked as he gently set your feet back on the ground.

“Just last week. I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just wanted to surprise you, Jay,” you pouted.

“No, don't say sorry. I'm so glad you're achieving your dreams. I'm your number one fan, always remember that,” he said, pulling you into another warm hug.

You loved this man so much.

...

You were now starting your life as a trainee model at Cosmo Agency here in Seoul. Being a part of this felt too good to be true. You had once dreamed of being one of them, and now you were. You used to fantasize about walking on the runway, posing for the camera, and seeing yourself on billboards and in magazines. You were happier than ever.

Unfortunately, your dream, once a sweet fantasy, was actually a nightmare. There were advantages, but the disadvantages were cruel. The working hours were toxic. You spent more than eight hours a day practicing at the company. You had to follow a strict diet plan to maintain good shape for the public. Your feet burned with pain every day from wearing high heels. Managers would scold you if you disobeyed a rule, whether accidentally or intentionally. You were completely exhausted. You barely had any time for Jay, but you tried your best to adapt your schedule and fit him in whenever you were available.

On the other hand, Jay was finally an assistant chef. His hard work had borne fruit quickly in a short period of time. He had always been a good cook, so it was no wonder they promoted him so fast. He might have been busy, but he was doing well compared to you. Sometimes you envied your boyfriend for how lucky he was—as if the universe were aligning with his fate while you were left feeling miserable in your chosen career.

You were now taking a day off at Jay's apartment, spending some time with him since it had been a week since you last saw each other. Now, your boyfriend was trying to force you to eat a dish he had cooked just for you.

“Love, eat this. I know you miss this Risotto a la Ottosir,” he pleaded with his doe eyes, but you had no time for this.

“Sorry, Jay. I can't eat that. I'm on a strict diet, and besides, I'm cutting carbs. So I can't at the moment,” you said seriously.

This was the first time you had ever declined Jay's food. You usually loved his cooking, but you just weren't feeling it right now. You felt overwhelmed and pressured by the upcoming evaluation next week, so you were making sure you would pass this time.

“Just a bite, please? Say ah~” Jay cutely opened his mouth to demonstrate.

“Jay… I already told you that I can't eat it, for God's sake,” you raised your voice, irritated that Jay was being stubborn.

“A single bite won't hurt you, babe!” Jay kept pushing your buttons.

“Jay, I told you I'm not eating that shit—” As you said those painful words, you accidentally smacked the plate out of frustration, knocking it from Jay's hand. It shattered across the floor, and some of the food spilled onto Jay's shirt. His mind went blank at the scene.

Jay dropped down to his knees on the floor, picking up the broken pieces of the plate you had accidentally shattered. He stared at them silently, remembering how he had made this in a pottery workshop as a gift for your 18th birthday. Jay always used this plate whenever he cooked for you. He was now wondering how he could ever bring back the pieces that were completely broken.

As he picked up the shards, your hands shook. You reached out toward Jay's shoulder to apologize, still processing what had just happened. You didn't mean to break it. You knew how memorable that plate was for the both of you.

“L-love… Jay? I am so sorry. I-I didn't mean to break it,” you apologized, but Jay wouldn't face you.

Yeah, you didn't mean to break it.

“It's okay, love. It was an accident, and besides, some things are meant to be broken. Let's just buy a new one,” Jay quickly assured you, but his tone said otherwise. A heavy hint of sadness lingered in his voice. Jay still hadn't faced you; he simply stood up and went to the storage room to grab some cleaning supplies.

Some things are meant to be broken, right?

You sat there as guilt crashed through your entire system. Breaking your favorite plate made you sad, but being ignored by Jay was another level of pain. This was the first time he had ever ignored you, and you weren't used to it.

Later that night, the two of you reconciled, since you never went to sleep without resolving a fight. You apologized again and told him the reason why you couldn't eat the food he had served. Jay also apologized for his behavior earlier. He said he was just sad that his favorite plate for you had been broken. You told him that you would replace it with something new and beautiful, but Jay's mind wasn't truly on the plate. He just kept his thoughts to himself as the two of you cuddled that night.

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain…

You passed the evaluation, which finally removed the heavy weight that had been pressing down on your chest. You thought you would be completely fine after that, but you were wrong. Your schedule became extremely out of control, leaving you with barely any time to relax.

Jay remained exactly the same. He always updated you about his day and even sent food to your company for you to eat, carefully following your strict diet plan. He wanted to make sure you were still eating and not starving yourself. He left sweet voice messages to cheer you up. He was always so patient with you, and a part of you hated him for being so good to you. He never complained. Jay adapted perfectly to your busy lifestyle, always finding time for you—even if it was just a brief fifteen-minute window to see each other. He would consistently come by your company just to drop off the food he had made and to give you a quick hug. Jay never stopped loving you.

But what about you? Do you still love him?

It was a question you asked yourself, but the answer was one you never wanted to admit.

Your first official appearance was a massive success. You were finally featured in a famous magazine, your pictures spread across different social media platforms, and people started noticing you on the street, occasionally asking for photos. 

You were happy. But did you feel contentment? Not yet. Satisfaction? You still had a long way to go. 

You were a rising model now, but you were eager for more, constantly chasing the level of fame you had always wanted. 

Somewhere along the way, something inside you changed.

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed like midnight…

You were at the mall with Jay for a date, since you had finally freed up your schedule for this single day. You were walking happily with him when a fan approached you, asking for a selfie. Jay stepped back to give you the space you needed.

“Oh my god! You look unreal, Miss Y/N. Can I take a selfie with you?” she asked excitedly. You happily agreed to her request.

After she took three selfies with you, her eyes wandered over to Jay. 

Being a rising model—a so-called celebrity—you had forgotten that the public knowledge of your relationship could affect the career you were trying to build. Naturally curious, the fan asked about your connection to Jay.

“Uhm, Miss Y/N? Who's that guy?” She pointed to Jay, who was standing by your side.

You panicked. The career you were building flashed before your eyes like a sudden thunderstorm.

Jay was already smiling, ready to introduce himself as your boyfriend, but you were faster than him. You cut him off before he could speak a single word that might jeopardize your future.

“He’s my bodyguard. He is just accompanying me to keep me safe. You know, since accidents can happen at any time,” you said with a smile. 

You glanced over at Jay after dropping those words like a nuclear bomb on his entire system.

Jay’s jaw dropped at how you had just introduced him. He had heard that right, didn't he? A bodyguard. Were you for real? Were you ashamed of him? His head swirled with questions he desperately wanted to ask you. He felt small. Did you think so lowly of him now? A wave of numbness washed over him.

“Aww, that's a shame. He looks handsome! the two of you would look perfect together. I was hoping he was your boyfriend,” she giggled, playfully shipping the two of you.

If you only knew, little girl, Jay thought to himself.

You chuckled nervously, able to feel the tension radiating from Jay's body. He was good at masking his emotions, but you could easily sense his deep disappointment.

“Thank you for the pictures, Miss Y/N! Goodbye to you too, sir!” she said happily, waving goodbye to both of you. Jay managed a polite smile back at her.

“J-Jay…” you called out to him, suddenly scared to even touch him.

“Yes?” he replied. You could feel the coldness in his stare, signaling just how much he disliked your attitude right now.

“I am so sorry. I had to lie for my career…” you admitted, waiting anxiously for his response.

“Don't worry, Miss Y/N. I am your bodyguard, right? It's part of my job to protect you—even if that means hiding our relationship,” he replied sarcastically, a sharp edge of annoyance cutting through his voice.

You reached out to grab his hand, trying to interlock your fingers with his, but he immediately yanked his hand away from you.

“Bodyguards and their bosses don't do this, Miss Y/N,” he reminded you coldly, emphasizing your self-proclaimed dynamic. 

He was no longer acting like your lover, but a literal bodyguard.

...

The entire car ride was so silent that the only sound to be heard was Jay's heavy breathing as he tried to calm himself down. His face was flushed, fuming with disappointment and shame.

When you finally arrived at your house, you called out his name once more, desperate to apologize for what had happened.

“Jay, are you still mad at me? Please don't be like this…” You stared at him, but his face showed only one emotion. 

Pure coldness. It was a coldness you knew you could never endure, especially coming from him.

“Why did you deny our relationship?” his voice dropped lower as he fought to control his emotions.

“I told you, I'm just protecting my career!” you raised your voice this time, frustration rushing through your veins.

“Really? Is that all you've got? That was completely disrespectful to me, Y/N. We've been together for almost five years, and you just introduced me as if I'm absolutely nothing in your life,” he said calmly, but his calmness felt dangerous.

“You're really stubborn, aren't you, Jay? I've been working my ass off twenty-four hours a day just to build my dream. I was only saving my career!”

“And I am trying to save our relationship!” Jay yelled back.

This was the first time he had ever raised his voice at you. He was absolutely furious.

“You're so sensitive, Jay!” you snapped, keeping your eyes locked onto his.

“And you're completely insensitive!”

Jay’s voice thundered through the car, startling you. Your once-gentle sunshine had officially become a raging storm.

“I’m the insensitive one now? Wow, how funny.” You scoffed sarcastically, deeply taken aback. How dare he call you insensitive.

“You've become so blinded by your career that you've forgotten about our relationship entirely…” he added quietly.

“Are you blaming my career now?” you asked defensively.

“I didn't say that, you did. I've always supported your career and you know it. Everyone knows it,” he countered.

“No, Jay. It seems like you're implying that my career is destroying our relationship. Is this just because I don't have time for you anymore? Have you ever heard a single complaint from me about your shit cooking career? And now you're shifting the blame onto my job? When you're the one who always shows up at my agency like a clingy puppy? You're ridiculous, Jay,” you spat out, no longer holding anything back.

Jay fell entirely silent after you labeled his passion a "shit career." His life's work, reduced to nothing but shit to you. Himself, compared to a clingy puppy. He let out a bitter, quiet chuckle. He had no idea you viewed him that way this whole time. He just sat there, listening to your painful words slice deeply into his already wounded heart. He felt utterly terrible and hopeless, secretly wishing you would take those words back just to ease his bleeding chest. He had only wanted to save your relationship—to save the woman of his life.

But you weren't trying to be saved.

And if you wouldn't let him save the relationship, who was left to save?

Maybe just himself.

“L-love, don’t say that. I love you. Let’s stop fighting, please?” Jay pleaded.

 Even though you had deeply bruised his soul and left a permanent scar, he stopped himself from fighting back. He let his guard down once again, terrified that your sharp tongue might utter even worse words to break him all over again.

Deep down, you knew it wasn't true. You were just projecting your own insecurities onto him, ruining his peace because yours was gone. He loved you so much, but you were causing him nothing but pain. Jay recalled the memories you once shared, the dreams you had meticulously planned together, and he didn't want it to end. He was terrified you were about to ask for a breakup. He had never complained once before today. It felt so unfair. He just wanted you to listen to how your actions hurt him, but you were too busy surviving in your own world. He loved you truly, which was why he kept fighting for whatever fragments you had left him, even if he didn't know how he would ever heal.

You didn't answer him. A part of you wanted to let him go, even though you still loved him. You finally realized how vicious your tongue had been. Hurting Jay had never been your intention, yet here you were, watching the man of your life break down right in front of you. You wanted to apologize, but your pride wasn't the roadblock anymore—it was simply who you had become. You were too stubborn. You hadn't even realized how much you had changed. Your past self wouldn't even recognize this miserable, pathetic version of you, especially when all Jay had ever done was love you. Always.

But maybe love just wasn't your priority right now. In reality, your career had taken first place long ago. 

Never Jay.

You had supported him once, and you just wanted him to support you the same way. Was that really too much to ask? Or were you asking for too much while completely overlooking every single effort and sacrifice Jay had already made for you?

You were just so tired. Tired of everything. Tired of him? You still weren't entirely sure.

Reconciling felt pointless now, especially after how deeply you had wounded each other. Jay loved you above anything else. And you? You loved everything else above Jay. It was finally clear that you wanted to escape this exhausting relationship. You didn't need him anymore, right? Not now that you have achieved everything you ever wanted. He had just become a roadblock. Maybe you had fallen out of love. You tried to gaslight yourself into believing you didn't love him anymore, but the truth was, he was still knocking on your heart, waiting to be let back in like before.

“Jay, let’s end this now,” you blurted out.

Ice-cold blood ran through Jay's veins the exact moment those words left your mouth. It was the one sentence he had been terrified to hear.

“P-please tell me you didn’t mean that.” Jay grabbed your hands, begging you to take it back.

“I mean it. I’m going to the States next month to fully commit to my duties as a new model. Because my debut appearance was so successful, they immediately offered me a slot on the team. This is a massive opportunity for me, Jay,” you confessed.

Jay sat there, trying to process everything. His chest tightened until he felt completely suffocated. 

“Are you happy with that?” he asked, staring at you with glossy, unshed tears. 

The sight of him was agonizing.

You hummed in response.

“If you’re happy with it, who am I to stop you from reaching your dreams?” Jay finally said, a painful smile stretching across his face. 

Though he smiled, the storm of emotions behind his eyes was too tragic to explain.

“I’m letting you go, love…” he added, leaning across the console to press one final kiss against your temple.

He didn't beg anymore. He knew you had wanted this since the day he met you, and he refused to be the anchor holding you back. He could have been selfish and demanded you stay, but he knew his love would never satisfy your hunger for fame. Even if he cooked a hundred meals for you, a part of you would never crave them again.

You burst into tears, completely overwhelmed. Jay was finally letting you go, giving you the exact freedom you had asked for. But why did it hurt so badly? He was just respecting your choice. A part of you suddenly wanted to stay, to tear up the contract, and start a new life with him without any burdens. Unfortunately, it was too late. This was what you wanted, wasn't it?

Jay wrapped his arms around you, gently holding you as you cried. He wasn't crying, but you could feel how shattered he was just by the way his hands held you. He was pouring the absolute last drops of his love into you before letting you walk away forever.

A loud crack of thunder boomed outside, rain pouring heavily against the windshield as you sobbed into Jay's embrace. You didn't want to let go—not yet—but you knew you had to.

Before leaving the car, you cupped Jay's face and kissed him passionately, pouring every ounce of your tangled emotions into him. His lips felt incredibly warm against yours, a sensation you knew you would desperately miss. Jay kissed you back with equal intensity, his lips moving with a desperate hunger that proved he didn't want to let you go either. Finally, you pulled away, wiped your tears, and slowly clicked off your seatbelt.

“I love you, Y/N,” he muttered one last time, a tiny piece of him still hoping you wouldn't open that door.

“I love you too, Jay. I’m so sorry.” You cupped his right cheek, gently rubbing his soft skin with your thumb as you whispered it for the very last time.

You opened the car door. You didn't even bother grabbing the umbrella from your bag; you just needed to leave as quickly as possible to stop the bleeding. You gently closed the door and turned back one last time.

Jay waved at you through the rain-streaked glass, a painful smile on his face as he bid you goodbye. Through the window, you saw his lips move to form those final words once more…

 “I love you.”

So I peered through a window

A deep portal, time travel

All the love we unravel

And the life I gave away…

Ten years after.

You're now back in Seoul. You just came back last week since you have to attend this one fashion event wherein you will be a judge for the upcoming launch of their designer clothes. You feel honored to be invited.

People know you, you are everywhere. You became successful in the past 10 years. All your hard work paid off. You now have your own magazines full of your pictures, posing for the camera, walking on the runway with multiple flashes as you walk by, and a giant billboard where your gorgeous face is displayed.

You already chased the fame you had ever wanted.

However, no matter how successful you are in your career, always in the spotlight where people can see you everywhere, wearing the best designer clothes, and having expensive beauty treatments, it feels empty. You have a bank account full of millions of dollars, and you purchased luxurious things and a penthouse. You have already tried different types of cuisines, being in 5-star hotels and fine-dining restaurants. Regardless of how expensive and decent their food was, your gut says otherwise. You missed eating the food that Jay always served you—meals that were always deeply comforting and felt entirely like home. No amount of money can buy and feed you food that tastes the same as how Jay makes his food.

But as you sat alone in the quiet luxury of your success, you knew it wasn’t just the food you were missing—and you knew that all too well.

It was midnight. As you peered through your window, heavy rain poured outside endlessly, and the loud cracks of thunder made you remember things you shouldn't. Staring at the glass in front of you felt like looking into a deep portal, making you want to time travel. Flashbacks of beautiful memories and the painful ending of your relationship crashed into your mind. You thought of all the love you both unraveled during that beautiful summertime on Jeju Island, where the two of you had shared your first kiss, confessing your love to one another. Then, suddenly, the memory shifted to that fateful night of midnight rain where the two of you tore each other apart.

The scene of Jay muttering his last, desperate “I love you” kept repeating in your mind—the painful night where the two of you finally drifted apart, leaving behind the life you gave away.

All the sunshine of your past changed you like midnight.

I guess sometimes we all get

Just what we wanted, just what we wanted

And he never thinks of me

Except when I'm on TV…

After breaking up with Jay, you completely lost touch with him. The only update you had received was five years ago, when you heard he had become a successful chef. That was until a close friend, a massive foodie, showed you a video of Jay. He was being featured as one of the top chefs in Asia today, proudly representing Korean cuisine on the global stage. You felt a wave of genuine happiness for him, silently offering your congratulations. He was finally achieving his ultimate dream: becoming a renowned chef who cooks not for fortune, but to give people a taste of true comfort—food that feels like home and is filled with love.

Watching the interview, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he had become. He was attractive back then, but now, he carried himself with something more. His aura radiated confidence, security, success, and a profound sense of self-love—the exact things he needed from you, but you failed to give. It was a painful truth to admit, but he looked completely happy without you.

You were instantly reminded of how you had ruined him in every possible way—mentally, physically, and emotionally. Your stomach dropped as the memory of that fateful night flashed back, specifically the moment you cruelly labeled his culinary profession as shit. A sharp pang of guilt shot through you, bringing a deep regret for every hurtful word hurled inside his car.

A piece of you desperately wanted to catch a flight back to Seoul to witness his success firsthand. You longed to taste his cooking again, especially your favorite, the Risotto a la Ottosir. You hadn't tasted it since the day you accidentally shattered your favorite couple’s plate—the same day you told him you were cutting carbs, prompting him to stop making it for you altogether. You wished you could experience that taste just one more time, but deep down, you knew it was too late. You couldn't help but wonder, would Jay even speak to you after everything? Would he look at you without disgust? 

Maybe he never thinks about you, except when you're on TV.

Eager to find Jay, it was hard knowing there were barely any friends left to ask in Seoul. Most past friends never even knew about the relationship back then, and close friends were no longer in touch. But fate listened. While scrolling through Instagram for the best risotto in town, his restaurant account popped up on the screen. A nervous tap opened the page, too scary to actually hit the follow button. It was safer to just view the profile.

"The House of Rizz’Otto"

A smile appeared immediately upon seeing the restaurant's name. He was still so corny.

The restaurant was not yet open, but the grand opening was happening tomorrow exactly at 12 o’clock in the afternoon, during lunchtime. It was closed to the public for now, and only a few people would be accepted. A registration link in the bio allowed guests to book a reservation and secure a slot for tomorrow. It seemed like an intimate soft opening. But right before clicking the link, a new notification caught your eye.

To: Ms. Y/N Y/L/N

From: The House of Rizz’Otto

Good day!

Dear Ms. Y/N,

We are happy to invite you to the soft opening launch of our restaurant, “The House of Rizz’Otto,” which will take place tomorrow at 12 o'clock in the afternoon. You have been chosen as one of our special guests to try our best risotto dishes.

Please confirm attendance for tomorrow by replying to this email.

Thank you for your time! We look forward to your presence at our restaurant.

Respectfully,

The House of Rizz'Otto

Staring blankly at the screen, it took a moment to process the email. Having a public email address on social media made it easy for brands to reach out for promotions, collaborations, or guest invitations. No wonder the staff had sent a message.

Did Jay remember?

Questions kept spinning about why an invitation would arrive after all the pain caused, and after all these years of total silence. The reason remained a complete mystery.

Despite the curiosity, there was true happiness about finally seeing him again. It felt shameless to show up in front of an ex-boyfriend whose heart had been shattered. But this opportunity was perfect to apologize for the past. The pain caused was the exact reason he became a better person now. He was broken, but he rebuilt and healed himself. The only goal was to congratulate him, and nothing more.

He finally moved on from you, but your heart still longed for the heart you once broke. Pathetic, right?

You dressed up nicely as always, wearing an off-shoulder black fitted dress that hugged your body tightly, showing off beautiful curves. Paired with classic high heels, your hair was curled softly with light makeup on, since you are already effortlessly beautiful. Finally picking up your classic Chanel flap bag in caviar leather, the look was elegant—pretty without too much sparkle. Standing out came naturally.

Before leaving the penthouse, the question surfaced once again. Were you ready to meet him? It felt scary to look him in the eyes, fearing that you might hurt him again. A light slap to the cheeks served as a wake-up call to stop worrying.

Jay wouldn't invite an ex if he were still mad, right?

Finally standing in front of the restaurant, your eyes grew glossy while staring at the building. Memories flooded back of how Jay always talked about his dream of having his own place someday. He worked so hard, showing extraordinary cooking skills and making food for everyone to enjoy. Now, he had finally made it, and you were genuinely happy for him.

Both chased big dreams, but the difference was that Jay was building his career with you, while you became selfish and greedy.

Arriving 30 minutes early was intentional, not wanting to be late for one of the most important moments in life. A past promise echoed in your mind—the promise to be you, his first-ever customer once the restaurant was built.

The goal was reached, but you as an actual customer, not a lover anymore.

The lady at the front desk guided the way into one of the VIP rooms. Observing the space, it felt simple yet like a home, not a restaurant. It was a place where love could be felt. The aroma from the food cooking inside the kitchen drifted out, and the chairs and tables seemed comfortable and eye-catching. The ambiance felt comforting, just like Jay.

Sitting down on one of the chairs, you waited patiently.

Pulling your phone inside your bag, scrolling for a little bit helped ease the nervousness running through your system.

Suddenly, a glance toward the door caught a creaking sound, revealing Jay entering the room. His eyes found yours, making everything stop for a moment. Your heart dropped at the sight in front of you.

He looked more manly now compared to before. His face had become more structured, but the softness in his eyes never changed. Still as handsome as ever, the view made your heart flutter, bringing back memories of falling for him the first time.

The belief that moving on was complete turned out to be wrong, here you were, falling all over again.

His eyes were now lively and full of life, with no trace of sadness left inside. He seemed happy and content with life right now. He never changed—he stayed the same.

Jay welcomed you with his adorable smile—the smile you've been missing for the past ten years.

“Hi, Y/N. It's nice to see you again!” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours, as if observing your actions.

Trying to avoid his gaze was difficult, but showing strength was important, acting as if leaving him was never a matter of regret.

“Hello to you, Jay! It's my pleasure to meet you as well,” you managed to say, trying hard not to fall for those eyes again—the pair of eyes you made once cried. 

“Thanks for coming though, I hope you're not busy. Congratulations on your career, too! I hope it made you happy.” Jay congratulated you, but the words made your heart ache.

Did it make me happy?

“O-oh yeah, I am very happy!” you exclaimed, swallowing dryly down the lump in your throat.

“By the way, I love the ambiance of your restaurant, it's really you. Thank you for inviting me, Jay,” you added, trying your best to smile.

“Of course, we made a promise before, right? That you would be my first customer once I built my restaurant. I'm just fulfilling my promises to you. I'm sorry if it took so long.” Jay spoke as if the painful memories together had never happened.

Seeing him so composed was frustrating, while a complete breakdown felt moments away. A wave of bitterness hits you, seeing how happy he was despite the painful past. Leaving Jay meant real happiness had never returned. It was painful to admit that your life was miserable without him, creating a feeling of resentment for making this seem like it's the worst decision you have ever made. But honestly? The blame belonged entirely to one person, which was you.  

Admitting to yourself that you still love him was terrifying…

“Look, Jay, I-I am really sorry for what happened to the both of us. I know I deeply hurt you with my ruthless actions before, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. But here I am apologizing, e-even if you refuse my apologies,” you said nervously, hands trembling while trying not to break down in tears in front of the man who used to love you.

“I already forgave you, Y/N. A long time ago. Don't be harsh on yourself, hmm? Besides, I am finally happy now, and you're finally happy now, too. Stop holding onto our past. We're just hurting ourselves more if we let it dictate our present,” Jay comforted you, just like he always used to do.

He was right, and the truth was hard to swallow—holding onto the past had to stop.

Before an answer could form, the door opened once more, and a pretty lady entered the room. She looked soft and very feminine. Her presence seemed light, radiating positive energy just like Jay. She seemed kind, fragile, full of love, confident, and like someone who would never hurt people.

She shyly interrupted the conversation. 

The moment she opened her mouth to call him broke your heart once more, feeling as if millions of needles were torturing it repeatedly.

“Hubby?” she called Jay quietly.

That endearing name was supposed to be used for someone married, right?

Oh…

Trying your best to maintain composure during the sudden interruption, a look around the room helped divert attention to ease the tension. But stubborn eyes caught the tiny baby bump poking through the lady's baby pink fitted dress. Your gaze darted to Jay's ring finger, noticing how the both of them were wearing matching wedding rings.

Yeah, a wedding ring. The man and woman in front of you were married.

Jay was a married man now. Not with you.

A sharp inhalation occurred as all the dots connected. The urge to leave immediately took over. Your chest tightened, suffocated by the tension. The realization that Jay was a married man was the final straw.

It was too late now…

“Oh Y/N, this is my wife, Jane. She's 5 months pregnant,” Jay introduced his wife, gently calling her to stand beside him. He caressed her belly like a fragile, rare diamond that no one could ever steal.

“Hello Y/N! Oh my God! You look even prettier in person. It's an honor to have you here in our restaurant. The best model in our country!” she said excitedly, offering her hand to shake.

Our restaurant? Yeah, it was their restaurant. It was supposed to be you, not her.

“No worries, thank you for the invitation. It's my pleasure!” The greeting was accepted with a warm smile, but your heart screamed with bitterness at how kind this woman was. She seemed to have no idea about the past.

“By the way, please excuse me. I have to leave early since I have other errands after this,” you lied to excuse yourself, wanting to escape the drama as soon as possible. It was impossible to handle anymore, seeing Jay finally happy with someone else while you felt miserable.

“You haven't tried our dishes yet,” Jay added, looking confused.

“I'm fine. Thanks for inviting me again, Jay. And it was nice seeing you, Jane,” you said to the both of them.

Leaving the VIP room immediately, your walk turned into a fast pace. Everything felt so overwhelming.

But before you could finally leave the restaurant, Jay called your name once again. Turning around to face him, your eyes darted to the black paper bag he was holding.

“Y/N, wait! Here's some food for you. We just packed it up. I felt bad letting you leave without eating anything from my restaurant,” Jay said, looking concerned.

He never changed. He was still looking after you by giving you a packed lunch.

“You don't have to, Jay. I just wanted to see you again. That's all.” A smile was forced despite wanting to cry right in front of him.

“Thanks for coming, Y/N,” Jay thanked you once again.

“I'm glad to see you happy, Jay. Again, I'm sorry for the things and words I said before,” you apologized, fully admitting past mistakes.

“You don't have to apologize for chasing your dreams. Likewise, I'm glad to see you happy with the life you wanted,” Jay smiled genuinely, full of pure happiness, with no hint of sadness or regret about letting you go.

“I've gotta go now, Jay,” you said, turning your back on him without waiting for an answer. 

Nothing would change anymore. He was happily married, waiting for his unborn baby, while you were left still longing for the relationship once shared.

I guess sometimes we all get

Some kind of haunted, some kind of haunted

And I never think of him

Except on midnights like this…

After the meeting with Jay, a trip to the agency company was necessary to finish up some work. Arrival at the penthouse finally came around midnight.Sinking immediately onto the living room couch, the paper bag Jay had given earlier was opened with a wave of excitement.

Reaching inside, your hands grabbed the container holding the food—the Risotto a la Ottosir. A smile surfaced at the memory of how Jay used to cook this dish so often. But as the container was placed on the table, another glance inside the bag revealed a box that quickly caught your eye. You immediately pulled out the box.

Eyes grew glossy at the sight inside, tears tempting to spill at any moment. 

The box contained your favorite plate broken that fateful night—the very one Jay had picked up off the floor, his hands trembling and sadness filling his eyes. A scene in your mind that you'll never forget.

The tears began to fall heavily now, remembering how his heart had been shattered just like this ceramic. It was now fixed, but the lines and scars connecting the pieces were completely visible. It was a harsh reminder that while healing may have taken place, the scars from the past would always remain. No matter how much effort went into fixing it, the pain and trauma caused by that night were permanently etched there.

A letter resting inside the box caught your attention:

Hi, Y/N!

Remember this plate? The one I made for you at the pottery workshop for your 18th birthday. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away back then. Instead, I spent years searching for artisans who could fix it, but every expert told me the same thing, it could never regain its original form. 

They told me to just replace it, but I refused because every memory of us was bound to this ceramic. I know you didn't mean to break it. Back then, I tried so hard to find ways to fix this plate—to fix us. But you wouldn't let me. 

When I finally found a way to mend the pieces, the truth hit me that no matter how much effort goes into repairing something broken, the fracture lines will always be there. I have to let it go now, along with every lingering feeling attached to it. 

I don't need to hold onto broken things anymore, now that I have found a love that isn't fragile, and a woman who protects my heart instead of breaking it. Thank you for everything. 

This plate, and you, will no longer be a part of my life…

Sincerely,

Jay

Tears flowed like a river as his words cut deeply into your heart a million times over. But the saddest part was the numbness that followed. Emotional exhaustion took over, leaving a feeling of emptiness. Silence filled the room, broken only by loud, heavy sobs. The posture looked fragile at this moment, mirroring the scarred plate sitting on the table.

A painful smile broke through the tears. There was a finality in knowing that Jay would never be a part of your life again.

And you'll never think of him, except on midnights like this…

note: yeyyy! i've finally finished my first ever long fic huhuhu. it took me so long to write this kkk. i cannot help but to cry as well while i'm writing this 'cuz i felt bad for jay :(( please don't hurt this man. thank you for reading this long ass fic lol. if you're wondering why is it jay and not jake was bcs my of mine requested this. i'm so so happy writing this although my brain is not functioning anymore kkkk. sorry for the corny names :0 and i remembered jay has a guitar named jane that's why i used it lmao. thank you once again <333