lucky diary

jo ⸝⸝ 𝗘𝗡╸⁷

[jjongbat]

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ about me ⸝⸝ masterlist ⸝⸝ rules

⤷ ゛i grew up in an eternity that will soon return to you — fate, enhypen ˎˊ˗

recent ⋆ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⟢ 이희승 ⸝⸝ numbers that bind

upcoming ⋆ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⟢ 양정원 ⸝⸝ untitled

© jjongbat 2026 — all works are without ai and belong solely to jjongbat unless otherwise specified. please do not steal, repost, or re-upload without credit.

[jjongbat]

i thought that this jungwon fic was gonna be around the same word count as the heeseung fic but it’s def gonna be longer 😭

it’s bc i made things overly complicated 😹💔

[jjongbat]

engene twitter is not for the weak let me tell you 🫩🤕

[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. 

[jjongbat]

another common stllmnstr W

i seriously loved this series and all its working parts. the subtle and yet apparent contrast in their lives: rich without familial love vs poor with familial love. it’s a classic trope but it was seriously played out beautifully in this piece.

i also loved how real it felt and how immersing it was. but this is a stllmnstr fic so ofc it was immersing. the epilogue was just chefs kiss especially in the reconciliation of sunoo and the restaurant. the “imperfect” ending as well was so charming and wholesome too — jay choosing to work at a different company at a lesser position and the reader still not having recovered. to me that is perfect.

character development was also outstanding but like again this is a stllmnstr fic so ofc it was. #stllmnstrglazer

five michelin stars. i LOVED it.

[hevanki]

I love HATE my boyfriend!

featuring… ‎ ‎‎ ‎ 📂 ׄ 𓂂 ‎ ‎ bf!sunghoon x f!reader

contents… ‎ ‎‎ ‎ 📂 ׄ 𓂂 ‎ ‎ smau, established relationship, sunghoon is lowk a loser, reader is kinda mean to him but he’s right where he wants to be, sliiightly suggestive

— 𝒩ia ; enjoy my first work guys 😥 #feelingnervy

[courire]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ （ 𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗧𝗦 ）───────────

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 。。𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗒𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝖽𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌.

✿f͟e͟a͟t͟ㅤㅤ𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗒𝖾𝗋 !jay ‎ ♥︎ 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 !rea 𝑖𝑛 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖺𝗐𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 ﹏ humour, romance, fluff !

one two three four five six seven

from, malenaㅤkinda forgot adding that jay asked for yn’s address before sending that parcel ok bai

[noirellee]

𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗖𝗛 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗦⠀❤︎ ⠀엔하이픈

( ✉️ ) 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇

𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴｡ 𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.

isa: chat is this tuff ? ^_^

[jjongbat]

guys i’m working on the jungwon fic rn!! idk when it’ll be done but please expect it to be about the same length as “numbers that bind” (the heeseung fic) if not more!!

it’s a different vibe than numbers that bind but that’s intentional hehe!! when i get closer to finishing it i will give a sneak peek and open a tag list!!

big thanks to @heesroses for being my beta reader and encouraging me to finish this piece hehe <33

[noirellee]

𝗕𝗔𝗗 𝗛𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗦 ✷ PARK JONGSEONG

🎸　𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗷𝗮𝘆　◞　𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗄𝗇𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌

𝗦𝗧★𝗥ㅤ𓂋 𝓳𝖺𝗒 𝔁 𝓯𝖾𝗆 𝓻𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ── ❝ 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍/𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ✙ CAUTIONS: 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 ❇ 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂

ISABELLA'S RADIO STATION ❪ BROOKLYN BABY – LANA DEL RAY ❫

The heavy bass pounds so hard against the sticky floorboards of the venue that you can feel it vibrating right in your teeth. It’s loud and the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight you don’t give a damn.

Because up on that dimly lit stage is Jay.

He’s a vision of shattered perfection. His hair is sweaty as he leans to speak into the microphone. He’s wearing that oversized vintage leather jacket you absolutely love— the one which makes his shoulders look impossibly broad, draped perfectly over a faded graphic tee that rides up just a sliver when he reaches for the mic.

He strums a chord, but his eyes? They’re glued entirely to you. Like you’re the only breathing person in this entire dive bar. Like you’re the oxygen in the room.

It’s completely unfair. It’s exactly the kind of obsessive stare that settles in your gut and spreads like liquid fire through your veins, ending in a faint, traitorous flush on your cheeks. You look away first, opting to stare at your plastic cup of water, though you’d rather die than admit he still gives you butterflies after an entire year of dating.

When the set finally ends, the crowd thins out into a disorganized mess. You weave through the sweaty bodies towards the back of the room to wait by the green room door.

That’s when you feel it. A clammy hand wrapping around your waist. Too tight. Too presumptuous.

“Hey sweetheart, you look a little lost,” a voice slurs near your ear, smelling sickeningly of tequila.

You stiffen, instantly pushing at the guy’s chest to create space. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend. Back off.”

“Oh, come on. He’s not here right now, is he?” The guy steps closer, his fingers digging uncomfortably into your hip. You open your mouth to yell, but suddenly the comforting scent of sandalwood wraps around you —a scent that is quintessentially Jay.

Before the creep can even blink, a hand clad in chunky silver rings clamps down on his shoulder and rips him backwards with a violent force.

“She said she’s waiting for her boyfriend,” Jay snarls, his voice dropping into a register so dark and threatening it sends a shiver straight down your spine.

The drunk guy stumbles, gets his footing, and wildly swings a fist. Jay doesn’t even flinch. He sidesteps the sloppy punch and drives his own fist directly into the guy’s jaw. A loud crack echoes under the fading house music, and the guy crumples to the sticky floor, groaning.

Jay takes half a step forward to finish the job, his chest heaving, dark eyes completely feral, but you grab the back of his leather jacket. “Jay. Stop. Let’s just go.”

He freezes instantly at your touch. The raging edge melts out of his posture as he turns around, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders and practically carrying you out the back exit.

You are going to lose your mind.

The fluorescent lights of Jay’s tiny bathroom are way too bright (you keep telling him to change those, and he keeps forgetting) . You are sitting on the edge of the porcelain sink, the first-aid kit open on your lap, sighing at the choices made by your entirely too impulsive rockstar boyfriend.

Stupid, stupid Jay. He should have just yelled at the guy. Gotten a bouncer. Done literally anything other than throwing a bare-knuckle punch at a skull. If you had been faster, you would have pulled him aside and berated him for his poor life choices. But instead, you are here, swiping a cotton pad soaked in rubbing alcohol over his bleeding knuckles.

Jay hisses, stepping closer so he’s trapped perfectly between your knees.

“Hold still,” you scold, your eyes tracing the damage. These are his hands. The long fingers. The calloused fingertips. You’ve felt them trailing down your spine a thousand times, and the thought of them getting crushed against some idiot's jaw makes you want to scream. “You play guitar, Jay. Your hands are your livelihood. What if you broke a finger? How are you supposed to play?”

Jay rests his good hand lightly on your thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing rhythm that makes your heart stutter. “Don’t care.”

“You’re a musician.”

“I’m your boyfriend first,” he says, his voice entirely too serious.

You look down at his hands, imagining how it would feel to just ban him from ever leaving the apartment so he can’t get hurt. Just keeping him here, cuddling with him after a long day, his face buried in the crook of your neck while you play with the messy ends of his hair.

He shifts closer, resting his chin right against your stomach and looking up at you through his messy hair. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. You got to him before he could.”

Jay hums, a low vibration against your stomach. “Good. If he had actually hurt you, I would have broken my other hand on his face.”

“Stop saying that,” you mutter, wrapping a white bandage carefully around his knuckles, securing it tightly but gently. You smooth your thumbs over the back of his hand.

Jay watches your face the entire time. He doesn’t wince — not even when the alcohol bites into his wound or the bandages pull tight. His eyes are soft, almost unbearably so, practically dripping with an adoration that makes you feel a little weak in the knees. He lifts his uninjured hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“You were so brave tonight, baby,” he murmurs, leaning up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I didn’t do anything,” you whisper, your hands dropping to rest on his shoulders.

“You handled it. You pushed him away. Good girl.”

The praise melts every single ounce of annoyance right out of your system. It’s entirely unfair how easily he disarms you. You trace his annoying face, every single inch of it captivating, from the sharp slope of his jaw to the stupidly long eyelashes to the stupidly plush lips that are currently smiling against your skin.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, letting him pull you down off the counter and into his chest.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he corrects easily, burying his face in your hair, breathing you in like he’s been drowning all night. “And next time, I’ll just hit him with the bass guitar. Protect the hands.”

You groan, hitting his chest lightly. “I will actually kill you.”

“I love you too,” he laughs, the sound vibrating against your ribs. And not for the last time, you think that as stressful as he is, you wouldn't trade him for the world.

isa: this one's for @courire bc she gets it 🤝we NEED more rockstar!jay who's down bad for his girl ^_^ rockstar jay enjoyers rise ^^ :b

[jjongbat]

rockstar loverboy jay my beloved

[jjongbat]

less than 20 hours later and i’ve already reached 200 likes on my first enha fic :(

thank you so much to everyone who read!! i hope you enjoyed :)

[courire]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ （ 𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗧𝗦 ）───────────

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 。。𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗒𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝖽𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌.

✿f͟e͟a͟t͟ㅤㅤ𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗒𝖾𝗋 !jay ‎ ♥︎ 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 !rea 𝑖𝑛 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖺𝗐𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 ﹏ humour, romance, fluff !

one two three four five six seven

[jjongbat]

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ NUMBERS THAT BIND

model!heeseung x agent!reader ⸝⸝ female reader ⸝⸝ soulmate au ⸝⸝ 16k words ⸝⸝ lying / secrets ⸝⸝ slow burn ⸝⸝ inspired by recent events ⸝⸝ featuring nicholas from &team ⸝⸝ hurt/comfort ⸝⸝ reader is called a slut ⸝⸝ mentions of cheating ⸝⸝ nicho is mean

ⓘ :: thank you for reading my first enhypen fic! it is inspired by recent events but please note that this is a work of fiction — i have no idea what happens in the hybe building. also nicho is the villain in this story but i love him dearly irl.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 LHS 001 // ⌕ masterlist // ☆ reblogs appreciated!

The deep breaths did nothing to make it any less scary; nothing to make your hands steadier. You still stood in front of a long conference table pitching your ideas to your potential employers impromptu. You tried to speak clearly — loud but not too loud, confident but not too confident—but it came out wrong in your ears, all pitchy and unsure. Your eyes danced across the men sitting around the table, dressed in suits and perpetual frowns, and you were certain that they were only hearing the parts of your presentation that had dollar signs in front of it.

“That would be the direction I would take.” You concluded, waiting for either an onslaught of passive aggressive questions or dead silence. 

As you waited in bated breath only to receive blank stares, you schooled your face to be just as neutral. 

“Thank you, Miss L/N.” One of the directors said. You recognized it as your cue to dismiss yourself from the room. 

Taking another useless deep breath, you made it back to the fifth floor. Grabbing the papers off the printer for your boss while following the path to your desk. You shook your head and the hope from your shoulders, before opening the Gmail icon where you’d spend the last three hours of your day. But as the page loaded into view, the most recent one dropped your heart to the floor. 

Kim, Taeho EVAN PR Representative - L/N Y/N, your promotion to PR Manager has been granted.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The office wasn’t extraordinarily big but it was an undeniable upgrade from the dingy grey cubicle you’d been calling your home for the past 2 years. You remember exactly what it felt like to move into that cubicle, especially because you’re having the exact same feeling as you stare at your empty office. You’d gotten an internship at Hybe Corporation under BigHit about two years ago. Through many changes, firings, and quittings, you’d been promoted due to necessity — but now, you’d been promoted because of your own merit.

The pen you’d used to sign under Belift Lab as a public relations manager for their model: EVAN. You’d learnt, while doing your research for the presentation, that his real name was Lee Heeseung and he’d been contracted under Belift Lab in 2020 for modeling alongside six others. 

You walked past the boxes you’d yet to unpack and pulled out your laptop. Opening the messages you wrote out a text to Heeseung, informing him of the change.

You: Good morning, Mr. Lee Heeseung. My name is L/N Y/N and I’ll be your new PR Manager starting today. I’ll be contacting brands today in order to schedule gigs for you by the end of the week. If you have any questions or would like to meet to discuss anything, please let me know.

The message was strictly professional and maybe that's what pulled you into a bird’s eye state of consciousness. This was uncanny — both foreign and familiar — drafting a professional message to send to a client, yet this time you weren’t drafting it with someone else’s name attached. Your heart beat rapidly as you hit the send button, waiting to make sure it went through, before leaving your desk and opening one of the many filled boxes. 

The sunset behind the clouds somewhere between setting up a personal printer and desperately searching for your laptop charger. The day having been spent setting up your new office and sending exactly one message, a message which was finally being answered only eight hours later. 

Lee Heeseung: Good evening, sorry for the late reply. I’d like to meet with you if it’s possible? 

Your brows furrowed slightly. You’d worked with plenty of models before, you’d contacted a handful too, none of them came across with the gentleness that Heeseung did. Nowhere was the demanding quality that texts were typically sent in. But of course, this was only the first text, things could change.

You: Of course. Let’s meet at 12:00 o’clock at Daydream Cafe. Does this work?

It was a silly question, you had Heeseung’s schedule — it was full of empty boxes.

Lee Heeseung: Yes, perfect. Thank you.

You: I’ll see you there Mr. Lee.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Working under BigHit, you’d seen many pretty faces. Worked quite close to some of them too, but time seemed to slow down like it was treading through a vat of honey. The pictures didn’t quite do him justice, the cameras couldn’t quite capture his dimension. It should’ve embarrassed you at how hard you were staring — and it did, when you ran it over in your head before falling asleep that night — but in the moment, all you could think about was how beautiful Lee Heeseung was. The way the afternoon sun piercing through the glass windows cast a halo around his silhouette, how his simple outfit seemed to only highlight the natural beauty of his face, and how his eyes looked so wide, and so lost, and so breathtaking as he looked around the cafe.

And it dawned on you: he doesn’t know what you look like.

“Uh,” The legs of your chair scraped obnoxiously on the floor, “Mr. Lee! Hi, I’m sorry I hadn’t realized you don’t know what I look like.” 

His gentle eyes bore into yours; it drew a nervous laugh like water from a well and it painted blush on your cheeks in Alazarin Crimson.

“Oh, hi.” It was embarrassing, how his smile made your heart stutter off beat. 

You noted the fresh makeup resting on his face. 

“Were you at a shoot?”

“Huh?” His eyes shone with innocent confusion. “Uh, well, I made an Instagram account and I needed something to post so… I scheduled something last week.”

You gestured for Heeseung to take a seat across from you. 

“What do you mean? Shouldn’t your PR manager have done the scheduling for you?”

Those eyes which had held yours the whole time suddenly dropped, unable to look in your direction. His jaw was defined in the way a man’s only does when he’s holding back his influx of emotion. You heard the air shift as he breathed deeply.

“I haven’t had one… for a while.”

“What do you mean you ‘haven’t had one for a while’? Who’s been managing you?”

The constant chatter of the cafe hadn’t diminished, hadn’t silenced, hadn’t increased, and yet it felt entirely too quiet with Heeseung’s lack of response. 

“Uh hey,” His voice, though soft, demanded your audience, “Let me grab a drink quickly and then I want to ask you about something.”

You pulled out your fresh, shiny, new company card and handed it over to him without hesitation. “I’d love to say it’s on me, but it’s actually on Lee Jaesang. Go crazy.”

Your smug smile was returned with an impressed one — and any tension you felt earlier dissipated in the exchange of a credit card. 

Talking with Heeseung came much more naturally than you’d expected. Maybe that was because he wore his heart on his sleeve or because your friendly nature had dropped his guard. Whatever the case, as soon as you told him that you’d like to manage his career with consideration of his goals for himself, his eyes held you in the same awe as if you had hung the stars just for him. 

“So, to get this straight,” Your favorite pen — Black Pilot G-2 0.7 — smoothly glided across your small notebook, “You’ve been managing your own social media accounts for the past two weeks because your contract changed?”

His throat worked around a swallow, “Yeah, yeah that’s right.” He nodded. 

“Right.” You flipped your notebook back a page, “I have notes from your previous manager. He had a detailed plan for you, including partnerships with major brands! I greenlighted them yesterday since your schedule seemed to be empty.”

Engrossed in your notes, you failed to recognize the slight tremor in his hand when he set his iced americano down.

“Partnerships?” 

“Yeah! A lot of brands and magazines want to work with you, Mr. Lee.” 

“Uh, Heeseung. Heeseung is fine.”

You turned your head up to see his shy face in all its world-renowned glory. 

“Alright then, Heeseung,” You corrected, “I have a plane ticket to Shanghai for you for a gig.”

“Oh okay.” He fidgeted with his hands. 

“Yes, I lined you up with a brand deal for SimCare who loved your prior work with Joocyee. You’ll be a brand ambassador for them.” 

Heeseung smiled softly in an apprehensive kind of way. Which confused you more than you’d like to admit. Because Lee Heeseung doesn’t fit into the category you’d initially placed him in. 

Sure, you’d never worked under Belift Lab before but you’d worked with models. Ones just as popular, successful, and handsome as Heeseung is. They all carried an energy characterized in confidence that bordered on arrogance and a directness that bordered on inconsideration. And you’d seen Heeseung’s work, he was confident and rightfully so. He was impeccable at his job and entirely multifaceted — so maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that he was able to present himself as humble too. 

Perhaps you were too cynical for your own good but you didn’t want to believe that to be true. That Heeseung was different from the other models you’d spent assisting the management of. No you couldn’t believe it, not yet. Instead you just made a mental note to ask him about an acting career in the future. 

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The company car pulled up to the front of Heeseung’s apartment building at exactly 11:15, where the man of the hour had been waiting patiently. After throwing his luggage in the trunk, he opened the door and flinched back in surprise. 

“Oh… holy— you scared me.” He stuttered with a hand on his heart.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” You apologized, almost nonchalantly. 

“What are you doing here?” The door shut softly as he climbed in next to you.

“I’m headed to Shanghai as well. I have a couple PR teams that I wanted to meet with.”

“SimCare?” He asked, peeping over at your laptop which proudly displayed your Gmail account with the brightness all the way up.

It took you a second before you responded, your mind being too preoccupied with reading emails of nothingness.

“No, no. I won’t be at your shoot, I’ll be discussing things with other potential business partners.”

Heeseung nodded at your words, his fingers flexing against the knees of his black sweats. The car ride to the airport mainly consisted of the smooth jazz radio being harmonized by the clicking of your fingers against the laptop. It was only broken a couple of times, all by Heeseung himself. Like when he asked where your luggage was and you pointed to the small duffel bag at your feet. Judging by the look on his face, he was horrified at how little you’d packed. 

“It’s only a two hour flight.” You had explained; it did nothing to alleviate his concern.

He’d also asked who you’d be meeting with in Shanghai and where you’d be. You responded that that was confidential information. You let him simmer in the disappointment of unanswered questions before telling him:

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Heeseung.”

The airport was crowded with fans, as usual, screaming Heeseung’s name at the top of their lungs and holding out letters as far as their arms could reach. This was the part of management that you never had to deal with. As an assistant, you got to sit behind a screen and answer emails or try not to roll your eyes every time you picked up the phone. Now, you walked alongside Heeseung’s body guards with heightened adrenaline — knowing all too well that the fans couldn’t care less about you if only you would walk out of the frame of their fancams.

You only released a breath of relief after sitting in the aisle seat of row 17 economy. As if TSA and departure times weren’t stressful enough, you had to worry about people following you — well, Heeseung.

Lee Heeseung: Hey where are you?

You read his message with the last bit of Wi-Fi the airport had to offer.

You: Row 17 aisle. Don’t worry, I’ll take you to your shoot when we arrive in Shanghai.

Your eyes fell closed as you listened to the whirring of the air conditioner overhead. Your mind raced with all the PR representatives that you’d be meeting with for the next several hours after the plane landed. A faint throbbing rose in the back of your head and your phone felt hot in your hand. You silently prayed that your boss wouldn’t send you another email before tomorrow; for both his and your own sanity. The flight was short and you’d never be able to fall asleep but closing your eyes was enough. Who knew management would be so stressful.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Shanghai was absolutely breathtaking. Seeing the city in person, standing beneath the buildings that reached toward the heavens, driving next to the water which glimmered in the afternoon sun —- it proved that pictures did not do her justice. The car dropped the two of you off at the hotel. Heeseung stood behind you, generously holding your duffel bag, as you checked into the hotel and handed him his keycard.

“I’ll be gone for a couple hours but if you need me, please text me or call me.” You hit floors seven and five. 

“We’re not on the same floor?” He asked.

“No, I’m on five.” You took the opportunity to take your duffel back from his hands, “Thank you for holding my bag, Heeseung.”

“No problem.” He cleared his throat softly.

“Oh also,” You glanced into his deep brown eyes, forcing yourself not to turn away from their gentleness, “Feel free to do whatever you want today but your shoot will start tomorrow at 9:00.” The elevator stopped and held itself in limbo before the doors opened. “Like I said, I’ll be there to drop you off at the site but I won’t stay. I’ll be in a meeting.”

“Right.” He nodded continuously, like he expected another topic to come up. Or maybe, that he wanted one to. “So then, will you be there to pick me up?”

“Uh…” The doors beeped angrily due to their inability to close with your body in the way. “If I’m not in a meeting then sure, I can come get you.”

“Okay, great.” He smiled softly. “Then I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you at 8:00 in the lobby.”

His curled lips didn’t drop even as the doors closed between you. It took you just a moment to make the journey to your hotel room, with your brows furrowed and head trying to figure out the 181cm enigma that had been cast under your care. 

After three years of working with models — first as an intern, then as PR representative, then as a managing assistant — you thought it would have prepared you. You thought it had prepared you to manage a model on your own. Logistically, it had. You knew how to secure brand deals, negotiate contracts, schedule events, book travel and accommodations, hire security, and dodge questions that weren’t meant for certain ears. Logistically, you knew how to manage Lee Heeseung. 

But he wasn’t like the models you’d worked with before — at least outside of the studio. Albeit, you’ve never seen him in the studio, but where you used to tell models their flight details only to receive complaints or questions about their accommodations or comfort, Heeseung asked where you were, what you’d be doing, if you had time to pick him up. Why? 

You were his manager. All models need to care about is whether their manager is failing them or not; you weren’t wholly confident in your abilities to manage Heeseung but you knew for a fact you hadn’t failed in under 36 hours. Which is why his interest in your job left you confused and mildly irritated. Like you were being watched; like he was waiting to see if you failed.

And maybe that gentle smile you’d held with such fondness was more sinister than you initially thought.

Your phone rang as soon as you tossed your duffel onto your hotel bed. Fishing it out of your pocket, you checked the caller I.D. and smiled.

“Hi, babe.” You walked over to the balcony and stood in the breeze.

“Hey, baby, how’s Shanghai?” His voice told that he was smiling brightly on the other end.

“Good so far!”

“Oh, so you don’t need me to hop on a plane and come translate?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “No, Nicho, I don’t need you to come translate for me.”

“Oh, when did you learn Mandarin?”

“I hired a translator, babe, they have those.”

“You hired a translator that's not me?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, despite knowing he wouldn’t see, “I didn’t know you’d cancel your shoot just to follow me around all day.” 

“And get paid for it? C’mon baby… you know that’s my dream.”

You deadpanned to no one but the glorious skyline in front of you. 

“Speaking of dreams, how was the shoot?”

“Incredible, actually. The team I’m working with are incredible dancers — it’s insane.”

This time he could hear your smile, “That’s amazing, Nicho, I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah,” He was blushing on the other end, you could tell, “Hey I just wanted to check in on you. I’ll see you when you get back, have fun.”

“Thanks Nicho,” You spoke softly while rubbing the combinations of numbers on your arm, “How lucky are we to have found each other?”

“Not lucky at all babe,” He let out a pitchy laugh that tugged at your heartstrings, “It’s fate.”

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You watched Heeseung trudge through the lobby at 8:00 as if he hadn’t used his legs in 15 years. He rubbed his eyes and mumbled a good morning as he spotted you. Or at least, you thought it was a good morning — his raspy morning voice and lack of annunciation made it hard to tell.

“Good morning to you too, Heeseung,” You greeted, holding back a giggle, “Would you like to stop for coffee before we arrive at the studio?”

He nodded his head with his eyes sewn shut and had to force them open again. You shook your head fondly before leading the two of you toward the car which was waiting for you. The early morning Shanghai air bit at your skin as you opened the door for Heeseung to climb in.

“Do you have a specific coffee shop that you frequent in Shanghai?” As soon as your seatbelt clicked, the car started to drive toward the main road.

“No, no,” He denied, “Just go to the closest one.”

You smiled softly at his droopy state and informed the driver to take you to the nearest coffee shop — praying that it was a good one. 

Even as you watched Heeseung sleepily walk through the doors into the studio, you hadn’t sipped your coffee. Instead you rattled off the address you were headed to and reviewed your negotiation strategies. Pretending like you were terrified of messing up on the first big contract negotiation for Heeseung, even though the condensation dripping from the sides of the cup was a visual representation of your nerves.

The car rolled in front of a tall sleek building which was even more sleek and expensive on the inside. The walls were white and seemed to glow with the intensity of the lights. The walls were bare and the furniture was minimalist which gave the feeling that more expense was given than less. That was all you realized under the constant pressure against your head to not fail. 

It was all that reverberated inside your skull, even as you pulled the chair out at the conference table. Don’t fail. You can’t fail. You have to negotiate a good deal. You have to make EVAN a success. You have to re-establish his brand. You can’t let him down. You can’t fail him.

“Good morning, Miss L/N.” The man in front of you greeted as he sat down in front of you. 

“Good morning, Mr. Liu.” You smiled and folded your shaking hands in your lap, “I could have met you at your headquarters in Hangzhou. It would have been no problem.”

“No worries,” The translator spoke a beat after Mr. Liu finished his reply, “I was already in Shanghai for other business.” 

You nodded your head and smiled, carrying on a bit of small talk before you committed to talking in terms of business and revenue. For his intimidating appearance, Mr. Liu was quite friendly — more than you expected. 

“I noticed that Proya Cosmetics have been attempting to secure a brand deal with Lee Heeseung for quite some time. Apologies for the wait, there were recent shifts in management but we’d be happy to accept and negotiate a deal that benefits all parties adequately.” 

You brushed your finger over the mark on your arm, the rhythmic motions calming your breathing down as you waited in the limbo of translation. Proya Cosmetics would be a perfect brand deal for Heeseung. He has experience working with Joocyee and now SimCare, he worked with Qrsessed in the past and a potential deal with said company would be in the works, if all went well. You’re sure it would. And you’re sure Proya would accept him due to Heeseung’s popularity in China. You just had to discuss a deal that would properly benefit all parties: Heeseung, Proya, Belift Lab, and the consumer base. 

No biggie.

“We’d love to accept Evan to advertise our new products: a cushion foundation and sunscreen.” The translator spoke to your right but you looked and nodded along to the man who owned those words, “For Proya, our ideal deal for Evan is to welcome him as a brand ambassador and run an immediate ad campaign and look into future campaigns later on.”

“Right, of course,” You nodded at the interest in long-term partnership, assuming it was due to his status among the customer base, “Belift Lab is interested in an ambassadorship as well, however Evan is not available to be Proya’s ambassador exclusively.”

“Of course not!” Mr. Liu laughed, “Oh I can name about five brands in China alone that want Evan to be their ambassador. He’s quite popular everywhere though, isn’t he?”

You laughed along though something tugged at your brows. Questions began to nag in the back of your brain, distracting you from the task at hand. Pressing your thumb deep into the mark, you grounded yourself and forced your attention to the negotiations.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The sun was setting behind the clouds by the time you lazily pulled the door to the car open. You had spent the morning negotiating and approving plans with Proya Cosmetics; then once the afternoon rolled around, you talked your tongue dry over the phone with PR representatives from Qrsessed at an outdoor table adjacent to a coffee shop. After finalizing the paperwork and responding to emails, you called the car to pick you up. 

You jumped back in surprise as the door opened fully.

“Heeseung?!” You sighed in relief, letting your shoulders drop, “You scared the everliving daylights out of me.”

His laugh echoed endlessly in the backseat, “Now you know how it feels.”

The sound of the door shutting cut off the rest of his giggle fit. 

“Yes, yes I do.” You snapped your seatbelt in place, “I thought I was picking you up, not the other way around?”

“Well,” He scratched at his right knee absentmindedly, “My shoot ended hours ago.” He turned to you with a crease in his forehead, “Do meetings typically take all day?”

You laughed humorlessly, “Depends on the meeting.”

“Mm,” He nodded.

“The meetings involve your future, Heeseung. I can’t take them lightly.” You confessed, turning to look at the passing buildings from the window. “I had to make sure that you got the best deal they had. And typically those deals are hidden under the table.”

The whirring of the air conditioner was the only sound filtering between the two of you. It was nice. The quiet of it all. It was indescribably serene after the day you had of constant talking and constant strategizing. You had no thoughts going through your head now. Well, not until:

“Wait,” You turned to the driver, “Where are we going?”

“Ah,” Heeseung cleared his throat, “There’s this restaurant I’ve been wanting to try. So, I got us a reservation.”

Perhaps you picked up on these things easier since you’d worked with so many models before but Heeseung had garnered a slight blush as he spoke. Not on his face — no his blushy cheeks were hidden beneath perfectly curated makeup, but his chest and ears were not. Again, it could’ve been the models you’d always worked with but no model you’d ever met had blushed at you. Perhaps he’s just nervous.

“Oh, that’s great!” The phantom pressure of deciding where to go and reserving a seat dissipated from your shoulders, “Thank you, Heeseung.”

“Of course, Manager L/N.”

The foreignness of the words ripped a laugh from your chest, “Please,” You waved him off, “Please, just call me Y/N.” 

He smiled brightly — some would say fondly — at your reaction. A smile which didn’t drop from his face; it stayed plastered on his lips like a bandaid. 

Like proof that something was healing.

The walls were dark and the dim lights seemed to make them impossibly darker — like black holes that would inevitably suck you in. Heeseung spoke to the finely dressed waitress through the thin material of his black face mask. She smiled professionally before leading him toward a table that was secluded from windows and obscured from prying eyes.

Heeseung pulled a chair out from under the table and gestured for you to take a seat, the sight stopped you in your tracks, causing you to stare for just a moment too long. 

“Uh, thank you,” You scurried into the seat after realizing.

“No problem.” He took his seat across from you and picked up the menu.

You glanced through the menu, noting the English translations under the Mandarin. The combination of languages had you glancing down to the mark on your left arm and then your thoughts traveled to the person who shared the same mark.

“This place is known for their xiaolongbao,” Heeseung suddenly spoke, ripping you from your thoughts, “So, we should probably get two orders of those.”

“Pardon?” You furrowed your brows at him.

“Oh well, I mean, I don’t know how many you plan to eat but I could go through an entire order by myself.”

You nodded your head slowly, “Right….”

Sensing your confusion, Heeseung thought for a minute about why that was. 

“This is a family style type of restaurant,” He clarified, “You order a dish and its for the whole table.”

“Oh,” You dragged the word out, “That makes more sense now.”

His lips curled upwards and the lights reflected as stars in his eyes, “Yeah, so I think we should get two orders of xiaolongbao. Do you like pork, crab, chicken, or beef?” 

You contemplated for a moment, “We should get one pork and one chicken.”

“That’s what I was thinking!” He laughed softly before turning back to the menu. 

The two of you deliberated over what dishes to get: the peppered beef sirloin was a no-brainer, the garlic green beans had good reviews, the noodles were a must for Heeseung, and the refreshing cucumber salad sounded like the perfect side dish. 

“Oh!” You turned to the waitress and pointed at something on the menu, “One of these too, please.”

She nodded and left your table just as speedily as she’d arrived.

“What was that?” He picked up his glass of water.

“A surprise.” You dodged, mirroring his actions.

“Right,” A breathy chuckle fell from his lips. At the sound, an unconscious smile rose to your lips. 

“So, how was the shoot?”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes turned up to the ceiling in thought. “It was okay. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You nodded, “How did SimCare treat you?”

This time, he furrowed his brows at you, “What do you mean?”

“Like, were they patient with you? Did they demand things from you unnecessarily? Did they treat you with respect?”

“Oh um, yeah I think so.”

“What do you mean ‘you think so’?” Your brows creased.

“Well, I mean, it was just a normal shoot. Why do you wanna know anyway?”

You frowned slightly, “Because I’m your manager, Heeseung. I want to know how you’re being treated, especially by a business partner that I helped form for you.”

He stared at you blankly — completely unreadable — those dark brown eyes full of thought but pouring none of it out to you. 

“It went fine.” He smiled softly, “How were your meetings? Were they… successful?”

You mulled over the question, “I think so.” Your fingers lightly tapped against the side of your glass as the waitress set down a bottle of red wine, “I negotiated the best deal for you that I could.”

He nodded understandingly then moved to open the bottle.

“The companies always take a majority of the revenue from these deals but you’ll be taking home a large sum, don’t worry. I made sure of it.”

You laughed softly in that tired way where it's mostly just air coming out of your nose. You watched the red liquid slosh into the glass and heard it scrape against the table as he pushed it toward you. 

“Oh, thank you.”

He only smiled easily in return. That’s what it felt like with Heeseung. It felt easy. As if he didn’t have any expectations for you; as if when he looked at you, he saw a person instead of a machine. 

You’d never been to dinner with a client before, certainly not with an established model, but you’re certain that if it had been anyone else sitting across from you, it wouldn’t feel the same. Your hands wouldn’t be clammy and your heart wouldn’t be beating out of your chest — certainly.

No if this were any other model: you’d force yourself to look at him when speaks, not choose to because his eyes are so entracing. You’d force yourself to say filler response words as he rambled about his day, not listen intently like he was a friend you’d always known but hadn’t seen in a while. You’d tune out his laugh not search for it underneath the echoes of other patrons enjoying their meals. 

You ate contentedly, sharing each other’s days as much as you did the food. He wasn’t expecting a fantastical story about the logistic side of his job but he listened to it as if he was genuinely curious to know what a manager did day-to-day. He spoke easy, casually, confidently, like you’d been the only manager he’d even known. 

“Actually Heeseung,” You remembered something you’d learnt about him earlier, “You told me that you had been without a manager for a couple weeks. Why was that? I didn’t see anything in your file?”

You watched his eyes blur out of focus before shifting to look down at the noodles in front of him.

“It just… happened that way.” His voice could barely be categorized as a whisper. 

“Alright,” You kept your voice light, noticing that the topic must be sore, “Well if you can, knowing more about—”

“And here is your final order!” The waitress spoke happily, placing another steamed basket in front of you and Heeseung. 

“Uh, more dumplings?” He asked inquisitively. 

“Oh, actually they’re—”

The loud ringing of your phone cut you off. You turned to your bag to find it, a blush settling on your cheeks the longer it rang. 

“They’re a different type of dumpling,” The information did not seem to quell his confusion. You checked the caller identification and immediately stood. “Uh, sorry, Heeseung, I will be right back.”

“Is everything okay?” His voice dripped in concern.

“Yeah! Yeah everything's fine, please enjoy the dessert.” You rushed toward an exit before finishing your sentence completely.

“Hey, what’s going on?” 

“Y/N? Y/N? Y/N! Y/N.” 

Your brows furrowed in a deep worry, “Yes, yes, I’m here what’s wrong, baby?”

“What do I— What do I do if I get caught doing something I shouldn’t?”

“What do you mean, Nicho?”

“No I mean, I was just at the club, you know? Yeah I was just there and there was this huge dance circle— you should’ve seen it.” His voice betrayed him, he was intoxicated. It was impossible to miss with his intonation and lazy speech.

“Nicho what happened? What did you do?” Your voice was raised as if it was trying to compete with the loud beating of your heart.

“Well, you see I was in the dance circle, yeah? And in the dance circle I wanted to dance, yeah?”

You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back a frustrated and impatient sigh. The cool air was hitting you in waves and you could’ve sworn a droplet landed on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, and then what?”

“Well, it was so fresh in my mind with all the filming and stuff and, you know I really think it’s cool, I remember telling you that.” Your eyes widened in realization, “And I think I might be a little intoxicated because I just started doing the dance off of memory and everyone was cheering and celebrating and oh, it was awesome.”

“Nicho, did you do the dance for the music video you just shot?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You pushed a hand through your hair, “But there’s no proof right?”

“Well, that’s the thing…”

“Nicho how many people have that video?”

“Uh I don't know, everyone was filming.”

“Well, can you make sure none of them post it?”

“That’s not gonna help.”

“Why?”

“It’s already on Twitter.” 

You screwed your eyes shut. Words failing to rise on your tongue until they came all at once. 

“Nicho, I told you to pace yourself on your drinking.”

“Yeah, and I have! This was a one-time thing.”

“It’s not a one-time thing. You’ve done this before.”

“No, I haven’t? I never reveal top secret choreo!”

“I’m not talking about the choreo, Nicho. I’m talking about the drinking and the clubbing. Listen, I don’t care that that’s what you’re into as long as it doesn’t affect your professional life or our personal life together. You’re under a contract with Hybe Japan, you can’t just do whatever you want. You need to be more careful about where you’re seen in public—”

“I’m already going through a lot right now, Y/N. I called because I need your help, not because I wanted to be reprimanded.”

“How am I supposed to help you, Nicho?” You nearly yelled into the receiver of your phone, hands subtly rubbing your chilly skin. 

The chill seeping into your skin made it all the easier to feel the warmth radiating behind you. You whipped your head around to see Heeseung removing the denim jacket he’d been wearing. Held within his hands along with a takeout bag from the restaurant and the purse you’d left inside, he offered you the jacket along with a look characterized by care.

“I don’t know, Y/N. You’re a higher up in Belift Lab now. You’ve worked in BigHit for years. You can probably suggest them to let me off the hook, you know?”

You broke your contact with Heeseung’s gaze.

“What, like if they take you to court? For leaking the choreo? You know that would put my job in jeopardy, right?”

You kept your eyes away from the sight of the 181cm model in front of you, causing you to miss the concern plastered all over his face. You swallowed thickly and suppressed the shiver that threatened to overtake you.

“And what about my career?” Nicho scoffed, “I’m really in a tough spot right now and you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I don’t know how to help you.” As soon as you were about to rub your forehead, the heavy denim jacket found its way onto your shoulders via Heeseung’s hands. The same hands which held your purse and leftovers while hailing the sleek black car you’d been riding in all day. 

Your hands tugged the jacket closer, you pretended that the strong cologne lingering on the fabric didn’t offer you an inexplicable sense of comfort.

“Shouldn’t you know, though?” Your boyfriend asked as Heeseung opened the door for you, “Isn’t it your job to represent client relationships to the public?”

A bitter laugh was contained only by how hard you were biting your lips, “Your employer — my employer — isn’t the public, Nicho. When they find out that you leaked the choreo, there’s nothing I can do to persuade them not to take legal action.”

“Would you do it for one of your models?”

“What?”

“Nevermind, thanks for nothing, babe.” 

The next thing to flood your ears were the three disappointing beeps of an ended call. You pulled your phone from your ear and stared at the blank screen. Dazed, jarred, and guiltily disappointed.

“Who was that?” Heeseung’s soft and sweet voice filtered over to your ears.

The answer should’ve been easy. Nicholas. Wang Yixiang. Your boyfriend. Your soulmate. 

Instead you answered “no one” and scratched harshly at the mark on your arm. As if it had offended you — as if you could rid yourself of it.

You only said two other things that night. Nothing in the car, nothing in the elevator, nothing until the two of you made it to the door of your hotel room. You paused, taking off his coat and handing it to him with a sad but grateful smile. He traded the jacket for your purse and the leftovers. 

“What time is the plane ride tomorrow?” He asked quietly.

“11 but we have to be there at 10. Be ready by 9:20.”

“Of course.” He agreed, deep browns holding yours so gently, so reverently, as if he couldn’t — wouldn’t — look away. It took you too long to realize, you shouldn’t.

“Goodnight, Heeseung. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you.”

“Of course, yeah,” He watched you step deeper into the room, “See you at 9:20.”

And that was a promise he kept. 9:20, there he was in the lobby. 10:00, there he was walking through the fan raided airport. 11:00, there he was boarding the plane 20 minutes earlier than you with the rest of first class. 14:30, there he was loading the car with your bags. 15:17, there he was saying goodbye to you at the company building — watching you walk off to a side of the building he never traversed. 

And somehow as you walked off, it seemed like colors fell flat, notes didn’t harmonize, and flowers didn’t bloom.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Maybe Nicho was right. You were a higher-up in a Hybe subsidiary now. If anything comes up, you might be able to persuade them to consider the situation from a different view point. Nicho was drunk, it was an accident. Nicho is only one person, the music video features nine dancers — he didn’t spoil much. Nicho is an incredible dancer, one of the four people who founded the dance team. Have some grace.

All of your defense — budding in when it’s not your business — could put your very new position, and the career you’ve spent the past three years cultivating, in jeopardy. You mulled over that possibility a thousand and one times — but this is Nicho. Your soulmate. The man you are universally bound to by the string of numbers written on your arm.

You remember perfectly when they first appeared. They always appear once puberty hits, faint at first, as if there’s something hiding beneath the first few layers of skin. You’d searched for those faint marks all over your body, smiling when you saw them peaking through. Everyday, you checked to see if they got darker, more legible — and they did. 

As a young teenage girl, of course you became obsessed with finding your soulmate. You looked at every piece of visible skin a person showed, you cultivated questions that would prod them into telling you their number, you would go on websites where people would post their numbers and hope their soulmate happened to be online too. 

For years, you ignored the proverb that your soulmate would find you when you least expected it. Or that Fate would draw the two of you together when the time was right. But like most people who weren’t lucky enough to have found their soulmate before university, you grew out of looking for that number in every place you went. You focused on yourself: your education, your career, your aspirations. With the occasional peak at any model’s soulmate mark if given the opportunity. You never expected your soulmate to actually be a model — and that’s partially true, Nicho isn’t a model but he’s quite close to being one. 

You don’t have to imagine just how surprised you were meeting your soulmate on possibly the worst day of your life. Waking up the fire alarm going off in your apartment building, getting cleared to go back inside 30 minutes before you had to be at work, having to get gas in the that same morning, showing up late and running to the office, bumping into someone in the middle of the hallway and being too distracted to even apologize, your boss telling you that being late made you look irresponsible, getting told to help the mean manager of the Hybe Japan dance team, the air conditioner in the Hybe building breaking, getting ordered around by superiors that were not your own — it was an awful day.

Until you pulled up your sleeves to alleviate the heat, only to find that your soulmate mark had gone from a pitch black to a bright red. You’d met your soulmate. You looked up to the sweet face of the boy you had just introduced yourself to. He ripped his gaze from that red mark and into your wide eyes — not knowing that his eyes had also widened in pure shock. Pulling his sleeve up, you recognized the pattern of numbers. And the worst day ever became the best day ever.

So maybe Nicho was right about your newfound power but he was also wrong about something else. You wouldn’t jeopardize your career or future for one of your clients, one of the models under your care — Heeseung — yeah, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t jeopardize your career for Heeseung but you would do it for your soulmate in a heartbeat.

You’d do it for Nicho.

So you wait with your body tense and your breath held. Kept your ears open for any whispers of Nicho’s name, Twitter, or the dance team. You listened and waited, you did not speak or search. Instead you booked Heeseung a hair appointment. Texted him when to be there and when to expect the car to show up. You forwarded him the information of his finalized deals with Proya Cosmetics — told him to expect flight details soon. All from the safety of your office on the 15th floor of the Hybe building, trying to pretend like the anxiety wasn’t chewing at you faster than you could chew at your nails.

Lee Heeseung: Will you be going to Hangzhou too?

You: No, you’ll be going alone.

The text was snappy and it permeated a chilly cold through the digital screen. You noticed it for a millisecond before you packed your things in a rush to escape the dark walls of this retched building. 

But even as you stepped into your quaint apartment, its light walls and warm lights did not embrace you in comfort. They looked almost just as confining. You flung your bag onto your couch and walked to your kitchen. Barely ten steps away from each other but your lazy footsteps doubled the distance. You didn’t have a particular appetite, especially not for anything in your fridge, but you rested your hand on it nonetheless.

Your phone rang before you could pull the handle.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this L/N Y/N? Manager of Evan under Belift Lab?”

“Hi, yes. That is I.” You felt your knees go weak.

“Right. Well, I’m calling as a representative of Hybe Japan and I have you cited here as someone who can vouch for the integrity of Wang Yixiang. Is this true?”

You threw your head back as your heart fell to the floor. 

“Yes,” You bit the words out, hating how bitter they tasted in your mouth, “I know Yixiang personally.”

“Great,” The woman on the other line sounded like what a blank blackboard looked like. You could see the remnants of the writing that had been there before, but it was all indecipherable. You had no idea what to expect, no idea what she would ask. So you took it one word at a time:

Do you know the contract that Mr. Wang signed with Hybe Japan? Yes.

He cited that you had been the one to inform him of his rights as well as his restrictions upon signing said contract. Is that true? Yes. 

Were you with Mr. Wang the night that the videos were taken? No, I was in Shanghai.

Do you know whether Mr. Wang was intoxicated at the time the video was filmed? Yes, he was.

Has Mr. Wang had a history of clubbing and excessive drinking? …I would not say ‘excessive’. 

Ms. L/N, you are aware that Hybe Corp is within full legal rights to submit a lawsuit for the leaking of classified information including choreography, yes? 

You bit your lip hard, “Yes. Yes, I am aware.” You took a deep breath, “I would hope that Hybe Corp would consider pursuing other routes before taking it up with the law. Though that is well within your prerogative to do so. If you want my honest analysis of Yixiang’s character…” 

You sighed, tiredly. But not a tired that goes away with sleep; not a tired that comes from an isolated incident. A deep tired that accumulates until no amount of excess sleep could repair the strain that had stretched you too far. 

“My honest opinion? Yixiang is human. He makes mistakes but they’re never done in malice or with bad intentions. He has a heart to chase what he wants and he’s willing to go the extra mile to achieve them. I think he’s an asset in this company, I think he has a bright future, I think it’d be too rash to involve the legal system before pursuing other routes on a singular mistake.”

“One final question, Ms. L/N?”

“Of course.”

“Are you and Mr. Wang in a romantic relationship of any kind.”

The silence pierced your ears. Your eyes fell to the empty counter in front of you. You sat in limbo between the truth and the option which would be the most advantageous. And in that moment, you understood why managers lie.

“No. We are not.” “Thank you, Ms. L/N. I’ll call you if I have any further questions. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Your hand immediately reached for the fridge, gaining an appetite suddenly for something specific. As soon as you pulled the fridge doors open, the smell hit you. Rotten, moldy, sour.

Your eyes landed on it immediately, you pulled it out of the fridge and unwrapped it from its plastic bag. Popping open the lid, just to make sure, you saw six round mochi chocolate dumplings resting in the box. And the sight brought tears to your eyes. 

He saved all six. 

You left him in the middle of the restaurant, told him to enjoy them. You’re sure he would have since he loved the other dumplings. And he waited – for you. He had them packaged, held onto them with your bag, gave them to you at the hotel, and let you have the opportunity to enjoy them. 

And for all his kindness, you let them rot in your fridge.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

In any good story, the writer uses nature to symbolize the internal emotions of their protagonist. As you walked through the parking lot under the proud sun that was pre-gaming the summertime at the end of April, it dawned on you that you must not be the main character. 

Thankfully the air conditioner was working when you stepped through the doors. Unlike other bad days that you’d had. This was a kind of mundane day — not good, not particularly bad. You did all your office work, called a couple companies, checked Heeseung’s brand reputation, answered emails, looked at potential partnerships, all the normal things. 

Lee Heeseung: Proya asked if I could stay an extra day to finish the shoot. They had an issue with one of the sets.

You: Why are you telling me this? It's Proya’s job to contact me about scheduling changes.

Lee Heeseung: Oh

Lee Heeseung: I’m sorry

Lee Heeseung: I guess expect them to contact you soon then

You dropped your head onto the surface of your desk. You hadn’t meant to make him feel dejected or scolded. You’d been doing that too much lately. Speaking without thinking. Speculating without rationalizing.

You: It’s no worries, Heeseung. I’ll have your flight rescheduled and the information sent to you shortly. Don’t worry about moving hotel rooms, I’ll extend your stay as well. 

Lee Heeseung: Ok thx

Your hands flew across your laptop keyboard: rescheduling the flight, extending his stay, informing the security and the driver, responding to Proya’s request, anything. Anything to keep your mind off how you hurt him. 

And maybe by “him” didn’t mean the model who had completely changed your life in the matter of minutes after meeting him. Maybe it meant the dancer who was fatefully bound to you through a string of numbers plastered on your arm. The one you denied being in relation with despite the universe plainly telling you that you were each other’s future forever. 

And that guilt gnawed at you harder that night as you drank straight from the lip of the peach soju bottle from your fridge.

It gnawed at you before you took the first sip: you denied that you were in a romantic relationship with the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with.

It gnawed after the next two: Might as well have said you didn’t love him.

Then after 120 milliliters: But you don’t love him do you? 

And then 240 milliliters: You’re supposed to but you don’t — loving him feels like a chore. You’re a pathetic excuse for a soulmate. 

But the bottom of the bottle revealed just how monstrous you truly were: Heeseung never made you feel like that. Like it was hard to love him. No, no, loving him was so easy. He flashed you a smile, spoke to you in that soft sultry voice, treated you like a princess, like he cared. 

Cared? A model that cared? For you? 

Heeseung loved you like you loved Nicho? Falsely. Because you were supposed to; because you got something out of it; because it was in your best interests.

But you loved Heeseung like you’d never loved any other man. And it was so stupid — so childish — that he won your heart over with a look that conveyed that he cared about you and a box of mochi dumplings he saved for God knows what reason.

You’d been on dates with Nicho, you’d kissed Nicho, you’d planned marriage with Nicho and you still didn’t think of him with the same fondness you did Heeseung. A man who you’d  barely had conversations with — certainly not personal ones. 

You chased the peach soju with the big, salty, guilty tears that cascaded on your cheeks.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You: Your schedule will be busy when you get back so please be prepared. I’ve continued your brand deal with Qrsessed and you’ll have a photoshoot and video shoot to promote their contact lenses. ELLE Korea is also picking up the shoot and is printing it in their magazine. You will be on the cover. I have all of the logistics including the times for everything in the link below.

You: https://calandar.com

Lee Heeseung: Wait, can we reschedule the fitting to the day before or after?

You: I can try to, yes. Why?

Lee Heeseung: I’m just busy that day

You: What on Earth could you possibly be doing for the entirety of Tuesday?

“Y/N.” Your old boss from BigHit called your name.

“What?” You snapped unintentionally?

The look they gave you would’ve turned you to salt with all the fire it had behind it.

“You know,” He spoke in his default passive aggressive tone, “Dressing in a suit with your hair curled and your makeup done doesn’t make you a professional. It doesn’t make people respect you.”

You bit the inside of your cheeks and kept your eyes from his.

“Lose the attitude, put on a smile, and pretend like you have everything under control even if you don’t.” You swallowed thickly as he reached the conference door, “You’re a public relations manager Y/N, lying is in the subscript of your job description.”

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The last thing you wanted to see when you opened your apartment door was your boyfriend. Your soulmate. But there he was with a stupidly happy grin etched on his face as he jumped up from your couch.

“Baby! Baby, you’re never gonna guess what happened!” He all but squealed in excitement. You left no reply, just expected him to continue. “Hybe Japan let me off with a warning that if it ever happened again, they would take legal action, but for now I’m good.”

“Huh,” You mumbled, “Did they say why?”

“Uh, well I think they said they reviewed the benefits of taking legal action against me and the benefits of keeping me on as a performer. They said someone pointed out that the second option is a much more fruitful investment long term than the first. Isn’t that great?”

“Yes, Nicho. That’s great.” Your bag landed on the arm of your couch before slipping onto the floor.

“And look! Nothing bad happened to your job either. You were worried for nothing.”

“Excuse me?” You whipped your head toward him, his words weren’t even malicious, they weren’t even all that wrong, but they flipped a switch that wouldn’t flip back down, “Nicho, who do you think vouched for you? Who do you think told them that keeping you as an asset was better than suing you for money you don’t have?”

The grin on his face fell along with the temperature. You shouldn’t have brought up the money when you know he hates that you make more than him.

“Yes. Nothing happened to my job but you don’t want to know what I did to make sure that it didn’t. To make sure that you got off scot free and that I didn’t tarnish the reputation I have been building for three years.” Your voice was so grave, so deep, you almost sounded like a different person.

You shoved the suit coat of your body.

“What do you mean? What did you do?”

“I finally have a position that means something in this company.” You ignored his question, words spilling out like WhiteOut, hoping the more there are the more you can cover the words you accidentally spoke; but it would never erase them. “A lot of it is by sheer luck, you know? With management always filtering out, I got promoted through necessity. And finally, I had a chance to prove myself and my value and I did. And I got the opportunity of a lifetime!” You laughed humorlessly, throwing your hands up to gesture the magnitude of your words, “I get to manage one of the most successful models in Hybe and you put that in jeopardy!”

“Can you stop saying that?” He asked, anger framing his tone, “You didn’t have to vouch for me but you did. Don’t blame that on me.”

“What because I had a choice? My soulmate or my job? I love my job Nicho, I love it dearly, but you are my soulmate, so…”

“‘So’ what?” He folded his sleeved arms, “You love your job but you love me more? Yelling at me is a funny way of expressing that.”

“I’m not confessing my love for you Nicho, I’m saying the choice isn’t fair.”

“So, you’re saying that you don’t love me.”

You stared at him wide-eyed, “Wha— What are you talking about?!” Your voice came out pitchy. 

“Yeah, that's it.” He spoke as if he had revealed the world's greatest mystery which he knew all along, smug and over-confident, “You don’t love me. That’s what this is about. You love your job more than your own soulmate.”

You only stared at him like he was trashing everything you’d built. And in a way, maybe that’s exactly what it was. Compromising the foundation of your career; blurring the future you’d mapped within your head; disproving your undying devotion for him.

“Let me ask you a question, Y/N. If I wasn’t your soulmate would you have vouched for me? Or would you have left me to deal with this all by myself? Do you not even love me enough as a human to help me?”

Your answer died on your tongue as your phone began to ring. You rolled your eyes, wishing — praying — that people would stop calling you after work hours. That was until you saw the ID. You accepted the call immediately, paying no mind to the walking steam train in front of you.

“Hello? Heeseung are you alright?” You spoke quickly due to the adrenaline still coursing through you.

“Heeseung?” Your boyfriend mumbled, an irritated grimace pulling at his features.

“Hey, Y/N,” Heesueng spoke softly, “Listen uh, the plane I was on… We were sitting on the runway for like two hours and they just announced that there’s a light on the dashboard. They can’t fly this plane tonight and they won’t have any flights until the morning so… I need another night in the hotel. I know this is last minute but…”

“No, no, no. Don’t worry about it Heeseung, I’ll get on that right away.”

“Why do you talk to him like that?” Nicho asked bitterly. You only sent him an unimpressed look.

“Who was that?” Heeseung’s voice had an edge to it.

“It’s nobody, Heeseung. Listen I’ll—”

“Nobody?” Nicho laughed humorlessly and loudly too, “Tell that pretty boy that you love so much that this ‘nobody’ is your soulmate. How about you do that? Or are you too embarrassed?”

“Y/N…”

“Nicho, this is not the time. Heeseung do you have—”

“Heeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung. Is that what this is about?” He moved closer to you, “Is this why you love your job so much? Is this why you love it more than me? Because of him?” His voice got dangerously low. His steps pursuing you toward the kitchen.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“How much have you two done together?” Nicho asked the question as if it pained him, “Was that business trip to Shanghai even real?”

“Yes, of course it was real, Nicho. Don’t talk to me like you know what my job entails. You can’t even do your own properly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means, Nicho. And don’t act like you would still have a job right now if it weren’t for me.”

“What did you do then? What did you do that I wouldn’t wanna know?” He recalled your words from earlier, making your heart drop and your fingers itch to end the call. Heeseung couldn’t know. He couldn't find out. He couldn’t find out how awful of a person you were.

“Drop it, Nicho.”

“No, what did you do? Did you sleep with my boss? Like you slept with Heeseung? Is that the ‘luck’ you were talking about earlier?”

Both your vision and your cheeks filled with a flaming red. 

“What is wrong with you?!” You nearly screeched, dropping your phone to your side.

“That’s it isn’t it? You’ve been sleeping around to get what you want and you’re embarrassed. Did Heeseung know? Or did he and I both find out you’re a slut together on the same night.”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone, Nicho.” Your voice crackled with pent up emotions forcing their way out, “I haven’t slept with anyone because I was waiting for my soulmate. You wanna know what I did? The thing you wouldn’t like? I denied our relationship so that whatever I said about your character would be taken seriously.”

Suddenly, after his accusations, what you did didn’t seem all that bad.

“I lied for you. I told them you didn’t have a drinking problem, I told them you were a good asset, I told them that we weren’t together.”

“Did you tell them you didn’t love me too? Did you tell them that you’re so small hearted you can’t even love the only person you were ever meant to?”

You bit your lip and prayed the water in your eyes would go away if you just took a deep breath.

“Have you told Heeseung that? You’re embarrassed of your own soulmate? What does that say about you? You’d go seeking the comfort of another man while knowing exactly who your heart is supposed to belong to? Or was he under the impression that you were single too?”

“Just get out of my apartment, Nicho. I have work to do.”

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re choosing him over me?” He laughed pitchy and it scratched at your ears, “Man…” He breathed out, disbelievingly as he walked to the door of your apartment. “I hope the sex is good.” 

The door slammed, ending his sentence and ending the hold you had on your emotions. You dropped to your knees and let the tears spill out of your eyes. You shakily held your phone, fumbling through the buttons. 

Just find the Hotels.com app. 

“Y/N are you alright?” Heeseung’s voice emitted gently from the speaker. It ripped an embarrassing cry from your throat. This was embarrassing. You are an embarrassment.

“Um, I’ll have your hotel booked.” Gone was your manager voice; gone was your pride in your puddle of humiliation on the floor of your unswept apartment.

“Y/N, I don’t care about the hotel. I care about whether you're okay or not.” His voice was stern but it was eons away from being mean.

“I’m sorry,” You strained your voice, begging and pleading yourself not to cry, “That was really unprofessional. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

“Oh, Y/N…” You could envision the face he was making; his eyebrows upturned and those dark brown eyes carrying all the sorrow you feel in your heart, “I’m sorry. No one should talk to you like that. No one, at all. Let alone your own soulmate.”

You pressed purchase on the hotel and exported the receipt to Heeseung.

“It’s okay, Heeseung.” You sniffled, “Your hotel information is on the receipt. I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you have a ride? Do I need to book that? I can call you an Uber?”

“Y/N,” His voice anchored you in the midst of the rocky waves, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay…” You swallowed, hoping to alleviate the frailty of your voice, “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

“Goodnight,” His voice cut off as if he was about to say something else. Goodnight, Y/N? Goodnight, Manager? Goodnight….

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You vaguely registered the dryness of your eyes as you checked the clock on the bottom right of your laptop screen. He should be here by now. You’re not sure if he’d walk into the building. He doesn’t need to be here today. He has no reason to be here. So, it’d be fine. He wouldn’t see you. 

And after an hour of waiting in bated breath, you were right. He didn’t come see you. And you lied to yourself — saying you were wholly and completely relieved — but there was a part of you that wasn’t. A part of you that longed to see his gentle brown eyes, his soft tan skin, his chiseled jawline, his prominently defined Adam’s apple, and his plump pillowy lips. The features he got paid millions of dollars a year for. 

Even more than his indescribable beauty, you longed to hear that angelic voice of his. The voice that comforted you in the darkness of your apartment and the laugh that made the air feel lighter. That was the voice your heart lurched to hear.

Your mind would replay the softness in the way he said your name — how it sounded as if it were precious to him, like if you said it too loudly or too harshly it would break and fall apart. That sweet, sweet voice followed you all day until you walked to the lobby and it suddenly wasn’t in your head anymore.

“Thanks man,” He laughed lightly and clapped another man on the back, “I owe you big time.”

“Nah, don’t sweat it, bro.” The other man shook his head.

It was the first time you were seeing him with his new hair. It was bleached platinum blond and he left it messily unstyled — somehow he still looked perfect. All in a graphic hoodie and shorts with a green cap snapped around one of the belt loops. He was effortlessly attractive and it enthralled you completely. You debated whether or not to call out to him and ask him what he was doing here until you hesitated for too long and forfeited the choice. 

Heeseung’s soft brown eyes caught sight of you as he casually turned in your direction. It was jarring the way your mind became existentially aware of how the scene looked to others. Model Heeseung in his casual outfit that cost well over the monthly rent you paid for your quaint apartment, Marketing Agent You in your newly purchased suit that looked much more expensive and intimidating than it actually was. 

A model who knew way too much about his agent and an agent who knew way too little about her model.

“Y/N! Hey…” He turned to his friend and bid him adieu before jogging over to where you stood, clutching your work bag like a lifeline, “How are you?”

His voice was exactly as you remembered: soft, gentle, and caring. 

“Um,” You stammered, “Fine. No, I’m fine.” You nodded as if it would make your words any more convincing. It was obvious, as his eyebrows pinched slightly together, that you were only embarrassing yourself further, “What are you still doing here?”

All at once, concern turned into sheepishness, a dead giveaway being the way he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I uh, I was working on a project.” He nodded though he kept his eyes away from yours.

It took you a moment to consider his words, “Project? You don’t have a project today? I kept your schedule clear today.”

“Not a modelling project…” There was a gleam in his eye that you’d never seen before. A gleam that conveyed a child-like wonder that only comes from a lifelong passion.

“Okay…” You dragged the sound out before raising a brow and looking intensely into those sparkling browns, “Well, are you gonna tell me or…?”

“You wanna know?” He perked up immediately, a bright smile on the verge of breaking through.

“Of course, I do.”

And that smile came in full force as he grabbed your bag from you and circled your wrist in his large hand. He led you down the elevators buzzing with excitement barely contained as you dropped down two floors. He led you through a hallway of rooms until he pushed open the door to a vacant music studio. His hands guided you into the producer’s chair and handed you a headset — all before you could register the room you were in.

“Are you ready?” He bit his lip to control his smile but his happiness was so evident it might as well have been tangible. 

You let out a small giggle, “Of course but what am I getting ready for?”

“Oh!” His lips formed a perfect circle, “I… I think it’s better if you just listen.” 

And with that you placed the headset over your ears and watched his middle finger tap on the space bar of his laptop.

Immediately, an onslaught of tracks filled your ears. A musical mix of rock of dubstep and various elements of other genres flowed together in a unique blend that had the touch of a natural born genius.

Then you heard it. The voice which you loved so dearly filtering through the speakers of the headset, dropping your jaw and paralyzing every crevice of your mind in shock. And it stayed agape even after it ended and you turned to look at him like a deer in headlights. 

“The lyrics are a work in progress…” He laughed bashfully, “But the ‘ride or die’ part is there to stay.”

He looked at you expectantly and not in the way you’d think he would. He didn’t look like he expected you to shower him in compliments and tell him that he’s created a true masterpiece; he looked at you as if he expected you to tell him to put the mic down and focus on his reflection in the mirror.

“Heeseung, this is insane! Like insanely incredible! Do you want to be an artist?”

“Uh… yeah. I do.” His ears, chest, and cheeks flushed a pretty rouge.

“Why did you become a model then?”

He looked down at his feet before answering.

“I tried to get a music contract with Belift but they thought I’d be better as a model so I kinda just… gave up.”

“But you picked it back up again?”

“I never stopped learning to produce. I never could.” His eyes poured into yours, “I loved it too much.”

You smiled brightly — proudly — and stood up, grabbing his shoulders.

  “Send me your demo,” You spoke in a gravely serious tone, “And any other demos you have. I have a meeting next Tuesday and I will get you that music contract Heeseung. Trust me.”

The look he gave you was unlike any other. As if you were an angel sent from Heaven just for him.

“Really?” His voice small, like the flame of a candle before it burns out but his eyes… his eyes were full. Full of hope, full of joy, full of adoration.

“Yes.” You kept your hands on his broad, strong shoulders, pushing the thought of circling them around his neck from your mind. A thought that persisted even as you pulled your hands away.

“I have to go,” You grabbed your bag from the table, “But we’re gonna make this happen, Heeseung.” You stopped at the door and turned to him. “Tell me that you want this and I will fight with everything I have to achieve it for you.”

He leaned against the table, everything he felt in his heart was translated through the look in his eyes, “I want this more than anything.”

You nodded and offered him a smile that felt more like a promise.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

It ran through your head in circles for the next half-week. Between reviewing the edited photo options for Proya, captions for Heeseung’s social media, plans to open up more platforms for him, emails for photoshoots schedules, root touch-up appointments, plans for future events, you somehow managed to hop on Canva and make a pitch.

The presentation was relatively simple, leaving room for Heeseung’s musical genius to contend for itself. Clipped parts of his demos were pasted onto the presentation — only 15 seconds each and only the parts that gathered the full essence of the song. You spent hours picking the right parts, listening to the songs over and over, being diligent and considerate in your choices. 

For Ride or Die it was easy to choose the right part — the chorus was addictive. For Overflow, there were so many parts that stuck like glue in your mind which made it harder to choose the best section to clip. Dial Tragedy was short but there was still a lot to work with, a lot to decide within the nearly minute and a half ringtone. There was one demo you hadn’t even looked at yet.

You fell on your couch and took a breath, eyes closed and ears full of the soft blow of the air conditioner. The surface of your laptop was cold when you picked it up and placed it in your lap, opening the Google Drive and clicking on the demos. You finally moved onto the last one — its name cut off by your minimized tab – reading Highway 10….

The melody of the guitar and the silky vocals came almost at the same moment. The lyrics were characterized by a love that was wholly and completely consuming. A love that disregarded the woes of life and resided in the space cultivated by their devotion for one another. It was a song that resonated and echoed in the chambers of your heart.

An echo of admiration.

An echo of fondness.

An echo of longing.

An echo of sadness.

The song was beautiful but it was clearly dedicated to someone specific. And that shouldn’t have been surprising to you. That Heeseung had a soulmate. Of course he had a soulmate. He was remarkable in both body and spirit. He had a soul pure enough to cleanse those who caught even a glimpse of it. He was nothing like anyone you’d ever met and he was everything you’ve ever dreamt of.

He had a face that would have brought Aphrodite to her knees.

He had a way with words that would have compelled Shakespeare to set down his pen.

He had a voice that would have drawn every siren to his side like moths to flames.

Like how you were drawn to his side. 

The spiraling thoughts welled tears on your eyes and drew the music blank in your ears. Why did this happen?

You’d never cared about models — this was just your job. Not with Yeonjun, not with Soobin, not with Beomhyu, nor Taehyun, nor Kai. 

You’d never cared about looks, or big brown eyes, or shiny smiles, or voices, or words, or actions, or denim jackets, or mochi chocolate dumplings, or midnight phone calls. You’d only cared about marks. Only about the numbers that rose onto your skin at 13. You only cared about Fate and the man who’d share the same set of numbers until your death.

The ones which bloomed red after you met Nicho.

The ones you desperately tried to scrub off of your arm after you’d drunk just a bit too much to think clearly.

The ones you used to caress gently and not scratch violently.

The ones that used to bring you comfort and whisper promises of a future but now fill you with dread and remind you of the prison you should get comfortable in — be it with Nicho or without him.

One thing was certain about your future, you’d be on Hangang Avenue driving yourself to work and Heeseung would be holding his soulmate on Highway 1009.

Every ounce of breath depleted from your lungs in an instant. 

It was embarrassing how your heart filled with an inflated hope and your hands shook as they moved to the sleeve on your arm. Tugging on the thin fabric, the bright red numbers appeared in succession.

9 — the curves you’d seen for years seemed to look like a novelty.

0 — the quantity of the amount of breaths you’d taken since you touched your sleeve.

0 — your fingers shook violently as you reached the precipice of the final number.

1 — thousands of questions filled your mind like the breaking of a dam. 

How is this possible? What does this mean? Why would he write a love song with the same number as your soulmate mark? Does he have the same one? Do you have the same mark? Are you soulmate? But Nicho has the same one too? Is it possible to have two? Is there a highway called 1009? Are you overthinking this? Will this hope fall away like autumn leaves?

Your hands flew across your laptop, typing in the Twitter website, and searching ‘EVAN’ and searching through the photos tab. You searched every inch of his body futility — you knew better than most that a model desired by so many would not be allowed to show a mark that would confirm their exclusivity. You searched nonetheless; through photoshoots, Instagram posts, and fan photos until your eyes grew sandpaper-y.

Without thought, your fingers moved across the keyboard, typing as if they moved on their own.

The Google search bar held the question you were terrified to find the answer of: “Is it possible for multiple people to have the same soulmate number sequence?” No. There are no recorded instances of there being more than two living individuals with the same soulmate sequence of numbers.

Again you frantically typed out: “Highway 1009”

There is no highway 1009. Did you mean Gyeongbu Expressway?

So that was it then. Nicho was your soulmate and Heeseung coincidentally wrote a love song with the same number. It must represent something else. It must be a real highway somewhere. It must be a quantity. It must be a date. It must be a coincidence. 

Coincidence. That’s what it was.

It had to be.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

“From the moment he got contracted under Belift Lab in 2020, Lee Heeseung has been an irreplaceable asset. He, alongside the other six contracted models, have established Belift Lab as a respectable and renowned company within South Korea, Mainland China, Japan, and Globally. Although Belift predominantly manages models and scouts for new talent, the company has the resources to explore other routes for talent. Especially considering the in-house producers and composers at Hybe Corps disposal.”

You’d found yourself in a similar position just a few weeks ago. With a dozen pairs of cold eyes staring more into your soul than at the powerpoint you’d spent hours putting together. 

“Expanding into other areas of entertainment is a venture that Belift Lab has yet to do, however I believe having Lee Heeseung as the prospect for this endeavor would produce many fruitful results, including both revenue and reputation. I hav—”

“Pause.” You’d recognize that tone anywhere. The one that demands attention and leaves no room for negotiation. “Are you suggesting that Lee Heeseung change his contract from a model to a soloist?”

“‘Change’?” You repeated, “I’m not sure a full transition is necessary? I believe it’s possible to work both into his schedul—”

“We’ve already considered this path with Heeseung himself.” Kim Taeho, the CEO of Belift Lab, informed, “Did he persuade you to pitch the idea to me again? Quite frankly, I don’t care whose mouth it comes from — I don’t like the ramifications of the idea.”

The room was silent as you took a breath but your mind was anything but silent, “No sir, Heeseung did not persuade me to pitch this idea to you. As I only became his manager a month ago, I was unaware that he had brought this idea to you. I decided of my own accord to bring it to the board’s attention because I believe that Heeseung’s interest in pursuing this field could bring much fruit to this company. It’s one I hope you’d be willing to consider now or in the future.”

With the intensity in which your heart was beating, you were nervous that you’d be unable to hear his response. 

Luckily, that fear was irrational.

You’d found that most of your fears were and yet, you still found yourself breathing shallowly when that song repeated in your head for the millionth time. 

You: Heeseung, are you busy right now?

Lee Heeseung: ?

Lee Heeseung: You’re the one with my schedule lol

Lee Heeseung: Don’t tell me you forgot ://

You rolled your eyes playfully at his banter.

You: I know you don’t have anything scheduled but you have your hobbies, you know?

Lee Heeseung: True… I’m near the building. I can be in your office in 10 minutes.

You: Great, I’ll see you in 10

Your phone buzzed as soon as you put it down.

Lee Heeseung: Right…

Lee Heeseung: Remind me where your office is?

The time seemed to stretch beyond its capacity before he knocked on your office door. A smile was already plastered across his face before the door was even fully ajar. You gestured for him to take a seat in front of you and as he did, you recognized the dynamic. From the height of your office chair and the distance between your big wooden desk, it was more obvious than it had ever been. 

Lee Heeseung was your employee; you were his boss.

The thought sobered your mind to the point where you stared directly into those sparkling eyes and didn’t see the numbers 1009 behind them.

You looked away from them anyway; those dark browns and their expectations, their hope, their adoration. Emotions too close to the four letter word you were trying so desperately to ignore.

“Right,” You breathed out, “I just got out of meeting with the Belift Lab board of directors.”

Heeseung flexed his fingers over his knees where his hands rested. 

“I pitched the idea of a soloist contract to them, but Heeseung I have a question.”

A shadow of fear passed over his face, “What?”

“You didn’t tell me you had already tried to advocate for a contract. Why?”

His eyes shifted away from your figure entirely. You could almost visibly see the walls building up around him.

“I um… Well, I failed so…” 

“Failed is not the term I would use.” 

“What would you call it then?” He asked defeatedly.

“According to Kim Taeho, you pitched the idea relentlessly and you were given approval for the contract to be drawn. But, this is the part I’m confused about,” You admitted, “Your manager quit the very next day? Which is why the contract was never officially drawn?”

Heeseung drew a breath and released it heavily, “He said that he wasn’t interested in non-model exclusive contracts. He said that getting my foot in as a successful soloist would be a grueling job and would come with scrutiny that he didn’t care to manage.”

The wound to his heart was nearly visible — there might as well have been blood spilling out onto his shirt.

“Right. So, he was too lazy to manage a solo career for you and quit the next day?” You sighed and rolled your eyes, “Had he heard any of your music? Does he know how large your fanbase is?”

He shrugged his shoulders with his face downcast.

“Heeseung,” He lifted his eyes to your own, “I told you that I’d do everything in my power to get this contract for you. I didn’t plan to stop there.” You crossed your legs, “Do you know Choi Yeonjun from BigHit?”

He nodded, “We knew each other when we were younger.”

“You know he’s a model and a soloist, right? I assisted his manager for a year and a half before I took the position as your manager. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” 

He fought back a sheepish smile; you returned it with a comforting one.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing in the studio, tell me what help you need, and I will make sure the world hears your music. Don’t worry about that part.”

He nodded and Van Gogh’s Starry Night didn’t sparkle like his eyes did in that moment. 

“Thank you,” He whispered softly. Getting up out of his chair, causing you to watch as he hesitated with every step toward your office door. 

“Oh, Heeseung?” You called out to him, watching as he turned around with anticipation swimming in his gaze, “When did your manager quit?” 

He sighed frustratedly, “March 10th.”

You rolled your eyes at that fateful Tuesday, “Gosh, okay great. I guess everyone had a horrible March 10th then.”

He laughed and looked expectedly at you, “What happened to you?” An amused smile played on his plump lips.

You leaned against your desk and crossed your arms, “Some tenant in my apartment building decided to make popcorn at five in the morning. And then burnt it. So I woke up to the fire alarm, not my actual alarm.”

You smiled at his silly laugh.

“And then by the time I left, got gas, and arrived at the building, I was beyond late. My boss chewed me out for it which was extremely embarrassing.” You rubbed your forehead as he continued to laugh at your story, “I even bumped into someone in the hallway? Which was just the cherry on top.”

You considered that for a moment, too lost in thought to notice the sudden lack of noise. 

“You know? I guess it wasn’t such a bad day.” You shrugged and tuned to feel his heavy gaze, “I got sent to help the new Hybe Japan dance team get their headshots and profile photos taken for the company website. That’s where I met my soulmate — Nicho.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows suddenly creased confusedly, “You mean, again?”

You mirrored his look with your own confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Heeseung shifted awkwardly where he stood, “Because you guys broke up, right? And now you’re back together?”

You sat in confusion for a millisecond, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You recalled the phone call you had with Heeseung that night Nicho stormed out of your apartment, “Nicho and I fight but we’ve never broken up. And that call that we had,” You swallowed thickly, “The things that Nicho said about me, they aren’t true. I’ve never—”

“I know.” He crossed his arms, his face suddenly steeling, “Wait so, you’re telling me that you and Nicho met on March 10th?”

“Yeah,” You confirmed, “I was talking to him and, if you remember that was the day the A/C was broken, so I pulled up my sleeve and my mark was red.” You recalled the moment clearly, “Then Nicho pulled his sleeve up and had the same mark.”

Heeseung’s eyes held wells of concern within the depths of his eyes, “Y/N,” He licked his lips as if the words were too hard to say.

“What is it?” You straightened your posture as if it could guard you from whatever he was about to say, “You’re scaring me…”

“When I was still being scouted, I heard a lot about the Hybe Japan incoming talent from my friend EJ,” He spoke slowly, as if it would lessen the blow, “Of course, that means I heard a lot about Nicho.”

Your breath caught in your lungs; a grey cloud already began to form above your head.

“Y/N, Nicho’s soulmate cheated on him before I even became a model…” Heeseung stammered over his next words, “I assumed since you called him your soulmate that you guys had fixed your relationship and it honestly wasn’t any of my business so I tried not to think about it too much. But if you’re telling me that your soulmate mark turned red the day you met Nicho on March 10th, then either Nicho lied about his ex-girlfriend being his soulmate or…” 

The words fell dead on his lips and rose to life on yours.

“Or he lied to me about being my soulmate.”

Heeseung released a breath of air, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You clenched your jaw, desperately trying to recall how many times you’d seen Nicho’s soulmate mark — he always wore long sleeves. You pushed a hand through your hair before grabbing your work bag and walking toward the door. Heeseung’s strong arms stopped you from walking past him.

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Heeseung,” You spoke with your eyes closed, a visible sign that you were holding back emotions that had reached a dangerous peak, “Please. Please let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, kept his mouth agape as if he had more he wanted to say, but he dropped his hands nonetheless. 

He watched you walk out of your office like watching a car drive off on a highway.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The banging echoed through the entire apartment until it went quiet again. As soon as the echoes dissipated, they returned. Again and again until the door swung open. His dark eyes held a warmth that could only be replicated by a refrigerator. 

“Have you finally decided that your boytoy isn’t enough for you?”

The words held so much more meaning behind them knowing what his ex-girlfriend did. You felt bad for him, you understood him. But that wasn’t what you were worried about right now.

“Nicho, show me your mark.”

“What?”

“Show me your soulmate mark.”

“Why? You’ve seen it before.”

“Once. And I don’t remember what it looks like.”

He laughed sharply, “And you can’t look at your own arm to get the idea?”

You grabbed his arm, roughly, angrily, wrongly. But you weren’t thinking kindly in your desperation. “Show me.”

There’s only one thing you particularly remember about Nicho’s mark: it was horizontal. If you were to stick your arm out in front of you, the numbers run in tandem with the direction of your arm. Its why you can pull your sleeve up and see the numbers appear in succession: 9, then 0, then 0, then 1; which reads 1009 from left to right. 

Nicho’s isn't like that. His is horizontal, meaning that when he pulls his sleeve up, the bottom of all the numbers are there. The small line of the 1 and the round bottoms of the 009. You should’ve paid more attention the first time. Maybe it was your excitement that caused you to not notice that he hid the top of the numbers from view. You realized it this time as he pulled his sleeve until it almost revealed the full numbers. 

“See? We’re matching, baby.”

Before he could turn his gaze away from you, you pulled the last part of his sleeve to uncover the full number: 7009.

Bile in its purest acidic form rose to your throat, along with tears in your eyes. You stumbled back and tried to suck the air back into your lungs. You could barely hear him. Barely hear the desperate pleas that fell from his lips as you stumbled away from his apartment door. 

Y/N, please.

Just hear me out.

Listen to me, you don’t even know what happened?

After all the time we spent together, you’re just going to walk away?

Come back, please.

Please, please, come back to me.

As you drove away, his last words echoed faintly in your mind. And a part of you wondered if they were even meant for you.

You don’t know what you were thinking. It was beyond unprofessional — if HR ever found out you’d not only be fired but likely prevented from getting other job opportunities in the future. Somehow, none of that broke through the devastation hardening within your mind causing you to think irrationally. To act irrationally.

Because what sane person drives to the apartment of their client? 

What sane person punches the elevator button to his floor with tears flowing down their cheeks in steady streams?

What sane person knocks on his door, drunk on the thought of his strong arms wrapped around them?

The sight of him in a plain t-shirt and black basketball shorts and the most beautiful confused face you’ve ever seen sobered that thought from your head and drew a gasp from your mouth.

“Oh my— I’m so sorry— I didn’t—” You gestured stupidly with your hands, “I wasn’t thinking clearly. This is wildly unprofessional, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have come. Please forgive me—” 

It was warm — he was warm — as his big hands moved to hold you. One finding its way behind your head and the other over your arm and around your middle, pulling you into his chest and nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

“Please, don’t apologize Y/N.” He nearly whispers, his voice like sweet honey to your ears, “I’m so sorry.”

You held your breath, hoping it would stop the cries that were clawing within your chest. It shouldn’t hurt this much. You hadn’t wasted that much of your life. You’d only known Nicho for a little over a month. You’d only known him since that awful Tuesday in March. The day when everything went wrong. 

You wondered what would happen now. You used to look down at those four little numbers and see a promise, then when you were with Nicho they felt like a cage, what would they be like now? Would that bright red ink mock you for everything you’d lost. 

March 10th: the day you’d met and lost your soulmate.

“Y/N,” Heeseung whispered so gently, you wondered if he even wanted you to hear him. You pulled back to look into his eyes. Your faces inches apart — too close, too far. He looked at you with the same reverence he always had, “The day I met my soulmate, I never caught her name. She was gone before I could even catch a glimpse of what she looked like.” His hands slid up to your face, as if losing contact with you would kill him, “I looked for her everywhere. In every hallway, in every room, on every floor.”

“Did you ever find her?”

“I thought I did,” He let out a ghost of a laugh, “But she had allegedly found her soulmate already.” He watched your lips turn downward, “And I thought that was it. She had sped past me like a sports car on a highway.”

He looked down at his feet for a moment, just as yours filled with empathy.

“I dreamt of that metaphorical highway every night. One where I’d find her again and pick her up, and hold her, and never let go.” The look in his eyes was so intense it felt magnetic. Like it was drawing you in deeper. “But then, you know that, don’t you? You heard my song?”

The melody played somewhere in the back of your mind and you hated how its mere tune flooded your heart with hope. 

“Of course…”

“Then tell me, Y/N.” His voice held an indescribable desperation, “Tell me, I’m wrong. Tell me your body isn’t marked with the same numbers I look for in every place. Tell me that demo means nothing to you and you didn’t feel this crazy connection like we were being pulled together by strings of Fate.”

You didn’t tell him anything. You just tugged at your sleeve. Watching his desperation increase with each number: 9… 0… 0… 1… until he was face to face with the number he’d become all too familiar with. 

His fingers grabbed the hem of his black shorts and pulled them up. In vibrant red ink, just above the knee, four numbers you’d never seen on anyone’s body but your own. You stared at them like they’d vanish if you blinked. Or worse, that the one would change into a seven or the nine would flip upside down.

His warm hands found their way back to your cheeks.

“It’s real,” He informed, as if he had read the transcript of your mind, “You’re real.” He said as if it was hard to believe. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks and somehow you managed to pull even closer together. 

“Tell me if it's too much, all at once, and I won’t kiss you.”

Your lips didn’t move but your eyes did, dragging down to his lips and locking them there. Of course, he knew exactly what that meant. 

His breath fanned against your lips, his nose brushed against your own. Then finally, they pressed against yours like a promise fulfilled. 

Like the colors gained their hue, every melody was joined by its harmony, and flowers were solely acquainted with blooming.

And as your lips parted from one another, they instantly found each other again. 

And maybe Heeseung was right about Highway 1009. 

He’d pick you up, hold you, and he'd never let you go.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Heeseung flopped onto the sofa, placing his freshly washed hair straight in your lap, all with a dramatic groan. Without hesitation, you tousled his hair and brushed your nails gently through it. 

“I just reviewed your answers for that W Korea interview.”

“Mm,” He mumbled sleepily, “What do you think?”

“Mm,” You’d picked up on his habit, “I liked the part where you said that the producers called you crazy for challenging all the traditional conventions in composing.”

Heeseung’s eyes flew open and he held the most deadpan look they could muster. It wasn’t his fault that he adored you too much to even pretend to look mad at you.

“So, you’re just going to ignore the part where I said I wrote Highway 1009 for you?”

“Hm,” You hummed, “I’m pretty sure you said ‘your soulmate’.”

Heeseung sat up and pushed his face inches before yours, “Oh I’m sorry, did you want me to call HR and tell them that EVAN and his manager are in a secret relationship?” He grew a wicked smile that only made him look more irresistible, “C’mon, Manager. You of all people should know how the public would take that.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, “You’re lucky you're cute, Evan.”

He smiled slyly and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Oh, I know I’m lucky.”

His kisses always felt breathtaking and magnetic, it didn’t matter if it was your first or your 1009th.

© jjongbat 2026 — all works are without ai and belong solely to jjongbat unless otherwise specified. please do not steal, repost, or re-upload without credit.

[heesroses]

i need everyone to stop what you’re doing and read the first fic from the LOML. it’s AMAZING, lowkey made me cry (but don’t tell her that thanks!)

[jjongbat]

omg elle ily :( i’m really happy you enjoyed it esp bc i haven’t written anything in SO LONG.

[jjongbat]

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ NUMBERS THAT BIND

model!heeseung x agent!reader ⸝⸝ female reader ⸝⸝ soulmate au ⸝⸝ 16k words ⸝⸝ lying / secrets ⸝⸝ slow burn ⸝⸝ inspired by recent events ⸝⸝ featuring nicholas from &team ⸝⸝ hurt/comfort ⸝⸝ reader is called a slut ⸝⸝ mentions of cheating ⸝⸝ nicho is mean

ⓘ :: thank you for reading my first enhypen fic! it is inspired by recent events but please note that this is a work of fiction — i have no idea what happens in the hybe building. also nicho is the villain in this story but i love him dearly irl.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 LHS 001 // ⌕ masterlist // ☆ reblogs appreciated!

The deep breaths did nothing to make it any less scary; nothing to make your hands steadier. You still stood in front of a long conference table pitching your ideas to your potential employers impromptu. You tried to speak clearly — loud but not too loud, confident but not too confident—but it came out wrong in your ears, all pitchy and unsure. Your eyes danced across the men sitting around the table, dressed in suits and perpetual frowns, and you were certain that they were only hearing the parts of your presentation that had dollar signs in front of it.

“That would be the direction I would take.” You concluded, waiting for either an onslaught of passive aggressive questions or dead silence. 

As you waited in bated breath only to receive blank stares, you schooled your face to be just as neutral. 

“Thank you, Miss L/N.” One of the directors said. You recognized it as your cue to dismiss yourself from the room. 

Taking another useless deep breath, you made it back to the fifth floor. Grabbing the papers off the printer for your boss while following the path to your desk. You shook your head and the hope from your shoulders, before opening the Gmail icon where you’d spend the last three hours of your day. But as the page loaded into view, the most recent one dropped your heart to the floor. 

Kim, Taeho EVAN PR Representative - L/N Y/N, your promotion to PR Manager has been granted.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The office wasn’t extraordinarily big but it was an undeniable upgrade from the dingy grey cubicle you’d been calling your home for the past 2 years. You remember exactly what it felt like to move into that cubicle, especially because you’re having the exact same feeling as you stare at your empty office. You’d gotten an internship at Hybe Corporation under BigHit about two years ago. Through many changes, firings, and quittings, you’d been promoted due to necessity — but now, you’d been promoted because of your own merit.

The pen you’d used to sign under Belift Lab as a public relations manager for their model: EVAN. You’d learnt, while doing your research for the presentation, that his real name was Lee Heeseung and he’d been contracted under Belift Lab in 2020 for modeling alongside six others. 

You walked past the boxes you’d yet to unpack and pulled out your laptop. Opening the messages you wrote out a text to Heeseung, informing him of the change.

You: Good morning, Mr. Lee Heeseung. My name is L/N Y/N and I’ll be your new PR Manager starting today. I’ll be contacting brands today in order to schedule gigs for you by the end of the week. If you have any questions or would like to meet to discuss anything, please let me know.

The message was strictly professional and maybe that's what pulled you into a bird’s eye state of consciousness. This was uncanny — both foreign and familiar — drafting a professional message to send to a client, yet this time you weren’t drafting it with someone else’s name attached. Your heart beat rapidly as you hit the send button, waiting to make sure it went through, before leaving your desk and opening one of the many filled boxes. 

The sunset behind the clouds somewhere between setting up a personal printer and desperately searching for your laptop charger. The day having been spent setting up your new office and sending exactly one message, a message which was finally being answered only eight hours later. 

Lee Heeseung: Good evening, sorry for the late reply. I’d like to meet with you if it’s possible? 

Your brows furrowed slightly. You’d worked with plenty of models before, you’d contacted a handful too, none of them came across with the gentleness that Heeseung did. Nowhere was the demanding quality that texts were typically sent in. But of course, this was only the first text, things could change.

You: Of course. Let’s meet at 12:00 o’clock at Daydream Cafe. Does this work?

It was a silly question, you had Heeseung’s schedule — it was full of empty boxes.

Lee Heeseung: Yes, perfect. Thank you.

You: I’ll see you there Mr. Lee.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Working under BigHit, you’d seen many pretty faces. Worked quite close to some of them too, but time seemed to slow down like it was treading through a vat of honey. The pictures didn’t quite do him justice, the cameras couldn’t quite capture his dimension. It should’ve embarrassed you at how hard you were staring — and it did, when you ran it over in your head before falling asleep that night — but in the moment, all you could think about was how beautiful Lee Heeseung was. The way the afternoon sun piercing through the glass windows cast a halo around his silhouette, how his simple outfit seemed to only highlight the natural beauty of his face, and how his eyes looked so wide, and so lost, and so breathtaking as he looked around the cafe.

And it dawned on you: he doesn’t know what you look like.

“Uh,” The legs of your chair scraped obnoxiously on the floor, “Mr. Lee! Hi, I’m sorry I hadn’t realized you don’t know what I look like.” 

His gentle eyes bore into yours; it drew a nervous laugh like water from a well and it painted blush on your cheeks in Alazarin Crimson.

“Oh, hi.” It was embarrassing, how his smile made your heart stutter off beat. 

You noted the fresh makeup resting on his face. 

“Were you at a shoot?”

“Huh?” His eyes shone with innocent confusion. “Uh, well, I made an Instagram account and I needed something to post so… I scheduled something last week.”

You gestured for Heeseung to take a seat across from you. 

“What do you mean? Shouldn’t your PR manager have done the scheduling for you?”

Those eyes which had held yours the whole time suddenly dropped, unable to look in your direction. His jaw was defined in the way a man’s only does when he’s holding back his influx of emotion. You heard the air shift as he breathed deeply.

“I haven’t had one… for a while.”

“What do you mean you ‘haven’t had one for a while’? Who’s been managing you?”

The constant chatter of the cafe hadn’t diminished, hadn’t silenced, hadn’t increased, and yet it felt entirely too quiet with Heeseung’s lack of response. 

“Uh hey,” His voice, though soft, demanded your audience, “Let me grab a drink quickly and then I want to ask you about something.”

You pulled out your fresh, shiny, new company card and handed it over to him without hesitation. “I’d love to say it’s on me, but it’s actually on Lee Jaesang. Go crazy.”

Your smug smile was returned with an impressed one — and any tension you felt earlier dissipated in the exchange of a credit card. 

Talking with Heeseung came much more naturally than you’d expected. Maybe that was because he wore his heart on his sleeve or because your friendly nature had dropped his guard. Whatever the case, as soon as you told him that you’d like to manage his career with consideration of his goals for himself, his eyes held you in the same awe as if you had hung the stars just for him. 

“So, to get this straight,” Your favorite pen — Black Pilot G-2 0.7 — smoothly glided across your small notebook, “You’ve been managing your own social media accounts for the past two weeks because your contract changed?”

His throat worked around a swallow, “Yeah, yeah that’s right.” He nodded. 

“Right.” You flipped your notebook back a page, “I have notes from your previous manager. He had a detailed plan for you, including partnerships with major brands! I greenlighted them yesterday since your schedule seemed to be empty.”

Engrossed in your notes, you failed to recognize the slight tremor in his hand when he set his iced americano down.

“Partnerships?” 

“Yeah! A lot of brands and magazines want to work with you, Mr. Lee.” 

“Uh, Heeseung. Heeseung is fine.”

You turned your head up to see his shy face in all its world-renowned glory. 

“Alright then, Heeseung,” You corrected, “I have a plane ticket to Shanghai for you for a gig.”

“Oh okay.” He fidgeted with his hands. 

“Yes, I lined you up with a brand deal for SimCare who loved your prior work with Joocyee. You’ll be a brand ambassador for them.” 

Heeseung smiled softly in an apprehensive kind of way. Which confused you more than you’d like to admit. Because Lee Heeseung doesn’t fit into the category you’d initially placed him in. 

Sure, you’d never worked under Belift Lab before but you’d worked with models. Ones just as popular, successful, and handsome as Heeseung is. They all carried an energy characterized in confidence that bordered on arrogance and a directness that bordered on inconsideration. And you’d seen Heeseung’s work, he was confident and rightfully so. He was impeccable at his job and entirely multifaceted — so maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that he was able to present himself as humble too. 

Perhaps you were too cynical for your own good but you didn’t want to believe that to be true. That Heeseung was different from the other models you’d spent assisting the management of. No you couldn’t believe it, not yet. Instead you just made a mental note to ask him about an acting career in the future. 

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The company car pulled up to the front of Heeseung’s apartment building at exactly 11:15, where the man of the hour had been waiting patiently. After throwing his luggage in the trunk, he opened the door and flinched back in surprise. 

“Oh… holy— you scared me.” He stuttered with a hand on his heart.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” You apologized, almost nonchalantly. 

“What are you doing here?” The door shut softly as he climbed in next to you.

“I’m headed to Shanghai as well. I have a couple PR teams that I wanted to meet with.”

“SimCare?” He asked, peeping over at your laptop which proudly displayed your Gmail account with the brightness all the way up.

It took you a second before you responded, your mind being too preoccupied with reading emails of nothingness.

“No, no. I won’t be at your shoot, I’ll be discussing things with other potential business partners.”

Heeseung nodded at your words, his fingers flexing against the knees of his black sweats. The car ride to the airport mainly consisted of the smooth jazz radio being harmonized by the clicking of your fingers against the laptop. It was only broken a couple of times, all by Heeseung himself. Like when he asked where your luggage was and you pointed to the small duffel bag at your feet. Judging by the look on his face, he was horrified at how little you’d packed. 

“It’s only a two hour flight.” You had explained; it did nothing to alleviate his concern.

He’d also asked who you’d be meeting with in Shanghai and where you’d be. You responded that that was confidential information. You let him simmer in the disappointment of unanswered questions before telling him:

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Heeseung.”

The airport was crowded with fans, as usual, screaming Heeseung’s name at the top of their lungs and holding out letters as far as their arms could reach. This was the part of management that you never had to deal with. As an assistant, you got to sit behind a screen and answer emails or try not to roll your eyes every time you picked up the phone. Now, you walked alongside Heeseung’s body guards with heightened adrenaline — knowing all too well that the fans couldn’t care less about you if only you would walk out of the frame of their fancams.

You only released a breath of relief after sitting in the aisle seat of row 17 economy. As if TSA and departure times weren’t stressful enough, you had to worry about people following you — well, Heeseung.

Lee Heeseung: Hey where are you?

You read his message with the last bit of Wi-Fi the airport had to offer.

You: Row 17 aisle. Don’t worry, I’ll take you to your shoot when we arrive in Shanghai.

Your eyes fell closed as you listened to the whirring of the air conditioner overhead. Your mind raced with all the PR representatives that you’d be meeting with for the next several hours after the plane landed. A faint throbbing rose in the back of your head and your phone felt hot in your hand. You silently prayed that your boss wouldn’t send you another email before tomorrow; for both his and your own sanity. The flight was short and you’d never be able to fall asleep but closing your eyes was enough. Who knew management would be so stressful.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Shanghai was absolutely breathtaking. Seeing the city in person, standing beneath the buildings that reached toward the heavens, driving next to the water which glimmered in the afternoon sun —- it proved that pictures did not do her justice. The car dropped the two of you off at the hotel. Heeseung stood behind you, generously holding your duffel bag, as you checked into the hotel and handed him his keycard.

“I’ll be gone for a couple hours but if you need me, please text me or call me.” You hit floors seven and five. 

“We’re not on the same floor?” He asked.

“No, I’m on five.” You took the opportunity to take your duffel back from his hands, “Thank you for holding my bag, Heeseung.”

“No problem.” He cleared his throat softly.

“Oh also,” You glanced into his deep brown eyes, forcing yourself not to turn away from their gentleness, “Feel free to do whatever you want today but your shoot will start tomorrow at 9:00.” The elevator stopped and held itself in limbo before the doors opened. “Like I said, I’ll be there to drop you off at the site but I won’t stay. I’ll be in a meeting.”

“Right.” He nodded continuously, like he expected another topic to come up. Or maybe, that he wanted one to. “So then, will you be there to pick me up?”

“Uh…” The doors beeped angrily due to their inability to close with your body in the way. “If I’m not in a meeting then sure, I can come get you.”

“Okay, great.” He smiled softly. “Then I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you at 8:00 in the lobby.”

His curled lips didn’t drop even as the doors closed between you. It took you just a moment to make the journey to your hotel room, with your brows furrowed and head trying to figure out the 181cm enigma that had been cast under your care. 

After three years of working with models — first as an intern, then as PR representative, then as a managing assistant — you thought it would have prepared you. You thought it had prepared you to manage a model on your own. Logistically, it had. You knew how to secure brand deals, negotiate contracts, schedule events, book travel and accommodations, hire security, and dodge questions that weren’t meant for certain ears. Logistically, you knew how to manage Lee Heeseung. 

But he wasn’t like the models you’d worked with before — at least outside of the studio. Albeit, you’ve never seen him in the studio, but where you used to tell models their flight details only to receive complaints or questions about their accommodations or comfort, Heeseung asked where you were, what you’d be doing, if you had time to pick him up. Why? 

You were his manager. All models need to care about is whether their manager is failing them or not; you weren’t wholly confident in your abilities to manage Heeseung but you knew for a fact you hadn’t failed in under 36 hours. Which is why his interest in your job left you confused and mildly irritated. Like you were being watched; like he was waiting to see if you failed.

And maybe that gentle smile you’d held with such fondness was more sinister than you initially thought.

Your phone rang as soon as you tossed your duffel onto your hotel bed. Fishing it out of your pocket, you checked the caller I.D. and smiled.

“Hi, babe.” You walked over to the balcony and stood in the breeze.

“Hey, baby, how’s Shanghai?” His voice told that he was smiling brightly on the other end.

“Good so far!”

“Oh, so you don’t need me to hop on a plane and come translate?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “No, Nicho, I don’t need you to come translate for me.”

“Oh, when did you learn Mandarin?”

“I hired a translator, babe, they have those.”

“You hired a translator that's not me?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, despite knowing he wouldn’t see, “I didn’t know you’d cancel your shoot just to follow me around all day.” 

“And get paid for it? C’mon baby… you know that’s my dream.”

You deadpanned to no one but the glorious skyline in front of you. 

“Speaking of dreams, how was the shoot?”

“Incredible, actually. The team I’m working with are incredible dancers — it’s insane.”

This time he could hear your smile, “That’s amazing, Nicho, I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah,” He was blushing on the other end, you could tell, “Hey I just wanted to check in on you. I’ll see you when you get back, have fun.”

“Thanks Nicho,” You spoke softly while rubbing the combinations of numbers on your arm, “How lucky are we to have found each other?”

“Not lucky at all babe,” He let out a pitchy laugh that tugged at your heartstrings, “It’s fate.”

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You watched Heeseung trudge through the lobby at 8:00 as if he hadn’t used his legs in 15 years. He rubbed his eyes and mumbled a good morning as he spotted you. Or at least, you thought it was a good morning — his raspy morning voice and lack of annunciation made it hard to tell.

“Good morning to you too, Heeseung,” You greeted, holding back a giggle, “Would you like to stop for coffee before we arrive at the studio?”

He nodded his head with his eyes sewn shut and had to force them open again. You shook your head fondly before leading the two of you toward the car which was waiting for you. The early morning Shanghai air bit at your skin as you opened the door for Heeseung to climb in.

“Do you have a specific coffee shop that you frequent in Shanghai?” As soon as your seatbelt clicked, the car started to drive toward the main road.

“No, no,” He denied, “Just go to the closest one.”

You smiled softly at his droopy state and informed the driver to take you to the nearest coffee shop — praying that it was a good one. 

Even as you watched Heeseung sleepily walk through the doors into the studio, you hadn’t sipped your coffee. Instead you rattled off the address you were headed to and reviewed your negotiation strategies. Pretending like you were terrified of messing up on the first big contract negotiation for Heeseung, even though the condensation dripping from the sides of the cup was a visual representation of your nerves.

The car rolled in front of a tall sleek building which was even more sleek and expensive on the inside. The walls were white and seemed to glow with the intensity of the lights. The walls were bare and the furniture was minimalist which gave the feeling that more expense was given than less. That was all you realized under the constant pressure against your head to not fail. 

It was all that reverberated inside your skull, even as you pulled the chair out at the conference table. Don’t fail. You can’t fail. You have to negotiate a good deal. You have to make EVAN a success. You have to re-establish his brand. You can’t let him down. You can’t fail him.

“Good morning, Miss L/N.” The man in front of you greeted as he sat down in front of you. 

“Good morning, Mr. Liu.” You smiled and folded your shaking hands in your lap, “I could have met you at your headquarters in Hangzhou. It would have been no problem.”

“No worries,” The translator spoke a beat after Mr. Liu finished his reply, “I was already in Shanghai for other business.” 

You nodded your head and smiled, carrying on a bit of small talk before you committed to talking in terms of business and revenue. For his intimidating appearance, Mr. Liu was quite friendly — more than you expected. 

“I noticed that Proya Cosmetics have been attempting to secure a brand deal with Lee Heeseung for quite some time. Apologies for the wait, there were recent shifts in management but we’d be happy to accept and negotiate a deal that benefits all parties adequately.” 

You brushed your finger over the mark on your arm, the rhythmic motions calming your breathing down as you waited in the limbo of translation. Proya Cosmetics would be a perfect brand deal for Heeseung. He has experience working with Joocyee and now SimCare, he worked with Qrsessed in the past and a potential deal with said company would be in the works, if all went well. You’re sure it would. And you’re sure Proya would accept him due to Heeseung’s popularity in China. You just had to discuss a deal that would properly benefit all parties: Heeseung, Proya, Belift Lab, and the consumer base. 

No biggie.

“We’d love to accept Evan to advertise our new products: a cushion foundation and sunscreen.” The translator spoke to your right but you looked and nodded along to the man who owned those words, “For Proya, our ideal deal for Evan is to welcome him as a brand ambassador and run an immediate ad campaign and look into future campaigns later on.”

“Right, of course,” You nodded at the interest in long-term partnership, assuming it was due to his status among the customer base, “Belift Lab is interested in an ambassadorship as well, however Evan is not available to be Proya’s ambassador exclusively.”

“Of course not!” Mr. Liu laughed, “Oh I can name about five brands in China alone that want Evan to be their ambassador. He’s quite popular everywhere though, isn’t he?”

You laughed along though something tugged at your brows. Questions began to nag in the back of your brain, distracting you from the task at hand. Pressing your thumb deep into the mark, you grounded yourself and forced your attention to the negotiations.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The sun was setting behind the clouds by the time you lazily pulled the door to the car open. You had spent the morning negotiating and approving plans with Proya Cosmetics; then once the afternoon rolled around, you talked your tongue dry over the phone with PR representatives from Qrsessed at an outdoor table adjacent to a coffee shop. After finalizing the paperwork and responding to emails, you called the car to pick you up. 

You jumped back in surprise as the door opened fully.

“Heeseung?!” You sighed in relief, letting your shoulders drop, “You scared the everliving daylights out of me.”

His laugh echoed endlessly in the backseat, “Now you know how it feels.”

The sound of the door shutting cut off the rest of his giggle fit. 

“Yes, yes I do.” You snapped your seatbelt in place, “I thought I was picking you up, not the other way around?”

“Well,” He scratched at his right knee absentmindedly, “My shoot ended hours ago.” He turned to you with a crease in his forehead, “Do meetings typically take all day?”

You laughed humorlessly, “Depends on the meeting.”

“Mm,” He nodded.

“The meetings involve your future, Heeseung. I can’t take them lightly.” You confessed, turning to look at the passing buildings from the window. “I had to make sure that you got the best deal they had. And typically those deals are hidden under the table.”

The whirring of the air conditioner was the only sound filtering between the two of you. It was nice. The quiet of it all. It was indescribably serene after the day you had of constant talking and constant strategizing. You had no thoughts going through your head now. Well, not until:

“Wait,” You turned to the driver, “Where are we going?”

“Ah,” Heeseung cleared his throat, “There’s this restaurant I’ve been wanting to try. So, I got us a reservation.”

Perhaps you picked up on these things easier since you’d worked with so many models before but Heeseung had garnered a slight blush as he spoke. Not on his face — no his blushy cheeks were hidden beneath perfectly curated makeup, but his chest and ears were not. Again, it could’ve been the models you’d always worked with but no model you’d ever met had blushed at you. Perhaps he’s just nervous.

“Oh, that’s great!” The phantom pressure of deciding where to go and reserving a seat dissipated from your shoulders, “Thank you, Heeseung.”

“Of course, Manager L/N.”

The foreignness of the words ripped a laugh from your chest, “Please,” You waved him off, “Please, just call me Y/N.” 

He smiled brightly — some would say fondly — at your reaction. A smile which didn’t drop from his face; it stayed plastered on his lips like a bandaid. 

Like proof that something was healing.

The walls were dark and the dim lights seemed to make them impossibly darker — like black holes that would inevitably suck you in. Heeseung spoke to the finely dressed waitress through the thin material of his black face mask. She smiled professionally before leading him toward a table that was secluded from windows and obscured from prying eyes.

Heeseung pulled a chair out from under the table and gestured for you to take a seat, the sight stopped you in your tracks, causing you to stare for just a moment too long. 

“Uh, thank you,” You scurried into the seat after realizing.

“No problem.” He took his seat across from you and picked up the menu.

You glanced through the menu, noting the English translations under the Mandarin. The combination of languages had you glancing down to the mark on your left arm and then your thoughts traveled to the person who shared the same mark.

“This place is known for their xiaolongbao,” Heeseung suddenly spoke, ripping you from your thoughts, “So, we should probably get two orders of those.”

“Pardon?” You furrowed your brows at him.

“Oh well, I mean, I don’t know how many you plan to eat but I could go through an entire order by myself.”

You nodded your head slowly, “Right….”

Sensing your confusion, Heeseung thought for a minute about why that was. 

“This is a family style type of restaurant,” He clarified, “You order a dish and its for the whole table.”

“Oh,” You dragged the word out, “That makes more sense now.”

His lips curled upwards and the lights reflected as stars in his eyes, “Yeah, so I think we should get two orders of xiaolongbao. Do you like pork, crab, chicken, or beef?” 

You contemplated for a moment, “We should get one pork and one chicken.”

“That’s what I was thinking!” He laughed softly before turning back to the menu. 

The two of you deliberated over what dishes to get: the peppered beef sirloin was a no-brainer, the garlic green beans had good reviews, the noodles were a must for Heeseung, and the refreshing cucumber salad sounded like the perfect side dish. 

“Oh!” You turned to the waitress and pointed at something on the menu, “One of these too, please.”

She nodded and left your table just as speedily as she’d arrived.

“What was that?” He picked up his glass of water.

“A surprise.” You dodged, mirroring his actions.

“Right,” A breathy chuckle fell from his lips. At the sound, an unconscious smile rose to your lips. 

“So, how was the shoot?”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes turned up to the ceiling in thought. “It was okay. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You nodded, “How did SimCare treat you?”

This time, he furrowed his brows at you, “What do you mean?”

“Like, were they patient with you? Did they demand things from you unnecessarily? Did they treat you with respect?”

“Oh um, yeah I think so.”

“What do you mean ‘you think so’?” Your brows creased.

“Well, I mean, it was just a normal shoot. Why do you wanna know anyway?”

You frowned slightly, “Because I’m your manager, Heeseung. I want to know how you’re being treated, especially by a business partner that I helped form for you.”

He stared at you blankly — completely unreadable — those dark brown eyes full of thought but pouring none of it out to you. 

“It went fine.” He smiled softly, “How were your meetings? Were they… successful?”

You mulled over the question, “I think so.” Your fingers lightly tapped against the side of your glass as the waitress set down a bottle of red wine, “I negotiated the best deal for you that I could.”

He nodded understandingly then moved to open the bottle.

“The companies always take a majority of the revenue from these deals but you’ll be taking home a large sum, don’t worry. I made sure of it.”

You laughed softly in that tired way where it's mostly just air coming out of your nose. You watched the red liquid slosh into the glass and heard it scrape against the table as he pushed it toward you. 

“Oh, thank you.”

He only smiled easily in return. That’s what it felt like with Heeseung. It felt easy. As if he didn’t have any expectations for you; as if when he looked at you, he saw a person instead of a machine. 

You’d never been to dinner with a client before, certainly not with an established model, but you’re certain that if it had been anyone else sitting across from you, it wouldn’t feel the same. Your hands wouldn’t be clammy and your heart wouldn’t be beating out of your chest — certainly.

No if this were any other model: you’d force yourself to look at him when speaks, not choose to because his eyes are so entracing. You’d force yourself to say filler response words as he rambled about his day, not listen intently like he was a friend you’d always known but hadn’t seen in a while. You’d tune out his laugh not search for it underneath the echoes of other patrons enjoying their meals. 

You ate contentedly, sharing each other’s days as much as you did the food. He wasn’t expecting a fantastical story about the logistic side of his job but he listened to it as if he was genuinely curious to know what a manager did day-to-day. He spoke easy, casually, confidently, like you’d been the only manager he’d even known. 

“Actually Heeseung,” You remembered something you’d learnt about him earlier, “You told me that you had been without a manager for a couple weeks. Why was that? I didn’t see anything in your file?”

You watched his eyes blur out of focus before shifting to look down at the noodles in front of him.

“It just… happened that way.” His voice could barely be categorized as a whisper. 

“Alright,” You kept your voice light, noticing that the topic must be sore, “Well if you can, knowing more about—”

“And here is your final order!” The waitress spoke happily, placing another steamed basket in front of you and Heeseung. 

“Uh, more dumplings?” He asked inquisitively. 

“Oh, actually they’re—”

The loud ringing of your phone cut you off. You turned to your bag to find it, a blush settling on your cheeks the longer it rang. 

“They’re a different type of dumpling,” The information did not seem to quell his confusion. You checked the caller identification and immediately stood. “Uh, sorry, Heeseung, I will be right back.”

“Is everything okay?” His voice dripped in concern.

“Yeah! Yeah everything's fine, please enjoy the dessert.” You rushed toward an exit before finishing your sentence completely.

“Hey, what’s going on?” 

“Y/N? Y/N? Y/N! Y/N.” 

Your brows furrowed in a deep worry, “Yes, yes, I’m here what’s wrong, baby?”

“What do I— What do I do if I get caught doing something I shouldn’t?”

“What do you mean, Nicho?”

“No I mean, I was just at the club, you know? Yeah I was just there and there was this huge dance circle— you should’ve seen it.” His voice betrayed him, he was intoxicated. It was impossible to miss with his intonation and lazy speech.

“Nicho what happened? What did you do?” Your voice was raised as if it was trying to compete with the loud beating of your heart.

“Well, you see I was in the dance circle, yeah? And in the dance circle I wanted to dance, yeah?”

You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back a frustrated and impatient sigh. The cool air was hitting you in waves and you could’ve sworn a droplet landed on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, and then what?”

“Well, it was so fresh in my mind with all the filming and stuff and, you know I really think it’s cool, I remember telling you that.” Your eyes widened in realization, “And I think I might be a little intoxicated because I just started doing the dance off of memory and everyone was cheering and celebrating and oh, it was awesome.”

“Nicho, did you do the dance for the music video you just shot?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You pushed a hand through your hair, “But there’s no proof right?”

“Well, that’s the thing…”

“Nicho how many people have that video?”

“Uh I don't know, everyone was filming.”

“Well, can you make sure none of them post it?”

“That’s not gonna help.”

“Why?”

“It’s already on Twitter.” 

You screwed your eyes shut. Words failing to rise on your tongue until they came all at once. 

“Nicho, I told you to pace yourself on your drinking.”

“Yeah, and I have! This was a one-time thing.”

“It’s not a one-time thing. You’ve done this before.”

“No, I haven’t? I never reveal top secret choreo!”

“I’m not talking about the choreo, Nicho. I’m talking about the drinking and the clubbing. Listen, I don’t care that that’s what you’re into as long as it doesn’t affect your professional life or our personal life together. You’re under a contract with Hybe Japan, you can’t just do whatever you want. You need to be more careful about where you’re seen in public—”

“I’m already going through a lot right now, Y/N. I called because I need your help, not because I wanted to be reprimanded.”

“How am I supposed to help you, Nicho?” You nearly yelled into the receiver of your phone, hands subtly rubbing your chilly skin. 

The chill seeping into your skin made it all the easier to feel the warmth radiating behind you. You whipped your head around to see Heeseung removing the denim jacket he’d been wearing. Held within his hands along with a takeout bag from the restaurant and the purse you’d left inside, he offered you the jacket along with a look characterized by care.

“I don’t know, Y/N. You’re a higher up in Belift Lab now. You’ve worked in BigHit for years. You can probably suggest them to let me off the hook, you know?”

You broke your contact with Heeseung’s gaze.

“What, like if they take you to court? For leaking the choreo? You know that would put my job in jeopardy, right?”

You kept your eyes away from the sight of the 181cm model in front of you, causing you to miss the concern plastered all over his face. You swallowed thickly and suppressed the shiver that threatened to overtake you.

“And what about my career?” Nicho scoffed, “I’m really in a tough spot right now and you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I don’t know how to help you.” As soon as you were about to rub your forehead, the heavy denim jacket found its way onto your shoulders via Heeseung’s hands. The same hands which held your purse and leftovers while hailing the sleek black car you’d been riding in all day. 

Your hands tugged the jacket closer, you pretended that the strong cologne lingering on the fabric didn’t offer you an inexplicable sense of comfort.

“Shouldn’t you know, though?” Your boyfriend asked as Heeseung opened the door for you, “Isn’t it your job to represent client relationships to the public?”

A bitter laugh was contained only by how hard you were biting your lips, “Your employer — my employer — isn’t the public, Nicho. When they find out that you leaked the choreo, there’s nothing I can do to persuade them not to take legal action.”

“Would you do it for one of your models?”

“What?”

“Nevermind, thanks for nothing, babe.” 

The next thing to flood your ears were the three disappointing beeps of an ended call. You pulled your phone from your ear and stared at the blank screen. Dazed, jarred, and guiltily disappointed.

“Who was that?” Heeseung’s soft and sweet voice filtered over to your ears.

The answer should’ve been easy. Nicholas. Wang Yixiang. Your boyfriend. Your soulmate. 

Instead you answered “no one” and scratched harshly at the mark on your arm. As if it had offended you — as if you could rid yourself of it.

You only said two other things that night. Nothing in the car, nothing in the elevator, nothing until the two of you made it to the door of your hotel room. You paused, taking off his coat and handing it to him with a sad but grateful smile. He traded the jacket for your purse and the leftovers. 

“What time is the plane ride tomorrow?” He asked quietly.

“11 but we have to be there at 10. Be ready by 9:20.”

“Of course.” He agreed, deep browns holding yours so gently, so reverently, as if he couldn’t — wouldn’t — look away. It took you too long to realize, you shouldn’t.

“Goodnight, Heeseung. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you.”

“Of course, yeah,” He watched you step deeper into the room, “See you at 9:20.”

And that was a promise he kept. 9:20, there he was in the lobby. 10:00, there he was walking through the fan raided airport. 11:00, there he was boarding the plane 20 minutes earlier than you with the rest of first class. 14:30, there he was loading the car with your bags. 15:17, there he was saying goodbye to you at the company building — watching you walk off to a side of the building he never traversed. 

And somehow as you walked off, it seemed like colors fell flat, notes didn’t harmonize, and flowers didn’t bloom.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Maybe Nicho was right. You were a higher-up in a Hybe subsidiary now. If anything comes up, you might be able to persuade them to consider the situation from a different view point. Nicho was drunk, it was an accident. Nicho is only one person, the music video features nine dancers — he didn’t spoil much. Nicho is an incredible dancer, one of the four people who founded the dance team. Have some grace.

All of your defense — budding in when it’s not your business — could put your very new position, and the career you’ve spent the past three years cultivating, in jeopardy. You mulled over that possibility a thousand and one times — but this is Nicho. Your soulmate. The man you are universally bound to by the string of numbers written on your arm.

You remember perfectly when they first appeared. They always appear once puberty hits, faint at first, as if there’s something hiding beneath the first few layers of skin. You’d searched for those faint marks all over your body, smiling when you saw them peaking through. Everyday, you checked to see if they got darker, more legible — and they did. 

As a young teenage girl, of course you became obsessed with finding your soulmate. You looked at every piece of visible skin a person showed, you cultivated questions that would prod them into telling you their number, you would go on websites where people would post their numbers and hope their soulmate happened to be online too. 

For years, you ignored the proverb that your soulmate would find you when you least expected it. Or that Fate would draw the two of you together when the time was right. But like most people who weren’t lucky enough to have found their soulmate before university, you grew out of looking for that number in every place you went. You focused on yourself: your education, your career, your aspirations. With the occasional peak at any model’s soulmate mark if given the opportunity. You never expected your soulmate to actually be a model — and that’s partially true, Nicho isn’t a model but he’s quite close to being one. 

You don’t have to imagine just how surprised you were meeting your soulmate on possibly the worst day of your life. Waking up the fire alarm going off in your apartment building, getting cleared to go back inside 30 minutes before you had to be at work, having to get gas in the that same morning, showing up late and running to the office, bumping into someone in the middle of the hallway and being too distracted to even apologize, your boss telling you that being late made you look irresponsible, getting told to help the mean manager of the Hybe Japan dance team, the air conditioner in the Hybe building breaking, getting ordered around by superiors that were not your own — it was an awful day.

Until you pulled up your sleeves to alleviate the heat, only to find that your soulmate mark had gone from a pitch black to a bright red. You’d met your soulmate. You looked up to the sweet face of the boy you had just introduced yourself to. He ripped his gaze from that red mark and into your wide eyes — not knowing that his eyes had also widened in pure shock. Pulling his sleeve up, you recognized the pattern of numbers. And the worst day ever became the best day ever.

So maybe Nicho was right about your newfound power but he was also wrong about something else. You wouldn’t jeopardize your career or future for one of your clients, one of the models under your care — Heeseung — yeah, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t jeopardize your career for Heeseung but you would do it for your soulmate in a heartbeat.

You’d do it for Nicho.

So you wait with your body tense and your breath held. Kept your ears open for any whispers of Nicho’s name, Twitter, or the dance team. You listened and waited, you did not speak or search. Instead you booked Heeseung a hair appointment. Texted him when to be there and when to expect the car to show up. You forwarded him the information of his finalized deals with Proya Cosmetics — told him to expect flight details soon. All from the safety of your office on the 15th floor of the Hybe building, trying to pretend like the anxiety wasn’t chewing at you faster than you could chew at your nails.

Lee Heeseung: Will you be going to Hangzhou too?

You: No, you’ll be going alone.

The text was snappy and it permeated a chilly cold through the digital screen. You noticed it for a millisecond before you packed your things in a rush to escape the dark walls of this retched building. 

But even as you stepped into your quaint apartment, its light walls and warm lights did not embrace you in comfort. They looked almost just as confining. You flung your bag onto your couch and walked to your kitchen. Barely ten steps away from each other but your lazy footsteps doubled the distance. You didn’t have a particular appetite, especially not for anything in your fridge, but you rested your hand on it nonetheless.

Your phone rang before you could pull the handle.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this L/N Y/N? Manager of Evan under Belift Lab?”

“Hi, yes. That is I.” You felt your knees go weak.

“Right. Well, I’m calling as a representative of Hybe Japan and I have you cited here as someone who can vouch for the integrity of Wang Yixiang. Is this true?”

You threw your head back as your heart fell to the floor. 

“Yes,” You bit the words out, hating how bitter they tasted in your mouth, “I know Yixiang personally.”

“Great,” The woman on the other line sounded like what a blank blackboard looked like. You could see the remnants of the writing that had been there before, but it was all indecipherable. You had no idea what to expect, no idea what she would ask. So you took it one word at a time:

Do you know the contract that Mr. Wang signed with Hybe Japan? Yes.

He cited that you had been the one to inform him of his rights as well as his restrictions upon signing said contract. Is that true? Yes. 

Were you with Mr. Wang the night that the videos were taken? No, I was in Shanghai.

Do you know whether Mr. Wang was intoxicated at the time the video was filmed? Yes, he was.

Has Mr. Wang had a history of clubbing and excessive drinking? …I would not say ‘excessive’. 

Ms. L/N, you are aware that Hybe Corp is within full legal rights to submit a lawsuit for the leaking of classified information including choreography, yes? 

You bit your lip hard, “Yes. Yes, I am aware.” You took a deep breath, “I would hope that Hybe Corp would consider pursuing other routes before taking it up with the law. Though that is well within your prerogative to do so. If you want my honest analysis of Yixiang’s character…” 

You sighed, tiredly. But not a tired that goes away with sleep; not a tired that comes from an isolated incident. A deep tired that accumulates until no amount of excess sleep could repair the strain that had stretched you too far. 

“My honest opinion? Yixiang is human. He makes mistakes but they’re never done in malice or with bad intentions. He has a heart to chase what he wants and he’s willing to go the extra mile to achieve them. I think he’s an asset in this company, I think he has a bright future, I think it’d be too rash to involve the legal system before pursuing other routes on a singular mistake.”

“One final question, Ms. L/N?”

“Of course.”

“Are you and Mr. Wang in a romantic relationship of any kind.”

The silence pierced your ears. Your eyes fell to the empty counter in front of you. You sat in limbo between the truth and the option which would be the most advantageous. And in that moment, you understood why managers lie.

“No. We are not.” “Thank you, Ms. L/N. I’ll call you if I have any further questions. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Your hand immediately reached for the fridge, gaining an appetite suddenly for something specific. As soon as you pulled the fridge doors open, the smell hit you. Rotten, moldy, sour.

Your eyes landed on it immediately, you pulled it out of the fridge and unwrapped it from its plastic bag. Popping open the lid, just to make sure, you saw six round mochi chocolate dumplings resting in the box. And the sight brought tears to your eyes. 

He saved all six. 

You left him in the middle of the restaurant, told him to enjoy them. You’re sure he would have since he loved the other dumplings. And he waited – for you. He had them packaged, held onto them with your bag, gave them to you at the hotel, and let you have the opportunity to enjoy them. 

And for all his kindness, you let them rot in your fridge.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

In any good story, the writer uses nature to symbolize the internal emotions of their protagonist. As you walked through the parking lot under the proud sun that was pre-gaming the summertime at the end of April, it dawned on you that you must not be the main character. 

Thankfully the air conditioner was working when you stepped through the doors. Unlike other bad days that you’d had. This was a kind of mundane day — not good, not particularly bad. You did all your office work, called a couple companies, checked Heeseung’s brand reputation, answered emails, looked at potential partnerships, all the normal things. 

Lee Heeseung: Proya asked if I could stay an extra day to finish the shoot. They had an issue with one of the sets.

You: Why are you telling me this? It's Proya’s job to contact me about scheduling changes.

Lee Heeseung: Oh

Lee Heeseung: I’m sorry

Lee Heeseung: I guess expect them to contact you soon then

You dropped your head onto the surface of your desk. You hadn’t meant to make him feel dejected or scolded. You’d been doing that too much lately. Speaking without thinking. Speculating without rationalizing.

You: It’s no worries, Heeseung. I’ll have your flight rescheduled and the information sent to you shortly. Don’t worry about moving hotel rooms, I’ll extend your stay as well. 

Lee Heeseung: Ok thx

Your hands flew across your laptop keyboard: rescheduling the flight, extending his stay, informing the security and the driver, responding to Proya’s request, anything. Anything to keep your mind off how you hurt him. 

And maybe by “him” didn’t mean the model who had completely changed your life in the matter of minutes after meeting him. Maybe it meant the dancer who was fatefully bound to you through a string of numbers plastered on your arm. The one you denied being in relation with despite the universe plainly telling you that you were each other’s future forever. 

And that guilt gnawed at you harder that night as you drank straight from the lip of the peach soju bottle from your fridge.

It gnawed at you before you took the first sip: you denied that you were in a romantic relationship with the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with.

It gnawed after the next two: Might as well have said you didn’t love him.

Then after 120 milliliters: But you don’t love him do you? 

And then 240 milliliters: You’re supposed to but you don’t — loving him feels like a chore. You’re a pathetic excuse for a soulmate. 

But the bottom of the bottle revealed just how monstrous you truly were: Heeseung never made you feel like that. Like it was hard to love him. No, no, loving him was so easy. He flashed you a smile, spoke to you in that soft sultry voice, treated you like a princess, like he cared. 

Cared? A model that cared? For you? 

Heeseung loved you like you loved Nicho? Falsely. Because you were supposed to; because you got something out of it; because it was in your best interests.

But you loved Heeseung like you’d never loved any other man. And it was so stupid — so childish — that he won your heart over with a look that conveyed that he cared about you and a box of mochi dumplings he saved for God knows what reason.

You’d been on dates with Nicho, you’d kissed Nicho, you’d planned marriage with Nicho and you still didn’t think of him with the same fondness you did Heeseung. A man who you’d  barely had conversations with — certainly not personal ones. 

You chased the peach soju with the big, salty, guilty tears that cascaded on your cheeks.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You: Your schedule will be busy when you get back so please be prepared. I’ve continued your brand deal with Qrsessed and you’ll have a photoshoot and video shoot to promote their contact lenses. ELLE Korea is also picking up the shoot and is printing it in their magazine. You will be on the cover. I have all of the logistics including the times for everything in the link below.

You: https://calandar.com

Lee Heeseung: Wait, can we reschedule the fitting to the day before or after?

You: I can try to, yes. Why?

Lee Heeseung: I’m just busy that day

You: What on Earth could you possibly be doing for the entirety of Tuesday?

“Y/N.” Your old boss from BigHit called your name.

“What?” You snapped unintentionally?

The look they gave you would’ve turned you to salt with all the fire it had behind it.

“You know,” He spoke in his default passive aggressive tone, “Dressing in a suit with your hair curled and your makeup done doesn’t make you a professional. It doesn’t make people respect you.”

You bit the inside of your cheeks and kept your eyes from his.

“Lose the attitude, put on a smile, and pretend like you have everything under control even if you don’t.” You swallowed thickly as he reached the conference door, “You’re a public relations manager Y/N, lying is in the subscript of your job description.”

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The last thing you wanted to see when you opened your apartment door was your boyfriend. Your soulmate. But there he was with a stupidly happy grin etched on his face as he jumped up from your couch.

“Baby! Baby, you’re never gonna guess what happened!” He all but squealed in excitement. You left no reply, just expected him to continue. “Hybe Japan let me off with a warning that if it ever happened again, they would take legal action, but for now I’m good.”

“Huh,” You mumbled, “Did they say why?”

“Uh, well I think they said they reviewed the benefits of taking legal action against me and the benefits of keeping me on as a performer. They said someone pointed out that the second option is a much more fruitful investment long term than the first. Isn’t that great?”

“Yes, Nicho. That’s great.” Your bag landed on the arm of your couch before slipping onto the floor.

“And look! Nothing bad happened to your job either. You were worried for nothing.”

“Excuse me?” You whipped your head toward him, his words weren’t even malicious, they weren’t even all that wrong, but they flipped a switch that wouldn’t flip back down, “Nicho, who do you think vouched for you? Who do you think told them that keeping you as an asset was better than suing you for money you don’t have?”

The grin on his face fell along with the temperature. You shouldn’t have brought up the money when you know he hates that you make more than him.

“Yes. Nothing happened to my job but you don’t want to know what I did to make sure that it didn’t. To make sure that you got off scot free and that I didn’t tarnish the reputation I have been building for three years.” Your voice was so grave, so deep, you almost sounded like a different person.

You shoved the suit coat of your body.

“What do you mean? What did you do?”

“I finally have a position that means something in this company.” You ignored his question, words spilling out like WhiteOut, hoping the more there are the more you can cover the words you accidentally spoke; but it would never erase them. “A lot of it is by sheer luck, you know? With management always filtering out, I got promoted through necessity. And finally, I had a chance to prove myself and my value and I did. And I got the opportunity of a lifetime!” You laughed humorlessly, throwing your hands up to gesture the magnitude of your words, “I get to manage one of the most successful models in Hybe and you put that in jeopardy!”

“Can you stop saying that?” He asked, anger framing his tone, “You didn’t have to vouch for me but you did. Don’t blame that on me.”

“What because I had a choice? My soulmate or my job? I love my job Nicho, I love it dearly, but you are my soulmate, so…”

“‘So’ what?” He folded his sleeved arms, “You love your job but you love me more? Yelling at me is a funny way of expressing that.”

“I’m not confessing my love for you Nicho, I’m saying the choice isn’t fair.”

“So, you’re saying that you don’t love me.”

You stared at him wide-eyed, “Wha— What are you talking about?!” Your voice came out pitchy. 

“Yeah, that's it.” He spoke as if he had revealed the world's greatest mystery which he knew all along, smug and over-confident, “You don’t love me. That’s what this is about. You love your job more than your own soulmate.”

You only stared at him like he was trashing everything you’d built. And in a way, maybe that’s exactly what it was. Compromising the foundation of your career; blurring the future you’d mapped within your head; disproving your undying devotion for him.

“Let me ask you a question, Y/N. If I wasn’t your soulmate would you have vouched for me? Or would you have left me to deal with this all by myself? Do you not even love me enough as a human to help me?”

Your answer died on your tongue as your phone began to ring. You rolled your eyes, wishing — praying — that people would stop calling you after work hours. That was until you saw the ID. You accepted the call immediately, paying no mind to the walking steam train in front of you.

“Hello? Heeseung are you alright?” You spoke quickly due to the adrenaline still coursing through you.

“Heeseung?” Your boyfriend mumbled, an irritated grimace pulling at his features.

“Hey, Y/N,” Heesueng spoke softly, “Listen uh, the plane I was on… We were sitting on the runway for like two hours and they just announced that there’s a light on the dashboard. They can’t fly this plane tonight and they won’t have any flights until the morning so… I need another night in the hotel. I know this is last minute but…”

“No, no, no. Don’t worry about it Heeseung, I’ll get on that right away.”

“Why do you talk to him like that?” Nicho asked bitterly. You only sent him an unimpressed look.

“Who was that?” Heeseung’s voice had an edge to it.

“It’s nobody, Heeseung. Listen I’ll—”

“Nobody?” Nicho laughed humorlessly and loudly too, “Tell that pretty boy that you love so much that this ‘nobody’ is your soulmate. How about you do that? Or are you too embarrassed?”

“Y/N…”

“Nicho, this is not the time. Heeseung do you have—”

“Heeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung. Is that what this is about?” He moved closer to you, “Is this why you love your job so much? Is this why you love it more than me? Because of him?” His voice got dangerously low. His steps pursuing you toward the kitchen.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“How much have you two done together?” Nicho asked the question as if it pained him, “Was that business trip to Shanghai even real?”

“Yes, of course it was real, Nicho. Don’t talk to me like you know what my job entails. You can’t even do your own properly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means, Nicho. And don’t act like you would still have a job right now if it weren’t for me.”

“What did you do then? What did you do that I wouldn’t wanna know?” He recalled your words from earlier, making your heart drop and your fingers itch to end the call. Heeseung couldn’t know. He couldn't find out. He couldn’t find out how awful of a person you were.

“Drop it, Nicho.”

“No, what did you do? Did you sleep with my boss? Like you slept with Heeseung? Is that the ‘luck’ you were talking about earlier?”

Both your vision and your cheeks filled with a flaming red. 

“What is wrong with you?!” You nearly screeched, dropping your phone to your side.

“That’s it isn’t it? You’ve been sleeping around to get what you want and you’re embarrassed. Did Heeseung know? Or did he and I both find out you’re a slut together on the same night.”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone, Nicho.” Your voice crackled with pent up emotions forcing their way out, “I haven’t slept with anyone because I was waiting for my soulmate. You wanna know what I did? The thing you wouldn’t like? I denied our relationship so that whatever I said about your character would be taken seriously.”

Suddenly, after his accusations, what you did didn’t seem all that bad.

“I lied for you. I told them you didn’t have a drinking problem, I told them you were a good asset, I told them that we weren’t together.”

“Did you tell them you didn’t love me too? Did you tell them that you’re so small hearted you can’t even love the only person you were ever meant to?”

You bit your lip and prayed the water in your eyes would go away if you just took a deep breath.

“Have you told Heeseung that? You’re embarrassed of your own soulmate? What does that say about you? You’d go seeking the comfort of another man while knowing exactly who your heart is supposed to belong to? Or was he under the impression that you were single too?”

“Just get out of my apartment, Nicho. I have work to do.”

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re choosing him over me?” He laughed pitchy and it scratched at your ears, “Man…” He breathed out, disbelievingly as he walked to the door of your apartment. “I hope the sex is good.” 

The door slammed, ending his sentence and ending the hold you had on your emotions. You dropped to your knees and let the tears spill out of your eyes. You shakily held your phone, fumbling through the buttons. 

Just find the Hotels.com app. 

“Y/N are you alright?” Heeseung’s voice emitted gently from the speaker. It ripped an embarrassing cry from your throat. This was embarrassing. You are an embarrassment.

“Um, I’ll have your hotel booked.” Gone was your manager voice; gone was your pride in your puddle of humiliation on the floor of your unswept apartment.

“Y/N, I don’t care about the hotel. I care about whether you're okay or not.” His voice was stern but it was eons away from being mean.

“I’m sorry,” You strained your voice, begging and pleading yourself not to cry, “That was really unprofessional. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

“Oh, Y/N…” You could envision the face he was making; his eyebrows upturned and those dark brown eyes carrying all the sorrow you feel in your heart, “I’m sorry. No one should talk to you like that. No one, at all. Let alone your own soulmate.”

You pressed purchase on the hotel and exported the receipt to Heeseung.

“It’s okay, Heeseung.” You sniffled, “Your hotel information is on the receipt. I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you have a ride? Do I need to book that? I can call you an Uber?”

“Y/N,” His voice anchored you in the midst of the rocky waves, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay…” You swallowed, hoping to alleviate the frailty of your voice, “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

“Goodnight,” His voice cut off as if he was about to say something else. Goodnight, Y/N? Goodnight, Manager? Goodnight….

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

You vaguely registered the dryness of your eyes as you checked the clock on the bottom right of your laptop screen. He should be here by now. You’re not sure if he’d walk into the building. He doesn’t need to be here today. He has no reason to be here. So, it’d be fine. He wouldn’t see you. 

And after an hour of waiting in bated breath, you were right. He didn’t come see you. And you lied to yourself — saying you were wholly and completely relieved — but there was a part of you that wasn’t. A part of you that longed to see his gentle brown eyes, his soft tan skin, his chiseled jawline, his prominently defined Adam’s apple, and his plump pillowy lips. The features he got paid millions of dollars a year for. 

Even more than his indescribable beauty, you longed to hear that angelic voice of his. The voice that comforted you in the darkness of your apartment and the laugh that made the air feel lighter. That was the voice your heart lurched to hear.

Your mind would replay the softness in the way he said your name — how it sounded as if it were precious to him, like if you said it too loudly or too harshly it would break and fall apart. That sweet, sweet voice followed you all day until you walked to the lobby and it suddenly wasn’t in your head anymore.

“Thanks man,” He laughed lightly and clapped another man on the back, “I owe you big time.”

“Nah, don’t sweat it, bro.” The other man shook his head.

It was the first time you were seeing him with his new hair. It was bleached platinum blond and he left it messily unstyled — somehow he still looked perfect. All in a graphic hoodie and shorts with a green cap snapped around one of the belt loops. He was effortlessly attractive and it enthralled you completely. You debated whether or not to call out to him and ask him what he was doing here until you hesitated for too long and forfeited the choice. 

Heeseung’s soft brown eyes caught sight of you as he casually turned in your direction. It was jarring the way your mind became existentially aware of how the scene looked to others. Model Heeseung in his casual outfit that cost well over the monthly rent you paid for your quaint apartment, Marketing Agent You in your newly purchased suit that looked much more expensive and intimidating than it actually was. 

A model who knew way too much about his agent and an agent who knew way too little about her model.

“Y/N! Hey…” He turned to his friend and bid him adieu before jogging over to where you stood, clutching your work bag like a lifeline, “How are you?”

His voice was exactly as you remembered: soft, gentle, and caring. 

“Um,” You stammered, “Fine. No, I’m fine.” You nodded as if it would make your words any more convincing. It was obvious, as his eyebrows pinched slightly together, that you were only embarrassing yourself further, “What are you still doing here?”

All at once, concern turned into sheepishness, a dead giveaway being the way he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I uh, I was working on a project.” He nodded though he kept his eyes away from yours.

It took you a moment to consider his words, “Project? You don’t have a project today? I kept your schedule clear today.”

“Not a modelling project…” There was a gleam in his eye that you’d never seen before. A gleam that conveyed a child-like wonder that only comes from a lifelong passion.

“Okay…” You dragged the sound out before raising a brow and looking intensely into those sparkling browns, “Well, are you gonna tell me or…?”

“You wanna know?” He perked up immediately, a bright smile on the verge of breaking through.

“Of course, I do.”

And that smile came in full force as he grabbed your bag from you and circled your wrist in his large hand. He led you down the elevators buzzing with excitement barely contained as you dropped down two floors. He led you through a hallway of rooms until he pushed open the door to a vacant music studio. His hands guided you into the producer’s chair and handed you a headset — all before you could register the room you were in.

“Are you ready?” He bit his lip to control his smile but his happiness was so evident it might as well have been tangible. 

You let out a small giggle, “Of course but what am I getting ready for?”

“Oh!” His lips formed a perfect circle, “I… I think it’s better if you just listen.” 

And with that you placed the headset over your ears and watched his middle finger tap on the space bar of his laptop.

Immediately, an onslaught of tracks filled your ears. A musical mix of rock of dubstep and various elements of other genres flowed together in a unique blend that had the touch of a natural born genius.

Then you heard it. The voice which you loved so dearly filtering through the speakers of the headset, dropping your jaw and paralyzing every crevice of your mind in shock. And it stayed agape even after it ended and you turned to look at him like a deer in headlights. 

“The lyrics are a work in progress…” He laughed bashfully, “But the ‘ride or die’ part is there to stay.”

He looked at you expectantly and not in the way you’d think he would. He didn’t look like he expected you to shower him in compliments and tell him that he’s created a true masterpiece; he looked at you as if he expected you to tell him to put the mic down and focus on his reflection in the mirror.

“Heeseung, this is insane! Like insanely incredible! Do you want to be an artist?”

“Uh… yeah. I do.” His ears, chest, and cheeks flushed a pretty rouge.

“Why did you become a model then?”

He looked down at his feet before answering.

“I tried to get a music contract with Belift but they thought I’d be better as a model so I kinda just… gave up.”

“But you picked it back up again?”

“I never stopped learning to produce. I never could.” His eyes poured into yours, “I loved it too much.”

You smiled brightly — proudly — and stood up, grabbing his shoulders.

  “Send me your demo,” You spoke in a gravely serious tone, “And any other demos you have. I have a meeting next Tuesday and I will get you that music contract Heeseung. Trust me.”

The look he gave you was unlike any other. As if you were an angel sent from Heaven just for him.

“Really?” His voice small, like the flame of a candle before it burns out but his eyes… his eyes were full. Full of hope, full of joy, full of adoration.

“Yes.” You kept your hands on his broad, strong shoulders, pushing the thought of circling them around his neck from your mind. A thought that persisted even as you pulled your hands away.

“I have to go,” You grabbed your bag from the table, “But we’re gonna make this happen, Heeseung.” You stopped at the door and turned to him. “Tell me that you want this and I will fight with everything I have to achieve it for you.”

He leaned against the table, everything he felt in his heart was translated through the look in his eyes, “I want this more than anything.”

You nodded and offered him a smile that felt more like a promise.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

It ran through your head in circles for the next half-week. Between reviewing the edited photo options for Proya, captions for Heeseung’s social media, plans to open up more platforms for him, emails for photoshoots schedules, root touch-up appointments, plans for future events, you somehow managed to hop on Canva and make a pitch.

The presentation was relatively simple, leaving room for Heeseung’s musical genius to contend for itself. Clipped parts of his demos were pasted onto the presentation — only 15 seconds each and only the parts that gathered the full essence of the song. You spent hours picking the right parts, listening to the songs over and over, being diligent and considerate in your choices. 

For Ride or Die it was easy to choose the right part — the chorus was addictive. For Overflow, there were so many parts that stuck like glue in your mind which made it harder to choose the best section to clip. Dial Tragedy was short but there was still a lot to work with, a lot to decide within the nearly minute and a half ringtone. There was one demo you hadn’t even looked at yet.

You fell on your couch and took a breath, eyes closed and ears full of the soft blow of the air conditioner. The surface of your laptop was cold when you picked it up and placed it in your lap, opening the Google Drive and clicking on the demos. You finally moved onto the last one — its name cut off by your minimized tab – reading Highway 10….

The melody of the guitar and the silky vocals came almost at the same moment. The lyrics were characterized by a love that was wholly and completely consuming. A love that disregarded the woes of life and resided in the space cultivated by their devotion for one another. It was a song that resonated and echoed in the chambers of your heart.

An echo of admiration.

An echo of fondness.

An echo of longing.

An echo of sadness.

The song was beautiful but it was clearly dedicated to someone specific. And that shouldn’t have been surprising to you. That Heeseung had a soulmate. Of course he had a soulmate. He was remarkable in both body and spirit. He had a soul pure enough to cleanse those who caught even a glimpse of it. He was nothing like anyone you’d ever met and he was everything you’ve ever dreamt of.

He had a face that would have brought Aphrodite to her knees.

He had a way with words that would have compelled Shakespeare to set down his pen.

He had a voice that would have drawn every siren to his side like moths to flames.

Like how you were drawn to his side. 

The spiraling thoughts welled tears on your eyes and drew the music blank in your ears. Why did this happen?

You’d never cared about models — this was just your job. Not with Yeonjun, not with Soobin, not with Beomhyu, nor Taehyun, nor Kai. 

You’d never cared about looks, or big brown eyes, or shiny smiles, or voices, or words, or actions, or denim jackets, or mochi chocolate dumplings, or midnight phone calls. You’d only cared about marks. Only about the numbers that rose onto your skin at 13. You only cared about Fate and the man who’d share the same set of numbers until your death.

The ones which bloomed red after you met Nicho.

The ones you desperately tried to scrub off of your arm after you’d drunk just a bit too much to think clearly.

The ones you used to caress gently and not scratch violently.

The ones that used to bring you comfort and whisper promises of a future but now fill you with dread and remind you of the prison you should get comfortable in — be it with Nicho or without him.

One thing was certain about your future, you’d be on Hangang Avenue driving yourself to work and Heeseung would be holding his soulmate on Highway 1009.

Every ounce of breath depleted from your lungs in an instant. 

It was embarrassing how your heart filled with an inflated hope and your hands shook as they moved to the sleeve on your arm. Tugging on the thin fabric, the bright red numbers appeared in succession.

9 — the curves you’d seen for years seemed to look like a novelty.

0 — the quantity of the amount of breaths you’d taken since you touched your sleeve.

0 — your fingers shook violently as you reached the precipice of the final number.

1 — thousands of questions filled your mind like the breaking of a dam. 

How is this possible? What does this mean? Why would he write a love song with the same number as your soulmate mark? Does he have the same one? Do you have the same mark? Are you soulmate? But Nicho has the same one too? Is it possible to have two? Is there a highway called 1009? Are you overthinking this? Will this hope fall away like autumn leaves?

Your hands flew across your laptop, typing in the Twitter website, and searching ‘EVAN’ and searching through the photos tab. You searched every inch of his body futility — you knew better than most that a model desired by so many would not be allowed to show a mark that would confirm their exclusivity. You searched nonetheless; through photoshoots, Instagram posts, and fan photos until your eyes grew sandpaper-y.

Without thought, your fingers moved across the keyboard, typing as if they moved on their own.

The Google search bar held the question you were terrified to find the answer of: “Is it possible for multiple people to have the same soulmate number sequence?” No. There are no recorded instances of there being more than two living individuals with the same soulmate sequence of numbers.

Again you frantically typed out: “Highway 1009”

There is no highway 1009. Did you mean Gyeongbu Expressway?

So that was it then. Nicho was your soulmate and Heeseung coincidentally wrote a love song with the same number. It must represent something else. It must be a real highway somewhere. It must be a quantity. It must be a date. It must be a coincidence. 

Coincidence. That’s what it was.

It had to be.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

“From the moment he got contracted under Belift Lab in 2020, Lee Heeseung has been an irreplaceable asset. He, alongside the other six contracted models, have established Belift Lab as a respectable and renowned company within South Korea, Mainland China, Japan, and Globally. Although Belift predominantly manages models and scouts for new talent, the company has the resources to explore other routes for talent. Especially considering the in-house producers and composers at Hybe Corps disposal.”

You’d found yourself in a similar position just a few weeks ago. With a dozen pairs of cold eyes staring more into your soul than at the powerpoint you’d spent hours putting together. 

“Expanding into other areas of entertainment is a venture that Belift Lab has yet to do, however I believe having Lee Heeseung as the prospect for this endeavor would produce many fruitful results, including both revenue and reputation. I hav—”

“Pause.” You’d recognize that tone anywhere. The one that demands attention and leaves no room for negotiation. “Are you suggesting that Lee Heeseung change his contract from a model to a soloist?”

“‘Change’?” You repeated, “I’m not sure a full transition is necessary? I believe it’s possible to work both into his schedul—”

“We’ve already considered this path with Heeseung himself.” Kim Taeho, the CEO of Belift Lab, informed, “Did he persuade you to pitch the idea to me again? Quite frankly, I don’t care whose mouth it comes from — I don’t like the ramifications of the idea.”

The room was silent as you took a breath but your mind was anything but silent, “No sir, Heeseung did not persuade me to pitch this idea to you. As I only became his manager a month ago, I was unaware that he had brought this idea to you. I decided of my own accord to bring it to the board’s attention because I believe that Heeseung’s interest in pursuing this field could bring much fruit to this company. It’s one I hope you’d be willing to consider now or in the future.”

With the intensity in which your heart was beating, you were nervous that you’d be unable to hear his response. 

Luckily, that fear was irrational.

You’d found that most of your fears were and yet, you still found yourself breathing shallowly when that song repeated in your head for the millionth time. 

You: Heeseung, are you busy right now?

Lee Heeseung: ?

Lee Heeseung: You’re the one with my schedule lol

Lee Heeseung: Don’t tell me you forgot ://

You rolled your eyes playfully at his banter.

You: I know you don’t have anything scheduled but you have your hobbies, you know?

Lee Heeseung: True… I’m near the building. I can be in your office in 10 minutes.

You: Great, I’ll see you in 10

Your phone buzzed as soon as you put it down.

Lee Heeseung: Right…

Lee Heeseung: Remind me where your office is?

The time seemed to stretch beyond its capacity before he knocked on your office door. A smile was already plastered across his face before the door was even fully ajar. You gestured for him to take a seat in front of you and as he did, you recognized the dynamic. From the height of your office chair and the distance between your big wooden desk, it was more obvious than it had ever been. 

Lee Heeseung was your employee; you were his boss.

The thought sobered your mind to the point where you stared directly into those sparkling eyes and didn’t see the numbers 1009 behind them.

You looked away from them anyway; those dark browns and their expectations, their hope, their adoration. Emotions too close to the four letter word you were trying so desperately to ignore.

“Right,” You breathed out, “I just got out of meeting with the Belift Lab board of directors.”

Heeseung flexed his fingers over his knees where his hands rested. 

“I pitched the idea of a soloist contract to them, but Heeseung I have a question.”

A shadow of fear passed over his face, “What?”

“You didn’t tell me you had already tried to advocate for a contract. Why?”

His eyes shifted away from your figure entirely. You could almost visibly see the walls building up around him.

“I um… Well, I failed so…” 

“Failed is not the term I would use.” 

“What would you call it then?” He asked defeatedly.

“According to Kim Taeho, you pitched the idea relentlessly and you were given approval for the contract to be drawn. But, this is the part I’m confused about,” You admitted, “Your manager quit the very next day? Which is why the contract was never officially drawn?”

Heeseung drew a breath and released it heavily, “He said that he wasn’t interested in non-model exclusive contracts. He said that getting my foot in as a successful soloist would be a grueling job and would come with scrutiny that he didn’t care to manage.”

The wound to his heart was nearly visible — there might as well have been blood spilling out onto his shirt.

“Right. So, he was too lazy to manage a solo career for you and quit the next day?” You sighed and rolled your eyes, “Had he heard any of your music? Does he know how large your fanbase is?”

He shrugged his shoulders with his face downcast.

“Heeseung,” He lifted his eyes to your own, “I told you that I’d do everything in my power to get this contract for you. I didn’t plan to stop there.” You crossed your legs, “Do you know Choi Yeonjun from BigHit?”

He nodded, “We knew each other when we were younger.”

“You know he’s a model and a soloist, right? I assisted his manager for a year and a half before I took the position as your manager. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” 

He fought back a sheepish smile; you returned it with a comforting one.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing in the studio, tell me what help you need, and I will make sure the world hears your music. Don’t worry about that part.”

He nodded and Van Gogh’s Starry Night didn’t sparkle like his eyes did in that moment. 

“Thank you,” He whispered softly. Getting up out of his chair, causing you to watch as he hesitated with every step toward your office door. 

“Oh, Heeseung?” You called out to him, watching as he turned around with anticipation swimming in his gaze, “When did your manager quit?” 

He sighed frustratedly, “March 10th.”

You rolled your eyes at that fateful Tuesday, “Gosh, okay great. I guess everyone had a horrible March 10th then.”

He laughed and looked expectedly at you, “What happened to you?” An amused smile played on his plump lips.

You leaned against your desk and crossed your arms, “Some tenant in my apartment building decided to make popcorn at five in the morning. And then burnt it. So I woke up to the fire alarm, not my actual alarm.”

You smiled at his silly laugh.

“And then by the time I left, got gas, and arrived at the building, I was beyond late. My boss chewed me out for it which was extremely embarrassing.” You rubbed your forehead as he continued to laugh at your story, “I even bumped into someone in the hallway? Which was just the cherry on top.”

You considered that for a moment, too lost in thought to notice the sudden lack of noise. 

“You know? I guess it wasn’t such a bad day.” You shrugged and tuned to feel his heavy gaze, “I got sent to help the new Hybe Japan dance team get their headshots and profile photos taken for the company website. That’s where I met my soulmate — Nicho.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows suddenly creased confusedly, “You mean, again?”

You mirrored his look with your own confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Heeseung shifted awkwardly where he stood, “Because you guys broke up, right? And now you’re back together?”

You sat in confusion for a millisecond, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You recalled the phone call you had with Heeseung that night Nicho stormed out of your apartment, “Nicho and I fight but we’ve never broken up. And that call that we had,” You swallowed thickly, “The things that Nicho said about me, they aren’t true. I’ve never—”

“I know.” He crossed his arms, his face suddenly steeling, “Wait so, you’re telling me that you and Nicho met on March 10th?”

“Yeah,” You confirmed, “I was talking to him and, if you remember that was the day the A/C was broken, so I pulled up my sleeve and my mark was red.” You recalled the moment clearly, “Then Nicho pulled his sleeve up and had the same mark.”

Heeseung’s eyes held wells of concern within the depths of his eyes, “Y/N,” He licked his lips as if the words were too hard to say.

“What is it?” You straightened your posture as if it could guard you from whatever he was about to say, “You’re scaring me…”

“When I was still being scouted, I heard a lot about the Hybe Japan incoming talent from my friend EJ,” He spoke slowly, as if it would lessen the blow, “Of course, that means I heard a lot about Nicho.”

Your breath caught in your lungs; a grey cloud already began to form above your head.

“Y/N, Nicho’s soulmate cheated on him before I even became a model…” Heeseung stammered over his next words, “I assumed since you called him your soulmate that you guys had fixed your relationship and it honestly wasn’t any of my business so I tried not to think about it too much. But if you’re telling me that your soulmate mark turned red the day you met Nicho on March 10th, then either Nicho lied about his ex-girlfriend being his soulmate or…” 

The words fell dead on his lips and rose to life on yours.

“Or he lied to me about being my soulmate.”

Heeseung released a breath of air, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You clenched your jaw, desperately trying to recall how many times you’d seen Nicho’s soulmate mark — he always wore long sleeves. You pushed a hand through your hair before grabbing your work bag and walking toward the door. Heeseung’s strong arms stopped you from walking past him.

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Heeseung,” You spoke with your eyes closed, a visible sign that you were holding back emotions that had reached a dangerous peak, “Please. Please let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, kept his mouth agape as if he had more he wanted to say, but he dropped his hands nonetheless. 

He watched you walk out of your office like watching a car drive off on a highway.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The banging echoed through the entire apartment until it went quiet again. As soon as the echoes dissipated, they returned. Again and again until the door swung open. His dark eyes held a warmth that could only be replicated by a refrigerator. 

“Have you finally decided that your boytoy isn’t enough for you?”

The words held so much more meaning behind them knowing what his ex-girlfriend did. You felt bad for him, you understood him. But that wasn’t what you were worried about right now.

“Nicho, show me your mark.”

“What?”

“Show me your soulmate mark.”

“Why? You’ve seen it before.”

“Once. And I don’t remember what it looks like.”

He laughed sharply, “And you can’t look at your own arm to get the idea?”

You grabbed his arm, roughly, angrily, wrongly. But you weren’t thinking kindly in your desperation. “Show me.”

There’s only one thing you particularly remember about Nicho’s mark: it was horizontal. If you were to stick your arm out in front of you, the numbers run in tandem with the direction of your arm. Its why you can pull your sleeve up and see the numbers appear in succession: 9, then 0, then 0, then 1; which reads 1009 from left to right. 

Nicho’s isn't like that. His is horizontal, meaning that when he pulls his sleeve up, the bottom of all the numbers are there. The small line of the 1 and the round bottoms of the 009. You should’ve paid more attention the first time. Maybe it was your excitement that caused you to not notice that he hid the top of the numbers from view. You realized it this time as he pulled his sleeve until it almost revealed the full numbers. 

“See? We’re matching, baby.”

Before he could turn his gaze away from you, you pulled the last part of his sleeve to uncover the full number: 7009.

Bile in its purest acidic form rose to your throat, along with tears in your eyes. You stumbled back and tried to suck the air back into your lungs. You could barely hear him. Barely hear the desperate pleas that fell from his lips as you stumbled away from his apartment door. 

Y/N, please.

Just hear me out.

Listen to me, you don’t even know what happened?

After all the time we spent together, you’re just going to walk away?

Come back, please.

Please, please, come back to me.

As you drove away, his last words echoed faintly in your mind. And a part of you wondered if they were even meant for you.

You don’t know what you were thinking. It was beyond unprofessional — if HR ever found out you’d not only be fired but likely prevented from getting other job opportunities in the future. Somehow, none of that broke through the devastation hardening within your mind causing you to think irrationally. To act irrationally.

Because what sane person drives to the apartment of their client? 

What sane person punches the elevator button to his floor with tears flowing down their cheeks in steady streams?

What sane person knocks on his door, drunk on the thought of his strong arms wrapped around them?

The sight of him in a plain t-shirt and black basketball shorts and the most beautiful confused face you’ve ever seen sobered that thought from your head and drew a gasp from your mouth.

“Oh my— I’m so sorry— I didn’t—” You gestured stupidly with your hands, “I wasn’t thinking clearly. This is wildly unprofessional, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have come. Please forgive me—” 

It was warm — he was warm — as his big hands moved to hold you. One finding its way behind your head and the other over your arm and around your middle, pulling you into his chest and nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

“Please, don’t apologize Y/N.” He nearly whispers, his voice like sweet honey to your ears, “I’m so sorry.”

You held your breath, hoping it would stop the cries that were clawing within your chest. It shouldn’t hurt this much. You hadn’t wasted that much of your life. You’d only known Nicho for a little over a month. You’d only known him since that awful Tuesday in March. The day when everything went wrong. 

You wondered what would happen now. You used to look down at those four little numbers and see a promise, then when you were with Nicho they felt like a cage, what would they be like now? Would that bright red ink mock you for everything you’d lost. 

March 10th: the day you’d met and lost your soulmate.

“Y/N,” Heeseung whispered so gently, you wondered if he even wanted you to hear him. You pulled back to look into his eyes. Your faces inches apart — too close, too far. He looked at you with the same reverence he always had, “The day I met my soulmate, I never caught her name. She was gone before I could even catch a glimpse of what she looked like.” His hands slid up to your face, as if losing contact with you would kill him, “I looked for her everywhere. In every hallway, in every room, on every floor.”

“Did you ever find her?”

“I thought I did,” He let out a ghost of a laugh, “But she had allegedly found her soulmate already.” He watched your lips turn downward, “And I thought that was it. She had sped past me like a sports car on a highway.”

He looked down at his feet for a moment, just as yours filled with empathy.

“I dreamt of that metaphorical highway every night. One where I’d find her again and pick her up, and hold her, and never let go.” The look in his eyes was so intense it felt magnetic. Like it was drawing you in deeper. “But then, you know that, don’t you? You heard my song?”

The melody played somewhere in the back of your mind and you hated how its mere tune flooded your heart with hope. 

“Of course…”

“Then tell me, Y/N.” His voice held an indescribable desperation, “Tell me, I’m wrong. Tell me your body isn’t marked with the same numbers I look for in every place. Tell me that demo means nothing to you and you didn’t feel this crazy connection like we were being pulled together by strings of Fate.”

You didn’t tell him anything. You just tugged at your sleeve. Watching his desperation increase with each number: 9… 0… 0… 1… until he was face to face with the number he’d become all too familiar with. 

His fingers grabbed the hem of his black shorts and pulled them up. In vibrant red ink, just above the knee, four numbers you’d never seen on anyone’s body but your own. You stared at them like they’d vanish if you blinked. Or worse, that the one would change into a seven or the nine would flip upside down.

His warm hands found their way back to your cheeks.

“It’s real,” He informed, as if he had read the transcript of your mind, “You’re real.” He said as if it was hard to believe. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks and somehow you managed to pull even closer together. 

“Tell me if it's too much, all at once, and I won’t kiss you.”

Your lips didn’t move but your eyes did, dragging down to his lips and locking them there. Of course, he knew exactly what that meant. 

His breath fanned against your lips, his nose brushed against your own. Then finally, they pressed against yours like a promise fulfilled. 

Like the colors gained their hue, every melody was joined by its harmony, and flowers were solely acquainted with blooming.

And as your lips parted from one another, they instantly found each other again. 

And maybe Heeseung was right about Highway 1009. 

He’d pick you up, hold you, and he'd never let you go.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Heeseung flopped onto the sofa, placing his freshly washed hair straight in your lap, all with a dramatic groan. Without hesitation, you tousled his hair and brushed your nails gently through it. 

“I just reviewed your answers for that W Korea interview.”

“Mm,” He mumbled sleepily, “What do you think?”

“Mm,” You’d picked up on his habit, “I liked the part where you said that the producers called you crazy for challenging all the traditional conventions in composing.”

Heeseung’s eyes flew open and he held the most deadpan look they could muster. It wasn’t his fault that he adored you too much to even pretend to look mad at you.

“So, you’re just going to ignore the part where I said I wrote Highway 1009 for you?”

“Hm,” You hummed, “I’m pretty sure you said ‘your soulmate’.”

Heeseung sat up and pushed his face inches before yours, “Oh I’m sorry, did you want me to call HR and tell them that EVAN and his manager are in a secret relationship?” He grew a wicked smile that only made him look more irresistible, “C’mon, Manager. You of all people should know how the public would take that.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, “You’re lucky you're cute, Evan.”

He smiled slyly and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Oh, I know I’m lucky.”

His kisses always felt breathtaking and magnetic, it didn’t matter if it was your first or your 1009th.

© jjongbat 2026 — all works are without ai and belong solely to jjongbat unless otherwise specified. please do not steal, repost, or re-upload without credit.

[jjongbat]

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ masterlist

양정원 :: YANG JUNGWON

incoming.

이희승 :: LEE HEESEUNG 

numbers that bind ⸝⸝ 16k ⸝⸝ fluff & angst

박종성 :: PARK JONGSEONG

incoming.

심재윤 :: SIM JAEYUN

incoming.

박성훈 :: PARK SUNGHOON

incoming.

김선우 :: KIM SUNOO

incoming.

니키 :: NISHIMURA RIKI

incoming.

© jjongbat 2026 — all works are without ai and belong solely to jjongbat unless otherwise specified. please do not steal, repost, or re-upload without credit.

[jjongbat]

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ rules

requests :: closed

what i won’t write — nsfw ⸝⸝ original characters ⸝⸝ member x member ⸝⸝ highly specific requests

please do not — send hate to any person on my acct ⸝⸝ engage in fanwars ⸝⸝ interact if you spread hate ⸝⸝ follow if you’re an ageless blog

feedback — i love feedback so please feel free to reblog, send an ask, or comment your thoughts! likes, reblogs, and comments seriously help me find what works!

i retain the right to ignore requests that i don’t feel comfortable writing or do not feel confident enough to write. please do not take this personally, i just have limits and boundaries as a person.

© jjongbat 2026 — all works are without ai and belong solely to jjongbat unless otherwise specified. please do not steal, repost, or re-upload without credit.

[jjongbat]

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ about me

jo ⸝⸝ 𝗘𝗡╸⁷ ⸝⸝ enfp ⸝⸝ 2006

jay ult biased ⸝⸝ enhypen ult ⸝⸝ multi

sfw ⸝⸝ different genres ⸝⸝ f!reader

used to run a blog in 2020 for a different fandom ⸝⸝ literature student ⸝⸝ mixed style

#𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 jjongbatcode — barcode to my fics ⸝⸝ #ⓘ jo answers — for answering asks ⸝⸝ #☆ jo recommends — reblogs ⸝⸝ #愛 jo yaps — for non-fic posts

© jjongbat 2026 — all works are without ai and belong solely to jjongbat unless otherwise specified. please do not steal, repost, or re-upload without credit.

[star-sim]

crawling back to you ☆ jungwon yang

☆ spiderman! jungwon x fem! reader ☆ summary: spider-man was the city's strongest hero: a crime-fighter, a man of the people, and... a loverboy? it's been months since jungwon, the identity behind the powerful spider-man persona, broke up with you. somehow, even with the entire city's fate resting on his shoulders, his biggest concern still remains whether or not he will ever get to see you again. ☆ genre: spider-man! au, exes to lovers, JUNGWON YEARNINGGG, slooooow burn, college! au, jealousy, angst, pining, SEXUAL TENSION & YEARNING ☆ word count: 24.4k words ☆ my long awaited... im sorry guys i was genuinely going through hell and back when i was writing this but its okay papa vanya pulled through, for my dearest @ashtxrie

Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, bated breaths tearing from his lips.

Not again, he thought to himself, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He could feel his loose t-shirt sticking to his skin, the heat from under his blanket too sweltering to endure that he had to throw it off of him. His cat-like eyes flickered to the window beside his bed. The moon gleamed so charmingly, streaming bright slivers of light through his window. And yet, all Jungwon could do is shiver into his hot skin.

It’s been almost 6 months since Jungwon broke up with you. 6 months since he’s been genuinely happy.

And for the past 6 months, Jungwon has been having the same nightmare every night. The nightmare that ended the same way no matter what Jungwon’s brain wired itself to conjure up: with you dying in his arms.

Jungwon shuddered. It was the middle of summer. Even when it was late in the depths of night, beads of cold sweat managed to find their way back onto Jungwon’s neck. Sitting up on his bed, his knees pressed against his chest, Jungwon’s heart pounded in his ribcage, so loud that he could hear it in his ears, yet his fear was so quiet in his heart.

His eyes flickered around his dark bedroom. He needed to call you, he thought. Images of your dying face, choked sobs, and teary voice flooded his memory. It made Jungwon’s eyes line with hot tears, as they always did whenever this nightmare returned to him. He needed to call you, to make sure that you were okay, that his greatest fears hadn’t come true.

Jungwon's hand, still trembling, reached out for his bedside table. If he ignored the empty coffee cups cluttered on it, or the way he had hundreds of ignored messages and call notifications, he would have slowed down. And just as he searched up your name in his contacts, his shaking fingers about to call you, he stopped.

Oh right. He’s not with you anymore.

6 months is a long time.  Apparently not long enough for Jungwon to forget his feelings for you.

If his chest wasn’t already aching, it was now. It was him that broke up with you.  It was him that chose to break your heart. It was him that chose to leave you crumbling to your knees, tears spilling from your eyes as you silently begged him to stay.

And maybe that was his biggest regret.

Jungwon stared at his hands. He gazed each callous on his palm, every single scar and scratch still evident on his skin. His eyes glazed over the black spider-like veins on his wrists.

No, there was no time to mull over you. Not when there was an imminent threat in this city. Slapping his cheeks awake, Jungwon huffed before climbing out of bed. There was no way he would be able to fall asleep anyway. He might as well distract himself with something productive. Start early.

His eyes fluttered back to his moonlit window. Ah, fuck it.

Jungwon had a secret.

A secret that he kept guarded day in and day out, like his life depended on it. And the truth was, his life did depend on it.

Ignoring the way the red and blue spandex felt particularly uncomfortable as it stuck to his still-sweaty skin, Jungwon shot a sticky white web at a building. He gazed at the web that had ejected from his wrist, before peering over the ledge. In this busy city, it seemed like no road was ever going to be completely empty, not even in the depths of night. There were still people roaming the streets, noisy cars honking at one another with their tires screeching.

You hated heights, was the resounding thought that clouded his head as he looked down to the city below him. Once again, Jungwon's heart tightened in his chest, and he shook his head.

He needed to stop thinking about you. You probably already stopped caring about him anyway. You're a pretty girl, even before you and him broke up there was already a line of guys waiting for you to be single. Jungwon wouldn't be surprised if a girl like you already found someone else.

Someone better. Someone that wasn't a damn coward like Jungwon was.

Jungwon let his eyes fall shut, relishing in the way that the cool summer night air brushed against him. It's hard. To let you go, to accept that what once was his could be someone else's.

He looked back down to his gloved hands, the same hands that have been fighting crime for the past 6 months, the same hands that were responsible for the safety of this city, the same hands that touched your pretty face, the same hands that have brought criminals to justice.

It was all blurring together. Jungwon dug his teeth into his bottom lip. He needed to let you go, before his mind devoured him. He needed to let you go, before his identity as Spider-Man, the number one crime-fighter in this city, gets inevitably revealed, and he has to witness you die for the hundredth time. But for real this time.

"Damn, you look like shit."

Jungwon rolled his eyes at his friend's comment, sighing loudly as he flipped through the pages of his textbook. "Didn't get much sleep last night."

Look, Jungwon is a college student. Although his Spider-Man gig was pretty good at paying him, he wanted to contribute to his community in another way. Like through tutoring the local kids.

"Why are you even studying basic elementary algebra?— you're a film major!" Jungwon's good friend Sunghoon Park was a great guy. A little rambunctious, but still a good friend. But not right now.

Jungwon had agreed to have a quote un-quote "study date" with Sunghoon at the coffee shop below Jungwon's apartment complex. Jungwon was a little proud that his friend suddenly wanted to study with him (such intellectual vitality!), but seeing as all Sunghoon has been doing for the past 30 minutes is scrolling on his phone and looking around conspicuously tells Jungwon otherwise. Sunghoon didn't even order a coffee or soak in the scent of warm coffee beans in the coffee shop. He just sat there.

Jungwon shot a look at Sunghoon. "This kid that I'm tutoring, apparently he's not very good at math."

Sunghoon nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as his thick brows quivered.

"Okay..." he said slowly, his vowels drawing out. "But why do you need to study for it? Don't you like—" the man made a face— "Already know how to do basic math?"

Jungwon opened his mouth to explain that he's not necessarily trying to review elementary math, but moreso trying to figure how to teach it, but he was cut off by Sunghoon's continued rambling.

"—Like shouldn't you know how to add apples? Like if Sally has 2 apples and she gets 3 more, how many does she..." Sunghoon trailed off when he saw Jungwon's completely vacant, unamused expression. Jungwon clicked his tongue, going back to his very informative reading. However, he could practically feel Sunghoon staring at him, to the point that it felt like he was burning holes into Jungwon's person.

Jungwon let out another annoyed sigh. When he looked up to Sunghoon very obviously staring at him, his friend comically looked away. As if Sunghoon was fooling anyone.

"Do I have three heads?" Jungwon asked bluntly.

"What?"

Jungwon huffed, leaning back in his seat. "You keep looking at me. What is it?"

Sunghoon blinked. Jungwon watched as his older friend's Adam's apple bobbed. The once relaxed, though awkward, expression on Sunghoon's face wiped almost immediately, being replaced with a deeply uncomfortable and uneasy one. He squirmed in his seat, his dark eyes darting around the coffee shop in silence.

"Are you okay?"

But instead of answering, Sunghoon just shoved his face into his hands, muttering something under his breath that Jungwon couldn't make out.

Finally, Sunghoon finished his mini-mental breakdown and looked at Jungwon. Somehow, in the span of a few minutes Sunghoon went from looking perfectly fine to looking like he just went through hell.

"Jungwon." Sunghoon finally said, his voice solemn. Which was weird, because when is Sunghoon ever serious? To add to Jungwon's bewilderment, Sunghoon reached across the table, taking hold of Jungwon's hands. His expression was so comically somber that Jungwon thought he was joking. "I have something to tell you."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips lifting. "Yeah, yeah, get on with your little bit—"

"I"m serious." Sunghoon looked around again, as if he was making sure that no one was listening. He leaned in closer to Jungwon, his voice dropping to as low as a whisper. "It's serious."

Jungwon's brows knitted together, his expression pinching in pure confusion. "What are you talking abou—"

Sunghoon squeezed Jungwon's hand from across the table. His friend took a deep breath, before earnestly facing Jungwon. "What I'm about to tell you, you didn't hear it from me."

"Just—" Jungwon's scowl deepened. "Just tell me already, dude!"

Usually Sunghoon would react, but he just shook his head solemnly. Sunghoon took another deep breath, before he opened his mouth and let words tumble out: "She has a blind date. This weekend."

Jungwon blinked slowly. "Um. Who?"

Sunghoon looked like he was going to shit himself. "You know...."

Jungwon didn't know. Jungwon literally does not talk to anyone except a select few of his friends. And none of them are girls. "I don't, though...?"

Sunghoon sucked in another sharp breath, his tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. "Your... Your girl."

Oh. Jungwon's heart sank to his stomach. That's not... what he expected. Not in the slightest. And the way that Sunghoon physically flinched as he revealed such information didn't make Jungwon feel any better.

"Who... told you that?"

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, forming a line as thin as paper. "You know my coworker? Wonyoung? She's [Name]'s good friend and she's been boasting how she hooked her up to this guy."

But Jungwon tuned Sunghoon out after that. Maybe if Jungwon had a better grip he would have calmly explained that you were not his anymore. It’s not like your breakup was a secret, and if there was anyone who had to bear witness to Jungwon's abject gloominess, it would be Sunghoon. Jungwon couldn't understand why his friends still referred to you as his, even when they were well-aware of the fact that you two were separated.

"C'mon, man, we all know you still want her," was a sentiment echoed by all of his friends.

And they were right. As if they could see through Jungwon's quiet exterior, his robotic composure so keen on hiding his true feelings.

Sunghoon's words fell upon deaf ears. If he did listen, he would hear Sunghoon pleading Jungwon to let go of this act, to stop putting up walls, to finally admit that he was wrecking himself from the inside out by continuing to act like he no longer cared for you.

Jungwon stared blankly at the coffee shop table. The pain in his chest no longer felt new. It felt more like a constant.

In his pencil case he still had the expensive mechanical pencil that you gifted him. Its silver ridges were practically molded to the curves of his fingers. The capsule of lead that came with the pencil only had a few pieces left. When he studied he still listened to the same songs that you introduced to him, the same songs that you and him kissed to as the two of you laid in his bed, and—

Jungwon thought he was okay. And for the first few weeks, he really was just fine. After all, he'd convinced himself that it was all for the better. But Jungwon knew that he'd break sooner or later. And it would be now.

It seemed like in every waking moment, you still managed to consume his thoughts.

All roads led back to you.

As Jungwon swung from building to building, he tried his best to clear his mind. As he always did.

After his little coffee chat (disaster?) with Sunghoon, Jungwon had excused himself to go to some "work." When really, he was just reporting for duty as Spider-Man. Feeling the wind against him as he swung around the city, the thrill of nearly flying through the air, was always useful whenever Jungwon had a lot on his mind. Like always, Jungwon checked his usual stops: banks, daycares, financial and business centers, just to make sure that no one was rumpling with civilians' safety.

Lately, it hasn't really been working. But what did he expect?

The bright summer sun, blaring its orange-yellow light, was now dipping into the horizon. The air smelled like gasoline and peaches, and yet, Jungwon couldn't even relish in the tranquility. Jungwon didn't know why he kept thinking about you. The thought of you going on a date at all with someone else made him feel sick to his stomach. His gut twisted as images of you laughing and smiling flashed through his mind. It hurt so bad, so damn bad.

A few more times of helping kids cross the road, or giving an elderly person some directions, and Jungwon felt like his legs were going to give out. Which was strange.

As Spider-Man, Jungwon was cursed with enhanced senses and incredible regeneration abilities. Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Jungwon never had to experience feeling physically worn out.

Not until right now. Jungwon slumped against the wall in the back alley, the cool stone pressing against his cheek. He looked down at his hands— was he sick? Losing his abilities? Seriously, what was wrong with him? His body was feeling uncharacteristically warm, like he was burning up from the inside. His eyelids felt heavy, while his legs felt like jelly.

And maybe Jungwon would have passed out in that alleyway if it weren't for the god-awful sound of his cellphone ringing.

Kriiiing! Kriiiing! Mindlessly, he picked up the call. "Hello?" Jungwon breathed, pushing nearly all of his body weight against the cold wall for support. He laid his head back, exhausted in ways that he couldn't explain.

A familiar voice greeted his ears. "Hey, it's Sunghoon."

Jungwon gritted his teeth. Not again. "I'm not interested—"

"Listen." Sunghoon said, his voice earnest. "I'm sorry about what I said today, but—"

Jungwon's lips pressed together. How shameful. It must be so shameful, the fact that everyone knew that Jungwon was suffering so much, that it was so obvious.

"—Me and the guys are going out this weekend," Sunghoon's gravelly voice said over the phone. "And we thought that you should really come with us."

Without even realizing it, Jungwon's breath got caught in his throat. He swallowed the lump, his voice coming out so much weaker than he wanted it to, "Like I said, I'm not interested—"

"Jungwon," Sunghoon pleaded. "You... You haven't been yourself lately. We know that you're struggling right now—we're worried about you. Please, just let us be there for you."

Jungwon felt so humiliated. Ashamed even, at the way Sunghoon's voice was filled with so much sympathy. So much pity.

Jungwon wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at Sunghoon and all of his friends for not minding their damn business, for treating him like he was some charity case.

But as Jungwon's eyes traced his shadow on the road, his phone to his ear, Jungwon wanted to shout at himself, for being so weak, for being a coward, for pushing people away, for having an ego so fragile that he felt threatened by his own friend caring about him.

How pathetic. And Jungwon has the gall to call himself a hero?

Jungwon clicked his tongue. "Okay, I'll be. there."

Jungwon wasn't stupid.

He knew exactly why his friends called him out tonight. It was to distract him from the fact that on this same night, you'd be going on your date.

The plan was to all meet up at Jake's apartment, and then go to the club from there. The moment that he arrived at Jake's apartment, he scurried to the bathroom.

Jungwon stared into Jake's bathroom mirror. The entire cramped bathroom smelled like strong fumes of manly cologne and hair spray. From inside, he could hear the muffled bantering of his friends, probably arguing about who would be driving.

His eyes glazed over the tight black compression shirt that clung to his chest, the dark-washed ripped jeans hanging from his hips. It's been a while since Jungwon utilized his pierced ears, and he figured that he'd put in some simple flat black studs before the piercings inevitably closed up. On his wrist, Jungwon had mindlessly slipped on the braided tassel bracelet that you made him; it was still hanging around his room, and he had forgotten that it was from you. Despite that, he didn't have the heart to take it off and shove into his pocket.

Jungwon couldn't recognize himself. It wasn't just the breakup that ruined him.

Sure, losing you was probably one of the greatest losses in his entire life, he was sure of that. But since then, Jungwon has also purposely distanced himself from his friends. He stopped responding to their messages and going to big group outings.

He could hear Jay's howling laughter and Jake's shouting, all sounds that should be completely familiar to him. And yet, there he was, feeling awkward.

He felt like staying in this bathroom until someone noticed that he was absent.

Click! But that wasn't what Spider-Man's do.

Jungwon cracked the bathroom door open, and the moment that he stepped into the hallway, revealing his blank expression, all of his friends whipped their heads. Jungwon could feel their eyes on him, staring at him like he was some anomaly, and for a second, he regretted even agreeing to hang out with them.

He hadn't seen these guys all together in so long. In fact, Jungwon hadn't been in a personal group setting for months now. He wasn't going to lie and say that showing his face to the friends that he strayed away from made him feel uneasy.

But almost immediately, his friends' faces cracked with large grins, whooping his name.

"Jungwon!" Jake delighted as Heeseung threw an arm around Jungwon's shoulder, pulling him snugly to the side of him.

Jay's sharp features morphed into a big, boyish smile, his lips forming a curve. Jay brought up a hand to dap Jungwon up, and Jungwon received it. "Hey, man."

Sunghoon followed behind him, his sharp canine teeth revealing as he chuckled. "Glad you could make it, Jungwon."

Jungwon felt unnatural. Out of place, like a fish out of water. When was the last time he was around people that enjoyed his presence? Other than the group of middle schoolers that cheered him on when he dashed through the air, or the middle aged women at the local library club that doted on him, Jungwon couldn't remember clearly.

For all the months that Jungwon tore himself away from his friends, he didn't know what was more surprising, that his friends still wanted something to do with him, or that nothing had changed while he was gone.

Sunoo's eyes still pressed into thin crescents as he threw his head back, laughing at something stupid Riki said. Heeseung still pulled Jungwon into a headlock, aggressively scruffling his head and ruining his hair despite Jungwon's complaints. Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon still liked to argue loudly, their voices reaching volumes so high that Jungwon was sure they'd get a noise complaint before even leaving.

And as Jay and Sunghoon wrestled, falling onto Jake's couch, the room erupted with the same familiar howling laughter and quips that Jungwon had forgotten how much he loved.

As Riki jumped in to join in the pseudo-wrestling match, Sunoo chanting "fight, fight, fight!," and Heeseung and Jake acting as refs, Jungwon gaped at the scene.

The boys that he's grown up with, the boys that had seen him grow from a wimpy little middle schooler into a strong adult, the boys that never failed to make him laugh— have stayed the exact same.

And for the first time in a while, Jungwon felt his lips lift up, soft giggles erupting from his chest as his eyes squeezed shut. It was such a foreign feeling, and an even more foreign sound.

His friends seemed to think the same. In an instant, the room fell silent. Once again, Jungwon felt all eyes on him.

But before Jungwon's mind could play tricks on him, Riki dashed over to him, throwing the older boy over his shoulder and throwing him on the couch.

"You son of bitch, Jungwon!" Riki laughed affectionately, beginning a tickling assault on him.

Once again, Jake's apartment was engulfed in chaos and laughter.

Well, after being tickled so hard that he almost started crying, as well as a well-deserved noise complaint from Jake's neighbors, Jungwon and his friends finally decided to go to the club. Which was their plan all along, but it wasn't any of their faults that messing around in Jake's home was more fun. And plus, Jungwon accidentally used too much of his spider abilities and body slammed Riki so hard that they all needed a momentary time-out to get Riki an ice pack for his head ("How the hell did you get so strong?!" was what Riki was more concerned about than the giant red mark on his forehead).

Bright strobing lights, the smell of sweaty bodies and alcohol, and the sound of techno music filled all of Jungwon's senses.

And with the encouragement of his rowdy, unruly friends, Jungwon sucked in sharp breath.

Fuck it.

Whatever worries he had now, or whoever was breaking his heart, he was going to forget it. He was going to pretend that it never existed, that it never hurt him, that he was okay.

Just for tonight, just for his friends.

"C'mon!" Jake pulled Jungwon by his arm to the bar. The older boy ordered the two of them a few shots. As they waited for the bartender to prepare their drinks, Jake and Jungwon sat on the barstools. In the corner of Jungwon's eyes, he could see his other friends fucking around like they always did.

"Would it hurt them to have some class?" Jungwon muttered playfully, unable to hide his amusement when Heeseung slipped and fell on the dance floor.

"Nah, class is a foreign concept to them." Jake let a bashful smile spread on his face, his gelled hair falling over his eyes. The older man tapped his fingers on the bar counter to the electric music loudly blasting.

Jungwon grinned, and the two sat in a comfortable silence, before Jake opened his mouth again.

"We missed having you around, you know."

Jungwon whipped his head over to his friend. He quirked a brow. "Really?"

Jake put a hand on the back of his neck, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. "Yup." Jungwon followed his eyes, back to their friends that were now teasing Jay for his wild dance moves. "I think you're the smartest out of all of us."

"That's not true."

Jake shook his head. "Nah, you should have seen us. Me and Sunoo were trying to figure out how to do taxes. Never again."

As the bartender served up their drinks, Jungwon turned back to Jake, who continued, "I know you're having a hard time, but just know that we're here for you."

Jake raised the shot glass filled with a golden brown liquid— "Cheers."

Jungwon smiled.

Clink! Their shot glasses collided.

"Cheers." And with that, Jungwon threw the shot back, the bitter taste on his tastebuds burning so hard that it reached his nose. Almost immediately, Jungwon's expression turned sour, his nose scrunching at the taste. "Blegh— How do you drink this?!"

Jake shrugged. "You'll get used to it if you drink enough."

Jungwon hunched over the bar counter, his elbows on the counter as he held his hands in his head. He shook his head. "Never again. That's nasty."

A few moments of silence pass. Jungwon slid his empty shot glass over. "Give me another shot."

Despite being an adult, Jungwon had forgotten what it felt like to party.

The thrumming of the techno music that filled the club felt like it was stringing directly through Jungwon, droning through his head. After a few shots and buzzed laughs with Jake, Jungwon was tipsy enough that his body felt weightless. Weightless enough to find himself on the dance floor.

As his strong body moved to the music, Jungwon felt the rhythm of the music. His mind was hazy, nebulous as the alcohol in his system began to take over. Jungwon's head felt warm, and his vision despite his spider senses was more blurry than usual. But that didn't matter.

Blood was rushing all over Jungwon's body. His cheeks felt warm, and he couldn't tell if it was his enhanced spidey-senses or if the music was just that loud that he could physically feel the hum in his chest.

Then, the music switched from an upbeat electronic sound, to a slower, more melodic one. Jungwon swore he recognized the song, but he couldn't name it. Jungwon felt the multiple bodies of the room brush against him, before he felt one directly press up against him.

It was clearly a woman. Jungwon let his eyes shut as he let his body take reign.

Swaying to the gradual beat, Jungwon found his hands on this new woman's body. As his chest pulsed to the song, he took in her scent, he could smell sweet, floral nodes. He could barely feel his feet below him, and for a few moments, he felt like he was going to float off of the ground. And just as Jungwon thought he was going to ascend, he felt two manicured hands on his chest. His hands slid down to her hips, squeezing them, which earned him a sultry giggle.

If Jungwon weren't drunk, he may have jumped away the moment he realized that a woman was practically grinding on him. But the alcohol was too deep in his system, and he was too far gone. Even with his eyes closed, Jungwon could feel everything so intensely. He felt fingers reach for his belt loops, pulling him along.

As the music slowed to a stop, momentarily invading the usually bumping club in a hushed silence, Jungwon felt the woman lean into his ear.

"So handsome," she rasped, her warm breath brushing against his skin.

And as the chills trickled down his spine, the music finally came back on. And strangely enough, even though they were, in fact, inside a partying club, the music that blasted from the speakers was the complete opposite.

A slow piano, rich and deep vocals, and a romantic cadence.

Even in his drunken state, Jungwon immediately recognized this song at the first lyrics. Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Preseley. Without a doubt, it was this song.

How did Jungwon know? Because this was the song that you and him loved to slow dance to on your kitchen floor. And just like that, Jungwon's mind drifted into the deepest pits of his mind, the parts that he'd locked away.

In his mind, he saw you and him swaying to this song. You and him both wearing matching aprons, giggling as you attempted to slow dance. He saw the way you'd look at him, with those beautiful eyes that he could never refuse. He saw the way you said his name with a smile that he could never forget, not even in a million lifetimes.

Then, he saw flickering images of you and him: you and him holding each other in the winter to keep each other warm, you and him crying into each other's arms, you and him arguing over something so silly that you just ended up bursting out laughing.

And for a moment, it felt like you were there. Another body up against his, dancing so rhythmically that for a split second, Jungwon could pretend that it was you.

And in the depths of his heart, he prayed that it was you.

He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this nightmare would end, and he would get to see you. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, he would see you, staring up at him with those same beautiful, glossy eyes. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this song would end, and he could scoop you up and bring you home, to show you all the love that he desperately wanted to give you.

But as Elvis Preseley's resonant voice sang earnestly, Jungwon's eyes slowly peeled open to not see you, but another woman.

A woman that was not you.

"N-Not her," Jungwon's lips quivered, his body instantly pulling away. His feet stumbled, in an attempt to tear away from her grasp. Jungwon ignored the way the woman attempted to pull him back, calling out to him.

In his intoxicated state, Jungwon felt hot tears line his eyes as he staggered away.

Not you. She wasn't you. It didn't matter, in fact. No one was you.

It didn't matter what Jungwon tried to do, his heart kept going back to you.

His head was spinning. Jungwon could barely control his body as he bursted out of the doors of the club, and even less, he couldn't control the tears that were now staining his cheeks. The expensive bottle of water that the club had at the entrance was completely chugged down in a single swish, minus Jungwon's struggles to manage his soft sobbing.

Even with water in his system, Jungwon's head was still spinning. His vision was swirling. Finally, after faltering for a few moments, Jungwon found himself sitting on the stairs at the entrance of the club.

As his vision cleared up, the alcohol in his system slowly washing away, Jungwon brought his hand to his mouth, to muffle the sounds of his crying.

Maybe he was just drunk, but the tears were just not stopping. Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, labored and stammering breaths rising from his chest. His hot tears were beginning to burn his eyes.

Even from outside, he could still hear Elvis Preseley's vocalization.

Damn it, did he have to ruin tonight? Jungwon pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face into his knees. His jeans were getting wet with his tears, and the late-night breeze was getting chilly.

In fact, everything was hurting.

Why couldn't he just forget you? Why couldn't he just let you go? Why did he still yearn for you?

Jungwon lifted his head. He could see his hunched figure in his shadow on the ground. How pathetic of him. He hasn't cried in a long time. It felt weird. It didn't feel like him.

Jungwon looked at the spider-like black veins on his wrist. Why was he cursed? Why did it have to be him? He wasn't worthy, he would never be worthy of being Spider-Man. Jungwon didn't ask to be bitten. He didn't ask for that stupidly rich and ignorant scientist to come to him and urge him to use his powers for good. He didn't ask for this responsibility. He didn't ask for anything, except you.

"With great power comes great responsibility," was what he was told the moment the scientists found him. And Jungwon really believed in it. He used his strength to help the weak, he gave others the power that they couldn't have, he protected the love that others cherished.

But couldn't keep any for himself.

After Jungwon's initial honeymoon phase with his newfound spider abilities, he realized something that changed his entire life forever. That he was no longer safe, and even more, everyone that he loved was no longer safe. And Jungwon thought he was strong enough; he thought that he could let you and all of his friends go slowly to protect you all. But he simply wasn't.

And Jungwon felt so damn selfish. He felt like a greedy bastard, someone who couldn't sacrifice himself for the good of others. Why was he even crying? There were people in danger right now, and here he was crying because he missed the girl of his dreams? How pathetic.

But he wanted you so bad.

Jungwon never wanted anything in life. All his life, he was obedient like a dog. He did everything that others asked of him. He always tried his best, always valued his righteousness, always did what was right.

But now, all he wanted was you.

He's never wanted anything, but the moment that he wants you, he couldn't have you.

Here he was, crying like some idiot all alone while you were probably still on that date. God, he wished Sunghoon never told him. He tried his best for the past few days to just not think about it, but now Jungwon had to truly face the fact that you've already moved on. His chest felt like it was going to burst.

Jungwon sunk his teeth into his fist to muffle his sobs even more. Maybe he should just go home. It's cold, it's uncomfortable, it's unsanitary, and most of all, Jungwon felt like shit.

As Jungwon stumbled to his feet, he sucked in one more breath. It still smelled like alcohol, with a scent of cigarettes. Then, he looked at the bustling road across the street. Somewhere out there, you were laughing with another man. Probably kissing him, calling him the same names that you'd call Jungwon.

God, it made him physically ill. Jungwon brought the back of his hand to wipe his nose one more time. He was going to go home. He'll leave a call for Heeseung or something later.

But before he could even take another step—

Boom!

Jungwon looked up at the sky. Even when it was dark, he could see a large cloud of black smoke. And now, he heard police sirens in the distance and the screaming of civilians.

Shit.

You fiddled with your fingers, bouncing your knee in anticipation to the beat of the 2010's pop song that your taxi driver chose.

Damn it, Wonyoung, you thought. You glanced down at the dress that your best friend chose for you. In the reflection of the backseat car window you caught your made up face. The blush on your cheeks, your curled lashes, the lip gloss. You thought you looked pretty.

Your eyes fluttered to your phone resting in your lap. The latest notification was from Wonyoung, telling you good luck and that you looked pretty. You couldn't help but smile.

It's been 6 months since your boyfriend Jungwon broke up with you. And frankly, it's probably been the worst 6 months of your life.

Words could not describe the types of pain and downright suffering that you went through. You cried for weeks straight, and up until recently, you hadn't had the motivation to really do anything.

The breakup was so unexpected, too. One day you and Jungwon were laughing, the next he left you. You couldn't understand why, and it wasn't like Jungwon gave you a succinct reason either. All he had said was that he was sorry, and that he had no other choice.

And the worst part was, you still weren't over your ex.

All that pain for nothing, you thought as your eyes followed the cars that passed your taxi. Your best friend, Wonyoung, on the other hand, had had enough.

"I don't like seeing you like this," Wonyoung had told you one night, as you cried into her shoulder. Despite what she showed others with her bubbly personality, her voice was stern. "It's not fair to you."

And you knew she was right. Which was why you let her set you up on a date with one of her colleagues. You figured that it was time that you stopped mulling over a man that couldn't stay anyway.

It's been so long in general since you even considered looking at someone else that wasn't Jungwon. And for a reason that you couldn't explain, it didn't feel right. And yet, you pushed it to the back of your head as you stepped out of the taxi.

The restaurant that your date, a guy named Haruto Watanabe, chose was a semi-formal one, called Bisco's Palace. You thought that name was a little bit corny, but you brushed it off. Thick stone walls, yellow-orange moody lighting, and an elegant grassy hedge at the entrance. It looked like a fairytale, and because of the beautiful dress that Wonyoung made you wear, you felt like you were in a fairytale.

When you arrived, you were met with a tall man with sharp features.

"Haruto?" you asked. He turned to look at you. You watched as his eyes widened, before he gave you a once-over.

"[N-Name]?" he spluttered. You recognized the look on his face. It was the look on a man's face whenever he found a woman attractive, and unfortunately, you were no stranger to it. "You look— You look beautiful."

If you were someone else, maybe you'd feel flattered. It's not every day that a good-looking man calls you beautiful. But all you felt was a sense of unease. Not that it was his fault; there was nothing intrinsically wrong with him. You just didn't know why you felt so uncomfortable.

You fought back the urge to make a face, and you instead forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Thank you." Now it was your turn to look him over. He was wearing a crisp button-up with slacks. He looked well put-together. "You look great too."

Haruto visibly turned pink, and he muttered something under his breath as he averted his gaze. Finally, he cleared his throat, extending his hand out to you. "Shall we go in?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, before you took his hand curtly. "Of course."

The two of you were quickly seated, and after being greeted by a cheery waitress that was clearly still in high school, your food was ordered and served in a timely manner. If you were to be honest, you weren't exactly too invested in tonight's date. Even if you agreed to it to get over Jungwon, you knew that your heart wasn't there yet.

Not to say that Haruto wasn't a sweetheart. He was polite, had very good manners, and was very respectful toward you. He tried his best to keep a flowing conversation with you, and in recognizing his efforts, you simply just went along with him. He was handsome and a well-natured guy. And, the food was great. Everything was to your taste, from the appetizers to the drinks to the dessert. The wait staff were also on top of it. As a whole, the restaurant was just perfect. The lights, the music, even how cushioned the chairs were.

Like a fairy tale. Everything was perfect. Perfect man, perfect food, perfect night. But it just wasn't good enough.

You felt nothing for Haruto, not even an ounce of interest. And as much as you didn't want to admit it, you knew why you were like this: Because he wasn't Jungwon.

There was nothing "Jungwon" about this date. Haruto certainly wasn't Jungwon, but everything about this date was nothing like how you liked to be treated. You liked to laugh and to get into dynamic discussions about silly topics, ones that didn't even matter. Haruto was so sweet, but he couldn't match your level of wit. While the food was tasty, you didn't want something so stringent and formal. You'd rather do something together with your date, to get to know each other better rather than sitting at a candle-lit restaurant.

Who would have known all of this? Who would have allowed you to do all of these things regardless of the environment? Who did your heart still stubbornly belong to?

Jungwon.

You let out a forced laugh at one of Haruto's jokes before excusing yourself to the washroom.

Shhhhh! As the sink water ran, you stared at your reflection. Even your makeup was done in a way that you knew Jungwon liked. The lipgloss in your purse was the same one that he bought you all those months ago. You didn't even know if you had the heart to use it up.

You thought that you were doing better. But it seemed like time and space only made your heart grow fonder.

It was getting later into the night now. And against your better judgment, you wondered what Jungwon was doing. Maybe he's playing video games. Or reading all of the superhero comics that he loved to collect.

Then, your mind wandered. What if he was with another girl? Your chest overwhelmed itself with unimaginable hurt. He never gave you a real explanation as to why he wanted to end things, and seemingly, his closest friends couldn't either. You'd be lying if you said that your mind didn't betray you, wandering to all of the darkest places.

Your eyes traced your own face in the mirror. Would Jungwon do that to you? Was he really the type to be unfaithful?

You knew the answer: no. Never. Jungwon was many things, and a cold-hearted unscrupulous cheater was not one of them. But then again, you thought you knew him to be the type to never spring a breakup on you. But he did. Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought he did.

You took a deep breath. Not right now, you thought. You were on a date with another guy. It would be disrespectful to think about your ex, wouldn't it? Even if Haruto was most definitely not the one for you, you should have some courtesy.

You quickly rinsed your hands, dried them, and reapplied your lipgloss. And as you were ready to step back out, prepared to brave your tight-lipped smile and kind words, a large crashing sound pierced your ears.

Boom!

In the blink of an eye, the tiled bathroom floor below you rumbled, low growls rolling from under your feet. You froze. Your hand jerked out to grab the counter, the wall, the bathroom door handle— anything— to keep you stable.

"W-What the—"

Another deafening roar thundered through the air, enough to make your ears ring. At that instance, the floor below you ripped open.

What the hell was going on? Was it an earthquake? That would explain why the ground tore open. And yet, in the distance, you could hear booming thumping sounds.

Almost like the footsteps of a humongous being. Almost like the footsteps of a supervillain. Shit.

You're well aware of the state of your city. In the past few years, there has been a strange phenomenon of evildoers and mutants alike, appearing throughout your city to wreak havoc and torment civilians. And with that came the rise of even more bold crimes. Bank robberies, arson, kidnappings, pretty much everything.

Luckily, in the past 6 months, a new hero has appeared. The red and blue masked hero; the friendly neighborhood superhero himself; Spider-Man.

Your apartment, located near the center of the city, was awfully close to all of the commotion, nearly all the time. Which was why you couldn't help but admit that Spider-Man was quite the gem, for taking out all of these ne'er-do-wells and eccentric supervillains. And yet, here you were, probably in the middle of a supervillain attack.

All of the past villains have been eccentric but petty. But as the tiles below your feet literally cracked with each booming thrum, you were sure that this new villain, whoever it was, was worse.

Much worse. Probably worse than you could ever imagine.

And before you could react to the way that you tumbled to the ground, the cold floor hitting your knees so achingly, you heard a shriek from outside the bathroom.

"It's Baron von Fizzlebang!"

.... Who?

Baron von Fizzlebang?

What kind of shitty villain name is that—

Boom!

The smell of smoke filled your nostrils. You didn't know where it came from, but from the way that civilians screeched and screamed outside, you figured that it couldn't be far from you.

Boom!

Okay, this is urgent, you needed to get out!

Your heart rate picking up, you breathed slowly to keep yourself calm. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the way your soon-to-be bruised knees ached. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, the lights flickered, followed by the sound of explosions. Even though you were definitively inside the bathroom, with all sides of the room still intact, the dust seeped through the cracks, filling your lungs. With a strained gasp for air, you clamped a hand over your nose, squinting.

You pressed your ear against the bathroom door. Now the entire restaurant blared with fire alarms and smoke detectors. Police sirens also sounded. The large footstep-like thudding in the distance came closer and closer. You had no choice but get out of this damn bathroom and book it.

Your heart was now pounding so quickly that it felt like it would fall out. Your legs felt so weak, your head feeling too heavy. Who the hell is Baron von Fizzlebang? And more importantly, why did it have to be tonight? Without even realizing it, your palms had become sweaty, and with all the blood rushing to your head, you were mere seconds away from sweating.

You shook your head. Focus! You squeezed your eyes shut, your hand wrapped tightly on that bathroom door handle. On a count of three, you were going to open that door and run for your life.

One. Why did some good-for-nothing supervillain have to ruin your already-mediocre night?

Two. You needed to relax. There's no time to sit around and think and languish. Just do it!

Three. You pushed the heavy bathroom door open, and you bursted through the doorway.

And much to your relief, the dark hallway that led to the restaurant's bathroom was hidden away in a little nook; at the end of the hallway was the entrance to the main room of the restaurant.

Slowly creeping down the hallway, you could see the destruction that was wreaked on Bisco's poor, fancy restaurant. Chairs and tables were knocked over, with broken glass and porcelain scattering the red-carpeted floor. From the looks of it, it seemed like all of the restaurant's patrons were either huddled up in another section of the restaurant, or they had escaped.

Great. Now, all you had to do was get out. Thankfully, at the other end of this hallway, there was a backdoor exit. So all you had to do was turn around and—

There standing at the end of the hallway, in front of your exit, was a tall and slender man.

He wore a fitted tailored suit, yet it was bright purple, with a giant bow tie. He had a monocle over his eye.

Like some type of costumed noble. Like a baron.

"That's right," he said, a devious grin spreading across his face, in a way that almost made him look like a carnival clown. Your pulse froze, mid-beat. Theatrically, he gave you a bow, before he reached a hand out to you. " 'Tis I, Baron von Fizzlebang."

Your gut twisted. And when you stared at him with shaky eyes, your entire body frozen in time, the supervillain let out a cackle.

"Oh dear," Baron von Fizzlebang put his hand to his chest, feigning offense. He slyly eyed you, and at once, you could see a lightbulb seemingly pop from his head. "You don't mind being a hostage, right?"

Before you could even open your mouth, Baron von Fizzlebang shot you with finger-guns. And before you knew it, you fell to your knees, your vision became hazy. The last thing that you heard as you lost consciousness was the supervillain's laughter, police sirens, and shouting for a particular red and blue masked superhero.

Jungwon swore that he had a special sense for you.

Jungwon arrived at the scene barely even 5 minutes after he heard the initial explosion. The big fancy restaurant at the end of Mainstreet was the scene.

Really? Jungwon thought. Bisco's Palace? That pretentious place?

The thing was, Jungwon wasn't really nervous. One time, he had to fight an entire group of 20 thugs with guns barely 5 minutes after he was rudely awoken. Jungwon could probably fight people in his sleep. His body and physicality, although he resented it half the time, was perfectly attuned to everything that he needed.

Even now, as he was barely sober and emotionally wrecked, he could see clearly. When he arrived at the scene, half of Bisco's Palace was completely destroyed. Mini fires spotted the scene, with pods of smoke bursting in the night air. Terrified civilians cried that they heard earsplitting thumping in the distance, like footsteps. Others claimed that an eccentric villain called "Baron von something-something" was the cause of this all.

Jungwon huffed. Another crazy supervillain? Seemingly there was another crazy supervillain appearing everyday! What, was there some kind of factory pumping them out? From the looks of it, it seemed like most of the civilians had escaped relatively unscathed.

Good. Jungwon readied himself to launch into that burning restaurant. He had a simple action plan: Rescue the remaining civilians, beat that Baron von something-something's ass, and go home.

The moment that Jungwon's striking red and blue figure launched across the sky, Jungwon could hear the gasps of civilians, police officers, and on-site journalists alike. Jungwon landed easily into what was left of that restaurant building.

And when he entered, it was quiet. Eerily quiet.

Jungwon had to be careful.

Jungwon creeped slowly, closer to the main dining room. He kept his breathing as quiet as a whisper. And when he peeked his head through the grand, arched door-frame that led into the dining room, there, he saw a group of civilians, huddled among the flickering fires Men, women, children— there they were, shaking in fear, and coughing as the. Fire smoke filled their lungs. With his enhanced senses, he could hear mothers hushing their wailing babies and children asking their fathers if they were going to die tonight.

Not on my watch, Jungwon mentally answered their questions.

Jungwon shot a web at the ceiling, and in one fell swoop, he gathered enough momentum to swing across the restaurant, landing where the civilians were.

"Spider-Man!" they cried.

Jungwon crouched down toward them, putting his hands on his knees.

"Listen," he began, his voice stern. "I am going to help you guys escape." Jungwon grimaced at their amazed gazes. "But I need you guys to listen to me carefully."

Jungwon's eyes glazed over the group of civilians. There were up to 15 of them. He didn't have time to carry each and every one of them out. The entrance was burning, and there weren't any other ways to get out. Jungwon wanted to conserve his time as much as possible. To prevent that bastard of a villain Baron von something-something from doing any more damage.

And now that he took a better look at these civilians, they looked tired and worn out. Their cheeks were covered in soot, sweaty faces from the fire that was surrounding them.

Jungwon's eyes darted around the restaurant. There had to be another exit. Then, his eyes fell upon the tall window that stretched from the ceiling down to the floor.

Bingo.

"Mama, it's too hot," Jungwon could hear a toddler babble. Other people seemed to join in on agreement, and yet, they could barely speak coherently. With sweat-stained shirts and cheeks, Jungwon cursed under his breath.

Damn it, the fire was physically weakening these people. Jungwon's plan was nothing short of easy: he was going to break the hell out that window and get these people to escape that way. Yet, the problem was, the windows were bound to shatter and create dangerous shards. Jungwon was going to instruct them to be careful, but judging from the way that these civilians flinched at even the slightest flutter of fire while barely even having the strength to stand up, there was no way that they could have the alertness and mental precision to actually avoid the shards.

Think, think! Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut. What should he do? In the palace that was his mind, Jungwon ran through every possibility. These fires were big. They looked much smaller outside, but now that he was in the restaurant itself, these tongues of fires were massive. Not only were these fires scalding, but the smoke was painful for these civilians.

Come to think of it, shouldn't every building in this city have a robust mechanism for when fire breaks out? And yet, the walls, floor, and remaining civilians in this restaurant were dry. Which means that the sprinklers haven't gone off yet.

This was why public establishments needed health inspections... Jungwon shook his head. He didn't have time to criticize the efficacy of his government.

At once, Jungwon shot webs at whatever hard object he could find— fallen plates, bundles of metal utensils, even pieces of debris— before slinging them into the ceiling, directly toward all of the sprinkler bulbs that dotted the tall ceiling.

I'm sorry about your ceiling, but you'll thank me later, Jungwon thought, before slinging thick wads of webs toward every vent.

As each sprinkler bulb shattered, flared streams of water bursted from the ceiling. And as each vent of this flaming restaurant were webbed over, Jungwon prayed to whichever god he could think of that his physics professor was right about buoyancy. Hopefully, if he was right, by webbing over the vents, new smoke would not be able to enter the room, and thus reduce the amount of smoke that the civilians were breathing in.

As cold water droplets pittered and pattered over Jungwon's suit, he watched as the remaining civilians cheered and cooled off under the sprinkler. And with his physics-accurate ventilation blockage, they'd now be much more compliant.

Jungwon latched onto a larger piece of debris and slung it at the closest and safest window.

"Okay," he began instructing, creating a temporary web to shield the civilians from the fractured pieces of the window. "

You—" he pointed at a man—"Take that kid. And you two—" he pointed at two teenagers—"Stick together."

Jungwon organized the people. "Be careful, and step around the shards!"

The civilians were already on it. Jungwon watched as they carried their young and old, fleeing as fast as they came, all of them murmuring a "thank you, Spider-Man," as they pushed out through the window.

And with that, Jungwon was left all alone. The fire had died down just a little bit, by virtue of the sprinklers. For safe measure, Jungwon configured a few webs to create a few fire barriers to slow those damned flames down.

Now where was that Baron von something-something?

Jungwon scanned the restaurant. He looked everywhere. In the foyer, at the entrance, in the kitchen, even under the tables.

But he couldn't find anyone.

Except, there was one place that he didn't check: the dark hallway in the corner of the restaurant.

Jungwon inched toward it, slowly. He took small, spider-like steps.

"Oh, would you just hurry it up already?!" a loud voice boomed through the air.

Emerging from the hallway was a tall man.

Baron von something-something.

"Look at you, Spider-Man!" he cried, mockingly batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands together. "So brave! So strong! You helped those poor, poor civilians escape!"

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. Who the hell was this maniac? Jungwon's fingers twitched.

"But it looks like you forgot one." A sinister smile spread across his face. "Oh come out, dear!"

There was nothing that could have possibly prepared Jungwon for what he saw next. His heart plummeted to his stomach, because from the dark hallway emerged you.

Your face was dazed, your eyes cloudy, and your movements so sluggish. As if you were unconscious, and your mind was being controlled.

"Dontcha think she's pretty?" the villain continued, eccentrically throwing his arms around you. He laughed. "They don't call me Baron von Fizzlebang for no reason! With a single gunshot from my fingers, I can take anyone under my control!"

Jungwon tuned everything out.

He felt a flood of emotions.

Fear.

You, the person that's been haunting him. You, who has been consuming his thoughts and life. There you were, in front of him, after all of this time. Even when you weren't really there, Jungwon couldn't bear to look you in the eyes.

And yet, it meant nothing. His fear meant absolutely nothing. Not when there was another emotion taking hold: anger.

So much anger, that his blood felt hot. Jungwon dug his fingernails into his gloved palms, enough that his knuckles were beginning to ache. How dare this villain take advantage of you? Your safety was in jeopardy. It made Jungwon's stomach boil with a rage that he couldn't comprehend, the way that you were quite literally not in control of your body. That in the time that Jungwon wasn't there, unspeakable things could have been done to you. To think that your own autonomy was torn from your hands, to think that your own dignity was desecrated in the name of some supervillain's sick power game— that conjured a feeling that Jungwon couldn't even describe. Disgust, horror, wrath; he felt it all.

Jungwon now looked upon the villain with eyes full of wrath.

Baron von Fizzlebang continued to rave on and on about how great he was, and how this was just all part of his master plan to subjugate this city. But it didn't mean anything.

To the entire world, Spider-Man was a hero. And in most ways, he was one. Jungwon saved people daily, he prevented the city around him from crumbling to the ground like it was easy. He was a man of the people, the beacon of hope for all city residents.

The symbol of law and order, the righteous hero of the city, Spider-Man.

And yet, as Jungwon's eyes couldn't bear to tear away from your dazed face, he felt his resolve slip away.

The obligation to protect others, defend freedom, and uphold justice, like a vessel from a dock, sailed away into the horizon, into the unknown. Right now, Jungwon was not Spider-Man protecting a civilian. He was not the Spider-Man that had no other duty than to ensure the safety of his fellow citizens. He was not the Spider-Man whose every action reflected his moral purity.

No, Jungwon was a man that was so ashamed of his own fears, that he never even dared to speak of them. He was the man that pushed everyone away, frightened by what would happen if he continued to associate with them. And worst of all, Jungwon was the man that still continued to yearn you, longing for your touch one last time before he would consign his love to oblivion.

Which was why all Jungwon saw was red.

Maybe if he was actually listening to Baron von Fizzlebang's monologue he would have heard how his abilities worked, but Jungwon didn't care. He'll probably figure it out later when this lunatic gets thrown into jail.

Jungwon couldn't control his body, or his mind at that matter. All Jungwon could remember doing was shooting a web at the ceiling to gain a higher vantage point, before (with all of the maximum, inhuman speed that his body was capable of) swinging down to land a kick flat onto Baron von Fizzlebang's cheek, effectively knocking the man down to the floor.

Before the villain could even react, Jungwon couldn't stop himself; he pinned the villain down to the floor using all of his body weight, before he let nothing but his sheer anger reign. All of his pent up emotions— anger, fear, shame, guilt— spilled out. No longer was Jungwon the pure hero.

With his bare hands, he landed punches to Baron von Fizzlebang's abdomen. Over and over and over.

Spider-Man used spider webs and crafty tricks to defeat his enemies. But Jungwon? He used his bare hands. With gritted teeth, and blood boiling hotter than lava, Jungwon punched, and punched, and punched. Even when he could feel his knuckles beginning to bruise, he punched. He ignored every cry and groan of pain coming from the villain, for there was only one thing on his mind: your dignity.

Jungwon wouldn't have stopped, not even if his arm gave out (because he would just switch to his other arm), not even if this maniacal supervillain was out for good.

The only thing that pulled Jungwon into his blind rage was the sound of you collapsing to the ground, with a thump!

Instantly, Jungwon snapped out of his fury, his head whipping over to you. Seemingly, with Baron von Fizzlebang knocked out, you were released from his control.

Immediately, Jungwon rushed over to you, leaving Baron von Fizzlebang's unconscious body.

"[Name]!" he cried, scooping your limp body up into his arms. You no longer looked dazed, so at least Baron von Fizzlebang's control of you wore off for good. And yet, your expression looked exhausted. Your eyes were half-lidded, labored breaths and soft whimpering pushing from your lips. "[Name], can you hear me? Are you okay?—"

Overhead, Jungwon could hear helicopters and the shouting of police officers and firemen from outside. They must have figured that Jungwon defeated Baron von Fizzlebang, and now they were sending re-enforcements. But all of Jungwon's focus was still on you.

"Spider-Man...?" you mumbled weakly, your voice hoarse and quivering. Now that he got a better look, your eyes were bloodshot, and your cheeks were tear-stained. Jungwon's heart clenched in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt such an overwhelming urge to pull you into his embrace, to hold you close as if you would disappear. "Spider-Man, I—"

"Don't speak," Jungwon's voice came out as a whisper. And maybe it was now that Jungwon realized that his eyes were welled up with tears. It's been so long since he's been able to see you, and yet ironically, the only reason that he could was because your life was in danger. Jungwon let out a choked sob. "Don't say anything, [Name]."

"But I—I wanted to thank you—"

"Shhhh."

You looked so tired. He couldn't imagine how you felt, being under the control of a supervillain that has malicious intentions. But here you were, still taking it upon yourself to thank him. He couldn't even fathom what type of pain (emotional? physical? mental? you definitely weren't going to be okay after this, he knew you that well) you were going through.

Hug her, was the resounding thought that filled Jungwon's head. He almost cursed himself for thinking such a thing. After all, he wasn't yours anymore. But as he watched your worn face, he thought again. When you were still his, you always felt soothed when you were under intense stress if he hugged you tightly, the way that you always liked it.

Holding his breath, Jungwon gently lifted your head and chest, before pulling you into his arms. Almost instantly, you relaxed into his body, pushing your face into the crook of his neck. Like how you used to. You murmured something under your breath, but Jungwon was too distracted by the tears that were now definitely streaming down his face. He hadn't felt your touch in so long. He's been dreaming of getting to hold you one last time for months now.

Your eyelids began to fall, your head yielding to his shoulder, which was a tell-tale sign that you've fallen unconscious.

In the restaurant of ruin and rubble, Jungwon sat there on the debris-ridden floor, with you in his arms. Before he finally decided to get back up and take the two of you out of this place, he gave you one more tight squeeze.

"I love you," he whispered into your ear. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but he hoped that somewhere in dreamland, you heard him.

Jungwon stared out of his apartment window. It's been a few days since the Baron von Fizzlebang-Bisco's Palace incident. Baron von Fizzlebang was taken into police custody and his trial awaited him. Meanwhile, the city was still cleaning up the aftermath, with an entire block of the city being taped off.

But the city wasn't the only thing that had to be repaired.

Namely, Jungwon hadn't recovered yet. His fists still had red-purple marks on them. Even with his superhuman regenerative abilities, he had pushed himself to the extreme when he was beating up Baron von Fizzlebang the other day. But that wasn't the issue.

Ever since that day, Jungwon hadn't stopped thinking about you. Well, to be sure, he never stopped thinking about you, but he was thinking about you extra now.

He wondered how you were doing. You were a strong girl. You could withstand pretty much everything, because it was in your nature. But after an incident like this one, he was sure that you were going through a lot.

Jungwon felt selfish. He wanted to check up on you. He wanted to ask one of his friends to ask your friends how you were doing, or maybe go to your apartment as Spider-Man to check up on you himself.

But that's a purely selfish desire.

Jungwon couldn't do that to you. He broke up with you for a reason: to protect you. He'd never want to do anything to put you in danger, and by even opening an avenue of communication between him (in both his hero and civilian form) and you was dangerous in and of itself.

It scared him so deeply, the thought of losing you. But still, Jungwon wanted to be selfish. He wanted to love you greedily, to have you all to himself.

He looked out his window again, then he looked down at his wrists: the black spider-like veins looked darker today. Maybe in another lifetime, because in this lifetime, he had a duty as Spider-Man.

Speaking of which, there were few actual benefits of being Spider-Man. One of them was that Jungwon got to directly impact other people's lives. Which was why every week, the municipal government would send him all of the fan-mail that civilians had for him.

Jungwon shook the thought of you away, pushing it to the back of his mind as he. grabbed his keys, slipped on some slippers, and ventured down to his apartment complex's mailroom.

As always, his mailbox was filled to the brim with mail. From letters to postcards to care packages, Jungwon looked like a madman as he struggled to carry all of his fan=mail back up to his apartment. It sucked that he couldn't use his spider abilities to help him in broad daylight.

In fact, there was so much mail that as Jungwon traversed the hallway back to his apartment, stumbling over himself, one stray letter fell from the stack of letters that he had atop all of the packages.

He cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes. He watched as that one stray letter seemingly flew off of the stack, gracefully floating in the air for a few seconds before landing before his feet.

Jungwon huffed again. He quickly made his way back to his apartment, set down all of his fan-mail, before running back out into the hallway to pick up that pesky envelope that decided to fly away.

But as Jungwon marched down that hallway, crouching down to pick up the letter that had fallen out of his grasp, his eyes fell upon that name on that envelope.

It was your name. Jungwon snatched it up.

You wrote him fan-mail. Jungwon couldn't help but smile.

It has been about two weeks since the incident, and frankly, you're only halfway over it. You could tell that you were getting better compared to how you were in the immediate aftermath. But you still couldn't sleep at night, and you needed lots of mental preparation to go anywhere outside.

But today, you decided that you were going to put on a brave face, and stand up against your fears.

Pushing what fears you had to the back of your mind, you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom. It was late into the morning, and yet, you were wearing makeup.

Wonyoung (that smart girl, always with tricks up her sleeve), feeling apologetic about what had happened at that disaster of a date last week, begged to take you out on a girl's date today. After being cooped up in your room everyday for the past few days, you couldn't say no to her offer.

You felt a little nervous, though. The last time you went out, you got taken control of by that supervillain. But Wonyoung had been there for you the entire way, talking you through it every night. You trusted her, and you appreciated how she didn't treat you like a victim; Wonyoung wasn't babying your every step, but instead just treating you like a normal person.

And plus, it was summer. You wanted to have fun and to live your young adult life. Your eyes fluttered over to your window. Streams of yellow sunlight peeked through. Today was too beautiful. You could remember Wonyoung's excited voice over the phone a few nights ago.

"We should go take pictures!" she has squealed over the phone. "You just look toooooo pretty and we need to post something on your Instagram— to show all the guys what they're missing out on!"

You giggled. You still couldn't get used to being treated like you were single. There were indeed a few cool freedoms that came with being single. But in your mind, you still belonged to someone.

You looked at your phone. Wonyoung talked about posting pictures to make guys feel like bums for not getting on their knees and worshipping you (her words, not yours!). But when you thought about posting pictures, all you thought about was whether or not Jungwon would see them.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You needed to stop thinking about him. It wasn't healthy. But you still wondered if he thought about you, the same way you thought about him. You sat up from your bed, before you glanced into the mirror near the foot of your bed.

You hoped that he thought about you, too.

Ding dong! Oh! A ring from the front door! It must be Wonyoung! You happily promenaded to your apartment door, excited to greet your best friend with a big hug, and—

"J-Jungwon?!"

Instead of seeing your pink-wearing scheming best friend, you're greeted with your ex-boyfriend. However, for some reason, he looked more surprised than you!

"[N-Name]?!" he spluttered, his cat-like eyes as wide as saucers with his jaw falling open.

The two of you stare at each other like that for what felt like an eternity.

Your eyes fell over his features. His hair had grown a little bit longer since the last time you saw him (granted, that was half a year ago). His face looked slimmer, like he had lost weight. As you glazed over his figure, he had a backpack on his shoulders as always, but you eyed the way his biceps looked. He looked like he had put on more muscle, and before you could start ogling at him, you stopped yourself.

This was the guy that broke your heart. This was the guy that left you with no words. And now he was at your door?

"What the fuck do you want?" you spat at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Your brows crashed together, your expression turning sour. When he didn't respond, because you could tell by his expression that he was too busy checking you out, you began to close the door in his face.

"W-Wait!" he put his hands in front of him, flailing them panicked. You shot him a questioning look. "I think— I think I'm at the wrong apartment..."

You scoffed. "Oh, bullshit. What do you actually want?"

"I-I promise that I'm serious," Jungwon breathed out, and for a second you felt the walls you built for yourself threatening to crash down. He looked like a sad cat. Frantically, he shoved his hands into his pockets, searching for his phone that was squashed somewhere in them. When he finally found his phone, he fumbled with it, before showing you his screen. "I'm tutoring... a kid on your floor, I think."

You took a good look at his phone screen, and he was telling the truth.

You sighed, pinching your nose-bridge.

"Do you..." he began, his eyes refusing to look at yours. "Do you know how to get to room 1214?"

You let out another sigh, this time louder. Jungwon stumbled, stammering to explain himself again, but you put a hand up, effectively silencing him.

"Keep going down the hallway, make a left turn, and you'll find room 1214 on your right," you said simply.

"Thank you," Jungwon said, as he nodded slowly, and you hummed.

Another long moment of silence engulfed the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick that you swore you could cut it with a butter knife. You watched the way Jungwon's fingers fidgeted, a habit that he's never lost. He did this whenever he felt nervous or shy. It was a habit that you had grown to be fond of. You thought it was sweet that he was so fidgety. You tore your eyes away from him.

Was this the guy that wordlessly broke your heart?

"I'm gonna—" Jungwon started, breaking the silence. "I'm gonna go now."

He locked eyes with you, but just as he tried to break eye contact, you sent him a warning look. He didn't look away.

"Okay," you said simply. "Me too."

"Yeah."

And yet, the two of you still stood there, staring at each other. You've spent so many nights crying over him. You've never felt so much pain in your life before. There was so much anger and resentment that you had built up for him. There were a million words that you wanted to say to him, to tell him how much he hurt you.

But right now, you couldn't think of anything.

"Take care," you said.

"You too."

And with that, you slowly closed your door on him, while he slowly walked away from your door. But you swore that he kept looking back at you.

The moment that your front door clicked shut, you pressed your back up against it, before sliding down and holding your knees to your chest. You couldn't get over him when he clearly still wasn't over you. Why was he playing with you like this? Why did it have to be you, and more importantly, why did it have to be him?

Surely in time, Wonyoung showed up, and the two of you went on your little girl's day.

You huffed as you stumbled through your apartment doorway, struggling to take off your shoes amidst all of the shopping bags hanging on your arm. That Wonyoung, so eager to treat you to a nice day out. She bought you everything that you remotely showed interest in.

The moment that you arrived home, you shed all of your outdoor clothes, retreating to the comfort that was your bedroom. By now, it was dark out, and despite having a long and fun day with Wonyoung, you didn't feel tired. Unlike most days like this one that would follow a logical sequence, you still felt restless, as if your day had not been complete.

You were plagued with a weird gnawing feeling inside you. This happened a lot lately, probably just your anxiety from the past few weeks' incident.

And when you finally realized that laying in bed for hours scrolling on your phone was barely productive for an adult like you, you sighed, before sitting up from your bed.

Maybe you should write to him.

Ever since the incident at Bisco's Palace, you've found yourself especially restless. It's hard to tell if you're just paranoid, but on nights like this, you found yourself doing the same thing: writing to Spider-Man.

You used to be indifferent to the buzz around the masked hero, but now you understood it. You didn't know the reason why, but you found yourself finding comfort in simply writing to Spider-Man. It's simple things like thanking him for his service, and telling him about your day.

You glanced at the disorderly pile on your desk, of folded letters and envelopes. You never sent your letters. You've only ever sent him one letter.

The rest of your letters, which were structured more like long streams of consciousness vomited on a piece of paper, were left unsent.

You sighed. It wasn't like Spider-Man was really going to read your letters. You were just writing your thoughts out. You sat at your desk, scrolling through your Spotify Playlists to first choose the perfect moody music to get you writing. Your finger scrolled around your screen, glazing over the icons for each of your playlists.

You stopped when you saw a familiar, yet long-forgotten one.

It was a playlist that was created an entire year ago, with a simple title: love. Its icon was none other than a picture of you and Jungwon, with your cheeks smooshed up against each other. Smiling. In love.

Your finger hovered over its icon for a few moments. You haven't listened to this playlist in months. It's practically been collecting cobwebs in your Spotify account. If you listened to it now, you'd probably lose your mind. And yet you felt drawn to it.

You closed your eyes, rubbing your temples. In times in stress, we as humans seek familiarity. It's not crazy for you, who just experienced something traumatizing, to seek the solace of an old playlist reminiscent of a happier time. Right?

Play, you clicked.

Immediately, songs that you haven't heard in a long time filled your ears, the familiar tunes and melodies that you've grown to love hanging in the air.

You grabbed a pen, and began jotting down your thoughts.

'Dear Spider-Man,' you started off your letter. Below your desk, your knees bounced to the rhythm of each song— each song chosen by Jungwon, reminding you of all of his laughs and soft kisses as you and him shared earbuds on the city's underground subway.

As the black ink of your pen smudged against the side of your palm, you hummed along to the music that emitted from your phone. For a second, you could pretend that it was last summer, when you still had a boy to call yours.

You bit your lip, staring at the words scribbled on the paper.

It wasn't like Spider-Man would ever read these letters. He was a hypothetical addressee in your letters, so to speak. You took a deep breath.

'I miss him,' you wrote next, wincing as you gazed at your handwriting. How embarrassing, that you're confiding in the hypothetical version of a superhero in your head about your boy troubles. Whatever. You continued, 'I don't think I'll be able to move on from him, not any time soon.'

You stared at your words again. Oh, isn't this just pathetic?

You groaned, exasperated. You seriously just needed to get a life, or something. Just as you were about to throw yourself into your bed and scream into your pillows, leaving an unfinished letter open on your desk—

Crash!

You whipped your head toward the source of the sound: your bedroom balcony.

For a moment, your shoulders tensed. The last time a loud sound filled your ears, you got your mind controlled. And plus, it wasn't safe being a woman that lived alone, especially in a city notorious for its crime.

With trembling eyes, you stared out your glass balcony doors. It was completely dark out, save for the streams of light staining your balcony from your room. There's loud sounds all the time, but this time, you were 100% certain that the sound was on your balcony.

Should you go check it out? Or should you just turn off all your lights and jump into bed?

But before you could scare yourself even more, a strong figure slowly rose from the darkness. Hunched over, as if he was in pain, emerged a familiar red and blue hero.

"S-Spider-Man?!" you gaped to yourself. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

And despite the darkness, you and him seem to lock eyes. Spider-Man, although it was him that was intruding on your property, seemed even more surprised by your presence, physically jolting away as if he was really that taken aback by you. And unfortunately for him, just as he was about to scurry away, you bursted through your balcony doors.

"Spider-Man!" you called out, as the cool night air kissed your face. You could feel goosebumps rise on your skin, as your thin pajamas did you no justice against the night coolness.

Although he was masked, you swore that Spider-Man was looking at you like you were some kind of freak of nature. But you ignored his gaze, noticing the way his clothed thigh had a massive dark-red splotch on it.

"I-Is that blood?" you peeped, pointing to his thigh. That would explain why Spider-Man had such an unceremonious crash landing into your apartment balcony; he was injured. You looked back up at the hero's masked face. "Spider-Man, are you okay—"

"I-I'm fine!" Spider-Man blurted, his voice shaky and almost uncertain. The hero staggered, stumbling to his feet. You could tell that he was in pain, but was trying to hide it. "I'm okay."

You watched as Spider-Man limped, quietly wincing in pain to the railing of your balcony, gripping it tightly to support himself.

He looked over his shoulder. Even when his face wasn't visible, it was like he was sheepish. Timid, even.

"I'm...." Spider-Man began. You could see his toned back tense. "I'm sorry."

You blinked. "For what?"

The hero hesitated. Why was Spider-Man being so... shy? And unassuming? Wasn't he this grand and powerful hero?

"For...." he drew out his syllables, as if he was grasping for thoughts in his head. "For abruptly— um— crashing. Into... your apartment."

A curve formed on your lips. "No, no. no!" you waved your hands in front of yourself. "Don't worry at all!"

You glanced at the wound on his thigh. Blood ran down his thigh, seeping through his costume. "Are you sure you're—"

Spider-Man interrupted you with a loud groan of pain, as he attempted to take a step forward. He crumbled to his knees, choked cries of pain falling from his lips.

The hero cursed under his breath, muttering about some "bastard" stabbing him.

You rushed to his side, your arms wrapping around his torso to pull him back to his feet. Despite being in pain from his injury, he seemed even more baffled by your touch, flinching away.

"S-Sorry," he apologized again.

"It's okay," you shot him a small smile. "Why don't you come inside?"

Jungwon wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

After his tutoring session with one of your neighbors, Jungwon went home and decided to take a long nap. After all, running into you, his ex, was definitely not something that he intended to do. He needed a nap to clear his mind.

Except, that was not what Jungwon got. Instead, he got another dream of you dying. Combined with seeing you getting controlled by that supervillain, Jungwon was not in the right headspace when he awoke.

Once again, with goosebumps littering his arms, cold sweat rolling down his temples, Jungwon's first instinct, as always, was to jump out of that damn window and take a lap around the city. By the time he finished a lap, it was already dark, and yet neither his mind nor body had the sharp precision that he needed to fight criminals.

Which was why when fighting a group of bandits, Jungwon dishonorably got stabbed in the thigh (though, of course, he kicked their asses to the moon).

And after he tried to swing away via his webs, his painful wound in the thigh made him miscalculate and web, and he tumbled down from the sky.

And that's how Jungwon found himself sitting on your bed.

This time, instead of breaking up with you, he was clad in his spandex suit, waiting for you as you rummaged through your bathroom cabinet.

Jungwon looked around your room. Everything was the same.

You had the same plushies on your bed, with the scent of your perfume still strong in the air. Your desk is still cluttered with the same papers and pens.

Everything, and really everything, was the same. Like one of those unfortunate true-crime cases, where someone dies under mysterious circumstances, and yet their home is completely untouched, with no signs of disturbance. As if nothing had changed at all, save for the absence of life.

It was a strange stillness, and yet, Jungwon shook his head. He was in no position to judge. Though, Jungwon's eyes did catch something interesting.On your desk lay a messy stack of envelopes and papers, some crumpled up and others pristinely folded. Like letters.

And maybe Jungwon was paranoid, or heartbroken, but his mind wandered to the worst places. Were you seeing another guy? Maybe the guy that you went on that date with. Was that why you were probably writing love notes?

Have you moved on that quickly? Was it that easy to forget him? Jungwon's heart ached, and against his better judgement, he rose to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his thigh. He creeped up to your desk, limping with each step. With each inch closer, he could feel the world shattering around him.

And when he realized that there was an unfinished letter already in the works, freely laying on your desk, his heart dropped.

Jungwon gazed at the stack of letters, then back at the half-written letter played on your desk. But his eyes caught the heading of the letter: 'Dear Spider-Man.'

And it was now that Jungwon realized another crucial detail: your phone, also laying on your desk, was playing music. Playing music from the playlist that you and him made together.

"Spider-Man?"

Jungwon whipped his head around as your voice pulled him out of thought. And before he could even question why you would be writing to him of all people, you were already throwing all of your bandages onto your bed, rushing profusely to him as you cried, "Don't look at those!"

You tugged on Jungwon's arm, pulling him and gently pushing him onto your bed. Your bottom lip jutted out into a small pout, your face painted with an embarrassed expression.

"You were not supposed to see that," you murmured with your brows knitted together, standing in front of the now sitting hero. When Jungwon didn't respond, you continued, your voice breathy. "Just— Just forget you saw anything."

Jungwon nodded slowly. Under the mask, he glanced back to your desk. Were all of those letters addressed to him? As in, Spider-Man? And why were you still listening to that playlist?

"It's okay," he said reassuringly, even though he was extremely uncertain himself. "I didn't see anything."

You visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh. "I-It's just embarrassing."

Your eyes fluttered up to Jungwon's masked face. You opened your mouth to speak, but Jungwon could tell by the way your lips trembled ever-so-slightly and your brows crashed together that you felt uncomfortable.

You made that face when you felt like you needed to talk. Jungwon swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, his arms opening up and his palms opening. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"But—"

Jungwon hoped that you could see his earnest smile from behind his mask. "I mean it. Don't worry about it."

Your eyes narrowed, as if you were studying his face. You sighed again. "Okay, sorry."

A silence engulfed the two of you, as you reached for the bandages and first-aid supplies that you had so abruptly thrown onto your bed earlier, completely unaware of the way Jungwon watched you so intently. He hadn't been so close to you in so long. With every flicker of your eyes and twitch of your face, Jungwon admired you closely.

What he would do to reach out and cup your cheek again, to feel your living and breathing self against his hands. To verify that you hadn't died. To confirm that you were safe and sound, alive and well.

"Can I—" you started, breaking the silence— "Can I help with your wound?"

Jungwon blinked. He had high levels of regeneration, so in a few hours, the wound on his thigh would be completely gone. It would be better to not waste both of your time.

But how you looked at him with wide, innocuous eyes, filled with worry and your characteristic kindness, Jungwon's greed clouded his mind.

"I would love that," Jungwon replied, his voice a near whisper.

How shameful of him, to sit here and selfishly bask in your presence as if he hadn't broken your heart.

You smiled, taking your rubbing alcohol and coming to Jungwon's side. Quickly, you started at your ministrations. Jungwon hissed at the burning sensation of the rubbing alcohol on his open wound (he had forgotten what it felt like), whispering apologies with each squeak of pain that fell from his lips. You hummed to yourself, your delicate face so focused.

"You know, Spider-Man," you began as you continued treating his wound, your voice soft, "I always wonder if you remember me."

Jungwon scoffed, his lips moving faster than his brain. Breathy, but eager, words came out, in a tone that Jungwon had always reserved for you. "How could I ever forget you, [Name]?"

You let out a peep, your face slowly morphing into a flustered expression. "W-What are you talking about?"

Shit. "I-I mean—"

Jungwon's ears burned, the apples of his cheeks prickling with warmth. This is not what he meant to do! Jungwon cleared his throat, sucking in a sharp breath to recompose himself.

"W-What I meant was that I—" Jungwon narrowed his eyes, thinking of an explanation— "I could never forget what happened at Bisco's."

You blinked at him a few times, your face breaking out into a frown. "Oh."

Jungwon sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. Did that make you upset?

"I always remember the people that I save," he continued, observing your facial expressions carefully. "I could never forget the impact I made on others, and that includes you, [Name]."

You shook your head understanding, but Jungwon could still see the frown on your face. "You're right," you said. Your eyes met with his. "You really have made an impact on me, Spider-Man."

You reached for the bandages, beginning to slowly wrap them around his wounded thigh.

"You know..." you started slowly. A bashful curve formed on your lips, nearly forming one of those cute grins that you always did whenever you felt particularly happy or appreciative. "I think about you quite a bit."

Jungwon cocked a brow.

"The truth is," you continued, the bashful expression on your face growing, "I write letters to you whenever I feel like shit."

"Why?" Jungwon blurted. He knew he probably shouldn't ask. It would make him spiral even harder, but his curiosity got the better of him.

You let out a chuckle, closing your eyes and shaking your head in embarrassment. "Because you saved me. And because you're a pretty universal symbol of strength and reliability."

You looked up at him again, flexing your arms with a goofy grin. "You're this city's number one defender. I write to you because I feel like even if I can't send you anything, I could rely on you, y'know?"

"Yeah," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't seen you smile like that in a while, and your reasoning was un-surprisingly sweet. Because you were that type of person. He couldn't help the way his lips pulled up into a small smile. "That makes sense."

"How about you, Spider-Man?" you asked.

"What about me?"

"What do you do when you feel like shit?" you cocked your head, blinking owlishly. "You must go through a lot as a hero. What makes you feel like you should keep going?"

You, he thought. You were what made him want to keep being a good person. All his deep fears of failure and imperfection were intrinsically rooted in his desires to make himself worthy for you. It was all you.

"You," Jungwon said. But he couldn't have you. "... And other people that I've saved. Knowing that I have helped others is enough to keep me going."

You nodded your head, understanding, your lips forming an 'oh' shape. You continued wrapping his thigh with bandages. "Do you ever check up on the people that you save?"

"I wish I could," Jungwon responded. "I would love to check up on everyone."

"So why don't you?"

You were always so curious. Jungwon pursed his lips. "Because there's too many people that I've saved. I don't know all of them by name. I don't know how to find them."

You hummed. You finished wrapping Jungwon's leg with bandages, using scissors to cut the cloth bandages and securing them. You patted your hands off, sending the hero another smile. "Aaaand you're all done."

"Thank you," Jungwon held a fixed gaze on you again. It took all of his self-control to not throw his arms around you and embrace you. "I don't know how I can repay you—"

You waved your hands in front of you profusely. "No, no! I'm repaying you for saving me—"

Jungwon shook his head. "If it wasn't for your balcony, I would have probably died."

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating, before a lightbulb seemingly popped above your head. You swiftly took Jungwon's hands, squeezing them tightly.

"Come visit me."

Jungwon spluttered. "W-What?"

"You said that you didn't know how to repay me, and that you didn't check up on people you saved because you didn't know how to find them," you gushed eagerly. "You found me. You can repay me by visiting me ever so often."

"But— But why?"

You shrugged. "It gets lonely sometimes," was all you said, but your wide and glassy eyes staring up at him so pleadingly made it hard to say no. "Please?"

"I'll try."

You didn't catch it at first. "What?"

"I'll try," Jungwon murmured. "To come back. If I can."

You chuckled. "Good enough for me."

Jungwon wasn't sure if he made a promise that he could keep.

"Good morning! Welcome to Maeum's Coffee Shop, what can I get you— Damn it, [Name], did you have a rough night again?"

You winced at Wonyoung's words. Wonyoung worked at a local coffee shop, and as a good friend, you always came in to support her.

It's been a few days since you found Spider-Man on your balcony, and you would be lying if you said that you weren't excited. You stayed up a few nights waiting for Spider-Man to crash-land on you again. It wasn't anything romantic for sure, you were just interested in talking to him. The truth was, you stayed up most nights anyway. You stayed up most nights thinking about everything, unable to truly rest. If you were going to be restless, you might as well think about your new friend Spider-Man.

"The usual," you murmured to your friend, who hummed understandingly, despite you completely ignoring her question. You rubbed your eyes. "I'm so tired, Wonyoung."

Wonyoung's bright eyes ran over your figure: you were wearing sweats with a hoodie draped over your shoulders, as if you just woke up. She chuckled at you, before ringing you up. "We could go to the beach after my shift, if you want."

You groaned as you swiped your card. You didn't feel like doing anything, but when it was Wonyoung, it was hard to say no. "Fine."

You grinned lazily as she cheered, before you took a seat in the coffee shop, slumping over yourself as you waited for your coffee. You could hear some light jazz playing, but especially the laughter of Wonyoung as she charmed customers, and most importantly, the flagrant whispers of her coworkers.

There was always one downside of visiting Wonyoung while she worked: her coworkers, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jake, who just so happened to be your ex-boyfriend's best friends. And now as you tried to fight your tiredness, all you could hear now was their whispers. Their frantic whispers.

If you weren't literally about to fall asleep, pulling your hood over your head, you would have shot them a glare, maybe even text Wonyoung to tell them to shut up.

"....that's definitely his..." you could hear Jake whisper-yell.

"...ngwon's gonna blow his shit..... Hurry, call him!"

"—Shit, he's on his way already!"

Ding! The doorbell of the coffee shop rang, making everyone in the shop (including yourself) turn their heads. And lo and behold, standing at the doorway was none other than your ex-boyfriend.

You couldn't even bring yourself to care. You could hear his friends practically shouting in the back while your phone pinged a billion messages from Wonyoung, but you just continued to push your face into your arms, taking comfort in the hoodie that you had thrown on this morning.

You hoped that Jungwon didn't notice that you were here. Maybe that would be better for your mental stability.

"[N-Name]?" Sunoo's shaky voice called out from the counter, where Sunoo, Sunghoon, and Jake liked to hang around. Your drink was ready. Finally.

Lifting yourself off of the cafe table, you trudged over to the counter, only a few feet away from the cash register. Where Jungwon was standing, getting ready to order. Which meant that he 100% saw you, and now he 100% knows that you're here.

Damn it. You really couldn't take seeing his face today. You fiddled with your hood, pulling it closer to you to hide your face.

"Here's your.... drink," Sunoo said, slowly and awkwardly, as if you were some alien. You rolled your eyes, fighting the horrible feeling of Jungwon's eyes boring into the back of your head, as you took your coffee from the counter.

As you read over the labeling and Sharpie'd name on your cup, you verified that this drink was indeed yours. And just as you were about to turn on your heel and get the fuck out of there (away from Jungwon, who was now 100000% staring at you), Jake just had to open his mouth.

"I-Isn't that Jungwon's hoodie?" Jake blurted, throwing an accusatory finger at the hoodie draped over your shoulders.

You didn't know what came first: Wonyoung's gasp from the cash register, you choking on your spit, or Jungwon spluttering from where he was. Sunoo and Sunghoon whacked Jake in the head, but the damage was already done.

Once again, for no apparent reason, you and Jungwon found each other. You couldn't fight the urge to turn over your shoulder and spot Jungwon, who was staring at you with big, shivering eyes, his ears red and his lips agape. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Your emotions were so erratic. Sometimes when you saw pictures of Jungwon you felt nothing, but now that he was in front of you, face to face, you wanted to scream and cry.

You looked down at the hoodie that enveloped you. Now that Jake mentioned it, yes, this hoodie was Jungwon's. In fact, you could remember how you acquired such a thing. One time, it was raining so Jungwon let you wear his hoodie, and you never gave it back. What once belonged to Jungwon was now yours, and you've made it such a normal part of your life that you forgot that it had ever been his.

This hoodie, having lived in your closet for months and months, smelled like your own laundry detergent. And as you brusquely walked past Jungwon, blinking back the tears that you hadn't even noticed were collecting in your eyes, you wished for something abnormal: you wished that this hoodie still smelled like Jungwon, even after all this time.

So that you could have something to remember him by.

Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath. Temptation was a work of sin, and unfortunately, it was not his fault that the devil was stronger than a man.

There were many reasons that Jungwon was so committed to keeping a distance from you. He wanted to respect your space, and he was dedicated to protecting you. But even more, there was an intimacy that was never speaking to you again. In his last act of love for you, Jungwon would grant you the peace that his presence could never give you. He hoped that his absence spoke of the words that he could never have said. And yet, as Jungwon sat on the ledge of some building, he watched the cars pass wistfully a few hundred meters below his feet.

In the daytime, he felt like he could deal with the guilt and loneliness. But at night, it was nearly impossible. It's been another week since Jungwon had uneventfully landed on your balcony, and you had requested that he, as Spider-Man, visit you.

And frankly, Jungwon wasn't going to visit you. Even if he promised you, he was so sure that he couldn't keep it. After all, he had a commitment. But when the summer air is so warm yet so unforgiving, sending hot beads of sweat running down Jungwon's face, the frustration and guilt festered, devouring Jungwon from the inside out. That was how Jungwon found himself only a few buildings away from your apartment. He teetered on the ledge. Half of him wanted so desperately to just swing onto your balcony again, to just see you again. But the other half of him couldn't stand putting you in harm's way any longer.

So imagine Jungwon's shame as he picked up his feet and swung by your apartment. All he wanted to do was check on you. He had good eyes, so hopefully he'd be able to catch a glimpse of you through your windows as he briefly came by. And yet, instead of finding you safe and sound through your bedroom window, what Jungwon saw from a distance was you, on your balcony, looking sad. Wistful, even. You had your arms over the railings, and even when he was afar, Jungwon could recognize any of your expressions, and this one, he could tell that you were crying.

His body moved faster than his mind, with zero hesitation, zooming right onto your balcony. Jungwon's mind was still racing, questions blurring through his mind, hesitating about what he should do. Why were you crying? Was it someone that made you feel this way? But his body knew his intentions better. His body knew the sorts of yearning that he had no chance of resisting. And just as swift as he came, Jungwon found himself breathing heavily as he landed back on the railing of your balcony.

"S-Spider-man?!" you sniffled. Under the dark sky, he could see the way your eyes lined with tears, your tearful eyes puffy and bloodshot. You quickly hid your face in your sleeve, turning your face away from him. "Wh—What are you doing here?"

"I..." Jungwon's mouth ran dry. He didn't have an answer for you. Seeing you like this made him feel on-edge, nervous even. He didn't know why he was here with you. He didn't know why his body forced him to keep crawling back to you. He didn't want to be here, it went against all instinct. He stared at the back of your head. "I'm— Um—"

You let out a loud, high-pitched sob, before you threw your arms around Jungwon's shoulders, burying yourself into his chest. Jungwon stiffened under your touch. It felt weird. He hadn't been close to really anyone at all, at least not physically. If it wasn't you that he was physically intimate with, he'd rather not have it at all. But even when it was you, intimacy felt so foreign, so lost. But as your choked sobs rung through the air, your arms holding onto him like he'd save you, Jungwon relaxed. Mixed in with the smell of the night air, you smelled like your usual peachy perfume. Your touch, just like he had remembered it, was soft. Kind.

Jungwon brought a hesitant hand up to the small of your back, in an attempt to quell your distress. Yet, he felt such a weird warmth as you clung onto him.

"I h—hate him, Spider-Man!" you cried, your hand gripping his forearm. "I hate him— so much."

And maybe if Jungwon was stronger than he was now, he would have just listened to you silently without any questions, patting your back and lending you a shoulder to cry on. But he wasn't.

"Who?" he breathed into your ear, his brows knitted together. That horrible gnawing feeling filled his stomach once again. He didn't want to know what your answer was, but that sickening curiosity was burning from the inside out. "Who do you hate?—Did you— Did you get hurt?"

You shook your head, looking up at the hero. The moonlight reflected off your eyes. You looked so pretty, even when you were crying. Jungwon's heart ached at the sight of your pained face. My baby, he thought. After all this time, you could commit all the grievances in the world, and if you just looked at him with your big, teary eyes, he would acquit you of all your crimes.

You tugged on his arm, your glossy eyes staring at him like he was some god, pulling him back into your room. And against all resolutions that Jungwon tried to make to himself, he followed you in anyway.

As your balcony door clicked shut, Jungwon watched as you pulled him onto your bed with you, pulling him as close as you could as you continued to cry, murmuring about how much you hated "him."

This time, Jungwon just let his eyes fall shut. He hadn't laid down in your bed in a while, and frankly, he thought your bed was more comfortable than his. With you so close to him, and his arms wrapped around you, for a split second, it felt like he was back together with you. It felt like another one of those nights where you'd cry into his arms about how stressed you were, and all he could offer up was his presence to console you.

"I know, I know," he gently whispered into your ears. You always loved it when he reassured you like that. He rubbed slow circles on your back, continuing to whisper soft reassurances into your ear, even if he knew that you couldn't hear him. "I know, love."

"I c-cant get over him," you lamented. At this point, Jungwon's chest was wet. "I don't know why I c-can't. I h-hate him so much."

Jungwon gulped as his gut twisted.

"Tell me," he rasped. He knew what your words meant. He knew better than anyone that you were talking about him, that it was him that you hated. But he needed to hear it from your lips first, to get real confirmation. Despite the weak feeling in his knees and the pang in his chest, he wanted to listen to you.

After all, he'd do anything to make you feel better, even if you didn't know it was him. And he knew how to do that exactly.

You lifted your head to look at him in the eyes, shaking your head profusely. "But i-it's pa—pathetic," you stammered, but when you could feel Jungwon's unwavering gaze on you, you gave in. Resting your cheek on the hero's shoulder, you spoke in a low, shaky voice. You told him everything— every thought and emotion that's been swirling your mind. You told him of how you still constantly thought about Jungwon, how you felt like in every crevice of your life he was there, how you've done everything you could to get over him with fruitless results. You cried and cried and cried. You detailed to him what types of restless nights you had, what kinds of thoughts swirled through your head whenever you thought about your ex.

"I miss him," you ended your tear-filled rant with. "I mi-miss him s-so much and I feel so—so d-dumb."

And if you weren't so caught up in your feelings, you would have noticed how the hero's body tensed with each word that fell from your lips.

A silence fell over you and Spider-Man, as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, letting your bated breaths calm down with each hiccup. You let your heart rate slow down, as your eyes— sore from crying— rested. Against you, the hero was so... still. He was definitely breathing, but it was slow and tranquil. If you listened hard enough, you could hear his heart beat; weirdly enough, it was erratic and loud.

That's what Jungwon's heartbeat sounds like when he's excited, you thought, before shaking your head and pushing that thought into the back of your mind. The mere thought of Jungwon made your stomach churn. You didn't want to even entertain that thought.

"Spider-Man...." you began in a soft voice, your finger coming up to poke his masked face. No response. "Spider-Man, are you asleep—"

Suddenly, Jungwon jolted up from the bed, his voice ripping through the air: "Boo!"

You let out a loud shriek, jumping away from him, surprised. You stared at him for a few moments, before Jungwon bursted out into giggles. On your bed, you watched as the red-and-blue masked hero who had just tried to startle you attempted to conceal his giggles, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"S-Sorry—" his voice was shaky, trying so goddamn hard not to laugh. Airy laughs escaped his lips, filling the air with something that felt all too familiar.

Despite having just cried for what seemed like forever, you slapped his chest, your lips pulling up into a wobbly smile. Spider-Man's laughter was contagious, and even as you continued to lightly punch him, you couldn't help but let giggles fall from your own mouth.

"Sh-Shut up!" you said between laughs. Having enough, you reached for a stray pillow and threw it at him. "You're so annoying!"

You couldn't remember the last time you laughed like this with someone. In fact, perhaps if you weren't so busy beating Spider-Man up like your life depended on it, you would have noticed the way your beloved hero was watching you closely. Jungwon knew exactly how to get you to loosen up; and in this case, it was to do something so stupid and dorky that you had no choice but to laugh.

"Ow! Ow!" Jungwon squirmed like a spider that had just gotten hit by bug spray. He let you win, as now he was pinned down on the bed, with you smothering him with your pillows. "White flag—Ack!"

Your laughter rang through the room. You weren't even that strong, but Jungwon did not dare to use his own strength on you. That wouldn't be fair.

That's right, he thought. Forget about me. Forget about the pain, forget about everything that I've done to you. Your eyes crinkled and your nose scrunched and your lips parted when you threw your head back and laughed. If he could preserve that laughter for the rest of his life, he would. Forget about me, baby.

"Jesus Christ, Spider-Man!" you snickered, as you held him down with a hand on his hard chest. "I thought you were stronger than this."

Jungwon's strong hand slid to wrap around your wrist. "You really wanna see strength?"

A weak yet sly grin spread across your face. You leaned down to him, so close that your noses touched. Almost purring,"Try me— Eek!"

That was all the confirmation he needed. In an instant, Jungwon flipped the two of you over, crashing into the soft plushness of your bed. This time, he was the one pinning you down. And while airy laughter fell from your lips, the surprise of Jungwon's outburst reducing you to giggles, Jungwon was distracted. You're just so pretty, so strikingly beautiful that he had no choice but to admire you.

And if Jungwon wasn't so distracted, he would have noticed the way that you stared at him owlishly, with a type of hunger and curiosity that was all too familiar. As if a lightbulb had switched on, your arms slithered up from under him to wrap around his neck. With glassy eyes and a girlish giggle, you gently pulled him toward your face.

Jungwon's body froze up as you plant a soft, tender kiss on his masked cheek, a spluttering sound coming from his mouth.

"Relax, silly," you rasped into his ear with a chuckle. Even with the mask, your fingers found their way to the crook between Jungwon's ear and jaw, delicately running your fingers over that spot and mindlessly caressing it— something that always made shivers roll down Jungwon's back. "You can save lives but you can't handle a girl kissing you?"

Jungwon's face felt hot. "Shut— Shut up!" That night, you eventually laughed yourself to sleep, and after tucking you in, Jungwon left with a bittersweet feeling in his chest. He hoped that he'd given you any type of emotional refuge, so that you would eventually forget the hurt and pain that he had caused you. 

To be a girl, after a long week of stress, unloading your worries and the like in a nice steamy bath— Oh, that is the best thing any person could experience.

You relished in the warm solitude of your bathtub. You hummed along to the quiet music you liked to play when you bathed, the peachy bubbles and scent of your soap filling your senses. You relaxed with an "ahh" into the water. Tonight was going to be perfect. After this bath, you were going to do your skincare routine and lather yourself with your new yummy lotion. Then you'd go make yourself a late night snack. Then maybe you'd spend the night reading some manga, or watching some shows, or anything you wanted frankly.

You had worries: finding an internship, employment, boy troubles. But this was no time to care about them. You let your eyelids gently fall shut... and maybe if you weren't careful, you might... just... drift... off...

"Eep!" You're startled back into reality by the sound of a distant crash! You glance around your bathroom, clutching yourself. It didn't sound nearby, so you had nothing to worry about. You sunk into the water again, letting your tense muscles relax into the warmth. Your tired eyes fell closed again. And maybe this time.... you'd be permitted the peace... to just... drift... off...

Crash! You jolted up, your eyes shooting open. This time, this crashing sound was much louder, and appeared to be much closer. Following that outburst was the sound of rustling and scrambling, which (in your already paranoid state) confirmed your fears that whatever the cause was, it was too close to you.

Emboldened, you stepped out of your bathtub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body tightly, before slipping your shower slippers on.

And maybe you're dumb. Really dumb. But you peaked your head out your bathroom door, eyes glazing over the hallway between your bathroom and kitchen. Everything seemed fine. You crept out of the bathroom. Your entire apartment was quiet, maybe a little too quiet. Slowly, you made your way into your bedroom. It looked normal, not a single hair out of place. Nothing was wrong then.

Since you were already out of the bathroom, you should probably start dressing anyway. You loosened your grip around the towel, and just as the fabric fell from your chest—

"[N-Name]?!"

There had to be something psychological about the way bright red and blue were incredible at camouflaging, because you had not noticed the red and blue superhero perched at your window. And it seemed like he didn't notice you either, until now.

"Spider-Man?!" you cried. But it was too late. There you were, naked in all your glory and exposed entirely to the spider hero himself. You didn't know what was worse. The feeling of the cool air hitting your skin, sending goosebumps on your arms, or the feeling of Spider-Man practically ogling at you. It didn't seem to matter because the two of you stood like that: in silence, in complete and utter horror.

"I-I'm..." You've never seen Spider-Man more flustered, but if you weren't too busy trying to cover yourself up, scrambling for your fallen towel, you would have noticed the way the hero's hand shot up to clutch his face in embarrassment. A habit that you loved to see in your ex-boyfriend. "S... Sorr—"

"Get out!" you cried, clutching your towel so tightly as you began reaching for all of the pillows and plushes on your bed, hurling at the hero at full-force. Your face burned with embarrassment as you heaved. "Out! N-Now!"

Spider-Man simply stood there, stunned, which was weird considering that he should have a fast enough reaction time to stop you. Frustrated, you threw yourself on your bed, throwing the blanket over your naked body and pushing your face into the mattress, humiliated and flustered beyond belief.

"Get out!" you cried again, your eyes almost welling up with tears with how embarrassed you were. You felt so hot all over that you could probably melt. You hadn't felt this way— this flustered and embarrassed— in so long. You murmured, "What are you even doing here?!"

Finally breaking from his stupor, Spider-Man spluttered, "I-I just wanted to check up... on you."

You groaned from under the blanket, muffled, and that seemed to egg the hero on with a squeak. Words tumbling from his mouth like water, he squeals, "It seems like you're doing well! Youlookgoodasever—I mean— In all the years I've known you, you always look amazing— Like— Uhm— I— You're always—" he sucked in a deep breath, and you could hear how red his face was under the mask— "Beautiful."

There's a long silence, before Spider-Man nearly shouts, "Okay bye!"

And with that, he climbed out your balcony, and swung away. You stay where you are under the blanket all huddled up for a few moments, before you let out a giddy little chuckle. You flipped over to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, before it hit you.

"Years?" you said aloud. Spider-Man said that you've been beautiful in all the "years" that he's known you.

You sat up. But you swore you only knew him for a few months.

Hm. Interesting.

Jungwon cursed under his breath. Fuck. He was in a pickle. After a few weeks in hiding, archvillain Baron von Fizzlebang was back for more, this time with more to show. It seemed like every time, he was getting progressively worse and worse. New gadgets, new costumes, new methods of entrancing people. First, Baron von Fizzlebang entranced a mob to rob a bank. Then, he controlled some elementary schoolers and tried to get them to walk into oncoming traffic (really evil of him). Most recently, the supervillain tried to possess the entire fire department and make them commit arson in an ironic turn of events. If it weren't for Jungwon's restless fighting, the entire city might have gone up in flames already.

Simultaneously, against his own better judgement, yet in alignment with his heart, Jungwon found himself intentionally coming to see you more. It's shameful that despite cutting you out of his life he still tried to keep you at an arm's reach. But oh, Jungwon was so greedy. Each time your face lit up when he appeared on your balcony left him eager for more. Every smile and little touch had him hungry. Hungry for more of you, hungry to keep you for himself, hungry to hide you from the world and selfishly have you all to himself. And the worst part was, your grief and sadness over civilian-Jungwon was slowly dissipating with time: you were reverting back to the you that he knew, not the sad, crestfallen version of you.

But, he had no time to think of that. Right now, Jungwon was beaten up pretty badly, resting atop the roof of a building and leaning against some structure there.

It's not easy to fight one Baron von Fizzlebang, when he's able to manipulate up to a hundred people to do his own bidding. Jungwon doesn't want to hurt the civilians under Baron von Fizzlebang's control, but how is he supposed to win at all if these civilians are being used to attack him?

One eye was incapacitated, with blood dripping down Jungwon's forehead and his lip bleeding. Even in the darkening night sky, Jungwon could tell that there were a few tears here and there on his hero costume, but the worst part was that Jungwon's right shoulder was most definitely out of commission.

Luckily, Jungwon got the victimized civilians to safety. Unluckily, Baron von Fizzlebang was still on the loose, pretty much unscathed. Jungwon could work under severe pressure, with great injuries too. But for some reason, he absolutely couldn't think straight as he stumbled to his feet, clutching his injured shoulder. He blinked his one working eye slowly, trying to see clearly, but there was too much blood coming from his head after getting slammed against a brick wall for him to get a clear view.

At the very least, Jungwon needed to locate where the villain went—

"Yoo-hoo!" a sing-songy voice boomed, and Jungwon whipped his pounding head around. "Spidey-Spidey!~"

Lo and behold, Baron von Fizzlebang was (for some reason) suspended in the air, completely uninjured, a stark difference from Jungwon's hunched-over, painful form. With his extravagant costume, he waved mockingly at Jungwon, a cackle spilling from him. "I'm back for more, Spidey. Are you?"

Jungwon's eyes narrowed, a pained grunt escaping his lips before he limped toward the villain. He sucked in a sharp breath. The blood from his bleeding lip tasted metallic on his tongue, but his physical pain mattered not— not when the livelihood and safety of the city was on the line because of this maniac.

"Yeah," Jungwon responded breathily, stumbling. "Come get me."

Much to Jungwon's chagrin, from Baron von Fizzlebang came some strange metal contraption. With big and long metal tentacle arms with grabby hands at the ends, Baron von Fizzlebang laughed maniacally as his new gargantuan device conjured a physical reaction out of Jungwon. Faster than Jungwon could move, the villain's metal arms snatched him up.

"Let me go—Ack!" Jungwon squirmed in the contraption's grasp.

"No," Baron von Fizzlebang said simply. "All you do is ruin my plans to take over this city!"

Jungwon cried in pain as the metal hands squeezed him tighter. The villain laughed again. "Have you ever had to experience someone try to ruin something you care about, Spider-Man?" Jungwon opened his mouth to choke a retort, but the Baron continued. "Or in your case, someone that you care about?"

Jungwon continued to squirm in the metal hands' grasp, the villain taking it as a sign to continue his villainous monologue.

"You don't think that I don't know you have a secret little girlfriend, right? She's the same one I claimed that one night at Bisco's." At the sound of that, Jungwon tensed up even more. No.... Don't tell me.."Maybe I should let this little spider go. To make you really feel my pain, why don't I go pay your little girlfriend a visit again."

"No!—" tore from Jungwon's throat, but it was too late. With panic filling his body, Baron von Fizzlebang's metal tentacles hurled him through the sky before the villain took off. Presumably to find you. And even though Jungwon was falling through the sky with an incapacitated eye and shoulder, all he could think about was you.

Every single fear and made-up scenario of you getting hurt or even worse, dying, as a result of Jungwon ran through his head in the milliseconds that he was in the air.

Just as Jungwon was about to slam against a sky-scraper, he shot a web to catch himself. His hands shook as he stabilized himself against another wall.

Dammit, dammit, dammit— I'm so fucking stupid— She's in danger now— Everything that he had feared was coming true, and it was all a result of Jungwon's selfishness and negligence and— Jungwon took a deep breath, not noticing that he had neglected to breathe as he spiraled. He shoved his face in his hands. Think, think, think. He had to do something.

He looked at his hands. He had to go find you, and warn you. Move you to safety, make sure you're somewhere safe where that maniac couldn't find you.

Even with all his injuries, nothing stopped Jungwon as he shot webs across the sky. With all the remaining strength in his body, and with all the power he could muster up, Jungwon flew across the sky to where he knew you'd be: in your apartment.

And just as he expected, you were in your room, peacefully listening to music and painting your nails. Usually, he'd be courteous and wait for you to welcome him in. But Jungwon had no time to waste: he crashed onto your balcony, practically busting into your room through the doors.

"Spider-Man?!" you cried, startled by his sudden entrance.

"You have to leave," Jungwon breathed with labored huffs. He clamored toward you, grabbing you by your shoulders. "I-I don't have time to explain—"

"What— What are you talking about?—"

Jungwon gripped your shoulders, the vehemence in his voice resounding as he desperately repeated, "You have to leave. It-It's not safe for you— I need you to leave and go somewhere sa—"

"Spider-Man," you said firmly. Jungwon breathed shakily, swallowing down hard. He shook his head. It felt like the world had fallen into his shoulders.

"Please, [Name]," he pleaded. Even with a mask, you can hear his sheer desperation. "Please listen to me this time."

You stared at him, with a curious yet concerned look, like you were studying him. “Please,” Jungwon said again, his voice high-pitched and cracking. His grip on you loosened, but his head hung low.“Please.”

You kept your eyes stuck on him, but Jungwon couldn’t focus. All he could think about was how you could die. Everything hurt, and yet nothing did at the same time. The mere thought of something even worse happening to you made Jungwon’s gut twist, the oncoming fear so great that it effectively numbed everything in him.

“I can’t— I can’t lose you—“

There was something unsettling about you that Jungwon never figured out. You’re sensitive and soft, but strong-willed and stern. But you’re also a level of smart that Jungwon couldn’t understand.

Which was why he couldn’t possibly understand why you grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him into you, and slammed your lips against his. You let your lips stay on his for a little bit, but before you could pull away, all the hunger and fear consumed Jungwon whole. His large hands grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush against him. Greedily, like a starved man, Jungwon hungrily kissed you back, holding you tightly as his breathing picked up.

Maybe it was all the adrenaline, or the pain and delirium, or just Jungwon’s fear, but he didn’t even think about what he was doing. Your lips against his, your body pressed against him, and your scent overtaking his mind— it all made it impossible for him to stop.

He muttered your name against your lips, grasping you like you’d disappear any minute. Your soft body on him felt heavenly, as he drank you in. Everything felt hot and everything ached, but even with his mask on, it felt so delicious. He heaved as your lips moved against his. A choked breath and whimper escaped his lips as you slid tongue into his mouth, your hands slithering up his chest and wrapping around his neck, the way that he always liked it. Almost like you knew how to make him feel good.

The kiss halted to a slow stop, with the two of you gently pulling away. And Jungwon, too dazed, didn’t know what to expect next— and he definitely didn’t expect the next words that came out of your mouth.

"Jungwon," you hummed against his lips, looking at him with an expression that he couldn't read. Jungwon's heart plummeted to his stomach, shaky eyes widening.

"Wh-What—" he began, but you brought a finger up to his lip, hushing him. No way. There's no way that you knew it was him all along—

"You need to calm down, Jungwon," you said as you pulled away from him, eyes glued to his masked face. You took his hand, rubbing circles on the back of his hand slowly, the way that always helped calm him down. "I know you. You're spiraling. We can't do anything if you're panicking. Deep breaths."

"I don't— I don't understand," Jungwon whispered, his strong body still. Had you known it was him all along? And if you did, why didn't you say or do anything? Did you find him pathetic? "How did you know?"

You blinked at him slowly, before a bashful grin pulled onto your face. You reached your hand out to him, your palm finding itself on his cheek. In a moment of instinct, Jungwon leaned into your touch.

"That's how I knew," you breathed. Your lithe fingertips then prodded at the crook between his jaw and his ear, the sensitive spot, and just as you expected, Jungwon shuddered. Your fingers traced down his jaw to his neck, pressing on the tender spot in the middle of his neck. Much to Jungwon's personal mortification, he let out a gasp, and when you leaned closer to his neck— so close that he could feel your breath on him— Jungwon let out a soft sound and shivered. Your lip grazed against the covered skin of his neck, watching him intently as you earn a sensitive whimper from him.

"What— What are you doing—" Jungwon was cut off again by your lip pressing against his jugular, at the spot that never failed to make him cry out in pleasure. Jungwon's ears burned, but the blood rushing through his body made him feel hot all over. He leaned his head back, eyes falling shut.

"I know you, Jungwon." Your voice was low, almost like a purr. Your hands continued to run over his jaw and neck, hooking onto the edge of his mask and uncovering the honey tan skin of his neck. You pressed your lips against his exposed skin, another gasp falling from his lips. "You're not good at hiding anything. And you're not a convincing liar."

You pulled his mask up, exposing his lower jaw and lips. When he muttered your name startled, you pulled the entire mask off.

Lo and behold, just as you had expected, it was Jungwon Yang. You had your suspicions, and when you made them known to him you were certain that you were right. And yet, you're still taken aback when it's really Jungwon behind the mask. His overgrown blonde hair falling over his eyes, his cat-like eyes staring at you with a mix of fear, shame, and desire, his jaw that had gotten stronger— you drank in every last bit of it.

"Son of a bitch," you murmured under your breath.

Jungwon hadn't noticed the way his chest pounded and how his breathing became erratic, nor did he notice that he was now blinking back tears, his chest heaving. "I—I'm sorry—" he struggled to get out, his voice getting caught in his throat. "Oh— I'm so— I"m sorry—"

He couldn't tell if you were angry, or disgusted, or both... because despite the unreadable look on your face, you still grabbed his face, slamming your lips against his once more.

Your fingers brusquely grab at his hair, tangling themselves in his grown-out blonde locks. This time, you're the hungry one. Your hands slid down his chest again, grasping onto his strong, toned arms, and running your hands all over him. Your lips moved surly against his, as if you hadn't been fed in days.

"You're a jackass," you rasped against him, and yet you kept kissing him like he'd disappear. "Fucking jackass." Jungwon tried to murmur apologies, but you kept kissing him, shutting him up. You pushed him against your bed slowly as your lips moved, so that he had no choice but to fall back onto it.

With Jungwon's back now pressed up against your bed, you were on top of him. Your hands roamed his body, and Jungwon couldn't help but let his eyes fall shut.

"I-I'm sorry," he rumbled, but with you on top of him, lips all over him, he couldn't do much but gasp and squirm under your touch. "I-I didn't mean to—"

Boom! In the distance, a massive explosion sound careened through the air. You and Jungwon, both alarmed, froze in your position. Even with you filling his senses, Jungwon's immediate thought is simple: he is Spider-Man.

Jungwon felt your body tense against his, with fear painted on your face. His body felt hot all over, the excitement still pulsing through his veins and desperate need for you still clouding his mind. But a trembling, paralyzed you was enough to pull him away from himself, and force him to focus.

In one fell swoop, Jungwon pulls the two of you to your feet, his arms wrapping around your waist firmly, yet gently. Ignoring your questions, he felt around for his discarded mask, before shooting a web from his fingers and pulling it to him.

"You have to go," he said to you, his hands tightening around your waist. Jungwon watched as your brows crashed together, your expression morphing from bewilderment to hurt, and then anger.

"What are you— Jungwon—" Jungwon ignored you, quickly searching around your room. He took a jacket from your closet (which was definitely his), before draping it around your shoulders.

"I'm serious," he said, his voice cracking with earnestness. "I mean it, [Name]. You have to go."

It was your turn to splutter, scoffing in disbelief. "Where would I even go? I don't know why you're saying this—"

Jungwon chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments, before he huffed. "Go to Jake's."

You're about to scoff again, but Jungwon— the most tender person you've ever met— sent you a stern look that shuts you up.

"Tell him that I sent you," Jungwon instructed. "Tell him to keep you safe. And text me when you're there...." the boy trails off, awkwardly scratching his head, "If I'm not blocked, y'know.... Or just have Jake text me."

You stared at him in silence, blinking slowly, in an attempt to assess his face. Finally, you sigh, your face looking sad. "Okay."

Jungwon helped you collect your things, the two of you engulfed in a silence, with nothing filling your apartment but the ambient sound of your footsteps and breaths. That is, until it was time for you to go.

"I-I think I should go now," you said shakily, your back turned to Jungwon as you reached for your front door. Jungwon solemnly nodded, wistfully staring at you as he fiddled with his mask; his face was still uncovered, making it difficult to hide his concern, yet he didn't have the courage to put his mask back on. Not when you were here. And Jungwon would have let you go like that, alone into the night, if it weren't for the sound of your sniffles.

"Hey, hey," he called out to you, reaching out to you and taking hold of your shoulder. His brows furrowed. "[Name], what is it?"

You sniffled, your breath getting caught in your throat, and it was clear now that you were crying. However, you just shook your head, your back still turned to him.

"Baby," Jungwon said again. "Baby, please tell me. What is it? Why are you crying?"

The sound of Jungwon's voice made you tense up again. You let out a choked sob, before you sucked in a sharp breath. "Th-That."

Jungwon reached for your face, tilting your chin so that you would face him, but you wouldn't budge. "Talk to me. Please."

"That!" you cried. You sucked in another sharp breath as you threw your face into your palms. "You— You l-left me the first time... and— and now you're leaving a-again."

Jungwon's chest ached, and in a moment of remorse and desire, he slid his hands around your waist, pulling you into an embrace with you pressed against his chest. The way you always liked it. He pressed his cheek against your head, his own tears welling up in his eyes as you sniffled and cried.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. He knew he hurt you, it was nothing new to him. But just knowing that never made the regret feel any better. He kissed your head. "I'm so sorry."

There's another explosion in the distance, and Jungwon's hold on you tightened. "Please. I'll make it up to you. Please just go this time."

You shook your head. "I—I don't get it. J-Jungwon, I don't g-get it—"

In your state, there was no way you'd make it to safety in time. And Jungwon was a fool for thinking that you could, not after opening up the wounds you were trying to heal from. Jungwon pressed one more kiss on your head. He hauled you into his arms, ignoring your protests, only saying, "Wrap your arms around me."

Jungwon wished he had more time. He wished he could sit you down and explain everything. But there was no time, and he had to make sure you were safe first: he'd like to do it himself. All the injuries from earlier had been healed for the most part, just enough that he had strength.

"Hold on tight, baby," he said in your ear before putting his mask on, and shooting a web out your window. Jungwon figured it was your first time soaring with Spider-Man, because you let out a squeal, hiding your face in his neck.

"Jungwon!" you cried, your eyes still lined with tears. "P-Please, I'm scared—"

Jungwon chuckled, but complied with your request, taking less risky swings. And when he arrived at Jake's apartment, he simply forced his friend's window open. Much to his luck, Jake was already there.

"S-Spider-Man?!" Jake gawked. It wasn't every day that the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man showed up at your window. Then, his eyes fell on you. "[N-Name]?!"

Gently, Jungwon set you down. "Jungwon's request: Keep her safe."

Jake, utterly baffled, opened his mouth to speak. But like a little boy (quite literally) seeing his favorite super-hero for the first time, Jake nodded dutifully, his eyes comically filling with stars. "Yes sir!"

Jungwon nodded satisfied. He knew he could count on Jake. As Jungwon readied himself to jump out the window, he's stopped by your soft voice.

"G-Good luck..." you murmured, fiddling with your fingers. "Don't die... please."

Jungwon couldn't help but grin. "Of course."

And with that, he swung away, ready to kick ass.

You're already asleep when Jungwon finds you back at Jake's house. He felt a little bad about placing the burden of you on Jake, but Jungwon couldn't care more about that when your life was on the line. Jungwon, in his hero form of course, left a note for Jake on the kitchen counter, as he slowly wrapped his arms around your sleeping figure.

You're left sleeping on Jake's couch, with a throw blanket awkwardly draped over you. He appreciated Jake's efforts, grinning softly as the way you stirred in your sleep. It's near dawn, and Jungwon couldn't ignore the ache in his body. But even so, the way your eyes were puffy, your cheeks stained lightly with tears made his chest ache more than his body did.

As quietly as he could, Jungwon took you in his arms, and took you back to his apartment (he didn't have the keys to your apartment, and he didn't want to make you angrier by breaking in). Helicopters were still flying overhead, the sound of police sirens below filling the air. Jungwon's eyes twitched with tiredness, his straining muscles nearly giving out. The city was asleep, and yet it was still functionally cleaning up the mess from earlier.

Speaking of, that son of a bitch Baron von Fizzle-dick or whatever was now in police custody. Jungwon was too exhausted to remember the details, but it was a long and tiring fight. One that was painful.

As he swung through the sky, Jungwon couldn't forget the fight. He was hit pretty badly, almost nearly stabbed in the chest. His entire body was in pain, and if it weren't for the precious you in his arms, Jungwon thought he would collapse mid-air. The feeling of the insurmountable physical agony that that villain inflicted on him was definitely one for the books. Jungwon could still feel the blood dripping down his back. But what was even worse were the things Baron von Fizzlebang had said. The threats he made, the words he said: the villain, and apparently, all the villains in the city, via their underground network, seemed to know you by name. They knew you because you were a soft spot for Spider-Man. It terrified him that now you had a target on your back. He cursed himself for letting himself get comfortable, for endangering you in the process. Even if he won the fight now, Jungwon couldn't forget the fear.

As he landed on his window, Jungwon slowly cracked it open, supporting both you and himself as he brought the two of you into his apartment. He placed you down on his bed, pulling his comforter over you. He watched as you snuggled into his bed, a satisfied murmur falling from your lips. You looked so peaceful, and for a moment, Jungwon could forget all the pain he felt.

Jungwon looked down at his hands. Ripped gloves, blood-stained palms... will it ever go away?

He pulled away from you, about to make his way to his bathroom. He ought to wash the blood off his hands. The night was at its peak, the dreariest that it had ever been. He didn't know what time it was— he lost track of that a long time ago— but all he knew was that it was dark outside. He better get some sleep too. But as he pulled away from you, he felt a few fingers weakly grip his arm. He froze.

"Jung... won..." you murmured. Your eyes were shut, and your voice sounded dreamy.

"I'm here," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't realized it, but his voice broke. Really, all he felt like doing was crying.

"Don't leave," you mumbled. Your fingers tightened around his arm. "I'll do.... do anything..." you drew on. "Just... don't go."

"Oh, baby—" And with that Jungwon broke, the hot tears he hadn't even realized he were holding in spilling. He pulled on his mask. He dropped to his knees, resting his head on the bed beside you. "I... I never meant to. I never wanted to leave you—"

You hummed, murmuring something incoherent. "Stay."

Jungwon let out a shaky breath. "I will— I really want to— Please, let me—"

"Jungwon," you said, rather firmly. You still had your eyes shut.

"I'm here, baby." Jungwon sniffled, swiping the back of his ragged hand to wipe his nose. "I'm not gonna go— I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so—"

"In the... morning," you whispered. Before Jungwon could ask, you continued. "Talk in the morning."

Jungwon's voice broke again. "W-What?"

Your hand reached out for him again, this time falling onto his disheveled head. Jungwon nearly flinched at the feeling of your hand running through his hair, but instinctively he leaned into your touch. For a few moments, your fingers ran through his blonde locks, such a foreign feeling and yet a welcome one. Jungwon let his eyes shut, and they burned as his lids fell shut.

Your voice is quiet, and Jungwon is almost certain you're awake now. "Jake told me some things. I put two and two together."

"Really?" Jungwon, too tired to be mad. "Was it bad?"

You only hummed, giving him a classic nonresponse. Your fingers continued through his hair. "Go to sleep now."

"But—"

You hushed him, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "I love you."

Jungwon was stunned, but it felt so natural as, "I love you, too," tumbled from his lips.

There's a warmth that spreads across his chest, reassuring and comforting. But yet, so deeply harrowing, and so deeply frightening. He's a man of a thousand words and complex ideas, and you knew it, so you hushed Jungwon before he could continue, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "We'll talk in the morning."

Jungwon opened his mouth to protest. But as your fingers ran through his hair, he couldn't help the satisfying chills that ran down his spine. And everything hurt, and it hurt so bad that it was unbearable and Jungwon felt like he couldn't take it.

But your touch was so soft and familiar, Jungwon felt like.... for a second... he could maybe... fall into your touch... and just... take... it... easy...

"Pro...tect you..." Jungwon murmured. "I'll protect... you."

You chuckled softly. "You're not alone. I'll carry your burden with you."

It's his turn to hum, nearly satisfied. As he drifted off into a deep slumber, his troubles melting away into the palms of your hands, there's only one last thought in Jungwon's head.

Maybe there will be a new day tomorrow, and hopefully, he won't be alone when the day breaks.