the sun was warm, the sky an endless stretch of blue, and the ocean breeze was just strong enough to rustle the flower arrangements lining the wedding arch. laughter and soft music drifted from the reception, where guests clinked glasses and swayed under the golden afternoon light. flower petals fluttered through the air, catching in your hair, sticking to the fabric of your dress.
it was beautiful. every single detail of this day was beautiful.
and yet, here you were, standing apart from it all, your heart sinking into the sand beneath your feet.
doyoung stood in front of you, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression carefully unreadable.
but his silence said everything.
you had always known doyoung wasn’t the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. when you first got together, that had been part of his charm. the way his love wasn’t flashy or obvious, but quiet and steady. he wasn’t the type to make grand gestures, but he always noticed the little things. he remembered how you took your coffee, texted you when it was about to rain, let you warm your cold hands in the pockets of his coat without complaint.
he cared.
and that had been enough for a while.
but love, real love, wasn’t just about the quiet moments. it wasn’t just about the things left unsaid.
you had spent so much time filling in the gaps, convincing yourself that just because doyoung never said he loved you, didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.
but standing here now, with sunlight painting golden highlights in his dark hair, his mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something, but just couldn’t, it hit you.
it did matter.
because no matter how many times you had said i love you, he had never been able to say it in return. not once.
and you had proof.
flashback :
it had been a quiet night, the air thick with the scent of rain from the storm that had passed earlier. you were lying beside doyoung in bed, tracing patterns on his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin against your fingertips.
it was one of those nights where everything felt still. where love felt simple. where you weren’t worried about whether or not he would ever say the words.
so you had whispered them. soft and certain.
“i love you.”
the words settled into the space between you, a confession that was met with silence.
doyoung stiffened slightly, his fingers flexing against the sheets. his breathing had slowed, as if he were deciding what to do with them.
you waited.
waited for him to say something, anything.
but the silence stretched, unbearable, unending.
“doyoung?” your voice had been so small, so hopeful.
he had exhaled, long and slow. and then, finally, he had whispered, “you know how i feel.”
your chest had ached at that.
“do i?”
he had turned then, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch so tender that it almost made you believe that love could exist without the words.
and god, you wanted to pretend that was enough.
but deep down, you had known.
you had always known.
you wanted to believe that the way he kissed you, the way he always made sure you got home safely, the way he noticed things about you no one else did. that all of that meant the same thing as i love you.
you knew it didn’t.
you knew that if he felt it, he would have said it.
“you can’t even say it, can you?” your voice was barely above a whisper.
doyoung exhaled, long and slow. “it’s not that simple.”
your chest ached. “it is that simple.”
he looked away.
and that was the moment you realized.
you weren’t going to get the answer you wanted.
you weren’t ever going to get it.
so you did what you always did. you forced a small, empty smile and let it go.
“okay,” you had whispered, rolling onto your side, turning your back to him.
and doyoung, as always, let the silence linger.
present :
but love, real love, wasn’t just about the quiet moments. it wasn’t just about the things left unsaid.
you had spent so much time filling in the gaps, convincing yourself that just because doyoung never said he loved you, didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.
but standing here now, with sunlight painting golden highlights in his dark hair, his mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something, yet but just couldn’t, it hit you.
it did matter.
because no matter how many times you had said i love you, he had never been able to say it in return.
the realization settled into your chest like an anchor.
“you couldn’t say it,” you murmured, the words barely audible over the waves.
doyoung exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “it’s not that I—”
“it is.” your lips curled into a bitter smile. “it really is that simple.”
he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “why are you making this into something it’s not?”
a sharp, humorless laugh escaped you. “i am making this into something it’s not?” your voice wavered slightly. “doyoung, we’ve been together for years, and you still can’t tell me you love me.”
he looked away, lips pressing together, as if he had nothing left to say.
but that was the problem, wasn’t it?
he never had anything to say.
your love had always been quiet. one you had tried to nurture, even when you weren’t sure if it could grow. you had spent so much time filling in the spaces between you, convincing yourself that his silence didn’t mean as much as it did.
but it did.
it meant everything.
a breeze of wind blew past, carrying the scent of salt and fresh flowers. guests were still celebrating just a few feet away, blissfully unaware of the storm raging between the two of you.
doyoung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i don’t understand what you want me to say.”
your heart clenched.
you told him.
you asked him.
time and time again.
and now, he was looking at you like you were the one being unreasonable.
the lump in your throat thickened, but you refused to cry.
so you stepped back, the sand shifting beneath your heels.
“say something,” doyoung’s voice cracked.
you blinked.
“yell, scream… anything.”
the desperation in his voice nearly broke you.
but you had spent so long being the only one who fought for this relationship. being the only one who had tried.
and now, when you had nothing left to give, now he wanted a fight?
your shoulders slumped as you shook your head, a sad smile ghosting over your lips.
“that’s the thing, doyoung,” you whispered. “i shouldn’t have to scream for you to hear me.”
he took a step forward, the sand crunching under his dress shoes. “please—”
you flinched. because this? this wasn’t fair.
“don’t.” your voice wavered, but you kept your chin up. “don’t try now, doyoung. not when it’s too late.”
his lips parted, his hands twitching at his sides, but no words came. as always.
as always, his silence spoke louder than anything he could have said.
a shaky breath left you as you glanced past him, toward the reception, where people were dancing under the golden afternoon light. the happy couple stood in the center of it all, lost in a love that was sure.
love should feel like that.
love should feel like certainty.
but doyoung had never been certain about you.
so you swallowed down the ache in your throat, the sting behind your eyes, and let yourself take one last look at him.
“i hope one day, you figure out what it is you want,” you whispered.
his brows furrowed, his mouth opening—like he wanted to say something, like he wanted to fight.
but you couldn’t wait anymore.
so you turned, stepping barefoot into the sand, letting the warmth of the sun lead you away from him—away from the love that had never been enough.
the apartment felt emptier than it should have. maybe it was the silence, thick and suffocating, or maybe it was the ghost of everything that had happened between you and taeyong that was lingering in the air.
once, this space had been warm. once, taeyong’s presence had been something you found comfort in, something that made the walls feel like more than just walls and more like home.
but love alone had never been enough to keep you from falling apart.
it had been beautiful in the beginning. taeyong had loved with his whole heart, with a quiet intensity that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. he wasn’t the kind of person who threw around words like forever, but when he looked at you, you had felt it. you had believed in it.
but love had its cracks, and taeyong had his walls.
he had always been scared of hurting you, scared of not being enough. no matter how many times you had assured him that love wasn’t about perfection, that it was about choosing each other despite the flaws, he never let himself truly believe it.
so he ran.
not all at once, not in the obvious way people do when they don’t want to stay. he ran in the slow, agonizing way of someone who loved you too much to leave cleanly but not enough to stay and fight for what you had.
there had been late nights spent waiting for him to come home, conversations cut short before they could reach the root of what was wrong. he had held you like you were everything to him, but then let you slip through his fingers as if he didn’t know how to keep you.
until, one day, he was just gone.
no explanation. no warning. just an empty space where he used to be.
and now, months later, he was standing in front of you like none of it had happened. like the distance he had created between you could be undone with a few words.
he looked different. tired. like regret had worn him down.
but you were tired too. tired of being the one who always had to pick up the pieces. the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each one stretching between you like an unspoken accusation. the apartment was dimly lit, the only source of warmth coming from the small lamp in the corner. it felt foreign now, stripped of the comfort and coziness it once held, its walls witnesses to the love that had crumbled between you and taeyong.
he stood across the room, hands clenched at his sides, his breathing uneven. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days—like regret had kept him awake just as much as it had kept you.
“i shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, but he didn’t move.
you let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “then why did you?”
he dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “because i thought—” he stopped, shaking his head. “i—i don’t know what i thought.”
you swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “you left, taeyong.” your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be, but there was no mistaking the hurt laced within it. “you didn’t call. you didn’t explain. you just disappeared.”
“i thought it was the right thing to do.”
you let out a bitter scoff. “for who?”
his silence spoke louder than any answer could.
you turned away, unable to look at him, afraid that if you did, all the anger you had built up would dissolve into something you weren’t ready to face.
“i wasn’t good for you,” he admitted. “i—” his voice cracked, and you hated that it still made your chest tighten. “i was scared.”
the confession made you freeze.
taeyong had always been guarded, always held his emotions close to his chest. but you had been the one person he let in until he closed even you, out.
“scared of what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
he hesitated. “of hurting you.”
you turned back to him, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable—like he wasn’t just the one who had caused the pain, but the one who had felt it too.
“you did.” you said, voice sharp. “you thought that walking away without a word would be better than staying and figuring things out together?”
“i thought you deserved better.”
you inhaled sharply, shaking your head. “you’re not the one who gets to decide that for me.”
the weight of the conversation settled over both of you, suffocating, unbearable. you should have asked him to leave. you should have turned away and ended this before it could reopen wounds you had tried so hard to close. but instead, you asked the question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.
“so why are you here now?”
taeyong’s gaze softened, but there was something desperate in his eyes, something breaking beneath the surface. “because i was wrong.”
your heart clenched. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair that he got to walk away and then show up, expecting his regret to be enough to fix what he broke.
tears burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “that doesn’t change a single thing.”
“i know,” he whispered. “but i can’t keep pretending i’m okay without you.”
“thats not fair..” you shake your head, voice almost cracking.
you let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into fists at your sides. “you don’t get to do this, taeyong. you don’t get to come back and say these things like they mean anything now.”
he took a step closer. “they do mean something.”
“no.” your voice cracked. “not anymore.”
taeyong’s lips parted, like he wanted to argue, to tell you that it wasn’t too late. but you weren’t going to let him.
his hands trembled at his sides, his next words so quiet you almost didn’t hear them. “do you still love me?”
your stomach twisted. you should have lied. you should have said no, should have told him that you had moved on, that he was nothing but a memory now. but you couldn’t.
so instead, you gave him the only thing that would make him leave.
“just tell me you never loved me,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together, “and i’ll… i’ll walk away.”
the air felt too thick to breathe.
he was giving you the chance to end this. to free yourself from whatever this awful cycle was.
but why did it feel like lying to him would break you more than the truth ever could?
you held his gaze, forcing yourself to push down everything that ached inside you. “i never loved you.”
the moment the words left your lips, you felt them shatter something inside you.
taeyong’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing like he had been physically struck. he took a step back, nodding slowly as if he was convincing himself to believe you.
“okay,” he said hoarsely. his eyes glistened, but he didn’t cry. he just looked at you one last time, before turning toward the door.
he didn’t look back as he walked away.
and when the door clicked shut behind him, only then did you let yourself fall apart.
but even as the tears finally came, as sobs wracked through your body, you knew you had done the right thing.
loving him had never been the problem. it was the constant cycle. the leaving, the hurting, the breaking apart and trying to piece yourself back together just for him to come back and start the process all over again.
you were tired. tired of wondering when he would leave again, tired of never knowing where you stood with him, tired of waiting for love to stop feeling like something you had to pay for.
so you ended it the only way you knew how.
and not because you didn’t love him, but because you finally loved yourself enough to let him go.
it’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes insistently. you’re half-awake, tangled in blankets, when you see his name on the screen. renjun.
a few months back, things had reached a breaking point. you and renjun were always drawn together like magnets; his wild spontaneity, his relentless desire to prove himself, even when it hurt him. you remember the night it all fell apart very clearly. he’d gotten into one of his impulsive stunts again, this time risking far more than just a bruised ego. after a long, heated argument in your cramped apartment, words were flung that cut deeper than any physical wound ever could. you’d told him, over and over, that you couldn’t keep patching him up, that you deserved better than a continuous cycle of apologies and reckless behavior. and in his stubborn, hurt pride, he walked away, leaving behind a silence filled with swarming questions.
now, as you lie in your darkened room, the memories of those bitter days mix with a reluctant warmth. despite everything, a part of you still cares so much that every time his name lights up your screen, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s a way back from the wreckage.
tonight happened to be one of those nights. his name popping up on your phone screen, that single and quick-lived flash of hope. you sit up, pulling the covers around you, and answer the call with a hesitance you can’t quite hide.
“hey.” you say, voice softer than you intended.
the background of your past that was filled with missed opportunities for healing and the pain of watching someone you loved self-destruct, lingers like an uninvited guest. renjun’s voice, when it finally comes through, is low and a little rough, like it’s carrying all the weight of the mistakes he made. “i need a ride,” he admits, the words simple but filled with slight shame.
despite every instinct screaming at you to let the night pass without reopening old wounds, you find yourself already getting out of your bed. the familiar pull is irresistible, even though you know it means stepping back into a book you thought was closed.
as you drive through the quiet streets, memories swirl around you of passionate nights that turned bitter, of promises broken by his stubborn pride, of a love that was as fierce as it was flawed. every mile takes you further into the past, where the reasons for your breakup linger in the back of your mind, reminding you of both the beauty and the chaos that defined your time together.
the address he sends lead you to a nearly empty gas station on the outskirts of town. you pull up and spot him leaning against the wall near the pumps, looking more disheveled than you remember. his jacket is smeared with dirt, and there’s a faint, fresh scratch on his cheek, like he had collided with concrete rather than simply scraped himself. his motorcycle, now a twisted mess of metal and broken glass, lies a few feet away.
you roll down the window and can’t help but ask, “what happened to you?”
renjun lifts his gaze to meet yours. there’s a mix of apology and defiance in his eyes as he forces a small smile. “i crashed my motorcycle,” he says quietly. “i guess i lost control on a turn.”
your heart clenches as you take in the evidence. the scratch on his cheek, the dented side mirror of his bike (which was only the least of the damage), and the way he keeps subconsciously touching his jaw as if to check if the pain is real. “renjun, you could’ve seriously hurt yourself. i mean, fuck you already did,” you chide, voice edged with worry as you motion to his face.
“i’m fine,” he protests, but you can hear the uncertainty beneath his words.
he opens the door of your car and sits down with a small wince, which you barely registered with how good he hid it. as you drive off, the silence in the car is heavy with unsaid words and memories of better days. the days when you two were inseparable.
after a few miles, you finally break the silence. “so… why’d you call me instead of, i don’t know, someone else?”
he glances at you, the dim streetlights reflecting in his eyes. “because i knew you’d come,” he says softly. “…and i needed to see you.”
you swallow hard, fighting the mix of exasperation and lingering affection. “you need to stop doing stupid shit like that, renjun. you’re gonna get hurt one day.”
he falls silent for a long moment, then murmurs, “maybe i do, but i can’t help it.”
pulling over at a quiet overlook, you both sit in silence for a long moment. the city lights twinkle far off, the quiet rumble of an airplane doing little to fill the silence between you. the mixed emotions you felt overwhelmed you. a blend of nostalgia, regret, and the faint hope of starting over that was always there. the night felt like a threshold, a moment suspended between the past that hurt you and a future that might mend those wounds.
finally, renjun turns to you, eyes vulnerable in the low light. “i know i made a mess of things,” he says quietly. “i know i hurt you, and i’ve been trying to fix myself since… since i walked away.”
you search his face, remembering the nights filled with both laughter and tears, the arguments that left scars deeper than any physical wound. “i didn’t come after you because i couldn’t keep doing this,” you confess, voice soft. “i couldn’t keep fixing something that you kept breaking over and over.”
he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as it finds yours. “i’m sorry. i’m trying to be better—if you can give me another chance.”
your heart pounds at his words, a mix of old pain and new possibility. it’s not just about the motorcycle crash or the scratch on his cheek. it’s about every moment that led to this point, every time you both failed to protect what you had. the love. and now, in the quiet vulnerability of the night, it feels like you were standing at the door of a second chance.
renjun spoke again, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “i know i shouldn’t have called you. i know i shouldn’t be putting you in this position.”
you study his face; so familiar yet changed by time and regret and for a moment, every old wound feels raw again. “renjun,” you say gently, “i’ve been trying to move on. i thought i was over all the chaos between us.”
his hand tightens around yours ever so slightly. “i really have been trying to fix myself. and… i still care about you. more than i ever wanted to admit.”
the vulnerability in his eyes makes your breath catch. you’re no stranger to his reckless ways, to the endless cycle of trouble he stumbles into. yet here, in the quiet of the night, the man before you seems more fragile than ever.
“so, what now?” you ask softly. “do we just keep doing this? coming back to each other whenever things go wrong?”
renjun’s gaze falters for a second before he meets your eyes again. “maybe… maybe we try to do it right this time.”
your heart skips a beat. it sounds like he’s asking for a second chance, a chance to mend what was broken. you know too well that letting him back in means risking everything. the heartache, disappointment, and the familiar chaos of his world. but as you look at him, you realize that letting go never felt any safer.
“i’ve missed you,” he repeats, voice barely a whisper.
you take a steadying breath, the weight of the past months lifting just a little. “i’ve missed you too,” you confess, “even when i thought i was better off without you.”
there’s a long pause, filled with the sound of your beating hearts and the quiet hum of the car.
“let’s try again,” he says, his tone tentative but hopeful. “i promise, no more stupid shit. i promise i won’t run away from us this time.”
you squeeze his hand in response, the decision settling between you both like a fragile truce. “i promise to try,” you say, voice soft and resolute.
and as you squeeze his hand, you realize that despite the scars and the mistakes, the journey back to each other might just be worth every risk.
we hit 400 followers !! like whatttt this is actually crazy to me, and i’m so so grateful for all of you. i hope to continue to make my silly little fanfics for you guys and continue to improve. sooo in honor of my 400 luvvs, here is my gift to you guys !!
──── this is a prompt drabble event, so i will be writing fics for various members with the given prompts. the pairings will be picked by…you!!
please pick one prompt number and send a member ( from any nct unit ). you can add any details you like about the fic just please adhere to my request guidelines :)
──in which your parents had always told you to stay away from boys like haechan. boys with cocky smirks, black eye liner, bruised knuckles, and a reputation that came with warning labels. you never had a reason to listen until you were assigned to tutor him after school. it should have been simple. help him pass, get it over with. but there’s something about him that drew you in, and you didn’t want to pull away.
✦ drama, fluff/angst, slow burn(ish). forbidden love? ; tags. goodgirl!reader x badboy!haechan, suggestive, your parents are literal jerks, swearing, mentions of fighting, kissing !!, protective!haechan, corruption? but not really , lmk if i missed any !
𓂃 w.c [ 7.4k / 22.7k ]
!! not proofread !!
▸ j.note ; woahh i didn’t expect you guys to like this gif so much but im glad you did! i hope this lives up to the rest of the strontium happy reading !! also pls pls give feedback i want to improve my writings in the best way possible and i know my writing needs a lot of work, so constructive criticism is encouraged.
▸ this is part two and part one can be found here .ᐟ (please read it first)
your heart in your throat, your breath shallow as your mom stands in front of the both of you in the living room. ironically, the first time haechan was on there. she was watching you and haechan like she's just discovered the most unforgivable thing. the two of you are frozen, your lips still tingling from the kiss that was abruptly interrupted.
"what the hell was going on here?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, and you can see the flicker of shock and anger in her eyes. her gaze darts between you and haechan, her lips pressed into a thin line. the tension in the air is suffocating.
haechan steps back, but his eyes don't leave you. he looks like he's about to speak but holds back, his expression shifting into something unreadable.
your mom's gaze flicks from him to you. "this is what i've been worried about," she says, her voice sharp. "you're not a child anymore, but you're making reckless decisions. boys like him-they don't care about you."
your chest tightens. "you don't even know him," you reply, though your voice trembles slightly.
she shakes her head, disbelief written across her face. "i know enough." she takes a step into the room, her eyes narrowing. "you can't see it now, but you will. he's trouble, and if you keep going down this path-"
"mom, stop," you cut in, your voice rising before you can stop it. "this is my choice."
the room is thick with tension. haechan stands silently off to the side, still processing what's happening, his hands balled into fists at his sides. he's been silent, waiting for your mom to finish, but you can see the frustration on his face as she continues.
"you need to leave," your mom commands, her voice icy, cutting through the air like a knife.
haechan takes a breath, his chest rising and falling sharply. he's about to turn away, about to leave, when you step forward.
"wait," you whisper, a sharp sting of regret flooding through you. you didn't want this. you didn't want him to leave-not like this.
haechan stops, turning slowly back toward you, confusion written across his face. he doesn't speak, but the look in his eyes is soft, almost too soft for a situation like this. you take a step closer to him, your heart racing, and in a moment of vulnerability, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
"i'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible, feeling the heat of his skin against your cheek. the words feel heavier than you expected, like a weight you didn't know you'd been carrying.
for a moment, neither of you moves, just standing there in the fragile silence of your embrace. then, he leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, "i'm not going anywhere, you know."
his voice is quiet, but there's a certain determination in it that makes your heart skip a beat. you want to say something, anything, but before you can, your mom interrupts.
"you need to go," she insists, her voice breaking through the moment.
reluctantly, you pull away from haechan, your hands lingering on his shoulders for just a second longer than necessary. you glance at your mom, who's watching you with a look of disappointment, and then back at haechan.
he takes a deep breath, eyes meeting yours one last time. "i’m sorry too," he says softly, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that only you see.
without another word, he turns toward the door. you watch him leave, the weight of your mom's disapproval heavy in the air. but just before he steps out, he pauses and looks back at you once more, his gaze full of quiet determination. it's a look that says, i'm not giving up on us, even if everything else feels like it's falling apart.
the door clicks softly behind him, and you're left standing there, your heart racing, the silence in the room almost deafening. your mom's disappointment lingers, but you can't shake the feeling that whatever this is with haechan is far from over. "what did i tell you?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and furious. "how did he even get in here? you are grounded for... until i say so! now go to bed. your father and i will deal with you in the morning."
well, fuck.
—
after your mother’s furious words, the weight of reality settles over you. your heart is still racing, your skin still tingling from the way haechan had touched you, but now it’s mixed with something colder. hame, fear, the undeniable knowledge that you’ve been caught.
without another word, you turn on your heel and head to your room, shutting the door a little too forcefully behind you. you lean against it, exhaling shakily, trying to process everything. grounded indefinitely. your parents furious. and yet, all you can think about is the look in haechan’s eyes before he left—the quiet promise, the way he lingered just a second longer, like he didn’t want to leave you behind.
you pace the room, hands running through your hair, restless. you’re supposed to feel regret, supposed to feel ashamed, but instead, something else burns in your chest. defiance. yearning. maybe even something close to a thrill. because for the first time in your life, you aren’t just following the rules. you’re chasing something you actually want.
climbing into bed, you grab your phone from under your pillow, half-expecting a message from haechan. nothing. you sigh, staring at the dark ceiling, but just as you’re about to put your phone away, it vibrates in your palm.
[1:42 am] haechan: you still awake sunshine?
despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips. you hesitate, but only for a second before replying.
[1:43 am] you: i hate you.
[1:43 am] haechan: no, you don’t.
[1:44 am] you: i’m grounded until further notice.
[1:44 am] haechan: damn. worth it though, right?
[1:45 am] you: go to sleep.
[1:45 am] haechan: not until you do.
you roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the way your lips curve up, no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. you sigh, setting your phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling. you should be panicking about what’s to come, but instead, all you feel is him.
and maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all.
—
you wake to the sound of voices just outside your door—your parents, low but firm, clearly waiting for you to come out and face them. sunlight spills through the blinds, too bright, making your room feel smaller than usual. for a moment, you consider staying in bed, pretending to still be asleep, but you know that won’t work. you’re trapped, and you might as well get it over with.
dragging yourself out of bed, you pull on a hoodie over your sleep shirt and take a deep breath before opening the door. your parents are already at the kitchen table, your mom with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, your dad with a weary look, like he’s already disappointed before you’ve even said a word.
“sit.” your mom’s voice is clipped, no room for argument.
you sit.
the silence is heavy, thick with tension. then she takes a deep breath
“what were you thinking?” your mom demands, shaking her head. “letting that boy into your room, sneaking around behind our backs—do you have any idea how reckless that is?”
you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping the hem of your hoodie. “nothing happened.”
your dad exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. “nothing happened this time, because i walked in. but what about next time? do you even know what kind of trouble you’re getting yourself into?”
trouble. the word lingers in the air like smoke. you’ve heard it before, always in the same breath as haechan’s name. boys like him were nothing but trouble. you know that’s what they think. maybe it should be what you think too.
“we’ve warned you about him,” your mom continues, voice softer now, but no less serious. “he’s not—he’s not the kind of boy you should be involved with.”
you flinch, something defensive curling in your chest. “you don’t even know him.”
“we don’t need to know him,” your dad says, exasperated. “his reputation speaks for itself.”
you shake your head, frustration bubbling up. they don’t understand. they never have. if they knew the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel alive in a way nothing else ever had, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to judge.
but they won’t listen. they never do.
your mom’s words settle like a weight on your chest. “you’re grounded. no phone, no going out. and we don’t want to hear another word about him.”
you stare at the table, jaw tight. the sessions were already over, but that wasn’t really the point. they wanted him out of your life completely. like he was some kind of bad habit you just needed to quit. like he wasn’t already tangled up in your thoughts, in your pulse, in the way your skin still burned from where he touched you.
“do you understand?” your dad asks, voice even but firm.
you swallow hard and nod, because it’s easier than fighting. because you know they won’t listen.
but as you sit there, hands clenched in your lap, you realize something.
they can take away your phone. they can take away your freedom. they can make rules and set curfews and keep a close eye on you.
but they can’t change what’s already happened.
they can’t change you.
—
monday feels different.
the hallways are the same, the usual chaos of students dragging themselves through the first day back after break, but you feel off. like you’re walking through a version of your life that doesn’t quite fit anymore.
it’s the lack of your phone, mostly. no morning texts, no unread messages waiting for you, no way to check if he even tried to reach out again. your parents had taken it first thing saturday morning, and the silence had settled in fast.
you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. that a few missed texts aren’t the end of the world. but as you step into the building, scanning the crowd without meaning to, you already know who you’re looking for.
and then—there he is.
leaning against the lockers like he always does, dressed in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he listens to something one of his friends is saying. but his eyes aren’t on them.
they’re on you.
your breath catches, your steps faltering just slightly before you force yourself to keep moving. to act like everything is fine, like your parents didn’t just rip away the one thing tethering you to him over break.
but then he pushes off the lockers, shoving his hands into his pockets as he starts toward you, gaze dark and unreadable.
you barely make it to your locker before he’s there, sliding in beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“so,” he drawls, leaning in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “thought you were dead for a second.”
you sigh, spinning your lock with unnecessary force. “my parents took my phone.”
he hums, like that explains everything.
“figured they’d do something like that,” he says, and when you glance at him, there’s something knowing in his expression, something frustrated. “so what, they think ignoring me is gonna make me disappear?”
you exhale sharply, finally yanking your locker open. “i don’t know what they think.”
he watches you for a second, then suddenly reaches out, fingers brushing against your wrist before you can move away. it’s quick, barely even a touch, but it’s enough to make you freeze.
“meet me after school,” he murmurs. it’s not a question.
you hesitate. it’s stupid, reckless. risky. and you should probably say no.
but you don’t.
you just nod.
—
the rest of the day crawls by, every second stretching longer than it should. you go through the motions—taking notes, nodding at the right times, pretending to listen—but your mind is elsewhere. stuck on him. on what you agreed to. on the way his fingers skimmed your wrist like he knew you wouldn’t pull away.
when the final bell rings, your heart stutters.
you could go home. act like today was normal, like nothing is pulling you in the opposite direction. but your feet have already made the choice for you, carrying you through the crowded halls, out the side doors where the air is crisp with early spring.
he’s there, waiting. leaning against the brick wall, one foot propped up behind him, hoodie pulled over his head. but the second you step outside, he straightens, dark eyes locking onto yours.
“thought you might chicken out,” he muses, lips curling at the corners.
you cross your arms, tilting your head. “thought you might get bored and leave.”
he grins, slow and lazy, but there’s something sharper beneath it. “not a chance.”
you exhale, glancing around. “so? where are we going?”
he nods toward the parking lot. “just walk with me.”
you hesitate. not because you don’t want to—because you do, more than you should. but this is dangerous, walking this line when you know exactly where it leads.
then his fingers brush yours again, like earlier, but this time he doesn’t pull away. just hooks his pinky around yours, barely holding on, like he’s leaving the choice up to you.
“come on, sunshine,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, rough at the edges. “just for a little.”
and that’s all it takes.
you don’t say anything, just step forward, closing that last bit of space between you. letting him lead you somewhere you probably shouldn’t go.
—
he leads you deeper into the park, past the usual paths and toward a hidden trail. the air shifts around you, growing quieter as the city noises fade into the distance. soon, you find yourself surrounded by towering trees, their branches swaying gently, the leaves rustling softly as though the earth itself is breathing with you.
you stop at the edge of a small pond, its still surface reflecting the warm, amber glow of the early afternoon sun. everything around it seems to settle into a peaceful hush, as if the world outside this moment has no place here.
he turns to you, and for a second, you’re not sure whether he’s showing you the pond for your sake or his. “this is where i come when i need to clear my head,” he says, his voice lower now, almost reverent. he gestures toward the water, his gaze lingering on the surface. “it’s quiet. no one bothers me here. i can just think.”
you take a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh air. it’s hard to reconcile this calm, serene version of him with the boy who’s been impulsive, reckless, and unpredictable. yet, somehow, it feels right. this side of him, this peace.
“i didn’t think you’d have a place like this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
he glances at you, a small, almost sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “no one ever does,” he says, a glint of something dark flickering behind his eyes. “that’s kinda the point.”
the way he says it makes your stomach flip, and you can’t quite put your finger on why. maybe it’s the vulnerability that tugs at the edges of his words or the way he’s letting you see a part of him no one else does.
for a moment, you think he might say something more, but he simply steps a little closer, his hand brushing yours. the touch is casual, but it sends a spark of warmth shooting through you, a connection that seems to hum between you both.
“do you wanna see something else?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, and there’s a soft challenge in his tone that makes you want to lean in, to see more, to feel more.
you nod, unable to resist. you find yourself drawn to him in ways you can’t explain, your breath catching when he doesn’t pull back. instead, he closes the gap between you, moving closer until the air between you thickens, charged with something unspoken.
his eyes lock with yours, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that sends your heart into a wild, erratic beat. he tilts his head slightly, and before you can think twice, his lips are on yours.
the kiss is soft at first, like he’s hesitant. but it doesn’t stay that way for long. as his hands find your waist, pulling you closer, the kiss deepens, the heat between you both growing with every brush of lips, every soft gasp that escapes. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you nearer, and your hands instinctively clutch at his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours.
your heart races, the world around you nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his touch. you break away for a moment, gasping for air, but his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in uneven bursts.
and then, he speaks, his voice low and rough. “i shouldn’t want this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “but i do. i want you.”
his words make your stomach flip, the intensity of them washing over you in waves. something about the rawness in his voice, the honesty, catches you off guard.
you swallow, trying to steady yourself. “i want this too,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the moment will shatter if you speak too loudly.
there’s a quiet beat, just the two of you, caught in this fragile space between wanting and hesitation. but then, he presses another kiss to your lips, and you forget everything except the feel of him, the way his touch makes everything else fall away.
when you finally pull apart, breathless, he smiles—a small, almost wistful thing. “i think this place is special for more than one reason now,” he says, voice laced with an emotion you can’t quite place.
you smile back, though your heart is still racing. “yeah,” you whisper. “it is.”
—
that night, when the house is dark and quiet, you barely hear the sound of him climbing up the tree until there’s a soft thud against your window. your heart stutters in your chest as you rush over, pushing it open just in time to see him balance himself on the ledge.
the moment haechan lands in your room with a quiet thump, you glare at him, arms crossed. “you’re unbelievable,” you whisper harshly. “do you have any idea how much trouble i’d be in if we got caught?”
he grins, completely unfazed. “but we did get caught.”
you smack his arm, making him flinch. “not the point.”
he raises his hands in surrender, but the smirk stays. “yes, ma’am.”
you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his teasing tone. “you’re impossible.”
“and yet, you still let me in.”
you don’t have a response to that, so you just sigh, motioning toward your bed. “sit down before you break something.”
he flops onto the mattress with a little too much enthusiasm, making you shake your head as you sit beside him. the room is quiet except for the hum of the night outside, the occasional rustle of leaves from the tree he just climbed. neither of you say anything for a moment, but you can feel the shift in his energy—less playful, more… tired.
“so,” you say softly, “what are you really doing here?”
he exhales, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “couldn’t sleep.”
you glance at him, catching the way his jaw tightens before he looks away. “bad night?”
“something like that.”
his voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual bravado, and it makes your chest ache. you hesitate for a second before shifting slightly closer, your fingers barely grazing his on the comforter.
he notices. you feel it in the way his hand twitches, in the way he inhales just a little sharper. but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his pinky moves just the slightest bit, brushing against yours again.
“you ever feel like you’re running full speed toward a cliff,” he murmurs, “and you can’t stop?”
you swallow. “yeah.”
he huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“there’s nothing wrong with you.”
he lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “you’re the only person who thinks that.”
you turn to look at him, really look at him, and for once, he doesn’t hide. his guard is down, his eyes raw with something you can’t quite name. and in that moment, he’s not the reckless boy who teases you endlessly, who smirks like he owns the world. he’s just a boy who’s trying to keep himself together.
you shift your pinky again, letting it hook around his for the briefest second before pulling away. his fingers twitch, like he wants to chase the touch, but he stays still.
“you’re not running off that cliff alone,” you murmur.
his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes flickering to your face. “you make it really hard to stay away, sunshine.”
you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all. you just sit there in the dim glow of your room, fingers barely brushing, hearts quietly syncing to the same rhythm.
—
the next school morning felt different.
it’s been just a few nights since you let haechan in through your window, since he talked to you so deeply; revealing himself to you in a way you never thought he would. you felt something deeper than just adrenaline when you whispered that you wanted him there. and now, stepping into school, that night feels fragile, like something you shouldn’t have touched, something that shouldn’t have followed you into the daylight.
because now the whispers have grown louder.
“did you hear? they were together again over the weekend.”
“she sneaks out with him. she’s not as innocent as she acts.”
“it’s cute how she thinks she’s different.”
you keep your head down, fingers curled tightly around the strap of your bag, trying to push past it. but it’s everywhere. in the halls, in the classroom, even when you sit down with your friends at lunch—where, for the first time, the usual chatter dies down when you approach.
“so,” giselle starts carefully, “is it true?”
“what?” your voice comes out sharper than intended.
“you and haechan.”
your stomach twists. you already know there’s no right answer. deny it, and you sound guilty. confirm it, and they’ll pick it apart.
“we just study together, karina, you know that,” you say evenly. “that’s it.”
a look is exchanged, one that makes your skin prickle.
“you don’t have to lie,” winter says. “we’re just… looking out for you.”
“looking out for me?” you let out a sharp laugh. “for what?”
“we’re just saying,” giselle chimes back in, quieter, hesitant. “he has a… reputation. you know that.”
“i know him,” you counter.
“do you?”
you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the air shifts awkwardly, and lunch carries on, but the words stick.
by the time the final bell rings, you feel raw, rubbed down by a day of passing glances and quiet judgments. you don’t know what’s worse—the people who whisper like you can’t hear them, or the ones who make sure you do.
you’re halfway to the front doors when someone else’s words catch your ear.
“he’s just playing with her. like he does with everyone.”
your breath stumbles.
“he gets bored fast. wonder how long she’ll last.”
yourchest tightens. you know you shouldn’t care. you know it’s just talk. but it digs in anyway, settling like lead in your stomach.
then a voice pulls you out of it.
“sunshine.”
you turn. haechan’s waiting near the steps, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking over you like he can tell something’s off.
“hey,” he says, stepping closer. “you good?”
“fine.” it’s automatic, too quick. his brows pinch slightly, but he doesn’t push.
“come with me,” he says instead, nudging his head toward the doors. “let’s get out of here for a bit.”
you hesitate. for the first time, you aren’t sure if you want to go. because you can still hear their words. and worse—you can’t shake the fear that maybe they’re right.
but then you meet his eyes, warm and steady despite everything, and that fear doesn’t seem so loud anymore.
“okay,” you say.
and just like that, you follow him out.
—
he takes you somewhere quiet. away from the school, away from the weight of a thousand glances and whispers pressing down on you.
it’s a small clearing just past the neighborhood, tucked behind a line of trees, where the ground slopes gently toward a creek. the sky is wide here, open, stretching endless above you in soft hues of late afternoon.
“is this where you spend some of your time too?” you ask, looking around.
“one of the places.” haechan drops down onto the grass, leaning back on his palms. “not a bad spot, huh?”
“no,” you admit, sitting beside him. “it’s pretty.”
he grins. “figured you’d like it. you have that whole… poetic, pretty-things type of vibe.”
“oh, do i?” you glance at him.
“mhm.” he shifts closer, voice dropping slightly. “that’s why you like me, right?”
your stomach flips. you don’t answer, but the way you go quiet gives you away. his grin widens.
“i knew it.”
“shut up,” you mutter, shoving his shoulder lightly.
he laughs, but the teasing fades after a moment, leaving something quieter in its place.
“you don’t have to listen to them, you know.”
you tense. you don’t ask who he means—you both know.
“they don’t know me,” he says, eyes still on the sky. “not really. but you do.”
“do i?” the words slip out before you can stop them, laced with something you don’t quite recognize.
it makes him pause.
“do you think they’re right?” he asks after a moment, voice unreadable. “that i’m just messing around?”
you turn toward him. his expression is calm, but there’s something underneath it, something waiting.
you should say no. you should tell him that you trust him, that you don’t care what anyone else says.
but the doubt is still there, tangled up in everything else you feel for him.
“i don’t know,” you whisper.
his jaw tightens. he looks away.
the silence stretches, thick and heavy. your heart pounds.
and then, before you can stop yourself, the question leaves your lips.
“what are we, haechan?”
he stills.
for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s searching for something.
then, slowly, he exhales.
“we’re whatever you want us to be.”
you blink. “what?”
he shifts closer, so close that you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “if you want this to be nothing, i’ll leave it alone. if you want me to be just some guy you tutored, i’ll deal with it.”
his fingers reach for yours, tentative, brushing against your knuckles.
“but if you want more…” he trails off, voice low, gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
your heart is a drum against your ribs.
“what if i don’t know what i want?” you whisper.
he lets out a quiet laugh, almost breathless. “then tell me what you do know.”
you swallow, pulse thrumming as you feel his fingers slowly interlace with yours.
“i know i don’t want you to be just some guy i tutored.”
his grip on your hand tightens.
“then you’ve already answered your own question, sunshine.”
the nickname is soft, almost reverent. and before you can second-guess it, before you can let the fear creep in, you squeeze his hand back.
he smiles—one of those small, secret ones, like you’ve just given him something he thought he’d never have.
and for now, that’s enough.
—
the evening was calm, the sun dipping lower in the sky as you walk with haechan beside you. the two of you had just finished the day at school, chatting and laughing, not realizing how close you were to your house until you were almost at the front steps. everything felt normal, easy, the way it had been recently, and you couldn’t have imagined what was about to happen.
you notice them—your mom and dad—standing in the doorway, watching. your stomach drops and you instinctively grip haechan’s hand tighter. his smile fades when he feels the change in you, his attention shifting to what you’re looking at.
“shit,” you mutter, but keep walking, praying they won’t notice you until you get inside. but just as you reach the steps, your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet air. “what did i tell you?” it’s sharp and furious, each word heavy with the threat of anger. “what is he doing here?”
you freeze. your dad steps into view beside her, arms crossed. his posture alone is enough to make your heart race.
“mom, i…” you start, but you’re immediately cut off.
“no excuses,” she snaps, voice dripping with disdain. “you think i don’t know what you’ve been doing? sneaking around with him? what do you think you’re doing?”
“mom, i—” you try again, but her dad’s icy glare silences you.
“you’re still grounded,” he says in a low, dangerous tone. “go inside. now.”
you glance at haechan. he’s standing beside you, quiet, his hands shoved into his pockets. he doesn’t know what to do. he probably doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to say anything.
your mom turns to him, her face contorting with barely-contained fury. “you. what are you doing here? you have no business with my daughter.”
“i’m not causing any trouble,” he says quietly, but his words hang in the air, useless against the tension.
“no,” your mother snaps, “you’re not just causing trouble, you’re ruining everything. you don’t belong here.”
you can feel the heat rising inside you, the pressure of everything that’s been building in the last few days, and you can’t hold it in anymore. “stop,” you say, your voice trembling but strong. “i—”
and then, before you can stop it, the words slip out, raw and unfiltered. “i love him.”
the air around you freezes. your mom’s eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in shock. she takes a step back, clearly not understanding what she’s hearing. it was the first time you ever said it, hell even thought it. but it felt right.
“what did you just say?” her voice is cold now, sharp as a knife.
“i said it,” you repeat, but your voice is barely above a whisper. “i love him.”
her mother stares at you, disbelief and disgust flashing across her face. “you don’t know what you’re talking about. you’re just a kid, and you think you love him?” she sneers, voice full of derision. “you don’t know anything about love. this… this is just a phase. and he—he is not good for you.”
your dad doesn’t speak. he just stands there, arms crossed, his silence just as loud as your mom’s words. you feel yourself shrinking under their gaze, as if everything inside you is getting smaller, more insignificant.
“you will not see him again. do you understand me?” your mother’s voice rises now, almost breaking with fury. “you are grounded, and this… whatever you think this is, it ends now.”
“i love him,” you whisper again, more firmly this time, trying to hold onto something—anything—before everything falls apart. “i love him.”
“no,” your mother spits, “you don’t. and you will forget him. you will go to your room. and you will stay there. i won’t have this in my house.”
haechan looks at you, his face unreadable. the words you shared earlier seem to echo in his eyes, but something changes in him. he takes a small step back, like he’s retreating from something, unsure how to fix this.
“i think it’s better if i go,” he mutters, his voice tight, as he begins to pull away. “i don’t want to make things worse for you.”
before you can stop him, he’s turning, walking away. you reach out, your hand grasping for his wrist, but he pulls away gently, avoiding your gaze. “no..haechan,” you say, your voice shaking. “please. don’t leave.”
he doesn’t respond immediately, just looks at you for a long, agonizing moment. then he lets out a shaky sigh and turns to leave, his footsteps growing fainter as he walks away from you.
you stand frozen on the front steps, your heart racing. your mom’s voice cuts through the silence again. “you’ll go to your room. and you’ll stay there. you will not see him again. do you understand me?”
you can’t even answer, your throat tight, your mind spiraling. without saying another word, you walk silently into the house, up to your room, and shut the door behind you. hard
you sit there, the weight of your mother’s words crushing you. her disapproval and disappointment are suffocating, and you can feel the space between you and haechan growing larger with every passing second.
but the hardest part? the hardest part is knowing that you love him, and yet, here you are, too afraid to reach for him because of everything that’s standing in the way.
—
it’s been a few days since the argument with your parents. the silence between you and haechan feels heavy, almost suffocating. you can’t stop thinking about him, but you haven’t been able to reach him either. you’re grounded, no phone, and it’s like a piece of you is missing.
you’re sitting in your room, staring at the wall in front of your bed, when you hear a light tap. your heart races. you hurry over, parting the curtains to find haechan standing there, looking just as conflicted as you feel. he looks tired—like he hasn’t been able to sleep—but his eyes light up when they meet yours.
you open the window quickly, and without a word, he climbs inside. it’s the same familiar move, but there’s something different now. there’s an unspoken tension between you both, a hesitation in the way he moves toward you.
he steps closer but stops when he sees you retreat a little, like you’re unsure whether to welcome him or pull away. there’s a beat of silence before he speaks, his voice softer than usual.
“i couldn’t stay away,” he admits, running a hand through his messy hair. “but i didn’t want to make things worse. i thought… maybe i was doing the right thing.”
you meet his gaze, and for a moment, you both just look at each other. there’s no need for more words. you can tell he’s been thinking about this as much as you have. but there’s still the weight of your parents’ words, their expectations, hanging in the air. and you know they would never approve. you’re supposed to stay away from him.
“i don’t know why i’m even here,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down for a moment. “i knew things were gonna get messy.”
you step forward then, frustration and confusion bubbling inside you. “you left me hanging, haechan. i didn’t hear from you, i didn’t—”
“i know,” he interrupts, his voice laced with guilt. “but i thought maybe you’d be better off without me. i didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”
you don’t know how to respond to that. you want to be angry, but the truth is, you feel the same confusion. you wanted to hear from him. you missed him. but it’s hard to ignore the fact that your parents would never understand this. would never approve.
he takes a deep breath and steps closer again, almost as if he’s bracing himself. his fingers twitch at his sides, unsure of whether to reach out or not. you know the pull between you is undeniable, but there’s still a wall between you, the one built by fear and responsibility.
“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i could, but i can’t.”
you swallow hard, your chest tightening. “i can’t ignore everything, haechan. my parents—they won’t let this happen.”
he looks down, disappointment flickering in his eyes. then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to yours again. “i didn’t want to make things harder for you. i didn’t want to be the one who messed up your life.”
you feel a knot in your stomach. his words sting, but it’s clear that he’s not giving up. and neither are you.
“then why are you here?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
his answer isn’t one you expect. he steps forward and brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “because even if i shouldn’t, i can’t stay away. i don’t know how to.”
the words hang between you, unsaid but understood. your heart beats faster in your chest, and for the first time since the argument, you feel something other than confusion or anger.
“i can’t either,” you admit, your voice low.
before you can say anything else, haechan closes the distance, pressing his lips gently to yours. it’s tentative, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away at any moment. but you don’t. you kiss him back, softly at first, savoring the moment, the closeness. and for a brief moment, the world outside seems to disappear.
when you pull away, you both stand there, breaths mingling. he looks at you, searching your face, as if trying to make sure he hasn’t crossed a line.
“i’ll make things right,” he says quietly, his voice filled with resolve. “somehow. i don’t want to lose you.”
you take a deep breath, the weight of the situation sinking in. your parents’ disapproval, the complications, the risks—it’s all still there, but in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.
“i don’t know what’s going to happen,” you murmur, your hand brushing lightly against his. “but i can’t stop wanting this. wanting you.”
he gives a small, bittersweet smile. “then we’ll figure it out together. i promise.”
and just like that, you feel the tension between you ease, even if only for a moment. the future is uncertain, but right now, all that matters is the warmth of his touch, the closeness you feel, and the quiet promise of something more between you two.
—
the tension in the living room is suffocating. it’s been a week since the small talk with haechan in your room. you two had been interacting a lot less at school, yet here you both were. your parents sit stiffly on the couch, their eyes locked onto haechan as if he’s something they need to purge from your life. he stands in front of them, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, but he doesn’t lash out. doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes like they expect him to.
his usual confidence is still there, but tonight, there’s something else underneath it. something raw, something desperate. because this isn’t just about proving himself to your parents. it’s about proving himself to you, too. proving that he’s worth fighting for.
“this needs to stop,” your father says, his voice firm. “you sneaking around with him. whatever this is. it’s done.”
your mother shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “you don’t see it now, but this isn’t love. boys like him don’t stick around.”
boys like him.
haechan’s jaw clenches. he’s heard those words before, from teachers, from people in town, from kids at school who assumed they knew everything about him. reckless. dangerous. a mistake waiting to happen. but it’s different coming from your parents, because this time, it actually matters.
“you don’t know me,” he says, voice steady but edged with frustration. “you only see what you want to see.”
your mom crosses her arms. “oh, so tell us, then. tell us why we should believe you’re any different.” you eye her as she speaks so sharply to him.
please just give him a chance.
haechan hesitates for just a second, and your heart clenches. because you know he hates doing this. hates explaining himself to people who have already made up their minds. but he does it anyway. for you.
“i know i don’t look like the kind of guy you want your daughter with,” he says, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “i know i don’t come from some perfect family, and i know i’ve made mistakes. but i swear to you, i—i’m trying.” he swallows hard, his gaze flicking to you before going back to them. “i’m trying to be better. for her.”
your mother’s lips press into a thin line. “people don’t change overnight.”
“i’m not asking you to believe me overnight,” haechan says, his voice stronger now. “i’m just asking you to see me the way she does. not as some lost cause, but as someone who cares about her more than you could ever understand.”
silence stretches between all of you. your father looks away, exhaling through his nose. your mother’s expression is unreadable. you know they don’t fully accept him—not yet. maybe they never will. but there’s something in their faces that wasn’t there before. doubt. hesitation. a crack in the walls they’ve built around the idea of who he is.
your mother sighs, rubbing her temples. “this… this is a lot. i don’t know what to do with this right now.”
your father doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t push the conversation further either.
it’s not approval. not even close. but it’s not outright rejection either.
haechan shifts beside you, his fingers brushing against yours—not holding, just there. grounding.
“can i…talk to her alone?” he asks.
your parents exchange a glance, and for a moment, you think they’ll say no. but then your mom sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “five minutes.”
you don’t wait for them to change their minds, grabbing haechan’s wrist and tugging him down the hall to the guest bedroom. the moment the door clicks shut, you turn to him, taking him in—his disheveled hair, the way his rings catch the dim light, the way his shoulders are still tense.
—
the tension lingers even after your parents leave the room, their quiet murmurs fading down the hall. you stand there with haechan, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours, the weight of everything pressing down on you both.
he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting out a soft chuckle. “well… that went great, huh?”
you give him a look, half-exasperated, half-affectionate. “you really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
he grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “nah, guess not.”
you squeeze his hand, grounding him. “thank you. for standing up for yourself. for… for me.”
his expression shifts, something softer taking over. his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “i meant everything i said,” he murmurs. “every damn word.”
there’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken things. then, without thinking, you step forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders , pressing your face into his neck. he hesitates for half a second before melting into you, his arms coming up to hold you like he’s afraid to let go.
“i don’t know how this is gonna end,” you whisper.
haechan swallows hard, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back. “me neither,” he admits. “but i know one thing.”
you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “what?”
“that i love you,” his lips quirk into a small, lopsided smile—one that still holds a trace of mischief, but there’s something deeper beneath it. something real. “and i’m not letting you go that easily.”
your heart stumbles over itself, and before you can second-guess it, you surge forward, kissing him with every ounce of feeling you can’t put into words.
he responds instantly, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. the kiss is slow, lingering, like a promise neither of you are willing to break.
when you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, you whisper, “we’re kind of doomed, aren’t we?”
he huffs a quiet laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “probably. but at least we’re doomed together.”
and somehow, despite everything, that feels like enough.
—
▸ taggies ; @ikykyuno @ashopatata @tynivr @ilujkm @maiyhw @413cl @flaminghotyourmom @yunjinsart @theandypark @nae-vm @czennilove @yutaswh0re — i hope this was everyone <3
▸ big thank you to everyone who left feedback on the first part ily guys :(
──── in which your parents had always told you to stay away from boys like haechan. boys with cocky smirks, black eye liner, bruised knuckles, and a reputation that came with warning labels. you never had a reason to listen until you were assigned to tutor him after school. it should have been simple. help him pass, get it over with. but there’s something about him that drew you in, and you didn’t want to pull away.
✦ drama, fluff/angst, slow burn(ish). forbidden love? ; tags. goodgirl!reader x badboy!haechan, suggestive, your parents are literal jerks, swearing, mentions of fighting, kissing !!, protective!haechan, corruption? but not really, lmk if i missed any ! ;
𓂃 w.c [ 15.3k / 22.7k ]
!! not proofread !!
▸ j.note ; i hadn’t planned on making this fic so long but emo haechan does something to me i guess. also pls pls give feedback i want to improve my writings in the best way possible and i know my writing needs a lot of work, so constructive criticism is encouraged.
▸ this is part one of two and part two can be found here .ᐟ
your life had always been structured, predictable, mapped out like a perfectly folded brochure of all the things you were supposed to be. the good daughter. the responsible student. the girl who never gave anyone a reason to worry.
your parents raised you with expectations as solid as the fence that surrounded your house. good grades, early curfews, polite smiles at dinners. you were the kind of girl who double-checked her answers before turning in a test, who texted home before she was even late, who never spoke back even when she wanted to.
it wasn’t that you minded. not really.
your life was safe—comfortable.
weekends were spent with the same close friends, at the same coffee shop on the corner, drinking the same latte every time and reviewing notes for exams that were still weeks away. after school, you went straight home, sometimes stopping by the bookstore if you had extra time, flipping through pages of novels where the main characters lived lives far more reckless than your own.
and you liked it that way. you liked knowing where you belonged, knowing exactly what came next.
because trouble was for other people. rule-breakers, risk-takers. the kind of people who never thought twice about consequences. people who didn’t care.
the kind of people like him. lee donghyuck—or as he preferred to be called, haechan.
lee donghyuck had always been a name whispered in the hallways, wrapped in either amusement or warning. he was the boy who skipped class but somehow still seemed to do well, the boy who wore silver rings on his fingers, black eyeliner and bruises on his knuckles, the boy who flirted with everyone but never let anyone close.
he was reckless in a way that made people watch him like a fire they couldn’t look away from.
and you? you were the girl who had spent her whole life avoiding flames.
—
science had always been your best subject.
there was something reassuring about it—formulas that always worked, reactions that could be predicted, rules that never changed. if you followed the steps, you got the right answer. it was logical. reliable.
but not everyone saw it that way.
from the back of the classroom, haechan let out a quiet sigh, loud enough that a few students glanced his way. he was slouched over his desk, barely pretending to take notes, the end of his pen tapping lazily against his open textbook.
“can anyone explain why increasing the concentration of reactants speeds up a chemical reaction?” the teacher asked.
your hand went up without hesitation.
“because a higher concentration means more particles in the same space,” you answered. “so there’s a greater chance of collisions between them.”
“correct,” your teacher said, nodding approvingly.
from the corner of your eye, you caught movement. haechan had lifted his head just enough to glance in your direction, his gaze slow and assessing. when you turned to meet it, he didn’t look away, but just studied you, the corner of his lips twitching like he was in on some joke you weren’t part of.
your teacher moved on, scribbling equations across the board, but haechan didn’t so much as pretend to care. he stretched, tipping his chair back onto two legs, hands folded lazily over his stomach, like he was just waiting for the bell to save him from all of this.
you turned back toward the front, exhaling through your nose. it annoyed you, yet you didn’t know why.
it didn’t matter, it had nothing to do with you.
he didn’t matter.
or at least, that’s what you had always thought until today.
—
you were halfway through packing your books when you heard your name.
“could you stay back for a moment,” your teacher said, just as the last bell rang.
you paused, glancing up as students shuffled past your desk, their conversations blending into white noise. you couldn’t think of a single reason you’d need to stay—your grades were perfect, your assignments were always on time, and you definitely didn’t cause any trouble.
but then the teacher said another name.
“donghyuck, you too.” you heard him correct the teacher of his name under his breath.
your fingers curled around the thick textbook you were shoving in your bag.
he was slouched at his desk, twirling a silver ring around his finger, eyes half-lidded like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. it took him a second to react, but when he did, it was with an exaggerated sigh, dragging himself upright like even this was too much effort.
the classroom emptied around you until it was just the three of you, the weight of the silence settling in as the teacher folded her arms over her desk.
“haechan,” she started, “you’re failing. if you don’t pass your next exam, you’re going to have to repeat this class. and you know what that means.”
he leaned back on the closest desk to the teacher’s, completely unfazed, crossing his arms. “that i get the pleasure of spending another semester with you?”
your teacher didn’t so much as blink. “it means you will not graduate with your class. you need this credit.”
that got a reaction. his arms uncrossed as haechan’s smirk slipped, just slightly.
“which is why,” she continued, turning to you, “you’re going to tutor him.”
your mouth parted slightly. “wait—”
“you’re the top of this class,” she cut in, before you could protest. “if anyone can help him pass, it’s you.”
you swallowed. the request made sense—on paper. but logic didn’t stop the heat of his gaze as it flickered toward you, as he finally seemed to take you in.
slowly, he let his eyes drag up and down, taking his time.
your unwrinkled clothes. your neatly done hair. the way you clutched your bag like it was a lifeline.
his lips curled at the edges, something amused, something almost lazy, and yet, you felt it. the weight of being looked at like that.
“seriously?” he drawled, tilting his head, eyes still on you. “her?”
your spine straightened. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he smiled like he’d already won. “nothing, sweetheart.”
your teacher exhaled sharply, already tired of him. “this isn’t optional. you’ll meet and study together, and if i hear that you’ve skipped even once, i will not hesitate to let you keep your failing grade. understood?”
haechan sighed, tipping his head back like this was the greatest inconvenience of his life. then, with the ghost of a smirk still tugging at his lips, he muttered, “yeah, yeah. whatever you say.”
you could already tell. this was going to be impossible.
—
you walk out of the classroom first, stepping a little harder than intended. this wasn’t how you planned to spend your semester. tutoring some guy who didn’t even try, who slouched in his seat like he was too good for all of it, who looked at you like you were something to be amused by.
the hallway was mostly empty now, students already heading home or to their next activities. you were almost free, when a voice called out behind you.
“so, tutor, when do we start?”
you didn’t stop walking. “the library. after school tomorrow.”
haechan caught up easily, his pace unhurried, like this was all some joke to him. “ugh, the library?” he groaned. “how predictable.”
you glanced at him, unimpressed. “where else are we supposed to study? a convenience store?”
“actually, yeah.” he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, shooting you a smirk. “sounds more fun. we could get snacks. maybe a drink. aren’t tutors supposed to motivate their students?”
you exhaled sharply. he’s messing with you. you knew it, and yet, somehow, he still got under your skin.
“you don’t need motivation,” you said flatly. “you just need to study.”
“eh, debatable,” he mused. “i think what i need is a tutor who’s a little more flexible. less ‘strict teacher,’ more ‘cute classmate who wants to help me succeed.’”
you stopped walking.
haechan took a few more steps before realizing you weren’t next to him anymore. he turned, an eyebrow raised, just as you crossed your arms.
“okay, let’s get something straight,” you said, voice firm. “this isn’t a favor. i don’t want to tutor you, but i have to. and i don’t care if you think it’s boring or predictable, because it’s either this or you fail. so if you actually want my help, show up tomorrow. on time. otherwise, don’t waste my time.”
for a second, he just looked at you, head tilted like he was reevaluating something.
then, instead of answering, he let his gaze drag over you, slowly, like he was seeing you for the first time.
you stiffened under the weight of it, but refused to look away.
after a beat, he grinned.
“damn,” he murmured, almost to himself. “you’ve got a little fire under all that perfection, huh?”
you huffed, turning on your heel. “just be there.”
“yes, ma’am.”
you ignored him.
but as you walked away, you could still feel his smirk and stare burning into your back.
—
you barely stepped through the front door before your mom called out from the kitchen.
“you’re home later than usual.”
you set your bag down by the entryway, slipping off your shoes. “the teacher kept me after class.”
that was enough to get both of your parents’ attention. your dad looked up from where he sat on the couch, while your mom leaned against the counter, a slight crease forming between her brows.
“for what?” she asked, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
you exhaled, already bracing yourself. “she assigned me to tutor someone. he’s failing, and she thinks I can help him pass.”
your dad hummed approvingly. “well, that’s nice of you. who is it?”
you hesitated for half a second.
“haechan.”
the shift in the room was immediate. your mom stilled, and your dad turned completely this time, exchanging a glance with her before turning back to you.
“him?” your mom repeated, her voice careful.
“yes, him.” you folded your arms. “why does it sound like you already know who he is?”
your dad sighed, setting the paper aside. “people talk, sweetheart. he’s got a reputation.”
you rolled your eyes. “so what? he slacks off in class?”
your mom pursed her lips. “it’s more than that. skipping school, getting into trouble, hanging around the wrong crowds…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “just—be careful around him, honey.”
there it was. the warning.
and, of course, the assumption that you couldn’t think for yourself.
you sighed, rubbing your temple. “i’m not hanging out with him. i’m tutoring him. in the library. with textbooks.” you glanced between them. “pretty sure that’s not a crime.”
your mom didn’t look convinced, and your dad only leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable.
“just don’t let him pull you into anything,” he said. “kids like that don’t change.”
you bit the inside of your cheek, a flicker of irritation curling in your chest.
they made it sound like you were helpless. like the second you spent time with him, you’d suddenly throw your whole life away. everything you’ve built for yourself.
you shook your head. “it’s not that serious.”
and before either of them could say anything else, you grabbed your bag and headed for your room, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.
they were overreacting.
they didn’t know him.
and neither did you.
—
session one - monday february 23rd
the school day dragged.
it wasn’t any different from usual; classes, notes, the occasional group discussion, but today, there was a lingering awareness hanging over you. a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down to the inevitable.
you weren’t looking forward to tutoring haechan. but you had a job to do, and if he didn’t show, well… that was his problem, not yours.
by the time the final bell rang, you had already secured a table in the library, setting out your textbook, notebook, and a few highlighters. everything was neatly arranged. you had a plan, a structured breakdown of the material he needed to catch up on.
and yet, fifteen minutes passed.
then twenty.
you checked your phone, tapping your pen against your notes.
was he seriously going to ditch on the first day?
finally, you heard footsteps approaching, and then a familiar voice, drawling, “damn. you’re really taking this seriously, huh?”
you glanced up to see haechan standing there, hands in his pockets, looking completely unfazed. like he hadn’t just wasted almost half an hour of your time.
you exhaled sharply. “you’re late.”
“fashionably,” he corrected, dropping into the chair across from you.
you leveled him with a stare. “i don’t think that applies to studying.”
he shrugged. “guess we’ll find out.”
already, your patience was wearing thin. you pushed the textbook toward him, flipping to the section you had marked. “let’s start with reaction rates. you need to understand how—”
he wasn’t listening.
instead of looking at the notes, he was looking at you, head tilted slightly, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“you always sit this straight?” he mused, tapping his pen against the table.
you blinked, looking up from the textbook. “what?”
“just saying. you’re sitting like you’re taking an exam or something.” he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “relax. tutoring’s not life or death.”
you ignored the heat creeping up your neck and flipped open your notebook instead. “can we focus?”
he hummed, like he was considering it. then, before you could continue, he leaned forward slightly, eyeing your arrangement of highlighters and pens.
“bet you highlight in, like, five different colors.”
you clenched your jaw. four, actually, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of being right.
when you didn’t respond, he grinned, undeterred. “does tutoring me ruin your whole ‘perfect student’ reputation?”
you inhaled slowly, gripping your pen a little tighter. “only if you fail,” you said flatly.
he let out a soft laugh, finally glancing at the textbook. “alright, alright. hit me with the science.”
you exhaled, pushing past your irritation. this was going to be a long session.
but one way or another, you were getting through to him.
—
the next hour closed and you left the library still irritated—but more at yourself than him.
why had your heartbeat picked up when he had leaned in? why had his teasing stuck in your head longer than necessary?
get a grip.
the school hallways were mostly empty by now, just a few stragglers grabbing things from their lockers or heading to practice. you stopped by your own locker, swapping out your books for what you needed, then headed outside.
the late afternoon air was crisp, the sky shifting into a soft orange glow. you walked home, already thinking about how you’d explain the session to your parents.
(you wouldn’t. you’d just tell them it happened and leave it at that.)
continuing your walk, barely making it past the school you hear a voice from behind you.
“yo, tutor.”
your head snapped up.
haechan. again.
he was leaning against a lamppost a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, the same knowing smirk playing at his lips.
“we should celebrate.”
you frowned. “celebrate what?”
“me actually getting an answer right, obviously.” he straightened, stretching his arms behind his head. “c’mon, don’t be boring. you never just—i don’t know—do something on a whim?”
you had remembered the question he got right—which was simply the question you had answered yesterday in class. you narrowed your eyes. “if this is your way of trying to get out of studying next time—”
“relax.” he chuckled. “just messing with you. see you at our very serious study session next time, tutor.”
and with that, he strolled off like he hadn’t just left you standing there, your thoughts an even bigger mess than before.
—
session two - wednesday the 25th
you told yourself you wouldn’t get annoyed this time. you even mentally prepared for his usual antics before heading to the library.
it didn’t work.
haechan was late again. this time only by ten minutes, but still. he strolled in with an iced coffee in one hand, a lazy grin on his face like he hadn’t kept you waiting.
“you get extra credit for showing up on time, you know.”
“damn, should’ve known,” he drawled, sliding into the seat across from you. “maybe next time.”
you sighed, pushing the textbook toward him. “no distractions today.”
“that’s asking a lot.”
“it’s not.”
to your surprise, he actually made an effort. at least at first. he followed along as you explained reaction mechanisms, even nodded a few times like he understood. but the second things got even slightly complicated, he leaned back and groaned.
“why do i even need this? it’s not like i’m gonna be a scientist.”
“you need it to pass.”
“passing is overrated.”
“says the guy who’s literally failing.”
he just grinned, spinning his ring around his finger. “touché, sunshine.”
the nickname caught you off guard, making your stomach flip in a way that was foreign to you. whether he noticed your shift or not, he continued to use the name anytime he talked to you.
progress was slow, but you managed to get through two topics before he started messing around again, twirling his pen, asking dumb hypothetical questions that had nothing to do with chemistry.
“if i fail, do you fail too? since you’re my tutor?”
“no.”
“damn. no stakes for you then, huh?”
“just the overwhelming frustration of having to deal with you.”
“you wound me.” he clutched his chest dramatically, then smirked. “you sure you’re not starting to like our little sessions, though?”
you rolled your eyes. “go home, haechan.”
he laughed as he stood up, giving you a lazy salute before walking off.
session three - friday the 27th
miraculously, haechan was on time. but that didn’t mean he behaved.
“don’t look so shocked, tutor.” he plopped into his usual seat. “i can be responsible when i wanna be.”
“so, you just choose not to be?”
“exactly.”
today, he actually put in a little more effort, asking questions instead of just guessing his way through answers. you started to think, maybe this tutoring thing wouldn’t be a total waste of time.
and then, halfway through, he got bored.
“okay, pop quiz,” he said, snapping his book shut. “if you had to get a tattoo, what would it be?”
you blinked. “we are not doing this.”
“come on, humor me.”
“fine,” you muttered, flipping through your notes. “something small. simple. maybe a quote.”
“predictable,” he teased. “what if i said i’d get your name tattooed?”
you shot him a deadpan look. “then i’d question all of your life choices.”
he laughed, drumming his fingers against the table. “nah, i’d get something cool. a dragon or something. or maybe—” he wiggled his brows. “a chemical equation, just for you.”
“how generous.”
“i try.”
somehow, even with the distractions, he managed to retain at least some of what you covered. as you packed up, he tapped his pen against the table.
“hey, sunshine.”
you glanced up, not missing his smirk at your responding to the name.
“don’t miss me too much over the weekend.”
“leave.”
he laughed all the way out the door.
session four - monday march 2nd
you were already exhausted from the start of the new week, and haechan wasn’t helping.
“mondays shouldn’t exist,” he grumbled, dropping into his chair.
while you agreed, you had to keep him focused. “you still have to study.”
“brutal.”
you launched straight into the material, ignoring his dramatic sighs and complaints about how unfair school was. surprisingly, he focused for a solid thirty minutes—until he caught you tapping your foot.
“you’re impatient today,” he observed, tilting his head.
“or maybe i just want you to actually learn something.”
“i am learning. look,” he pointed at an equation. “i even remember this one.”
you checked. he was right.
“wow,” you deadpanned. “you have a functioning brain after all.”
“careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”
despite yourself, you bit back a smile.
the session ended with him actually completing the assigned questions, granted, after a lot of coaxing. as you packed up, he tapped the table again, just like last time.
“see you wednesday, sunshine.”
this time, you didn’t tell him to leave.
you did however, roll your eyes as he walked away, still grinning.
—
session five – wednesday the 4th
it was one of those days.
haechan was late—again. not by much, but enough to make you grit your teeth when he finally strolled in, a bag of chips in one hand, looking like he had nowhere better to be.
“don’t look at me like that, sunshine.” he smirked as he slid into his seat. “traffic was brutal.”
“you walk here.”
“damn. caught me.”
you inhaled sharply through your nose, pushing the worksheet toward him. “just start.”
he did. kind of.
five minutes in, he was tapping his pen against the table. ten minutes in, he was spinning his rings. fifteen minutes in, he was leaning back in his chair with a yawn.
“haechan,” you warned.
“hmm?”
“can you at least pretend to care?”
he grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “depends. does it bother you?”
you shook your head. “whatever.”
“relax, sunshine.” he tilted his head. “you’re cute when you’re annoyed.”
you ignored the way heat crept up your neck. “just answer the question.”
he glanced at it. “mm… ‘catalyst slows down a reaction.’”
you shut your eyes, inhaling deeply. “no. it speeds up a reaction—”
“eh, close enough.”
“no, it’s not—” you cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. “are you even trying?”
“nah.”
that was it.
“then why the hell are we even doing this?”
he blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard. but you were already pushing back your chair, stuffing your notes into your bag with sharp, deliberate movements.
“if you fail, that’s your problem. not mine.”
you didn’t wait for a response. just walked out, leaving him sitting there—still smirking, but something in his expression had shifted.
session seven – monday the 9th
the session was supposed to be like any other. you’d prepared the material, you had everything set up, and you were expecting the usual. you didn’t expect haechan to show up on time—or at least not to show up with an actual sense of purpose.
he slung his bag over the chair and slumped down. his usual cocky grin wasn’t there.
“what’s wrong with you?” you asked, surprised at how… serious he seemed.
he didn’t answer right away, instead just staring at the notes in front of him with furrowed brows.
“this is dumb,” he muttered under his breath.
you raised an eyebrow. “what’s dumb? the concept? the subject? or… you?”
he flicked his eyes to you, but there was no usual smirk, just irritation. “all of it.”
you frowned. “this isn’t the usual ‘i don’t care’ routine. what’s going on?”
he didn’t meet your eyes, instead flicking through the textbook like he was hoping to find a way out of this.
“i just don’t get it,” he said, voice tight.
you sat back, eyeing him carefully. you were so used to him breezing through everything, acting like he didn’t care, so this sudden frustration was… different. it threw you off.
“you’ve got this. we’ve gone over it before.”
“yeah, well, it’s not clicking today,” he shot back, rubbing his temples like he was battling a headache.
you leaned forward, speaking more gently than usual. “haechan, this stuff isn’t hard. you just have to stop shutting down every time it gets tough.”
he looked at you for a long moment, eyes soft but frustrated. he clearly didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, you were right.
“i don’t shut down,” he muttered. “it’s just… everything else is easier. this? it feels like i’m failing at something i can’t even explain.”
you blinked, taken aback. haechan never let anything get to him, at least not this much.
“okay,” you said, shifting your tone to something a little more reassuring. “we can take it slow. i’ll help you through it.”
but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t just about the chemistry. there was something deeper in his frustration—something he wasn’t saying.
he sat back in his chair, massaging his temples. “maybe i just don’t get it because i’m not supposed to. i’m not like you, sunshine.”
“no, you’re not,” you said softly. “but i know you can get it. you have to try.”
there was a long silence between you, and for the first time in a while, you realized that your usual teasing, quick comebacks wouldn’t fix this.
haechan’s eyes met yours for a fleeting second, something raw in them. then, he sighed.
“this is stupid,” he muttered, but there was a softness to his voice. “i’ll try.”
and for once, you believed him.
—
days later, sunday dinner was quiet, just the soft clinking of utensils against plates and the low hum of the tv in the background. your parents had been giving you a look all evening. the kind that meant they had something to say but were waiting for the right moment.
you didn’t have to wait long.
“so,” your mom started, too casually. “how’s tutoring going?”
you didn’t even glance up from your plate. “fine.”
“fine?” your dad echoed. “that’s it?”
you shrugged, poking at your food. “what else is there to say?”
your mom set down her fork. “is he at least putting in effort?”
you huffed. “define effort.”
they exchanged a glance, the kind that made you feel like a kid again, like they already knew exactly what was going on.
“we just want to make sure he’s not wasting your time,” your dad said. “if he’s not serious about learning, you don’t have to keep doing this.”
“he’s… getting better,” you admitted, though you weren’t sure if it was entirely true. he was trying, in his own way, but it was a slow process.
your mom still looked unconvinced. “just be careful, sweetheart.”
you frowned. “careful?”
“boys like him…” she hesitated, choosing her words. “they can be a distraction.”
“he’s not a distraction,” you said immediately, but the way she raised an eyebrow made your stomach twist.
and then— “you’re not getting a crush on him, are you?”
you nearly choked. “what? no. why would you even—?”
“because it happens,” your dad cut in, giving you a pointed look. “you spend enough time with someone, and next thing you know, you start making excuses for them.”
“i’m not making excuses.” you leaned back in your chair, suddenly desperate to get out of this conversation. “and i definitely don’t have a crush on him. it’s just tutoring. that’s it.”
they didn’t argue, but the look in their eyes said enough.
—
session ten – monday the 16th
you weren’t sure why your parents’ question was still echoing in your head. it was ridiculous, really. you didn’t have a crush on him. just because he was annoying, and cocky, and had that stupid smirk that made your stomach flip sometimes—no. not sometimes. never. it didn’t matter.
but still, as you walked into the library, setting your bag down at the usual table, you felt weirdly… off. distracted.
you pulled out your notes, trying to shake the thought, but haechan just had to say something.
“damn, sunshine. you look tense. bad day?”
you jumped slightly at his voice. he was standing next to you now, one hand gripping the chair as he spun it lazily before sitting down. he was late, as usual, but this time you hadn’t even noticed.
“fine,” you said quickly, focusing on your notes.
“you sure?” he tilted his head, leaning forward on the table. “you look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
you did. but there was no way in hell you were going to tell him what.
“it’s nothing,” you said, too quickly. “let’s just get started.”
but as the session went on, you found yourself more distracted than usual. every time he leaned in, every time he ran a hand through his hair, every time he smirked at something that wasn’t even funny, you thought of your parents’ voices in your head.
“you’re not getting a crush on him, are you?”
no. you weren’t. you refused to.
but then he tapped his pen against the table, glancing at you through his lashes. “you’re really off today, sunshine. what’s up?”
and maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was the fact that you hated how observant he could be, but you snapped.
“you. you’re up. why do you talk so much?”
he blinked, clearly not expecting that. then, he grinned. “because you like it.”
“i don’t.”
“liar.”
you groaned, running a hand down your face. this session was going to be impossible.
—
session twelve - friday the 20th
you had a feeling he wasn’t going to show up.
maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t texted all day—not that he ever really did, but usually, there was something. some offhand comment about how he was so tired or how he was mentally preparing for another “brutal” study session. but today? nothing.
still, you sat at the usual table, notes spread out, waiting.
and waiting.
and waiting.
until finally, you checked the time and realized it had been forty-five minutes.
you scoffed, shoving your notes back into your bag with more force than necessary. of course he wouldn’t show up. of course, he’d waste your time like this.
this was exactly why you didn’t like him.
not that you had to remind yourself. but things like this. his impulsiveness, his lack of reliability, the way he did whatever he wanted without considering anyone else, made it so much easier to not like him.
except, if that were really true, you wouldn’t be this pissed off.
you stormed out of the library, typing out a single text before shoving your phone deep into your pocket.
“seriously?”
no greeting. no unnecessary words. just that.
and when he didn’t respond, you told yourself you didn’t care.
even though, somehow, he was all you could think about for the rest of the night.
—
the weekend was quite eventful.
saturday -
you weren’t mad.
at least, that’s what you told yourself as you pulled out your laptop that morning, trying to focus on the essay you’d been putting off. it had nothing to do with him. nothing to do with the fact that he’d completely wasted your time yesterday. it wasn’t like you cared.
but when your phone lit up beside you, your heart jumped a little too fast. you grabbed it instinctively. only to see a notification from your bank about your spending this month.
you exhaled sharply, tossing your phone aside. see? you weren’t waiting for a text. because you weren’t expecting one. because you didn’t care.
still, you had to physically stop yourself from checking your messages every hour, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, you were in a terrible mood.
saturday night -
“so let me get this straight,” your friend, karina said, stirring her drink lazily. “he didn’t show up. didn’t text. and…now you’re mad about it.”
you scowled, leaning back in your chair. “i’m not mad.”
she raised an eyebrow. “you sure? cause you seem pretty mad.”
you crossed your arms. “i just don’t like when people waste my time. it’s inconsiderate.”
“right.” karina smirked, tilting her head. “but it’s weird, isn’t it? because you weren’t even this mad when you thought he wasn’t taking tutoring seriously. but now? now he misses one session, and suddenly, it’s a big deal?”
you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “that’s not the point.”
“mhm.” she sipped her drink, clearly unconvinced.
you refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, but as you stared down at your untouched food, a thought crept into your mind.
was she right?
sunday afternoon -
you spotted him before he saw you.
standing by the counter at the campus café, looking as unbothered as ever. hoodie slightly loose around his shoulders, rings glinting under the dim lighting as he scrolled through his phone.
he wasn’t avoiding you, then. because avoiding would at least mean he knew he did something wrong.
the irritation that had been simmering all weekend bubbled over. before you could think twice, you were already walking toward him.
“oh, hey, sunshine.” he glanced up as you stopped beside him, smiling like nothing had happened. “you look cute when you’re brooding.”
you didn’t waste time. “you didn’t show up.”
he shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket. “yeah. something came up.”
“something came up?” your voice was sharper than intended, but you didn’t care. “you could’ve at least said something.”
he leaned against the counter, studying you with an amused tilt of his head. “why? you miss me?”
your fingers curled into fists at your sides. because he was doing this on purpose. pushing, testing, waiting to see how much you’d react. and you hated that it was working.
“you’re unbelievable.” the words came out in a breath, laced with frustration.
and then you turned on your heel and walked away before you could say anything else you’d regret.
but the worst part? the absolute worst part?
he was still in your head, and you didn’t know how to make it stop.
—
session thirteen - monday the 23rd
for the next two weeks, you and haechan had to change locations as club was having their meetings in the library. you moved to a classroom near the library.
monday’s session wasn’t a disaster. in fact, it was almost… normal.
he showed up—five minutes late, but that was practically on time for him. he didn’t ignore the notes you laid out, didn’t spend the whole time spinning his rings or making dumb comments. he even answered a few questions correctly, which honestly shocked you.
“so you do pay attention sometimes,” you muttered when he got one right.
“wow, sunshine.” he grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “say that again. maybe i’ll start believing you actually like having me around.”
you scoffed, underlining something in your notebook just to avoid looking at him. “don’t push it.”
he chuckled but didn’t push. and for the first time since this whole tutoring arrangement started, things actually felt… okay. he was still distracting, still teasing you every chance he got, still doing that infuriating thing where he leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. but at least he was trying.
and that was enough.
for now.
later that week, things changed.
session fifteen- friday the 25th
you were still in one of the school’s empty classrooms, finishing up some notes for yourself. it was already late when you heard the classroom door creak open.
too late for a tutoring session. too late for him to be here at all.
you looked up, expecting a janitor, maybe a teacher. instead, you saw him.
“oh my god.” your breath caught when you finally glanced up. “what happened to you?”
he looked…rough. a split lip, a bruise already blooming on his cheekbone, dried blood crusted near his eyebrow. his knuckles were bruising and stained with a little blood, like he’d been swinging at something—or someone.
“nothin’.” his voice was quieter than usual, the usual cockiness dulled by exhaustion. “just a bad night.”
“bad night? you look like you got your ass kicked.” you frowned, already standing. “who—why—”
“doesn’t matter.” he waved a hand, like he wanted to brush it off, but even that small movement made him wince.
you sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed your bag. “stay here.”
he didn’t argue as you left, and when you came back a few minutes later, first aid kit in hand, he still hadn’t moved. just sat there, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh, like he was waiting for the fight to start back up again.
but when you stood in front of him, tilting his face up slightly so you could dab at the cut on his lip, he stilled.
“you don’t have to do this,” he murmured.
“you don’t have to get into fights.”
he huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it.
when you knelt beside him and took his hand in yours, he barely reacted, letting you clean the dried blood from his knuckles. his skin was warm under your touch, but you ignored that. just like you ignored the way his eyes were fixed on you, dark and unreadable.
for a while, there was only silence. the soft press of gauze against his skin, the quiet scrape of your nails as you brushed away the dried blood. and through it all, he just watched you.
like he didn’t understand why you cared.
“you’re not supposed to fix me, sunshine,” he said eventually, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “just tutor me.”
you didn’t look at his eyes. “maybe i just don’t want to watch you fall apart.”
his breath hitched slightly. and maybe you imagined it, but for the first time, the fight in his eyes flickered. just for a second.
he didn’t say anything else. but something shifted in that moment.
because later, when he went home, he touched the bandage you had carefully pressed onto his skin, fingers lingering there longer than necessary.
and even though he would never admit it. maybe not even to himself, that was the moment he started falling for you.
—
after that night, things feel different. you tell yourself they’re not, that nothing’s changed, that you’re just imagining the way your chest tightens when you catch him looking at you in the middle of a study session. but it’s there, lingering in the spaces between words, in the silence that lasts too long, in the way his teasing remarks don’t land the same way anymore.
the next session, he actually tries.
not in an obvious way—he’s still late, still sighs dramatically when you hand him a practice problem, still taps his pen against the table like he’s counting down the minutes until he can leave. but when you ask him a question, he answers. when he gets something wrong, he listens when you explain instead of brushing it off.
session sixteen - monday the 28th
“so, what, you’re suddenly serious about passing?” you ask, watching as he leans forward, elbows braced against the table.
he tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “maybe i just like seeing you all impressed when i get something right.”
you roll your eyes. “trust me, you’d have to try way harder for that to happen.”
but you don’t mean it. because when he mutters the right answer under his breath, brow furrowed like he’s actually thinking, something twists in your stomach. you shove the feeling down before it can take root.
—
then, he starts showing up.
not just to your tutoring sessions—those are still scheduled, still predictable, still something you can control—but to other places. places he shouldn’t be.
like when you’re sitting outside between classes, notebook open in your lap, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the pavement.
“wow,” his voice cuts through the quiet, lazy and amused. “you really do study all the time, huh?”
you glance up, frowning as he drops into the seat across from you. “what are you doing here?”
he shrugs, peeling the label off his drink. “nowhere else to be.”
he stays. doesn’t do much—just picks at his rings, tosses casual comments your way, complains about the weather. at first, it’s just once. then it happens again. and again.
“you know you don’t have to sit here, right?” you say one day, not looking up from your laptop.
“i know.”
he doesn’t leave. and you don’t tell him to. maybe that’s your first mistake.
—
the evening air is crisp, biting at your skin as you step out of the library. you tug your jacket tighter around yourself, putting your earbuds in as you start down the quiet path leading off campus. most of the streetlights flicker on as it got darker.
you don’t hear him at first.
not until he falls into step beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.
“hey, sunshine.”
you nearly trip, ripping an earbud out as you whip your head to the side. “what the—why are you here?”
he doesn’t look at you, just keeps walking like this is the most natural thing in the world. “walking.” he motions in front of him.
“walking where?” you press, your suspicion growing.
he exhales, tilting his head toward the sky as if debating whether to answer. finally, he shrugs. “just making sure you get home okay.”
you slow your steps. something about the way he says it, like it’s just a fact, like it’s obvious, throws you off balance.
“i don’t need a bodyguard,” you mutter.
“yeah, i know.”
“so why—”
“just shut up and keep walking.”
the words should annoy you. they do annoy you. but something in his casual but firm tone, like he’s already decided he’s doing this whether you like it or not, leaves no room for argument. so you walk, stealing glances at him every so often, watching the way he shifts his weight, the way his fingers flex like he’s holding back something he’ll never say out loud.
“this isn’t a habit now, is it?” you ask after a few minutes.
“depends.”
“on what?”
“on whether or not i feel like doing it again.”
you roll your eyes but don’t push.
when you finally reach your place, you stop at the fence, hesitating. you should say goodnight. you should say thanks, maybe. but before you can decide, he’s already a few steps away, hands still buried in his pockets, gaze fixed ahead.
“see you later, sunshine.”
he doesn’t look back. doesn’t wait for a response.
but for some reason, you watch him walk away anyway.
—
you should be asleep.
but you’re not.
instead, you’re lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the walk home in your head like a movie you can’t turn off. like the flickering streetlights, the cold air, the steady sound of footsteps beside you—his footsteps—are all burned into your mind.
you shift onto your side, pulling your blanket up to your chin. it’s stupid. he didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything that should be lingering like this. all he did was show up. all he did was walk.
but still.
“just making sure you get home okay.”
he’d said it like it was nothing. like it wasn’t a thing.
but it was. wasn’t it?
you sigh, rolling onto your back again. your phone sits on your nightstand, screen dark, no notifications. not that you expected any. he’s not the kind of guy to text. but still, some stupid part of you wonders if he’s thinking about it, too.
not about you. just—about anything.
maybe he’s already asleep, completely unbothered, already moved on. maybe it meant nothing to him.
but then again—
“depends.”
“on what?”
“on whether or not i feel like doing it again.”
you close your eyes, exhaling slowly.
you don’t know what’s worse. the fact that he might actually do it again.
or the fact that you kind of want him to.
—
session nineteen - monday april 4th
you check the time again.
ten minutes late.
with an annoyed sigh, you tap your pen against the open notebook in front of you, debating whether to give up and leave. it’s not like he hasn’t done this before. showing up whenever he feels like it, acting like he’s doing you a favor by even bothering. but this time, it’s grating more than usual. maybe because things have been different lately—less antagonistic, more… whatever this weird tension is that neither of you have acknowledged.
and then, just as you’re about to slap your notebook shut, a chair scrapes against the floor.
“took you long enough,” you mutter without looking up.
“miss me?”
the smirk is there—you can hear it in his voice even before you meet his gaze. he leans back in his chair, stretching out like he has all the time in the world. no apology, no excuse. just him, always testing your patience.
you roll your eyes and push his notebook toward him. “just open your book.”
the session starts off okay, at first. he’s actually trying—not a lot, but enough. he answers a few questions, gets some right, listens when you explain the ones he gets wrong. but there’s something off about him today.
he’s restless. more than usual.
his fingers tap against the table, his rings clicking against each other in a way that makes your nerves buzz. he sighs every time you correct him, leans back so far in his chair that you’re convinced he’s seconds away from tipping over. but most of all, he’s not looking at you.
not in the usual way, at least. he usually stares—lazy, smug, like he’s waiting for you to snap. but today, it’s like he’s avoiding your gaze altogether. like he’s somewhere else.
“what is wrong with you today?” the words slip out before you can stop them.
haechan raises an eyebrow, finally meeting your eyes. “me? nothing. maybe you’re just extra grumpy today.”
you glare. “maybe i wouldn’t be if you were actually focused.”
he clicks his tongue, shutting his notebook with a dull thud. “yeah? and what if i don’t feel like it?”
your patience snaps. “then why are you even here, haechan?”
silence.
his expression shifts—just barely, but enough for you to see it. the way his jaw tightens, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he looks away.
and then he speaks so quiet, almost to himself.
“good question.”
your breath catches. because suddenly, it doesn’t feel like you’re talking about tutoring anymore.
neither of you speak after that.
the rest of the session is stiff, words clipped and movements sharp. when it ends, he doesn’t throw a smug remark over his shoulder, doesn’t tease you like he usually does. he just stands, slings his bag over his shoulder, and walks out without looking back.
you stay sitting there long after he’s gone, staring at the empty chair next to you.
heart pounding for reasons you don’t want to think about.
—
session twenty - wednesday the 6th
wednesday’s session is quieter than usual. it’s like there’s a wall between the two of you—still the same awkwardness, but with more… space.
haechan is more focused than before, but there’s a distance in the way he engages with the material. no smart comments, no teasing, just a steady silence as he works through the problems. every time your fingers brush over his paper to point out a mistake, there’s a brief, electric pause. neither of you comment on it, but it lingers, like a promise neither of you are ready to make.
but by the end of it, he’s gone without a word. not a smile, not a look. just the door shutting quietly behind him.
—
session twenty one - friday the 8th
friday’s session is different.
when he walks in, there’s a heaviness about him, something off—his face is bruised again, his lip split like last time, hair slightly tousled, and there’s a subtle tremble in his step like he’s not sure whether to be here or not. his eyes avoid yours as he slides into the chair across from yours, too close to be casual but too distant to be comfortable.
the silence between you is charged from the start, but it’s not the playful tension you’re used to. it’s thick, raw, almost uncomfortable.
you can’t help but stare at the bruise blooming across his jaw, the scrape on his chin, and the other cuts scattered across his arms. the anger and adrenaline radiate off him in waves, but there’s something deeper underneath all of it—a tiredness.
you try not to let your voice crack, but the concern breaks through anyway. “what happened?”
haechan doesn’t meet your gaze. his eyes are dark, like he’s trying to bury something under all that nonchalance. “it’s nothing.”
you don’t believe him. obviously. not looking like that. “haechan, don’t lie.”
finally, he looks at you, and there’s something in his expression that makes you freeze—raw vulnerability laced with a bitterness you can’t quite place. “someone said something about you,” he says quietly. “something i didn’t like.”
you feel the weight of his words like a punch to the gut. “what do you mean?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, but there’s no hiding the unease creeping into your tone.
he’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers tapping restlessly against the table as he thinks about how to phrase it. then, he just blurts it out: “i fought over you.”
it takes you a second to process. “what?”
he looks at you, this time, eyes searching yours like he’s looking for something. “they were talking about you. bad stuff. i couldn’t just sit there. i—” his words falter, like he’s not sure why he’s even explaining this to you.
you don’t know what to say. your heart beats harder, faster. “so you just…?”
“i lost it.” he’s not ashamed, not exactly, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel like he’s letting go of more than just the fight. “i couldn’t stand it. i had to do something.”
and that’s when it hits you—the depth of everything he’s been hiding behind those sharp smirks and sarcastic comments.
without thinking, your fingers move—just a soft brush against his darkening knuckles, like it’s the only thing you can do to make sense of all this. you feel the heat of his skin underneath your fingertips, and the contact burns, even though it’s so small.
haechan’s breath catches. there’s a moment of complete silence, and then he slowly, so slowly, moves his fingers that were under yours.
you hold your breath, fingers trembling just a little. and then, as if testing the waters, he slides his fingers up to rest his hand against yours. you found your hand opening up, as your palms touched slightly. his finger tips grazing your with a ghost-like touch. for a second, neither of you moves. there’s a fragile, delicate tension that seems to freeze the room in place.
and then, without saying a word, he lets his fingers gently curl around yours.
it’s slow, tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. but when you don’t, when you let him, he doesn’t hesitate. his grip tightens just enough, not too much—just enough to say this matters.
your heart races, and your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. you don’t want to.
you let your fingers slip into the spaces between his, moving carefully, slowly.
there’s no hurry. just the quiet sound of your breaths mingling with the subtle click of his rings as his fingers settle between yours.
his eyes drop to your hands, studying the way you fit together, the way your fingers slide against his, perfectly and effortlessly. it’s intimate in a way that makes everything around you disappear. there’s only the soft warmth of his hand in yours, the quiet thrum of something unspoken growing louder between you.
he leans forward slightly, his voice quiet, almost like a confession. “i fought because of you,” he says, the weight of his words settling between you two like a secret you didn’t expect.
you want to say something, want to ask why, but the words don’t come. your chest feels tight. why would he do that for you?
his thumb strokes the back of your hand, the motion slow and careful, and you feel the heat of his touch seep through you. “i couldn’t just let them say shit about you,” he murmurs, his voice raw. “no one talks about you like that and gets away with it.”
you finally meet his gaze, your chest tight with something you can’t name. he holds your hand gently, but there’s a possessiveness in his touch, something protective that you can’t quite ignore.
the air between you is thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid. he doesn’t let go of your hand, doesn’t move away, and neither do you.
you’re not sure how long you sit there, fingers entwined, the world outside of this moment fading away. but somehow, it feels like everything has changed between you two in that quiet, intimate touch. Something that didn’t need to be spoken but felt.
neither of you moves, not yet. not until it’s time.
—
saturday -
saturday morning arrives with the lingering weight of haechan’s words from the previous session. “maybe we could grab a coffee or something. no tutoring… just…”
his voice still echoes in your mind as you get ready. you don’t know why it’s making you nervous. you’ve spent hours with him tutoring, in tight spaces, talking about everything under the sun, but this feels different. it’s not about grades or chemistry anymore. it’s about you and him—just two people.
when your parents asked where you were off to, you brushed them off with a simple. “studying at the café,”.
at 2 p.m., you arrive at the cafe a little early. your heart beats louder in your chest as you stand outside, looking at the door, unsure whether you should go in first or wait. but before you can make up your mind, haechan appears. he’s wearing a hoodie and jeans. his messy hair adds to the vibe—relaxed, but there’s an intensity in the way he walks towards you.
“hey,” he greets with that familiar teasing smile, but it’s less playful today, more reserved. he watches you for a beat, like he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling.
“hey,” you respond, your voice steady but your insides twist with something unfamiliar.
the conversation starts easy, like a continuation of your tutoring sessions, but it quickly morphs into something more personal. you laugh at his jokes, and he cracks a few of his usual sarcastic comments. but this time, they don’t feel so cutting—they feel like an invitation, an effort to connect.
you tell him about your favorite subjects, and he talks about his struggle with science (which he completely tries to play off like he doesn’t care about). somehow, you both end up talking about your childhoods, your families, and some awkward high school moments. the more you talk, the more the layers fall away, and you realize this is more real than you expected. he really wasn’t some monster that everyone seemed to paint him as.
as you finish your drinks, there’s an uneasy silence between you two. haechan runs a hand through his hair, and you shift in your seat, unsure of what to do next. the energy between you both is charged now—unspoken words hang thick in the air, and it’s almost unbearable.
“well, sunshine,” he says, his voice softer than usual, “i guess I’ll see you on monday?”
you nod, too quickly, almost relieved to escape the pressure of the moment. “yeah, monday.”
you both stand, and as you turn to walk away, you feel his eyes on you. you can’t tell if it’s admiration or something else, but the way he watches you feels different now.
sunday -
sunday passes quietly, but the space between you and haechan feels wider, even though you just saw him the day before. you try not to think about the little moments—the way he looked at you, how close you both were, how much you wanted him to say more. but that’s the problem, isn’t it? you both left so much unsaid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.
he doesn’t text you at all. the silence is deafening. you tell yourself it’s probably a good thing; after all, you don’t need to overanalyze everything, right? but then again, why does it feel so heavy?
you end up spending the day at home, alone with your thoughts. the weekend was supposed to be simple, a break from the usual, but now you can’t shake the feeling that it’s more complicated than that. haechan has always been complicated, but now you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, not sure whether to jump or step back.
session twenty two - monday the 11th
by the time monday rolls around, you’re feeling restless. there’s a shift in your mood. a nervous energy that you can’t shake off, and when you step into school, it feels like you’re waiting for something to happen. you can’t decide if it’s anticipation or dread, but either way, you’re drawn back to the tutoring session.
when haechan finally walks into the classroom, you can’t tell if he’s acting like everything is normal or if he’s pretending. he gives you a short wave, but it’s not his usual playful smile. it’s different now. there’s something more cautious in his movements.
you both settle into your usual rhythm—he’s late, of course, but he’s quieter today. you’re not sure if that’s because of the weekend or if it’s something else entirely.
the session goes well, mostly. it’s like before, in the sense that you both get through the work, but there’s an added tension. he looks at you a little longer than he usually does, his eyes scanning your face as if he’s trying to understand something. the usual teasing is absent today, replaced by a different energy—more subtle, more cautious.
by the end of the session, you can’t help but feel like you’re caught in this strange, unspoken limbo between what you both were and what you might be. you still don’t know where it’s going, but you’re both standing at the edge, unsure whether to jump or wait to see what the next step will be.
—
session twenty three - wednesday the 13th
it’s the final session before the break, and everything feels different. the air feels thicker, charged with something neither of you are saying but both know is there. you both sit at the desk, the tension palpable, but neither of you are focused on the notes in front of you. it’s like the classroom walls are closing in, and neither of you can breathe easily.
you keep glancing over at him, trying to stick to the lesson, but he’s just… there, too close, too present. the words he’s saying are just noise in the background as his eyes flicker over you every time you speak, his gaze heavy, simmering. you know it’s not just the subject anymore. something has shifted.
“you’re not listening,” you say, your voice sharper than you intend.
he looks at you, not surprised, but not unaffected either. “neither are you,” he replies, and there’s something in his voice that’s too calm. too knowing.
you press your lips together, trying to keep your composure. “well, you’re not even trying.”
he smirks, leaning back in his chair slightly. “again, neither are you.”
there’s a challenge in his voice, and it sets something off inside you. something snaps. you stand up more abrupt than you anticipate, trying to collect your thoughts but only feeling more overwhelmed by the space between you two. you feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of the tension, like there’s something about to break, and you don’t know if you want to stop it or let it happen.
you cross your arms, pacing around the small desk, trying to cool the heat you feel flooding your chest.
“why are you so difficult?” you murmur, more to yourself than him.
“because you make it easy,” he says, voice low, leaning forward, his eyes locked on you in a way that makes your knees weak.
he stands up slowly, the movement purposeful, and your heart skips a beat. the space between you is closing, and before you can make sense of what’s happening, he’s there, standing right in front of you.
his hand brushes against yours, and you feel it like a spark, his fingers just grazing yours before he holds your wrist lightly, tugging you closer to him. you can’t move, rooted in place by something deeper than just attraction.
and then he kisses you.
it’s a kiss that’s full of everything you’ve been holding back. the anger, the frustration, the need for something more that you don’t know how to name. it’s messy, urgent, like both of you are desperate to see how far you can go without letting go. your hands find their way to his chest, pushing against him as you kiss him back, just as hungry, just as eager.
you feel his grip on your wrist tighten, pulling you closer as his other hand slides to your waist. the kiss deepens, and the world around you disappears. it’s just you and him, the heat of his lips against yours, the press of his body against yours.
you can’t help but give in, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, your breath coming faster as the intensity builds.
and then, just as suddenly, it breaks.
you pull back, hands trembling, and you stare at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.
you feel guilty.
you glance away, trying to catch your breath, but all you can hear are the voices from the past—the warnings your parents gave you, the things they said about boys like him.
“boys like him are trouble.”
the words echo in your mind like a warning. trouble.
you can’t ignore it. your heart sinks, and a cold wave of uncertainty washes over you. this is trouble.
you step back, trying to create some distance, trying to make sense of it all. “this isn’t… supposed to happen.”
he stays silent for a beat, his expression unreadable. then, quietly, he says, “i don’t want to stop.”
you shake your head, backing away, but you can’t seem to find the words. everything’s spinning in your head. he’s trouble, but you want him.
“haechan,” you whisper, feeling a rush of heat rise to your cheeks, “i—this was a mistake.”
he doesn’t say anything, just watches you as you grab your things, your heart heavy in your chest.
you don’t know how to fix this, don’t know how to untangle the mess you’ve just made of your feelings. you only know that walking away is the only thing you can do right now, even if every step you take feels like it’s pulling you away from him and yet dragging you closer at the same time.
you leave without another word, but as you walk down the hall, your mind is still stuck on him.
this isn’t what i signed up for… but then again, maybe it was.
—
the following night is unusually still, and you lie awake, mind tangled in the events of the past week. your thoughts keep drifting back to him—the kiss, the way he pulled away, and the uncertainty that followed. you toss and turn, trying to shake off the feeling, but it’s like something’s pulling you in. just as you start to think you’re finally starting to calm down, a soft knock at your window breaks through the silence.
your heart jumps in your chest, and for a second, you freeze. there’s no mistaking who it is. haechan.
you rush to the window, heart racing, but you pause for a brief moment to glance at your door—your parents are just down the hall. still, curiosity outweighs caution, and you push the blinds up quietly, barely believing your eyes.
there he is, his silhouette framed against the dim streetlights outside, standing on the roof near your window with that familiar, confident smirk that sends a strange rush through you.
“how’d you get up here?” you whisper after opening the window, your voice shaky, heart still pounding in your ears.
he shrugs as though it’s the most normal thing in the world, but you can’t ignore the way his arm strains as he grips the window sill, his veins flexing beneath the fabric of his shirt. your eyes flicker down to his arms, and for a moment, you forget to breathe, your gaze catching on the way the muscles ripple as he pulls himself up with a small thud.
you wince, then immediately shush him, raising a finger to your lips in an exaggerated, playful gesture. “my parents are gonna hear you!”
he flashes that trademark grin, but it’s softer this time—almost sheepish, like he wasn’t expecting this much resistance. “sorry,” he whispers, giving you a quick, apologetic wink before pulling himself through the window with a bit more flair than necessary. you can feel the heat radiating off him as he steps inside, and for a brief second, you both just stand there in the quiet of the room.
there’s an awkward pause as he dusts himself off, glancing around your room as if trying to find a reason for being here, but then his eyes land on you. his expression softens just a little, that familiar cockiness fading away for a second.
“didn’t mean to sneak up on you, but… figured i’d take a risk. can’t sleep, you know?”
you laugh softly, a little nervously, though you can’t quite explain why. there’s something about him being here, standing in your room in the dead of night, that’s thrilling in a way you’re not ready to admit. “did you…climb the tree?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“yeah,” he grins, his tone light, almost teasing. “it’s not that hard. plus, i thought i’d get your attention somehow.” he shrugs as if this is a totally reasonable thing to do. but when his eyes meet yours, there’s something behind them. something vulnerable, something unspoken.
“you’re crazy,” you mutter, but there’s no malice behind it. instead, your voice is soft, fond. you step back instinctively as he moves toward you, not sure if you want to step away or let him close the gap. you should be more concerned that he was here. if your parents found out, you have no idea what kind of reaction they’d have.
he looks at you for a moment, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s studying every detail. you can feel the tension building between the two of you, and even though you know you should step back again, you stay rooted to the spot. there’s a pull between you that neither of you can ignore.
“i just… couldn’t stop thinking about everything. about you,” he admits, the words coming out quieter than usual. he doesn’t sound like the usual confident haechan; there’s a vulnerability in his voice now, something raw that you’ve never heard before.
you blink, caught off guard. the air feels thick with unspoken words, and for a second, you’re at a loss for how to respond. your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you move a little closer to him.
his eyes widen slightly when you step forward, but he doesn’t move away. instead, he reaches for your hand slowly, almost hesitantly. his fingers brush over yours, the lightest touch that sends a jolt through you. it’s so quiet, so soft, but it feels like the whole world has paused. you glance down at his hand—his fingers are rough, the veins on his arms standing out against his skin.
you look back up at him, meeting his eyes, and he squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a slow, almost intimate motion. there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, a silent acknowledgment of everything that’s been building between you.
“you’re here,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, but it feels like it carries the weight of everything you haven’t been able to say.
he gives a small, lopsided grin, his thumb still moving over your hand. “yeah. i guess i am.”
and then, without another word, he leans in, and this time, when your lips meet, it’s not chaotic. it’s slow, deliberate, like the two of you are finally giving in to something you’ve been avoiding. his hand slides up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.
the kiss is soft at first, tentative, but it deepens as the moments stretch on, his other hand moving to gently to him by your back, pulling you closer. everything else fades away. the hesitation, the uncertainty and you lose yourself in it.
when you finally pull back, both of you are breathing a little heavier, the space between you still charged with the emotions neither of you knew how to express. you glance at the door again, your mind briefly flashing to the consequences of this. but for a moment, you don’t care.
“this is… insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling just slightly.
he leans his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “i know. but i don’t think i can stay away.”
for a moment, you both just stand there, breathless, sharing the same quiet understanding. you’ve crossed a line you never thought you would, and for the first time, you’re not sure what comes next. but you know this: you can’t go back. not now.
—
after that night, everything changes. things between you and haechan aren’t just charged—they’re different. there’s no more pretending that what happened didn’t mean something.
friday the 15th
the next day at school, he’s there—leaning against his locker like usual, surrounded by his close group of friends, but his eyes are on you the second you walk in. it’s not just a glance this time. it’s intentional, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll look at him, if you’ll acknowledge what happened between you the night before.
your heart races, but you force yourself to act normal. your parents had been none the wiser about his late-night visit, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still thinking about it. thinking about him. you take a deep breath and head toward your first class, but just as you pass him, his fingers catch your wrist. it’s subtle, barely a touch, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.
“you’re not gonna ignore me now, are you?” his voice is low, teasing, but there’s something real underneath it.
“not here,” you murmur, pulling your hand away, your face heating up as you disappear into the crowd.
you glance around—people are watching. of course they are. it was unusual for a student like and a student like him to interact. let alone lee haechan and you.
but you can feel his gaze on you for the rest of the day.
after school -
he catches up to you before you can leave, cutting you off near the entrance. “so, sunshine, are we gonna talk about last night? or are you just gonna pretend i didn’t climb a damn tree for you?”
you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “you could’ve fallen.”
“but i didn’t,” he grins, stepping closer, dropping his voice so only you can hear. “what, you worried about me?”
you are, but you won’t admit that. you sigh. “i don’t know what you expect me to say.”
his smirk fades just slightly, a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “say it wasn’t nothing.”
you hesitate, because you can’t say that. you won’t lie. but you also don’t know what this is.
before you can respond, a voice calls your name from behind. one of your classmates. someone who shouldn’t be seeing you with him like this.
“i have to go,” you say quickly, stepping away.
he doesn’t stop you, but as you walk away, you hear him call out, just loud enough for you to hear—
“i’ll see you later, sunshine.”
and you know you will.
saturday night -
you get a text from him.
haechan: come outside
your heart leaps into your throat. you glance at your bedroom door, listening carefully. your parents are still awake. sneaking out has never been something you’ve even considered before, but now…
your fingers hover over your phone.
you: are you insane?
haechan: probably. but i wanna see you.
you hesitate. but only for a second.
and then, for the first time, you take the risk.
—
the door clicks softly behind you as you step onto the porch, the night air brushing cool against your skin. you shiver slightly, but you ignore it, your pulse already picking up when you spot haechan waiting just beyond the porch light’s glow, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
he steps forward as you approach, but then—he stops.
his eyes flicker down, lingering.
you suddenly realize what you’re wearing—silk shorts, the kind with delicate lace at the hem, barely brushing mid-thigh. paired with a thin, loose sweater, it’s nothing that scandalous, but under his gaze, you feel the heat creeping up your neck.
his tongue swipes over his bottom lip before he exhales, tilting his head. “damn, sunshine. if i knew sneaking into your thoughts at night got me this kind of welcome, i would’ve done it sooner.”
you cross your arms, giving him an unimpressed look despite the warmth spreading in your chest. “i wasn’t exactly expecting company.”
he hums, taking another step closer. “yeah? so you just wear this to bed every night?” his voice dips lower, teasing, but there’s something else there.
you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way your stomach tightens. “are you done staring?”
his smirk deepens. “not even close.”
“why are you even here?” you sigh, trying to steer the conversation before you combust under his gaze.
his expression shifts slightly, something more serious flickering beneath the teasing. “couldn’t sleep.” he shrugs, eyes still on you but softer now. “kept thinking about you.”
your breath hitches. you weren’t expecting that.
you hesitate, shifting on your feet. “and what exactly were you thinking about?”
he doesn’t hesitate. “that kiss. both of them.”
you inhale sharply, your heart picking up speed.
he watches you carefully, stepping just close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “tell me i’m the only one who’s been losing sleep over it,” he murmurs. “tell me you don’t think about it too.”
you should brush it off. should laugh, roll your eyes, push him away like you always do.
but you don’t.
“…maybe a little.”
his lips quirk, but it’s not his usual cocky smirk—it’s softer. more real.
“thought so.”
before you can even react, his fingers find yours, brushing over your knuckles before lacing them together. it’s slow, deliberate—like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to pull away.
you don’t.
he exhales a quiet laugh. “you’re in trouble, sunshine.”
you swallow. “why?”
his thumb traces over the back of your hand, and when he looks at you, there’s something almost fond in his eyes.
“’cause now that i’ve got you like this,” he murmurs, “i don’t think i can let go.”
—
you should go back inside. your parents are asleep just down the hall, and this is the kind of thing they warned you about. sneaking out into the night with a boy like him, hand in hand, heart racing in ways it shouldn’t.
but you don’t let go.
“come on,” he says, his grip tightening just slightly, like he’s afraid you might change your mind. “let’s go somewhere.”
“what? where?” you ask, but you’re already following him down the steps, his hand warm against yours.
he smirks, eyes glinting in the dim light. “trust me.”
and for some reason, you do.
—
the night air is crisp, cool against your skin as the two of you walk through the quiet streets. neither of you say much at first, just the soft scuff of your footsteps on the pavement, the occasional flickering of a streetlight overhead. it’s reckless, it’s stupid, but for some reason, it feels right.
he leads you toward a small park a few blocks away, one you haven’t been to in years. it looks different at night—emptier, quieter, like a hidden world that only the two of you know about.
“seriously?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “you dragged me out of bed for a playground?”
haechan grins, tugging you toward the swings. “come on, sunshine. live a little.”
you huff, but you sit anyway, the chains creaking slightly as you lean back. he takes the swing next to yours, feet planted on the ground, arms draped lazily over the chains.
for a moment, neither of you speak. the city hums softly in the distance, a car passing now and then, but here, in this little forgotten space, it feels like you’re in your own world.
then he breaks the silence.
“so,” he says, voice quieter now. “are you gonna tell me why you kissed me back?”
your fingers tighten around the swing’s chains.
you should lie. should brush it off, make a joke, something.
but instead, you glance at him, finding him already watching you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight.
“…i don’t know,” you admit.
he exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “wrong answer, sunshine.”
you frown. “oh? and what’s the right one?”
he leans in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him even in the cool night air. his voice drops, teasing but serious all at once.
“that you can’t get me out of your head, either.”
your breath catches.
you could argue. you could deny it. but instead, you just look at him, your heart pounding, and realize—maybe you don’t want to.
—
the morning after sneaking out with haechan, everything feels different.
your room is the same, the sun filtering through your curtains, casting warm streaks of light across your sheets. your parents are in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and toast drifting down the hall like any other saturday morning. nothing has changed.
except it has.
because your mind won’t stop replaying the night before. his voice, his hands, the way he looked at you under the dim glow of the streetlights, with that same dark eyeliner you’ve grown to like. the way he leaned in just close enough that you thought he might kiss you again but never did. the way your heart had pounded the entire walk back home, fingers still tingling from where he had held them, warm and steady.
and the worst part?
you didn’t want it to end.
you go through the day pretending everything is normal.
you do your chores, respond to messages, attempt to start your homework—but it all feels distant, like your mind is somewhere else entirely. every time your phone lights up, you half expect it to be him. but it never is.
and then, just when you think you might be going crazy, your mom’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“you’ve been distracted all morning.”
you blink, looking up from your untouched notebook at the kitchen table. your parents are sitting across from you, your dad flipping through the newspaper, your mom watching you with knowing eyes.
“i’m fine,” you say quickly, too quickly.
she hums, not convinced. “it’s not about that boy, is it?”
your heart stops. “what?”
your dad turns a page in the newspaper, not looking up. “the one you’ve been tutoring,” he says simply. “you know, the one we told you to be careful around.”
your pulse stutters. “it’s—no, of course not.”
your mom raises an eyebrow. “really? because ever since those sessions started, you’ve been acting a little… different.”
“and now you’re all spaced out,” your dad adds, still not looking up. “not getting a crush on him, are you?”
you scoff, forcing out a laugh that sounds almost believable. “as if.”
your mom exhales, satisfied for now. “good. boys like that, they’re nothing but trouble.”
your chest tightens. they don’t know anything. “so you’ve told me.” you sigh.
but instead of arguing, you just nod, mumbling something about needing to study before quickly escaping back to your room.
and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, your phone finally buzzes.
haechan: you up, sunshine?
you hesitate for half a second, holding back the small tug at your lips before responding.
you: yeah, why?
his reply comes instantly.
haechan: meet me? same spot.
your heart skips. you don’t even hesitate.
you: be there in 10.
—
the air feels heavier, like the wind is carrying something unspoken between you. you spot him before he sees you—leaning against the swing set, hoodie pulled over his head, one hand twisting a silver ring around his finger. he looks lost in thought, gaze fixed on the ground until he hears your footsteps.
his head lifts, and when he sees you, his lips twitch into a smirk—lazy, like he knew you’d come.
“thought maybe you wouldn’t show,” he says, rocking back on his heels.
you cross your arms, standing a few steps away. “why?”
he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “figured maybe you started listening to your parents.”
you raise a brow. “you’re eavesdropping now?”
nah,” he says easily, stepping closer. “just know how people see me.”
you don’t respond. instead, you take a step closer, letting the silence settle between you.
“so,” you say after a beat, “why’d you call me out here?”
he exhales, tilting his head as he watches you. “needed to see you.”
the words come so easily, like he didn’t even have to think about them. like it was the most natural thing in the world.
your pulse stutters, but you keep your expression even. “and now that you have?”
he grins, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between you. “now?” his voice drops lower, eyes flickering over your face. “now i wanna know why you came.”
you swallow. why did you?
you should have ignored his message, should have listened to every warning sign telling you to stay away.
but standing here, heart pounding, heat rolling off him in waves—
you realize you don’t regret a damn thing.
“i wanted to see you too.” you say lowly.
—
after that night, something shifts.
it starts slow—an unspoken understanding, a magnetic pull that neither of you acknowledge but never fight.
one night turns into another. and then another.
sometimes, he climbs through your window just to talk, arms crossed against your windowsill, voice hushed as he tells you about his day. other times, he doesn’t talk at all, just pulls you close and kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.
and maybe you should be afraid too—afraid of how easy it is to let this happen, to want more. but you’re not.
—
you find yourself around him more at school, too.
it’s not obvious, not at first—just stolen glances across the hallway, his shoulder brushing yours when he passes by, the flicker of a smirk when he catches you looking.
but then he starts waiting for you after class, hands stuffed in his pockets, always acting like he just happened to be there. like it wasn’t intentional.
and you let him.
because somehow, being near him feels natural now. even with the tutoring sessions over. he seemed to be doing pretty well in science now anyway.
—
the nights are different. the nights are yours.
sneaking out is reckless, dangerous, a risk you wouldn’t have taken before. but now? now it’s routine.
sometimes, you meet at the park, swinging lazily under the glow of the streetlights. sometimes, he drags you into the city, leading you through neon-lit streets, hands brushing in the dark.
and sometimes—most nights, actually—he’s at your window.
it always starts the same way: a faint rustling, the quiet scrape of sneakers against bark, and then, moments later, his head poking through the window frame with a grin.
“you’ve got to stop leaving this unlocked, sunshine,” he teases, even though you both know you won’t.
and every time, without fail, you roll your eyes, but you don’t stop him when he pulls himself inside, muscles flexing, veins prominent under his skin as he steadies himself.
the first few times, you told yourself this was temporary—just a phase, just him being him.
but then there’s a night where he doesn’t just talk, doesn’t just steal a few kisses before leaving.
there’s a night where he lingers.
where his hands settle on your waist, where he backs you up against your wall, where the air between you is thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.
where he kisses you deeper, hands tracing slow patterns against your skin, like he’s memorizing you.
where you let him.
because at some point, you stopped trying to fight this. stopped trying to pretend you didn’t want it.
because at some point, you stopped caring that he was the kind of boy your parents warned you about.
—
it was one of the nights he had skipped into your room, you greeted him with a smile and things went from there.
his breath is warm against your lips, hands gripping your waist as he backs you into the wall.
he’s been teasing all night—touching you just enough to leave you wanting more, murmuring things in that low, rough voice that made your pulse stutter. but now? now there’s no space left between you, and neither of you are trying to fight it.
his fingers press into your sides, slow and steady, like he’s testing how much you’ll let him take. his lips brush yours once, twice—just enough to make you chase him before he finally kisses you like he means it.
and you let yourself fall into it.
your hands slide into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, tugging just enough to draw a quiet groan from his throat. his body presses closer, chest rising and falling against yours, the heat between you dizzying.
“you’re gonna drive me crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, voice thick, almost strained.
you don’t even get the chance to answer before he kisses you again, harder this time, like he’s losing whatever little patience he had left.
his hands slip under your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers up your spine. and you should stop this, should put some distance between you before it’s too late—
but then his hands tighten on your hips, and you feel the way his heart is racing just as fast as yours, and god—
you don’t want to stop.
“tell me to leave,” he murmurs, lips trailing along your jaw, down to the hollow of your throat.
you swallow hard, tilting your head back as he presses closer, as his hands continue their slow exploration.
“tell me you don’t want this,” he says again, but there’s no teasing in his voice this time—just something raw, something vulnerable, something almost pleading.
and you should. you should.
instead, your grip tightens in his hair, and you whisper back, “i don’t want you to.”
his response is immediate—his hands slide lower, pulling you flush against him, and he groans against your lips like he’s just lost whatever last shred of control he had.
“fuck,” he exhales, forehead resting against yours. “you’re really gonna be the end of me, sunshine.”
but he doesn’t stop.
and neither do you.
—
when you finally pull your mouth from his, his lips are swollen, breath uneven as he leans into you, hands still firm on your waist like he can’t bring himself to let go just yet.
you don’t want him to.
but somewhere between the heat of his touch and the way his body presses against yours, reality creeps back in.
your parents are just down the hall.
he shouldn’t even be here.
“we should stop,” you murmur, though the words barely make it out, still breathless from the way he just kissed you.
he exhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he tilts his head back to look at you. his pupils are blown wide, jaw tight like he’s forcing himself to pull back.
“yeah,” he mutters, voice rough. “yeah, we should.”
but neither of you move.
his thumb brushes against your side, like he’s memorizing the feel of you.
“sunshine,” he says softly, like a warning.
you know you have to let him go.
but when he leans in one last time, mouth hovering just over yours, you don’t stop him.
“just one more?” he murmurs, but it’s a lie.
one more turns into two, then three, then a lingering kiss pressed to the corner of your lips, like he’s reluctant to leave you at all.
but eventually, he does.
he steps back first, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to ground himself, like he’s trying to pull himself together before he does something you’ll both regret.
“guess i should go before i completely fuck this up, huh?” he says, forcing a smirk, but you see the hesitation in his eyes.
you nod, but you don’t trust yourself to say anything.
he moves toward the window, but just before climbing out, he looks back, gaze flickering over you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your fingers are still trembling just slightly.
and then, instead of saying goodbye, he just grins.
“try not to miss me too much,” he teases, but there’s something softer beneath the words. something real.
and with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the night like he was never there at all.
except—he was.
you press your fingers against your lips, as if you can still feel him there, and then, you smile.
it’s embarrassing, the way your stomach flutters, the way your cheeks heat up, the way you actually giggle like some lovesick schoolgirl.
you should not be this giddy over a boy like him.
but you are.
and you couldn’t find it in you to care anymore.
—
it was another saturday night, around 12am, your parents long gone to bed.
his hands are warm against your skin, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer.
you’re not even thinking anymore—just moving, just feeling. stumbling over your own feet as he walks you back, laughing quietly when you almost trip over a pile of books.
“shh,” you whisper, barely suppressing a giggle.
he grins against your lips. “that was you.”
“doesn’t matter,” you breathe, fingers curling into his shirt, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath the fabric. “just be quiet.”
he hums in amusement, hands sliding up your sides, his touch slow, deliberate, testing. “you always tell me what to do, sunshine?”
“someone has to.”
“mm,” he leans in, lips brushing your jaw, hands slipping beneath your shirt, pushing the fabric up just slightly—waiting for permission.
you exhale, whispering a word of approval.
he doesn’t hesitate. he tugs your shirt up, just enough to expose more of your skin—
knock.
the door swings open.
“what are you doing—?”
you freeze.
haechan freezes.
your mom stands in the doorway, eyes locking onto the scene in front of her—haechan’s hands still on you, his hoodie discarded on the floor, your shirt lifted just enough to make it painfully obvious what was happening.
for a second, no one moves.
no one breathes.
haechan is the first to react, stepping back so fast he almost knocks over your chair. he runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to play it cool, like there’s any coming back from this.
you don’t dare turn around.
your heart pounds in your chest, face burning hotter than ever before. this time not with the same heat.
your mom inhales sharply, voice eerily calm.
“downstairs. now.”
the finality in her tone sends a chill down your spine.
haechan glances at you, expression unreadable, but you can’t look at him.
because this time, you’re really in trouble.
—
▸ j.note ; finally releasing this lmao it’s been in the sm basement for quite some time now
──── a tense argument on the drive home from dinner with jaehyun’s colleagues leaves you fuming, but once you step inside, the fight takes on a different kind of tension. but you know exactly how to push his buttons. and he knows exactly how to pull you back in.
✦ husband!jaehyun, dominant jae, flirty flirty flirty, post-argument, reason for argument is kinda dumb, suggestive.
husbandljaehyun drives with his jaw locked, fingers tight around the wheel as you yell beside him.
"you're impossible, jaehyun!" you exclaim, arms crossing as you turn in your seat to glare at him.
"you never listen. i told you—"
he exhales sharply through his nose, grip tightening even more. his jaw is set, the muscles tensing as he keeps his eyes on the road, but you don't miss the way his fingers flex-restraining himself from responding.
"i heard you the first ten times," he mutters, voice sharp.
"then why do you keep doing it?!"
he doesn't answer, just presses harder on the gas. not dangerously-he'd never put you at risk but enough to make his irritation known.
"jaehyun." your voice drops, stern now. "slow down."
his eyes flick to the speedometer, then to you. his grip loosens just a fraction, but he doesn't apologize.
"you don't get to be mad at me," you continue, voice rising again. "you're the one who-" his hand suddenly moves, fingers curling slightly around your thigh, warm even through the fabric of your pants. it's not affectionate like it usually is. it's a warning.
your breath catches.
he keeps his eyes on the road, but his voice is lower this time, quieter, laced with something heavy.
"stop yelling at me when i'm driving."
and just like that, the fight simmers. not gone, but lingering beneath the weight of his words, of his touch. the car is silent again, but now, it thrums with something else. something unresolved. something that'll have to be dealt with when you get home.
—
the silence in the car was thick, surrounded with something neither of you are willing to touch just yet. your pulse was loud in your ears, matching the rhythmic flex and release of jaehyun’s fingers against your thigh. it’s not a soothing touch. it’s a statement. a reminder that he’s still in control, and still burning with the same frustration you are.
you swallow hard, shifting in your seat, but his grip tightens—just enough to keep you still.
the road stretches ahead, dark and endless, streetlights casting fleeting glows over his face. his expression is unreadable, save for the clench of his jaw, the annoyance simmering low in his eyes.
you glance at the speedometer again. he’s slowed down slightly, and not because you told him to. because he chose to. and that realization stirs something restless in you, something that makes your fingers twitch against your lap.
minutes pass. neither of you speak. the weight of the fight lingers, curling around the air like smoke, thick and stifling. but it’s not just anger anymore. it’s something else.
when jaehyun finally pulls into the driveway, he doesn’t move right away. just sits there, fingers still curled around the wheel, exhaling through his nose. his patience is thinning—you can feel it. he’s waiting.
for you to say something. to push him.; but you don’t.
instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt slowly, eyes on him. he watches you from the corner of his eye, sharp and assessing. you know he feels it too—the tension that’s no longer just about the argument.
without a word, he shuts off the engine. the silence was deafening.
then, his hand leaves the wheel and finds your chin. he turns your face toward him with a grip that isn’t forceful, but firm enough that you know better than to look away. his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, slow. measured.
“you done yelling at me?” he asks, voice quiet but still thick with something else.
you don’t answer right away. not because you’re scared, but because you’re testing him. because part of you did want to push, just a little further.
his fingers press in slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he’s waiting.
your lips part, a slow inhale. “that depends,” you murmur.
jaehyun’s eyes flick down—to your mouth, and then back up. a muscle jumps in his jaw.
you don’t know who moves first but you both make your way inside.
the moment the door shuts behind you, jaehyun reaches for your coat. his fingers brush your shoulders, firm but careful as he slides it off. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at you, just folds it over his arm before turning away, walking toward the closet to hang it up.
the silence stretches, thick and heavy.
you stand there for a beat, watching the smooth way he moves—the stiff line of his shoulders, the careful way he places your coat on the hook.
it makes your skin itch.
“that’s it?” you finally say, arms crossing tight over your chest. “you’re just going to shut me up and pretend nothing happened?”
jaehyun exhales through his nose, his back still turned to you. for a second, you think he might ignore you, but then he turns, gaze steady.
“i didn’t shut you up.” his voice is calm. “i told you not to yell at me while i’m driving.”
you let out a short, dry laugh. “same thing.”
his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. instead, he takes a slow step forward, then another, until the space between you feels too small.
“you wanna keep arguing?” he asks, voice quiet but heavy. “because i’m not in the mood to fight with you just to fight.”
you lift your chin, refusing to back down. “oh, so now i’m just looking for a fight?”
his eyes flicker, something dark passing through them. not answering you right away, he watches you with that same unreadable expression he wore all through dinner, the one that made your stomach twist in frustration.
you hate when he gets like this—so in control, so composed, like the argument hasn’t affected him at all.
“don’t do that,” you snap, voice sharp.
jaehyun’s brow lifts slightly. “do what?”
“that. acting like you don’t care.”
“you think I don’t care?” his voice is still quiet, but now there’s something else there. something heavier.
your breath catches, but you don’t let yourself falter. “that’s how it feels when you act like i don’t exist in front of your colleagues.”
jaehyun exhales, running a hand down his face before dragging it through his hair. “i wasn’t ignoring you,” he says, and this time, there’s something raw beneath the evenness of his voice. “i was trying to be professional. i can’t always—” he stops himself, jaw clenching.
you step closer, testing. “you can’t always what?”
he looks at you, eyes dark and searching, and for the first time all night, his restraint slips just a little. his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s holding himself back from touching you, from grabbing you.
the tension between you shifts, no longer just frustration but something else entirely—something neither of you are ready to name.
jaehyun takes a slow breath, his voice lower now when he finally speaks. “go upstairs.”
you blink. “excuse me?”
his gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second before meeting your eyes again, unwavering. “go upstairs,” he repeats, softer this time, but laced with something unmistakable.
a command.
you feel your pulse jump.
and just like that, the argument is no longer the most pressing thing between you.
“the hell i will,” you snap, arms crossing tighter over your chest. “you don’t get to just walk in here and order me around like nothing happened.”
jaehyun exhales, but the way his fingers flex at his sides betrays him. he’s still wound tight, still restraining himself. he looks at you for a beat, eyes dark and unreadable, before shaking his head.
“of course,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “you always have to talk back.”
you take a step closer, defiant. “and you always have to shut down the second i call you out.”
his jaw clenches. then, before you can react, he moves.
not rough, not rushed—but fast enough that you barely register the shift before his hand is on your waist, the other reaching up, fingers skimming along the side of your neck, his palm settling warm against your throat. not pressing, just holding.
your breath catches for what feels like the hundredth time that night.
the air between you heats, heavy with something unresolved, something neither of you want to acknowledge just yet.
brushing his thumb over your jaw, he speaks again.
“you think i don’t care?” he murmurs, repeating your words from earlier, his voice lower now, rougher. his thumb now tracing the rapid pulse at your throat, and his lips press into a tight line—he notices.
your stomach twists, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “you have a funny way of showing it, if you do.”
jaehyun exhales sharply, shaking his head again, but his hand doesn’t move. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough that you feel the weight of it.
“go upstairs,” he says, voice calm but assertive.
you hesitate, just for a second, your pride keeping you grounded.
his hand tightens, just slightly—a reminder, a test.
“don’t make me say it again.”
your breath shudders out of you. the fight still simmers, still lingers between you, but something has shifted. it’s no longer about words.
you don’t say anything.
you just turn and go.
—
the moment you enter your shared room, you pause, heart rate thrumming in your ears. you can hear jaehyun behind you, his steps slow, measured. unrushed.
you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, and something about it keeps you frozen in place.
his hand finds your wrist first, fingers curling just enough to turn you, just enough to make you face him. He’s close again, closer than before, his presence taking up all the space between you.
your breath hitches.
jaehyun studies you, his expression unreadable, but his grip on you tells you everything you need to know.
“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he says, voice low, smooth. not accusing. Just knowing.
your stomach flips. “what?”
his lips twitch, like he sees right through you. hand sliding from your wrist, up your arm, his touch slow, deliberate, until his fingers press into the dip of your waist.
“you push,” he murmurs, his voice dropping, his other hand coming up to brush your jaw. “you test me. you know exactly what you’re doing.”
you shudder, and his fingers tighten—just barely.
“i wasn’t—” you start, but the words tangle in your throat when his thumb skims over your cheekbone, his touch light, teasing.
jaehyun tilts his head slightly, considering. then he leans in, just enough that his next words brush warm against your lips.
“liar.”
your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt without thinking, and jaehyun exhales, shaking his head like you’ve just proven his point.
for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. you feel it. the way his grip on you tightens, the way his breath mingles with yours.
but he doesn’t.
instead, he leans in further, lips grazing the shell of your ear, and murmurs, “still mad at me?”
your stomach twists, and you hate the way heat coils low in your spine, the way your body betrays you even as your pride screams at you to stay angry.
so you do the only thing you can.
you pull away, just enough to meet his gaze.
“yes,” you whisper, but it’s breathless, shaky, and he hears it.
and he smirks.
jaehyun hums, low and knowing. his grip on your waist tightens just slightly—like he’s testing you, waiting for you to push back again.
you should. you should stay mad, should remind him why this all started in the first place. but standing here, pressed against him, his breath warm against your skin, the sharp edges of your anger have dulled into something else entirely.
something tempting.
jaehyun tilts his head, studying you, his fingers flexing against your waist like he’s debating his next move. and then, so slowly it makes your stomach twist, he leans in again, his lips brushing just over the hinge of your jaw.
not quite a kiss.
your breath shallows.
he stays there, close enough that you feel every slow, measured inhale he takes, before murmuring, “you don’t sound mad.”
the words send a fresh wave of frustration through you, but before you can snap at him, his hands shift. one pressing firmer at your waist, the other sliding up your spine, his palm resting warm between your shoulder blades. it’s possessive, grounding, and it makes your skin tingle.
“say it again,” he murmurs, lips brushing the skin just below your ear this time. “tell me how mad you are.”
your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. you should shove him away. you should say something sharp, remind him that he doesn’t get to do this after ignoring you all night.
but you don’t.
instead, your fingers tighten in his shirt, and jaehyun exhales, like he already knew this was coming.
and then, he moves.
one second, you’re standing in the entryway of the room, caught in a push and pull you don’t understand. the next, jaehyun is walking you back, leisurely, until your legs hit the bed.
you gasp slightly, gripping his arms for balance, but he’s steady, already anticipating the movement. his hands never leave you, guiding you down so your back meets the soft, pillowy sheets.
jaehyun hovers over you, one hand braced on the mattress, the other still resting against your waist. his gaze flickers over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the way your breathing changes when his thumb brushes the curve of your hip.
and then he smirks again, just barely.
“still mad?” he asks, softer this time, like he’s giving you one last chance to fight him on this.
and you know if you tell him no, he’ll stop. he’ll get up, he’ll let you go, he won’t push.
but you don’t want him to stop.
so instead, you lift your chin, meeting his gaze, and whisper, “make me forgive you.”
jaehyun exhales sharply, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.
and then, finally—he kisses you.
jaehyun’s lips move with purpose against yours, pressing you back against the mattress, his weight settling over you.
pulling back, his lips hover over yours, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, but he doesn’t kiss you again. not yet.
your hands find his shoulders, then drift lower, gripping the fabric of his buttoned shirt like you need something to hold onto. your heart is racing, your body still humming with the remnants of the fight, with the tension that hasn’t faded but shifted into something else entirely.
jaehyun watches you, his gaze flickering over your face, taking in every shallow breath, every slight movement, every unspoken word.
then, his hand moves again—fingertips tracing down your side, slipping just beneath your dress that had ridden up as he laid you down, skimming over the bare skin of your thigh, slow, teasing.
your body reacts before you can stop it—a small, sharp inhale, the slightest muscle flex. and of course jaehyun notices.
his smirk is barely there, just a slight curve of his lips, but you feel it more than you see it.
his fingers press just a little firmer against your skin, his touch warm, firm.
“forgiven yet?” he murmurs, voice low, smooth, coaxing.
you should say no. you should make him work for it, should remind him of the sharp words exchanged in the car, of the frustration still lingering beneath the surface.
but then his thumb brushes over your the inner part of your thigh, slow, featherlight, and your breath stutters—just enough for him to catch it.
his smirk deepens.
jaehyun dips his head, his lips grazing the side of your throat, the spot just beneath your jaw where he knows you’re most sensitive.
you shiver, goosebumps beginning to form on your skin.
and that’s all he needs.
his voice is quiet, knowing, smug in a way that sends warmth curling low in your stomach.
“thought so.”
his weight pressed just enough against you to keep you right where he wants you. his smirk is still there, subtle but undeniably smug, like he’s already won. like he knows exactly what you’re going to do next.
but he should know by now—you never make things that easy for him.
before he can react, you press both hands to his chest and push, twisting your body just enough to catch him off guard. he grunts softly as he falls back against the mattress, and in the next second, you’re on top of him, legs straddling his waist, palms flat against his chest.
his brows lift, a slow, amused smile creeping onto his face. “oh?” his hands move to settle comfortably on your hips.
you lean in, letting your lips just barely brush against his, close enough that you feel the way his breath hitches. then, as softly as he had whispered it to you earlier, you murmur,
“thought so.”
jaehyun exhales a quiet laugh, his hands gripping at your hips, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver. “cute,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement.
but before you can bask in your small victory, his grip tightens, and with zero effort, he moves.
one second, you’re on top of him, in control. the next, you’re flat on your back again, his body pressing you into the mattress, his smirk now full and satisfied.
he tilts his head, studying you beneath him, his fingers brushing slow, lazy circles against your skin.
“nice try, though,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw.
your pulse flutters, and he notices. of course, he notices.
his smirk deepens.
you huff, pretending to be unimpressed, but when his hands slide a little lower, his touch warm and unfaltering, you know—he’s already won.
──── a tense argument on the drive home from dinner with jaehyun’s colleagues leaves you fuming, but once you step inside, the fight takes on a different kind of tension. but you know exactly how to push his buttons. and he knows exactly how to pull you back in.
✦ husband!jaehyun, dominant jae, flirty flirty flirty, post-argument, reason for argument is kinda dumb, suggestive.
husbandljaehyun drives with his jaw locked, fingers tight around the wheel as you yell beside him.
"you're impossible, jaehyun!" you exclaim, arms crossing as you turn in your seat to glare at him.
"you never listen. i told you—"
he exhales sharply through his nose, grip tightening even more. his jaw is set, the muscles tensing as he keeps his eyes on the road, but you don't miss the way his fingers flex-restraining himself from responding.
"i heard you the first ten times," he mutters, voice sharp.
"then why do you keep doing it?!"
he doesn't answer, just presses harder on the gas. not dangerously-he'd never put you at risk but enough to make his irritation known.
"jaehyun." your voice drops, stern now. "slow down."
his eyes flick to the speedometer, then to you. his grip loosens just a fraction, but he doesn't apologize.
"you don't get to be mad at me," you continue, voice rising again. "you're the one who-" his hand suddenly moves, fingers curling slightly around your thigh, warm even through the fabric of your pants. it's not affectionate like it usually is. it's a warning.
your breath catches.
he keeps his eyes on the road, but his voice is lower this time, quieter, laced with something heavy.
"stop yelling at me when i'm driving."
and just like that, the fight simmers. not gone, but lingering beneath the weight of his words, of his touch. the car is silent again, but now, it thrums with something else. something unresolved. something that'll have to be dealt with when you get home.
—
the silence in the car was thick, surrounded with something neither of you are willing to touch just yet. your pulse was loud in your ears, matching the rhythmic flex and release of jaehyun’s fingers against your thigh. it’s not a soothing touch. it’s a statement. a reminder that he’s still in control, and still burning with the same frustration you are.
you swallow hard, shifting in your seat, but his grip tightens—just enough to keep you still.
the road stretches ahead, dark and endless, streetlights casting fleeting glows over his face. his expression is unreadable, save for the clench of his jaw, the annoyance simmering low in his eyes.
you glance at the speedometer again. he’s slowed down slightly, and not because you told him to. because he chose to. and that realization stirs something restless in you, something that makes your fingers twitch against your lap.
minutes pass. neither of you speak. the weight of the fight lingers, curling around the air like smoke, thick and stifling. but it’s not just anger anymore. it’s something else.
when jaehyun finally pulls into the driveway, he doesn’t move right away. just sits there, fingers still curled around the wheel, exhaling through his nose. his patience is thinning—you can feel it. he’s waiting.
for you to say something. to push him.; but you don’t.
instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt slowly, eyes on him. he watches you from the corner of his eye, sharp and assessing. you know he feels it too—the tension that’s no longer just about the argument.
without a word, he shuts off the engine. the silence was deafening.
then, his hand leaves the wheel and finds your chin. he turns your face toward him with a grip that isn’t forceful, but firm enough that you know better than to look away. his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, slow. measured.
“you done yelling at me?” he asks, voice quiet but still thick with something else.
you don’t answer right away. not because you’re scared, but because you’re testing him. because part of you did want to push, just a little further.
his fingers press in slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he’s waiting.
your lips part, a slow inhale. “that depends,” you murmur.
jaehyun’s eyes flick down—to your mouth, and then back up. a muscle jumps in his jaw.
you don’t know who moves first but you both make your way inside.
the moment the door shuts behind you, jaehyun reaches for your coat. his fingers brush your shoulders, firm but careful as he slides it off. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at you, just folds it over his arm before turning away, walking toward the closet to hang it up.
the silence stretches, thick and heavy.
you stand there for a beat, watching the smooth way he moves—the stiff line of his shoulders, the careful way he places your coat on the hook.
it makes your skin itch.
“that’s it?” you finally say, arms crossing tight over your chest. “you’re just going to shut me up and pretend nothing happened?”
jaehyun exhales through his nose, his back still turned to you. for a second, you think he might ignore you, but then he turns, gaze steady.
“i didn’t shut you up.” his voice is calm. “i told you not to yell at me while i’m driving.”
you let out a short, dry laugh. “same thing.”
his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. instead, he takes a slow step forward, then another, until the space between you feels too small.
“you wanna keep arguing?” he asks, voice quiet but heavy. “because i’m not in the mood to fight with you just to fight.”
you lift your chin, refusing to back down. “oh, so now i’m just looking for a fight?”
his eyes flicker, something dark passing through them. not answering you right away, he watches you with that same unreadable expression he wore all through dinner, the one that made your stomach twist in frustration.
you hate when he gets like this—so in control, so composed, like the argument hasn’t affected him at all.
“don’t do that,” you snap, voice sharp.
jaehyun’s brow lifts slightly. “do what?”
“that. acting like you don’t care.”
“you think I don’t care?” his voice is still quiet, but now there’s something else there. something heavier.
your breath catches, but you don’t let yourself falter. “that’s how it feels when you act like i don’t exist in front of your colleagues.”
jaehyun exhales, running a hand down his face before dragging it through his hair. “i wasn’t ignoring you,” he says, and this time, there’s something raw beneath the evenness of his voice. “i was trying to be professional. i can’t always—” he stops himself, jaw clenching.
you step closer, testing. “you can’t always what?”
he looks at you, eyes dark and searching, and for the first time all night, his restraint slips just a little. his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s holding himself back from touching you, from grabbing you.
the tension between you shifts, no longer just frustration but something else entirely—something neither of you are ready to name.
jaehyun takes a slow breath, his voice lower now when he finally speaks. “go upstairs.”
you blink. “excuse me?”
his gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second before meeting your eyes again, unwavering. “go upstairs,” he repeats, softer this time, but laced with something unmistakable.
a command.
you feel your pulse jump.
and just like that, the argument is no longer the most pressing thing between you.
“the hell i will,” you snap, arms crossing tighter over your chest. “you don’t get to just walk in here and order me around like nothing happened.”
jaehyun exhales, but the way his fingers flex at his sides betrays him. he’s still wound tight, still restraining himself. he looks at you for a beat, eyes dark and unreadable, before shaking his head.
“of course,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “you always have to talk back.”
you take a step closer, defiant. “and you always have to shut down the second i call you out.”
his jaw clenches. then, before you can react, he moves.
not rough, not rushed—but fast enough that you barely register the shift before his hand is on your waist, the other reaching up, fingers skimming along the side of your neck, his palm settling warm against your throat. not pressing, just holding.
your breath catches for what feels like the hundredth time that night.
the air between you heats, heavy with something unresolved, something neither of you want to acknowledge just yet.
brushing his thumb over your jaw, he speaks again.
“you think i don’t care?” he murmurs, repeating your words from earlier, his voice lower now, rougher. his thumb now tracing the rapid pulse at your throat, and his lips press into a tight line—he notices.
your stomach twists, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “you have a funny way of showing it, if you do.”
jaehyun exhales sharply, shaking his head again, but his hand doesn’t move. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough that you feel the weight of it.
“go upstairs,” he says, voice calm but assertive.
you hesitate, just for a second, your pride keeping you grounded.
his hand tightens, just slightly—a reminder, a test.
“don’t make me say it again.”
your breath shudders out of you. the fight still simmers, still lingers between you, but something has shifted. it’s no longer about words.
you don’t say anything.
you just turn and go.
—
the moment you enter your shared room, you pause, heart rate thrumming in your ears. you can hear jaehyun behind you, his steps slow, measured. unrushed.
you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, and something about it keeps you frozen in place.
his hand finds your wrist first, fingers curling just enough to turn you, just enough to make you face him. He’s close again, closer than before, his presence taking up all the space between you.
your breath hitches.
jaehyun studies you, his expression unreadable, but his grip on you tells you everything you need to know.
“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he says, voice low, smooth. not accusing. Just knowing.
your stomach flips. “what?”
his lips twitch, like he sees right through you. hand sliding from your wrist, up your arm, his touch slow, deliberate, until his fingers press into the dip of your waist.
“you push,” he murmurs, his voice dropping, his other hand coming up to brush your jaw. “you test me. you know exactly what you’re doing.”
you shudder, and his fingers tighten—just barely.
“i wasn’t—” you start, but the words tangle in your throat when his thumb skims over your cheekbone, his touch light, teasing.
jaehyun tilts his head slightly, considering. then he leans in, just enough that his next words brush warm against your lips.
“liar.”
your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt without thinking, and jaehyun exhales, shaking his head like you’ve just proven his point.
for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. you feel it. the way his grip on you tightens, the way his breath mingles with yours.
but he doesn’t.
instead, he leans in further, lips grazing the shell of your ear, and murmurs, “still mad at me?”
your stomach twists, and you hate the way heat coils low in your spine, the way your body betrays you even as your pride screams at you to stay angry.
so you do the only thing you can.
you pull away, just enough to meet his gaze.
“yes,” you whisper, but it’s breathless, shaky, and he hears it.
and he smirks.
jaehyun hums, low and knowing. his grip on your waist tightens just slightly—like he’s testing you, waiting for you to push back again.
you should. you should stay mad, should remind him why this all started in the first place. but standing here, pressed against him, his breath warm against your skin, the sharp edges of your anger have dulled into something else entirely.
something tempting.
jaehyun tilts his head, studying you, his fingers flexing against your waist like he’s debating his next move. and then, so slowly it makes your stomach twist, he leans in again, his lips brushing just over the hinge of your jaw.
not quite a kiss.
your breath shallows.
he stays there, close enough that you feel every slow, measured inhale he takes, before murmuring, “you don’t sound mad.”
the words send a fresh wave of frustration through you, but before you can snap at him, his hands shift. one pressing firmer at your waist, the other sliding up your spine, his palm resting warm between your shoulder blades. it’s possessive, grounding, and it makes your skin tingle.
“say it again,” he murmurs, lips brushing the skin just below your ear this time. “tell me how mad you are.”
your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. you should shove him away. you should say something sharp, remind him that he doesn’t get to do this after ignoring you all night.
but you don’t.
instead, your fingers tighten in his shirt, and jaehyun exhales, like he already knew this was coming.
and then, he moves.
one second, you’re standing in the entryway of the room, caught in a push and pull you don’t understand. the next, jaehyun is walking you back, leisurely, until your legs hit the bed.
you gasp slightly, gripping his arms for balance, but he’s steady, already anticipating the movement. his hands never leave you, guiding you down so your back meets the soft, pillowy sheets.
jaehyun hovers over you, one hand braced on the mattress, the other still resting against your waist. his gaze flickers over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the way your breathing changes when his thumb brushes the curve of your hip.
and then he smirks again, just barely.
“still mad?” he asks, softer this time, like he’s giving you one last chance to fight him on this.
and you know if you tell him no, he’ll stop. he’ll get up, he’ll let you go, he won’t push.
but you don’t want him to stop.
so instead, you lift your chin, meeting his gaze, and whisper, “make me forgive you.”
jaehyun exhales sharply, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.
and then, finally—he kisses you.
jaehyun’s lips move with purpose against yours, pressing you back against the mattress, his weight settling over you.
pulling back, his lips hover over yours, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, but he doesn’t kiss you again. not yet.
your hands find his shoulders, then drift lower, gripping the fabric of his buttoned shirt like you need something to hold onto. your heart is racing, your body still humming with the remnants of the fight, with the tension that hasn’t faded but shifted into something else entirely.
jaehyun watches you, his gaze flickering over your face, taking in every shallow breath, every slight movement, every unspoken word.
then, his hand moves again—fingertips tracing down your side, slipping just beneath your dress that had ridden up as he laid you down, skimming over the bare skin of your thigh, slow, teasing.
your body reacts before you can stop it—a small, sharp inhale, the slightest muscle flex. and of course jaehyun notices.
his smirk is barely there, just a slight curve of his lips, but you feel it more than you see it.
his fingers press just a little firmer against your skin, his touch warm, firm.
“forgiven yet?” he murmurs, voice low, smooth, coaxing.
you should say no. you should make him work for it, should remind him of the sharp words exchanged in the car, of the frustration still lingering beneath the surface.
but then his thumb brushes over your the inner part of your thigh, slow, featherlight, and your breath stutters—just enough for him to catch it.
his smirk deepens.
jaehyun dips his head, his lips grazing the side of your throat, the spot just beneath your jaw where he knows you’re most sensitive.
you shiver, goosebumps beginning to form on your skin.
and that’s all he needs.
his voice is quiet, knowing, smug in a way that sends warmth curling low in your stomach.
“thought so.”
his weight pressed just enough against you to keep you right where he wants you. his smirk is still there, subtle but undeniably smug, like he’s already won. like he knows exactly what you’re going to do next.
but he should know by now—you never make things that easy for him.
before he can react, you press both hands to his chest and push, twisting your body just enough to catch him off guard. he grunts softly as he falls back against the mattress, and in the next second, you’re on top of him, legs straddling his waist, palms flat against his chest.
his brows lift, a slow, amused smile creeping onto his face. “oh?” his hands move to settle comfortably on your hips.
you lean in, letting your lips just barely brush against his, close enough that you feel the way his breath hitches. then, as softly as he had whispered it to you earlier, you murmur,
“thought so.”
jaehyun exhales a quiet laugh, his hands gripping at your hips, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver. “cute,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement.
but before you can bask in your small victory, his grip tightens, and with zero effort, he moves.
one second, you’re on top of him, in control. the next, you’re flat on your back again, his body pressing you into the mattress, his smirk now full and satisfied.
he tilts his head, studying you beneath him, his fingers brushing slow, lazy circles against your skin.
“nice try, though,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw.
your pulse flutters, and he notices. of course, he notices.
his smirk deepens.
you huff, pretending to be unimpressed, but when his hands slide a little lower, his touch warm and unfaltering, you know—he’s already won.
