we met in june || choi san ⚽️ THREE - Tomato Sauce?
⚽️ pairing -> physical therapist! (f) reader x injured soccer player! San
⚽️ genre/au -> sports romance, single parent, smut, fluff, angst
⚽️ chapter summary -> San begins his recovery journey at the club's training center, and he starts to feel jealousy bubbling beneath his skin as he sees you with other members of his team. Later that day, a fiasco in his apartment stirs up feelings that you two will never forget--blurring the lines of patient and therapist.
⚽️ series warnings/tags -> 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, secret romance (kind of), single parent/divorcee reader, san is such a good father figure, injury warnings, ACL tear, emotional distress with recovery, breeding kink, bathtub sex, voyeurism, longing, forced proximity
⚽️ chapter warnings -> No serious warnings, profanity, physical therapy/injury setting, kiss scene
⚽️ chapter word count -> 4.1k words
⚽️ series word count -> 13.1k words (and counting)
A/N: If you have trouble reading about injuries and the mental/physical things that follow an injury, please be advised. This is also purely fictional, but the emotional struggle is real. I am writing this story because I am currently going through ACL recovery myself. I just wanted to note this just in case.
Today was the start of something new.
San took a careful step forward with his good leg, using his crutches to propel himself toward the entrance of the training facility. His palms were already sore from gripping the handles so tightly.
In front of him stood the place he'd spent years calling his second home. The place he longed for—ached for.
A place that somehow managed to fill him with both excitement and dread all at once.
He stood outside for another moment, taking a deep breath.
Finally, he pushed himself through the automatic doors.
Immediately, the familiar smell of disinfectant and fresh rubber flooring hit him. Somewhere deeper inside the building, weights clanged together. Music echoed faintly through the hallways. Everything sounded the same—yet, everything felt completely different.
This club was one of the best in the country. The best facilities. The best coaches. The best players. The best staff. He used to walk through these doors carrying a soccer ball under one arm, nodding at teammates as they headed toward training.
Today, well, he looked down at the brace locked around his leg. He was here for his worst nightmare.
His stomach twisted.
He wasn't here to train.
He wasn't here to practice.
Hell, he wasn't even here to work out.
He was here to learn how to walk normally again.
The thought alone made him feel sick.
—
When San finally reached the athletic training center, he paused in the doorway, His eyes slowly scanning the room.
He'd only ever been in here for a quick ankle tape before a match...or a bruised shoulder...or one of the countless little knocks that came with professional soccer—never as an actual patient.
He let out a quiet breath. Guess I'll have to get comfortable, he thought to himself.
"...Great."
"San!" A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"My god, bro!" Wooyoung called from across the room. "How are you feeling?"
San looked over.
Wooyoung sat comfortably on one of the treatment tables near the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, one leg stretched out in front of him while the other bounced lazily off the edge. His ankle was propped up, and judging by the way he looked completely relaxed, today's rehab wasn't nearly as miserable as San's was about to be.
San couldn't help smiling.
"Ah...good." He nodded once. "I'm good."
A lie, a total lie—but he'd gotten pretty good at saying it over the past couple of weeks.
He adjusted himself on his crutches, preparing to make his way over.
Then he saw you.
There you were at the end of Wooyoung’s table, sleeves rolled to your elbows, your hands working carefully around his ankle.
His steps slowed.
You looked...comfortable. Comfortable enough that he almost forgot you were working.
Wooyoung was saying something animatedly, talking with his hands like he always did.
You laughed in an unfamiliar way—not the little smile you'd occasionally given San whenever he made one of his sarcastic comments.
Your shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling.
San realized that he had never seen this version of you before—something in his chest tightened at the sight of you and Wooyoung.
Maybe it was because he spent nearly every day with you for the past two weeks. You helped him shower, forced him to eat, listened to him complain.
Yet somehow...
He'd never made you laugh like that.
His eyebrows pinched together, his face contorting in irritation before he could stop it.
You happened to glance up.
The moment your eyes landed on him, your expression brightened. "There you are." you motioned toward the empty treatment table beside Wooyoung. "Come on over."
San didn't realize how quickly he started moving until he was already halfway across the room. A little too eager.
He mentally cursed himself. Smooth, Smooth.
He carefully lowered himself onto the table beside Wooyoung, gripping the brace straps to lift his leg up manually.
He hissed quietly through his teeth, silencing the pain.
Wooyoung practically melted beneath your hands. "Ohh, That feels so good."
San looked over.
Wooyoung had actually thrown his head back against the table. A little...too dramatically—too sensually, in San's opinion.
"Seriously," he groaned. "Why are you so good at this?" He cracked one eye open to look at you. "Where have you been my whole life, baby?"
You simply smiled, completely unfazed.
Something about the way Wooyoung looked at you suddenly bothered him.
Not because he was flirting—damn, Wooyoung flirted with everyone. Probably anyone who breathed. It wasn't unusual or something super out of the ordinary.
So why...why was it bothering him now?
"I'll be right with you, San," you called over to him.
He nodded absentmindedly. Truthfully...He hadn't heard a word you'd said, his attention stayed fixated on the midfielder next to you.
On the way he leaned just a little closer whenever you spoke. The way he smiled at you. The way he lightly bumped your arm when he laughed. When you finally finished, you gave his shoulder a friendly pat.
"Alright. The soft tissue mobilization should help. If your ankle starts acting up again, come find me or one of the other therapists, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Wooyoung hopped off the table. As he stood, his hand brushed against yours. It couldn't have lasted more than half a second—completely accidental.
Yet, San felt something tighten uncomfortably in his chest.
He didn't like it. Didn't know why.
Just...Didn't like it.
"See you later, dude!" Woo called to San as he slung his gym bag over one shoulder. "Once you're better, drinks are on me."
San forced a smile. "...Sounds good."
He clenched his jaw tightly as he watched him disappear through the doorway. He didn't even realize he'd been staring after him until your voice cut through his thoughts.
"Hey."
He blinked.
You were standing beside him now, chart tucked against your side.
Your eyebrows pinched together. "How are you feeling?"
He looked up at you. He didn’t say anything.
"Everything okay?" You followed his line of sight before looking back at him. "...You know he's gone, right?"
San blinked. "Hm?"
"Wooyoung."
"Oh."
A small smile tugged at your lips. "You looked like you wanted to fight him."
He let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think I'd win right now."
You looked down at his brace. "...Definitely not. Unless you used your brace as a weapon."
He scoffed.
You wheeled the stool over and sat down in front of him. "So..." you began, reaching for the straps of his brace to unlock it. "How are we feeling today?"
He shrugged. "Nervous, I guess." He looked around, running an anxious hand through his dark hair. “Worried I'm not progressing enough.”
You paused for just a second. "I know," you breathed. “But you’re on the right track. Recovery isn't linear.”
As you unlocked the brace, he glanced toward the hallway again.
"...So."
You looked up.
"So?"
"...You work with everybody here?"
You laughed. "I do now."
"You were with Woo."
"I was."
"I thought..." He stopped, hesitant.
"You thought what?"
"...Nothing."
You smiled, enjoying the expression San was making. "I want to know."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought he was your patient."
You smirked. "He was."
"...I thought I was your patient."
Your eyebrows lifted. "You are."
Silence followed your answer, San’s eyebrows furrowing as he bit the bottom of his lip.
"...My main patient." you added. "I was just helping another therapist for a few minutes."
His shoulders relaxed a little. "Oh."
You took a moment to study his expression—he looked relieved to hear what you said, which was confusing, to say the least.
He watched you type something into his chart.
"...Do you like working here?"
You looked up, surprised—and also easily distracted by him. "That's random," you murmured.
His expression was a look of curiosity. "I was just wondering."
You shrugged. "I do. It's different."
"...Different good?"
You shrugged. "I think so. But I do miss my old coworkers."
He smiled, happy to know something about you—but also a deep, confusing feeling took hold of him.
San watched you as you continued to evaluate him, watched you as you walked away to grab something in a cabinet across the room. He looked at you, watched you, as if no one else was in the room.
You pulled up the cords attached to the Russian stimulation unit over beside the treatment table, plugging it into the wall before peeling the backing off the adhesive electrodes.
"Alright," you said, patting his quad. "This part's going to feel weird."
San looked at the machine suspiciously, then back at you, then back to the machine. "...Weird how?"
You pondered, thinking about how to explain it. "Like…an intense grip that forces your thigh to tightly bunch up.” you paused, gently placing the electro pads on him. “It will straighten your knee for you since you can't do it on your own.”
He stared at you, sighing dramatically. "I already don't like it."
"I know." You positioned his leg on a towel roll. "I'm just trying to wake your quad back up."
"I was hoping it'd wake itself up."
You leaned over his leg, one hand steadying his thigh while the other carefully pressed the other pad into place. San stiffened underneath you, suddenly extremely aware of your scent, the lipgloss on your lips, your delicate touch.
San then watched your hands. You had small hands. Strong hands. Hands that somehow managed to hurt him and help him at the same time.
He was uncomfortably nervous under your touch. It made him both excited and terrified. Maybe it was the lack of physicality he’s had for quite some time.
As you smoothed out the pads on his legs, he noticed it.
Your left hand.
No ring.
His eyes lingered for a second longer than they probably should have.
—
You finished adjusting the last electrode before reaching over to switch off the Russian stimulation unit.
"There." You peeled the adhesive pads off his quad carefully. "How'd that feel?"
San looked down at his leg, giving his quad a little flex. "...Strange."
"That's a glowing review."
"I never said it was bad,” he teased.
"I'll take it." You smiled. "Your quad's waking up nicely. That's exactly what we wanted."
"So...good news?"
You smiled at him. "Very good news."
He couldn't help smiling a little as well. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he croaked out hesitantly.
"You'll see me tomorrow,” you laughed, turning toward the door, desperately needing to use the bathroom.
The rehab gym buzzed with activity outside the athletic training room—a few players were scattered around the weight room, music playing quietly through the speakers while one of the strength coaches counted reps across the room.
Wooyoung was standing near the cable machine, resistance band looped around his ankles as he worked through his exercises.
The second he spotted you walking out of the treatment room, he waved dramatically.
"Y/N!"
You sighed before you even reached him. "...What now?"
"I've got a question," he hollered from across the way.
"I don't like the sound of that," you mumbled, watching him drop the resistance band to make his way over to you.
"It's harmless."
You blinked. "So you say."
"So..." He grinned, leaning up against the wall next to him. "Your husband cool with you spending all day hanging around a bunch of professional soccer players?"
You laughed. "I don't have a husband."
"No?"
"No."
"Huh." He frowned dramatically. "Boyfriend?"
"No."
"Fiancé?" His tone was playful.
You shook your head. "Nope."
"So..." He pointed at you again. "You're single?"
"I am."
Wooyoung looked around the room. “So you're saying I have a chance—”
“Woo, leave the poor woman alone,” another trainer called from across the room, probably equally as irritated as you were.
Wooyoung gave you a flirtatious wink before turning back around to what he was doing, his fellow teammates giggling like little kids at the thought of you being available.
—
Back in the treatment room, San sat frozen on the edge of the table.
He hadn't meant to listen, but the entire gym had practically shouted the conversation.
Single.
The word echoed in his head.
He wasn't sure why his shoulders suddenly felt lighter, why he caught himself smiling. But before he could think too hard about it, you walked back into the room, shaking your head.
“Oh!” you raised your eyebrows. “You're still here, I thought you left.”
“I..” he gulped. “I didn't know if I was completely done.”
“My bad,” you sighed, picking up his brace and assisting him. “I went out to go to the bathroom quickly, but Wooyoung got me sidetracked.”
San peered over at you as you gently clipped his brace back on, watching you bite the inside of your cheek, noticing the hair that falls over your face, and again, the lack of a ring on your finger.
Silence settled between the two of you.
San rubbed the back of his neck. "So..."
You raised an eyebrow. "You got a lot of questions today, huh?” You leaned back against the treatment table next to his, folding your arms.
“Is…Jun...”He looked down at the floor for a second before meeting your eyes again. “Never mind, I’m sorry,” he moved to stand up. “Its not important.”
Your expression softened immediately. "What about him?"
He opened his mouth. "...I said," Never mind."
You laughed quietly. "Bring up my kid and then say 'never mind?"
He sighed through his nose. "I was just..." He scratched the back of his neck again. "You know, wondering."
"About?"
"...His dad." The words came out much quieter than he'd intended.
Your smile faded, though not completely.
“See, this is why I said never mind.” San immediately regretted asking. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that. I shouldn't have said anything."
You looked at him for a long moment before letting out a small breath. "No..." you said softly. "It's okay."
You shrugged one shoulder. "People usually wonder. It was never...that kind of relationship, if you know what I mean.”
San stayed quiet.
"He knows Jun exists," you continued, absentmindedly picking at your fingertips. "He just chose not to be involved."
San looked down at his brace. "...I'm sorry."
You offered him a small smile. "Don't be."
You slung your clipboard under your arm.
"I got the better end of the deal."
He looked back up. "What do you mean?"
Your smile grew—this time genuine.
"I got Jun."
—
San had barely made it back to his apartment before every muscle in his body began protesting.
His first real day back at the training center had exhausted him in ways he hadn't expected. His knee throbbed relentlessly beneath the brace, his quad twitched every few seconds thanks to the Russian stim, and the simple act of walking from the elevator to his apartment had somehow felt harder than rehab itself.
He let out a long sigh as he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. "...Food."
That was manageable. Probably.
He opened the refrigerator.
Half a bottle of ketchup. Expired yogurt. A suspicious-looking container of leftovers that definitely should be thrown out as soon as possible.
Luckily, when he crutched over to the pantry, he found a can of tomato sauce and pasta. Believing it was doable, he threw the ingredients underneath one arm, using one crutch to make his way back to the stove.
Twenty minutes later, he was regretting every decision he'd ever made.
Who knew making pasta required this much standing?
He balanced awkwardly on one crutch while stirring the pot with the other hand, trying not to put too much weight through his bad leg. "So far, so good..." he smirked, pleased with himself despite the occasional throb in his leg.
However, the moment of pleasure didn't last. The pot of pasta sauce began to boil over, spilling onto the burner. The sauce burned against the heat, sizzling and spritzing.
He reached to move the pot, but his crutch slipped slightly, balance completely gone. "Oh, fuck—"
The pot clattered loudly against the stove, the wooden spoon flying across the kitchen. The pan of sauce tipped and splattered all over San, the stove, and directly onto the floor.
San stared, pinching the bridge of his nose. "...You've got to be kidding me."
He carefully bent down to grab the spoon.
…Bad idea.
His knee protested immediately. "...Ow, motherfucker.”
He looked around his apartment.
Sauce on the floor…pasta boiling over. One wooden spoon halfway under the cabinet.
“I’m a fucking mess.”
—
You felt exhausted, knowing the minute you hit your couch, you would probably take the longest nap ever.
Tonight, Jun was staying at your parents’ house, leaving you with some alone time other than when you are at work. You couldn't wait to spend your time taking a nap. Maybe you’d pick up a book. Maybe—no, you wanted to nap, for sure.
As you stood in front of your door rooting for your keys that were somehow in your purse but nowhere near your grasp, the thought of that nap abruptly disappeared at the sound of pots clanking down the hall, followed by a string of profanity, and the smell of something burning.
“Is that…San?” you muttered to yourself, feeling slightly hesitant. Was it him, or were you just thinking about him?
You didn't even bother unlocking your own apartment. Instead, you hurried a few steps down the hall, knocking twice against his door.
"San?"
A muffled groan answered you. "...Door's open."
You pushed it open cautiously. The room felt still, but the smell hit you first—burnt tomato sauce…
"...Oh my God." you looked at the scene in front of you. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the room—red sauce streaked across the stovetop. The pot had somehow ended up crooked on the burner, pasta water bubbling over the sides. The wooden spoon sat abandoned beneath the cabinets.
And in the middle of it all...
San.
Tomato sauce covered the front of his black t-shirt, splattered across one shoulder, his forearm, and somehow even his cheek. He stood frozen on his crutches, staring at the disaster like if he looked long enough it might clean itself up.
He slowly looked over at you. "...Hi." he muttered out awkwardly, embarrassed.
You pressed your lips together.
"What?"
"I'm just…” you bit your lip. “I’m trying really hard not to laugh."
His shoulders slumped. "...It's been a day."
The smile slipped from your face. You'd seen that look before—the look of someone who was simply...tired.
Tired of needing help. Tired of everything being harder than it used to be.
You quietly walked past him and reached over to turn off the burner. "You almost set your apartment on fire."
"I was making pasta."
"I see that," you blinked.
"It was…going well."
You glanced around the kitchen. "...At what point?"
San rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet your gaze. "The first thirty seconds, maybe. If that."
You couldn't help but let out a little chuckle at his words—yes, was he standing in the middle of his kitchen covered in sauce? Was he utterly embarrassed? Yes. But something about the scene made your heart race for him.
Without thinking, you reached up. "Hold still," you mumbled, your thumb brushing gently across his cheek, wiping away the streak of tomato sauce.
He froze, whole body stiffening under your touch.
"There."
Neither of you moved.
Your hand lingered for a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes staying on yours. You peered into his irises, dark as night, and saw freckles of browns. He was beautiful.
You cleared your throat first, stepping back. "I'll...uh, I’ll get something to clean this."
You quickly moved away and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter, crouching to wipe up the floor.
A moment later you heard him mutter behind you. "...Seriously?"
You glanced over your shoulder.
He was tugging awkwardly at the hem of his ruined shirt with one hand while trying to keep himself balanced on his crutches. The fabric caught around his shoulders as he tried to take his shirt off. Something deep inside you fluttered, your stomach in knots at his appearance.
Without a second thought, you stepped in front of him. "Can you keep your balance for a second?" you asked him hesitantly, unable to meet his gaze.
"I…think so."
"I need you to let go of the crutch."
He listened to you without hesitation. Carefully, you slipped one arm around his waist to steady him.
His breath caught audibly, and you were certain he could hear your heart beat through your chest.
He was warm. Solid. Strong. You held your breath as you gathered the hem of his shirt, gently moving it upwards over his torso. "Arms up."
He obeyed without a word.
Slowly, you pulled the shirt over his head, careful not to catch it on his shoulders. It snagged for a second—those damn wide, sexy shoulders.
You laughed softly.
"What?" he murmured, eyes wide.
"Your shoulders."
"My...shoulders?"
"The shirt doesn't want to let go."
You finally worked the shirt free, and for just a second...you forgot to move. You'd treated professional athletes before—shirtless wasn't exactly new.
But this...This wasn't the clinic. This wasn't work.
It was just...him.
Standing in his kitchen, hair slightly messy from the shirt, a faint scar peeking along his shoulder, tomato sauce somehow still streaked across his collarbone.
You blinked, forcing yourself back to reality. "I, um..." You grabbed the dish towel from the sink and ran it under warm water. "You've still got sauce."
He looked down. "I missed some?"
"You missed...most of it."
He laughed quietly, but didn't speak. It was as if he had no clue what to say or do.
You stepped closer again, the damp towel sliding gently across his shoulder, his collarbone.
His breathing slowed.
Neither of you spoke. The apartment suddenly felt impossibly quiet. You lifted your gaze, and he was already looking at you.
The towel slipped from your fingers and landed softly on the floor, your bare hand pressing against his chest. You swallowed hard, fighting all the terrible, horny ass thoughts that were spinning through your mind, but it seemed like he had other plans.
His hand came up hesitantly, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind your ear.
His eyes were intoxicating, exhilaration dripping from his expression. Your ears rang with temptation, heat sparking throughout your body. For a second, you were just a woman in a man’s apartment. For a second, you were just…someone who deserved a life of love.
"I..." he murmured, letting out an awkward laugh. He smelled like a mixture of tomato sauce and vanilla, his lips wet from licking them. “Fuck, please forgive me.”
He leaned in, and suddenly, his lips met yours in a soft, hesitant kiss.
Gentle. Questioning. You let your heart choose over your head in the moment, offering a kiss back, your hand finding the back of his head as he kissed you. His lips were soft. Gentle. Obsessive. You felt your body pulse under his touch, his hands finding the small of your back.
The kiss began to get more desperate—his hand gripped the back of your head, his body falling into yours as he lost balance. He left out a breath of air as he parted his lips against yours, and you couldn't help yourself. Your hands ran down his bare, muscular back, his hot breath tickling your face as he stuck his tongue in your mouth. Whole body chills took over as he pushed you into the kitchen counter, your back hitting the granite countertop, his hand gripping your hair.
But the minute you felt his lower half press against you, reality rushed in.
Your eyes widened as you pulled away. "...San."
His expression fell immediately. He hobbled away, shocked at his actions. "I'm…Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry."
"No..."you took two hurried steps backward.
"Y/N—"
You grabbed your bag from the counter, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. "I should go."
"You don't have to—"
He stopped mid sentence as he noticed your frantic movements, grabbing his crutches to steady himself.
You reached the door before looking back one last time. "I'll...see you tomorrow, San." you swallowed hard. “Let’s just…uh, this never happened, okay?”
Then you were gone.
The apartment fell silent again.
San stood in the middle of his disaster in a kitchen, shirtless, surrounded by tomato sauce and paper towels.
After a long moment, he looked down at the mess.
"...Guess the pasta wasn't the biggest disaster tonight."
Your perfect world collapsed when an accidental drunken marriage with a stranger tainted it. As you navigate all the unexpected twists in your life, you started seeing the world in a different spectrum and the stranger seems to be the one showing you how to live life without expectations.
genre: slow burn (?), fluff, accidental marriage
word count: 10.1k
part one - part two - part three - bonus chapter (jwy’s pov)
didn’t expect for this to have this much words so i decided to split them into two parts. lmao. sorry!
Not yet proofread. June 26, 2026
tag list is open! let me know if you’d like to be added!
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Where are you? Can you come faster, please?” Your friend talked through the phone, currently on speaker call.
About twenty minutes ago, you were just chilling in your bed, mindlessly scrolling through your tiktok… And now, you’re getting rushed by your friend to go to a fancy restaurant you’ve never been before. You slipped on the black heels you planned to wear for the night, muttering a faint “shit” when you struggled to do so.
“I’m almost ready to leave!” You shouted, running to the night stand to grab your phone and purse. “Look, it’s not my fault you’re making me get ready at—” You paused, looking at the clock, “—Nine thirty in the evening!”
“I know! I did say sorry earlier, didn’t I? Make sure you arrive at 10, okay? Drive safely!” The call ended before you could whine.
Shoving your phone inside your purse, you made your way towards the front door.
The restaurant was a lot fancier than you thought it would be. It’s so movie-coded, like a restaurant for rich people. Rich rich people. A place that your boyfriend and his family would love for sure. The place was lined with a red carpet, tables designed neatly with red and white roses, and the lighting was dim and sensual— like something big is about to happen.
The people that greet you were suited nicely. Even the female staff dressed so formal that you had to double check your dress. “Am I too under dressed for this?” You had asked your self. Thank God, your black heels with red soles made you look somewhat expensive. It is a birthday gift from your boyfriend afterall. And he never gifted you anything but luxury items.
“This way, madam.”
You caught a glimpse of your parents before everybody else, your brows furrowing in confusion. Your mother was teary eyed, standing next to your father with a proud smile on his face. That’s when you see the full vision of the scene. Your mom, your dad, your best friend smiling ear to ear, your boyfriend’s parents, his sisters, his best friend, and a couple more familiar faces of your circle.
“What? Why is everyone here?" You asked. Your boyfriend’s mom smiled at you just in time for your mother to sniff her tears away. “What?—”
Then you felt it, the chills that run on your back. It almost felt like you were being electrocuted but not in a good kind of way. Someone kissed your temple and a bouquet of flowers came into the view.
“Hi, my love.” You heard your boyfriend whispered in your ear, his hand slipping in your waist. “I missed you.”
“Hi.” You mumbled, feeling his warmth, eyes looking like a deer in head lights. But for some reason, your sweat started getting cold. “This is why you never replied to my message last night.” You breathed. Why is he here? He should be in London right now for his final exam!
“I had to surprise you.” He replied, standing in front of you this time. Your hands gripped the bouquet a little tighter. Red and white roses, even if you had told him a thousand times that you love tulips.
“I thought you won’t be back until September.”
“Well, I couldn’t wait to do this.”
Your eyes widened when your boyfriend kneeled on one knee, pulling out a red velvet box out of his pockets. You saw from your peripheral vision a lot of phones come up—and they’re all pointed at you. And to what your boyfriend is about to do.
“Love, I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time and I know that you’ve been waiting for this, too. We’ve been together for five years, we’ve survived the long distance relationship and all the hardships that passed by. I want to thank you for standing by me and believing in me all this time. I want to thank you for never giving up on us. I know five years was too long, but now… Now, I am here.” Your boyfriend, Minjae, took a wavering breath, “I’ve always wanted to ask you this, but… Will you marry me?”
Your breath hitched but not in a way that you wanted. Your breath hitched because you don’t know the answer. Your mouth was itching to say “No” but when you looked up with all the phones pointed at you, you felt like you had no choice. Your eyes connected to your mother’s, tears falling down her cheeks as if she’s the one getting proposed to. To Minjae’s mom, who were nodding lightly as she wait for your response. And to your best friend, already doing tiny silent claps with her hands, beaming so bright at you.
Everyone waited for your answer that failed to leave your mouth.
“Love?”
Your eyes darted back to your boyfriend. His hands were shaking, the ring blinking under the spot light you both in. Still, you struggle to let out a “Yes” to his proposal.
“So, will you marry me?” Minjae asked again.
This time, your mother wailed. “Oh my god! My lovely daughter!”
Then it slipped past your lips, “Yes?” It was more of a question than an actual answer.
“Yes?” Minjae’s eyes brightened. The crowd behind him erupted in cheers. You saw how his sisters hugged in celebration. Your best friend hugging and jumping in enthusiast with your mom. And your dad— your dad, started wiping his tears away and clapped with every one else.
“Y-Yes.” You stuttered, then held out your hand.
The ring slipped in perfectly. No tugging, not loose. It was almost perfect.
Minjae engulfed you, “Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you.”
You hands instinctively pressed on his back, your chin on his shoulder, “I love you, too.”
In a span of minutes, you were bombarded with congratulatory messages. Everyone is happy. Minjae’s older sister even teased how you didn’t know you were attending your own engagement party. And then one by one, everyone started arriving at the venue. Your college friend that you had not seen for years, your high school study buddy, Minjae’s old soccer team, his coach… Everyone you could think of.
It was all planned so well without you. Your engagement party also became a reunion of all sorts. Families, friends, school mates. Even the high school classmates you were never closed with are present. It’s like Minjae invited everyone under the sun.
The ring glittered under the restaurant lights and you’ve been staring at it. Like if you stared long enough it will disappear and the party will be over. You’ve been smiling for endless photos, accepting all the congratulations, acting like a woman excited for marriage.
But deep inside, you’ve never felt so detached to reality. You felt guilty that every time you close your eyes you want all of these to be just a dream. No one noticed how you hesitate for half a second every time they asked if you can’t wait for the wedding.
It’s cause everyone is too fucking happy. And it kills you how you don’t feel the same.
When the party was over, Minjae told you that he has to go back to London the following day. He kissed you goodbye and told you that he might be busy studying. Minjae didn’t even drop you off at your apartment. He just left with his parents and told you that his sisters, Minji and Minhee, will be sending you recommendations of the venues where he planned both of you to get married.
“I can’t believe Minjae did all of this just to propose to you!” Your mother squealed. “He flew from London to Seoul just to propose! Even though he has an exam in two days!”
“Yeah…” You said, almost a whisper.
“Did you hear what he said earlier? He said that once he’s done with Med School, he’s gonna marry you right away! That’s like, 6 months away, darling!”
“Oh, yeah… I heard him.” You flinched at how close the date was.
“Are you okay?” You mom asked, noticing how you squirm under her gaze.
Before you could answer, your dad jumped in the conversation. “Stop pestering your daughter. She’s probably still overwhelmed.”
“Oh, right.” Your mom pressed a hand on her forehead, giggling. “Well, we’re leaving now, honey. Drive safely, okay?”
Right… you did drive here. Maybe that’s why Minjae didn’t bother because he knows that you have a car with you.
All you remember was the silent night after the chaos, the bright lights of Seoul that never seem to dim and the cold pressing into your skin when you got out of your car after driving for fourty minutes. You did detour a couple of times, trying your best to clear your clouded mind before taking the usual route on the way back home.
When you slipped off your heels, your body dropped on your mattress like your soul was sucked out of you. With one blink of an eye, you didn’t even know how you fell asleep. All you know was letting out the deep breath you’ve been holding since, yet your chest still tightened after doing so.
The sky was dull with no sign of sunshine for the day. The coffee you made in the morning had three shots of espresso. You were the kind of person who wouldn’t even bother pressing two extra shots but if it’s the only way to distract you from what happened the night before, you would’ve made eight more presses.
You were munching on your freshly sliced apples, swiping through the pictures Minjae’s sister sent to you. All of the venue she sent were none of your taste. Most were too extravagant, too much flowers in some, then too beige and white on others. The destination weddings that she sent too were… ugly. You can’t find the most fitting word for it.
I’ll ask mom for some opinion. I did like some of it :)
You pressed the blue arrow to reply to her message. You hated adding the last part but you know that you won’t have any other options other than the ones sent to you anyway.
Okay! Minjae liked all of this. I know you did too!
Was what you read before your phone dimmed and your reflection stared back at you. A groan escaped your lips, still not believing that this is your reality now.
Ding dong
You narrowed your eyes at the door, head tilting.
Ding dong
You blinked. You have no food orders and you’re not expecting any delivery. None of your friends gave you a heads up of coming over so who could be at your door right now?
Ding dong
With a frustrated sigh, you made your way to your front door. When you opened it, you didn’t expect for the security guard to greet you with a smile. “Good morning, Miss.”
“Hi… Good morning. Is something wrong?”
“No, Ma’am. You have a very important mail left at the front desk. It’s government stamped so I brought it up right away.”
Your eyes squinted. He handed you the white envelope and bid his goodbye. You thanked him, closing the door and locking it. You didn’t wait to sit in your living room couch. Once you turn your back, you were already ripping up the seal.
Your eyes widened when the paper unfolded.
CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE
One hand covered your opened mouth, while the other held the paper tightly. Your eyes scanned everything written on the paper. The date, the place, and most importantly the names… Your name.
Your name and… Jung Wooyoung?
Who the fuck is Jung Wooyoung?
You looked at the date again. March 23rd 2025.
You kept mumbling the date like a ritual. “March 23rd, March 23rd, March 23rd… Mar..ch 23… March… FUCK!” You screamed.
It was your best friend’s wedding that happened in Japan. Small bits of details came rushing in and tiny flashbacks start replaying in your mind. You remembered that you were so upset that night because you were the only one without a partner. Minjae promised that he’ll be there but changed his mind last minute. He said something came up and that he won’t be able to fly out anymore.
The reception happened by the beach, it wasn’t too private and the resort were you all got booked was also right next to another private resort. There really was nothing that could separate the whole beach just for your best friend’s wedding anyway. So, naturally, people from the neighboring resort could pass by.
You finally took a seat on your couch, pressing your fingers at the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. Think, think, think… Remember, remember, remember…
Flashes of dark hair passed through your mind. A man with a pretty smile and perfect set of teeth. His eyes were sharp like a siren. But somehow, you also remembered that they were assymetrical. One doe eye and one fox eye. A video played in your mind complimenting how pretty his eyes were.
“Shit!” You slapped your forehead.
His group of friends joined yours. You forgot how and why but you remembered how drunk you were, as well as half of his circle. Someone from his group brought out a paper that night. You’re too intoxicated to register what it was. But you remembered the tall guy, Mingi… Was that his name? You remembered one of his friends brought out a paper that he said he stole from his Japanese friend, who is a lawyer, and called it a Fake Marriage Certificate.
“Sign this if you’d marry the person next to you!” Mingi screamed, steps swaying every time his feet touched the sand. Then, he handed it to Wooyoung— the guy with the siren eyes. You were the person sitting next to him.
In a drunken state, you leaned in to him. “I dare you.” You said, then laughed. Your best friend’s husband laughed along, before the whole circle erupted.
“Hand me a pen, Mingi.”
And just like magic, Mingi pulled out a pen. “Woooo! My friend is getting married tonight!!”
You giggled. Wooyoung, who is obviously much sober than you are and his friends, seemed unfazed by Mingi’s shenanigans. Wooyoung handed the paper back to Mingi.
“Wow, that is your legitimate signature. I am impressed.” He squinted, trying his best to see Wooyoung’s signature under the moon light and camp fire.
“Sign this if you’d marry the person next to you!” Mingi yelled, once again. This time, handing you the paper.
You look at the person next to you— your best friend’s husband who is still in his wedding suit.
“You’re looking at the wrong way, darling.” Mingi teased.
Blinking, you looked at Wooyoung. “You know you’re handsome.” Your voice slurred. “Of course, I’d marry a handsome man. I do hope you have a lot of money, though.” You hiccupped.
The pen slipped through your fingers. “Oops.”
Wooyoung guided your hand to where the underline is. “I can’t spell my name, shit. Oh wait… There!”
“Congratulations! You two are now also married! Happy wedding day to our two couples!”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You bit your lip, hands running up your hair. “What the fuck!”
You weren’t sure how long you’ve been searching on the internet how to get divorced. You’ve searched the whole thing how to get accidentally married and even though you tried to gaslight yourself that it’s impossible to happen in Korea, the truth was there at your table already.
Someone has filed and registered the “fake” marriage certificate in Japan and it probably got notified and recognized here. Someone has done the marriage paperwork and you need to know who it was.
Most importantly, you need to find Jung Wooyoung. Your registered husband on paper and you two need to get divorced immediately.
If your mom finds out about this, she’ll die and you’re not even exaggerating. She might actually collapse and get a heart attack in front of you if you tell her about this. If Minjae finds out, he’ll leave you— he’ll leave you and all of the person that knows about your engagement will be disappointed and betrayed.
If anyone finds out… you’re doomed. Done. Finished. This will be the end of you.
It didn’t take long for you to find all of Wooyoung’s social media. He wasn’t even private in any of it. You even find his work email. Easy peasy. Without double thinking, you grabbed your marriage certicate and run to your room.
With your macbook placed on your lap, your fingers started typing away all the words you needed to say to Wooyoung. You did your best to come off as polite and professional as possible. You didn’t want to scare the guy off and have him run away from you.
“Please, meet me at Aurora Cafe tomorrow at 9AM.” You typed as your closing message. You hit sent and sighed in relief. He seemed to be an easy-going guy and you hoped that he’ll understand your urgency to meet him and help solve your issue.
Three days passed. One cloudy, one rainy, and a sunny day had passed since you sent that message to Wooyoung. You copy-pasted that and send it to all of his other social media and even on his work email. Despite doing all the effort, all you got was—nothing.
Jung Wooyoung never replied to any of your messages. Now here you are pacing back and forth in your room. In a week, you’ll be taste testing in the restaurants Minjae’s parents booked for you. After that, you’ll be choosing which restaurant will serve at your wedding. Though they did tell you that one of those, Vivant, was Minjae’s preferred caterer.
The venue, organizers, suppliers and such were all documented in the past few days by Minji with a little help from your Mom as well. The last text she sent was something along the lines of finding a designer that will make your wedding gown. You replied a plain, “Ok.” before panicking again on how to track down your paper husband.
You scrolled and scrolled on his instagram feed, trying to find a clue on where he could be working. Is he working part-time? Full-time? Corporate? You have no fucking idea and it’s making you want to pull out all your hair.
Then you saw a coffee photo. A cappuccino with a flower design. Clicking on the screen, the tag Aurora Cafe popped up.
Hongjoong-hyung, your art still sucks. But it’s free so it’s okay.
hongjoong: don’t you dare come back here.
seonghwa: lmao
mingi: is that a dick or a rose?
wooyoung: but i work here!
It all clicked. It all made sense now. Before you knew it, you were grabbing your purse on a mission to go to Aurora Cafe and meet your husband.
You can already smell the aroma of roasted coffee beans from the outside. There weren’t that many customers yet, but there were still a decent amount of people. A soft mellow song drifted from the speakers as you pushed the tall glass door. The cafe glowed beneath the strings of fairy lights, understandably so as its the only source of light besides the glass door and front windows. Aurora cafe was tucked between a bookstore and an old flower shop. People could easily miss it if they don’t watch close enough.
There was a guy in the corner, half chatting to a customer and half mopping the floor. He was the first person who saw you walked in.
“Hello! Welcome to Aurora Cafe!” He greeted, then his eyes widened. “Wait, you’re—”
Your head snapped away from the guy holding a mop when you heard a door opened. It was like a natural hunch, as if your body and your mind already knew that it’s the person you’ve been hunting for. And there he is, holding a freshly cleaned pitcher as well as a bag of coffee beans.
Your feet moved forward to the counter as he did. He smiled at you, warmly, changing the atmosphere just for a moment before you remembered what you’re here for.
You slammed the marriage certificate on the marbled countertop. A guy then appeared beside Wooyoung— you didn’t even notice him tending the coffee cups earlier— watching you march towards his friend like you’re about to grind him like their coffee beans.
Wooyoung looked at the paper placed in front of him. Big, bold, capital letters staring back as he read.
CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE
His friend peered over his shoulders as well, gaping at what he has read. “Holy shit!” He exclaimed. “Sorry, not my business.” Then he went back to tending the coffee cups. At least, pretending too. You noticed how his ears were perked up, ready to hear the conversation you’re about to have with Wooyoung.
The guy who was once near the entrance were now mopping the floor suspiciously close to you. Your feet was tapping impatiently, arms now crossed and you wore the best annoyed look you can pull off. Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, acting so clueless about the certificate presented to him.
“We got married.” You said, plainly.
His friend choked, then the cups he’s fixing seemed to collapse and scatter. “Sorry. My hands are extra slippery today.”
“We need to divorce as soon as possible.” You added.
That’s when his mopping friend tumbled over the bucket of water. “Sorry! There was a spot here and I pressed too hard, I think. Don’t worry about me.”
Wooyoung looked back at the document then picked it up. He looked at you, then again at the paper. A smile broke out of his face. “You’re prettier in the sunlight. And sober.”
A cough broke out. At first, you thought it was fake but then his friend seemed to struggle to catch his breath.
“Seonghwa-hyung, are you alright?” Wooyoung asked. So, Seonghwa is the name of the mop guy.
“Good, good. Just choked in my own saliva, that’s all.”
“Hongjoong-hyung, can I clock out early today? I need to talk to my wife.” Wooyoung put an arm over the guy. “Please?”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes but swatted him away. “Go on, then. I expect you to overtime on Friday.”
With that, Wooyoung slipped off his apron, rounded the corner and stood right next to you. “Let’s talk somewhere else.” He was still smiling like an idiot, the complete opposite of your face, “Somewhere without my nosy friends.”
You almost lost your mind. Wooyoung took you to the flower shop, right beside the cafe. He’s still beaming, bubbly like a bottle of champagne. You already concluded that he’s not taking the situation seriously. That you both got accidentally married and that this is a big big issue. A huge problem for the both of you.
You were expecting him to panic but instead, Wooyoung looked amused. He’s like walking on air while you’re walking on a thin ice, ready to break at any moment.
“Jongho-ya. Can I borrow your table for an hour or two?” Wooyoung barged inside. The hanging bells rung, bringing noise to the tranquil place.
You almost punch him.
Jongho, who was busy tying up ribbons, looked up. “Okay… I thought you have work today?” He gawked when you came into the view. “Is that? You’re the girl from—”
“We’re going now.” Wooyoung’s hand slipped in yours as he drag you away.
The both of you were situated at the farthest corner of the shop. Jongho quickly went back to making bouquets. He seemed to be the only friend of his that doesn’t like prying. Maybe…but you don’t know all of his friends yet and you’re not planning on knowing them all.
What you need is to get divorced. And that’s your main and only goal out of this.
“So…” Wooyoung started, with a stupid grin on his face. “You’re my wife.”
Your arms crossed, jaw clenching. “Not for long. We both know that this was an accident. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I don’t know about that. This is the best news I’ve heard in weeks.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I have a boyfriend. I just got engaged a few days ago. I can’t be married.”
Wooyoung’s head tilted. Then his eyes dropped down to your hand. The diamond on your ring finger refracted, catching some of the sunlight filtered through the window. For a second, it looked like Wooyoung finally realized the gravity of the situation, the smile left before the corner of his lips quirked up again.
“Sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” He said.
You groaned, the chair screeching when it pushed back. This man is impossible and you want nothing but to throw a fist on his stupidly handsome looking face. Running a hard hand through your hair, you let out a deep sigh, again.
“I’m serious, I am engaged and my family and his family are already planning the wedding.” You pulled your chair back to its original position. “I’m engaged.” You repeated.
“You’re engaged?” He asked as if he didn't hear it three times in a row.
You closed your eyes and breathed. It’s okay, be nice. He’s just playing with you. “Yes.”
“Why do you look so stressed about it?” Wooyoung asked, leaning forward, arms prepped on the table.
You swore something inside you cracked. Then you immediately became defensive. “Because I got accidentally married to a stranger!” You shrieked.
Wooyoung hummed as he shrugged his shoulders. It was a reasonable answer, you know yourself that it was. However, the guy across from you didn’t look convinced at all.
The two of you sat in silence but with thick tension. You were counting seconds in your head and it has been fourty three seconds since his blank response.
“Fine. I’ll help you.”
You almost jolted out of your seat, then your shoulders finally relaxed.
“After I finish my shift.”
You tensed. “What? I thought you’re not working today because of this?” You asked.
“Nope, change of mind. I want to work again.” Wooyoung’s eye twinkled. His voice lacing with what you could say a ‘teasing’ sound.
“But this is more important!” You tried to reason. He was already getting up from his seat.
“To you.” He said. “See you next door.” Then he walked away.
“Ugh!” You almost threw the chair at him.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa were in the middle of cracking jokes with each other when you and Wooyoung walked back in. Wooyoung went behind the counter as if he didn’t leave for a good hour and like he was just starting his day at the cafe. You slumped on the nearest chair you could place yourself with a scowl on your face.
At least, you brought your phone with you. It’ll be a good distraction while you wait for him finish his shift.
Fifteen minutes in and you’re already too anxious too leave. People are starting to crowd as the sun starts to set far in the horizon. You’ve never met someone so annoying, so unserious, and so infuriating that all you could think of was how to wipe off the smug grin on his face every time he looked at you.
By the time the sun fully set and the lights outside were only of street lights, Seonghwa had moved you to a chair prepped behind the counter with a small folding table. He told you that any moment from now, their regulars would start piling in and they might need to pull more tables and chairs. So, in order to cater those people, he decided to make your own spot behind a working Wooyoung.
A woman customer came in, beaming bright at the barista in front of her— your paper husband.
Must be a regular. You thought.
You lifted your phone higher up to your face than usual. You saw the woman glanced back at you while she ordered. You saw her surprised look, probably shocked why the hell there is a woman behind the counter just scrolling through her phone and not helping.
“Thanks, Youngie.” She said, grabbing her coffee cup a little too close. Her fingers touched with his. “Is that your girlfriend?” She joked, pointing over Wooyoung’s shoulders.
Your phone dropped lower, about to speak and correct the woman.
“Wife, actually.” Wooyoung answered.
You were the one who choked this time.
The lady gasped. “Oh…”
Wooyoung grinned. “Pretty, isn’t she?”
The customer faked a laugh, “So pretty.” Then she settled to a vacant table.
You wished for the floor to swallow you right now. And Wooyoung? Wooyoung was having the time of his life.
You watched him work. Your phone was long dead and was placed back to your purse. With no distraction and source of entertainment, you just watched Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong run the cafe. But your attention always leaned more towards Wooyoung.
Unfortunately, you found out that he’s good with customers—regulars or not. He knew how to greet, what to say, and what would make them want to come back. Even the kids like him. You noticed that he has a stash of lollipops and candies just for them and he never missed a kid from taking home one or a couple.
All the elderly that dropped by knew his name and he was treated like he was their own grandson. Most importantly, Wooyoung remembered everyone’s orders. How? You don’t even know. You’re not one to memorize anything in your life.
But then again, maybe Wooyoung liked this job. No scratch that, he loves this. You can tell that he loves serving people and even though you want to paint him as someone who’s just difficult…he’s actually quite…charming.
Eventually, Wooyoung’s shift ended. He was taking off his apron while you’re already heading towards the door. You were observing the dark wooden ceiling as you wait for him say his goodbye to his boss-friends, Hongjoong and Seonghwa.
“See you tomorrow, Hyung! I promise, I’ll be cleaning up on my next shift!”
“Bye!” Hongjoong waved, the towel he’s holding swaying in the air. “Bye to you, too, wifey!”
Wooyoung chuckled. “Let’s go.”
He told you that he knew someone who works at a law office. Usually, it’s closed around this time but he had already given his friend a heads up. And fortunately, his friends are doing overtime.
“Mingi lives right next to it. He knows the lawyer, too. It’s his Dad’s best bud… or something.” Wooyoung explained.
Wherever he’s heading, you never once felt like you were in danger. Maybe it’s because of what you’ve witnessed earlier at the cafe, and at the same time, Wooyoung didn’t show you anything why he cannot be trusted. And so, you leaned back at the leather seat of his car— which is surprisingly comfortable and clean.
“Do you remember anything that night?” He coaxed, breaking the soundless car drive. His one hand on the steering wheel, while his other elbow rest.
“I don’t remember much. I remember you and that guy, Mingi.” Your lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s the one who handed us that fake marriage certificate.”
“Do you remember anything before that?” He quizzed, turning to you for a quick second, then going back to looking straight ahead.
“No.” You mumbled. “I don’t remember.”
Then a laugh escaped from his mouth. A genuine laugh like he’s rewatching that night in his head. Your brows furrowed, head turning to him.
Wooyoung licked his lips. “You stole our whiskey and drank straight from the bottle.” He chortled. “Then you took one of our glasses and brought it to your friends. The wife—I’m assuming ‘cause she’s wearing a wedding dress— apologized on your behalf then invited us to their camp fire.”
“That’s how you guys ended up with us?”
He nodded. “You cried because your friend got married.”
Rolling your eyes, you huffed. “Duh. She’s my best friend.”
“Then you cried again because you said you’re alone.” Wooyoung added. A playful smirk plastered on his face.
“How do you know that?”
“I was there.” He shrugged. “We were there.”
Your face burned. “God, please. What the hell did I do that night.”
“Oh and… you almost stole my jacket.”
You froze. You thought that you have done every thing embarrassing you could do, turns out you’ve done more. First, crying in front of the strangers you stole whiskey from. Then you went ahead and steal someone’s jacket, too.
“Oh my God, fuck alcohol.” You muttered, pressing your forehead at the console. “Did I return your jacket, at least?”
“Your friend did. I lend it to you when you started complaining about the cold. Then, when it’s time for me and my friends to leave, you keep screaming that I’m stealing your jacket. Really, I’m just trying to get it back. It was expensive.”
“Stop, I don’t want to hear it anymore.” You can feel the heat spreading throughout your body.
“To be fair, I was gonna leave it to you but your friend insisted on returning it.”
“My God…” You shook your head, trying your best not to remember anything from that night. It’s too embarrassing to get reminded of, especially when Wooyoung is right beside you.
Somewhere along the way, you finally had the courage to ask Wooyoung to play the radio or else you might fall asleep. He was humming along the music, sometimes would actually sing out loud if he knows the lyrics of the songs. Another thing you noticed is that Wooyoung has a nice voice. He could actually sing. Honestly speaking, he could be a singer if he wants to.
That would suit him. Pretty voice and pretty face. He’ll be famous in no time. And who knows, you might just buy a ticket front row if that happens.
When the car halted at a red light, Wooyoung sneak a glance at you. His mouth opened, but then decided against it. You picked up how much he was itching to talk.
“What?” You probed.
“Do you love him?” He asked.
“Of course.” You answered, immediately. Too immediately.
Wooyoung simply hummed. He still looked unconvinced yet he didn’t push further. The silence engulfed the both of you, only the melody of a song you’ve never heard easing the mood inside the car.
“My man!” Mingi was towering over Wooyoung when he gave him a hug. “I haven’t seen you since… Ten hours ago.”
You scratched your cheek as you click your tongue. Wooyoung has an interesting kind of friends.
“Yunho and I are working ‘til 11PM, we have endless paper to copy and fax…and mail…and email. And—” Mingi finally noticed you, a few feet away from Wooyoung. “Hi, Miss. Is there anything I can help— Holy shit!” His jaw dropped. “You’re the crying lady at the beach!” You cringed. “You stole my whiskey!”
The pavement suddenly became interesting. Are these artificial stones or concrete? Cobblestones, maybe? Nah. It’s probably asphalt, isn’t it?
“Ow!” You heard a punch. “What was that for?” Mingi whined.
“That’s why we’re here,” Wooyoung seethed. “We need help.”
When the three of you got inside, another guy was there to greet you. Just like any other friend of Wooyoung, he was shocked—actually— horrified to see you in flesh, like he saw a ghost jumped out of a TV. You told them the basics, yours and Wooyoung’s marriage got filed by someone and it got recognized in Korea. Given that the marriage was fake and only a drunken accident, you need to get divorced right away. But Mingi’s boss won’t be back until Tuesday, which is exactly a week from now.
You paced around their office. “We need to find a new lawyer tomorrow. This can’t be delayed for next week! We need to start as soon as possible and tomorrow is the best time.”
Yunho and Mingi watched you, eyes squinting with curiosity.
“It’s gonna give you and Wooyoung more time to plan, prepare all the necessary documents and such.” Yunho said. “Plus, it’s better if it’s Mr. Kim. We promise none of your family or friends will find out— if that’s what you’re worried about.” He assured.
“No, no, no.” You stopped in your tracks. “I’m having a menu tasting next week! And possibly my gown fitting! I won’t have time.”
“Gown fitting?” Mingi looked at Yunho.
“Menu tasting?” Yunho glanced back.
Then their eyes went to Wooyoung, sitting casually on the couch, reading a magazine. “She’s getting married. For real.” He dropped whatever he’s reading back at the glass table.
“WHAT?” The two giants exclaimed. “You’re— You have a fiancé?!”
Their loud voices rung in your ear and you winced. “Yes! That’s why Wooyoung and I need to get divorced ASAP.”
“Well, uh, umm…” Mingi scratched the back of his neck. Yunho, too, did the same.
“We’ll come back on Tuesday.” Wooyoung declared. “It’s almost 10, too. Your phone is dead. And your boyfriend is probably calling you non-stop.”
“We’re not coming back on Tuesday, I’m taking you tomorrow to a different lawyer.”
This time, it’s Wooyoung’s turn to roll his eyes. “We’ll see Mr. Kim on Tuesday. Come on.” You stormed off before Wooyoung could come close to you.“Ya!” He called. The slam of the door was what he got as a response.
Wooyoung glanced back at his friends, Yunho urging him to follow you outside.
“Call us, bro.” Mingi muttered, shooing his friend away.
Wooyoung found you standing beside his parked car, arms crossed and jaw clenched. He swore you could’ve trashed his car if you wanted to. He stood not too close yet not too far. He could almost see steam coming out of you.
“Bring your ID next time, wife.”
Your head snapped to where he was. “Don’t call me that.”
Wooyoung jutted out his lower lip and shrugged. “We’ll see them on Tuesday.”
“There is no Tuesday.”
“Pretty sure there is.” He insisted. “Look, this is your safest option, alright? Unless, you know a lawyer who’s not a family friend of your boyfriend. Or someone, you know for a fact that is not known by his Mom or Dad.”
“I can find one.”
“How confident are you that they don’t know your boyfriend’s family?” Your lips pursed. Wooyoung smiled. “Come on, wife. I’m taking you home.”
For a moment, you stood there, wondering why you suddenly felt like the divorce process is going to be much harder than you initially thought.
The week passed faster than you expected. Wooyoung was right about Minjae calling you non-stop when your phone died last week. Not only were you bombarded with tons of missed calls, his sisters and his mom also left so many messages as if you had ran away to another planet.
Monday - Check Minji and Minhee’s Wedding Gown Recommendations / Send MY Wedding Gown Recommendations + WORK
Tuesday - Meet Wooyoung and Mr. Kim + Meet with the Designer + WORK LEAVE
Wednesday - Menu Tasting (Minji and Minjae’s Mom options) + WORK LEAVE
Thursday - Vivant (booked by Minjae) + WORK LEAVE
Friday - Another Menu Tasting (request by Minhee and Minjae’s Dad) + WORK LEAVE
Saturday - FUCKING REST
Sunday - ???
You looked at your week’s schedule and even though it’s an early morning of Tuesday, your body felt like collapsing already.
“What’s that, darling?” Your mom peeked.
You quickly locked your phone. “Just my schedule for the week.” You faked a smile. “It’s all taste testing and stuff.” You slid your phone inside your pocket. “So, are you leaving now?”
“Yes! Your Dad’s waiting at the grocery store already.” Your mom huffed. “I specifically told him to give me three hours with you here. But look at your Dad already rushing! I’ve been here two hours only!” She waved her hands in the air but picked up her bag, anyway. “This is why I like Minjae, he doesn’t rush you into anything. He’s always respected your time and giving in to what you want!”
Huh.
“Anyway, I have to go. I’ll talk to you again tonight, okay?” Your Mom embraced you. “If ever you need me to go with you tomorrow, just give me a call.”
“Okay, Mom. I will.” She gave you a kiss on the temple and left, leaving you standing in the middle of your living room, sighing a breath of relief.
You waited for a few minutes before heading out as well. Wooyoung told you to go to Aurora Cafe first, then he’ll drive you both to Mr. Kim’s Law Office to finally start the divorce process. For now, you’re both talking on social media— Instagram, to be specific. None of you bothered on getting each other’s numbers yet. You like to think that it’ll be better this way, easy to hide and easy to delete in the future. After all, you and Minjae never exchange any of your social’s passwords. In Minjae’s words, it’s what teenagers do, not adults.
Plus, Minjae does not have social media presence anyway.
By the time you arrived at the Aurora Cafe, Wooyoung was already there. Not in his apron but in a business casual outfit. He sat at the far right corner, lightly tucked, like he knew the possibility of someone you know can walk in at any time. He waved you over and when you got near, you realized that he’s talking to someone over the phone.
He motioned for you to sit down and wait. “Yeah, yeah. I know. That’s already fixed as well, San. Check the folders I left you. I’m gonna be busy this week, okay?”
You took a seat, noticing that the table already has two desserts.
“Uh huh. Yes.” Wooyoung’s eyes trailed on you eyeing the blueberry cheesecake. He pushed the plate closer to you before going back to talking. “I did file a leave. It’s just five days, man. You’re acting like I’ll be out of your life.”
“Fuck off, dude!” You heard.
“I really have to go. My wife is right here already.”
“Wife? Aren’t you going—”
The click of the phone call ending snapped your trance. Your brain short circuited for a moment when you heard the word ‘wife’
Clearing your throat, you grabbed the fork and spoke, “Are you going to keep calling me wife to your friends?”
Wooyoung’s brow raised. “Making it last before it ends.” He pulled the strawberry short cake near him then grinned, “It’s like our group’s little inside joke at this point.”
Of course. Men and their humor.
Surprisingly, Wooyoung was more prepared than you are. He has his documents all organized in a folder and even brought an extra just in case you need one. News flash, you did need it. The lawyer meeting was scheduled in an hour, so while waiting, you sort out your documents as neatly as Wooyoung’s. At least tried to.
Marriage Certificate. Identification cards. Affidavits. Copies and copies of documents you didn’t know existed in the first place. You didn’t even know that you had those kind of things too. Requirements that you didn’t even know long existed in your stack of files at your own office.
“Welcome back!” Mingi smiled. You squirmed under his gaze, remembering how you exploded last week. “Hi, wifey.”
Your brow raised, wanting to fight him but chose to back off.
“Hi.” You greeted.
Yunho guided you and Wooyoung to Mr. Kim’s table. You realized how exposed you are in such a tiny office. Mingi took a seat to what you think is his designated working area and so did Yunho. Your ears burned at the fact that they get to hear everything. Well, they are Mr. Kim’s… assistants? Laiasons? You’re not sure. But they do seem to be the only staff Mr. Kim had.
Wooyoung gave yours and his folder to Mr. Kim. Mr. Kim flipped though the papers simultaneously, checking them for a mere second before going to another. “I need another copy of this.” He mumbled under his breath before calling Yunho to photocopy whatever document he pulled out. Within seconds, Mingi was also up on his feet to do the same on another important paper.
“You’re nervous.” Wooyoung spoke. He sat across from you, barely an inch separating your knees together.
“I’m not.” You denied.
“You’ve been tapping for minutes.”
Your eyes dropped to your bouncing legs. Your fingers tapping over them. “I always do that when I get impatient.” Bringing your hands together, you realized that they’ve turned clammy too. Why is this so nerve wracking? I can’t wait for this to be over. Please.
“Okay.” Mr. Kim started. “Let’s start with something simple.” He said, closing the folders. Yunho and Mingi placed the photo copies on his table before returning back to their seat.
“How long have you two been together?”
Silence.
“…Depends on how you define together, Hyungnim.” Wooyoung answered.
Mr. Kim looked confused for a moment. He looked at you and you let out a deep breath.
“Then how did you two meet?”
You told him the drunken story, Wooyoung filling in the parts where it gets hazy. Your best friend’s wedding, the camp fire, the crying… then comes the stolen whiskey… every detail you can lay out.
You also found out that it was Yunho’s birthday. Wooyoung and his friends were in Japan to celebrate Yunho’s 26th. Wooyoung, who recently got broken up by his College sweetheart, was pulled out from his slump on March 23rd to decompress and unwind. And that’s how the two of your worlds collided.
Mr. Kim blinked. “You’re telling me you two never met before all of this happened?”
“…Yes.” You said, biting your lip.
Mr. Kim then gave you and Wooyoung an assignment. Write timelines of what happened that night and gather the additional documents he requested— one of them being certified copies of your marriage certificate (besides the one that was mailed to you) And most importantly, think about the legal grounds to keep the divorce process going forward.
“Legally speaking, it being a ‘mistake’ is not necessarily enough.” He returned the folders back to your hands. “Divorce and annulments are a lot more intricate than you expected.” Mr. Kim gave you a pointed look.
You were already fidgeting in your seat when you heard that. Wooyoung feeling your frustration, shifted, handing you the toy cactus on Mr. Kim’s table. It has a wacky face on it. You heard Yunho and Mingi stifled a laughter. You looked at Wooyoung, eyes narrowed, in which he just shrugged in return. You can tell that he’s hiding a smile, too.
“So, tell me about your spouse.” Mr. Kim broke the silence.
You both froze. You know nothing about Wooyoung and Wooyoung knows nothing about you. You don’t even know his birthday! You learned Yunho’s birthday before your very own husband! Wooyoung doesn’t know your favorite food. He doesn’t know you enough to learn that part of you yet.
Neither knows each other’s families. You know his friends, that’s it. And they all seem a handful. You’re not sure what he does besides working at the cafe. You don’t know his hobbies or his dreams. Nothing. And you’re sure as hell that Wooyoung thinks the same about you.
“Interesting. Married for one year and three months, yeah?” Mr. Kim sighed. “I’ve handled couples divorcing after twenty years, couples after two months. Never a couple who got married drunk in a different country.”
“We’re not a couple, that’s why.” You muttered.
Before the meeting ended, Mr. Kim had asked a few more questions. They were basic and ordinary. Something every lawyer would naturally ask to understand the clients. You wanted to sink further down Wooyoung’s car seat as you remember that part. You wanted his car to eat you alive and never spit you out.
“Current address?”
“Separate.”
“Did you two ever lived together?”
“Never.”
“Any shared finances?”
“Non-existent.”
“Any children?”
“Nope.” —You remember choking on water that Mingi gave you.
“So, this is accidental marriage. Wife wants a divorce and so does the Husband, am I right?” You nodded. “And since it being a mistake might not be enough, what are the other reasons for this to be done ASAP?”
“I’m getting married.” You answered.
“Ugh!” You pulled your hair. “Why do God give me these battles I never asked for in the first place?” Groaning, you pressed your head at the front console. “I’m not your strongest soldier, Lord.”
Wooyoung got inside the car without witnessing your mini crashout. He had left your documents to Mingi to hide. All you have with you is the new list Mr. Kim gave you. And it’s as if fate really wanted to give you a hard time, Mr. Kim won’t be available again until next Tuesday. Which means another week will pass before you and Wooyoung move to step two.
“Are you heading home or should I drop you off back at the cafe?” Wooyoung asked, starting the ignition.
“I’m meeting with my designer.” You lifted your head up, back pressing to your seat. “Their designer.” You corrected yourself. “Can you drop me off at this place? I can give you gas money.”
Wooyoung scoffed. “Gas money, my ass. I’m heading the same way.” You watched him skillfully pull out from the parking area. He pressed a button and the car got filled with a melody of the top charting songs of the week.
You breathed a sigh of relief when your phone hit your bed. The meeting with the designer went… okay. By the time you get there, the dresses were actually already picked out for you. You had expected it to be first meeting— a brainstorming session of what you want your dress to look like, like the type of cloth you wanted, the embelishments, the veil, etc.
You expected to be able to pull out your phone and show her your dress inspirations but none of those happened.
None of those happened because Minjae’s choice, his sisters’ choice, his mother’s choice were already lined up before you. You just needed to choose what you think compliments you the most so they can fit it in your size.
It’s 9:30 in the evening already, any minute from now, Minjae will be calling you. Sitting down in front of your desk, you hugged a pillow and turned on your Macbook. Like clockwork, you received Minjae’s call at exactly 9:35.
“How did the meeting with your designer go, love?”
“Good. I didn’t know you guys already picked out a dress for me.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Minji has this motif in her mind so we decided to pick out the best dresses that would fit the motif. I forgot to tell you in advance.” Minjae explained.
“Oh…” Your lips pursed. “I hope you tell me about other things regarding the wedding next time.” You said. “So that I don't get surprised, that’s all.”
“But I like surprising you!” Minjae teased.
You frowned. Unamused.
“Fine. I’ll tell you all about it next time.” He said. “Well, that’s all I need to catch you up on for now. I need to go. My professor just send out a new project. I love you!” The other side of the Facetime call ended, leaving you staring at a blank screen.
Wednesday and Thursday weren’t as impressive as you thought it would be and you’re already expecting the following schedules will be the same. You pretty much went to the restaurants Minjae’s family booked for a taste test. You thought it would be your chance to be involved in the wedding planning, but just like the wedding dress, the menu are already chosen as well.
You were there to taste what you think suits your palate the most. But even that seems to have a final decision already as Minjae reminded you how much he loves Vivant’s. They were the most expensive caterer and also offered the most ridiculous wedding food. Crackers and caviar as snack? Who the fuck—
You rubbed the side of your temples. You tried to think of this as the bright side of things. At least, you’re not out there stressing about the wedding while you sort out your divorce with Wooyoung. You like to think that it’s one less stress from everything that is happening with your life.
Does that make you feel a little better inside? Honestly speaking, not really.
You pushed the door open, the familiar ring of bells echoing in your ears. “Hello?” No one was at the counter to greet you.
Jongho, wearing overalls, popped out from the back. He was also wearing gardening gloves, covered in dirt and soil. “Hello… Wife?”
You almost rolled your eyes. “Yeah… The crying lady at the beach, Wooyoung’s wife, wifey... Whatever nickname your friend group have given me. Yes, it’s me.” You mumbled a sarcastic ‘Woohoo!’ under your breath, too.
Jongho snickered. “Well, Excuse me for being dirty. I’m moving some roses to a pot.” He shrugged some of the dirt off his clothes, but all it did was make it worse. You pretended not to see what just happened when Jongho peeked at you. “So, what can I help you with?”
“Uhm…” You played with your foot for a moment, hands hiding behind your back. “Can I… Borrow your table for an hour or two?” You asked.
Jongho chuckled hearing the same question he got from Wooyoung more than a week ago. “Sure, wifey. You can borrow it as long as I’m here.”
Grinning, you bowed your head and thanked him.
He was about to return to potting some plants when Jongho stopped in his tracks. You were in the middle of placing your notebook and macbook on the table. “Does Wooyoung-hyung know that you’re here?”
You looked over your shoulder and shook your head. “We’re meeting again next Tuesday. Plus, he doesn’t really need to know everything.”
Jongho stayed put for a minute then let it go. He went behind a door and disappeared.
You did your business as well. You checked your emails just in case your company has any update for you or sent you something you can help with even though you’re on a work leave. You did specifically stated that you will still be available at any time if ever the company reach out. Filing that work leave was against your will anyway.
After an hour, you had updated everything you needed. You had contacted Vivant to send you variations of their wedding menu as well as asked the designer for your wedding dress update.
We’re meeting with a wedding coordinator next week.
Minji’s message was the first thing you saw when you minimized all of your browser tabs.
Did you see the recommendations I sent you?
You replied.
Yeah, I did. Mom also mentioned this place where—-
You snapped your laptop shut. Are you getting married or they are?
“Jongho-yaaaa.”
“Choi Jongho!”
The bells rang, followed by a bunch of footsteps. Followed by familiar voices you knew well at this point.
“Choi Jongho, our maknae!”
Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, Wooyoung… and two faces you don’t recognize walked in.
Wooyoung was the first one that noticed you in the corner, his head tilting. Yunho noticed you next, eyes widening at your sight. Soon enough, they all saw your figure, seated on Jongho’s special table. Hongjoong and Seonghwa smiled, sneaking glances at each other. Mingi, on the other hand, was the first person who took the seat across from you.
The unfamiliar two were still clueless before Yunho whispered something in their ears. Their jaws almost dropped on the floor, shrieking at the news. You can tell that Yunho had told them that you’re the infamous ‘wife’ of Jung Wooyoung.
“Yah! Choi Jongho! It’s Friday!” Mingi shouted, his eyes diverting to the door that was left ajar. “We were supposed to celebrate Yeosang’s birthday on Monday, remember?”
“We closed the cafe early for this celebration, Jongho! Come out!” Seonghwa was already moving towards the room as he speak.
“It’s his garden room. It’s like—” Mingi’s brows knitted. “It’s… Uh, what do you call that?” You gave him a blank stare.
“It’s a mini greenhouse.” Wooyoung interrupted. “Fits two persons and that’s it. The only people allowed inside are Seonghwa-hyung and Yeosangie.”
“Yunho used to have a greenhouse pass.” Mingi whispered. “Then he stepped on a flower bed. He got kicked out immediately.”
You chuckled at the information. You can definitely picture a curious Yunho inside, probably amazed by Jongho’s plants, then accidentally stepping on a flower bed. You can also picture Jongho’s dissapointed face before kicking out the giant one. You almost laughed at the scenario in your head.
Wooyoung looked over at your smiling face. Your light aura reflecting back at him.
“What made you come here, wifey?” Hongjoong motioned for you to scoot to the other side so he could sit.
You huffed. “It’s been a long day for me. Gown fitting and all. I remembered how peaceful this place was when Wooyoung took me here." You grabbed your laptop towards you when Hongjoong took his seat. “And how silent Jongho was.”
“Wow.” Hongjoong expressed. “Our cafe is right next door where your husband works and you chose to be here?” He put a hand over his heart.
“Your cafe gets chaotic around this time. And Wooyoung’s female regulars might shoot lasers at me if Seonghwa makes me sit behind the counter again.” You said the second line in a joking manner. But given the way all their eyes darted at you, it’s obvious that the joke went over their heads.
Clearing your throat, you forcibly laughed. “There's a joke in what I said, by the way.”
“So…” Yunho trailed. “Where are you going after this? ‘Cause we’re stealing Jongho.” Yunho leaned closer to the table.
“Oh, I need to go to my parent's house. Something along the lines of wedding destinations and venues and… stuff.” Your lips pressed into a thin line.
“That’s too bad. We really thought you could join us.” The guy you haven’t met before pouted. Not that you stared too much and observed too much, but he definitely was the bulkiest of the group. Impressive shoulders and arms… slim waist. Okay, you have to stop.
Blinking, your reply slipped out of your mouth. “Well, I would've loved too. If only I was single as hell and not stressing about what seems to be the wedding of the century.” You didn’t mean for it to sound too bitter, yet it still left an unpleasant taste in your mouth.
The guys looked at each other.
“I’m San, by the way.” His teeth flashed, pushing out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, San.” You shook his hand. Then you turn your attention to the other guy you haven’t had the chance to introduce yourself to. “And you are?”
“Yeosang.” Deep voice. “Nice to meet you, too, wifey.”
“I’m really upset that we’re the last ones to meet you. Yeosang here knew Wooyoung the longest and well, not to brag, but I am Wooyoung’s best friend.” San sulked.
Before you knew it, someone said that they’re all best friends— in which, one person disagreed. Voices over voices erupted in front of you, bantering and no one wanting to hear what the other tried to say. Protests of Mingi being biased to Yunho were yelled out. Someone pointed out Hongjoong and Seonghwa having a soft spot for each other, Wooyoung getting matching tattoos with San, and more.
“My friends get chaotic at the smallest things.” Wooyoung found a spot behind your chair, removing himself from his group’s commotion. “Sorry if it gets overwhelming sometimes.” He apologized.
You gave him a smile. “I actually like watching the chaos like this. My life has always been planned and controlled. Curated. Too perfect, if you will.”
Wooyoung stared longer than usual. Like you opened up a page on him and he's reading every single word. “I think people tend to stress too much trying to get everything right.”
You stared back at him. The chaos in front of you disappearing for a moment.
“The best memories I’ve had usually started because someone messed up.” Wooyoung added.
The group’s fight simmered down, you and Wooyoung stayed oblivious at the fact.
“Ya! Are you spilling secrets about me?” Mingi’s attention turned towards Wooyoung.
Wooyoung scoffed. “What makes you think you're important to our conversation?”
Mingi shoved Wooyoung. You didn’t even realize that he had stood up earlier. “I’ll tell you my favorite quote of mine.” Mingi put an arm over Wooyoung’s shoulders. “Perfect things are lovely to look at but they're usually not the most fun to live for… Live in. Whatever.” He waved his hand in dismissal.
“What he's trying to say is, it’s okay to be imperfect. People are happier when they're not trying hard to be perfect, you know?” Hongjoong stated.
You also almost forgot that he was sitting next to you, too.
synopsis. jay is everything an alpha should be: respectful, mature, impossibly considerate. unfortunately, the omega he falls for at first sight thinks he’s a performative fraud. determined to prove he’s genuinely a good alpha, jay sets out to win over a man-hater (you!) while trying not to lose his mind over your smile, your sharp tongue, and, regrettably—your very distracting chest. oh goddess of the moon, please show him mercy! he swears he’s not a pervert. a spin-off from love me (k)not and mark me yours!
pairing. alpha!jay x omega!female reader
genre(s). omegaverse, rom-com, (one-sided) enemies-to-lovers, love at first sight, light angst, fluff
warnings. jay pervert allegation, reader has above-average boobs, profanity, whole &team are assholes here sorry, ex-boyfriend maki, cheating, gaslighting, reader is a fashion student, enhypen ensemble, jay is a sweetheart, reader is just a complex character please try to understand her, nesting, vulnerability and insecurity, arranged date, not beta read we die like injang, please let me know if i missed anything <3
word count. 16,983 words
note. this is soooo long overdue i'm sorry :( but it's my first ever jay fic though so we cheer! have fun reading and lmk what you think <3
“Peach or cherry?”
Jay is losing his mind and all Jake cares about is whether he prefers ass or boobs.
The frat house is crowded as usual, with people getting drunk and high on whatever substances they prefer in their system. On any other night, Jay would find the scene irritable and annoying.
After all, he always keeps himself in check, always sober and in control of his actions and thoughts, always so, so responsible. He’d prefer watching from the sidelines and being of help for when Riki starts throwing up from too much drinking or when Heeseung sings too loud after his second fill.
Jay is always responsible. He never lets himself on the loose.
But tonight, as the aftermath of his near-fight with Heeseung and him having to rush to the hospital after the burgundy-haired alpha collapsed in his omega’s doorway, despite Jay himself being too shaken to stand, he thinks he’s fine with getting slightly reckless.
Slightly reckless, in this case, is drinking more than the two red cups he usually gets.
“Why are we using fruits to represent anatomy?”
Back to the situation at hand, where he’s sitting on top of a tall stool around the kitchen island, Sunoo is throwing Jake a grimace. Beside him, Riki already has his head bobbing to the music, a telltale sign of a blackout drunk that would usually result in Jay and Sunoo cleaning his mess up. A defeated sigh leaves his lips involuntarily.
Jay downs another shot.
"I don't want to be too explicit," Jake shrugs, like it's the most normal thing to do. "So, peach or cherry?"
Jay knows how this will go.
Riki is an ass guy, judging from the way he likes to slap anyone's butt within his proximity. Jake is both because he's an indecisive little shit who's just too greedy to pick. If pussy was on the options, he'd pick all three.
Sunoo, despite his reckless endeavor with alphas, Jay has never heard him doing anything more than a messy make-out and a blowjob. But he might be an ass guy too, just because he has a juicy fat ass. Heeseung—well, if he was here, anyway—would've said boobs, because Jay knows him a little too well which makes him privy to the former's (previously) sexually active life.
And Jay—he's too respectful to even answer that.
True to his own guess, Riki shakes his head drunkenly from beside an expressionless Sunoo. "My girl is perfect," he says, then grins cheekily. "But I like taking her from the back. Shit, you shouldn't know that."
"We shouldn't, dumbass. Why are you airing out your bedroom activities to us?" Sunoo rolls his eyes, but there's no bite to it. Everybody knows how loose Riki's tongue can get when he's wasted. On any other sober days, he would gate-keep the hell out of his omega. "Anyway, peach."
Jay has guessed almost everything right. He downs another shot.
A shit-eating grin appears on Jake's face. "I knew it, Sunny, you're an ass guy!"
"It's not really a groundbreaking discovery," Sunoo shrugs his shoulders, then turns to Jay. "Jay hyung, what about you?"
Jay is a respectful guy, so there's no way he would ever answer that. He shakes his head, already dizzy from the buzzing alcohol in his system.
"I don't like talking about this."
A chorus of groans echoes around the island. Only Sunoo smiles at him.
"You're no fun, Jjongsaeng," Jake shoves his shoulders playfully. "It's harmless conversation. As for me, I like anything they give me, but I love pussy the most. Which will make me a butterfly guy."
Sunoo lets out a loud groan, while Riki is already giggling. "Are you calling pussy a butterfly? Hyung, please shut the fuck up."
It's ridiculous, really. Jay loves his friends, but they sometimes do questionable things that makes him want to rip his own hair out. If Jungwon was here, he would be up his ass and plot ways to get on his nerves. If Sunghoon was here, well, Jay likes his company the most because he's the calmest and doesn't say controversial shits that could get them cancelled. His friends can be insufferable sometimes, but the most annoying one at this moment is none other than Heeseung.
Thinking about the burgundy-haired alpha just makes his wolf bitter all over again. Seriously, what did he do wrong? Heeseung should've been thanking him instead for keeping his omega dry from the rain. Not taking him down in an almost-fistful physical attack, and definitely not this silent treatment between them that makes their shared apartment smaller than it is, on-edge pheromones suffocating the air.
Jay is pissed. Pissed that they haven't made up yet and pissed at himself for being too kind.
Is he too kind? Should he just let her get soaked in the rain?
He grabs his red cup, ready to feel the alcohol again, and sighs quietly when there's only a drop left inside. Jay is about to stand and refill more booze, but he's stopped by a firm hand on his wrist.
He looks up to a worried Sunoo.
The younger alpha gives him a once-over. He probably looks so red in the face right now, but nobody seems to notice because Jake and Riki are somehow trying to bite each other's heads off arguing about the proper fruit representative for a pussy.
"You're drinking a lot tonight," Sunoo finally says, ever the observant. "Did something happen?"
Everything happened.
Is what Jay wants to say badly.
That near-fight with Heeseung happened. That still-awkward tension between him and Riki's mate happened. That weird glances mated alphas throw at him whenever he's around their omegas happened. That flirty and hopeful stares omegas give him whenever he so as looks their way happened.
And, despite everything, him still not meeting his mate happened.
If anyone should be envious, it's Jay. Not Heeseung. Not Riki.
"Envious of?"
Shit. He said that out loud, didn't he?
He was about to deflect, but now that Sunoo is fixing him with that foxy gaze, glinting with relentless curiosity that won't back down no matter the excuses, Jay knows he has nowhere to go. He looks to his left, where Jake and Riki has reconciled and agree that no fruit matches with a pussy's shape because apparently pussy is too special for fruit comparisons, settling on calling it flower instead, and now have started discussing about how diabolical it is to compare a dick to an eggplant, and sighs.
Jay thinks he needs new friends. Better friends, even. Except Sunoo. And Sunghoon.
"Hyung?"
When Jay's sure that Jake and Riki are too wasted and distracted to eavesdrop, he finally relents.
"I…Sunoo-yah," he swipes a tongue across his bottom lip. "Is there something wrong with me?"
This is why he hates getting drunk. Because his body recognises alcohol as invitation to start talking deep shits and pouring his heart out like an endless stream of river. It's not a bad thing to be vulnerable, but Jay has guarded his heart so tight that only certain people have the privilege to listen to his deepest secrets.
Thankfully, tonight is just his luck. Rather than exposing himself to a stranger, which has been his biggest fear when getting drunk, it's Sunoo who's listening to him attentively. The brown-haired alpha is looking at him softly, amber eyes full of understanding and encouragement, and it makes the tension in his shoulders slowly melt away.
"Why'd you say that?"
Jay is quiet for a moment. Right, why would he? Then he remembers Heeseung and Riki, those omegas and alphas, and, finally—his own wolf.
"Am I too…" he sucks in a breath, not wanting to sound self-absorbed, but it's what he's been hearing from people.
"Am I too much of a green flag?"
Sunoo didn't expect that from him, judging by the micro-surprise in his expression. Maybe he should stop there and let Sunoo reply, but now that he finally lets it out, Jay finds it easy to just continue.
"Is it wrong to be a kind alpha? I think it wasn't, but seeing how anxious and weary alphas can get when I'm being a gentleman to their omegas…" he trails off, hating the fact that it's his best friends' faces that appear on his mind. "I think it's a mistake. I shouldn't be too kind, right?"
There's a muffled silence between them, dampened by the loud bass from the living room and the sharp citrus turning bitter in the air. Jay looks off to the kitchen island, realising that it's now just him and Sunoo in that space; Jake and Riki are now joining the beer pong just getting started in the backyard.
Across from him, a look of understanding crosses Sunoo's face.
"There's no such thing as being too kind, hyung."
"Then why am I being punished for it?" He cuts in sharply. "Why do I feel bad for doing those things to them?"
He still remembers, the day Riki showed up in his apartment, crying because his lifelong crush wanted Jay to help her with her heat. Riki begged him not to agree, and Jay had done so—it didn't feel right to do that, especially when he knows about the younger boy's feelings for his childhood friend. But then Riki changed his mind and convinced him to say yes, because 'I didn't want her to go through it alone in indescribable pain, and I don't want to ruin our friendship if it's not me that she wanted. Please help me, hyung, she's just presented as an omega. It'll be too dangerous for her to do it alone.'
He had agreed out of sympathy for his younger friend, but somehow him agreeing had bloomed jealousy in the alpha's heart. Jay understands—Riki is still too young, and young alphas are the most territorial creatures to walk on this Earth—but it still hurts his feeling to be treated like a Mr. Steal Your Girl, when he has never stolen anything except omegas' hearts unintentionally.
Riki had apologised and admitted to his immaturity, but still, it wasn't enough to erase weeks of awkward silences and clipped conversations over a single apology. His omega has been extra cautious around Jay, and it always makes him sore to hold back from being himself around her. Or around any taken omegas, for the record.
So, really, he'd appreciate it a lot if Sunoo could just be honest with him and tell him, 'Yes, hyung, you're too kind for your own good,' instead of sugarcoating it.
But of course Sunoo would say the opposite.
"The ones who did that to you aren't the people you helped, right?" Sunoo says, smooth voice weaving through the music like it's meant to find Jay no matter the noise. "It's always the jealous alphas. But I'm sure those omegas were thankful for you for helping them. You're not being punished, hyung. You're just too good that you kinda intimidated these alphas into thinking that their mates would run to you the second they look away."
Jay doesn't know what to say to that. Sunoo always has this way of charming people with his words, the kind that can convince a criminal that they're a saint with that lilt in his voice that only he has. He's not sure if Sunoo really means it, or if it's the truth as it is.
The younger alpha sees right through him. "You're doubting me."
"No! No, I'm just—" Jay pauses, hating the fact that he is indeed doubting his friend's words, and decides to just be honest. "Okay—yeah. You're right. It's hard to believe you."
Sunoo hums, not the slightest offended. He leans forward, turning his head to watch the ongoing beer pong, seen through the transparent sliding door. Jay follows his line of sight, and feels his chest tighten when he sees Riki making out with his omega.
It's the familiar ache that he felt when he saw the mating mark on Riki's neck. The same longing he feels whenever his mated teammates talk about their fulfilled love life. It's like a circle of bubble that Jay doesn't dare burst, being the only one outside of a room full of people who have found the meaning of love.
I wish I could have that too.
Sunoo catches him before he could mask his scent. He throws Jay an expressionless look. For a moment, Jay prepares himself for a 'Gotcha!' comment from him, but the younger alpha only gives him a close-lipped smile.
"Ah, hyung. I should've known. You want a mate, don't you?"
"I don't," Jay is quick to deny, but upon seeing the knowing glint in Sunoo's eyes, he realises there's no point in denying. He sighs for the umpteenth time that night.
"Yes, I do. But it's not as easy as you might think."
"Why? I'm pretty sure there are many omegas who'd throw themselves at you."
"But I can't because I…" Jay licks his lips, "I don't find anyone I like enough yet."
Sunoo doesn't say anything for a long, stretched moment. Jay almost squirms under his dissecting eyes. It feels as though Sunoo is picking him apart by his gaze and his scent alone, seeing parts of himself that he wouldn't show bare. It's unnerving yet weirdly comforting at the same time, having someone who can see right through him despite the walls he built.
"Hyung, everything about this gentleman persona and you wanting a mate—there's only one thing I can say."
Jay swallows thickly, mind sobering up with each passing second. "What?"
"You are with this kindness not without a purpose," Sunoo says calmly, like he hasn't just dropped the most riddled sentence that sounds too Shakespeare-ish to Jay's drunken mind.
"Huh?"
"I'm saying, there is someone out there who needs your kindness, hyung. Your patience. Your heart," Sunoo flashes him a small smile, sincere and genuine. "You'll meet them someday. And when you do, you'll understand why you are the way you are. You are never too much for someone who's meant to hold you."
Jay hears him, truly, but that promise sounds so distant and far away. Like a reality he's witnessesing from a different universe, through a portal of lifelong waiting and yearning. He wants to believe it, wants to hold onto every syllable and let it be his new faith, but the deepest, ugly part of him doesn't believe he belongs to that kind of destiny.
He doesn't say anything. Not that he has the chance to when the smell of burning chocolate greets his senses and soon, an upset Jungwon is already filling up the space with his broad shoulders and moody pheromones.
A black leather jacket, zipped up to his chin, hugs his body, highlighting his wide figure under the kitchen light, paired with leather pants. Jungwon's hair is messy, untamed around the frame of his eyes, and Jay knows why when he sees the helmet in his arm.
"Hyung, be honest. Do I look too baby-faced?" The alpha pouts, gesturing at his body. "Even after wearing this whole gear? I even rode my precious bike to see her!"
Jay doesn't have to stay to know that Jungwon's whining about the older omega he has a crush on, someone that used to babysit him when he was 10 years old and is now still treating him like a baby. He would've stayed to listen and comfort the younger alpha, really, but unfortunately for Jungwon, Jay also needs some comfort for himself before he loses his fucking mind.
He grabs his red cup and stands up, needing the alcohol to be in his system now more than anything. The other two alphas don't notice him leaving, and if they do, Jay's sure Sunoo's more interested to hear about Jungwon's failing love life than his already-doomed one.
Jay makes his way through the crowd, giving polite smiles to everyone in his way. He's not really a fan of this kind of crowd—it's more of Heeseung's and Riki's crowd—but it's the least of his concerns now. The alpha squeezes past dancing omegas whose stares linger, past a group of alphas who give him a nod of acknowledgement, past a pair of lovers making out on the wall.
That makes him falter.
Jay blames it on the alcohol. Really, he's usually not like this. It's actually easier to act like not having a mate among friends who are already mated doesn't affect him when his thoughts are more coherent and making sense. But right now, as he watches the couple giggling at each other, lips in ears and soft eyes looking into soft eyes, a pinch of envy twists in his chest.
Jay huffs, leaving the scene faster than he'd like to admit. Seriously, if he was so good and kind like everybody had said, if he's the picture-perfect alpha like every family member had boasted about, then why is it only him alone with no one to hold? Why is it always him who's cleaning after everybody's mess when he only watches on the sidelines as they get their happy ending? Why is it that people who run from love are more favoured than someone who's always been ready like him?
What about him? What about his happy ending?
After what felt like hours, Jay finally finds his booze. Jake has an eccentric preference of placing the booth all over the frat house, and the one in the kitchen has long ran out. He's standing at the booth by the stairs right now, the majority of them still untouched. Jay pours into his cup full to the brim. His senses are already tingling with the thoughts of drinking more.
When the alcohol buzzes through his system, Jay lets out a satisfied sigh. God, he's so carefree tonight. But whatever, he's pretty sure Sunoo can drive them home safely. Right now, Jay's focus is only on making himself feel better and forget whatever ruckus that has unfolded the past few weeks.
He pours more when his cup empties. From where he's standing, the bass doesn't really reach him, a bit distant from the speaker now blasting Miley Cyrus' Party In The U.S.A.. It makes the conversation around him sounds clearer in his ears. Including the ones coming from upstairs.
Jay pays them no mind. He's not here for gossips or shits and giggles—he's here to cool off. But when something sweet, something that reminds him of his mom's berry strudels and morning coffee drifts into his nose, Jay's senses sharpen.
Is someone baking? He wonders alone. The last time he left the kitchen, there were only Sunoo and Jungwon. As far as he remembers, neither could touch the oven without risking an explosion.
So where does this sweet scent come from?
It gets sweeter the more he spends his focus on it. Jay looks around, mind still buzzing, unable to find the source of the scent that has piqued his interest through the haziness. His nose twitches. Even in his drunken state, Jay can't help but notice how constrasting the scent is to his sharp citrus.
And for some reason, his wolf likes it.
"Is it from the stairs?" he mumbles, stumbling to the foot of the stairs, drink sloshing in his cup.
But just as he's about to look up, he's already colliding into a soft body coming down from upstairs.
"Ah!"
Oh no.
Jay watches in horror as the drink in his hand spills all over the person's shirt, staining the white fabric with yellowish mark that almost looks like someone's piss. He freezes, mouth gaping in surprise, but the only thing his hazy mind picks up is 'Yes, he's finally found where the scent comes from.'
It's from the victim of his booze.
Or rather, the furious omega who's looking down at him with a sneer on her face right now.
"Hey!" You yell, face burning red. "Look at what you did!"
Oh, Jay is definitely looking. For some reason, his eyes are glued to your face, taking in every feature decorating your sweet face. The perfectly sculpted brows that are now frowning deep, the round eyes that are narrowing down at him, the full lips that are pulled into a tight, dissatisfied line.
Such an angry omega. But also the most beautiful he's ever laid his eyes on.
"Hey, stupid alpha. I'm talking to you!"
Jay has never seen you before. Who are you? Why are you making his heart beat so fast? Why is his wolf wiggling his tail at the sight of you?
"Oh my fucking God. So fucking annoying."
Even when you're glaring at him, under the dim light of Jake's frat house, you look very, very pretty. Are you even real, or just a drunken manifestation of his desperation for a mate?
Jay's too starstruck and drunk to notice how dumb he must look right now, but you've had enough of the alpha gaping at you like a dying fish. You shake his shoulders, manicured nails digging into his shirt.
"Earth to dumbass alpha! Hello??? You just spilled your drink all over my Limited Edition Cherry Chanel Baby Tee!"
Oh, right. Jay snaps out of his reverie, and drops his eyes on your chest to see the damage he's done.
But instead of realising his mistake, he's realising something else instead.
The wet patch darkens your shirt from its usual shade, sticking to your chest like second skin. From where he's standing so close, just a step below you on the stairs, his eyes level with your chest, Jay has a belated realisation that you have such perfect…boobs.
They're slightly bigger than average, perfectly-shaped and round, and they sit so nicely that Jay feels like they'd beat his expensive pillows in softness. A thought, a small thought that sober-Jay would never have, crosses his mind.
Jay wants to bury his face in your chest to test it.
Oh my God. This is bad. Drunk-Jay is so, so bad. He's really malfunctioning tonight.
You, on the other hand, are already at your wits' ends. It doesn't help that the shirt feels so sticky, so uncomfortable and it irritates you to the core. Also, why the fuck is this stupid alpha staring at your chest like—like he wants to touch it?
"Hey!" you push his shoulder again, but the alpha doesn't budge. You grit your teeth. "My eyes are up here, dumbass!"
Jay breathes out. "Che…rry."
Your brows furrow in confusion.
"What?"
"Cherry." Jay repeats, eyes never leaving your chest. His mind is dissolving into mixed up conversations—he can hear Jake's voice, your voice, and the bass mixing together.
"I prefer…cherry."
There is a heavy silence that follows, loaded with bubbling anger, drunk confusion, and a very, very horrific realisation that he's talking about your chest. Your mouth falls open.
With a handsome face and neat shirt like that, you can't believe that this alpha is such a fucking pervert!
"Yah! Are you crazy?! What cherry?!" You scream, attracting more attention on the two of you. Jay barely blinks. "Are you talking about—about my boobs?!"
Jay blinks blearily, then nods.
"Your…cherry."
You let out a scandalised gasp. Humiliation starts creeping up your face, painting your skin even redder than before.
This is ridiculous. This is diabolical! The audacity of this alpha—!
Before you know it, your hand already swipes across his cheek in a surprised, harsh slap. Jay's head jerks to the side, his own eyes growing wide at the impact. A ringing silence echoes between the two of you, followed by a chorus of gasps from the onlookers.
After literally getting slapped into his senses, Jay sobers up in that one single moment and realises with a dread, What the fuck did he just do?
He slowly looks back at you, touching his stinging cheek like you had personally offended his whole bloodline. You're glaring at him, chest heaving rapidly like you can't contain your anger any longer.
"You fucking pervert!"
Jay's breath hitches. He's a pervert?
"Get away from me!"
The alpha lets his body get shoved to the side like a door blocking the way. He stands there, motionless, as he watches you leave, angry steps making your hair bounce. Shame and guilt start crawling up his chest when his mind decides to replay the scene, realising in horror how out of character he had been and how rude he was to you.
Oh God. Oh my God.
Seriously, Park Jongseong? Cherry? That's the first thing you say to the literal love of your life?
"Isn't that Park Jongseong?"
"Oh my God, I thought he was a green flag?"
"I guess even a green flag still has a knot to satisfy."
"Park Jongseong is a pervert?"
Jay squeezes his eyes shut and runs a hand down his face. He doesn't really care about his reputation, so the whispers barely bother him.
What he cares more is the lingering scent of acidic espresso and rotting cherries in the air, trailing after you even when you're long gone. His cheek still burns, but he couldn't care less because—you know…he kind of deserved it.
Fuck.
And Jay doesn't even know your name.
"All alphas are nothing but a knothead!"
You spit, seething in anger as you glare at anyone in your way. Not even the loud music can muffle your voice, sending death threats and insults to a certain alpha (and literally all other alphas.)
Maybe it's just your bad day, because just as you finally see your exit, an alpha—stupidly broad-shouldered alpha, fuck alphas and their ridiculous proportions—bumps into you. You click your tongue and look up at him.
"Why do you guys stupid alphas only think with your dick, your cock, and only your small fucking knot?!"
The alpha stares at you in horror. It seems like today is more of his unlucky day than yours.
"I-I don't—"
"What? You don't have a dick?" You cut him off, irritation pulling at your nerves. Tonight is such a shitty night. "Isn't that the only thing you alphas are proud of? Thinking with your knot and tricking omegas with your cock?!"
The poor alpha stands there cowering, hanging his head low as if he's already accepted his fate of being the receiving end of your hatred towards alphas and…dicks.
You push a trembling finger on his chest, eyes prickling with tears. Fuck these hormones and emotions, fuck this soft scent that makes people think you're nothing more than a weak, defenceless omega—you've had enough of everything.
"Am I wrong? Isn't that why Riki cheated on me?!" You yell, not caring if people catch your words. "Because his dick can't get enough with only one pussy?!"
A ripple of murmurs and whispers start spreading around you. Even the DJ has turned the volume down slightly, taken aback by the sudden drop of the bomb of truth.
A cheating scandal? That's the juiciest gossip college students could have ever had.
The nameless alpha looks at you, eyes wide in surprise mixed with disappointment when he hears your words.
"Oh my God—there's no way—Riki cheated?" He stammers. "Nishimura Riki cheated?"
"Who the fuck is Nishimura Riki?" Your brows furrow, first time hearing that family name. "It's Hirota Riki! My stupid, cheating ex who's immature and younger than me and just plain dumb like a textbook alpha!"
The relief physically vanishes from his face. Then, as if realising what you have said, his face mirrors your confusion. "Wait—you mean Maki? That German-Japanese guy?"
You squeeze your eyes shut. Of course people know him. You almost forgot that your ex, other than being a piece of garbage and a pain in your ass, is also a famous model for the college magazines. His face is everywhere, in every campaign and poster and advertisements, wearing clothes that always gains attention.
Clothes that you designed and sewn by hand.
The back of your eyes burn with tears, but you blink them back, not wanting people to see your sadness. You'd rather they have your anger and rage, because lashing out and being called crazy for screaming seem less vulnerable than the little drops of tears down your cheeks.
You push at the alpha weakly, every fibre of your being just begging to go home and forget everything about tonight.
"Are you okay, angry omega?"
"Shut up," you hiss, voice shaky. "I'm leaving this place."
The crowd parts for you as you make your way to the exit. You sway slightly, too drained from spending your energy screaming at everyone and no one at the same time.
You hate the prying eyes. You hate the pitying words. You hate the whispers. But there's nothing you can do when it's you who accidentally aired out your ex boyfriend's scandal in your fit of anger.
It's been two months since the breakup—a breakup that you thought was healthy and reasonable. Maki told you that he was going to get busy with growing his career, balancing his job as a freelance model with being an engineering student was starting to take up most of his time. Somewhere in between schedules, he no longer could find the time to love you, to fit you in his world of fame and glory.
You didn't want to hold him back. Even when you had liked him more than you ever did anyone, you still let him go. The relationship lasted only for nine months, and you never really expected anything serious or long lasting from dating someone in college.
But tonight, a friend let the truth slip.
Maki didn't break up with you because he wanted time for his career growth—or whatever bullshit he spouted at you. No.
He has been seeing another omega behind your back. Someone from the same major as you.
It's no surprise that you didn't find out any sooner. Being a fashion major warrants competitiveness and rivals—and you're not exactly well-loved by your fellow designers. You're the notorious omega known for your ridiculous standards, your pride and stubbornness, and your sharp tongue. It's your brilliant designs that get people to at least pretend to be your friends, hoping to steal a bit of your creative talent—but you always smell bullshit from miles away.
So, really, it upsets you that you failed to detect Maki's bullshit first. And people have been keeping it from you because they like to see your downfall.
And what better downfall is there than seeing your ex cheating on you with your fashion rival?
It's not like you liked him to the point of love—no. It's the betrayal that makes your mouth feel dry, heart heavy in ways it never had been before, like an anchor pulling down ships to sink.
Before you know it, you're already outside. The air is too chilly for your skin, amplified by the wet stain on your chest. You bite your lips, on the verge of tears when you're reminded of that perverted alpha.
Another alpha that only caused you humiliation. Really?
How can someone look at you like you're the most divine being one minute, then blatantly stare at your chest the next?
It's beyond you, really. Alphas are just evolutionary failures.
You fish out your phone from your wallet and look for an Uber. You're not too drunk to drive. If anything, you've never felt more sober in your life. It's just skills issue—you just cannot drive. Even when you have a whole damn Porsche in the garage of your family's mansion; a gift from your overly-doting parents who got too excited when you managed to get into fashion school—it still terrifies you to hold the steering wheel.
All of these privileges and wealth, yet no success in the dating department (and driving classes). Your whole life, you have dated a cheater, a closeted alpha who was too scared to tell you that he liked knots better than your pussy, and just a total manchild who sulked back whenever you pouted.
"Seriously," you mutter, confirming your location on the screen. "When will it be my turn to date an actual manly alpha?"
You pause. Now that you think of it, even so-called green-flag alphas give you the ick.
They're just a bunch of performative males. Just look at the college's beloved cheater. Maki was acting like a green forest itself when he was courting you!
None of these alphas can be trusted!
"I will just die single," you decide, closing the app once your driver is confirmed. Your parents have more than enough money to support you anyway.
You stand at the porch in silence, the sound of the bass can be heard faintly through the walls. The stickiness of your shirt is now long forgotten; you've given up thinking about it when the memory of your ex comes back. There are more pressing matters at hand that need your attention.
Like the upcoming fashion week, no doubt will get you into another spiral of self-doubt and stress. Like your parents who keep insisting you meet this one young, handsome bachelor that apparently would be just your type—but you're still hurt by Maki's action that you haven't found the right timing to say yes. Like your favourite cherry Chanel baby tee, now ruined and stained, and you wonder if you should send it for dry cleaning or pay a fortune to scalpers—
"Miss?"
A deep timbre greets your hearing. It's soft and a tad bit familiar, like you've heard it somewhere before.
You turn around and immediately frown when you see him.
It's that perverted alpha.
"What?" You reply, already annoyed. The alpha blinks at you, looking more sober than before. His collar is folded neatly now, and the red tips of his ears are hinting more on shyness than alcohol influence.
He gives you a nervous smile. "I came to apologise."
Tch. Another performative alpha. But this one likes to stare at your chest too much.
You roll your eyes and turn back to the front, wishing for your driver to arrive fast.
"Just save your breath and go. You don't even know what you're apologising for."
One thing you hate about men, especially alphas, is that they never mean their sorry's. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything'. Everything is too generic. They don't have any idea what they apologise for. The phrase has lost its value from how often it flows out of their mouths without meaning.
But this alpha is a bit more stubborn than you think. He shuffles closer, still keeping a safe distance, and stands next to you. Now closer, you can smell the citrusy scent wafting from him—sharp and refreshing, something that reminds you of summer. It has to be his pheromones.
Well, okay. He has sexy pheromones. You'll admit that. Too bad that the owner is already on your blacklist.
"I apologise for spilling my drinks on you and ruining your baby tee," he begins, turning his body facing you. But you refuse to look.
"It's the Limited Edition Cherry Chanel baby tee," you correct him. From your peripheral vision, you can faintly see him grin.
"Yes, I'm sorry for ruining your Limited Edition Cherry Chanel baby tee."
Okay. He's obedient. But it could be performative. Maybe he's just trying to get into your pants. You're not oblivious to how beautiful you look. You know that your family has good genes.
"And I apologise for staring at your chest inappropriately. I came off as a pervert even when I didn't mean to," he breathes out, voice lowering down in shame. "I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable."
Something tugs at your heart unexpectedly. It surprises you that this alpha actually knows what he's apologising for, unlike your previous exes who only said sorry to get your nagging self off their backs. You shift slightly, unwilling to let this new change get to your head.
"Well, apology heard," you retort, still strong on not letting the alpha get too close—or accepting his apology. "But I'm not sorry for slapping you. So don't expect an apology from me."
An amused chuckle slips past his lips. His lemon scent bursts in the air, sounding too elated for your liking.
What's so funny?
"I guess I deserved it," the alpha, whose name you just realise you never know, replies as he touches his cheek with a brush of his fingers. You take a glance, satisfaction blooming in your chest when you notice the red mark on the tender skin.
That's what alphas like him deserve. Omegas run the world anyway.
You don't bother to say anything, just letting the cold breeze of night wind engulf you. It seeps into your bones, making you shiver almost too aggressively. The driver is still five minutes away, taking suspiciously long time at the red light just in front of a Burger King drive-thru.
You feel eyes on you before you feel his movements. The alpha sheds his trench coat, brushing wrinkles off the fabric before he hands it to you. You almost sigh, both out of relief and annoyance because really, you could use some extra layers right now but seriously, does it have to be in the most cliche, K-drama-worthy situation ever?
"What is this," you flatly ask, unimpressed.
"You're cold."
"How did you know that I'm cold?"
You watch the tip of his ears blush, and then his eyes traitorously drop to your chest before quickly lift up to face you again.
"I just…noticed."
You roll your eyes before looking down. "I know it's soaked, and it's—"
The words die on your tongue.
Your nipples. They're erect from the cold, mounting the thin, drenched fabric of your shirt in deadly-obvious pebbles. You brain dissolves into incoherent blabbering as a heat of embarrassment creeps up your neck. It's seriously the worst day ever to choose not wearing a bra.
You don't know if it's shame, or anger, or both, but when you look up to the now-blushing alpha, there's rage boiling over like a kettle about to whistle.
"I fucking knew it!" You couldn't hold yourself back this time, snatching the coat and smacking the alpha with the fabric. The alpha's eyes widen as he cowers to dodge your attack.
"You're just a pervert!"
"I-I'm not! I'm sorry—ow! Ow!"
You don't relent and keep hitting him with his coat, tears of shame threatening to spill over.
"What are you sorry for, you performative wolf?!" Smack! Smack! "You just ogled at my chest again!"
"I didn't mean to—ow! I'm sorry!"
With one final hit, you throw the coat at his face with all your might. He clumsily catches it, eyes wide with shock. The anger is hot, too hot that the cold doesn't bother you anymore, in fact you think steam might rise from your head in any second. With a huff, you stomp down the porch, ignoring his cries of sorry's from behind.
"I-I'm sorry! It's a misunderstanding! I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable again!"
"Shut the fuck up! You better not show your face anymore!" You flip him off without looking back.
However, upon seeing the Uber driver, you take a U-turn and stomp back to the alpha. His eyes immediately light up, there's a thin layer of moisture in his eyes. Maybe the coat hit his eyes or he's just so performative he'd cry if he could, you don't really care.
"You came back," he breathes out. "I'm sorry—"
"I said shut up!" You yell, already too irritated and overstimulated. While you're at it—embarrassing yourself to the point of no return—you snatch his trench coat and sling it over your chest shamelessly.
The driver is also an alpha, and you're not risking flashing your tits to another pervert.
"I'm taking this. Bye!"
"Wait!"
"And I am NOT returning it!"
With a harsh slam of the door, the car finally drives into the horizon, leaving behind a confused and guilty and perverted alpha as he chases after your Uber. Your chest heaves deeply, adrenaline running hot as your face flushes. You pretend not to notice the bag of chips and burger in the driver's lap, or the way the perverted alpha stands smaller in the side mirror as he watches you leave.
You just hope you never see that alpha again.
You never see that alpha again. However, as if you had personally offended the Earth and the entire Solar system, the Goddess doubles it down and sends your cheating ex to your studio instead.
His presence is too invasive that you feel him before you see him. His pheromones, now making your hair stand instead of providing the comfort that it used to do, breaches your senses when you round the corner. You had just stepped out to get some lunch, already grumpy from resisting your persistent mom and her chosen alpha for you to mate, when you see Maki walk down the hallway like it was his runway.
Your stomach drops. Like it's survival instinct, you turn back around and speed-walk to your studio. It's like a drum war being hit inside your chest, and you hope you're fast enough because you really, really don't want to deal with him right now.
Just as you're about to close the door, a force of Maki's hands pushes it back open. You stumble backwards, eyes wide in surprise as Maki effortlessly slips inside. His body, tall and wrong and crowding, swallows the room like a black hole sucking in the light and leaving you empty and alone in the darkness.
There's a lazy smirk playing at his lips.
"If it's not my favourite ex."
His voice is dripping with honey, a sweet poison that always gets to you no matter how hard you pretend it doesn't. It's sticky and uncomfortable, it makes you squirm and feel like there's something you should be scrambling for. It gets under your skin and Maki always gets the reaction that he wants.
You snap, face pulling into a scowl.
"What do you want, Maki?"
Maki lets your voice fade, acting like he didn't hear you. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the young alpha straightens, easy eyes meeting your sharp ones. And when he speaks, the words roll off his tongue so smoothly, like seeing the person he used to love didn't affect him the slightest. Like you didn't have such an impact on him the way he does you.
"Did I cheat, Y/N?"
The question strikes you dumb for a moment, but you recover quickly. Of course. Words spread fast on campus, especially if the source is the frat house. You knew it'd reach Maki eventually, but you didn't expect it to be this fast. It's like every person inside that house was an extension of Maki; the golden boy, the people's favourite, the face painting every cover of magazine.
You try to hide the tremble in your fists.
"You did."
Maki hums noncommittally.
"Do you have proof?"
"Liz told me," your voice grits out, "You'd been fucking around with your new girlfriend since you were with me."
The alpha tilts his head, still wearing that laid-back expression that you wish you could slap off his face. "Did she?"
"Yes. Now get out of here, you fucking stink—"
"Why would she help you, Y/N?" Maki calmly cuts you off, a bored tone in his voice. Like he'd rather be anywhere else but here, like he'd rather deal with a child than you. His smug face makes your skin prickle. You hate how easily he can hit your nerves.
Maki takes a step closer, taunting as ever.
"Had you started thinking that you have friends now?"
It's a soft blow that lands hard in your chest. Maki used to know you, therefore he knows all the ugly parts of you. And seeing him turning every knowledge he has of you into a weapon against you feels like being forced looking into a mirror that you've spent your whole life avoiding.
Your fists shake, nails digging into soft skin, almost drawing blood.
"Even if she lied to me, you got together with your new girlfriend so quick after the breakup," you spit between gritted teeth, holding back more than words. "That told me enough."
Maki is silent for a few heartbeats, his face unreadable.
"So what?"
There's a drop in your heart. Confused, disbelieving. "What?"
"What's wrong with moving on from you so fast? You didn't think you were so special for me to weep around, did you?"
There's a vaccuumed silence that swallows you whole. His words, casually laid out like he was discussing the weather, like the matters of your heart was something he wasn't concerned about, seep into your skin and every fibre of your being. The thoughts turn and curl, igniting a numbing buzz that replays his voice like a broken record.
Special. What's so special about you?
And when even you cannot find an answer, you feel the first crack in your chest.
Maki revels in your silence; in the first sign of submission. His smugness is loud in the studio, his pheromones flaring with dominance. He advances, taking deliberate steps, circling you like a predator assessing its prey.
"You've always been like this. So fiery, so passionate. All this energy yet no particular direction to go to," he drawls out, the words tumbling out lazily. He stops right in front of you, only a few centimeters away, and makes a show of looking around your studio.
He takes in the rumpled fabric, the crumpled sketchbooks, the spilled coffee. It appears as what he just observed: too much energy with no proper control. Loud. Messy. Reckless.
You.
"You can't even keep your studio tidy, Y/N," he breathes out a sigh.
"What's so unforgettable about you?"
When you had first started fashion school, you'd been told by every living person that money couldn't buy talent. No matter how big your mother's name is in the beauty and healthcare industry, no matter how prominent your father is in the automobile sector—you're nothing more than a mundane, passing student if you don't possess talent. And here, people always feel the need to remind you of that fact, especially after learning about the affluent background you come from.
So you learned. It's not like you got here through nepotism, anyway—you got in through your own grit. Your parents had always wanted you to get into med school, and the only thing you're good with when it comes to medicines is drawing the anatomy by hand. That sketch turned into figures and furls and soon, your dream to study fashion finally bloomed.
You have the talent and you have the grit. People always pass you nice compliments and constructive feedbacks you often dwell on—but the sleepless nights didn't really matter when you could finally see your collection walking down the runway front-row. You wear your confidence loudly that sometimes it's easy to forget that some people hate shiny things.
Your designs are so forgettable.
Said the new lecturer one day, tearing your sketchbook apart in front of the whole class came the third semester.
It was humiliating; the kind that burned your skin and the back of your eyes. Your nails cracked under pressure, trying so hard not to shed tears in front of so many pairs of eyes. But no matter how hard you try to reassure yourself, the comment lingers. It becomes an invisible knife that twists each time someone so much as look at your designs the wrong way.
And the first mistake you did was open up about it to someone.
The second mistake was that someone was Maki, of all people.
Because now, that alpha—all pride and arrogance—is throwing back the exact same insult at you right in your reddening face.
What's so unforgettable about you?
What's so unforgettable about you?
What's so unforgettable about you?
"Nothing," Maki finishes, eyes never leaving your face, as if savouring every twitch of hurt in your features.
There's nothing unforgettable about you. Not your designs; someone else probably invented something far more interesting than you. Not your face; you're just another pretty omega in a sea of more pretty omegas. Not your scent; you smell like pastries that people can easily get from any bakery. And certainly not you as a whole.
That's what he meant by it, right?
You're just a plus-one. An afterthought. The reason why skip buttons exist.
A heavy lump forms in your throat.
Maki takes your silence as a win and steps back.
"Now be a good girl and retract your statement. I never cheated on you," he says with conviction that you start questioning your own truth. "It's just your omega hormones messing around with you."
The door closes with a thud, leaving behind a ringing silence, the echo of his insults bouncing off the walls. There's a thin veil of moisture in your eyes, but you refuse to cry.
You refuse to cry for the rest of your time in your studio, trying to fix some of the mess, hating yourself even more when you realise that you care about his comments more than you should.
You refuse to cry on your way home, sitting in silence at the backseat of your Uber, replaying Maki's words in an endless loop that you wish could stop.
You refuse to cry when you have nothing to eat for dinner, stomach growling in hunger for some warm, homecooked meals, yet you have to settle for takeout again.
You refuse to cry when you sit in the middle of your living room, a luxury apartment far too big for one person to live in, trying to eat the soggy noodles and too-drenched fried chicken.
But like any normal human being, you have a heart too—a soft one at that. You can only hold on for so long.
It's hard to ignore the vast, empty space of your apartment; of the two vacant rooms down the hallways; of the single mug, single cutlery set, single-everything because for some reason you half-know and half-not, you just don't have…friends. At least not those who can reach the depths of your being—just fleeting, surface-level friends. Or companion.
Or whatever it was that Maki said that finally got to your head.
The dam finally breaks when you enter your room.
For the first time in your life, your nest that you always keep tidy on the love couch you have by the window, your safe haven where you lie in to find comfort, becomes the spot that you want to avoid the most.
There, arranged into a circle, are all the things that smell like solace and consolation after a rough day—or at least used to. Maki used to be like that—used to be your person, used to be your comfort place. So it's almost pathetic that you are still clinging onto his hoodie, his sweatshirt, the mittens he gave you last winter, the plush bunny that he won at an arcade, for comfort long after the breakup happened.
God, you didn't even want that bunny. You wanted the black cat.
You pick up his hoodie. It's the one he asked you to wear during a movie night, the one he received as a gift from GAP after a modelling gig with them. With shaky hands, you press your nose into the fabric, trying to catch the person who used to care for you—the person he was before he is now.
His scent lingers, faint and fading, but it's still there. Pine and frost, cold and sharp as his features. But instead of the warm feeling that you used to get, his scent makes your stomach twist and churn, a bile rising behind your throat.
The first drop of tears slides down your cheek.
He's no longer your safe space. Hadn't been since that breakup. Hadn't been since the night he kissed another woman behind your back.
Without thinking, you throw the hoodie on the floor. The fabric lands with a soundless thud, but the indication is loud regardless. When you look back at the love couch, the sight almost breaks you into pieces.
Your nest is all destroyed.
With a cry of fury, you lunge, hands tearing his sweatshirt apart next. At your force, the plush bunny tilts sideway, further breaking the perfect circle that used to be your nest.
"It's just a nest," your voice trembles, but the words ring hollow. Inside, your wolf twists and turns, aggressively shaking her head.
A nest is never just a nest.
"I don't care!" you shout, stomping on the plush bunny. "It's not like—it's not like anything would ever comfort me anymore."
Your knees buckle, too worn after carrying the weight of your inner battles for so long. You slump on the floor, sobs wrecking your chest, the sound raw and scratched. As if on instinct, you bring your knees close to your chest, staring at the mess with a solemn, teary gaze.
You don't even know what you're crying for. It's not like you still have feelings for Maki; or at least, there's no positive feelings for him except for lingering resentment and a strong sense of betrayal.
Is it because what the destroyed nest symbolises?
That you're nothing but a lonely, easily-discarded omega?
That nothing will ever be safe enough for you to rely on anymore?
You might act strong on the outside and bite every bullet with squared shoulders, but if only they knew what you truly feel inside.
If only they knew.
A loud, shrill ringing from your phone cuts you off your silent misery. You drag your body to where your mattress is located at the center of your bedroom, your mom's contact name blinking to be picked up.
With a wipe on your cheeks and a sniffle, you answer the phone.
"My lovely daughter! How are you? Are you eating well, sweetheart?"
I just destroyed my nest. "I'm good, Mom. Just had dinner."
"Come visit this weekend! I'll send our chauffeur to you. I'm planning to—"
"Mom."
You look around your room. At the space that feels too big to fill in, the discarded fabric on the floor. Then, at your disheveled reflection in the mirror.
"Yes, daughter?"
You bite your lower lip, trembling. You look like a mess. Just like what Maki had said.
"I wanna go home."
There's a split second of silence before your mom's voice echoes again.
"You mean you wanna move back here, sweetheart?"
"Mhm," you almost sniffle but you catch yourself, not wanting to give yourself away. "I wanna live with you again."
"Oh, my! That means you agree that alpha, don't you?"
Sigh. You almost forgot about that. The silly condition your pouty mom makes if you ever want to live with them again. One that you've been trying to avoid, too busy with the fashion week preparation and planning revenge on your heartbreak.
But is there really anything to lose?
If you agree, you'll be in close proximity with what you'd say your comfort: your family, and the mansion you used to grow up in. A blind date is just free dinner and having an alpha shower your with praises and compliments. You might have to put up with a little bit of boasting here and there, but it's nothing you can't handle.
So long as you can escape this loneliness, even if only for temporary…
"Yeah," you breathe out. "I'll meet him."
Just let me go home to you, Mom.
Park Jongseong's cheek is still stinging.
But instead of acting like any other man who just got slapped would, he's wearing a giddy smile on his face. He's lying down on the couch, his apartment being the hangout spot of the day for the weekend, but thoughts about his friends are scattered away. Jay is absolutely gone and lost in cloud nine, a cherry-shaped cloud wearing the face of a certain beautiful omega that has been running on his mind as of late.
"Geez, this guy has turned crazy," Sunoo shakes his head before he nudges the older alpha. "Jay-hyung, I brought some ice packs for your cheek."
Jay absentmindedly reaches out his hand, barely registering his friend's words. "Sunoo-ya, Britney Spears was right."
Sunoo gives him a deadpanned look and then shoves the ice pack in his face. Jay yelps from the sudden cold contact.
"Ow!"
"Well, if you can't find her, I'm more than willing and capable to hit you one more time in her stead."
The older alpha huffs, pressing the cold compress into his swollen cheek. "You don't understand, Sunoo," he defends, "Her hands were so soft and she's so….beautiful."
"She slapped you."
"I deserved it."
"Yeah, cause you were ogling at her chest."
"I—" Jay gulps. Well, now it doesn't sound so good. "I mean…yeah, I did. I stared too long, in fact. That's why I said I deserved it."
Even while saying so, there's still this stupid smile decorating his handsome face. Sunoo can only shake his head, hands on his hips like a tired mom handling her teenage son's first underage drinking. It sounds that bad because it was that bad.
"I can't believe this is the end of Jay-hyung's gentleman era," Riki snorts from the floor. He's been hogging Jay's latest edition of PlayStation all to himself, secretly eavesdropping the two alpha's conversation.
Jay doesn't take it nicely. "What do you mean? I am still me."
"Mhm. Gentleman by day, boob enthusiast by night. Totally not a pervert."
Jay is open to criticism, especially anything to improve himself. But there's nothing to improve here. Jay is just…in love. Okay, that's a bit too soon. Jay is infatuated would be the best way to describe his situation right now because there's no doubt that he, as in human-Jay, and his wolf, like you.
Yes, in a romantic way. Yes, in a 'he wants to court you' way. Yes, in a 'I need her name and a priest now because he does hope he can marry you' way.
He's everything but he's not a pervert. No. And Jay has a hard time receiving criticism about his personality if it comes from a certain alpha named Nishimura Riki, and another alpha named Lee Heeseung. Call it pettiness or a vendetta, but those two have no right to say shit about him. Right now or ever.
Beside him, Sunoo starts to sigh. "Riki."
"What? At least we know why omegas like you now."
Jay's expression hardens. There's a twitch in his jaw that doesn't go unnoticed by Sunoo.
"What do you mean by that?"
Riki, still not sensing the sudden drop of temperature in the room, casually shrugs. "I'm saying maybe you've always been looking. Heeseung-hyung and I knew better."
A heavy silence blankets the room, suffocating each corner with unspoken rage. Sunoo almost recoils from the sudden bitterness that comes from Jay's pheromones. He casts a worried glance at the wounded alpha.
"Yeah." Jay lets out a quiet laugh. "Because both of you thought I'd steal your omegas."
Riki goes rigid. He puts down the console, finally registering the damage that came out of his mouth. He whips his head around, only to be met with a sharp glare from Jay.
"Jay-hyung…"
"No, let's talk about it." Jay gently pushes away Sunoo's hands that come up to comfort him, putting down the ice pack with calm fury that radiates more heat than if he had shouted. He fixes Riki with a burning glare that could've melted the ice pack.
"Let's talk about how I am always the collateral damage of your love story."
Riki gulps. Truthfully, he has never seen Jay angry. And even when he did, that anger was never directed to him. But this time, being the receiving end of such disappointed eyes, Riki wishes the ground would swallow him whole.
"Jay-hyung, you know I don't mean it like that."
"Which part? The pervert part? Because you and Heeseung surely treat me like one whenever your omegas are around," Jay says, still soft, but the venom is there. "As if I was some horny wolf waiting for the time to pounce on them. Let me ask you, Riki. What was so wrong with wanting to help you when you literally asked me for help?"
"I—I know. You're never wrong—" Riki swallows, too paralysed from how fast the situation took its bad turn. "I just…shit. I'm sorry, hyung. You're such a good alpha—"
"Am I, really? Because with you two, I never feel like one."
Riki tries to say something back, mouth gaping like fish out of water. Jay heaves out a long sigh, ruffling his already-messy hair. As if on cue, the door to his apartment opens and comes in Heeseung, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm upon sensing the tension in the living room.
"What are we fighting about?"
"About your terrible jealousy issues," Jay grits through his teeth, looking up to meet eyes with Heeseung. The latter almost flinches from how sharp his gaze is. Jay takes another deep breath.
"God, you know what? I understand jealousy. I truly do. I wouldn't want any alpha near my omega too. But that would be any alpha but you two. Because I trust you. I trust you so much and it actually," Jay halts for a moment, realising how intense his emotions have been running. But the reassuring pat from Sunoo serves as his motivation.
He needs to say this. He needs to. Otherwise he'd drown in undeserving guilt and shrink himself again.
"It actually hurts when you guys don't feel the same about me."
The tension thickens it could be cut with a knife. Riki's expression crumples, the alpha who's usually prideful and cocky is now in shambles upon seeing his older alpha breaking down like this. Heeseung fails to find any words, the guilt is lodged in his throat that barely any voice would come out, blocking any syllables from being spoken.
"I just wanted to help. My kindness has no underlying meanings. I didn't offer to help because I wanted to have your omega in bed, Riki. I was thinking about you. I was thinking how I could stop you from crying because you were my friend first and it—it hurt to see you cry so much like that."
Jay is still soft. His voice is still gentle, and that's what makes this whole situation uglier. That's what makes the guilt press harder. Both alphas in question could only stare at their feet, reflecting on their actions towards Jay.
"And you, Heeseung. Would you rather have your mate get soaked that night?" Jay doesn't let him answer. "I don't think you would. I couldn't just leave knowing she'd get drenched in the rain, knowing how much my friend cherishes her and would freak out if she got sick."
Heeseung purses his lips. He was so busy mending what was broken with his omega that he didn't realise how much he's been hurting his friend.
The apartment is silent, save for the PlayStation menu playing its music on loop. Riki can't bring himself to look at Jay, perfectly fine with tucking his chin low and hiidng his shame. Heeseung still has a hand on the doorknob, the metal feels cold on his slippery palm.
"Jay-ah…"
"I'll be in my room. I want to be alone for a moment."
The anger has long left his body. All he feels now is exhaustion and relief, like finally putting back a heavy backpack he's been carrying for months.
The three watch as Jay disappears behind the door of his master bedroom. It closes with a gentle click, as if even in anger and disappointment, Jay wouldn't ever be harsh to his friends. Heeseung and Riki immediately let out a breath they didn't know they were holding while Sunoo watches them with amusement.
"It took him a lot of courage to say that, you know." Sunoo takes a seat on the couch, grabbing the console that was left untouched by Riki. "You guys better apologise and make up to him properly."
"I am such an asshole," Riki whines and drapes his body across the couch, letting his head fall into Sunoo's lap despite his protest. "Hyung was right. It's all about trust. And I was acting like an insecure dog."
Sunoo snorts. "You're a big puppy, Riki."
Heeseung is still quiet. The memory of the punch that almost landed on Jay's face still haunts him, even before the confrontation. He knew it needed to be talked about eventually, he just didn't expect it to be in a situation like this. But alas, Jay has been a sponge that absorbs everybody's emotions, the reliable one—it's about time that the patient alpha loses it.
Just as he's about to enter the apartment fully, the door is suddenly pushed open from behind and Heeseung gets shoved inside instead. Immediately, the smell of burnt chocolate fills the air and the insults he prepares for the intruder die on his tongue.
"Sunoo-hyung!" Jungwon barges in, a pout protruding on his lips. "Noona called me his little brother again!"
Oh, Goddess of the Moon. Please protect this friendship.
Heeseung walks silently to his room, ignoring the trio alpha now fighting for Sunoo's attention. Jungwon, however, upon seeing Riki, immediately scowls at the younger. His pout disappears and his complaints die in his throat.
"YOU! Nishimura Riki. You're not cheating, aren't you?"
Riki blinks confusedly.
"Cheating? In FIFA or PUBG?"
"On your girlfriend!"
"Fuck, no!" The blond-haired alpha sits up, taking full offence from the sudden accusation. "I would jump off the cliff first before I'd ever dare cheat on my lovely mate. What the fuck are you on? You know I'm loyal as fuck."
Sunoo pinches his arm. "That's too many curse words, Riki."
Jungwon shakes his head. He pushes the younger off the couch and claims his previous spot, laying his head comfortably on Sunoo's lap. The scandalised look on Riki's face hasn't faded, the alpha is still glaring at Jungwon like he has offended Riki's ancestors.
"Nothing. There was just this omega yelling about getting cheated on during last Friday's party."
"And? What does that have to do with me?"
"The cheater's name is also Riki! You don't know how disappointed and heartbroken I was for those three seconds when I thought it was Nishimura Riki. It turned out to be Hirota Riki," Jungwon nudges Sunoo's hand, urging the older to pat his head. He's still heartbroken, please comfort him, thank you. "I was so close to committing a murder on you that night."
With that explanation, a look of understanding passes Riki's face. He slumps and sprawls on the floor, relief bleeding out of his muscle.
"Oh. That's Maki. Riki C. He's the disgraceful Riki. I don't fuck with him. Not anymore."
"You better not!" Jungwon hisses at him like an angry kitten.
"Wait, so you're Riki B?" Sunoo tilts his head. One of his hands is playing with Jungwon's hair. "Then who is Riki A?"
"The other Riki is Taki, and no, I am Riki D, because this dick—"
"Nishimura Riki!" Sunoo and Jungwon simultaneously yell, drawing out a cheeky laugh from the youngest.
From inside his room, Heeseung could hear the commotion. He shakes his head. Oh, Goddess of the Moon. Please save Nishimura Riki.
Living with your parents has been as peaceful as it can get. Nothing much can be said, considering that it has only been a week.
For the time being, you manage to get your mom off your back about meeting this handsome alpha that she'd like to have as a son-in-law. You hide behind the excuse of being busy with the fashion week, which is not totally a lie.
Fashion week is one of the biggest assessments there is. It means two months of outsourcing high-quality fabrics, sketching and crumpling papers and sketching, hours spent in the studio, finding suitable models for your runway and, the most important part: piecing your imagination and hardwork into a clothing worth wearing and parading.
Which is why you're spending your time in the studio on a Saturday, leisurely going over your sketches again as you wait for your fabrics to arrive. It had been preordered a month ago and the delivery was scheduled today. Precisely, two hours ago.
But you try not to worry. It's only 12 p.m., and there's probably traffic on the road since the working civilians are supposed to be having lunch now. But one hour turns into two. Then another one passes.
Before you know it, it's almost five in the evening, yet there's no sight of a truck or even a ring from the company itself. By the time you dial their office number, you have already done a cherry set on your nails, tidied up the space to accommodate your resources, and even sketched a whole damn new collection.
"Hello, this is The Nakakita. How may I help you?"
The Nakakita. A Japanaese establishment that is owned by the Nakakita family. You wouldn't have gotten in touch with such a prestigious supplier of the Japanese fabric materials had it not been for your cheating ex's connection in the fashion industry.
Maki is all things, and resourceful is one of them.
"Good evening. I'm Y/N. There's supposed to be a delivery for order #1284 today to my studio. Japanese denim, linen cotton, blended silk?"
Well, you might have sounded too demanding. But that's the least of your concern now.
"Oh, Miss Y/N. I'm terribly sorry, but this order was cancelled."
If your jaw could drop down to the ground right now, it would cause a huge-scale earthquake across the city.
"What? I never cancelled it, though?"
There is a sound of clicking on the keyboard from the end of the line. "Um…it was cancelled by the account holder two weeks ago. By Mr. Hirota Riki, approved by the heir himself, Mr. Nakakita Yuma."
What the actual fuck. Two weeks ago was when Maki had confronted you about the rumour spreading about his infidelity. Despite feeling a bit intimidated (not that you'd ever admit), you did no such thing and let his reputation continue to get tarnished. You still firmly believe that he did cheat and whatever manipulation he pulled on you was just an attempt at making you feel miserable.
Not only is his ego as big as he is and a gaslighter, but he is petty, too?!
You let out a disbelieving scoff. Oh my Goddess…That alpha is really something else. As if shattering your dream of having a mate wasn't enough, now he wants to interfere with your career path as well?
What a fucking weirdo.
"So, what happened to all those fabrics? I already paid for the deposit."
"Based on this record, it has been delivered to Miss Kim Areum three days ago and your money is in the process of being refunded back to your bank account."
And as if all of those things weren't enough to pull you under, Maki just has to deliver the final blow to the most sensitive part of your heart.
Of course he'd give those resources to his new girlfriend. Of fucking course.
It's like a cellotape on skin. Peeling it off would sting, taking away your body hair that gives you heat, and leaving sticky residue that wouldn't come off easily. Your relationship with Maki—during and after the breakup—has always left you with this hollow, sinking feeling that weighs heavy on your shoulders.
No matter what you did, if the relationship has ended or not, it'll always leave burn marks that you have been trying so hard to heal. And whether the world has moved on or not, it's always you bearing the ugly aftermath.
"…Miss?"
"I see," you finally speak, voice hoarse from suppressed anger. "Let Yuma know that my attorney will be in contact with your team soon."
"Wait—"
Not letting them finish, you end the call and toss your phone on the couch. Your perfectly blowed hair is now disheveled, untamed by your fingers as you pace the room. There's unshed tears hanging low on your waterline, waiting for the time to fall down, yet you still refuse to give in.
"Fuck!"
It's so unfair. It's so fucking unfair. It wasn't you who left, nor was it you who cheated and being disloyal—yet you are the one who have to pay the price for his crumpling ego? And now he's putting your hard-earned place in the fashion school on the line?
What a fucking manchild.
"What am I supposed to do? Goddess, help me—what am I supposed to do?"
You sink into the couch, the tears now slide down your cheeks with no restraints. There's a choked sob coming out of your throat, your scent souring with every hiccup slipping past your lips.
Time is not a luxury that you can afford now. Confronting Maki would only mess with your head more and result in nothing. You'd love to find a way to sue The Nakakita, but that's a matter that you'd like to solve after the fashion week ends.
Fuck. You barely have two months on your hands, yet you have just lost your resources that you have ordered a month ago. Finding a new supplier would be tough—since not many of them would take indiviual customers due to economies of scale. You are no wholesaler or retailer; catering to you would be expensive for them.
But you have to find a way somehow.
With a shaky hand, you tuck your hair behind your ears and grab your laptop. The tears are uncontrollable at this point, but it's not a sign to give up or stop. Your dainty fingers start typing fast on the keyboard, trying to search for any textile businesses that would make some space for you.
This is not how you imagine your evening would end. You had pictured measuring and cutting fabric pieces to fit your six-piece collection, getting prepared to start assembling them and fitting your models.
Yet here you are, giving calls after calls, accepting rejection after rejection from every business you try to contact. It's exhausting, the tears are now just cracked vulnerbaility on your cheeks. Somewhere along the way, you have accidentally snapped your manicured nails while typing.
"I'm sorry, you have to place an order three months prior in order to secure the fabrics."
This is the sixth one.
You barely hold back a sigh. "I see. Thank you for your time."
You slam your phone on the couch and start rubbing your face. This is hell. You're sure a truck had hit you somewhere on the road and this is your hell, punishing you for being such a bitchy omega to everyone around you.
But how could you not be one when everybody always gives you a reason to protect yourself?
Taking in a shuddering breath, you open your bleary eyes and stare at another line of name on the screen.
Sinar Textile.
It's operating until 8 p.m., which is unusual for many companies. Talking about the time, your stomach growls on instinct, as if reminding you of the skipped lunch and forgotten dinner that you are yet to acknowledge.
"This is the last one," you whisper to yourself. "If this too fails, I will fucking kill Maki."
You punch the number on your phone screen, exhaustion clinging to every movement. It's inhumane to sabotage someone like this; you wonder if you can sue Maki too somehow. He deserves it more than anyone in this world.
It takes five rings before the call gets picked up. A cheery voice greets you.
"Good evening! I am Jake from Sinar Textile. How can I help you?"
You rub your temple, appreciating the friendly tone while it lasts before you start threatening this poor Jake to agree to your proposal.
"Hi. I'm Y/N. I'm looking for a few bolts of fabric for my upcoming collection."
A rustle is heard from Jake's side. "Hello, Miss Y/N. When do you need the fabrics?"
You tap your fingers on your thigh. "Two weeks from now."
There's a few seconds of silence before Jake speaks again. "Are you a wholesaler or a retailer?"
I fucking knew it. "Um," you gnaw at your bottom lip, nerves grating your edges. "Neither. I'm in fashion school, and I need them for my fashion week."
Please. Please accept me. Please take my request. Oh Goddess, this is the least you can do for justice.
But unfortunately, Jake is not your Goddess. "I am sorry, Miss Y/N, but our business strictly provides for wholesaling and retailing establishments only. As for indivi—"
"Please," you let out before you could stop yourself. "I'll take scraps or leftovers. Or even any cancelled order. I'll take anything but please don't turn me down."
You are never one to beg. Especially not to alphas. And while you're not sure about Jake's secondary gender, he's still a man and it still feels humiliating to beg.
But you don't have many choices now, do you? You care more about your degree than your dignity as of now.
The hesitance in Jake's silence is loud. "Miss Y/N, I am a mere part-timer here. I'm afraid I don't have the power to decide."
"Then let me talk to the person in charge, please."
You feel bad for Jake for putting him in a tough spot like this. But to be fair, he's receiving your kindest energy now—since you've lashed out on many other receptionists prior to this call, when you were still brimming with anger.
"Please wait a moment."
You inhale sharply. Is this really happening?
It doesn't take long before a feminine voice takes over the call. "Hello. You're speaking to the CEO of Sinar Textile. I am Mrs. Park."
You straighten up. "H-Hello, Mrs. Park. I apologise for the late disturbance."
The woman hums. "It is not a big deal. My receptionist has told me about your situation. Unfortunately, we do not supply for individuals like you."
The hope blooming in your chest deflates instantly. You close your eyes as you gather your composure.
"I—Please, ma'am. I don't know how to tell you that I desperately need them for my fashion week." For a strange reason, you feel yhe need to give her context. You're no careless student who forgot to book her supplier until last minute—you just got sabotaged. "My supplier terminated our agreement after my…ex-boyfriend intervened."
The woman seems to consider this, as her next words give you a sliver of hopium. "Please email me your sketches. Then I will consider. What's your name again, Miss?"
"Y/N. I am Y/N."
"Y/N?" She repeats, and if you tried to listen hard enough, you'd be able to detect the hint of recognition in her tone. "Great, Miss Y/N. Email me at [email protected], then I will let you know my decision."
Relief floods your senses like a tidal wave. With trembling lips, you try to piece your words together.
"Thank you, Mrs. Park. I—I'll take anything. Leftovers—or any defects. I can do it. Please consider my request."
"No worries, Miss Y/N. I'll get back to you the soonest tomorrow."
And with that, the call ends. You slump in your seat.
You could've gotten the details of their wholesale customers and buy from them, but from experience, you knew that getting the materials directly from the sources is hundreds time better in terms of quality and the price. And you have reports to submit much later on, where your budgeting would be questioned like you just laundered the national income.
Later that night, you arrive home with this aching need to be comforted. Instead of a pile of all the soothing scents you've encountered in your life, you open the door to your empty bed, void of any nest. Your mom's bedroom is just one door away, but it's too late to ask for cuddles, isn't it?
You open your wardrobe, staring at the empty spot where your nesting blankets used to be.
"It's just a nest," you convince yourself. "I'll feel better after waking up."
Completely ignoring the twisting pain in your gut, you settle yourself under the cover after washing up.
Sundays are fun days, and this time, your kind of fun is rushing your chauffeur to take you to your studio and threatening him into disregarding every traffic rule he's ever learned about.
"Miss, the light is red."
"I don't care."
"We will get fined."
"I will pay," you urge.
The chauffeur closes his eyes. "Please don't tell your mother."
And that's how a fifteen-minute drive could be cut into ten minutes of ride only. Your thanks barely leaves your lips as you rushes out, trying your best to look put-together while also lightly sprinting to the private studio that you've rented since your first year, located inside the university compound.
This morning, you woke up to an email from Sinar Textile. Mrs. Park, bless her heart—seems so taken with your sketches and has decided to give you some leftovers of their previous arriving batch from Japan. It's like the Goddess has finally taken pity on you overnight, and proving that the evil shall perish altogether (Fuck you, Maki).
You spend the entire ride mentally redesigning half your collection. Leftovers are more than enough. You'll make them work. You always do.
By the time you reach the studio, your mood has improved significantly.
There are bolts of fabric, stacked near the door to your studio. Two men wearing short-sleeved Polo stand around the stack, chatting with each other while waiting for your arrival. You waste not even a second and approach them faster.
"Good morning!" You greet them enthusiastically, so unusually you, but you're too giddy to care. "Are you from Sinar Textile?"
The shorter of the two greets you back, a puppylike smile stretching wide on his face. "Hello! You must be Miss Y/N. I'm Jake, and this is Sunghoon. We are the part-timers from Sinar Textile."
The latter bows to you. Up close, you finally notice the wolf ears nestling among his pitch-black hair. Oh, so he's a wolf hybrid. No wonder his pheromones are still strong to your nose despite the thick scent patch glued to his neck.
Well, first of all—Sinar Textile sure hires only super good-looking guys to work with them. If you weren't so into your post-breakup feelings, you might think about asking for their numbers after this.
"Nice to meet you two. Now, shall we?"
"We're waiting for Jay."
Your brow jumps at that. Who is that? "Jay? Is he supposed to be here?"
"Yeap! He went to take the last bolt of your Japanese denim—oh there he is!"
You know the saying, every good thing comes with a price? While yes, there is a price tag to every bolt of fabric tha you receive from Sinar Textile today—apparently, there is a hidden tax that you have to pay the Goddess for granting you with this opportunity after Maki's stupid stunt yesterday.
And that tax is Jay. Or more precisely, if your memory hasn't betrayed you—the pervert alpha from the frat house party a few weeks ago.
There he is indeed, walking down the hallway in a similar black Polo shirt. He's carrying a bolt of Japanese denim, but does he have to carry it on his shoulder like that? It looks so show-off-y, what with the way his biceps stretch against the sleeves, bulging muscle straining under the weight of the fabric. His face is as handsome as you remember it, and without the dim light of the porch, every cut of his face is clearer for your eyes to see now in broad daylight.
Damn it. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly good-looking?
Your smile has never dropped so fast, but it's the opposite case for the alpha, because as soon as he recognises you—you've never seen a smile light up so fast.
"Cherry?"
You could barely tone down your irritation. Who the hell is Cherry?
"Are you the other part-timer?"
Jay blinks confusedly. He glances at the clipboard in his hand, and then his eyes widen imperceptibly.
"Oh—I apologise. You're Miss Y/N, right?"
"Yes, that's me," you narrow your eyes at him. But Jay only smiles back. "And you are Jay."
His eyes shine—what the heck?—at the mention of his name. "You know my name? It's actually Park Jongseong, but you can call me Jay. It sounds better when you say it."
You try to ignore the offended gasp coming from Jake.
"Are you flirting with me?"
"I'm not!" Jay is fast to deflect, shaking his head when you only stare at him thretaeningly. "I just—I think—I just want to…talk to you?"
Jake and Sunghoon wince from sheer awkwardness.
"Aren't you here for Sinar Textile?"
"Yes."
"Then we're here strictly for business. I am going to open my door and you three will carry the bolts inside, and then you leave. Understand?"
If Jay were to have wolf ears like Sunghoon, they'd droop like wilting flowers from your tone alone. "I understand," he gives in, then shoots a serious look at two of his friends behind you.
"Boys, let's get moving!"
Jake springs up with a salute. "Aye aye, captain!"
You sigh and unlock the door to give way to them. The three boys lift two bolts at the same time, marching in like soldiers ready for the battlefield. Jay stops briefly in front of you, and you prepare another scolding if he tried to say something absurd again.
"Where would you like these?"
You almost falter by the unexpected, but you don't let it show. "At that corner. I tidied up that space for these bolts yesterday."
Jay nods and wordlessly steps further inside. You watch as the three men move effortlessly together, avoiding mannequins and putting down the bolts gently like true experts. They seem close, judging by how at ease they are with each other. Probably just three best friends working part-time together to kill the time while gaining extra pocket money.
Jake, being the first one to reach the corner, claps his hands and looks around. There's amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Wow, this is my first time at the fashion building and I already got to be in a private studio."
You quirk up an eyebrow. "Are you from around here?"
There's a surprised chuckle from the beta. He slaps a hand on Sunghoon's shoulder, but the wolf hybrid barely budges.
"Yeah, we attend this university too! I am from engineering, Sunghoon is from law school, and Jay is from the business department—obviously, if he wants to inherit this company."
Your curiousity is growing like a moving snowball. "Inherit…?"
"Sinar Textile is owned by his parents. He's just doing this on the weekend when he's got nothing to do with his basketball team," Jake casually says like he didn't just drop the bombest bomb you've heard the entire week.
That says a lot, considering The Nakakita incident yesterday.
And—What?! Sinar Textile is—what—so Mrs. Park is his mother?
You are left with no words. Not that you could muster anything, when said guy is already speaking. "Stop referring to me like I'm not in the same room as you."
Jake pouts at that. "Well, you're busy with your clipboard, so why not?"
"I am counting the inventory and preparing the invoice for Miss Y/N," Jay smoothly says, while he's scribbling something on the clipboard. You ignore the efficient way his hand moves, the veins popping on his forearms, and the pout he makes when he's focusing.
When he chances you a glance, you scowl back at him. The alpha only smiles.
It's so irritating. Why does he keep smiling?
"Alright boys, get back to the van. I'll follow you after I'm done with the invoice."
"Stop bossing me around! We are the same age!" Jake protests.
"Well, technically, I am your boss."
"A boss baby! You are not even the CEO yet!"
Sunghoon only sighs and drags Jake by the arm to follow him. He stops momentarily in front of you, gives you a short bow and a 'thanks'—that you reply back with a 'thanks' too, what the heck?—before he leaves with the beta. Jake waves his hand at you, his previous pout melting into a wide grin.
"See you again, Miss Y/N!!! Please invite me to your fashion week!"
If it weren't for Sunghoon's tail and wolf ears, you'd think that Jake was the hybrid. Probably golden retriever—that seems to suit him more.
It's only when Jay clears his throat that you're reminded you're left alone with him in this studio. Instinctively, you back into the door, putting more distance between the two of you. Jay doesn't seem to mind or take offence, he just gives you that easy smile that's been putting you on edge since fifteen minutes ago.
"Two bolts for Japanese denim, linen cotton, and blended silk each. This is your invoice. You may make the first payment when we send you an email," Jay speaks, his tone professional, as he hands you a piece of paper the size of A4. "Please sign here."
You take the pen painfully slowly, trying to avoid any physical contact, and sign.
"If you need anything more, please feel free to contact me." You glare at him. "Or any of us, really! But don't hesitate—my mom told me to put you on our priority list."
There he goes again. Typical alpha trying to flirt his way into your pants. As if you had forgotten about his perverted gaze a few weeks ago!
You cross your arms and dare to look into his eyes. "Thank you. I will contact Jake."
Jay purses his lips. "That's great. Jake works every Saturday and Sunday, while Sunghoon works after 3 p.m. on weekdays. Please feel free to reach out."
He opens his mouth, seemingly to add something, but decides against it when he smiles instead.
"It's actually nice to see you again," he mutters almost quietly, his tone soft and delicate, the grip of professionalism loosening. "I've been hoping I could run into you again."
But you're not easily swayed by sweet-faced alphas like him. "So you can, what, stare at my chest again?"
Jay's ears perk and blush a deep shade of pink. "What? No! Y/N—" he shakes his head, eyes pleading. "I really meant it when I said that I didn't mean to! I swear I'm not a pervert. Please forgive me."
"But you still stared."
"I…did." His voice becomes quieter, the confession feels like cold air hanging in the studio.
Jay shifts in place. The way you stare at him all cold and menacingly seems to undo him more than anything. From where he stands, he can catch a whiff of your scent—the sweet cherry that's been haunting him since that night.
You're so pretty even when you're mad, glaring at him like some kind of a criminal like this. A sight that he's not used to, because people often look at him like an angel sent from the Goddess as an apology on behalf of the alpha population.
"Y/N," he begins, already making up his mind. Your name falls easily from his lips now that he finally gets the chance to know it. "I would like to apologise. I made you feel uncomfortable twice, and probably unsafe, too. I deserved to get beaten more than what you did that night."
"Yeah, I should poke your eyes for good measure. Making sure your eyes don't stare at omegas like that again."
"I don't do that with other omegas, though. Only with you."
"So, congratulations? I'm your first victim?"
Jay panics. "No!"
"Your favourite victim?"
"No!"
"Your exclusive victim?"
"Please stop saying victim."
"Then stop staring at my boobs. You're doing it again." The corner of your lips lifts when the crimson on his ears deepens. Okay. It's kind of fun teasing him, and truthfully, you're no longer that upset from his behaviour that night.
"No, I'm sorry," Jay dips his head lower, staring at his feet, not catching your intention. "It's very wrong of me. I sincerely apologise. Please forgive me."
Your heart does something strange. The sincerity in his voice is unlike any other you've heard from not even a single alpha before. It's raw with honesty and vulnerability, like he actually spends every night dwelling on this mistake of a first impression he had made of himself.
But you say nothing. You simply stare at the alpha whose eyes are remorsely fixed on the ground.
"I know you probably don't trust me."
You snort. "Obviously."
"But I hope one day you'll feel safe around me."
There it goes again—your heart, lurching like Jay was a K-drama main lead saying something corny to win the heroine over. But this is not fiction, and Jay is not your alpha, nor are you his omega.
"Are you threatening me with a next time?"
He shifts again. "May I earn another first impression someday?"
You almost scoff at that. You wish there's no next time or someday! ...Though, you admit, if you put aside the two—or three if you count just now—times he stared at your boobs, it has been quite alright to talk to him.
He just has this aura that puts people at ease around him. Maybe it's his face, or the citrusy scent coming from him that easily tops every other masculine pheromones you have ever sniffed, but Jay just has a way with words that makes you feel like old acquaintances.
Whatever. A pervert is still a pervert!
"Actually, my family has chosen an alpha for me."
Jay's smile falters. "Oh."
You lift your chin proudly. "Yeah! Apparently his family is very wealthy, and he's ridiculously handsome too."
Jay only blinks at you, taking every hint of rejection like a champ. "I see. I mean—that's what you deserve. An omega like you doesn't deserve anything less than that."
Your eye twitches. Why is he so damn good with words? You can't tell if it's genuinelt who he is or if it's all performative. And that infuriates you.
With a newfound determination to flaunt an unknown alpha, you triumphantly nod. "And everyone says that he's the most perfect gentleman. My mom said that he's—" How was he again? "—Very capable and hardworking. I can't wait to marry him!"
Now, you're pushing it. You don't want to marry that alpha. Hell, you're just about to accept the dinner invitation after this!
"That's good…" Jay scratches his cheek. Damn it. Jay realises that you're really trying hard to reject him, even when he hasn't said explicitly that he likes you.
But Jay is a man who can take a hint.
"That's quite a reputation. I really hope he treats you well."
"He will."
Jay purses his lips, trying to swallow down his disappointment. Of course. A pretty omega like you is rarely ever single or unclaimed, even though he doesn't see any mark on your nape or sense any alpha presence around your scent.
Sigh. Just as he finally found an omega that he genuinely likes.
"I wish you and your alpha the best, Miss Y/N." Jay lowers himself to a 90-degree bow. "Thank you for trusting Sinar Textile, and I'm sorry again."
And with that, Jay takes his leave, until the echo of his footsteps fades into oblivion. Once you're confident that you're out of his earshot, you instantly fish for your phone and call your mother.
"Mom!"
"Hello darling~ Did everything go well with the shipment?"
You bite your nails. "Yes, yes it did. Mom, I need your help."
"What is it, sweetheart? Have you finally decided to buy that new handbag from Bonia?"
"No, Mom. I think," you close your eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Truly, there's no one else that puts you in worst case scenarios but yourself and your life decisions.
"I think I'm ready to meet that alpha that you like so much."
As expected, your mother squeals into the phone and you have to force your phone away from your ears.
Great.
Now you have to mentally prepare yourself to sit with an alpha boasting about his wealth and alpha-ic achievements for approximately two hours.
All because you wanted to avoid Jay.
Or so you thought.
Of course, fate—the little evil author that it is—decides that humiliation ritual would be the perfect trope for your failing love life.
Because why the hell are you seeing Jay coming out of the black Mercedes now parked in your mansion?!
"Mom!" You whisper-yell, already halfway bolting upstairs when you see him and his parents start walking towards the door of your house. "You said that the alpha's name was Park Jongseong!"
Your mom, who's been gushing over how handsome and perfect Jay is for you from behind the curtain where the both of you are spying on the newly-arrived guests, only nudges your shoulder gently.
"He is Park Jongseong. And those are Mr. and Mrs. Park."
"No! That's—that's Jay!"
Your mom coos, fanning her face dramatically and turning to your father. "Oh my, honey, did you hear that? They're already on nickname terms with each other."
You feel like climbing the stairs and purposely falling and rolling down to the ground.
This cannot be real!
"Wait," your mother suddenly stops her dramatic gesture. She fixes you with a curious gaze, eyes squinting suspiciously.
"How do you know him?"
Maybe jumping would be faster and easier.
On the other side of the door, Jay has been fiddling with the collar of his suit for the tenth time. Beside him, Mrs. Park is frowning, swatting at his hand when he reaches for his tie again.
"Why are you fixing your tie again? It already looks perfect."
Jay swallows. "I don't know."
No, he actually knows why. Jay has never been able to lie truthfully—an irony that always amuses his friends. His body is vibrating with never-ending nerves ever since he had reluctantly agreed to his mother's planned family dinner with the omega she has taken a liking too.
Yeap. To put it simply, Jay is nervous.
And his mother catches it, if the soothing accent of her scent is telling something. "You'll like her," she convinces. Then, as if it was an afterthought, she adds, "You already met her."
If Jay was shocked, he didn't let it show.
Well, it doesn't matter, does it? When his wolf and himself have been so captivated by you.
Whoever this omega is, Jay wants to apologise in advance. He thinks he needs a couple of months to properly move on from the wonder of you before he'll be ready to accept any dating arrangement again.
"If you're confident that I'll like her, then I hope she's the person I have on my mind, Mom."
And that is the truth. If he had already met this omega and his mother's instincts are sure that he'd fall for her—then it can't be no one else but you.
Jay had crossed paths with many omegas. He had been flirted with, pursued, and even outright confessed to more times than he could count, yet no one had occupied his thoughts quite like you.
And to think that you're spending your time with another alpha…
Jay swallows down the bitterness and forces his pheromones to calm down.
Too lost in his frantic, chaotic mind, Jay hasn't realised that he's already standing in front of the door. It swings open before any of them could press the doorbell, revealing a beautiful couple and…
"Cherry?"
His cherry.
When the scowl appears on your face, Jay feels like a diver finally coming up to the surface for air. The nerves that have been jagging every edge vanish almost instantly, now replaced with a relief so profound it feels like being given a second chance at life again.
It's really. Really. You.
"It's Y/N, you dummy."
That hostile gaze. That frown and unfriendly tone.
It's really you.
The smile that spreads across Jay's face is so hopelessly fond that Mrs. Park immediately knows she doesn't have to do any matchmaking tonight. Your frown deepens, hating the blatant display of joy that's coming from him.
What is he so giddy about?!
Meanwhile, your mother is completely oblivious to the glare you're shooting at him.
"I told you, they're already using endearments for each other!"
You hope the ground could swallow you.
Jay hopes the ground could move and bring him closer to you.
── ۶ৎ Hogjoong had been a white slate before he met you back during his late teen days, looking up to you like you had all the answers. today he's painfully aware that every part of him he got from you, forever stitched into his soul: his dancing, his music taste, his style; it all belongs to you. So why can't he, too?
wc: 10k
content: part of THE NOONA SERIES; slow(ish) burn, friends to lovers, lots of yearning, hurt comfort, slightly toxic behaviour (I don't condone cheating of any kind), both hongjoong and reader might be a bit too possesive over each other + 18 MINORS DON'T INTERACT; semi-public ?) sex, hj and oral sex (male receiving), some masochist dirty talk
MASTERLIST ┆tag list ┆noona series list
It might have been the walk after Hongjoong had brought you to his parents home for the first time. It had been a completely innocent visit, of course. His parents had simply grown too tired of hearing about you without being able to put a face to your name. Songs you had recommended, movies you had told him to watch that now pilled up in the living room because he forgot to return them, funny comments you had made about his lack of rhythm. He had been so eager to ask you and so worried you’d notice.
“They just want to thank you, you know. For, like, looking after me and all that”
The invitation had come maybe four years after Hongjoong had run into you for the first time. Recently graduated from high school, and completely abandoned by the idol company you had spent countless hours pouring your soul into a futile dream, you had occupied your free time with a part time job at the same music store you were a regular at. You had been working there for a few weeks before Hongjoong had walked in, letting the merciless cold wind of early January into the small store and making you shiver. He had browsed around for a few minutes, curious eyes tracking through the rows of CDs and feeling a bit self conscious that he seemed to be the only client at the time. He had bought a few CDs, paying and accepting the plastic bag you gave him with a polite smile before he had left. That had been it.
Until he had come back a few days later.
Another Michael Jackson CD rested over the glass counter, his polite hands pushing it towards you with a small greeting. It’d been a slow day, so you thought it might not be any harm into striking up a simple conversation. Years down the line, you would find out that you might have been deadly wrong.
“Big MJ fan?”
His eyebrows shot up, eyes suddenly attentive and for the first time looking straight at you.
“Sorry?”
“You bought some last week, didn’t you?”
He paused, then his mouth opened in a surprised smile.
“Ah, yes! I did” he accentuated his words with a small clap, before adding “You remembered me?”
He almost felt like apologizing when he saw the look you were giving him while scanning the CD, eyes falling back to the counter.
“Is just strange seeing someone your age interested in these”
The comment seemed to fill him with pride, judging by the way the corners of his mouth rose up to his cheeks.
“I discovered it a bit ago. I’m trying to find more music like this”
You placed the scanner down over the counter, pondering for a moment before going around the counter and approaching one of the multiple rows of CDs. Hongjoong watched you, wondering if he was supposed to follow you. Before he could debate the idea however, you were already coming back with a CD in your hands.
“Have you listened to this one?”
He leaned in slightly and read the name of the band, then shook his head.
“No, but I have heard of them” he hadn’t “Like, in forums and stuff”
“It’s really good”
He bit down on his bottom lip and took a shy look down at the wallet in his hands.
“I only have enough for one, though” he took a look at your embarrassed expression “I’ll buy this one! I can come back for the Michael Jackson one some other time”
“No, it’s okay!” you scanned the CD you had brought him and put both of them in the plastic bag “That’s 16000₩”
He stood there, fingers frozen as he grabbed onto the single bills inside his beaten wallet.
“That’s the prize of one”
“It’s on the house” you had said “Money shouldn’t deprive you from good music”
Your face was burning hot despite the casualness of your statement. He could tell, though. Could see your flushed cheeks and the way you locked eyes with him like you were trying to prove you didn't feel bad. But you had felt so terribly ashamed of putting him in such an embarrassing position, to the point of making up for it with your own money. He thought then you might be a very kind person. Nothing you would ever do ever since would make him change his mind about that.
The silence that stretched between you then had been... strange. The air felt as if something had shifted, and it’d never go back to be the same.
Looking back, you were almost sure you both had known in that moment.
“Thank you so much” he said through his teeth as he gave a shy smile, eyes fixed on the counter as he accepted the bag from you.
He had barely taken one step backwards before he had decided to ask you. His body was turned to the side as if that would shield him from the awkwardness of what he was about to do.
“How old are you?”
“Uh?”
“Ah, sorry! It’s just, to know what honorifics to use” he explained in one breath.
You nodded in understanding, amused.
“I was born ninety-six”
“Ninety-eight” he pointed to himself.
The very next time Hongjoong greeted you by your name he decorated it with a polite -ssi at the end. You had insisted he dropped it, not a big fun of imposing the hierarchy on those younger than you yourself. It would take him a few months to actually do that, though, polite as he was the formal speech kept slipping from him. In that time you had introduced him to MIDI when he had made mention of wanting to learn how to compose, but feeling a bit lost.
“Don’t waste your time learning how to play a guitar and just start with this, trust me”
You had been there yourself. You had told him all about your trainee years, swallowing the embarrassment of having to explain how you were dropped from line ups time after time. That’s why you had been a bit worried when he had been contacted by one of the multiple companies he had sent his mixtapes to. You hadn’t planned to become a makeshift dance teacher, but you hadn’t been able to let Hongjoong hang around the gloomy basement of a shady company by himself. After the few members of the staff had taken a liking to you, on account of you working for free, that was how things had turned out.
It was after one of these long practice lessons that Hongjoong had finally brought up something he had wanted to ask you for a week. He had regretted taking so long. Had he done it earlier in the day he might have at least looked a bit more proper. Now after hours of practice, clothes drenched in sweat and dirty hair a mess he didn’t feel as confident.
“Would you come to my graduation ceremony?”
The arched brow you directed his way didn’t help ease his nervousness.
“Don’t you only get a couple invitations? For your parents?”
“My brother can’t come and dad has to work, so it’ll only be my mother”
Those facts were true, and he couldn’t deny how happy he had been about it when he had found out. It was perfect, really. He had wanted you to attend his last school festival and watch the broadcasting club presentation, but you had been busy yourself. He also wanted his mother to see you, even if he wasn’t sure as to exactly why yet.
“When is it?” he had pulled out his phone, reading the schedule to you. A flash of disappointment passed by his eyes when he looked back at you and saw the sad expression in your face “I’m sorry, I’m going to be out of town with my friends”
Hongjoong knew of your friends. It was hard for him to hide the way it bothered him whenever you mentioned them, if only because of the fact that your main friend group consisted of mostly men. You had found it cute at the time, the way he would go “ah~” at the mention of any of their names while he looked away or at his phone, whose screen showed no notifications whatsoever. It had gotten slightly worse the day he had met your friend Jun a week prior, though.
You hadn’t planned for it. For obvious reasons you hadn’t wanted to think too deeply about, you’d have prefered for these two to never meet. However after helping Hongjoong and the other trainees with practice and having had exams in the morning, you had found yourself utterly exhausted. And so Jun had shown up to pick you up.
You had tried to act neutral and composed, while internally trying to explain to yourself that there really shouldn’t be anything that made this interaction actually dangerous. But you knew, deep down. No matter how hard you had tried to ignore Jun’s behaviour and Hongjoong’s boyish reactions. You had known which one you were trying to save from it. The way Jun had looked down at Hongjoong with that crooked smile of his that would usually simply pass as cheeky wasn’t lost on you. You could tell Hongjoong’s smile had tensed across his face, his gaze immediately looking for yours when he saw the tall guy stand way tol close to you.
“Jun, this is Hongjoong. I’ve told you about him before”
“Yeah, a lot”
Hongjoong didn’t let the condescending tone dwindle the feeling of cockiness that flooded through him upon knowing you had talked about him. A lot.
“Ah, this is Jun? You have mentioned him before, I think?”
Jun’s hand found your shoulder in a possessive grip, bringing you closer to his side. You had been used to it, but not really like that. Not in front of him.
“Yup, that’s me. Nice to meet you. Should we go?”
You had given Hongjoong an almost apologetic look before waving him goodbye and telling him to get home safely. He had watched the car disappear around the corner, and only then did his hands loosen up from the fists they had been balled into. You wouldn't go to Hongjoong’s graduation, but you would spend the whole day getting updates from him on your phone while your friends sat opposite you playing drinking games. You had zoomed into his graduation pictures, a proud, fond smile spreading across your face.
The invitation to his house came after the debut date had been confirmed. After three years of friendship Hongjoong’s family had decided that the polite thing to do was thank you in person for all you had done. It had been pleasant to meet them, even though you had felt a bit weird about the whole ordeal. You were sure Hongjoong had exaggerated about you, and you were worried they might realize you were just a kid that had helped him mess around with a keyboard and taught him how not to trip over his own feet. Still, it had been a very pleasant evening, making casual, fun conversation with his parents as well as with his brother. That is something Hongjoong hadn’t accounted for.
Hongjoong had sat at the table, sweaty palms pressed against his knees as he watched you speak to them. Every time you made them laugh his eyes would divert from you to where his older brother had sat across the table, leaning back against the chair with a wide grin. He brought it up while he was walking you to the bus stop. It was a quiet night, still cold but pleasant. Hongjoong walked beside you, falling a little bit behind as he was lost in thought, not sure of how to bring it up.
“Was that okay?” that wasn’t exactly what he had wanted to ask, but he wasn’t entirely sure of how to word what he actually wanted to know.
“It was fun! And they must be relieved that you haven't been hanging out with a creepy serial killer”
“I kind of am, though?” he joked, rising his palms up after seeing the look he had known you’d give him.
He then became quiet, his tongue slid across his dry bottom lip.
“I think my brother thought you were really funny”
You hummed, the sound low and almost lost in the constant noise of the road next to you.
“Is that so?”
You had noticed, but you hadn’t wanted to think about it. Hongjoong fell silent once again.
“He’s always like that” his voice strained as he tried to sound amused, nonchalant “Whenever he sees a-- girl”
You smiled to yourself, turning to him with a knowing smile. He stopped too, tense smile as he refused to look at you, knowing he had been caught.
“Can I say something about your brother without you getting mad at me?” you asked, and Hongjoong nodded. You dramatically placed your hand on his shoulder, brows furrowed like you were about to give him devastating news “You are the handsome one of the two. So don’t worry”
You could feel the weight of your statement slowly falling over the both of you, the thin net of humor your tone had casted to stop it not strong enough. Not with the way Hongjoong’s eyes seemed to shine impossibly bright under the dim lights of the bus stop lamppost.
"Also I don’t date my friend’s siblings. I think it should be illegal to do that, to be honest” you joked as you put your arm around his shoulder and dragged him with you, something you both had grown accustomed to.
Had it been anyone else he would have flinched. You wouldn’t find out about Hongjoong’s dislike of skinship until someone would mention it to you time later. You hoped the familiar gesture would dissipate the tense air that had settled, that acting so casually would make it go away. Like you hadn’t said something stupidly dangerous.That arm over his shoulder felt heavy, the short wait until the bus arrived seeming to pass impossibly slow. Not that either of you minded.
Once you stepped onto the bus, you'd stop being in Hongjoong's life the way you had. From then on meeting each other would be close to impossible. When the headlights of the bus made their appearance at the back of the street both of you felt your hearts shrink. Neither of you acknowledged it.
You hadn’t realized how used you both had become to each other until a single day without seeing or talking felt uncomfortable to live through. The feeling was unnerving, there was no other way to put it. Your days had suddenly started to feel empty and void, the hours dragging impossibly slow. The only thing bringing a genuine smile to your face was the updates you’d get through their official social media accounts. The occasional text and call happened, but it was rare. They didn’t really compensate for the whole year you had gone without hearing much from him. Hell, you had heard more from other members than himself, and while it worried you he might be too busy, you also had to consider another option. The uncomfortable thought that you might not have been a priority anymore.
You had sat with the thought for a long time, uncomfortable and heavy on your chest until that late summer night when your phone had rung. A name on the screen you hadn’t seen for a while.
“I’m sorry” those had been the first words he had spoken to you. You could hear the way he was trying not to cry in between the lines that were his long pauses “I don’t want you to worry about me.... but I can’t talk to anyone else”
The taxi driver that had stopped for you had expected you to ask him to take you to the hospital with the way you had signaled him down. Instead you had asked him to drop you at a narrow street only populated for a few restaurants still open. Hongjoong had asked you to please wait at the small park on the other side of the street, one barely illuminated with the light from the lampposts getting obstructed by the trees. When you had caught a glimpse of him standing in the middle of it you had ran across the street until you were in front of him, heart pounding and a bit out of breath. He had stared at you then, glassy, irritated eyes watching as you brought your hands up like you were about to place them on both sides of his face. He wished you had, anxious heart crushed as he watched them shake before you put them down. But still you were there, staring at him like you had missed him for a thousand years. He never wanted to see that expression on you. Never wanted the be the reason why you’d look anything but happy.
“Sorry to make you come all the way here” he said, clearing his throat to hide the shakiness of it.
He rubbed at his eyes, like that'd make the traces of his pain go away. It was so stupid really, how much he wanted the comfort of your presence while loathing the idea of you seeing him like that.
“Don’t say that. Come, sit down” he felt the light touch of your fingers over his, not grabbing at them but as silent invitation to sit with you on the empty bench. He sat down with you following suit, further away than you usually would. He noticed, but didn’t want to think about it “How long do we have before you have to go back inside?”
“A bit”
“Okay, tell me. What’s worrying you?”
It took some effort for him to tell you about it all, and even then he missed a few things, but you got it. The members, the company, the poor sales despite the world tour they just came back from. He had been so happy in all the videos and pictures you had seen of him, saved them on your gallery while feeling a bit embarrassed about it. You saw the way he clasped his hands together between his knees, pleading for warmth and maybe something else.
“What’s wrong?” His question pulled you back. He stared intently at you, searching your face as if trying to figure out what was wrong. So he could maybe fix it. Your brows furrowed in confusion until you noticed the tears that had fallen from your eyes. He wiped one of them with his finger, quickly, like he hadn’t meant to “Don’t cry because of me. It’ll make me feel worse” he complained.
You shook your head, his shape disappearing behind the blur of tears fogging your vision.
“It’s not that. It’s just--”
You couldn’t tell him, really.
How were you supposed to tell him that you had just fought with your best friend of eight years because his jealousy had gotten to a tipping point when Hongjoong had called you that same night. He had seen the way your had eyes lit up when you looked at the incoming call on your phone. He hadn’t needed to read the name written in black against the blinding white of your screen. He had gotten used to that expression of contained excitement whenever Hongjoong would call you. Or simply whenever you had talked about him, which you had done for many years by then. And he was tired. Tired of how your voice would get a tad bit higher when you would talk to him, or about him, before immediately lowering like you were worried people would notice. No one did, really, the change too subtle for most people to feel the change.
But he did.
“You are seriously leaving right now?”
You had already been hanging your purse over your shoulder and dragging the chair across the wooden floor of the restaurant.
“It’s an emergency”
“Yeah, sure” he spat, flopping on his chair.
The rest of your friends looked between the two of you before fixing their nervous stares into the table where the ox bone soup you had ordered sat unfinished and growing cold.
“What’s with you?”
You shouldn’t have asked that, because you knew. It had been going for a while, but you wanted to pretend you had a chance to win this fight.
“Nothing, just go”
“Of course I'm going”
The argument had followed you outside where he had continued to argue with you until you managed to grab a taxi. You were used to this conversation. You had had it multiple times through the years, bits and pieces of it accumulating to this one argument that had ended up costing you your friendship outside the restaurant while the rest of your friends peeped through the wide windows.
“You are so embarrassed of him” he laughed bitterly “You won’t even admit you like him”
“That’s because I don’t!”
The words had felt heavy when you had spat them at him before getting in the taxi. They had sat on the backseat with you, swirling around until they had turned into nothing more than noise. Loud, suffocating. The whole ride to him you had sat there, with only your loud heartbeat and your lies to make you company. By the time you had seen him it had hit you like a blow to the chest, and you hadn’t had time to worry about it before you had ran to him
“What is it?” Hongjoong had asked in a whisper, voice small and laced with so much worry.
You couldn’t really tell him any of that.
His eyes darted around your face: your teary eyes, the wet path tears had left on your cheeks, your slightly red, trembling lips. You watched him watch you almost as in slow motion, like time had seemed to slow down as a favour before your whole world crumbled down with the realization that you were in love with him.
No matter how many times you have replayed the moment in your head, you still can’t comprehend what went through your mind before you leaned in and kissed him. You do remember the wet, salty taste of the tears over his slightly chapped lips. The way you felt his breath catch on his throat along with the small sound of surprise that never made it past your joined lips. You couldn’t see the way his eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered shut.
Calling it a kiss might have been giving it too much grace. You had almost fell forward when you had leaned in, having nothing to lean on until you had found his knee which tensed under your touch. His body was still stiff when you pulled back, reality washing over you cold and unforgiving as your lashes fanned against the high of your cheeks. Your pulse hammered at your temple, loud and making you dizzy. The expression on his face made your chest ache. He looked confused? Maybe scared. You were, at least. His lips were still parted in a question that you had no answer for. Or you had it, just didn’t want to speak it aloud.
“I’m sorry” you whispered, so close he felt the words caress at his lips where the ghost of your kiss remained fresh and vivid.
You stood from the bench, the ground seeming to tremble underneath you. Maybe the heavens had listened to your prayer, and the earth was kindly opening up to swallow you whole. You might have fallen into the dark abyss that your mind was turning into if it had been for the strong, almost painful way in which Hongjoong had held onto your wrist. You’d seen the look on his face before he had stood up and pulled you towards him: furrowed brows, determined, and maybe a bit upset.
The grip on your wrist softened when your lips met again, nothing like the soft mistake you had made seconds ago but just as clumsy. His nose had bumped into your cheek a bit too strongly, a small groan of pain reverberating against your lips firmly pressed together. Hongjoong’s free hand stood by his side, tense and not sure of how to occupy itself. Yours however had been brought to his shoulder, softly pushing him until he had parted from you with a deep exhale. He looked at you through heavy, almost lazy lids. His eyes were not red anymore, a different kind of fog swimming in them. You wished you had waited a little longer, taken in the way he looked at you a bit more before you had spoken.
“We shouldn’t” Your words came with a trembling that he couldn’t ignore. His eyes seemed to freeze before they started shaking “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Don’t want to give you another reason to worry yourself sick. You already are...”
You continued listing the myriad of reasons as to why it shouldn’t happen. Why it couldn’t. But Hongjoong had stopped listening. You understood this when after his eyes had gotten lost somewhere at the bottom of his feet and you felt his hand let go of you. The corners of his mouth sunk on his face and he took a few steps backwards as he nodded solemnly.
“Yeah, okay”
“Hongjoo--”
“It’s late. I have to go. Sorry I made you come”
He didn’t give you a last look. He didn’t turn around one last time. He knew you were right. Every step he took his mind had begged him to turn around and tell you that he understood. To erase the devastated look in your face as the last one he’d see of you. He knew that had he been any other member, have you been any other girl, he would have been the one speaking these words. And yet his broken heart and the thick pride keeping the pieces of it together wouldn’t let him turn around. He couldn’t bring himself to forgive you for kissing him. Giving him a taste of what he’d never have when he had never dared to think he could get it in the first place.
You had always been so cruel, hadn’t you? Always noticed the way he’d look at you, the way his heartbeat fastened whenever you'd put your arm around him. Had it been fun for you? Had you ever seen him as anything but a child with a crush you couldn’t bother to entertain, too amusing to let go off?
If his heart had been able to speak, it would have told him that that wasn’t true. He knew this. But he never turned back, and the last thing you saw of him was his hunched back going inside the building before everything went dark.
It would be around a whole year before you’d hear from him again. A simple text on your screen from a number you thought he might had changed by then. But there it was, like it had never left.
쭝아
22:36 ‘Have you been well?’
22:36 ‘Would you like to meet?’
22:39 ‘I have time Thursday’
You had stared at them for a long time, and they made you feel like you were suddenly aware of how the earth slowly turned over itself. A slow dizziness came over you, and you had to sit down on the floor of your kitchen to read them all over again, not really opening them. You were too scared that they might disappear.
It had only been a week prior when you had sat on a balcony seat, watching his first ever home concert. It had been such a strange feeling, walking through these doors surrounded by people that were there for the same reason as you. That now, were the same as you. The days of Hongjoong and you dreaming aloud about huge concert venues, discussing a distant future where thousands of fans would scream just at the sight if his silhouette on the wide screen were long gone. These weren’t dreams anymore. They were reality. Hongjoong’s reality.
Yours had had you sat at the back of the stadium, just another face in the crowd.
Hongjoong had been very far away from you before, for really long periods of time. But sitting there with thousands of people screaming his name, was the first time that you felt the overwhelming distance.
Your tears had gone unnoticed, another teary faced fan among many. Still, you had stayed until the end.
Your phone vibrated over the tile floor again.
쭝아
22:41 ‘Does that work for you?’
You
22:43 'Hi, Hongjoong. Thursday works for me, as long as it’s after four”
쭝아
22:43 [location link]
‘See you at five?’
You hadn’t really expected an apology. To be fair, you weren’t sure if he should be the one doing it first. However, nothing could have prepared you for the words that had fallen from his mouth after the polite, awkward pleasantries had been done with.
“I’m seeing someone, actually” he had said, unprompted “For a few months now”
He had said it so casually, eyes set on you as if waiting for a reaction. You might have thought he was trying to provoke you. And you would have been right.
And so had he.
You felt the heat first, intense, prickling just beneath the thinnest layer of your skin. It was all over, creeping up from your chest to every last nerve on your body. It made your mouth run dry, not that you would have known what to say anyway. Then it hit you, not in the heart, but right in the stomach. Seething, white hot and painfully overwhelming: jealousy. Plain old jealousy.
Who? Is what you had wanted to ask. But it wasn’t your place. It had been before, years ago, but it wasn’t yours anymore. Your place was at the back of the concert venue, lost among other strangers that loved him.
On the other side of the table, your silence was making him ache. It wasn’t a lie, really. He had started seeing someone a few months back. He could see the effect of his announcement rippling through you, and his fingers trembled in eagerness as he waited for you to say something. Anything.
“That’s nice” The words painfully dragged out of your mouth, and he could tell.
It wasn’t enough, though. Watching you try to contain your true feelings wasn’t enough. He wanted you to lose it. Maybe even beg. He knew that wouldn’t happen, and that he’d hate seeing you like that anyway. But God, how he dreamed of it, night after night before falling asleep. In reality a simple “please” would undo him, a slight brush of your fingers over his would suffice. But it never came. Instead you said:
“Jun and I started dating a month ago, too”
Hongjoong’s expression hardened, grip tightening into the plastic cup he was holding on is hand and making it crumble underneath his fingertips. You looked up at him, and for a moment you both saw your true selves before you went back into trying to pretend you were doing nothing but update each other on your love life. Fixing what had been broken. He didn’t comment on it.
“Did you go to the concert?”
The question was sudden, charged. It made the air still and press onto you, suffocating. The way Hongjoong’s gaze was set on you wasn’t helping. Hard, direct, expectant. It wasn’t the question he had asked, but the one hidden between its words. That’s what he wanted to know.
“Of course I went” you said, choking on a shallow breath “I promised you, back then”
Hongjoong’s expression twisted for a split second, moulded by a feeling you couldn’t figure out.
“That’s good” it’s all he had said “I have to leave now, though. It was great catching up”
He said his goodbyes so quickly you had barley had time to stand from your chair and bow him goodbye. You were left there, having to come to terms with the growing suspicion that you were a terrible person.
A week later you had gotten confirmation of it when you had dialed Hongjoong’s number for the first time in years. Only when you had been ready to let it all go, burn every bridge you had ever built, did you tap your finger on the screen of your phone.
Hongjoong saw the screen of his phone lit up next to his mouse. Your name had flashed on the screen like a joke, a mirage brought upon him due the countless sleepless nights and hours of staring at his monitor. He picked his phone slowly, and when he came to the realization that it really was you, he picked up quickly, as if worried your call might slip like smoke through his fingers. He didn’t speak right away, instead the silence hung heavy between you two, almost palpable though the phone.
“Hello?”
It took you a bit to speak, trying to measure your words.
“Are you at the studio right now?” when your voice finally came through to him, his chest raised with a breath that got stuck at his throat. He made an affirmative noise “Can I go?”
Hongjoong stilled, his studio room suddenly feeling strangely small, walls closing in on him. He had always been very clear about his thoughts when it came to having female friends. Especially when it came to having a girlfriend. It was inconceivable for him to allow a girl to visit him at the studio late at night, just the two of you.
But you weren’t any girl.
You were worse.
“Nevermind, I’m sorry" you backtracked "I won’t go”
Hongjoong perked up and you heard shuffling through the phone.
“What, why?”
Because you were incredibly selfish, you thought. Because you wanted to tell him about how you broke up with your boyfriend the day he had told you about his girlfriend. You wanted to gauge his reaction, see if he’d squirm on his beaten up chair. You wanted to see his eyes would shake under the dim light of his studio. Test how much he really liked her, how much of a terrible person you could turn him into. It would have been such a cruel trap. One he could see coming. You could tell by the way he hesitated.
“I’m sorry I just...” really hate myself, is what you wanted to say “I feel like...” you were not too sure of that either “If I walked in there I think I’d become way worse of a person than I already am, and I can’t let that happen. I’m sorry”
“What do you mean? Who said you are a bad person?”
“I did”
You had been. Playing with his feelings, or so you had told yourself you had done. Kissing him and then telling him you couldn’t take him in. It had been wrong. Hongjoong’s voice shook on the other side, low and hurried.
“You are not” he stated firmly, and it hurt you how you could tell he meant it. How he’d still see the good in you, forget how upset he was with you to soothe your worries one more time. You didn’t deserve that “You’ve always been--”
“Have you kissed her yet?” the question cut through his reassuring words like a knife, bringing a sudden, tense silence with it. Your voice shook with shame and defeat. You need him to understand just how heinous you were. Maybe that way he’d stop looking at you with such bright eyes and affection in his voice that you were not worthy of. But there was also something else. Something less noble “I guess you have. Stupid question”
Hongjoong had felt silent on the other side. The room felt suffocating, the blue light of the monitors suddenly sickening him. He had forgotten he was holding his breath until he could feel his heart pounding in his head.
“I broke up with Jun a while ago, because I couldn’t stop worrying about that. That’s the kind of awful person I am these days” you confessed for the first time aloud, and it did make your stomach turn. Still you continued, ready to out all your awful secrets to him “I miss putting my arm around your shoulders, you know?”
Hongjoong felt himself stand up, his breathing suddenly labored. How, from all the things you could have ever said to him, did you manage to say the one he had always stupidly yearned for the most? A silent gesture that had always felt loud for him. Your touch on him, choosing him every time. Claiming him in front of everyone effortlessly. When you stopped him from arguments, dragged him away before he could get scolded by anyone else. “You are mine” its what he had wanted to believe you were telling him, telling everyone else, and receiving confirmation of it was making the room spin around him.
“The idea of another girl touching you is driving me insane”
The way you said it in an almost embarrassed whine knocked the air out of his chest, and he found himself holding tightly onto the edge of his desk to steady himself. Something ugly was brewing at the bottom of his stomach, it made its way up his spine with a pleasant shudder. You were always the older one, reasonable, grounding him. Hearing you confess to losing your mind over the idea of another girl putting her hands on him satisfying a part of him he’d always believe too ugly to explore. The pride. The dangerous satisfaction of knowing it wasn’t his imagination. For all his maturity, he was still childishly possessive himself. For a split second he enjoyed it, and then guilt seeped in.
He could tell you were trying to push him away again. Show him how ugly your insides were, disgust him enough that he'd ask you to leave him alone. These disgusting feelings, he wanted to tell you he had them too. They were taking over as you spoke.
“I understand that we shouldn’t talk anymore. I am sorry. It’ll be better if I hang up now”
He couldn’t let you do that. Not after getting a taste of what being loved by you was. Your obsession light at the tip of his tongue, sweet and intoxicating. He needed more of it. Needed it all.
“I kissed her. We touched each other too” he blurted, trying to get you to stay. His hand nervously tugged at the roots of his hair as he waited to hear the sound of the line being cut, but it never came “You wanted to know that, didn’t you?”
There was a brief pause before your voice came out the other side, smaller. Strangely calm.
“Yeah” you admitted, voice cracking a bit “How was it?” you asked in an almost masochist way.
The question made a rush of heat ripple through him, setting every inch of skin aflame.
“It was fine”
“Did you like it?” he swallowed hard, affected by something he couldn’t really place. The same something that made you ask “Is it better than when I kissed you?”
He licked his lips, now incredibly dry. His throat felt tight when he swallowed.
“No” he said “That’s such a cruel question”
It was, but he didn’t really mind it as much as he wanted to hear that hint of embarrassment in your voice that rung so sweetly in his ears again. He got a taste of it when you spoke again.
“Sorry, I just wanted you to say ‘no’?” you confessed“I have always known but... It’s scary how for the last few weeks since you told me about her I’ve started to realize just how obsessed I am with you”
The grip he had on his desk tightened, knuckles turning white and fingertips sore.
“Tell me about it?” his voice came out hot and breathless, words sticking together in a mix of want and wrong. It was starting to be difficult for him to ignore the tightness of his boxers. He’d have felt embarrassed about it if he hadn’t been so lost in trying to chase your voice through the phone, every second of your silence agonizing "Do you think of me when you are with him?"
Your silence had lasted less than five seconds, and yet he almost had asked you again when you had answered him.
"The only reason I'm with him is so I can forget you. But it doesn't work"
A genuine, borderline evil smile showed on his face. But you hadn't really answered his question.
"So do you think of me?" he repeated, slowly "When you are with him?"
He wanted to see your face in that moment. The way you'd look away the way you did when you were embarrassed. Your cheeks always flushed so easily. Did your lips purse slightly while you thought of how to answer him?
"Every time" you answered.
You heard a small sound on the other line. It sounded almost like a muffled, frustrated groan. Hongjoong leaned over the table, suppressing a pleased chuckle. He felt himself throb against the elastic fabric of his boxers. It was pathetic really, but he couldn't get enough of it.
"Come to the studio?" He asked "Come to the studio, please"
"I don't think I should"
Hongjoong panicked when he felt you pull away again, his body feeling impossibly cold at the idea of you going away.
“Why?”
“You know why. I’d turn you into an awful person” you closed your eyes, words heavy on your tongue.
“I can have things broken off with her in the time it gets you to get a taxi here”
The words knocked the air out of your lungs.
“I don’t think that’s possible”
“Why?”
“Because I am outside” you admitted “I’ve been outside the studio all along”
Hongjoong straightened up, adrenaline suddenly rushing through him as he stared at the door of his studio room.
“Come inside”
He could hear the way you shook your head on the other end. He would have thought it was cute if he hadn't been drowning in the fear that he might lose you again.
“No”
Hongjoong’s lips pursed in frustration. He was desperate, frustrated and way too hard.
“You are rejecting me again then?” he let out a borderline theatrical, humorless chuckle “Fuck with me again by telling me all this and then, what? Go away again? Is this funny to you?”
Before you could conjure up a good excuse he had hung up the phone. You stood there, submerged in the sudden silence of the empty street. The lights of the studio beaconed you in, tempting you with something you knew was a very bad idea. But you had to tell him.
Hongjoong hadn’t moved an inch either, standing in the middle of the room and staring at the phone in his hand like he was second guessing his plan. He had started to think about running after you when the door of the room flew open. You entered it with heavy steps and a flushed face. You looked like you had gone through hell. Oh, how he wanted to wrap you in his arms and fall in in with you. Together.
“I didn’t reject you and you know that” you snarled at him, voice hoarse with frustration.
Hongjoong let out a relieved sigh, hoping it’d go unnoticed by you.
“You said we couldn’t be together”
“Because we couldn’t, and you knew it! You should have been the one saying that to me!” he knew you were right. He had had a lot of time to think about it, but he had been too selfish to admit it. He also couldn’t admit he loved the way your voice rung as it grew louder, the way your expression twisted in one of anger as you shortened the distance between you two. One he had never seen before, new, only for him. Because of him “That was me saying ‘I love you and I don’t want to fuck up your life’. And you couldn’t understand that because you are a fucking child” Your pointing finger poked at his chest, the words making the light touch feel unbelievably heavy “You think you had a bad time? I had a bad time! I had to reject you, watch you push me away and then go and date someone else. Fuck you”
There had been a long silence stretching between you two, almost like the one the day you met. The same one, you recognized. Stretching so thin ever since that first meeting that it was ready to snap.
And then it did.
You had still been coming down from the adrenaline rush when Hongjoong hastily grabbed at the sides of your face, pulling you close with as much strength as he had and kissed you roughly. His lips pressed into yours with so much force that you could taste the faint hint of pain in them. You let out a shameful moan into his mouth, one of his own dying at your lips when he felt your hands immediately skip underneath his t-shirt to grab at his waist and pull him closer. You felt the warmth of his soft skin, the plush skin over the elastic of his boxers peeking through the sweats. It made you dig your nails onto his waist, earning yourself a surprised, sinful groan from him.
It was a mix of teeth, and tongue and unsaid words. His hand crawled underneath your top to scratch at your back, making you arch against him and bringing you impossibly closer. The other slithered under your hair, forcing your face closer to his until the tip of your nose hurt where it met his now flushed cheeks. Then he dragged your face away from his, pulling at your hair.
“What?” you complained with a pathetic whine, breathless.
“Because you never say it” his words slithered bitterly through his teeth, forehead pressed against yours and eyes burning through yours “Just say it”
He stared at you mouth expectantly, waiting for the words to roll of your tongue so he could swallow them. So he could allow himself to kiss you swollen, pretty pink lips that were calling out to him like a siren at sea.
“I love you, please”
The hand at the back of your head fisted painfully into your hair as he pulled you in for another long, breathless kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth almost forcefully, bringing a small smile to your busy lips. He hadn’t had much practice, but you’d let him have it. You pushed yourself away from him and he stared at you inquisitively, expectant. So well behaved. You brought your thumb to his plush, bottom lip, pressing on it softly.
“Open” you asked, almost sickly sweetly.
He obeyed, lips parting slightly and mouth watering under your attentive gaze. It was enough for you to gently brush your tongue against his, slow and deliberate. You took your time kissing him that way, your lips sucking at his tongue and kissing his lips in an agonizingly, unhurried way. You could feel his body reacting, hot under his clothes and hard on pressing against your lower belly. He wanted to get his hands on you, but he couldn’t deny he loved the torturous way you were working him. It was consuming him, he could feel himself melt into your touch with every faint brush of your fingers against his skin. The way your lips wrapped around his tongue to suck at it with a low hum was making him feel light-headed.
“You want me” he panted, like the realization had just come to him. Like he couldn’t believe it.
You nodded, nose brushing against his. Your hand traveled downwards, touching the bulge in his pants with barely suppressed want. He choked on a whine, and for a moment you worried, retracting your hand.
“I’m sorry. I just really want to touch you” you apologized, and the genuine shame made him twitch under he restraint of his boxers.
He shook his head, loose strands of hair falling in front of his blown out eyes.
“Touch me” he pleaded, jaded breath against your ear.
Your tongue dragged across his bottom lip and he opened his mouth wider, begging you to put it back inside where it had belonged all along. Wet and hot and deep inside his throat. The sound your lips made when you broke off the kiss sent a jolt of pleasure directly between your legs. You pressed the palm of your hand against his buldge, feeling him through his clothes.
"You feel good" you praised, enjoying the almost pained look on his face "I bet you feel really good too"
"Yeah?"
Your hand pumped him slowly over the gray sweats, and Hongjoong's expression turned into one of pure bliss. You pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his face, his eyes opening to stare down at you.
"We can't have sex for the forst time here" he said "It has to be special"
Warmth blossomed at your chest, the sweetness of the statement bringing a faint smile to your lips.
"I agree. But I think you need some help with this" you squeezed him through the sweats and his eyes fluttered shut before he nodded “Do you want me to fix it?"
He blinked slowly, suddenly looking intently at you through long lashes, expectant. You tentatively pulled at the elastic of his sweats, keeping eye contact as you felt his underwear peel of from his sweaty skin, dragging it down until he sprung free. Your eyes fell down for a second to sneak a peek, but he stopped you with a hungry kiss. You wrapped you hand around him: it felt heavy, hot and so unbelievably hard. The needy moan that Hongjoong let out was so sinful, so desperate that you had to stop yourself from getting on your knees in front of him and taking him into your mouth. You backed him against his deck.
“Show me how you like it? I want to do well for you"
You took his hand and placed it over your own, wrapping it carefully around his now fully hard cock. Hongjoong started at a slow pace, savoring the feeling of your touch around him, warm and foreign. You took notice of how he’d squeeze a bit more at the tip, precum coating your hand and making it slide though him with a nasty sound.
"Does that feel good?"
He nodded and let go of your hand, silently begging you to jerk him off dry in his small studio. Your eyes darkened with a sudden thought, your grip on him deliberate now, moving at your own pace.
“Did she do this for you?” the question made him throb in your hand, he shook his head “No?”
Hongjoong's teeth let go of his bottom lip to answer you, words pushing through his needy moans.
“We didn’t-- do much”
“How far did you go?”
There was a small beat, before he finally said:
“All the way”
You squeezed him mid stroke, dragging a wanton moan from deep within his chest, hand coming to grab at your shoulders. But nothing would have prepared him for the way he’d crumble in your hands when you spoke your next words.
“It should have been me”
The way you spoke against the shell of his ear prompted another slow throb of his cock. It sent a flood of warmth to your crotch, where your panties had started to stick uncomfortably to your by now sensitive pussy.
“Yes” he groaned, and it almost sounded like an apology. His fingernails sunk on the flesh of your shoulders where he was desperately holding onto “I thought about you. That’s why it was-- bad”
“Was it bad?”
“She wasn’t happy with my..."
Hongjoong left out a strained sigh. You could feel his body stiffening when he buried his nose on your neck. You brought your free handto the back of his head, leisurely threading your fingers through his bleached locks.
“It was your first time” you said “She should have been good to you”
You felt him thrust into your hand as another choked moan broke against your neck.
“I was being a bad person-- Thinking about you-- I made it bad, so...” he pushed in between thrusts “I deserved that. But we only did it once, I promise”
The new information brought huge satisfaction to you. It spread deliciously through you until it reached your cunt, making it squeeze around nothing.
“I’m sorry. It should have been good for you”
You brought your hand from his hair to his face, making him lift it from where it rested nested against your neck.
“It’s okay” he reassured you, pressing an open-mouthed, sweet kiss against your palm.
"It should have been me you had your pretty cock buried inside of, hm?"
Your thumb caressed at his lips, opening his mouth so the moan that came out of him could resonate loud and obscene through the walls of the studio. You felt a small shot of precum coat your hand, and you were quick to spread it along his cock. You licked your lips, taking in the sweet, ruined look on his face. The dusty pink spread all over his cheeks and his delicate features, dazed yet steady eyes staring at you with so much adoration.
“Noona will fix it” you spoke, like a promise.
Hongjoong’s expression flashed with something dark and raw, a low hiss passing though his greeted teeth. You felt a slow throb under in your hand, and you were sure you didn't have much time.
“Yeah?”
You nodded slowly, taking in the way his eyes bore into yours with laser focus, pleading and slightly glassy.
“But for now...” you let go of his member and brought your hand in front of his mouth “Spit”
Hongjoong stared at your hand, then his eyes rose up to yours again, big and with a mix of coyness and pure, unadulterated joy. A small nervous smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he obeyed when you gave him an encouraging look with a tilt of your head. Hongjoong wasn’t sure what exactly was arousing him to the point of dizziness: your hand seamlessly sliding through his cock with the aid of his precum and own spit, or the possessive grip you had on his hip, nails digging at his hip bone. Maybe it was the slick, nasty sounds of you jerking him off resonating through the room. His head fell back with a breathy moan, presenting his throat so deliciously to you that you couldn’t help but to take a small nibble at it.
“Does it feel good?” you asked, lips pressed to his neck. He nodded lazily “Does she ever make you feel like this?”
You saw him swallow, the stretched column of his throat making the movement more prominent. Almost obscene.
“Never”
“Even when you were inside her?”
“No”
The denial came out in a borderline pained moan. Hongjoong’s head fell forward, and you could tell he wouldn’t last much longer. You jerked him off slowly, savoring every jerk of his body and desperate moan that came from his heaving chest. Even when you picked up the pace you made sure to slow down to squeeze at the tip.
"Imagine it's me" you spoke into his ear "Do you want to do that?"
He didn't answer. Instead you felt him anchor himself with one hand on the edge of the edge of the desk before he started thrusting into your sticky, slick covered fist.
“Fuck”
It was getting increasingly more difficult to ignore the delicious, burning feeling between your legs. You were sure it’d be seeping through your cotton panties by then. It was intoxicating how overwhelming everything felt. Reality had seemed to lift a veil from your eyes, anger and frustration long gone and now leaving you with the raw reality of Hongjoong, nested on your shoulder and fucking his cock against your hand. His smell, the heat of his skin underneath his old t-shirt, his hair sticking with sweat to your shoulder. The pain of his fingers gripping at your shoulder and the they he kept moaning in your ear.
You felt him shudder in your embrace before he pulled away, blown pupils boring into you through heavy lids.
“Since the day that I met you” he spoke in a breathless, broken cry. He didn’t continue, eyes simply lost on yours “Since the day that I met you”
“Me too, baby” your free hand found its place cradling the side of his face. You could feel the shiver that rippled through him at the pet name dropping from your lips, so close to his he could savor it “Where do you want to cum?”
His chest rose with a whiny moan. His eyes were out of focus, clouded by his incoming orgasm.
“Inside of you”
The honesty made you bit down a smile.
“Can’t do that now, can we?” even in that beautiful, fucked-out state of his he was able to shake his head in agreement “Couch”
You let go of him, earning a displeased groan from him. He let you push him towards the couch, sweats pulled down, and embarrassingly eager. The back of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he didn’t even bother to readjust his posture. His hips buckled in an embarrassing, unconscious move when you approached him and got on your knees.
“Lift your t-shirt”
Hongjoong did as he was told, hands gripping at the hem of his t-shirt and lifting it to his chest, eager to please. You saw the muscles tense when you started pumping him again, but nothing had prepared him for the way your lips would feel wrapped around the sensitive skin of his cock. You sucked at his tip, drawing a loud, lewd moan from him, his hips raising from the couch in a silent, desperate plea for you to do it again. You keep your mouth over his red tip, taking in the sweet, salty taste of his precum in your mouth while pumping the rest of his length. It didn’t take long for Hongjoong to cum loudly, his hand covering his mouth while he made sure to fuck himself on your hand. Every last drop of cum fell against his stomach, glimmering in the dim light of the studio.
Your hands caressed slowly up and down his thighs over the soft fabric of his sweats, and you could feel the muscles relax as he caught his breath. Hongjoong’s brows furrowed and a small whine escaped him when he saw you drag your tongue across his abdomen. You could feel his his ab muscles flexing underneath your tongue as you licked him clean, swallowing every last drop.
“I told you noona would fix it” you left a chaste kiss right above his belly button, the delicious sound of Hongjoong crying reaching that nasty, hot spot between your thighs. He was staring down at you with something similar to awe when you looked up at him “Good?” he nodded, slowly “Is this how you’d imagined?”
“Better” he managed to say, voice hoarse.
You laughed at his honesty. You rested your head on his knee, and his hand gently stroked your hair while your thumb drew lazy circles on the exposed skin of his hip bone, all while keeping the most intense, gentle eye contact. For a few seconds you both simply stared at each other, submerged in an intimacy that felt too familiar. Finally you stood up, letting your knees sink at both sides of his hips onto the soft couch.
“Do you want me to do anything?” he asked, desperate and eager to please you.
You bit down on your bottom lip to stop the smile from spreading through your face.
“Some other time”
You kissed him softly, Hongjoong’s eyes remaining open and watching you up close, almost as if trying to make sure this hadn’t been a dream.
“Was it good?”
You nodded, lips brushing against his.
“You are so good”
A low, pleased hum rose from the back of his throat as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you closer.
"Are you going to stay with me?" he asked.
"I rather you break up with your girlfriend first"
"Shit" Hongjoong straightened on his seat to search for his phone, making you tumble "Sorry!"
You shouldn't have been laughing in a moment like that, but you couldn't help it. You really were a terrible person.
"It's okay, I already feel shitty enough"
Hongjoong paused on his search to place a gentle hand on your face.
"At least we are both terrible, together"
You bit down a smile. You'd have time to loathe yourself and dwell on it. Maybe it was worth being a terrible person if you could be it in Hongjoong's arms.
synopsis: when a ballerina finds herself becoming the muse of a man who’s lips candy coat his twisted desires and masks them as dreams, does she take the bait and fall prey to a gang of wolves, or does she run away like prey?
warnings: obsession, stalking, various mental illnesses, psychological thriller, graphic descriptions of death, violence, gangs, strong language, ddlg relationships, reverse harem, smut, mxm, threesomes and more, mature themes, and many others tba
ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ author’s note: this book is solely based on my love for ateez iomt era. their roles are a crossover between janggi & chess! it will be a little diff from my usual writing as this one has much of a darker theme & will carry a lot of poetry, etc. heavily inspired by the neighbourhood, joe goldberg & alice in wonderland. so get your snacks, a warm blanket, and hold on tight bc this is gonna be a wild ride.
last warning: THIS SERIES IS EXTREMELY DARK!! if you are not comfortable with psychological horror and the tags listed under “warnings” please don’t read this as it can be very triggering or upsetting to some.
LINK TO VISUALS
———
‘you never know what they might do if they catch you too early.’
When a string of brutal murders rocks the city, Detective Y/N is assigned to the investigation alongside her longtime partner, Detective Jeong Yunho. Their first victim seems like an ordinary homicide-until a disturbing pattern begins to emerge. Every victim had a reputation for cruelty, leaving behind a trail of people who quietly admit the world may be better off without them.
WARNINGS: angst, implied serial murder, graphic description of victims' wounds, mentions of verbal abuse and harassment, fem detective!reader x forensic scientist!mingi dating (tiny skinship), investigation team!ot8eez
pt 1 pt 2 pt 3
————
Your phone rang at 4:37 a.m.
The shrill sound sliced through the silence of the apartment. You reached for the nightstand, blinking against the darkness.
“…Hello?”
“Detective.”
Hongjoong. His voice was clipped, not just awake—alert.
“What happened?”
“Get dressed.”
No greeting or explanation. That’s just how he operated.
“Willow Creek Park.”
You were already sitting up.
“Another homicide?”
“…Two.”
The call ended.
Beside you, Mingi was already awake. He’d only heard one side of the conversation. He didn’t need the other.
“…Another one?”
You nodded quietly.
“…Two.”
For just a second, neither of you moved. Then training took over.
Within minutes, the apartment was alive.
You pulled your hair into a quick ponytail while fastening your badge to your belt. Mingi grabbed his field kit from beside the front door, checking the contents almost automatically. Fresh gloves, evidence bags, camera batteries, everything accounted for. He looked over just as you reached for the keys.
“You forgot your notebook.”
You stopped.
“…I did.”
He held it out and you accepted it with a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
“You would’ve noticed eventually.”
“I would’ve panicked first.”
“I know.”
You slipped it into your bag.
As you headed for the door, you paused.
“Wait.”
Mingi looked back.
“What?”
You reached up, smoothing down one stubborn piece of hair that refused to stay in place.
“There.”
He blinked.
“…Better?”
“You looked like you lost a fight with your pillow.”
“I think I did.”
You smiled.
“I’ll drive.”
The city was almost empty.
Streetlights reflected across rain-dark pavement.
You mentally ran through questions. Victim identification. Witnesses. Time of death. Scene security. Mingi stared quietly out the passenger window, already shifting into forensic mode.
By the time you reached Willow Creek Park, the parking lot glowed with alternating red and blue lights, patrol cars and crime scene vans. An ambulance parked off to the side, its lights dark.
Too late for that.
You and Mingi ducked beneath the yellow tape together.
Hongjoong spotted you immediately.
“Detective. Forensics.” He didn’t waste time. “They’re over there.”
The park looked deceptively peaceful. Morning fog clung low over the grass. Birds had already begun singing. A groundskeeper’s sprinkler continued rotating in the distance, blissfully unaware that half the park had become a crime scene.
You followed Hongjoong along a winding walking path.
The further you walked, the quieter everyone became.
Then you saw them at a wooden picnic table beneath a large oak tree.
Two figures remained seated exactly where they’d apparently spent their final moments. One leaned slightly backward and the other rested against the tabletop. Coffee cups left half full. A deck of playing cards scattered across the wood.
One card drifted lazily to the ground as the morning breeze picked up.
No overturned benches. No obvious struggle. No panic frozen across their faces just stillness. A scary, impossible stillness. Your pace slowed instinctively.
“…Identities?”
“Confirmed,” Hongjoong said handing over two folders.
You opened the first.
Ryan Mitchell.
The second.
Ethan Thompson.
Recognition hit almost immediately.
“What…”
Hongjoong watched your expression carefully.
“You know them.”
You swallowed.
“They graduated with me.”
“Were they friends?”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“They were inseparable. They did everything together. Including…” You stopped yourself.
Hongjoong noticed.
“Including?”
You looked toward the two bodies.
“…Making other people’s lives miserable.”
Silence settled over the group. Yunho crouched near the edge of the taped perimeter, studying the surrounding ground.
“No drag marks.” He looked toward Yeosang. “Nothing obvious.”
Yeosang nodded.
“I’ll confirm.”
Mingi had already slipped on fresh gloves. He approached carefully, stopping just short of the table. His eyes moved slowly, not to the bodies but around them at every detail
He paused.
“…Captain.”
Hongjoong stepped closer.
“What?”
Mingi pointed toward the tabletop.
“The cards.”
Everyone looked.
A game of poker had been left unfinished.
Five community cards lay face-up between the victims.
Nearby, Yeosang knelt beside one of the coffee cups, not touching them.
“…Interesting.”
Yunho looked over. “What?”
“The lids.”
“What about them?”
“They’re from different cafés.”
Hongjoong blinked.
“Different?”
Yeosang nodded.
“Different brands. Different suppliers. Different locations.”
Everyone exchanged a look. One victim hadn’t bought both coffees which obviously meant somebody else had. You slowly looked back toward the table.
Three coffees.
No.
Your eyes narrowed. There were only two cups now but… three faint circular condensation rings stained the weathered wood.
One.
Two.
Three.
Your heartbeat quickened.
“…Captain.”
Hongjoong turned. “What is it?”
“There were three people sitting here,” you said, pointing carefully.”
Hongjoong stepped closer.
“You sure?”
“The third cup’s gone.”
You traced the empty ring with your finger, careful not to touch the table itself.
“But whoever left took theirs with them.”
Nobody spoke.
The realization settled over the crime scene like the morning fog.
It hadn’t been an ambush.
The victims had willingly sat down with someone they either knew… or trusted enough to share coffee.
Mingi’s eyes drifted to the empty space on the table, not the condensation ring, something just beside it. A faint line in the wood, too straight to be natural. He leaned in slightly.
“…Yeosang.”
“Hm?”
“Look at this.”
Yeosang joined him.
The two forensic scientists studied the mark in silence, neither speaking for several seconds. Finally, Yeosang mumbled,
“…A chair scrape.”
Mingi nodded once.
“Someone pulled it out and pushed it back in. No signs of panic. No overturned furniture. No defensive damage.”
Yeosang looked toward Hongjoong.
“They weren’t expecting violence.”
You stood motionless, looking at the victims.
Ryan.
Ethan.
Two names you hadn’t thought about in years. Two people who had laughed while someone else cried. Two people who had left scars they probably never remembered creating.
Now…
They were only evidence. You hated how complicated that made you feel.
Behind you, Hongjoong quietly addressed the team.
“We’ve got four victims.” He looked around the scene. “The same pattern. The same precision.”
Then, almost to himself, he said, “Whoever we’re looking for… they’re getting way too comfortable.”
—
By the time the team returned to the precinct…
The sun had finally climbed above the skyline.
No one noticed.
Coffee had gone cold.
Breakfast had been forgotten hours ago.
The bullpen buzzed with controlled exhaustion as officers filed reports and patrol units cycled off shift.
Another double homicide.
Another impossible morning.
The forensic laboratory remained brightly lit despite the daylight pouring through the windows.
Evidence from Willow Creek Park had already been separated across multiple stainless steel tables.
Coffee cups.
Playing cards.
Fibers.
Soil samples.
Photographs from the warehouse.
Everything had its place.
Everything except answers.
Yeosang carefully removed the recovered presentation binder from a sealed evidence bag.
Its clear archival sleeves caught the overhead lights but having been abandoned inside an aging warehouse… it had been cared for. The edges weren’t bent. The plastic hadn’t yellowed. Every page lay perfectly flat. Almost…
Loved.
Mingi noticed the same thing.
“…That’s strange.”
Yeosang glanced over.
“What is?”
“The condition.” He adjusted his gloves before gently opening the cover. “This binder should’ve deteriorated more by now.”
Yeosang nodded. “It was maintained.Regularly.”
One by one they turned each page.
Each sleeve contained a single photograph centered perfectly. No fingerprints visible to the naked eye. Every photograph aligned exactly the same way. No corners folded or accidental creases. Nothing out of place just page after page.
Yeosang didn’t answer immediately. He gently closed the binder then reopened it slowly, watching the metal rings instead of the photographs. His brow furrowed.
“…Count these.”
“The photographs?”
“The sleeves.”
Mingi looked confused.
“…Okay.”
He began quietly counting.
“…Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...”
He paused. Then counted once more.
“…Sixteen.” He looked up. “But there are only fifteen photographs.”
Yeosang nodded once.
“Exactly.”
They both leaned closer and saw first sleeve sat empty.
Perfectly empty.
No torn plastic. No damage. No stretching. No proof a photograph had accidentally fallen out. It had been removed on purpose.
Mingi frowned.
“…Why the first one?”
Yeosang ran one gloved finger lightly along the edge of the sleeve.
“Not random.”
“No. If it were accidental it wouldn’t be the very first page.”
Mingi nodded slowly.
“And whoever organized this…” he looked through the remaining pages, “doesn’t strike me as sloppy.”
Yeosang almost smiled.
“Understatement.”
The photographs behind the empty sleeve followed a pattern, each page numbered discreetly in black archival ink.
02.
03.
04.
Mingi blinked.
“…Yeosang.”
“I see it.”
“They’re numbered.”
“The first photograph wasn’t just removed.” Yeosang looked back toward the empty sleeve. “It belonged there.”
For several seconds the only sound in the laboratory was the quiet hum of the ventilation system. Mingi broke the silence.
“What if…” He stopped himself and Yeosang looked over.
“What?”
“What if the first photograph wasn’t another survivor?”
Yeosang considered that.
“…Go on.”
“What if…” Mingi chose his words carefully. “…the person in that sleeve wasn’t someone the killer avenged.”
Yeosang remained silent. Mingi looked down at the empty page.
“What if… they’re the reason all of this started.”
Neither man liked how much sense that made. Yeosang quietly reached for his notebook and wrote one line.
Missing Photograph — Position 01
Removed intentionally prior to binder recovery. Possible significance exceeds remaining photographs due to placement.
“…Should we tell Hongjoong?”
“Immediately.”
Twenty minutes later, the conference room filled once again. Hongjoong stood at the front while the rest of the task force settled into their seats. Mingi placed the presentation binder on the table.
“You found something?” Hongjoong asked.
“We think so,” Yeosang answered.
Hongjoong folded his arms.
“Walk me through it.”
Yeosang opened the binder, turning it toward everyone else.
“This binder contains sixteen archival sleeves.”
He turned the first page and the empty sleeve reflected the fluorescent lights overhead.
“But only fifteen photographs.”
Hongjoong frowned.
“…You’re sure there wasn’t another photograph recovered separately?”
“We checked.”
“It wasn’t.”
Yunho remained quietly seated across the table, his face unreadable. Mingi’s eyes unconsciously drifted over to him then looked away. He continued.
“Initially, we assumed the killer either misplaced a photograph or removed one at random.” He gently turned another page. Every remaining photograph sat perfectly aligned. Same orientation, spacing and archival labels.
Nothing varied.
“After examining the binder more closely we don’t believe this person does anything at random.”
A quiet confusion moved through the room.
Yeosang nodded.
“The organization is meticulous. The first sleeve wasn’t skipped. It was intentionally emptied.”
Hongjoong looked between the two forensic scientists.
“What are you suggesting?”
“We can’t prove motive,” Mingi said calmly.
“But…” He looked once more at the vacant sleeve. “…If someone spent this much time documenting survivors, the very first photograph likely held exceptional importance.”
Hongjoong’s expression hardened.
“You think whoever was in that photograph matters more than everyone else.”
Mingi shook his head gently.
“Not more important.” He corrected himself. “More foundational.”
“The first page usually establishes the collection,” Yeosang added. Hongjoong looked down at the empty sleeve.
“What if the killer kept it?”
Mingi and Yeosang exchanged a glance. Then Mingi nodded once.
“…That’s our leading theory.”
The room fell completely silent. Yunho’s eyes rested on the empty sleeve. For only the briefest heartbeat, his thumb unconsciously brushed against the edge of his notebook.
He looked up.
“Assuming you’re right… finding whoever belongs in that missing photograph may tell us why the killings began.”
Hongjoong closed the binder with deliberate care.
“Then that’s our next priority.” He looked around the room. “I don’t care how long it takes, I want to know who belonged in sleeve number one.”
—
The conference room slowly emptied.
Folders disappeared beneath arms. Coffee cups were collected. Conversations broke into smaller groups as everyone returned to their assignments.
Hongjoong was already halfway back to his office before anyone else reached the hallway.
“…I’ll want updates by three.”
No one argued.
The office settled back into its familiar rhythm.
Printers hummed.
Someone celebrated finally getting the copy machine to cooperate.
Life resumed.
You walked beside Mingi, your shoulder lightly brushing his every few steps. You reached over and quietly slipped your hand around two of his fingers not enough to stop him walking just to remind him you were there. He smiled without looking at you.
“…Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Tough morning.”
“The worst kind.”
He squeezed your hand once before letting go as another detective passed by, professional but not distant.
“You hungry?”
You looked up.
“Already?”
“You forgot breakfast.”
“…I forgot breakfast.”
“I remembered.”
“You always do.”
“You remembered my notebook.”
“That’s because you’re hopeless.”
“I am. Anyways, I’m buying lunch.”
“You bought last time.”
“You cooked yesterday.”
“So?”
“So…” You nudged his shoulder. “It’s my turn.”
He pretended to think about it.
“Hm.”
“I’m waiting.”
“…Okay.”
You grinned triumphantly. “I win.”
“You usually do.”
You slowed near Yunho’s row of cubicles.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Speaking of old things…”
Mingi looked over.
“…Should I be offended?”
“I said things, not people.”
“Ouch.”
You laughed.
“I completely forgot to tell you.”
“Hm?”
“You know that academy picture I’ve told you about?”
“The fountain story?”
“Unfortunately.” You smiled. “Yunho still has the original pinned up in his cubicle.”
Mingi’s expression remained relaxed.
“…Really?”
“Yeah. I hadn’t seen it in years. I told him he should make a copy before it faded.”
“And?”
You shrugged.
“He just smiled and said…” You laughed quietly, remembering. “‘This one’s enough.’”
Mingi’s smile remained exactly where it was. But somewhere behind it, a gear turned. The binder. Sixteen sleeves. Fifteen photographs. The first one missing. The original photograph.
This one’s enough.
Coincidence.
Probably.
He heard himself ask— “…Can I see it?”
You blinked.
“The picture?”
“Yeah. You’ve talked about it so much. I kind of want to finally put faces to the fountain incident.”
You laughed.
“That’s fair.”
The two of you stepped over to Yunho’s cubicle, a respectful distance away without invading his privacy.
“There.”
You pointed toward the bulletin board and Mingi leaned in slightly.
The photograph was exactly as you’d described.
Two impossibly young detectives standing in front of the precinct. Your smiles looked almost nervous. Yunho looked taller somehow. You looked exhausted. The edges of the photograph had softened with age. One corner curled slightly despite being pinned flat.
Mingi smiled.
“…You really did look terrified.”
“I was.”
“You can tell.”
“Thank you for the support.”
“I support you honestly.”
He studied it another second. Old photographs had a way of capturing people before life complicated them. He found himself smiling.
“…You both look happy.”
“We were. It was our first day. I remember thinking we were going to solve every case in the city.”
“You told me we’d retire before thirty.”
“I was optimistic.”
A voice behind you interrupted.
“I definitely thought so too.”
Both of you turned together. Yunho approached carrying two fresh case files tucked beneath one arm. He smiled when he saw where you were looking.
“Oh. You found it again.”
You nodded.
“I was telling Mingi about it.”
Yunho stepped beside them. For just a moment the three stood shoulder to shoulder looking at the old photograph like old friends reminiscing.
“You still keep it.”
You smiled.
“I can’t believe it.”
“I’ve moved desks three times. It just kept following me,” Yunho said with a shrug.
“You make it sound sentient.”
“I’m not ruling anything out.”
You laughed. Mingi’s gaze lingered on the photograph then he asked,
“…Who took it?”
“…One of the academy instructors,” Yunho answered a little too quickly.
“You remember who?”
“Hm…” he said thoughtfully. “I honestly don’t. It was years ago.”
“Fair.”
Another tiny silence then Mingi nodded once.
“Mind if I look a little closer?”
“Go ahead.”
Yunho stepped aside without hesitation. Mingi leaned in. The paper itself looked old, normal aging yet his eyes drifted toward the lower corner.
A small photography studio watermark which was mostly faded. He forced a small smile.
“…Funny,” Mingi said. You raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I expected it to be bigger.”
“The picture?”
“Yeah. I’ve imagined it for months.”
“I’ve built it up too much,” you laughed.
“A little.”
Yunho watched him. Not the photograph.
Mingi.
There was nothing blatantly suspicious about what Mingi was doing just a loving boyfriend curious about an old memory.
Yet something felt different. Not the questions but the way they were asked—very carefully. Very…
Mingi.
“You okay?” You asked, noticing he’d gone quiet. Mingi blinked.
“Hm?”
“You disappeared for a second.”
He smiled immediately.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“That’s scary.”
“I get that a lot.”
The conversation drifted naturally back toward lunch plans. You began teasing Yunho about how serious he looked in the photograph. He defended himself with exaggerated indignation.
“You looked exactly the same.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
The laughter came easily.
A few minutes later, you and Mingi continued toward the elevators. You slipped your hand into his for just a second before the doors opened.
“You still owe me lunch.”
“I remember.”
“You’d better.”
“I said I would.”
The doors closed behind you.
Back in the bullpen, Yunho remained standing beside his cubicle. His smile faded into quiet contemplation. He looked at the photograph then in the direction of the elevators.
He’d known Mingi for years, long enough to recognize the difference between idle curiosity and the beginning of a pattern. Mingi hadn’t looked at the photograph like a boyfriend.
He’d looked at it the way a forensic scientist looks at evidence.
Not because he suspected anything but because something no longer fit perfectly.
Yunho exhaled slowly.
So.
Mingi had started collecting observations too.
And that—more than the police and more than the evidence—was the first thing that truly concerned him.
—
The rain had finally stopped.
Gray clouds still hung over the city, but the streets below the precinct glistened beneath the afternoon sun.
For the first time in days…
Things were quiet.
Not peaceful.
Just…
Quiet.
Seonghwa sat alone in Interview Room Three.
His untouched cup of coffee had long since gone cold. He stared through the glass wall without really seeing it. The newest victim’s face kept replaying in his mind.
A face he’d hoped never to see again.
A face he’d never expected to see lifeless.
The knock at the door was gentle.
“Seonghwa?”
He looked up.
“…Y/N.”
You stepped inside carefully without your notebook or recorder.
Just you.
“You doing okay?”
He laughed once, hollow.
“…I don’t know.”
You pulled out the chair beside him.
“You don’t have to.”
“…I knew him.”
You nodded. “I figured.”
“He…” Seonghwa swallowed. “…He used to bully me.”
His hands tightened around the paper coffee cup.
“Middle school. High school. It didn’t really matter. It just…never stopped.”
You listened and didn’t interrupt.
“…When I saw him today I felt awful.” Another pause. “Then I felt relieved and then I felt guilty for feeling relieved.”
He looked at you.
“What kind of person does that make me?”
Your heart ached.
“The kind who survived.”
His eyes filled. You reached across the table, gently resting your hand over his.
“You are not responsible for what happened to him. And you’re not responsible for how complicated this feels.”
He nodded slowly.
A few minutes later youwalked him down the hallway. San and Jongho were waiting near one of the conference rooms. San offered a warm smile.
“Seonghwa. I’m San. This is Jongho.”
Jongho inclined his head.
“It’s good to meet you. Wish it were under different circumstances.”
Seonghwa managed a small smile.
“So do I.”
You looked between them.
“He was the first witness. He also knew today’s victim.”
San’s expression softened immediately.
“I understand.” He opened the conference room door. “We’re just going to talk. No pressure. No expectations. If you need a break… we stop.”
Jongho quietly placed a bottle of water on the table before Seonghwa even sat down. No one commented on it, it was simply there.
Waiting.
You caught San’s eye and he gave you one reassuring nod.
We’ll take care of him.
You smiled gratefully before slipping back into the bullpen.
Yunho stood at the case board, hands in his pockets, studying the growing web of photographs and timelines. You stopped beside him.
“…Long day.”
He smiled faintly.
“They’re all long lately.”
You followed his gaze. Another photograph had been pinned to the board. Another victim. Another name. Another life. Another trail. You crossed your arms.
“…Can I ask you something?”
“When have you ever not?”
You smiled.
“Fair.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke then quietly…
“Not as a detective.”
He looked over.
“…Okay.”
“As you.”
His expression shifted to curiosity.
“What do you think about all of this?”
He looked back toward the board.
“…I think it’s sad.”
You waited and he continued.
“…That it took people dying before anyone finally believed what those survivors had been saying for years.”
The sentence lingered.
You frowned ever so slightly.
“…That’s what you think about?”
He nodded once.
“Yeah. I keep reading these interviews. The survivors all say the same thing. ‘I told someone.’ ‘Nobody listened.’”
He looked at the board.
“…Now everyone wants to hear them.”
You followed his eyes.
“…I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
He smiled sadly. “I wish we didn’t have to.”
Hongjoong called his name from across the room.
“Yunho.”
He straightened. “Duty calls. You coming?”
“In a minute.”
He nodded once before disappearing toward Hongjoong’s office. You remained where you were, looking at the board. His words quietly echoed in your mind.
—
Your apartment was unusually quiet that evening.
Rain rolled softly against the balcony railing. You stood at the stove boiling a pot of soup while Mingi hugged you from behind, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried into your neck. The peaceful kind of quiet that only existed between people who never felt obligated to fill it.
“Yunho said something weird today.”
Mingi looked up.
“Only one thing?”
“Shocking, I know.”
He smiled.
“What happened?”
You added salt to the pot.
“I asked him something.”
“Hm?”
“Just what he thought about the case. Not as a detective. As himself.”
Mingi nodded for you to continue. You repeated the conversation almost word for word. When you reached the end—
“…he said ‘I think it’s sad that it took people dying before anyone finally believed what those survivors had been saying for years.’”
Mingi looked down at the stove.
“…That’s an interesting answer.”
“Right? I don’t think it’s suspicious.”
“No.”
“Just…” You searched for the word. “…different.”
Mingi rested his chin on top of your head.
“…Can I tell you something?”
You looked over.
“Of course.”
“A few days ago… Yunho pulled me aside.”
Your eyebrows lifted.
“Mhm.”
“We talked about the victims.”
“What about them?”
“He asked if I thought people could change.”
“…Really?”
“He specifically asked about bullies.”
Your stirring slowed.
“What’d you say?”
“I said people deserve more than one chance.”
You smiled faintly.
“That sounds like you.”
“I also said… you can’t kill someone into becoming a better person.”
The room fell quiet. You turned the burner down.
“He asked you that before today’s conversation.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you spoke for a while. The soup simmered quietly between you.
The words left both of your mouths at exactly the same moment. You stared at each other then burst into laughter.
“There we go.”
You shook your head.
“Occupational hazard for both of us.”
Mingi smiled.
“Too much evidence. Not enough sleep.”
“Exactly.”
He reached over and gently stole a taste of the soup from your spoon. You gasped.
“…Rude.”
He considered it. “…Needs pepper.”
“You could’ve gotten your own spoon.”
“I like yours better. And I don’t want to move. You’re warm.”
You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The conversation drifted naturally toward dinner plans. Movies. Laundry. Whether either of you remembered to buy more coffee and hot chocolate (you didn’t). The strange feeling from earlier slowly dissolved into the warmth of home.
Much later, after you’d gone to bed, Mingi stood alone in the kitchen rinsing the last bowl. Water ran gently over his hands while thoughts drifted.
Second chances. People changing. “It took people dying…” The original photograph. The empty first sleeve.
One by one…
The observations went through his mind.
He sighed.
“…No.”
He turned off the faucet and dried his hands.
“I’m tired.”
He trusted Yunho.
Yunho trusted him.
Sometimes patterns appeared because the human brain desperately wanted them to. He switched off the kitchen light and walked down the hallway, never realizing that since this investigation began he hadn’t put the observations away.
He’d started replaying them.
And once a forensic scientist begins replaying evidence…
It’s very difficult to make them stop.
Mingi walked into the bathroom and looked not in the mirror, more at the mirror, for longer than necessary.
He huffed a humorless laugh.
“Yunho, it's weird as hell that you’re killing people on behalf of my girlfriend,” he whispered.
𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗜𝓞 ──── in which your daughter disappears down a store aisle, nowhere to be found. that is, until she comes back to you with a handsome stranger holding her hand and a brand-new toy.
﹙ 1,079 ﹚ choi san x singlemom!fem!r | 𝑓𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧＆𝑐𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 + petnames strangers to (???) physical touch not proofread ﹗
─ emi is about 3 years old here.
𝓁ani speaks : not my best work but i’ve been struggling to write lately so i’m taking this as a win
she had been right there.
standing at your side, in the bread aisle, holding onto the fabric of your sweatpants as you picked up two loafs to put into your cart. she followed behind you closely as you pushed the cart when you left the aisle, traveling to get the next thing on your list.
but in an instant, she was gone. you were calling her name, asking her about snacks and what she would want for dinner.
“emi?”
there was no response. you had stopped pushing the cart, realizing you didn’t feel her tugging at your pants or hear her occasional giggles as she imagined all sorts of games and cartoon characters.
you turned to find nothing but a shelf of chocolate next to you, your daughter not in sight.
“emilia?” you called out, looking down one of the aisles. there was a lady who glanced at you and turned back to the item she was holding.
she couldn’t have gone far, you tried to convince yourself.
leaving the cart where it was, you jogged back to the bread aisle. and again, there was no sight of her.
“emi? baby?”
you ran to another aisle, searching everything up and down, checking behind the items that stood on the shelves.
no emi.
your heart’s pace began to pick up, faster than its normal rate. usually you’d put her in the cart but there were too many groceries this time, and you were not pulling that red wagon that she loved to sit in when you both went on walks.
you checked a few more aisles before eventually finding an employee, jogging up to her for some extra help.
“excuse me, um,” you stop in front of her, your chest heaving.
she looked at you, her eyes widening with concern. “yes?”
“i’m sorry— have you seen a little girl around here? pink sweatpants and a white tee shirt?”
she looked down the aisle she was stocking in. “no, i’m sorry. no one’s really been down this one.”
you drag your hands down your face, groaning. you thanked the young lady anyway, hoping to find someone else who could be of more help. but before you could walk away, she called out.
“i could ask around, if you’d like? maybe she’s looking for you,” she offered a tender smile, climbing down from the small step stool to stand by your side.
“that would be great, thank you.” you let out a shaky breath. together, you both roamed the aisles, calling out your daughter’s name—to which you received no response.
as the minutes passed, the more you walked up and down those aisles, your stomach sank. you couldn’t lose her, not your baby.
the employee eventually turned to you, after walking down the seventh aisle.
“would you like me to call the police?” her eyebrows were furrowed as she studied your anxious expression.
before you could even start to say yes, a small voice called out, nearly bringing tears to your eyes.
“mama!”
you turned around so quickly, you almost lost your balance.
there was emi, her face lighting up when she saw that it was you. she held something in her hand that was nearly as big as her, and a hand that you did not recognize.
your gaze shifted to the figure next to her, traveling up to reveal a man—an all too good-looking one—with sharp features but a gentle smile on his face. he held emi’s hand tightly, a protective grip that ensured she wouldn’t wander off again.
you caught yourself staring, quickly clearing your throat before greeting your daughter.
you crouched to her level, watching as she immediately let go of the man’s hand and he watched as she ran to you, his smile growing wide.
“mama!” she said again, dropping the box in her hand and wrapping her hands around your neck. you pulled her in for a tight embrace, your arms wrapping around her smaller frame.
“oh, thank goodness,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. you rubbed her back, staying there with her for a moment.
“where did you go?! i thought i lost you, i thought—“ you rambled.
emi pulled back to look at you, “i don’t know,”
“you don’t know?” you laughed shakily, your breathing still uneven.
she shook her head before hugging you again, tighter this time.
“i’m sorry,” she mumbled into your jacket. without saying anything, you kissed the side of her head, lifting her up in your arms.
your gaze landed back on the man, who still stood in front of you.
“i found her in the toy section,” he said softly, glancing at the box that sat on the ground. it was a new teacup set with little utensils inside, which emi didn’t need but that didn’t matter at the moment.
“um, i— thank you,” your lips formed a small smile, watching as he held out his hand. you took it, your palms sliding against each other’s as you gave his hand a firm shake.
“it’s no problem, i’m glad i could help,” his dimple deepened as he beamed, still holding your hand.
your face felt hot as the handsome stranger gazed back at you, a twinkle in his eye.
“uh, did you need help? with anything else?” he asked, his grip on your hand turning loose as he bent to pick up emi’s new toy.
“no, no,” you reassured him. “i…i think we got everything.”
he handed you the toy, as you readjusted emi in your arms.
“thank you, again. i really appreciate it.”
he nodded, saying that it was no problem. emi sat up in your arms, facing him.
“thank you, mr. san,” she spoke quietly, suddenly shy. he chuckled m, leaning in to give her head a small pat.
“of course, but stay close to mama, okay? she was really worried.” his tone softened when he spoke to emi, as if she was the most delicate thing ever.
emi nodded before wrapping her arms around you again, nuzzling into your neck.
you looked at san once more as he waved to you and emi, giving you one more smile before turning back down the aisle.
“how did you manage to find the most gorgeous person in the store?” you murmured more to yourself than to emi.
she yawned, her small hand patting at your back. “wan’ go home.”
you nodded, forgetting all about the cart that was filled with the items from your list.
synopsis: hongjoong's assistant (and girlfriend) gets uncomfortable with some words from a security guard while they're on stage. when hongjoong finds out, he's pissed. (4.4k words)
request: someone requested this SOOOO long ago and i responded but can't find it :( so if you requested this, anon: i'm SO sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy!
tags: hongjoong x reader, idol!hongjoong, assistant!reader, secret dating kinda but not really, hurt/comfort, fluff, some suggestive content. reader uses she/her pronouns.
warnings: reader experiences mild emotional discomfort from verbal harassment and (non-explicit) unwanted touch. allusions to violence (but none actually happens). mild suggestive discussions. discussions of relationship dynamics.
hope you enjoy! let me know what you think <3
+ + +
He's on fire. Even more than usual.
As Hongjoong's assistant, you felt it was your job to make sure he had everything he needed to be successful. You arranged his hair appointments, made sure the stylists had ready his outfits for each show, checked with tech that his mic was working, and often, attended to all the other random minor things that Hongjoong would notice and want taken care of in his flurry of worries as the leader of ATEEZ, and as an artist who wanted everything in his art to just be perfect.
As his girlfriend, however, you felt it was your job just to love him. To admire him, to take care of him, to encourage him. As your boyfriend, he did the same, sometimes going to even extreme measures to put the love he has for you into action, not just words.
You watched him from backstage, rapping like he was born to do it, dancing like it was breathing for him, and your heart fluttered to see how in his element he was, how happy he seemed to be surrounded by music, by his best friends, and by ATINY. This was Hongjoong's world, and you were happy to be part of it.
Most of the crew were in various parts of the stadium, making sure lights, sound, and visuals were operating correctly. Near you stood a security guard, one you didn't know well but had exchanged a few polite greetings with in passing. You were grateful that the boys – especially your boy – had such solid protection.
“You're the captain's assistant, right?” You hear him say during a dance break, when the crowd of fans are hushed in quiet captivation at the guys’ artistic movements.
You nod, giving a polite smile, not taking your eyes off the show. You didn't want to miss a moment.
“You like it, being his assistant?”
The question catches you off guard. You pull your gaze away and your eyes land on him. His arms are crossed, and he's watching the performance as well. Maybe he's just bored, you think, making light, meaningless conversation.
“Yeah,” you say, “it's good. Keeps me busy, and I love being part of the ATEEZ crew,” you turn your attention back to the show, in which a new song is starting, the boys taking their places. “They're so talented, you know? They're pretty amazing.”
In your periphery, you see him nod in agreement as the song intro builds. “Not too shabby,” he chuckles.
You give a small, fake laugh in response. The security guard had moved closer to you, just barely. Just to hear each other better, you supposed.
“He good to you?”
“Hmm?”
“Is he good to you?”
You hesitated, faking a smile, though your discomfort grows. You didn't know him well, and his questions were…strange. Random. Maybe you just hated small talk. “Yeah, he's a good boss! Doesn't work me too hard!”
“I mean, is he like…good to you?”
You turn to look at him. What does that mean?
The guard laughs at your expression. “Aw, come on. We all know you're fucking him.”
Your heart drops, and you stutter out something, you've no idea what, you're so confused–
“Now, don't be shy!” the man says, nudging you with his shoulder. “Is the captain a good boyfriend? A good fuck?”
His tone makes you feel sick to your stomach, and suddenly you want to run away from there. That's none of his business, you know, your brain is screaming it, but you force yourself to stay, to politely wave him off.
“Ah, sorry, that's not something we really like to share,” you squint your eyes, your repetitive forced laughs growing dryer and faker with each one.
“Aw, that's cute. Gonna be hard to keep it a secret for long, though.”
“I'm sorry?” Why am I apologizing? you think.
The man shrugs. “He's an idol. He's the leader of an idol group. Paparazzi are constantly watching. Believe me, I've had to fend them off a lot.”
“So…?”
“So, people are going to find out about your relationship eventually, and then they're gonna ask questions, and when you don't answer, they're just going to guess.”
What the fuck are we doing here? You think, pondering over the man's words. What could possibly be the reason for this random conversation?
“You know, if you ever want something more low-key,” the man puts his arm around your shoulders, muttering in your ear, “There's plenty of more… normal guys in the crew who would be happy to oblige.”
Oh. There it is.
You pull away from him immediately, fight-or-flight finally activated.
Thank God this was the last song.
You mutter something about needing to get ready for send-off and head toward the dressing rooms. First you're shocked, then other emotions start to seep in, and your eyes brim with tears. Why are you crying? It was just a stupid conversation. Just a guy talking. Rudely, yes, but still, just talking.
You wait in the dressing room, which is blessedly empty. You just need to rest a moment. It's been a long day.
You're taking some deep breaths to calm down when the boys come in, whooping and chattering. Some wave to you, some offer a quick hello.
Then, Hongjoong enters. He looks tired, but his smile grows wide upon seeing you. For what feels like the tenth time in the past hour, you force a smile.
And he notices. A faint alarm going off in his head. He knows you too well to fall for any false faces you put on. But he won't say anything, not yet. He wants you to feel comfortable enough to bring whatever it is up on your own.
“Hi baby,” he says softly, taking a seat right next to you. “Did you like the show?”
You nod. “It was so good! You all were amazing tonight.”
“Thank you.” He gives you a quick kiss on your temple as he puts his arm around your waist. “Any notes? Anything go wrong?”
You hesitate half a second, thinking about the security guard. That wasn't anything wrong with the show, though.
“No, I think everything went fairly smoothly! I'll talk to the others later, though, to see if everything was okay on their end.”
“Ah, you're such a good assistant,” Hongjoong praises. “So good at your job and good to me. I don't deserve you.”
His wording strikes a nerve, and you quickly try to push past it, knowing it's going to show on your face if you don't. “Thank you,” you say quickly. You stand, grabbing your tablet and throwing yourself into assistant mode. “You've got send off next, then–um–?”
“ –Then we get something to eat, and go home?” he offers, confusion in his voice. “You doing okay?”
“I'm fine!” you say a little too cheerily. “Just tired. Let's go do this.”
At send-off, distracting yourself proves fruitless, but you still attempted anyway. Usually, it's a manager that walks with Hongjoong, but they got busy with another situation, so it fell to you to be Hongjoong's right hand and translator. You put a mask on to somewhat conceal your identity from the fans – most of the ATEEZ crew knew the two of you were dating, but publicly, he was still single and you were just an assistant. You knew fans had their suspicions, but thankfully, the two of you were careful enough that the rumors would tend to fizzle out.
The security guard's words swirled in your head as Joong when from fan to fan, and you tried desperately to push them away. Focus. You nearly missed it when a fan said something in English that he didn't understand, nearly missed the subtle glance he gave to you that he'd give when he needed help translating but didn't want to make a big scene of it. He cared that much about the fans– even in a language he didn't speak, he didn't want to offend.
You chuckled weakly when you realized what the fan had said.
Hongjoong, grinning with a hint of apology crinkling his eyes, glances at you.
You lean toward his neck to whisper in Korean, “She asks if you'll be her ‘pookie.’”
He turns toward you, confusion finally breaking through his friendly facade.
“Like jagiya. But more colloquial, friend-like.”
“Ah,” he turns back to the fan, blowing her a quick air kiss and saying in English, “I am already Atiny’s pookie!”
Giggles and satisfied chatter follow his comment as he moves on, and you're still pushing, down, down, down the feelings that have bubbled up since the conversation with the security guard. The one time you actually notice Hongjoong observing you, he asks under his breath, “Are you doing alright?”
“Yeah, fine,” you respond quickly, trying to redirect his focus to the fans. You wanted this done. And every time you saw some girl– sweet, adoring, just wanting to meet their bias– talking to him like they've known him for years, it twists something in your gut that you've tried to push past. A jealousy you know you have no right to, no reason for. But it exists, and in your tired, tightly-wound state, it grows and threatens to make you burst.
Hongjoong could feel the tension coming off of you, less friendly and engaged with fans than normal, and though he didn't know why you were feeling that way, it caused him to be less himself. He was a little short with the fans, not out of frustration, but out of a need to get somewhere away from all this and get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.
As the door closed behind you, Hongjoong's hand is around yours immediately, warm and gripping firmly.
“Let's get us some food, yeah?” he says, something in his eyes you can't quite understand. “I'm thinking somewhere quiet.”
You sigh, forcing a smile. “Home?”
He chuckles. “That can be a pretty quiet place when we want it to be,” he nods, “We can pick something up.”
At your shared home, you open the takeout boxes as Hongjoong goes to change clothes. The smell of the food combined with the comfort of the couch grounds you a little, bringing most of your thoughts out of orbit. You eat, deciding that maybe you've made a bigger deal out of things than you needed to.
And then Hongjoong sits across from you at the coffee table, legs criss-crossed and his hands resting on his knees. There's a look on his face, smiling but determined, preparing for something.
“What?” you ask through a mouthful of food after he stares at you for a moment.
“Jagiya–”
You raise your eyebrows.
“–What happened today?” His words are hesitant but forthright.
You shake your head like you have no idea what he could be talking about, and reach for your drink. “Nothing happened. I mean, we had the concert?”
Hongjoong's eyes narrow a little, forcing a sad smile. He knows you too well, knows what your white lies sound like.
“Yes, we did have the concert, and rehearsal before that, but you've seemed off since the show ended.”
You feel your stomach start to twist at the memory you'd been trying to let go of all night. Telling him might help you with that, yes, but telling him could also open up conversations you really don't feel like having.
“I'm fine,” you say, chewing solemnly and staring at your food.
Hongjoong sighs, and half-groans, half-laughs your name. “I know something's wrong.” He stands to come sit next to you on the couch, sitting as close to you as he can. “I can feel it coming off you, baby. What are you upset about?”
You don't say anything, unsure of where to even start, and you desperately fight tears that threaten behind your eyes.
“Is it something I did?” he asks quietly.
And that's what breaks you: the idea that he'd think he was anything but perfect, that he could unknowingly cause you pain. Sure, he had his off moments, but he was human.
The sniff betrays your subtlety as you sit up, and Hongjoong brushes your hair aside to see your face. “Oh, no no no!” he quickly pulls you into his arms as your crying becomes audible, sniffing and sharp inhales coming out as you bury your face in his neck.
“Darling, please talk to me,” Hongjoong says in a soft voice, running his hand down the back of your head soothingly. “I want to help.”
After a minute or two, you've calmed down somewhat, breathing less heavily and eyes less watery.
“It was a long night,” you admit. “I think I've been so drained lately.”
Hongjoong nods, relieved that you're finally letting him in on what's going on in your head. “You've worked really hard lately!” He rubs circles on your back as you continue.
“Yeah, and then this security guy, he started talking to me during the performance, and he got in my head a little–”
“Which security guy? One of ours or the venue's?”
“Ours. I don't know his name, though.”
“That's okay. What did he say to you?”
You hesitate, unsure of how Hongjoong will react. Maybe he'll just brush it off. Maybe he'll kill the guy. You had no idea, but you weren't about to lie to him regardless, not when he's looking at you so empathetically, his eyes so soft and concerned.
You tell him what the security guard said–and implied– with some tears returning, though it was mostly anger in your voice now.
“It was so stupid, but he just really fucked with my head,” you chuckle dryly, wiping tears away with your sleeve. “Just made me a little uncomfortable.”
Hongjoong gently holds your chin, moving your face to make eye contact with him. His eyes are so sympathetic, you might start crying again.
“I'm so sorry, jagi,” he says sincerely, holding your face and peppering it with light kisses. “You don't deserve that bullshit.”
He pulls away to look at you, his expression shaping into something determined and his eyes practically manic. “I'm going to kill him.”
“Hongjoong!”
He laughs bitterly, ”What? I'm pissed!” He stands up, anger filling him so much he feels his hands shaking. “No one treats my girl like that. No one treats my assistant like that!” He throws up his hands and starts pacing. “It's not only disgusting, it's goddamn unprofessional.”
Stunned at his reaction, you stare at him. “It was just words, Joong,” you mutter, “Sticks and stones, you know–”
“No!” He points, and when you make a face, he realizes his anger needs to be redirected. More calmly, he says, “No, it's not just that. He asked you invasive personal questions, he implied that we have an unethical relationship, and he harassed you.”
You blink. He isn’t necessarily wrong, but, “It really wasn't that bad–”
He goes to sit down next to you again, and takes your hand, clasping it in both of his. “I'm glad you think it wasn't that bad. But I'd be mad if you were just my assistant and someone did this. It's still wrong. But the fact that you're my partner and he did this makes me want to murder him, baby!” The last part comes out in a cynical laugh, like he's physically restraining himself from storming out the door to hunt down the security guard.
You put your other hand over his. “I'm okay. Trust me.”
He sighs. “Are you sure?”
You nod. “Yes. Can we just…can we just have a nice night now? That would really help me forget all this.”
“Yeah, anything you want,” he nods fervently, pulling you to his side and resting his head atop yours. “But that shithead is getting fired tomorrow, if I have anything to say about it.”
You consider this for a moment, and with a small smirk, you reply, “Do what you need to do, Joong. Just don't kill him.”
Hongjoong scoffs. “No promises.”
The rest of the night you spend cuddled together, and as usual, it's healing in some way. Having him right next to you, his arm warm around you and his heartbeat under your ear as you lay on his chest, watching a show you've been binging together for a while– it's all you’ll ever need.
But that little nagging thought persists in your mind.
“Joongie?” you ask softly.
“Yes, baby.”
“There was something else that really bothered me about today.”
He looks down at you as you pull away to look at him. His brow furrows, seeing the hesitation in your eyes.
You sit up, taking his hand in both of yours for comfort, taking a deep breath.
“What…what happens if people find out about us?”
Hongjoong's hand clasps one of yours firmly. He breathes out a quiet chuckle. “What do you mean, baby? We're not really hiding anything, not actively. People already know.”
“Just the people close to us. The members, the managers, maybe a few others. What happens when people start…speculating?”
Hongjoong reaches his other hand up to run a hand down your cheek, then your shoulder. “I'm still not sure what you mean,” he crinkles his eyes sympathetically. “What do you think will happen?”
You bite your lip, considering for a moment. “Well, for one, the fans will go batshit. They'll hate me.”
“I'm sorry if you don't realize this already, but some might already hate you for just being near any of us,” Hongjoong grimaces. “But there are so many more who would support us, love us together.”
You shrug. “I guess that's true, but I don't know…I'm afraid of getting death threats.”
“There's not a snowflake's chance in hell that I'd let anyone get even close to doing that.”
“It's not really something you can stop–”
“But it's something I can protect you from,” Hongjoong says fervently, his hold on your hands tightening just enough for him to realize what he's doing, and quickly lets go before hurting you. He pulls up one of your hands to his lips and kisses it, eyes closing. “I'd kill for you, jagi, I think I already made that clear earlier.”
Somehow, it was enough for you, to hear him say that and see the determination in his eyes. You know deep down that he'd really burn the world down to keep you safe, even just to keep you happy. You let yourself smile a little, then remember the other feeling gnawing at you.
“It's also…ah, how do I say this–”
“Just tell me, my love,” he practically commands you, but you know it's only out of deep care for you. He wants you to speak freely.
“Our…dynamic…it's something else people would…talk about.”
Hongjoong looks confused.
You sigh. “You're my boss. You're older than me. People are going to say you manipulated me, or seduced me, or some shit, or they'll say I slept with you to get a job–”
Hongjoong's shaking his head rapidly, trying to stop your flood of worries, and puts his palms on the sides of your face. “Oh, baby, no. No!” he laughs, and you're taken aback. “No one will think that. At least, not most people.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, I don't know entirely, but what I do know is that you're a fucking amazing assistant. I couldn't do anything, literally anything without you at my side. Anyone can see that,” he grins. “In fact, a few of the members have asked me where the hell I found you. They see how good you are at your job.”
“I'm not sure how that matters…?”
“It matters because if people are going to be nosy about our relationship, down the line, then they're also going to see that our work relationship is a completely unique and incredibly efficient thing that's separate from our personal relationship. You do so well at your job for the sake of doing well at your job, not because of me. That's just my little bonus,” he winks. “And I didn't hire you because I wanted to…ah…you know,” he says, and instinctively snakes his hands around your waist. “I hired you because you seemed like you'd get the job done, like you could become someone I trusted. Again, just a bonus that we ended up together, and a miracle that we blend both relationships together so well.”
As he speaks, your features soften from worry into awe. You've never thought about how you would describe your relationship before, but he did so perfectly. He was right– your relationship held two distinct dynamics in one, and while the line between the two was often blurred, it still existed, and it rarely affected the quality of your work nor the harmony of your connection.
It was good. That's how you would describe it. Simple. Something so good.
You stare into his eyes for a few moments, the gratitude of everything he is to you washing over you, and he seems to mistake the look in your eyes for something negative, because he breaks your gaze and gingerly takes your hand into his. “Jagiya,” he says softly, looking down. “If this is too much for you, or if you think it will be too much for you–”
Your heart drops at what he's about to imply and you snap out of your trance, quick to reassure him. “No, Joong, no!” you laugh, and you hold his hand up to your lips to kiss the back of his palm, something you know can make him blush and soothe him at just the right times. “There's nothing that could make me want to give this up. It's worth way more than any circumstances that come with it.”
Hongjoong smiles, relief blooming in his expression. He leans in to kiss you, and your hands instinctively going up to the back of his neck. The kiss grows deeper, and soon he has you leaning back against a pillow, his lips grazing over the skin of your neck, just beneath your jaw.
“God, what would I fucking do without you,” he mutters, his voice sending a shiver up your spine and warmth through your entire body. “You're everything.”
° ° °
The next day, the boys have a practice later in the day, so you and Hongjoong have brunch together, then make your way to the KQ building.
Hongjoong leaves you to hang out with some of the guys, before practice starts, planting a light kiss on your temple and mumbling, “Gotta take care of a few things. Be right back.”
It’s only a couple of minutes later that you connect the dots, your heart dropping to your stomach. You go to look for Hongjoong, frantically stopping at every door that’s not someone’s office to check for him. You pray that your boyfriend isn’t committing a crime.
You hesitate outside of a recording studio, the one Hongjoong uses most, practically lives in. Yunho is sitting on a bench outside the door, earbuds in and scrolling on his phone. The sign on the door is switched to [IN USE--DO NOT DISTURB].
Yunho sees you and takes out an earbud. Before he can finish his sentence of greeting, you interrupt. “Have you seen Hongjoong?”
Yunho tilts his head toward the door. “In there. I was about to do some recordings but he came in with someone and asked to just have the room for five minutes.”
Your face falls. “Who went in with him?”
“I'm not sure, some staff guy?”
“Oh, God,” you mumble and plop down onto the seat next to him.
“What?”
You hesitate, but your nerves are so intense that you need to talk to someone about it. “Joong is…getting someone in trouble.”
“Huh?”
“This guy last night, he kinda rubbed me the wrong way, Hongjoong was mad, and--” Suddenly the door opens and sure enough, the security guard from the night before emerges, looking disgruntled, and judging by his tightened lips and his eagerness to leave, slightly nervous.
Something in you was deeply satisfied that it was your boyfriend that made him that way.
The man passes without a word, glancing quickly at you and Yunho and pretending not to see you as he walks swiftly down the hall.
Seconds after, Hongjoong comes through the door looking serious but content. He begins to say something to Yunho but then sees you and grimaces. “Ahh. Hi…jagi.”
You cross your arms, staring at him expectantly.
The two of you stay like that for a few seconds, Yunho swerving his head to look at both of you, then decides, “This seems like… none of my business.” He mutters as he gets up, “I’ll do the recordings later, I guess.”
“Joong,” you finally speak as he sits down.
“Yes, my love.”
“Tell me you didn’t just make an enemy of a guy who keeps you safe.”
Hongjoong sighs and sits closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Doesn’t matter if he’s not keeping the most important person to me safe.”
“Hongjoong.”
“Agh, it’s fine!” He groans, but tries to console you with a smile as he brings his hand to your waist. “All I did was very calmly tell him to stay away from you and mind his own business. I even said it professionally. Even if I wanted to kick his ass.”
You sigh and put your hand over his, pulling him more tightly around you. “You didn’t fuck anything up?”
“Just his ego,” he grins. “Can’t be fun being told off by a man both smaller and younger than you.”
You nod in agreement. “I’m sure Seonghwa knows the feeling.”
Hongjoong scoffs. “Usually it’s him scolding me, I’ll have you know.”
You laugh and give him a small kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for caring so much about this, Joongie.”
“Anything to protect my girl,” he says sincerely, quietly. He pulls you into his lap, and you see the flash of an idea cross his mind.
“What?” you chuckle, arms around his neck.
“I’ve got, what, thirty minutes until practice? And no one’s in the recording studio.”
You look up at the door, then back at him. “And?”
He gives you a look you’ve seen many times before. A small smile and mischievous, narrowed eyes. Usually accompanied by a hand on your thigh. He never seems to have to ask…you always know by that look.
“How unprofessional of us,” you say, practically jumping off of him, grinning. “Let’s go.”
The two of you hurry into the room, and Hongjoong locks the door behind him.
It wouldn't exactly be a lie to say you hadn't planned on spending a Wednesday afternoon kneeling between Hongjoong's legs. It would somewhat be a lie to blame it all on Hongjoong, though.
— ᨳଓ Word Count:
~5k
— ᨳଓ A/N:
my twin @countlesssepia and i could NOT stop talking abt hongjoong in this tiktok, so this happened and it became a bday gift for her <3 HAPPY BDAY AGAIN BESTIE ILY
— ᨳଓ Tags:
idol!kim hongjoong x fem!reader, SMUT!!!, dom!kim hongjoong, meanie!kim hongjoong (not rlly he's a sweetheart just a bit degrading during the act), degradation (reader!reciever), brat!reader, oral (male!rec), intercrural sex, aftercare, praise, usage of good girl (reader!rec)
It wouldn't exactly be a lie to say you hadn't planned on spending a Wednesday afternoon kneeling between Hongjoong's legs. It would somewhat be a lie to blame it all on Hongjoong, though.
But it was the way that one video had panned over him—one firm hand gripping his phone while the other rested casually in his pocket, asserting a quiet dominance that had your mouth running dry at the sight.
He had tilted his chin down slightly, casting a haughty look at the camera as if he knew exactly how much this would affect you. So naturally, the second he had walked through the front door later that day—wearing the same set of tightly fitted clothes—you had known exactly where the night was headed.
Hongjoong tossed his jacket onto a kitchen chair before striding towards the armchair where you were sitting, his hand sliding into your hair to press a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You shivered at the gentle touch, almost forgetting your plan—no, not a plan, of course. Freudian slip. So before he could even pull back, you quickly scrambled up and pushed him, throwing him right back into the soft cushions of the chair with a choked gasp.
His legs fell open instantly, his knees spraying wide as he instinctively made himself more comfortable. He cocked an eyebrow in a mix of confusion and intrigue, a faint, amused chuckle rumbling in the back of his throat as you sank to your knees on the floor.
A small heat of crimson spread across your cheeks as you took in the man in front of you. His thighs were thick, straining even further against the fabric of the slacks from his seated position. You found yourself staring, eyes tracking the heavy crease of his pants where they bunched at his hips, your throat tightening.
Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, a wave of desperation humming under your skin as your eyes stayed glued on his bulge, swallowing an invisible lump down your throat from the anticipation.
Hongjoong let out a soft, amused breath from above, pulling you out of your trance.
“So?” His voice came low and quiet, almost vibrating in the thick tension between you. “Did you push me down just to stare at it?”
The faint tease and amusement simmering in his tone made your chest feel tight, your breath hitching. You leaned forward, hands scrambling impatiently at the metal buckle of his belt, clumsy and trembling fingers reaching to force the leather through the loop.
Hongjoong's hand reached down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with a firm, steady squeeze, hindering any further movement. Your breath was coming in shallow, quick puffs as he just held them still against his waistband.
He leaned forward slightly, tilting his head as he looked down at your flushed face, his thumbs lightly brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, controlling just how close you could get.
“Look at you,” Hongjoong teased, voice dropping into a soft, slow drawl, his breath warm against your forehead. “So impatient, baby. What got you so worked up, hm?”
Though it had come out as a question, the slight tug of his lips forming into a knowing smirk made it glaringly obvious he already knew the answer to that.
You let out a frustrated, muffled sound, not really trusting yourself with words as you tried to pull yourself free. He only tightened his grip, a low, amused chuckle vibrating deep in his chest.
“Ah ah,” he whispered, dark eyes locking onto yours, heavy and steady. “Let me.”
He slowly released your wrists, placing them softly on the swell of his thighs and you could feel the firm muscles in them shifting as he reached back for his belt. He didn't rush, unbuckling it with a slow, deliberate click, his gaze on you never faltering as the sound of his zipper being pulled down filled the quiet room.
Your mouth felt dry, swallowing the small amount of saliva your mouth had produced from the thought of finally seeing him as he reached down his boxers, pulling out his soft cock. Hongjoong leaned back, his right hand still holding his length as he looked at you expectingly.
The sudden, close warmth of him made your chest ache as you leaned in, letting out a shaky, ragged exhale. The breath ghosted directly over the sensitive crown of his cock, a sharp twitch rippling through his hips from the warmth.
He slid his fingers deep into your hair. “That's it,” he rasped and you could swear his voice dropped an octave, low and rough. “Take what you need, baby.”
Instead of immediately leaning in, you tilted your face up slightly, keeping your eyes locked onto his blown pupils before you finally dragged the very tip of your tongue along the underside of his head, leaving a glistening line of moisture against his soft skin. Hongjoong's lips parted as a faint, short breath escaped, eyes fluttering shut while his head fell back against the cushion of the armchair, his cock filling out at a rapid velocity.
You wanted to tease. Wanted to pull every unfiltered sound out of the man in front of you until all he could do was beg—beg for the wet heat of your mouth.
“F-fuck…” he choked out as another puff of air hit the tip, his hips bucking upwards in a helpless jerk trying to chase your lips. Digging your fingers firmly into the solid muscles of his thighs, you muffled a quiet hum of satisfaction that seemed to snap Hongjoong's attention. His eyes fell on yours, dark and glazed while his breathing came in jagged, heavy hitches. He tightened his fingers in your hair, holding your head in place.
“I didn't sign up for a brat,” he growled, his chest heaving under the layers of clothes. “I'm giving you one more chance to be good.”
Content with the teasing for now, you only smirked before slowly parting your lips around the smooth tip of his cock. You opened your mouth wider, letting your tongue coat the sensitive underside of his head before tasting the saltiness of his precum leaking from the slit. His cock twitched into full hardness, fingers instinctively tightening in your hair as a low groan erupted from his throat.
Keeping the pace slow, you wrapped the wet ring of your lips tighter around his length, hollowing your cheeks before sinking down further trying to accommodate the girth and sheer size of him.
“Shit,” he managed to breathe out, his shaft laying heavy against your tongue as another sharp sound escaped the man's throat.
You hummed in content, sending vibrations straight through his length, and you felt the familiar bitter and salty taste coat the walls of your throat. Your eyes stayed glued to him to the best of your capabilities, making sure to put on a show he wouldn't dare to look away from.
A dark, red flush spread from his neck up to his cheeks as he leaned his head forward, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. He watched the way your lips stretched to accommodate his size, a faint condescending smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he spotted the drool pooling at the corner of your own.
“Fuck, look at you.” And you honestly wished you could. “Down on your knees, swallowing me like it's nothing. You look so good like that, baby. Just a warm mouth for my cock.”
You moaned at the hidden praise, swallowing him a little deeper, eager to please, your throat muscles contracting tightly around his girth as saliva trickled down to your chin. The palm of your hands slid higher up his thighs, desperately trying to anchor yourself.
“That's it,” he purred, his thumb lightly caressing the side of your jaw fondly. “This is all you're really good for, isn't it?"
You whined, lips leaving his length with a pop as you gasped for air, a mixture of spit and precum painting the soft skin of your chin. The heat pooling in your lower back was becoming too heavy to ignore. Shifting slightly on your knees until your clothed pussy came in contact with your calf, you shamelessly started to rut against it as quiet, desperate whimpers spilled into the air.
Hongjoong tracked the movement of your hips before dropping his voice into a low, almost mocking coo, ”Oh, look at my poor baby.”
His fingers loosened before gently patting your head. “So needy just from having my cock in your mouth? Look how your hips are moving, so desperate, hm?” He teased, a faint, amused huff of his breath making your own hitch.
“Only for you,” you teased back, voice rough from taking him before wrapping your swollen lips around the tip of his cock again, swirling your tongue around it to find the tip of his slit, lapping at the evidence of his arousal.
His head fell back against the cushion of the armchair, eyes sewn shut as a low, guttural moan escaped from his throat. He bucked his hips, shoving the tip of his cock further into the tight heat of your mouth. You just hollowed your cheeks, your right hand wrapping around the base of his length as another stutter of his hips sent his length all the way in, his tip coming in contact with the wall of your throat, making you gag from the surprise.
“Fuck—ah—so good, baby. Just like that …nngh—so close,” he rasped, a rough, desperate edge in his voice.
But what would be the fun in that?
So you stopped moving, locking your jaw while wrapping your lips securely around his width, the hand on his length tightening to keep him in place as you breathed steadily through your nose.
You could stay just like this for him, your cheek resting against his thigh while he fills your mouth, the smell of his musk sending a dizzying shiver down your spine.
The sensation of fingers tangled deep in your roots, knuckles tensing hard against your scalp sent you back to reality like a shockwave. Hongjoong spread his knees even wider with a threatening growl, hips involuntarily twitching upward into your locked jaw.
He let out a long, shuddering exhale through his nose. “Don't. Stop,” he commanded, tone assertive and harsh, completely stripped from the previous praise.
You ignored the demand, lips staying firmly wrapped around him without moving an inch, refusing to give in. Hongjoong tried to jerk his hips forward, thrusting hard into your unwavering stubbornness in a desperate attempt to find some friction against your wet tongue.
He tried twice more to force a rhythm, but your jaw remained unyielding. “If you don't move, you don't get my cock at all,” he threatened.
And with a sudden, firm upward pull, his hand in your hair forced your head back, dragging his length completely out of your mouth. A high, frustrated whine escaped your throat at the sudden loss of his warmth, scrambling your hands up his thighs to claw at his waist trying to pull yourself back down on his lap.
“Ah, no. Stay there.” He kept his grip on your hair firm, holding your head back so you could only watch as his other hand came down to grab his own shaft.
“B-but—”
“I said no,” he cut you off, beginning to stroke himself with a fast, heavy friction, head falling back as his throat clicked with a low swallow.
You whined at the sight, a desperate, high-pitched sound in the back of your throat as he only got closer to his release. His eyes rolled shut, jaw clenching in a straight line as mumbled whimpers tried to escape. In his haze of pleasure, his fingers subconsciously loosened their tight hold on your hair, his hand dropping slightly.
You didn't hesitate.
You lunged forward, your hand flying to the base of his shaft to squeeze tight, milking the length upward as you quickly wrapped your abused lips back around his head.
A loud, ruined gasp tore from Hongjoong at the sudden, tight wetness. His hips bucked upwards in a helpless, violent spasm as you hummed around his tip. Hongjoong was too far gone to fully pull you away, body shuddering as he released thick, hot heat on your tongue, surging past your lips as you pulled away to coat your chin, cheeks and your lips in a messy rush.
Silence filled the room aside from your hand working passionately to drain him and Hongjoong's rapid, shallow breathing. Still leaning against the cushions, his chest was heaving under the tightness of his shirt and vest, shoulders slowly dropping as the tension drained from his body.
On your face, the wet warmth of his release was starting to cool. A thick, heavy drop slid slowly down your cheek, tracing your jawline while the slick moisture coated your flushed lips. But you couldn't find it in yourself to care, heart hammering against your ribs, skin hot and flushed from defying Hongjoong's order.
Your other hand was resting flat against the carpet, and without even thinking, you tilted your hips forward, pressing your clothed, wet core against the side of your own wrist. You let out a quiet, shaky breath as you slowly ground yourself against your hand, desperate for any kind of friction, eyes staying locked on Hongjoong.
His eyes slowly opened, the blown darkness of his pupils gradually focusing on you. He watched your hips twitch, his gaze dropping to the way you were desperately humping your own wrist.
A quiet, clicking sound of disapproval escaped his lips, “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” A slow, mocking smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his voice dropping into that quiet, patronizing coo. ”Such a bad girl, hm? Can't even follow a single order? Look where that got you, pathetically grinding on the floor in front of me.”
He leaned his head back, arms resting relaxed on the sides of the chair as he looked down at you. “Get naked,” he commanded, his voice flat and quiet, leaving absolutely no room for arguments.
Your breath caught in your throat. “W-what?” you stuttered, voice small and breathless as your hips froze from the sheer, raw heat in his eyes.
“You heard me,” he scoffed. “Clothes off. And then you're getting on my lap.”
Your chest tightened, a cold shiver running straight down your spine at the quiet weight of the order. But the ache coiling between your thighs was too heavy. Too loud to ignore. Slowly, your hands reached down to the waistband of your sweats, fingers trembling so violently that you could barely grip the soft fabric.
Hongjoong's hungry gaze locked onto your hands, his eyes tracking every shaky stutter of your fingers as you finally pushed the sweats down your legs. You slowly stood up, kicking your feet free from the fabric and leaving them in a messy pile on the carpet.
The weight of his stare along with the cool air of the room sent goosebumps down your legs. You reached for the hem of your shirt, tossing it aside and the same goosebumps now trickled up to your chest, your exposed nipples quickly hardening.
A low, thick hum rumbled deep in his throat as he took the naked sight of you in. The smug authority in his expression had shifted, replaced by a sudden, dark heat that made his chest rise with a heavy breath. He leaned forward just an inch, his eyes locked onto the damp, glistening warmth between your thighs.
“No underwear, baby?” he said, voice low and thick with approval. “Going completely bare under your sweats just for me? Such a good girl.”
You swallowed hard, your face burning as you slowly shifted, preparing to climb onto his lap when Hongjoong's jaw slackened just a fraction, dark eyes widening as they tracked the sway of your hips and the soft curve of your stomach.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice strained and raw as he visibly drank you in. “So fucking beautiful, baby.”
Without hesitation, you lifted your leg, cautiously stepping over his thigh, and slowly lowered yourself onto his lap with a pleased sigh.
The rough, heavy fabric of his slacks felt coarse against the bare, sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The contrast of your hot, wet skin pressing down onto the cool, dry cotton made a quiet, desperate whimper slip past your lips. Your hands came to rest against his broad shoulders for balance, hips instinctively tilting forward to seek out his warmth.
Hongjoong didn't pull away from your touch, but his hands remained exactly where they had been—resting flat against the arms of the chair. He let you hold onto him, let you lean your weight against his chest, but he offered no physical help in return.
“P-please,” you whispered in a plea, voice shaking and whiny with the desperate ache between your legs. You squeezed his shoulders, knuckles turning white as you looked down at him. “It's not enough …please, Hongjoong.”
Instead of reaching out to soothe you, Hongjoong slowly raised his arms, locking his fingers together behind his own neck as he leaned back against them, spreading his elbows wide.
“You don't get to beg for more when you didn't listen earlier,” he scoffed. “You wanted to take your time, baby. Now you have all the time in the world. Figure it out.”
Though his words remain harsh, he subtly shifted his weight in the chair, angling his left leg and lifting his heel slightly so that the dense muscles of his thigh flexed hard beneath you. As he moved, the heavy fabric of his slacks crinkled and bunched up, forming thick ridges of folded cloth directly beneath your aching core.
You let out a sharp gasp as the rigid folds of fabric pressed right against your clit, rough and intense. Unable to help yourself, you let out a broken whine and began to slide your hips forward, grinding your wetness directly against the flexed muscle of his thigh, your hands grabbing his shoulders even tighter for leverage.
“Look how easily you move for me when you actually want something. Such a good, needy girl, working so hard on my leg,” he whispered, his eyes dark and fixed entirely on the movement of your hips.
The heat of his thigh through the fabric was dizzying. With every desperate roll of your pelvis, the creases of his trousers brushed right against your folds, milking the slick moisture from your pussy. You couldn't help the quiet, desperate whines escaping your throat, your head falling back as you focused entirely on the friction.
“Fuck, baby. You're drenching my slacks,” Hongjoong murmured, his voice thick and laced with arousal. “Making such a mess of my clothes.”
Your bare thighs framed his dark trousers, your fevered skin flushed a deep crimson. Your own slick smeared wetly across the creased cotton, soaking through the material to create a heavy, spreading stain that clung to the shape of his thigh.
Every time you pushed your hips down, you could see the wet reflection of your own arousal shining in the dim light of the room. Hongjoong was staring intently too, letting out a low, shaky breath at the sight.
“Yeah, just like that.” His eyes burned as they watched you ruin his clothes. “Show me how wet you are, baby.”
Hongjoong was perfectly still from the waist up, yet his dazed eyes were fixated on every desperate, rolling rhythm of your hips.
You let out a broken, high-pitched gasp when the rough seams of his slacks caught precisely against your clit in a friction that had your mind swimming with pleasure.
“H-Hongjoong,” you whimpered, your head dropping onto his shoulder as you continued to grind down at the same spot with a frantic, desperate speed. The scent of his sweet cologne mixed with the day's labor and sweat made your brain turn to mush. “Please—ah—touch me…”
A low rumble of disapproval started in his throat. He tilted his head slightly, his soft lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, “No.” The word was firm and absolute. “I told you. You wanted to play by your own rules, so now you have to work for it.”
The denial shouldn't have felt this good, this exhilarating. But you couldn't stop the moan clawing in your throat as you moved in fast, desperate circles. The friction was starting to burn against your skin, but you were so close, you couldn't stop.
You couldn't stop even as you felt your strength falter, thighs heavy and weak as you let out a soft, defeated cry.
“P-please…” you breathed out into the crook of his neck. “My legs …I can't.”
“Giving up already?” teased Hongjoong. “You were so bold earlier when you locked your jaw. Now you're sad you have to do a little work?”
You shook your head against his shoulder, a frustrated tear slipping down your cheek to join the slick moisture already cooling on your skin, finding yourself mindlessly trying to wipe it away.
"I'm not giving up," you insisted, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his vest. "I just …I need you to hold me. Just hold my waist."
"You want me to hold you so you can rest," he stated, his eyes tracking the way your bare shoulders shook in the dim light. "But you don't deserve to rest yet, baby. You haven't finished what you started."
Instead of bringing his hands down to comfort you, Hongjoong shifted his hips underneath you. The sudden movement of his thigh flexing upward caught you completely off guard.
You let out a sharp, loud gasp as the hard ridge of his leg pressed impossibly deeper into your swollen center. Before you could pull back, he tilted his pelvis, his leg shifting in a deliberate circle beneath you. The friction was dragging through your pooled wetness with a force that made your toes curl.
"H-Hongjoong! Ah—" you cried out, your hands desperately clutching his shoulders as you tried to lift yourself up, trying to escape the sudden overwhelming heat.
He kept his hands locked behind his head, using the strength of his thighs to dictate the movement, shifting his leg up and down, forcing the rough, soaked fabric of his slacks to grind repeatedly against you. "You wanted me to touch you, but I like my hands right where they are. You're going to take this instead."
Every time his thigh flexed, it pushed you higher, forcing your body to bend and slide over the damp, creased cotton. The wetness you had left on his slacks now worked against you, making the surface slick enough for him to rub you with a relentless, dizzying precision.
Your head fell back, your throat exposed and tight as you let out a series of broken cries. Hongjoong watched your face through heavy eyelids, his breathing turning into a series of rough pants, his neck flushed a deep, burning red.
"Look at me," he commanded, voice strained and tight. "Open your eyes, baby. Look at what you're doing to my leg."
Through a blur of tears, you forced your eyes open, looking down to see your own bare hips shaking violently as they were forced to grind against his soaked slacks.
The wet cotton of them dragged ruthlessly over your folds with every slow, deliberate shift of his lower body, driving the heat straight up to your chest until you could barely draw air.
"H-Hongjoong, please …I’m going to—" Your voice broke, cutting off into a high, desperate sob. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging deep into the fabric of his vest as your thighs shook violently.
"I know," he rasped, his voice dropping into a strained groan.
His own composure was faltering as his hips bucked upward in a sudden, sharp motion, forcing his thigh deep against your swollen clit. "Right there, baby. Don't you dare close your eyes."
You forced your eyes open, your vision blurry with tears of frustration and pleasure. Through the haze, you locked onto his own burning gaze.
With one final, relentless roll of his pelvis, a loud, shattered cry tore from your throat, your back arching as your entire body went completely rigid. Your muscles squeezed frantically, pulsing in tight, helpless spasms against his leg, milking yourself over his thigh as you rode out your release.
Hongjoong stayed perfectly still, taking in the full, shaking weight of your finish. A sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips, eyes softening just a fraction as he looked down at your flushed, trembling body.
When your frantic breathing finally began to slow and your hips slumped weakly, completely exhausted, against his lap, he slowly brought his arms down from his head.
Hongjoong gently cupped your face with one hand, his thumb wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. "Look at the mess you made," he said softly, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips as his gaze drifted down to his ruined slacks.
Your forehead was still pressed into the crook of his neck, your shallow breaths puffing warm against his collarbone. The adrenaline was slowly ebbing away, leaving only a quiet, comforting peace in the room.
The second your weight fully settled, his arms came around your waist, his large hands flat against your lower back. He didn't squeeze tightly—he just held you close, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin to help quiet your lingering shivers.
"My poor baby," he cooed, his voice losing all of its previous commanding weight.
It was soft now, light and full of a fond warmth. He leaned his head sideways, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck, then another right behind your ear. "You worked so hard, didn't you? Look at how you're shaking."
You let out a tiny, embarrassed whine, burying your face deeper into his shoulder.
A soft, genuine giggle rumbled in his chest, the vibration warm against your front. He tilted his head back slightly, trying to look at your face, but you refused to lift your head, clinging to his vest like a koala.
"Hey, look at me," he teased gently, his fingers sliding up to cup your jaw and tilt your face up.
When you finally peeked at him through your eyelashes, your cheeks flushed a bright red, Hongjoong’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He let out another quiet, affectionate laugh, leaning forward to pepper your face with tiny, sweet kisses—one on your forehead, one on the tip of your wet nose, and several soft, smacking ones right on your lips
"You did so well," he praised against your mouth, his thumb gently wiping away a dry smudge of his own release from your cheek. "So beautiful. You took everything I gave you and you still managed to ruin me, you stubborn little thing."
He leaned back just a fraction, his hands sliding down to your hips to help support you as you sat on his lap. As he shifted, the cold, wet dampness of his slacks pressed against your inner thighs again.
Hongjoong looked down, his eyes landing on the dark, massive wet stain completely soaking through the fabric of his trousers.
He let out an amused laugh, his shoulders shaking. "Oh, my god," he giggled, poking the damp spot on his thigh with his index finger, then looking back up at you with wide, teasing eyes. "You really did soak my pants. You completely drenched me, you little menace."
"Don't laugh," you mumbled, your face burning as you tried to hide your face back in his neck.
"I'm not laughing, I'm proud," he laughed, wrapping his arms securely around your naked back and squeezing you tight against him.
He slid his hands down to the backs of your thighs, gently lifting you so you could adjust your posture. He pulled you even higher up his torso, wrapping your legs around it to lock you into a warm, naked embrace against his chest. His fingers began to trace the sensitive line of your spine, his nails lightly scratching your lower back in slow, gentle lines.
"Really, baby," he whispered, his voice soft as he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes shining with pure adoration. "You have no idea how beautiful you looked."
You let out a soft, pleased hum, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw, your thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones. He leaned into your touch immediately, closing his eyes and pressing a warm, lingering kiss into the palm of your hand.
"I love how much you want me," he whispered against your skin, his hands sliding back up to hold your shoulder blades, pulling you in until there was no space left between you. "Even when you're being a stubborn little brat, you're still my good girl. You did so amazing today. I'm so proud of you."
He rocked you slowly from side to side in the chair, running his fingers through your hair, gently untangling the messy, damp strands where he had held you so tightly earlier, taking his time to soothe every inch of your scalp.
"Come here," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then I'm wrapping you in a blanket and holding you for the rest of the night. Sounds good?"
Part 1 Fics (in chronological order):
- Y/n's Adoption
- Y/n and San play together for the first time*
- Y/n helps Seonghwa*
- San feels left out
- When Seonghwa got mad at y/n
- Y/n's first heat*
- Hongjoong pet-sits y/n for a weekend*
- Y/n and Wooyoung*
- Wooyoung vs. San*
Part 2 Fics (in chronological order):
- Y/n gets lost
- Y/n's first playdate at Jongho's house
- When the pups are distracted*
- Y/n and Mingi*
- The aftermath of the bite
- Wooyoung meets Y/n's new friends
- Y/n and Yunho*
- Seonghwa goes on a date
- Mingi loves to humiliate y/n an audience*
- Y/n catches Yunho at a bad time*
Part 3 Fics (in chronological order):
- Yeosang (18/7/26)
- Seonghwa's Girlfriend (21/7/26)
Drabbles (in order of release):
- Y/n at home with Seonghwa and San*
- Seonghwa and relationships
- When Seonghwa and Hongjoong Switch Hybrids*
- San, Y/n, and Wooyoung
- San and Y/n's heat*
- San's Adoption
-Jongho pet-sits for Seonghwa*
TBA
- Y/n and Mingi don't get along
- Mingi and Yunho
- How Jongho adopted his hybrid hyungs
Asks
- (Feel free to ask or request or share your thoughts! I'll definitely answer and it'll inspire me to write more!) :)
Recs that inspire this AU
- "Furry/Hybrid - Wooyoung" by @kitten4sannie
- This pup!san and owner!seonghwa ask to @thetypingpup
- This fox!wooyoung smut by @atinycafe
- "Gentle" by @cheollipop
- Yeosang and Darling's relationship in @beenbaanbuun's addams!matz au (specifically this and this)
Summary: No sex until marriage was a decision solely for self-preservation, and all of your friends were on the same page... until they weren't. Now instead of your fantasies being your only exposure, your friends are making it much more real, and it has you rethinking your relationship with San.
pairing: non-idol!San x f!reader
c/w: a very very vulnerable conversation about sex; the word "violent" is mentioned, but there is no violence
w/c: 3.3k
a/n: This one is for the virgins out there. keep doing what you're doing as long as it is what you wanna do, even if you feel pathetic sometimes LOL
You were a prude. You could admit it without shame, very staunch in your decision not to have sex or anything adjacent until after marriage. It turned a lot of guys away, but for the better part, the guys who were actually worth it ended up staying.
When you met San, he fell for your frankness, your honesty. You fell for the way he showed love. You'd like to attribute the dynamic as the "he fell first, she fell harder" trope but there was never a moment that San made you feel like you loved him more than he loved you.
Especially considering that with that physique, he looked like he was built for sex. You almost felt bad for depraving him of it, but he reassured you that what he wanted more than anything was a deep emotional connection, and he was more than fulfilled by the relationship he had with you.
The only problem, though. Your friends who were also once prudes, suddenly stopped being prudes.
You should have expected it, they were a lot more adventurous than you, despite never caving in to temptation for so many years, but with the right guy and at the right time, they went for it. Some of them just got fucking married just to have sex with their partners because they were almost if not just as prudish as you.
No, you were definitely more prudish. With San at your beck and call, you wouldn't think that any of your friends would have lasted, married or not.
But now that they were having sex, you were the last one of the bunch that was still a virgin, and you kind of hated it.
You weren't a prude so much in the mindset sense as much as you were a prude in the sense of safety and security. You didn't want to be used for your body and left afterward. Not that you expected San to do that, of course, but the same way you would be basically giving yourself to someone by having sex with them, you wanted your partner to give themselves to you wholly, and since San wasn't a no-sex-before-marriage guy, as most guys were, you felt like taking that willing step to be obligated to you would make up for what you'd be giving to him.
It was complicated, but it was sincere. Your body was important to you, and the thought of not knowing whether or not you could be disposable was a genuine and consistent fear. It was different for guys, and while you could very well just do the same thing guys did, trivialize sex and your virginity in order to remove its power over you, you just didn't want to.
And for San that was okay. You'd had a long talk about it before you'd even started dating, wanting to be completely up front about expectations. Before that conversation, he'd known you as a prude, not in a derogatory sense, but he didn't expect you to be so forward with that kind of conversation without being in a relationship with him first.
Of course, you wouldn't have even considered having that conversation if you weren't seriously considering being with him for the rest of your life, but maybe he was surprised because he'd felt differently. Not about you, but about dating and marriage in general up until that conversation.
Now, you were confident that you were on the same page, and San knew better than to think you were so uncomplex as to just be called a prude.
But... because you had nothing in your own experience to talk about, all your friends thought you were actually a prude.
Truth was that you loved sex. It's always the least expected who are the freakiest or something, right? But it was embarrassing to talk about your theoretical knowledge when your friends were talking about their practical knowledge.
You were quiet as you listened to them talk about all the different positions their partners would put them in. "Did you know that my leg could go behind my head? Me neither!" "Oh my gosh, I scratched the hell out of him, and I felt so bad, but he said that he liked it!" "I couldn't walk the next day. I thought that shit was a myth!"
It was pretty... vanilla? Basic? It was basic stuff, and you'd imagined doing far more nefarious things with San in the comfort of your own bedroom and sometimes in the shower, but hearing your friends' real experiences... the emotional intimacy of it all, freaky or not... the fact that it was real made you sweat a little.
You imagined it with San, your nails raking over his shoulders, your leg being pushed to the limit behind your head as he...
Oh gosh.
You almost left the sleepover early, but you couldn't since it was so rare for all your girls to be together at once like this, but that didn't mean San didn't get an earful from you when they all finally went to bed.
Holy shit, all they were talking about was sex and I had nothing to contribute.
That seems right. Lol
I know this is self-inflicted, but damn. I went 20 something years without desiring it, but now that I'm the only one not in the club, it's kind of lonely out here.
You are cute. I could always help you join the club. I have a membership.
Haha, very funny.
I know you're actually laughing.
I am.
You were giggling at your phone when your friend looked at you dazedly, seeing your smiling face illuminated by your phone in the dark.
"You know, you are pretty smitten for someone who doesn't have sex," Your friend, unmarried, said to you sleepily.
You turned to look at her. "I think that's exactly why I'm smitten," you mumbled, putting your phone down and scooting closer to face her.
Without the light, you could just hear her tired hum and the sound of her breathing.
"I dunno, you seem like you got dumbified once or twice," she chuckled, and you scoffed out a laugh, trying not to be loud. "Where the hell did you learn that word?"
"You, stupid," she chuckled, "Why don't you just go for it? You see your future with San, right? Why not just give in?"
You didn't answer. It was for all the reasons you told San you didn't want to have sex in the first place, but... those were all worries that you had before him. You weren't worried for a second that San would leave you, he'd made sure of it.
"I don't know," You murmured, "I just- I don't know."
"Think about it," she said thoughtfully, "You know I was like you, but things change."
I don't. You wanted to grumble. You were annoyingly consistent to the disappointment of many men. As in love as you were, you'd never once compromised your morals for anyone.
And, yes, the way you felt with San surpassed the way you felt with anyone before, but was that enough?
You were in San's bed as he was playing a video game as the thought plagued your mind again. He didn't play often, but since you were so busy thinking, you didn't mind not having your mind read by him for a moment. Once he looked at you deep in thought, you knew he'd say something. He was very observant when it came to you.
"I enjoy watching the things I love," he'd said softly to you one day, his voice low as if trying to seduce you, knowing full well that it wouldn't escalate to anything.
He was good at that. He was good at allowing you to feel sensual intimacy without engaging in anything physical.
"You enjoy watching?" you asked him, your voice breathless, "What does that do for you?"
"I memorize every movement," he said, leaning closer, his lips a hair's breath away from yours, "every reaction."
"But why," you insisted, and there was a glint in his eyes as he said, "I'm studying."
For what? You'd wanted to ask, but he'd kissed you before you could. It was probably better that way. Despite the endless conversations about boundaries and consent that you'd had with him, you liked it better when these feelings were left unspoken. Something you didn't need to say, something just understood.
You didn't actually need to ask him what he was studying for. You weren't stupid.
It made you giddy to think about. Almost too giddy. Your body tingled with warmth underneath his covers as you giggled at the thought.
San's ears perked at the sound, not used to you acting "girly" so to say. You were usually pretty stoic, loving attention from him while you pretended he didn't exist. It excited him whenever he saw the slightest twitch of your lips at something funny he said, or the way your fingers twitched when you wanted something from him.
But giggling to yourself wasn't a habit you usually gave him the privilege of seeing. You weren't nonchalant by any means, but you definitely didn't emote much when you thought no one was looking.
He immediately turned to look at you and you covered your face fully when you met his eyes. He couldn't help but grin. You were too cute.
"What is my jagiya doing over there?" he asked, and in your giddiness, you couldn't help but let out another uncharacteristic giggle. San's eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise as he leaned over your covered form, arms trapping you in place on the bed.
You attempted to roll away, but San simply laid down on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress through the blanket.
You screeched playfully and he laughed as he wrapped his arms and legs around you like a body pillow as if it was just that and not his girlfriend in the mess of fabric he was clinging to.
You could feel him snuggle his face into the blanket above your head, and you couldn't help but wiggle, making him let up for a moment so you could pull the blanket down a little to be face to face with him.
He looked down at you with such admiration it made you want to cry.
This was the perfect man.
"What are you thinking about, yeobo?" he asked, his voice like a comforting hum.
"Nefarious things," you whispered like a gremlin and he laughed, his head thrown back, genuinely not expecting you to say that.
"Take this off," he complained lightheartedly, trying to pull the blanket out of your grip, you held strong, though you knew for certain he wasn't putting his full strength into taking it from you. Eventually, he gave up and collapsed on his back on the bed, next to you.
Satisfied with the outcome of your game of tug-of-war, you threw the blanket off of you to assume a similar starfish position to his, your head barely not touching his.
"Do I have to mentally prepared for whatever you're about to say to me," he asked, and you laughed again, "I don't know."
"Tell me what you're thinking about."
You were blunt. "All my friends are having sex."
He coughed, sitting up quickly as you continued to stare at the ceiling.
"Okay," he sputtered, "I'm happy for them?"
"We had this conversation like two days ago," you huffed.
"Yeah, over text," he grumbled, "Hearing your voice say the word sex always gives me shell shock."
You couldn't help but smirk in amusement when you looked at him, "What?" Your tone was that of intrigued disbelief.
"You usually talk about it so clinically, when your tone is relaxed and you talk about sex, my body doesn't know how to react," he groaned, falling now face first against the bed.
"Aww," you cooed, "Does it make you excited?"
"Yeah, a little," he grumbled, "Anyway, continue. Why are you thinking about your friends having sex."
"Ew, don't say it like that," you groaned, slapping his shoulder, and he laughed against the sheets.
"I don't feel left out of the club," you started, referring to the conversation you had the other day, then turned your head to look at him shyly, "but I guess I do feel a little behind."
"Behind?" he asked, brows furrowed as he got up to sit on his hands and knees, face above yours, "What are you talking about?"
"I dunno," you hummed, "I wanted to contribute something, anything, but it's a step that I haven't taken yet when I know very well that I could just..."
You looked him dead in the eyes as you murmured, "...ask."
"Yes," he agreed, "You could just ask and I'd be on my knees for you," he said, and you smiled pulling his shirt. He let you maneuver him to other side of you, laying down to face you.
"I am very well aware," you whispered, pulling his shirt so that you could press your lips to his. He grinned into the kiss as he intimately peppered chaste kisses on your lips. He eventually shifted to hover over you, his kisses deepening with the position.
You let out a content sigh, and he pulled away to look you in the eyes and put his hand on your face. His thumb stroked your cheek in a tender way that would usually make you squirm, but you decided that receiving his affection gratefully was more important than cringing away from him due to your inability to handle the erratic beating of your heart at the gesture.
"Are you seriously thinking about that?" he asked, "Having sex?"
"Don't act like you don't know I'm always thinking about it," you huffed with an annoyed but cute pout, making him kiss your bottom lip again.
You stretched underneath him, your arms reaching above your head as you continued, "But I guess hearing real stories instead of indulging in my imagination made me think differently."
"Is that so?" he chuckled.
"Yes," You said honestly. "Can I tell you something that I haven't told you before?"
"Like, a secret?" he asked, sitting up on his knees. You sat up with him, shaking your head, your hair cascading around your face in a way that had San's heart swooning.
"More like a fear?" you asked softly.
His brows furrowed in concern, taking your hand in both of his and massaging your palm with his fingers.
"Of course you can," He said, "What's going on?"
"Nothing, nothing," You reassured him, "I'm fine. But I guess..."
You let out a sigh, scooting closer to him. "I know I talk about sex a lot with you," you murmured, pressing your head against his heart, letting him wrap his arms around you. "I think I spoke about it so clinically because it allowed me to remove it from the emotions that can be associated with it, one of them being fear."
"Mm-hmm," He hummed for you to continue.
"The idea of it is so enticing," you admitted, "the ideal version of what it should be... but in practice, I've always felt that it was so inherently violent."
"Do you think I would be violent with you?" he asked and he felt you shake your head again against his chest.
"I think that's the only reason I'm starting to consider it more seriously," you murmured, "Regardless of consent, it's still a violation, a breach of my body. I think I've always been scared of feeling like that was the case in actual practice."
He squeezed you a little tighter. "Especially since I've never been with anyone, but you have... I don't hold that against you, but..."
"I understand," he reassured you, "It's different for you."
"In a morbid way, it's like... imagine if getting stabbed was a pleasurable experience," you said, and he couldn't help his chest from rumbling a bit in humor, "I'd still be the one getting stabbed, you know?"
"I see," he said, nodding his head. "And that's not even mentioning that sex, despite it being a pleasurable experience, can still hurt!" you whined, chin on his chest as you looked up at him.
"Y/n," he said softly, "I'd be abstinent for the rest of my life if that was what you wanted."
You smiled at him, "I know."
"So you don't have to be afraid," he said, running his fingers through the hair along your scalp, soothing you.
"It wasn't a real fear... just... something underneath the surface," You reassured him, "A fear that I knew would leave me with time or experience."
"But you'd have faced that fear alone if you hadn't told me," he murmured empathetically, "If I found out later, I don't think I'd take it well, knowing that you'd gone through that alone, even when I was right there."
You let yourself bask in his love and gentle words for a moment. You loved this man.
"I don't think you have to worry about it that much, anymore," you told him, "I don't think I'm afraid anymore..."
"And why the sudden change of heart?"
"If my friends, who were once like me, could open their hearts and allow the person they love inside... why can't I do that with you when I know that no one could ever love another person as much as I love you."
San's heart swelled at your words. "Y/n-" "I don't think I've ever felt safer with anyone else in my life, Sannie."
"You're going to make me cry," he murmured, turning his face for a moment and bringing his fingers to his eyes.
"Nooo, don't cry," you chuckled, reaching up to pull his face towards you. His teary eyes pulled at your heart and made your stomach swoop in a dangerous way.
"So, ultimately," you admitted, "I felt behind because I was so scared of sex that I didn't consider that the act would be with you."
He pulled away for a moment to playfully squint his eyes at you in suspicion.
"Then who's in your fantasies??" You barked out a laugh. "I was objectifying you in my fantasies. You were basically just a meat stick."
"Ah-" he cut off his own noise of understanding to make a face at you that you laughed at.
After your laughter calmed down he moved to sit back in his bed, looking at you seriously. "So, what is your new conclusion, then? What is changing or what do you want me to take from this?"
You were quite for a moment.
"We are going to get married."
If San had been in a relationship this long with any other girl, he'd have choked at the suddenness, but with you, he was not even slightly swayed. It was the expectation from the beginning that he was only more and more sure of as time passed.
"Yes," he confirmed, and you nodded your head affirmatively.
"Then... I don't see why that door has to be closed anymore," you said honestly, "So... if it ever happens that we are in that position... and we want to go further... I'd like to explore that with you."
San searched your eyes for any sign of doubt or unsureness but found none, and a smile broke out onto his face.
"That sounds good to me," he said, his arms outstretched for you to fall into them. You snuggled into his neck, leaning up to kiss the dimples in his cheeks.
"Wait-," San suddenly said, "Does that mean after we do it, you're going to go and tell all your friends?"
You pretended to think for a moment, "No." San stared at you, clearly not believing you before you grinned. "I'm going to go and brag to all my friends."
San's lips pursed, putting his hand on your face again, his thumb touching your bottom lip, "I like that."
"I thought you might," you hummed, satisfied.
-------------------------------------------
Taglist: @ad0rechuu @spooo00oky @jaerisdiction @soso59love-blog @potatos-on-clouds @intartaruginha @hwasa28 @stacey-stonem @skersey33 @altxrr-ego @sunnyhokyu @sunnysidesins @that1sadgrl
cw; MDNI, coworkers to lovers, praise, hotel room sex, oral, collar mentions, light choking, light hair pulling, mentions of voyeurism, praise, fluff.
word count; 1-2k
AN; was inspired after seeing Hwa's RIR look! As always none of this is real, all fiction.
--
Rome.
Another city, another performance, another night of meaningless sex. Something Seonghwa was used to now. It had become a part of his every day routine; at least for the tour that was. It was never ending, as soon as he touched down in a different city he was bombarded by men, women, anyone who wanted a taste of the rockstar life. Especially when it involved the world's hottest and most unhinged bad boy; Park Seonghwa. Adored by everyone, ego fed every single time a story was posted about him, money swamping him. It wasn't the life he was supposed to have, but it was one he for sure fucking basked in.
"Seonghwa, the winners of the competition are here."
Airy voice disrupted the thoughts that Seonghwa was lost in, drawing his attention away from his phone. Lila, his manager nodded her head towards the door, indicating that he had visitors. Locking his phone, Seonghwa stood up, smoothing his hands over his jeans as he perfected his professional demeanour. Moments later Lila guided three girls into the dressing room, all giddy and flushed. Tripping over themselves as they spoke, gushing about how amazing Seonghwa was. Once again the door creaked open and you walked in. Camera strap neatly resting on your shoulder as you clasped the heavy equipment in your hands. Not once did your expression alter as you laid eyes on Seonghwa.
"Are you girls ready for your photos?"
Tearing your eyes away from the beloved rockstar, allowing your gaze to fall upon the enthusiastic trio. Snapping away a few photos, ensuring you got the perfect snapshots for the winners, before watching them say bye to Seonghwa; giggling and running out the room as they did so. Lila left soon after, informing both of you that the show would be starting in less than an hour. Without a second glance at Seonghwa, you also chose to exit the room.
Hand splayed across the frame of the door, booted foot wedged itself against the bottom of the door. Closing your eyes, fingers grasping onto your camera with more force than necessary, feeling him fill the air around you. Taking a subtle deep breath, waiting for whatever unfunny and annoying quip that was about to leave his mouth.
"Just once you couldn't be happy to see me, princess?"
Immediately your jaw clenched at the pet name. It wasn't used as a term of endearment, it was used in a way to piss you off. Differences between yourself and Seonghwa were the size of the universe. He deemed you a princess who was straight laced and was allergic to fun. You labelled him as an unruly, wild child who never heard the word no.
"Just once couldn't you not try and annoy me?"
Chuckle resonated deep within Seonghwa's chest as he withdrew his hand from the door, but didn't remove himself from your personal space. Instead he curled his fingers around the crook of your elbow, turning you around with a swift motion. Face to face with him, your hands falling from your camera as it swayed on the strap. Seonghwa's cologne overpowered your senses for a hot minute, causing you to forget your barrage of insults you were about to throw at him.
Strands of deep purple hair fell across his eyes, corners of his lips twitching into a smirk as he continued his grasp on your elbow. Seonghwa didn't respond to your question, instead lowered his free hand, curving it around to your back, without touching you once. Precision and a steady hand had him plucking the hotel key card out of your back pocket and producing it in front of your face. Unfurling his fingers from your elbow, he finally took a step back, but the smirk remained comfortably on his lips.
"As much as Lila attempts to keep me under lock and key, gifting you my spare hotel key card is not a wise move. One, because I know how clumsy you are and you will lose it by the end of my performance. Secondly, I don't think you want to be walking in while I'm mid-"
"Do not finish that sentence."
Throwing your hand up, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say. Shaken from your minor frozen blip, you tilt your chin upwards. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. There was no way you wanted to walk in when he was doing things that would make a whore blush. Also, you still weren't 100% sure why Lila had swiped the extra key card and asked you to keep it safe. She was his manager, not you.
"I didn't choose to be your babysitter, so by all means, keep your extra key card and hand it out to whoever wants to be your next fix."
Pinching the key card between his forefinger and thumb, he arched an eyebrow, amusement etched into his expression.
"Did you think I was going to come to Rome and just start fucking my way through the city? Wow, I am hurt, princess."
Refusing to play along with his games, you adjusted the camera around your neck and opened the door.
"Break a leg, Seonghwa. Figuratively or literally."
Soft click echoed behind you as the door closed, leaving Seonghwa alone with nothing but a smirk stretched across his lips.
--
Italian summer air breezed around you, drifting across the nape of your neck as you angled your camera upwards. Strobe lights blinked and flashed across the stage, dancing over the crowd and then cascading over Seonghwa. One hand wrapped around the microphone, the other hand pointing towards the sea of untamed masses that were hanging on his every word. Clicking away, you took photo after photo, never missing a beat. For a moment you were sucked into the idol chatter of the fans behind you.
"You wouldn't need to pay me to lick the sweat off him-"
"He is the hottest fucking man alive-"
Closing your eyes, shaking your head for a brief moment as you tore yourself back into reality, snapping photos again. The amount of things you'd heard since becoming Seonghwa's photographer was enough to make you want therapy. Lifting the camera up once more, studying all of Seonghwa's movements, ensuring that every photo was one to be proud of.
Time flew by, the encore in full swing as the fans jeered for him to stay on. Some people were pushing their way through the bodies, trying to reach the backstage area to get an even closer glimpse of him- or to try and seduce him. Sighing, you flicked the camera off and snatched a bottle of water from the stage steps and headed back towards the dressing room.
Avoiding Seonghwa after a show was always your main focus. Grabbing all of your belongings, stashing your equipment into one of the production vans and heading to your hotel without anyone realising. But this time Lila was hot on your heels and had followed you to the van.
"I don't know what the issue is with you two, but I need you to keep an eye on him."
Straight to the point, you thought as you shoved the bag into the back of the van, closing the doors as you did so.
"Lila, I am a photographer, not a grown man's babysitter."
Running a hand through your hair, you let out a breath, shrugging at her.
"I'll pay you triple what you're getting now."
Silence fell between you both, the tempting offer dangling in front of you. The extra cash would help you get where you needed to go. Clenching your jaw, taking a deep breath, you nodded. A wooden, stiff nod. Relief rolled over Lila in one wave, light in her eyes again.
"I just need him to behave the rest of the time here and until we return home."
Sure. How hard could it be to keep the unhinged rockstar on a leash.
Not hard at all, it was one of his kinks.
--
12:30AM
Alcohol had flowed freely between the dancers, the crew and Seonghwa. Filling the streets of Rome with nothing but laughter and loudness. It felt as if you were the only person who hadn't touched a drop of alcohol; you needed to keep your inhibitions focused and not lowered. Seonghwa was pleasantly surprised you'd decided to join everyone for drinks, made a few annoying jokes about it but then turned his attention to one of the dancers that had an on and off fling with.
Catching a quiet moment to yourself, perched on a stone wall, overlooking the coliseum in the distance. Glancing down, opening your instagram app and sliding your finger along the screen. Pain tightened in your chest as you saw him, your ex, living it up with his new girlfriend. Locking the phone, fighting the hot tears that were threatening to fall. Being cheated on was one thing, finding them screwing in your bed on the day you got engaged was another thing.
"Men suck."
Huffing out the words, wiping away the traitorous tears as you did so.
"Depends on the context."
Whole body jolted out of fear at the voice that murmured from behind you. Swiveling your head, eyes resting on Seonghwa who stood mere inches from you, moonlight spilling over him in a way that would have artists hyperventilating. Turning back away from him, your eyes wide with shame as you did your best to wipe away any remnants of the tears.
"Rockstars who fucked their way through a tour, theres your context."
Too much venom laced your words as you honed in on the sleeping city before you. A statement that should have hurt Seonghwa, but didn't.
"Got to relieve the stress of being the world's most attractive, sought after, talented and charming wild child."
Shooting him a look, your eyebrows arched at his ridiculous, partly true response.
"Who upset you, princess."
Not a question, a demand. One that wanted answering. Sat under the stars, vulnerability weaving in the space that was between you both, you almost told him.
"No-one. We need to go back to the hotel, I told Lila I would make sure you behaved tonight while we were out."
Not waiting for him to reply, you stood up from the wall, taking one glance back at the view you were leaving behind before heading back to the rest of the rowdy group.
--
"Goodnight Seonghwa."
Wishing him a goodnight was something you had never done. Seeing him before or after a show was incredibly rare. Mostly because you had done your best to avoid him. Saying goodnight to him wasn't going to be easy, of course it wasn't. For the second time tonight, his fingers curled around your elbow and he tugged you closer. Other hand swiped the key card, nudging the door open with his shoulder as he pulled you inside with him.
"What are you-"
"Lila said you had to ensure I was on my best behaviour while out exploring Rome, huh? She said nothing about when we were back in the hotel."
Unexpected flush bloomed across your cheeks, his fingers creeping from the crook of your elbow up to the base of your throat. Speechless. That's what you were. Unable to form a thought, let alone a sentence. Fingers skimming your collar bone before he pulled back, leaving a scorching trail across your skin.
"Tell me who upset you and I'll give you more."
"Excuse me?"
And your ability to talk again was immediately restored as soon as Seonghwa opened his mouth.
"Don't look at me with such disgust, we both know how you feel about me."
"What-"
"Don't protest, princess. I've seen the way you clench those thighs when you notice I'm wearing a collar."
White noise buzzed in your ears, your stomach fell through to your feet and the searing heat that was traveling up your body at double speed was enough to instantly tell Seonghwa he was correct. Taking an involuntary step back further into the room, your bravado fading quick.
"Was it an ex? I know you were on your phone."
Seonghwa untied the flannel that had been tied around his waist, tossing it onto the bed. Sudden bubble of anxiety started to claw up your throat. No-one knew your situation prior, not Lila, not any other employer. You had never divulged any information on your cheating fiance. Was Seonghwa really going to be the first person you tell?
"Were you too high maintenance?"
Strike of molten anger slashed through you at his accusation.
"Fuck you. You know nothing about me."
Never had you lost your cool, you temper or your head around him. Always tried to have the upper hand, but it was too much this time. Seonghwa's eyebrows raised, not in shock, no. He was impressed you'd bit back with more fire than ever before.
"It was an ex. We were engaged and he cheated. Screwed some other girl in our bed on the same day he asked me to marry him."
Word vomit. You couldn't stop. Pent up emotions flooding out of you, feelings that had never been discussed-
"Only wanted to marry me because of my family heritage, because of the money. I ended it, changed my last name and any money I had, I gave away so I could start over and- and- and find someone who loved me for me."
All the air had been sucked out of the room, replaced with a stifling silence. Horror hit you like a freight train as you realised everything that spilled out of your mouth. Feet moving as you tried to push past Seonghwa, wanting to leave, change your name again and move countries. Hand circled your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks. Time had come to a complete stand still. Just the two of you staring at each other, Seonghwa's gaze pinned to you.
"Is that why you hate me so much? Because I fuck around? Do you think I'm like your ex?"
Something in the way he phrased it, in his tone... he sounded hurt. Eyes softening at his question, your body relaxing as you shook your head without hesitation.
"I don't hate you, Seonghwa. Not really. I envy you. I wish I could be more like you. But, I'm too hurt, too damaged now to act the way you do."
Being truthful to both him and yourself was making your heart and brain pulsate with a weird pain. Seonghwa's fingers dropped from your wrist, instead both hands now cupping your face with a touch so tender it made your heart skip multiple beats.
"Damaged is the wrong word to describe you."
Space between you both was almost squashed, Seonghwa's forehead mere inches away from yours, eyes boring into you.
"What's the right word?"
"Mine."
Lips crashed against yours, fingers circling the base of your throat, latching on, feeling your pulse point throbbing under his touch. Caught in a rush of emotions, your rational thinking catapulted into the next realm. Hands shaking with exhilaration as they found Seonghwa's chest. Tongue brushing against yours, other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back and allowing his lips to pepper kisses down your throat and to your collar bone.
"One word and I'll stop."
Raspy words danced across your neck, hesitation quivering from him as he waited for you to back off, to freeze up and tell him this was wrong. On the contrary, this was everything you had wanted and more. Guilt had ate you alive at the fact you wanted to be fucked by him. Jealously had coloured your emotions, watching him touch and kiss other people. All you had wanted was just a taste of him and to feed off the way he didn't care what others thought. Something you'd been searching for since your break up.
"I don't want you to stop. I want you to make me forget."
It was as if he had been waiting months for those words to come out of your mouth. Trailing his lips back up to yours, engulfing you in a kiss that was nothing but passionate and intense.
Tangle of limbs, urgent kisses and moans that entwined with each other. Seonghwa wasted no time stripping himself out of his shirt, tossing it on the floor and allowing you to smooth your hands over his chest. Pad of your thumb grazed the padlock that was attached to the collar sitting around his neck. Hooking your finger into the chain, you tugged him even closer, skimming your lips against his before pulling the collar harder. Low moan rumbled in his chest, causing you to smirk lightly.
"Doesn't surprise me you get off on that."
Resting his forehead against yours, pressure applied gently around your throat as he murmured.
"There's a whole arsenal of things that get my cock hard, but getting the chance to do them with you? That's what really gets me horny."
Escaped laugh of disbelief slipped out of you, causing Seonghwa to grin as he backed you towards the glass windows. In a swift movement you were bare chest to bare chest, skin against skin. Touch trailing down your arms, enjoying the way you trembled before Seonghwa spun your around. Tits pressed against the cool glass of the windows, eyes widening at the view that stared back at you. Rome was sleeping under the night sky, barely anyone meandering through the streets. But, if they were- if they so happened to glance up-
"Shh, princess. Get out of your head, no-one is going to look up here, and if they do? So what. I can pay people to keep quiet."
Something fluttered inside of you at the nonchalant threat Seonghwa made about keeping people hush hush. Makes sense why none of his bigger scandals ever made it out to the public eye. And yet, it was enough to soak your thighs.
Tracing your curves, mapping out all the places he wanted to delve into, nimbly hiking your jeans down, revealing just what he wanted to see.
"A few dirty words and shared kisses and you're already this drenched? Fuck, if I had of known this I'd ruined you so much more at work."
Closing your eyes at his amused demeanour, hands pressed against the glass as his lips littered kisses along your inner thighs, looping a finger into the side of your underwear and pulling them down. Beat of silence passed and then with a nudge of his hand, your legs were spread and he was devouring your wet cunt like his life depended on it.
"Hwafuck-"
String of curses immediately left your mouth, hands bunching up against the glass as his tongue caressed your sweet spots, dripping your heat for him to taste. Thumb circling your clit as he did so, adding to the pleasure that was already sky rocketing through your body. Arching your back, Seonghwa's hands clung to your thighs, tongue and fingers working together to push you to your peak. Crying out his name, losing control and soaking his mouth your arousal, catching your breath with everything you had.
WIthdrawing from you, face flushed and lips wet, he wasted no time in palming his cock, turning you back around. Didn't bother to ask what he had planned next for, instead you sank to your knees, sliding your hands up his toned thighs before batting his own hand away. Grasping his cock, pumping it with a speed that made his eyes roll back, you leaned upwards and enveloped his cock in your mouth.
"Shit- fuck, I knew that mouth was good for more than-"
Strangled moan cut him off as you worked both your tongue and hand along his twitching cock, never letting him catch his breath, returning the favour of making him feel nothing but bliss. Fluttering your eyelashes, looking up at him with an expression that did nothing but drive him wild.
Seonghwa couldn't take it any longer, yanking you up from the floor, mouth empty as his cock slid from it. Pressing you against the glass again, head resting against your warm skin as he buried his cock inside your welcoming pussy. Whimper rang out from you, both of his hands overlapping yours against the window, thrusting into you.
Neither one of you had the energy to say anything, the only noise that could be heard was the slapping of wet skin, fervent moans and strained breathing. Steamed windows and stifled air, clammy skin and ecstasy laced pleasure. Terror of someone looking up and seeing you both had evaporated from your mind, no longer caring. Let them look. Let them watch.
Hot, untamed, meaningful.
Incoherent praise was whispered into your ear, causing you to shudder against him. Both of you reaching the brink, everything starting to blur as Seonghwa's cock pounded into you deeper and deeper. Seeing stars at this point, bodies sandwiched together as Seonghwa filled you, in vice versa you soaking him with your arousal.
--
Sunrise filtered through the hotel room, hues of gold and blue glazed over the walls and floor. Blinking a few times, eyes adjusting to the almost angelic light that had seeped into the room. Wincing at the soreness that swaddled your body, exhaustion still evident in your bones. Then it all came rushing back. Windows were smeared with handprints, bottle of champagne was empty on the small table- heaviness rested on your chest, fingers flying to the weight-
Seonghwa's padlock collar was sitting pretty around your throat.
"Suits you better, princess."
Groggy mumble emerged from next to you, whipping your head to see Seonghwa laying there, one eye open, sleepy smile sprawled across his lips. Hair disheveled, body on show and marks littering his neck. Blush bloomed across your cheeks as you realised you'd left hickeys all along his throat, vibrant and extremely visible. Seonghwa's fingers tugged at your wrist, pulling you down next to him again.
"This means you're mine now, no-one has worn it before, just me."
Murmured honesty flowed from Seonghwa as he closed his eye.
"Wait Seonghwa-"
"Yes, I want you. No, I won't cheat. Now get some more rest, we have breakfast in two hours and then we are going sightseeing."
Staring at his peaceful state, unbelieving at the situation you found yourself in. And yet, relief filled your entire being as you snuggled closer to him, drifting back into a restless sleep.
Summary
"I am looking at you," he choked out, a ragged exhale brushing over your lips, tasting faintly of winter and desperation. "That’s the goddamn problem. It’s all I ever do."
The confession hung in the air, thick and uncertain, like a match held over a trail of gasoline. His eyes dropped down to your mouth, tracking the slight parting of your lips with a raw hunger that made your knees turn to liquid.
"Seonghwa," you whispered his name, a soft, deliberate plea that shattered the last of his iron restraint. You didn't wait for him to cross the line.
You dragged him over it.
A/N
At last, I finally mustered the energy to finish this one lmao. I've never written anything this long, so I hope I didn't bore you too much in the first 9k words xd
service top!park seonghwa, whiny!park seonghwa, dom/sub undertones, seonghwa is whipped for the reader, yearning, angst?, forced proximity, minor woosan, possessive!park seonghwa
The tires of the SUV had been spinning uselessly in the deep snow for about twenty minutes before the engine let out one final, desperate, and exhausted grunt—completely dying and leaving you, your manager, your brooding bodyguard, and your driver stranded at the edge of a long forgotten logging road.
This entire trip had been your childhood friend-turned-manager's brilliant idea; a remote cabin rented specifically for your upcoming movie shoot under the insistence that isolating you a whole week early would perfectly immerse you in the script’s atmospheric mindset.
At the time, Wooyoung had treated it like the greatest breakthrough of his career.
Knowing Wooyoung, it clearly wasn’t.
So when the car had come to a halt, a mixture of sighs and groans filling the tense air, it had become glaringly obvious that your dear manager had forgotten to check the weather forecast for today.
A low groan in your throat had turned Wooyoung around from where he was sitting in the passenger seat, giving you a weak, apologetic smile while insisting that you should look on the bright side of this predicament. The bright side—or the silver lining, as he had called it—being that the cabin was only a mere 15-minute walk from where they had stopped.
Wooyoung had even insisted that trudging through the blinding, wet terrain would put you right into the headspace of your character. The first five minutes he had stood by that statement, rambling on about how he had given you an advantage in the bad luck you were having.
He went quiet the second you had to practically fight through the freezing wind during the remaining ten minutes, and you couldn’t help but internally curse at your friend. ‘Silver lining my ass,’ you thought.
Turns out, stepping inside the cabin hadn’t been of much help either.
The air was painfully cold and brittle, a bit better than the winds outside, but the lack of heat was still there. Every breath filled your lungs like shattered glass, harsh and unpleasant, and by the looks of the other three, they felt the same.
You pulled your arms tight against your chest, shivering violently as you watched your breath flower into a thick white mist, mixing with the other men’s as Wooyoung stepped forward, grabbing a small clipboard containing a note that sat idly on top of a dusty wooden table.
Wooyoung sighed as he read the note. ”Great." He rolled his eyes in annoyance, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "The main generator is completely shot."
The heavy wooden table groaned slightly as he tossed the clipboard back onto the dusty surface. "We're stuck here until the blizzard clears. At least until tomorrow morning," he continued, the raw exhaustion of the storm openly bleeding through his voice as he looked away from the three of you, like he was embarrassed for being the cause of this.
The room fell silent except for the faint sounds of the storm shaking the structure of the cabin, turning even louder, almost like it was provoking the four of you—waiting for either of you to break.
But San, your driver, stepped up directly besides Wooyoung, knuckles lightly brushing against the shorter man's tense shoulder in a subtle, practiced movement like it was meant to ground him.
"We have dry wood for the fireplace, and the roof is solid," San said softly, his voice cutting through the chill as he offered Wooyoung a small, comforting smile, making his eyes crinkle and those familiar dimples appear on his cheeks. "We'll be fine, Woo."
A silent look passed between the two men, a quiet, almost intimate understanding that didn’t require spoken words. It made a genuine smile tug at your frozen lips, like a necessary pocket of warmth contrasting the freezing chaos of the cabin as it wrapped around a familiar ache spreading across your chest.
It was a warmth you so desperately craved but was so far out of reach. A heavy stab of shame suddenly tightened your chest, recollecting the nights you had spent with Wooyoung without the limitations of him being your manager. How achingly much he had needed that comfort too. It cut you deep to remember how hard you had worked him over the last few years, inadvertently denying him the very tenderness he needed and deserved.
So when San had been hired as your driver, it hadn’t been difficult to notice the lingering stares or the unnecessary, yet careful and deliberate, touches exchanged between them. You had seen the way Wooyoung’s posture, rigid from the sheer exhaustion after a grueling day of press junkets and relentless award shows, entirely dissolve the moment San stepped within arm’s reach.
Back during your first major career breakthrough, when the paparazzi were at their absolute worst and the media felt suffocating, watching them had filled you with an almost bittersweet fondness. Though they never spoke about the relationship they so desperately tried to hide, their quiet bond had always managed to keep you grounded. A silent anchor that allowed you to dare dream of one day sharing that same fierce, protective closeness with someone of your own.
But—like every fragile comfort on this trip—the brief moment of warmth and hope quickly evaporated the second a heavy, familiar shadow fell over your shoulders.
Seonghwa stepped fully into the main room, marching towards the heavy wooden door protecting you from the outside winds to lock it with a deliberate click of the deadbolt. He finally turned around on his heels, facing the three of you huddled together from the cold. He pulled off his thick tactical gloves, the dark leather creaking loudly in the quiet hum of the cabin as his dark, unyielding eyes immediately locked onto yours.
Not Wooyoung.
Not San.
His entire universe instantly narrowed down the second his gaze found yours, routinely scanning your face for any signs of distress, measuring the distance between your body and the door with his usual terrifying calculated precision. You couldn’t help but freeze under the intense gaze, instantly trapped by the same suffocating tension that has stretched between you for two long years. A heavy, unspoken weight that always made the air feel a bit too thick to swallow, seeping through the cold air.
You weren’t unfamiliar with that look. Seonghwa had always looked at you like that. Like he wanted to scold you for being too careless. Like he wanted to lock you away where the rest of the world wouldn’t dare to touch you, to hurt you—where the sheer, suffocating intensity of his gaze never stopped the terrifying, irrational thought that all he saw, and all he ever cared to see, was you.
“The perimeter is secure,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice a low, firm tone that vibrated right through the old floorboards before settling deep in your chest. “But the temperature is dropping. Fast”
A choked breath escaped you when he finally diverted his gaze from yours. “Maybe someone so careless shouldn’t have been in charge of our stay,” Seonghwa continued, his cold and expressionless facade never faltering—save for the silent daggers he threw at Wooyoung through his eyes.
Wooyoung scoffed, glaring right back. “There is a fireplace, Mr. I-Love-Complaining," Wooyoung snapped, gesturing aggressively toward the large fireplace across the room. "We just have to keep warm,” he sighed. “And I don't think the owners can get here anyway, given the state of things out there."
Outside, the snow was beating furiously against the structure, the faint, haunting howls of the wind echoing down the chimney.
“Fuck, it’s cold," you shivered through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders hunching instinctively as another violent shudder rattled your frame.
San frowned with immediate, protective concern. "Here," he said softly, his hand already moving to the zipper of his own heavy winter jacket. "Take mine. I have a thick thermal underneath anyway, I'll be fine—"
"No."
The word cut through the room like a blade hitting ice. Sharp. Flat.
Seonghwa stepped forward before San could even pull his arms out of his sleeves, his taller frame effectively blocking the dim, flickering light of the lantern on top of the table. It cast a long, intimidating shadow right over your body as he physically inserted himself into the space between you and San, a dominant, territorial movement that instantly made the air in the room turn stagnant and suffocatingly heavy. Your breath hitched.
“She wears mine,” Seonghwa asserted, his fingers already unbuttoning his coat with efficient, practiced movements.
Your brows knitted together in a slight furrow, a sharp flash of irritation shooting through your spine. “I think San’s jacket will work just fine, too.”
Seonghwa clenched his jaw. “Just do as I say.”
“San has been my driver longer than you’ve been my bodyguard, Seonghwa,” you scoffed. “I don’t need your permission to take his jacket—”
“It isn’t about permission,” he snapped before stepping closer. The radiating heat of his body hit your face like a physical wall in the freezing room, holding out his massive, dark coat while his eyes kept locked onto yours with an uncomfortable and exposing intensity. “It’s about safety. Protocol.”
"Protocol?" You let out a sharp, mocking breath, chest heaving under your layers. "He’s my friend. You're being ridiculous. You've been doing this for two years—treating every single person who breathes near me like an enemy aching to strike. It's exhausting."
Seonghwa didn’t blink. His jaw tightened, clenching as he stared down at you, gaze pinning you to the floorboards. He lowered his head slightly, his voice dropping into a fierce, private murmur meant strictly for your ears.
"Sometimes the people closest to you can hurt you the most. And my job is to eliminate all risks.” He shoved the coat against your chest. “Wear the coat."
There was a lingering weight behind his words. Like an unspoken history or a deep-seated paranoia that you couldn’t quite decipher, leaving a ringing silence in its wake where a now uncomfortable, awkward friction settled over the room.
You could see Wooyoung shift his weight from one foot to the other through the corner of your eyes, his own eyes darting between you and your bodyguard with a mixture of confusion and growing annoyance. San stood quietly beside him, slowly zipping his own jacket back up in defeat, his expression carefully guarded.
You knew this was a losing battle—it always was—and even though you loathed how much your body was craving warmth ever since the car had decided to give up, you aggressively snatched the coat from his hands. But from the aggressiveness of it, your fingers accidentally brushed against Seonghwa’s bare wrist where his dress shirt had ridden up from taking off his coat. The sudden warmth sent an electric jolt straight up your arm, breath hitching in your throat as the two of you stilled.
Not wanting to address the funny feeling pooling low in your stomach, you threw the heavy material over your shoulders, instantly engulfing you. It smelled entirely, intoxicatingly of him. A heavy blend of the raging storm outside—crisp pine and a grounding musk mixed with a hint of vanilla and coffee—making your head spin with every shuddering inhale.
Wooyoung cleared his throat loudly, the sound forced and awkward. "Right." His eyes lingered on the two of you before continuing, "We need a concrete plan to stay warm. The temperature is going to keep dropping, and I'd prefer we don't freeze to death before the first day of shooting."
“There should be spare blankets,” Seonghwa replied, his voice returning to that same detached, professional cadence as he turned towards Wooyoung.
Yet, his head remained subtly angled in your direction, his eyes never truly releasing you. "It is an Airbnb in the middle of winter, after all. The owners wouldn't leave a property completely unequipped for a freeze."
The manager sighed. "Great. I'll check the upstairs closets with San." He ran a hand through his hair before gesturing for the driver to follow him toward the creaking wooden staircase. "Let's pray there's something better than dusty sheets up there. Come on, Sannie.”
Wooyoung’s gaze lingered softly on you for a moment before his lips smoothed into a straight line, offering you a comforting nod. It was the same unspoken gesture he always gave you in the midst of chaos. A silent promise to let you know he was only ever a heartbeat away.
As their heavy footsteps faded up the stairs, the sound of their quiet murmuring was swallowed by the cabin and the storm raging outside, leaving the main room in a tense, ringing silence.
You stayed glued to your spot by the fireplace, fingers buried deep in the oversized pockets of Seonghwa's coat. A soft hum escaped your lips as you pulled the high, stiff collar tighter around your neck—partially to block out the biting draft, but mostly to hide the deep shade of red that had so suddenly flushed your cheeks.
Seonghwa stood perfectly still across the room, eyes lingering momentarily on you before going back to whatever it was he was doing. It didn’t keep his focus for long, though. His attention kept flicking back to you, his gaze tracing the subtle yet rapid rise and fall of your chest through the dim, amber glow of the lantern. A lump formed deep in your throat, warmth spreading across every part of your body the coat surrounded.
His expression was one you had seen a thousand times over the last two years. A dark, unreadable mask that you had never quite been able to figure out. It was a look that usually kept you on your toes. It made you defensive. Guarded. And a bit annoyed, if you were completely honest.
But tonight, with the evidence of the day's regrettable events lingering in the air like a thick fog, that familiar weight felt tenfold more intense. Like there was a dangerous, volatile sharpness to the way he was watching you.
You felt your breath hitch, noises of the storm slowly fading out as the thud of your hammering heart was the only thing you could hear the second his eyes slowly dropped to your lips. Something in his eyes shifted, his tongue darting out to lick the seam of his bottom lip before his gaze locked back onto your own.
He held an expression thick with words left unsaid, so heavy and demanding it knocked the air straight out of your lungs. You felt exposed. Naked. Like he could see right through you.
You tried to brush it off, unconvincingly claiming it to be a mere security assessment and definitely not what felt like an interrogation. But you couldn't help the heart beating violently against your ribs, desperately trying to understand why...
Why a man who claimed to just be doing his job was looking at you like you were the only thing left in the world. Like a cherished treasure.
The thudding footsteps of Wooyoung and San returning from upstairs broke the suffocating silence, each carrying a meager stack of stiff, faded wool blankets. A slow, heavy exhale left your lips at the sight of your friend, your previous rigid and clenched posture melting away.
“This is the best we could find,” Wooyoung grumbled, dropping a couple of the rough blankets onto the sofa placed in front of the unlit fireplace. He frowned, like he had expected you to at least prepare a fire while the two of them were upstairs.
A rattle caught his attention, the frown melting into a sigh as he headed straight for the far corner of the room, where a draft was visibly rattling the frosted windowpane. “The glass is a bit loose here. We should block the gap before starting the fire.”
San was already moving with him, pulling a roll of heavy-duty duct tape from his backpack. Ignoring the confusion as to why he kept a roll of duct tape in his backpack, you took it as your cue to move, desperate to shake off the paralyzing awareness of Seonghwa's eyes.
“I'll prepare the fire, then. Until you're done,” you offered, your voice sounding slightly tighter than usual as you stepped towards a small pile of split logs near the fireplace.
You bent down, but before your fingers could even wrap around the rough bark, a large, dark shadow eclipsed you.
Seonghwa was already there, sweeping in so silently it caught the breath deep in your throat. His large hand clamped onto the piece of wood you were reaching for, knuckles brushing firmly against yours.
A familiar heat coiled in your abdomen before you pulled your hand back from the accidental scrape of his skin against yours, as if you had been burned, your pulse spiking.
“I got it,” Seonghwa murmured. Tone flat and professional, contrasting the flare of his eyes from the sharp intensity as he looked down at you. He used his body to subtly nudge you away from the hearth. “The wood is splintered. You'll cut your hands. Stand back.”
You huffed at that. “I am perfectly capable of carrying a log,” you snapped under your breath, a prickly wave of irritation rising to mask the sudden, erratic fluttering in your chest.
You stepped around him, determined to prove a point, and reached for a smaller piece of kindling. Again, he moved. His chest subtly blocking your path, his shoulder passing so close to yours that the fabric of his shirt brushed against your clothed arm.
He reached past you, his larger arm completely separating you from the woodpile. “You'll get hurt. I'll handle it. Your job is to stay warm.”
You let out a sharp, frustrated breath, retreating a few steps. It was infuriating.
For two years it had been like this. Two years of this constant, suffocating hovering. This maddening insistence on treating you like something precious. Something fragile. You told yourself you hated it. You told yourself his overprotectiveness was a nuisance, a textbook display of a stubborn bodyguard taking his contract way too seriously.
But as you stood there, wrapped in the heavy warmth of his coat, a traitorous and confusing ache settled deep in your stomach. You didn't want to admit how much his total, unwavering focus made your heart hum.
You dragged your attention across the room, desperate to find any leverage to anchor yourself from the flutter in your chest as your gaze settled on the two men working on the window. Wooyoung was shivering, his shoulders hunched as he held a piece of cardboard against the draft while San tore off a strip of tape to secure it.
Blissfully unaware of the lingering eyes, San took Wooyoung's reddened hands into his own, lifting them to his lips. He breathed a low, steady stream of warm air over Wooyoung's knuckles, his eyes fixed on the smaller man with an unhurried, profound tenderness.
Wooyoung's entire posture melted. A soft, private smile spread across his face as he leaned his forehead briefly against San's shoulder, puffs of white mist escaping his lips from what you could only assume were giggles.
A bittersweet ache twisted in your chest as you watched them. A sudden, hollow yearning that caught you completely off guard. It was a beautiful, quiet kind of intimacy. A safe harbor where two people simply trusted each other.
You found yourself staring, completely captivated by the effortless softness of it, wondering—just for a fleeting second—what it would feel like to have someone look at you with that kind of raw devotion.
You glanced away, blinking rapidly like it could hide emotions bubbling behind your eyes. You swallowed past a dry throat before you stopped dead in your tracks. Seonghwa.
He hadn't been looking at the woodpile.
He had been watching you.
He had caught the exact moment your chest hitched. Caught the lingering, envious look you cast at the two men by the window, his dark eyes tracking the heavy rise and fall of your chest.
The silence between you stretched, charged with an unsaid understanding. He knew exactly what you were looking at, and the rigid set of his jaw told you he was burning with a dark, unreadable frustration of his own.
Desperate to break the suffocating spell, you turned on your heel, looking for any excuse to escape his vicinity.
“I'll look for a better lantern,” you announced, your voice trembling slightly.
You spotted a tall, heavy wooden shelving unit tucked into the shadows at the back of the cabin. On the very top shelf, three thick, vintage brass lanterns sat coated in dust, alongside a folded tartan blanket.
You strode over to it, ignoring the way Seonghwa's boots immediately shifted on the creaking floorboards behind you.
The shelf was tall, towering over your head, and the old wood let out a brittle, ominous creak as you stepped up on your tiptoes. You stretched your arms up, tongue darting out in concentration as your fingers just barely brushed the cold brass of one of the lanterns.
“Don't,” Seonghwa's voice barked from across the room, sharp and sudden. “It's unstable.”
Your brows furrowed. “I can reach it,” you persisted, fueled by a reckless need to defy him. To prove that you didn't need his protection or that stupid protocol. You leaned more of your weight forward, straining your fingers just an inch further.
You miscalculated.
The moment your hand gripped the heavy brass, the rotten wooden supports of the shelf violently splintered. A sickening crack echoed through the cabin as the massive, heavy unit gave way under the shifting weight, the top shelf tilting forward. The heavy brass lanterns and a cascade of solid wooden beams came hurtling straight down towards your face.
Your breath hitched. You couldn't scream. Couldn't move. All you could do was stare up at the falling mass in pure, paralyzed terror.
A massive force hit you from the side. A solid, unstoppable wall of heat and muscle slammed into your torso as Seonghwa had lunged across the space with terrifying speed.
His large arms instantly wrapped around your waist, crushing you against his chest as he threw his entire body over yours, twisting midair to shield you.
The impact was brutal. You were slammed hard into the wooden floorboards, your breath violently knocked out of your lungs in a sharp gasp. But you couldn't feel the hard wood. Or the pain.
You could only feel him.
Seonghwa took the entire force of the crash, his large frame acting as a human shield against the wooden shelf and brass lanterns coming crashing down, splintering violently against his shoulders and down on the floor around you.
A deafening silence followed the crash, save for the howling wind outside and the frantic shouting of Wooyoung and San scrambling across the room. But you couldn't hear them.
Your mind flooded with thoughts as you were pinned flat against the floor, completely trapped beneath the crushing, heavy weight of Seonghwa's chest.
He didn't let go.
His grip was bruising, his large hands clutching at your waist and burying into the fabric of the coat with a white-knuckled, frantic desperation—like he was still trying to pull you deeper into his safety.
You looked up, your vision spinning, and found his face a mere inch from yours. He was trembling, his chest heaving frantically against yours as he gasped for air, breath hot and ragged against your face. The usual stone-cold facade had shattered into dust, eyes completely blown out with terror.
“Are you hurt?” he choked out, his voice a wrecked, breathless whisper, completely stripped of its usual composure.
“I-I'm fine,” you stammered, voice barely audible.
He let out a shuddering, broken exhale as his forehead dropped down to press briefly against your shoulder, right against the collar of his own coat. His jaw brushed innocently against the sensitive skin of your ear, sending a fierce and almost dizzying shiver straight down your spine.
He was breathing you in like a drowning man, his heart hammering so violently against your chest that you couldn't tell where his pulse ended and yours began.
As you laid there, pinned by his heat, the pieces you had fiercely been ignoring for two long years suddenly began to misalign and click into a terrifying new shape. This wasn't just a bodyguard doing his job. A man doesn't look this broken, this terrified, this utterly undone by a routine safety hazard.
And as your fingers instinctively tightened against the fabric of his shirt, a suffocating realization began to bleed between the lines of your panic.
You didn't hate his hovering. You never did. You've been yearning for this exact, crushing weight, completely starved for the overwhelming intensity of his touch.
For one more antagonizing fraction of a second, Seonghwa remained entirely frozen on top of you before a sudden, sharp clarity seemed to hit—as if he had just realized exactly how much he let slip. How entirely unhinged his panic must have looked to the room.
Almost instantly, the vulnerability vanished, masked by a sudden, terrifying flash of fury.
He pulled away like your skin had burned him, his jaw locked into a rigid, defensive line as he pushed himself up off the floor. The usual facade slammed back down, twisted into something far harsher, an unreasonable biting anger meant to bury what he had just exposed.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, venomous hiss as he glared down at you from his full height. “I told you it was unstable. Are you completely incapable of following a simple order? Your recklessness could have gotten you crushed!”
You blinked up at him from the floor, completely stunned by the whiplash of his sudden fury, your heart still hammering against your ribs. “I‐I was just trying to get the lanterns—”
“I don't care what you were trying to do,” he cut you off. His tone was icy. Unreasonable. Defensive. “You don't touch anything in a structurally compromised environment. You stay where I can see you, and you let me do my job. Is that concept too difficult for you to grasp?”
“Hey! Back off, dude!” Wooyoung's voice broke through as he kicked a splintered wood aside, stepping forcefully between you and Seonghwa to help you get on your feet, his eyes wide with defensive anger. “Chill the fuck out. She just wanted to help.”
San stepped up right behind Wooyoung, his hand resting firmly on your manager's arm to keep him from escalating. His eyes remained fixed on Seonghwa with a quiet, observant intensity. “She's fine, Seonghwa. We're all fine. The shelf was old, it was just an accident.”
Seonghwa's eyes stayed rigidly fixed on the floorboards next to you, his expression cold and unreadable. Yet, despite the familiar wall he was trying so hard to build back up, there was something so glaringly obvious unraveling the man.
The subtle, uncontrollable tremor in his fingers. The rigid, unnatural stiffness of his shoulders. The way he refused to look you in the eye—it all betrayed him. The mask was cracked, and no matter how much he barked about safety or protocol, you could see the desperate, chaotic energy humming right underneath his skin.
Without another word, Seonghwa turned on his heel and marched towards the dark kitchen, his heavy boots echoing like a rhythmic countdown in the quiet room.
— ☆
As the storm raged on outside, the cabin shifted back into its usual silent awkwardness. The hours bled together in a slow, suffocating crawl, with each of you retreating to your own corners to do your respective tasks. San had managed to scavenge a pair of small, battery-driven lanterns from one of the upstairs closets, placing them on the mantle and surfaces scattered across the main room.
The space was much better lit now, casting a steady, white glow over the room that felt almost too exposing, illuminating every tense line of the cabin.
Wooyoung and San had quietly finished securing the draft window, their whispered conversations acting as a low hum against the howling wind. You remained curled on the sofa, still engulfed in the dizzying smell of Seonghwa's coat.
You tried to read the script pages in your lap, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the crushing weight of Seonghwa's chest against yours. The desperate pressure of his fingers through your clothes and the terrifying, furious wall he had rebuilt the second he realized his control had unwillingly slipped.
Across the room, Seonghwa stood like a statue near the kitchen threshold, his arms crossed, silently tracking the perimeter—tracking you—leaving a trail of heavy silence hanging between you that grew more suffocating with every passing hour.
Before the midnight silence completely took over, there was a brief, fragile pocket of normalcy.
The old kitchen stove was a traditional gas model, requiring no electricity to function. And Wooyoung—desperate to soothe his frayed nerves after the shelf incident—managed to heat up a pot of milk, turning it into a rich, steaming hot chocolate that the three of you drank while huddled on the couch and on the floorboards directly in front of the fireplace.
With the heavy storm howling outside, you finally had a moment to truly take in the layout of the cabin without the immediate panic of the crash clouding your mind. The space was fairly big, built from heavy, exposed pine logs that had blackened with age. A steep, creaking wooden staircase cut straight up the center of the main room, leading up to a narrow loft landing where two small bedrooms sat side by side.
Across the room, entirely excluded from your small circle of warmth, Seonghwa sat in a rigid wooden chair near the dark kitchen entryway, next to the stairs. He hadn't touched the mug. He hadn't moved an inch to rest. His large frame completely still as he did his duty.
Wooyoung set his empty mug down, yawning heavily as he glanced from you to the dark figure in the corner.
"San and I will take the two bedrooms on the top floor," Wooyoung said, his voice dripping with a lazy, sarcastic edge as he deliberately poked fun at your bodyguard’s rigid posture. "That way, our resident shadow can stay down here and be in perfect reach if a rogue snowflake tries to attack the front door. You should probably head up to bed soon, too."
You snorted at the comment and offered a tired, faint smile, swirling the last of the dark liquid in your mug. "I need some time to collect my thoughts. Besides, it would be incredibly rude of me not to finish your delicious hot chocolate."
Wooyoung huffed a laugh, fond but exhausted, before standing up. He and San made their way up the creaking stairs, their shadows stretching long against the timber walls under the stark white glow of the battery-driven lanterns. You stayed glued on the couch, listening to the heavy wood groan under their weight.
There were two separate bedrooms up there. Yet, in the quiet structure of the house, you only heard a single wooden door click open, followed by the faint, muffled sound of quiet giggles before the latch snapped shut.
A genuine, soft smile tugged at your lips. It was so painfully obvious. A sweet secret that made your chest ache with a sudden, hollow envy.
"They are incredibly obvious," a low, gravelly baritone cut through the silence, making you jump. "It almost makes me sick."
You turned your head sharply. Seonghwa had stepped out of the shadows and was crossing the small hallway leading to the two rooms, hovering just a few feet next to the fireplace in front of you.
There was a rare, faint chuckle catching in the back of his throat—a rough, unpracticed sound that completely caught you off guard. He was actually making fun of them, a tiny, human glimpse of amusement cracking through his armor.
The sudden vulnerability frustrated you, the lingering adrenaline from the afternoon twisting into a sharp, defensive knot in your throat.
You turned your entire body to face him, your eyes narrowing. "Just because you are entirely incapable of feeling human emotions or expressing them does not mean their affection is disgusting, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa froze.
The small, rare trace of amusement instantly vanished from his face, his dark eyes widening slightly as he stared down at you, completely appalled and caught off guard by the sudden bitterness of your snap.
The silence between you stretched, the air turning thick enough to swallow.
"Incapable?" he repeated, the word leaving his lips like a low, dangerous warning. He stepped forward, jaw tightening so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. "You think I don't feel anything?"
"Yes," you challenged, carefully putting down the mug before crossing your arms and getting up to take a deliberate step towards him. "Because you don't. You just stand there like a statue, watching me, judging me, and then you shut down. If you actually have a single human emotion inside you, say it. Because I am tired of guessing."
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and for the first time in two years, his unyielding gaze faltered. He looked away from you, staring at the dark wooden floorboards, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.
You could see the exact moment the internal battle took hold of him—his shoulders were rigid, his chest heaving under the tight dress shirt as he took a long, ragged breath. He wanted to snap back. Wanted to retreat into the shadows, but he was trapped.
"I can't," he choked out, strangled rasp you barely recognized.
"What do you mean you can't?" you demanded, taking another step closer, daringly shrinking the space between you. "It's a simple question, Seonghwa. Why do you treat me like this?"
"Because it isn't fair!" he suddenly snapped, his head whipping back up. His eyes were blown out, swimming with a desperation that made your breath catch.
He took a half-step backward, trying to create distance between your bodies, but the wall pinned you both in the narrow circle of light.
"It isn’t fair to you, and it damn sure isn't fair to me.” He took a deep breath. “If I say it—if I let myself even think it—everything falls apart. Do you understand me? Our lives, my job, everything we’ve built for two years. It ruins all of it."
You blinked, completely stunned, mind scrambling to make sense of the gnawing panic in his voice. "What are you talking about? What ruins it?"
"Don't push me," he whispered, a dark, desperate edge bleeding into his tone as his fingers trembled against his thighs. "Please. Just—go. Go to bed."
"No," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic hammering of your heart. You refused to back down now.
You closed the remaining distance, stepping directly into his personal space until your chest was practically brushing his.
You looked up into his striking face, eyes boring into his. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain what the fuck you mean, Seonghwa. Look at me. Why are you so terrified of me?"
"I'm not terrified of you," he breathed, his breath hot and ragged against you. The sheer proximity was intoxicating.
He looked completely undone, his rigid professional armor cracking and splintering right before your eyes under the pressure of your stubbornness. "I'm terrified of what I’ll do if I stop fighting."
"Then stop fighting," you whispered.
A harsh, broken sound—halfway between a scoff and a groan—caught in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes tightly for a single second, his head shaking as if he were trying to clear madness out of his brain.
"My entire life, I’ve been trained to lock it away," he whispered, his voice dropping into a raw, wrecked confession, the words practically dragged out of him against his will. "I was told that I felt too much. That my emotions made me a liability, a danger. I spent years forcing myself to become cold, to become a machine so I wouldn't ruin everything. I thought I was good at it."
He opened his eyes, and the sheer intensity in his dark gaze left you utterly breathless. He didn't move away this time. He leaned down slightly, his face a mere inch from yours, his unyielding focus pinning you to the floor.
"But with you, I can't," he admitted, a faint curse slipping past his lips as the final walls of his restraint violently crumbled. "No matter how many protocols I follow, no matter how hard I try to focus on the goddamn perimeter, you are always there. Just existing. Pulling me out of the dark and giving me a taste of what it actually feels like to feel again. It’s driving me completely crazy. I look at you, and I forget everything I need to be."
He reached out, his large, trembling hand hovering just shy of your jaw—like he was desperate to cup your cheek but paralyzed by the final, terrifying realization of what he was doing.
"I am your bodyguard, for fuck's sake," he gasped. "I am supposed to protect you. I am not supposed to look at you and want to take advantage of the fact that you are entirely mine to guard. I am not supposed to look at your lips and want to devour you until there's nothing left."
You looked up into the dark depths of his eyes, and the final piece of the puzzle violently locked into place inside your chest. It wasn’t just him. It had never been just him.
"Then stop looking at me like a contract," your voice cut through the quiet hum of the room, your hear a thudding pulse against your ribs. You lifted your chin, refusing to let him retreat into the shadows of his mind. "Stop hiding behind the protocol, Seonghwa. Look at me. Just ...look at me."
"I am looking at you," he choked out, a ragged exhale brushing over your lips, tasting faintly of winter and desperation. "That’s the goddamn problem. It’s all I ever do."
The confession hung in the air, thick and uncertain, like a match held over a trail of gasoline. His eyes dropped down to your mouth, tracking the slight parting of your lips with a raw hunger that made your knees turn to liquid.
"Seonghwa," you whispered his name, a soft, deliberate plea that shattered the last of his iron restraint. You didn't wait for him to cross the line.
You dragged him over it.
You reached up, your small hand closing firmly over his bare, burning wrist, pulling his hand that last agonizing distance until his palm finally met your cheek.
A jagged spike of heat shot straight up your arm, and a needy groan was violently ripped from the back of Seonghwa's throat at the sensation of your skin against his. His fingers instantly flexed, his grip firm yet careful as his large hand framed your soft skin, his thumb pressing hard into your cheekbone.
And then he lurched forward. Soft lips crashed onto yours, hungry, frantic, and completely starved. His lips were hot and demanding, bruising yours as he devoured the heat of your mouth with a breathless urgency
You let out a muffled, dizzy gasp against his mouth, your hands instantly clawing upward to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to bury yourself in his solid weight. He answered the movement by wrapping his other arm around your waist, lifting you nearly off your feet as he turned the two of you around, slamming your back against the very wall you had him cornered against.
The impact was sharp, and a gasp tore from your lips. Seonghwa’s tongue traced along the seam of your bottom lip, a faint moan escaping as you gave him access. He explored every crevice, every corner of your mouth, like he was memorizing it, tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, slippery rhythm that left you both gasping, your head spinning into absolute chaos.
The wet warmth of his mouth and the intoxicating scent of his musk completely flooded your senses until you couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t remember anything but the burning desire of his unwavering attention.
He groaned again, a deep, vibrating sound that rumbled straight from his chest into yours, his large hand sliding down to grip the back of your neck, fingers burying deep into your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his absolute mercy.
He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second as a trail of spit connected at your lips, both of you panting, completely consumed by each other's taste.
"You're going to ruin me," he whispered against your skin, his voice broken in defeat. "You know that, don't you? I'm completely ruined."
"Good," you breathed out, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him back down to your lips. "Ruin me too."
He found your mouth again, and the kiss instantly grew hungrier. Needier. Hotter. The sheer friction of his lips against yours made your brain short-circuit, and all your skin was screaming for was the intolerable barrier of your clothes.
You needed him bare. You needed to feel the solid, burning expanse of his skin against yours.
Your hands left his hair, your fingers scrambling frantically for the buttons of his shirt, your movements uncoordinated and desperate. You managed to undo the first two, knuckles brushing the scalding, smooth skin of his collarbone.
Suddenly, his large, warm hands snapped around your wrists, pulling them away from his chest and instead pinning them against the wall on either side of your head.
He looked at you, panting, a look of fear clouding his features. Even now, he was fighting his own suffocating lust, terrified that tomorrow morning you'd wake up and look at him with regret.
"Are you completely sure?" he asked. His eyes frantically searched yours with a vulnerable intensity. "Look at me. Tell me to stop right now and I will step away. I swear to god I will walk out that door if this isn't what you want. We don't have to do this—don't do something you'll regret tomorrow. I can't take that from you. Please."
You stared up at him, your vision swimming with frustration and a yearning so deep it felt like a physical ache in your gut. You looked at his tightened jaw and the dark, desperate pools of his eyes, and you decided you were entirely done with his hesitation.
"I need you, Seonghwa," you stated, your voice cutting through his panic, steady and laced with a fierce, demanding heat. You twisted your wrists in his grip, refusing to back down an inch. "So if you don't shut up and fuck me within the next five minutes, I will personally throw you outside into the blizzard."
Seonghwa froze. For a fraction of a second, he just stared at you, completely taken aback, his lips parted in utter disbelief at the sheer audacity of your threat.
Then, the rigid tension in his shoulders suddenly cracked. A low, rough chuckle broke from his chest—a sound so rich, surprised, and deeply fond it made your heart leap. The hesitation in his eyes quickly faltered, replaced instantly by a heavy wave of pure, unbridled lust.
"Five minutes?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly purr that sent a shiver straight to your core. His grip on your wrists tightened, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your pulse points as he leaned down, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. "You're getting impatient."
He released your wrists only to scoop his arms under your thighs, lifting you completely off the floorboards in one powerful, effortless motion. You let out a soft gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his thin waist as your hands flew to his shoulders for balance.
He carried you past the central staircase, stepping into the dark hallway where your two separate bedrooms sat. The ambient heat from the stones radiated through the shadows, warming the narrow corridor as he guided you straight into his room.
When he lowered you onto the bed, the mattress groaned softly beneath your combined weight, and for a dizzying second, you expected him to climb over you, to pin you down with that same dominant, territorial force he had used out in the main room.
Your heart beat loudly against your ribs in fierce anticipation, every nerve in your body screaming for the heavy, crushing weight of him. But the moment the heavy coat slid off your shoulders, pooling onto the sheets beneath you, the dynamic shifted entirely.
Seonghwa didn't lean over you. Instead, he slowly sank directly to his knees between your legs, stepping down from his invisible throne to look up at you from below. The faint, bleeding light from the doorway caught the sharp angles of his face, casting his blown-out, glassy eyes in the subtle glow.
He was panting, his wide shoulders rising beneath his dress shirt, his large hands resting flat against the bed, trembling oh-so slightly. The big, dangerous bodyguard who had spent two years commanding your movements, guarding your perimeters, and treating the world like a threat had completely unraveled at your feet.
He looked up at you with an expression of pure reverence—a look so entirely stripped of pride and so broken by his own hunger that it laid his entire soul bare. He looked like a man who had finally crawled out of a desert and reached a holy shrine, completely touch-starved, desperate to be used, and entirely subservient to your pleasure.
"Please," he whispered, the syllable a broken, needy whimper that caught in his throat. He didn't move to touch you yet, his hands staying glued to the mattress as he begged with his eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do. Tell me how to touch you. I'm yours. I'm completely yours."
You pulled him up.
There was no more room for distance, no more patience for the space between his knees and the mattress. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt, and with a fierce, breathless tug, you pulled him up over you.
He didn’t resist, lunging forward with a desperate, guttural gasp as his lips crashed into yours.
The kiss was a messy, bruising collision of teeth and tongues, both of you fighting for air, fighting to get closer, clawing at each other's shoulders as if trying to tear through skin. Seonghwa made a high, strained, whimpering moan in the back of his throat, a helpless, whiny noise that betrayed just how undone his restraint finally was.
He broke the kiss, his hot breath shattering against your wet lips as his hands moved down to the hem of your shirt. He could barely grip the fabric from the shakiness of his own fingers, a frustrating tremor that made him let out a weak, desperate groan.
"Let me," he gasped out, completely wrecked. "Please—fuck—l-let me see you. I need to see you."
You nodded, and with a slow, reverent care that completely contrasted the chaotic hunger in his eyes, he began to slide the heavy layers of clothing off your body.
As the fabric parted, exposing your bare skin to the dim shadows of the room, Seonghwa completely stilled. He hovered over you, his palms resting on either side of your head, and he just stared.
His eyes traced the curve of your collarbone, the slope of your waist, and the gentle rise and fall of your chest with an unhinged need. His gaze was heavy and consuming, treating the sight of your bare skin like a holy relic he had spent a lifetime searching for.
"You're gorgeous," he whispered, a ragged, breathless sob catching in his throat as a single tear welled in his eye. "God, you're so beautiful."
He sank down, completely losing his posture, his face burying straight into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, broken whine, inhaling so deeply against your skin that his chest expanded painfully against yours.
He was completely lost in your scent, the clean, intoxicating warmth of your skin mixed with the faint trace of the winter storm. He nuzzled frantically into your pulse point as his mouth left a trail of wet, desperate kisses down your throat.
"Every single day," he whimpered against your skin, his hands finally sliding down to cup your bare waist, his large palms scalding against your flesh. His fingers flexed, digging into your hips with a bruising, desperate pressure. "Two years of standing behind you, smelling your hair, watching you smile at everyone else while I had to stand back. It took every single fiber of my goddamn being not to drag you into a dark room and crawl to your feet. I was dying. I’ve been dying for two years."
Another whimper escaped the man, his head moving lower, lips tracing the center of your chest, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. He pressed his face against your stomach and let out a choked, needy sound, completely surrendered his control to you, letting you feel the terrifying velocity of his heartbeat.
You tightened your fingers in his dark hair, the silky strands catching between your knuckles, and you pulled his face up from your stomach. Seonghwa followed the movement instantly, his neck tilting back with a gasp, his eyes glassy, unfocused, and dark with a heavy wave of lust.
"Look at me," you breathed out, your voice laced with a fierce, commanding heat that made a visible tremor ripple through his shoulders.
You pulled his head up just enough to guide him, shifting your weight as you spread your knees, exposing the deepest, most vulnerable parts of your body to the dim shadows of the mattress. "Need you, baby. Right here."
Seonghwa groaned at the thought; a wrecked whine tore from the back of his throat, a helpless sound of pure need and submission.
He slid down the bed instantly, hands fumbling with the hem of your pants before removing everything in a smooth motion, hands now clamping onto your inner thighs with a bruising, desperate pressure that anchored you flat against the sheets.
His face dipped between your thighs in a content hum while his long, slender fingers separated your folds. A deep sigh escaped the man as his tongue finally tasted you. It was wide and heavy as it flattened against your clit—long, deep, devouring licks that instantly made your hips jerk off the mattress with a sharp, dizzy gasp, turning your brain into complete mush.
"Ah—Seonghwa, please," you cried out, your fingers burying into the bedsheets, toes curling as a familiar heat built in your lower belly.
A deep, vibrating groan rumbled straight out of him as he continued sucking at your clit, his lips creating a tight, suffocating vacuum that stole the breath right from your lungs, his tongue darting out in sharp, rapid flicks that had you a complete mess beneath him.
You could hear the slick, desperate sounds of his mouth, the heavy slurring of his tongue. The wet, messy slaps of his lips against your skin and the constant, needy whimpers vibrating in his chest.
You looked down through the dark, your vision swimming, and your heart nearly stopped at the sight. Seonghwa was still fully clothed from the waist down, and his cock was visibly raging against the tight fabric of his slacks—creating a massive, hard ridge that stretched the material to its absolute limit.
As he worked between your thighs, his lower body was instinctively, frantically humping into the mattress, hips rolling in a desperate, friction-seeking rhythm that sent deep, heavy vibrations pulsing right through the bed and into your own body.
"God, Seonghwa," you panted, your hands reaching down to tightly grip his hair again, keeping him pinned against your clit. "You—you're getting off just from eating me out? Fuck—look at your pants, so fucking desperate."
The words hit him like a physical wave as he let out a low moan, hips rolling harder against the mattress.
"Such a good boy," you purred, fingers gently tugging at his hair. "Look at you, doing so good for me. Eating me out so well."
Another broken whimper escaped the man, his entire body shaking, tongue moving with an even more desperate and sloppy urgency from the praise.
He was begging with every lap of his tongue, his nose burying deeper into your wetness, completely lost in your taste, your scent, and your rules. He was whimpering into your skin, high on your pleasure, devouring you as if your climax were the only thing keeping his heart beating in the dark.
The heat in your lower belly coiled tighter, a dizzying pressure that left you trembling from head to toe. You were right on the edge, your core pulsing around his wet tongue, but the unbearable friction of his clothed body rubbing against the mattress became too much to handle.
You needed him inside you.
"Seonghwa," you gasped, a commanding note cutting through your own haze as you tightened your grip on his dark hair once more, pulling his face away from your pussy.
He let out a pathetic whine at the sudden loss of contact, his lips glistening and wet with your arousal as he looked up at you through long eyelashes. His eyes were completely blown out, unfocused, and dripping with a raw, needy desperation.
"Take them off," you panted, your eyes dropping to the leaking ridge straining against his uniform slacks.
You gave a slight tug to his hair, your voice dropping into that low, authoritative purr. "Get rid of your clothes. Right now, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa whimpered as he scrambled backwards instantly, a desperate, clumsy rush to obey your every word. His fingers slipped repeatedly against the heavy buckle of his belt as he let out a frustrated, whiny groan, a curse slipping past his lips while he frantically yanked at the leather, finally unbuckling it with a loud, metallic clatter that echoed in the dark room.
He didn't even care about being neat, practically tearing at the heavy fabric of his slacks, his breath coming in short hitches as he kicked them off his long legs, sending them flying onto the floorboards.
He turned back to you, kneeling at the edge of the mattress. His cock raged proudly against his stomach, long and thick as it flushed red with beads of precum pooling in his slit.
He hovered over you, hands coming to rest flat against your thighs to steady himself from his own trembling desire. "Please," he rasped, his voice a broken whisper.
His glassy eyes pleaded with yours, stripped entirely of his usual facade. "P-please let me fill you. Tell me I can have you. I-I'm clean, I swear to god. I haven’t been with anyone. I haven't touched a soul since the day I became your shadow. There's nobody else. Only you."
The raw honesty in his confession made your heart flutter. "I'm clean too, Seonghwa," you reassured him softly, your fingers tracing the hard line of his wrist as you pulled him closer. "And I'm on the pill. You don't have to worry about anything tonight. I'm safe."
A sudden wave of relief washed over his expression, a shuddering breath escaping his parted lips as your words removed the very last barrier holding him back.
Before he could lean down, you shifted your weight, your voice dropping back into that low, teasing command that made his shoulders instantly tense. "Guide your cock against me first, Seonghwa. Slide it along my folds. Spread it."
A sharp whine broke from the back of his throat. Scrambling to follow your exact words, his trembling fingers reached down between your bodies, gripping the thick, raging length of his dick.
With an agonizing slowness, he pressed the broad head of his cock against your entrance, following your command to the letter as he dragged the slick tip of his cock up and down along your glistening folds, smoothly painting your pussy with the mixed wetness of his own arousal and saliva as well as your overflowing arousal.
The movement was absolute torture for both of you. Seonghwa let out a wrecked groan with every slow stroke, his hips subtly twitching as his body practically screamed for the tight heat of your core. Tears of desperation and need welled in his long lashes, his face entirely flushed.
"Please," he begged, his voice whiny and desperate as his eyelids threatened to flutter shut. "Please—nnngh—I can't... it's too much. Let me push inside—I’ll be so good for you. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll take such good care of you, just please—fuck—please."
Your clit throbbed from the desperation of his words. "Do it," you breathed out, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Take me, Seonghwa."
Seonghwa lunged forward, crashing his mouth down onto yours in a devouring kiss with a loud moan—hands clamping onto your hips with a bruising, desperate grip as he finally drove his hips forward, filling you to the brim with his cock.
Two long years of suffocating tension and suppressed glances violently crashed together the moment your bodies fused. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of his cock stretching you open, filling you up knocked a high, strangled cry from your throat—a sound that was instantly swallowed by his hungry mouth.
Seonghwa groaned directly into your lips, a deep, primitive, vibrating sound that rumbled straight from his chest into yours as his body completely froze inside you. He stayed buried deep, his muscles trembling violently under the tight intensity of your walls gripping him.
His forehead rested heavily against the crook of your shoulder as he stayed buried inside you, his body shaking with the monumental strain of holding himself back. You could feel every desperate twitch of his cock, the way it pulsed needingly inside you from the tight heat of your pussy.
"Slow," you choked out, your hands sliding up his broad, sweaty back, your palms skidding against the slick expanse of his skin as you tried to anchor him. "Move slowly, Seonghwa. Let me adjust."
A choked, strangled groan escaped the deepest part of his chest, but he obeyed instantly. He pulled back with a torturously slow, deliberate drag, the slick friction making you whimper as your walls clung to his length. He drove back in with an unhurried, heavy depth.
You could feel the faint, desperate flutter in his thighs—the violent, involuntary trembling of a man actively suppressing the urge to absolutely pound into you. But the instinct to claim, to take what was his, was buried in an instant. The desperation to please, to be good, completely overtook his senses.
The quiet hum of the room shattered the second Seonghwa moved, incoherent, desperate ramblings muttered frantically against your neck, his voice completely wrecked as he found a slow rhythm.
"Nnngh—you feel so good," he babbled, his breath hot and damp against your skin. "So tight—god—you're so warm. I can't ...I can't think..."
Though his pace remained slow, his hips twitched hard with every thrust, cock reaching so deep it left you gasping. He hitched, a sharp breath from his throat as his large hands tightened on your hips.
"C-can I go faster?" he begged, desperately whining as he looked down at you with tear-soaked eyes. "P-please... fuck, please let me. I need this so bad. I'm losing it."
You looked up at his flushed face, a dark, thrilling surge of power coiling in your chest despite the heavy, sweet ache building in your own hips.
"Not yet, princess," you whispered, a low, teasing authority dripping from your tongue. You looked at the desperation twisting his beautiful features and let out a breathless, mocking exhale. "You're going to suffer the exact way I did for two long years."
Seonghwa cried out at the words, a loud, broken sob slipping past his lips from the denial but also from how fucking good you felt. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the small room, competing only with the fierce howling of the blizzard beating against the cabin walls outside.
You reached up, hand gripping forcefully around his jaw. Your fingers dug into his skin, tilting his head down and forcing his eyes to lock directly onto yours.
"Look at me," you commanded sternly.
He obeyed instantly. Completely pliant, his jaw rested heavily in your hand, his gaze wide and unfiltered. The sheer need to be good, to be trapped entirely by your rules, waiting on your every breath so beautifully spread across his face.
You pulled his face down the last remaining inch, crashing your mouth against his in a hungry, wet kiss. Seonghwa was soft against your lips, following your lead with a desperate, slippery rhythm that mirrored his surrender.
You pressed your lips firmly against his, your hearts synced with a beat that vibrated right through your chests, and you finally decided to unleash the beast at your feet.
"Fuck me, baby," you whispered against his mouth, your voice a dark, demanding promise. "Fuck me like you mean it."
The final thread of his self-control violently snapped. A loud groan erupted from the man, finally replacing the cautious rhythm with hard and brutally fast thrusts.
He drove into you with a dizzying speed, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, heavy slap that echoed loudly in the dark room. The sounds became chaotic and loud—the wet, squelching friction of his slick shaft sliding in and out of your overflowing wetness, the heavy, rhythmic thud of his pelvis bruising against yours, and the wrecked groans tearing from his throat with every single thrust.
He was pounding into you like a man possessed, his cock bottoming out with every single thrust, filling you up in a way you never thought your body could physically handle. You moaned against his mouth, your back arching off the mattress as your vision threatened to turn white.
Your fingers clawed desperately into the thick muscles of his shoulders, drawing faint red lines across his skin as he consumed you, driving you both higher and higher into a blinding, suffocating heat that completely obliterated the winter freezing outside.
The friction between your bodies reached a feverish pitch. The room felt entirely too small, too hot, the air heavy and thick with the scent of sex, wood, and the salt of your mingled sweat. Seonghwa’s movements had completely lost all semblance of calculated precision; he was running on pure instinct, his chest heaving as he repeatedly buried his thick length deep inside you.
"Ah—Seonghwa, Seonghwa, wait—" Your voice broke, a breathless, desperate cry, as the electric coil in your lower belly wound tighter and tighter, turning into a sharp, intolerable ache.
He stuttered against you in a sharp, ragged hitch as his whole body went rigid. He looked down at you, his eyes wide and glassy.
"I'm close—god, I'm so close," he babbled incoherently, his voice a broken sound as his hips trembled violently against yours. "I can't hold it, I'm going to—"
"You can't come," you cut him off in a commanding tone. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, holding his weight in place. "You don't get to come until I do, Seonghwa."
His head shook back and forth, dark strands of wet hair clinging to his flushed forehead as he choked out a ruined sob. "P-please... it hurts, it feels too good, I'm right there—"
"Then hurry up," you panted, your eyes burning into his.
He scrambled to obey, his body shifting slightly as his right hand slid down between your fused bodies. You gasped when his thumb found your clit, circling it with a desperate wet friction that made your hips stutter from the touch.
His other hand flew up to tightly grip the swell of your breast, his large palm molding over your soft skin with a possessive intensity. He leaned down, his mouth hot as he took your nipple between his lips, tongue swirling and flattening against the sensitive peak in a tight, heavy rhythm while his teeth desperately grazed the edge.
Every deep pull of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure straight down to your core, perfectly synchronized with the rapid, wet friction of his thumb circling your clit and the heavy, stuttering depth of his cock thrusting you open.
You completely lost your mind. Your head thrashed against the pillows, your vision splintering into blinding streaks of white heat as the intense, throbbing pressure in your lower belly expanded.
"Seonghwa—Seonghwa, now, I'm—"
Your hips gave one final, shuddering spasm against his hand as your climax violently hit, locking your muscles tight while your walls pulsed aggressively around his length in hot, crushing waves.
Seonghwa broke out in a quiet sob, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were grinding, tears of restraint spilling down his flushed cheeks as he waited for your spoken cue.
You looked at the man, fingers tangling weakly in his sweat-soaked hair. "Cum, baby," you purred. "You deserve it. So good for me."
A low groan erupted from him as his body violently slammed forward, chasing the same peak you had achieved mere seconds before.
His climax hit him hard, driving his hips forward in one last, deep thrust, pinning you flat against the mattress as his thick length pulsed inside your squeezing hole. You could feel the pool of his release painted deep inside you, a thick, pulsing heat that felt like an electric current radiating straight through your pelvis.
He shot into you over and over, his muscles locking into painful, rigid lines along his back and shoulders as he fucked every single drop of cum out of his spent cock, his breath leaving him in short, pathetic whimpers.
Slowly, the frantic beating of his heart began to steady, his sweaty chest collapsing fully against yours as the room fell into a deep, suffocating quiet. Seonghwa didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep within your warmth, his face nuzzled straight into the crook of your neck as his trembling arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you to his skin like a man who had finally found his home in the middle of the dark.
The adrenaline slowly drained from the room, leaving behind a thick, humid silence that felt completely detached from the raging blizzard outside. You laid there beneath his solid weight, your mind a hazy, comfortable blur of exhaustion and pure bliss.
Seonghwa’s face remained buried in your neck, his breath coming in slow, shuddering puffs against your damp skin. You slid your hands up his sweaty shoulders, fingers gently running through the dark, damp strands of his hair, massaging his scalp in slow, soothing circles.
"You did so well, Seonghwa," you murmured, your voice dropping into a soft, comforting whisper against his ear. "Look how sweet you are. You took such good care of me, baby. I felt so safe, so incredibly good."
An involuntary whine escaped the back of his throat—a helpless, tiny sound that broke your heart with how sweet it was. He buried his face deeper into your skin, completely pliant, soaking in the soothing rhythm of your voice like a child being comforted after a long storm.
The cooling air of the room finally began to bite at your bare skin, and you gently tried to shift your weight to clean up. "I'll be right back, okay? I need to grab a towel from the bathroom."
The moment you tried to pull away, a sharp wave of panic rippled through his dazed state. Seonghwa let out a louder, more frantic whine, and his large hand blindly scrambled across the sheets until his fingers locked around your wrist. His grip wasn't bruising or forceful like before; it was heavy, trembling, and deeply desperate, silently begging you not to break the physical connection. He shook his head weakly against your shoulder, his eyes unfocused as he clung to your wrist like a lifeline.
"Shh, it's okay, I'm not leaving you," you soothed him, using your free hand to gently stroke his flushed cheek, kissing his forehead. "You're okay, princess. I'm just getting a towel to clean us up. I promise I’ll be right back to hold you."
He let out one more fragile, thready sigh, his fingers slowly, reluctantly loosening their grip on your wrist as he sank back into the heavy haze of the mattress.
Gathering the top sheet of the bed, you wrapped it securely around your body, dragging the heavy fabric over your shoulders. Holding the sheet tight against your chest, you slid your bare feet onto the freezing floorboards, your knees bucking slightly from the lingering tremors of your climax.
The narrow hallway was somewhat dark, only illuminated by the faint gleam of the lanterns. You navigated the shadows with a hand against the timber wall, stepping toward the small bathroom near the main room.
You reached for the doorknob, but before your fingers could even wrap around it, the door suddenly shot open.
You gasped, pulling the sheet tightly to your chin as you stumbled backward.
Standing in the doorway of the bathroom was San. He froze instantly, completely caught off guard. He was bare-chested, a white cotton sheet wrapped around his waist, and a fluffy white towel clutched tightly in his large hand. His hair was a wild, messy halo, his lips swollen, and his chest still heavily flushed with a telltale heat.
For what felt like an eternity, the two of you just stared at each other in shock. The silence in the hallway stretched, loud and incredibly awkward.
Then, your eyes dropped to the towel in his hand, and the muffled memory of the quiet giggles and the single upstairs bedroom door clicking shut from earlier flashed through your mind.
The realization hit you as an amused huff escaped your lips, and San's shoulders instantly dropped as a wide, boyish grin broke across his face.
You shared a quiet, deeply knowing nod—an unspoken pact of absolute solidarity between two people caught red-handed in the exact same state of breathless ruin.
"Towel's on the rack," San whispered, a quiet, amused chuckle catching in his throat as he stepped past you, carefully keeping his sheet secure. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, San," you breathed out, a soft laugh shaking your shoulders.
You watched his shadow vanish up the creaking wooden staircase, his heavy footsteps careful as he returned to Wooyoung upstairs. Smiling to yourself, you stepped into the small bathroom, quickly grabbing a clean, damp towel to wipe away the sticky, sweet evidence of your night along with the semen slowly trailing down your thighs.
The room was freezing when you returned, but the second you dropped the sheet and slid back onto the mattress, you were instantly engulfed in a wall of comforting heat. Seonghwa tossed and mindlessly wrapped his arm around you, pulling you flat against his damp chest. He sighed in content the moment he felt your warmth return.
He tucked the heavy wool blankets securely around your shoulders, burying his nose back into your hair as his leg hooked tightly over yours, anchoring you completely beneath him.
You couldn't help but giggle. “Seonghwa, I need to clean you.”
But his grip remained firm, pinning you against the safety of his embrace. You huffed in defeat but decided it wasn't worth the hassle.
As the blizzard continued to howl uselessly against the cabin walls, you closed your eyes and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the comforting certainty that your shadow was never going to let you go.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, MINORS DNI!, rough sex, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (dont be dumb), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, possessive behavior, power imbalance, strong language, praise kink, light degradation, marking, overstimulation.
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of Jay’s sleek black Maybach as it glided through Seoul’s nighttime streets. You shifted against the buttery leather seat, the shopping bags at your feet rustling softly—Dior, Chanel, Cartier. Another night, another fortune spent on you.
Jay’s hand rested possessively on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles over the expensive silk dress he’d bought you an hour ago. “You look good in that color,” he murmured, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. “But I can’t wait to see it on the floor.”
Your breath hitched. This was the arrangement you’d fallen into three months ago: Jay Park, wealthy heir and successful businessman, took care of you completely. Designer clothes, a luxury apartment in the heart of the city, and a black card with no limit. In return, you were his—whenever he wanted, however he wanted.
The car stopped at his private penthouse. Jay didn’t wait for the driver; he opened the door himself and offered his hand like a perfect gentleman. But the moment the elevator doors closed behind you two, the gentleman disappeared.
He pushed you against the mirrored wall, mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was hungry, demanding. His tongue slid against yours while his hand slipped under your dress, fingers brushing the lace panties he’d chosen earlier.
“Jay…” you gasped as he pressed a thigh between your legs.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Imagining how wet you’d be by the time I got my hands on you.”
The elevator dinged. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you inside. The penthouse was all floor-to-ceiling windows, soft lighting, and minimalist luxury. He didn’t bother with the bedroom. Instead, he set you down on the wide marble island in the kitchen, the cool stone making you shiver.
“Spread your legs for me, baby.”
You obeyed, heart racing. Jay stepped back, eyes dark as he drank you in—dress hiked up, hair messy from his hands, lips swollen. He shrugged off his tailored black jacket, unbuttoned the top of his crisp white shirt, revealing the sharp collarbones and smooth chest you loved marking.
He dropped to his knees.
“Fuck, Jay—” Your hands flew to his hair as he pushed your panties aside and dragged his tongue up your slit in one slow, filthy stroke. He groaned at your taste, like he’d been starving for it. Two long fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made your thighs shake.
“Look at you,” he murmured against your clit, sucking lightly before flicking his tongue faster. “Soaking my fingers already. My pretty little sugar baby gets wet just from shopping, huh?”
You moaned, hips rolling against his face. He ate you out like a man possessed—messy, eager, completely focused on your pleasure. The wet sounds echoed obscenely in the open space. When he added a third finger and sucked hard on your clit, you came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around his head.
Jay rose, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. That cocky smirk made your stomach flip.
“Good girl. But I’m not done with you.”
He pulled you off the counter and turned you around, bending you over it. The sound of his belt buckle sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You heard the zipper, then felt the thick head of his cock rubbing between your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice rough. One hand gripped your hip, the other fisted your hair gently but firmly.
“You,” you breathed. “Please, Jay. Fuck me.”
He thrust in deep in one smooth stroke, stretching you open. A broken moan left your lips. He was big—thick and long enough to make you feel deliciously full every single time. He started moving, hips snapping against your ass with controlled power.
“Shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, watching where he disappeared inside you. “Taking my cock so well. This pussy was made for me.”
The slap of skin on skin filled the penthouse. He reached around to rub your clit, driving you toward another orgasm while pounding into you harder. Your breasts pressed against the cool marble, nipples hard. Every thrust pushed you forward, making you grip the edge of the counter.
“Jay—ah—too deep—”
“You can take it,” he growled, leaning over you so his chest pressed to your back. His lips brushed your ear. “You’ll take everything I give you tonight. Gonna fill you up until you’re dripping.”
You came again, clenching around him so hard he cursed. Jay pulled out suddenly, making you whine at the emptiness. He spun you around, lifted you back onto the island, and pushed back inside in one smooth thrust.
“Want to see your face when I cum,” he said, forehead pressed to yours.
His pace turned punishing for a few minutes before he slowed, eyes gleaming with a new idea. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up, folding you neatly in half until your knees pressed against your chest. The mating press position left you completely exposed and helpless beneath him.
“Oh my god—” you gasped at the new angle. He sank even deeper, the head of his cock pressing right against your most sensitive spot with every thrust.
Jay groaned, the sound low and primal. “Fuck, look at you. Folded so nicely for me.” He braced his hands on either side of your head, muscles flexing as he drove down into you with long, powerful strokes. The position made everything tighter, deeper, more intense. Every thrust made your breasts bounce and forced broken moans from your throat.
“Jay—too much—ahh!” you cried, nails digging into his shoulders.
“You can take it,” he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.” His hips snapped harder, the sound of skin slapping wetly against skin growing louder. He leaned down, folding you even more as he captured your lips in a messy kiss.
The pressure built fast. With your legs pinned and his cock hitting that perfect spot relentlessly, your orgasm crashed over you violently. You clenched around him, vision whitening as you came hard.
“That’s it, baby. Squeeze my cock,” Jay growled. A few more deep, brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came. You felt every thick pulse as he filled you up, hot and endless.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you catching your breath. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but kept them wrapped around his waist as he kissed you softly.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice gentler now.
You nodded, dazed and satisfied. Jay eventually pulled out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release trickled down your thigh. He scooped you up and carried you to the luxurious bathroom. The massive shower turned on with a touch, warm water cascading over both of you as he stripped the rest of his clothes.
Under the spray, he was careful. He washed your body with gentle hands, massaging shampoo into your hair.
“You okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“More than okay,” you whispered.
After drying you off, he carried you to his king-sized bed and pulled you against his chest. The city sparkled beyond the windows. Jay reached into the nightstand and pulled out a small velvet box.
“Open it.”
Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a diamond J pendant.
“For you,” he said, clasping it around your neck. His fingers traced the J resting between your breasts. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”
You touched the necklace, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Jay.
”He smirked, but his eyes were soft. “Don’t thank me yet. The night’s still young.”
He rolled you beneath him again, lips trailing down your neck. His hand slid between your legs, fingers playing with the mess he’d left earlier. “Still so full of me,” he murmured proudly. “Good. I like knowing you’re walking around with my cum inside you.”
You moaned softly as he pushed two fingers back inside, slow and lazy. When he finally replaced them with his cock again, it was deep and unhurried. He held eye contact the whole time, one hand laced with yours.
“Mine,” he breathed between thrusts. “All fucking mine.”
You came whispering his name, and he followed soon after, spilling into you once more.
Later, wrapped in his silk robe and eating expensive takeout in bed, Jay watched you with that signature half-smile.
“You know this isn’t just about the money, right?” he said, feeding you a piece of wagyu. “I like having you here. Spoiling you. Fucking you. All of it.”
You leaned in and kissed him. “I know.”
He pulled you into his lap, the robe falling open. “Ride me this time,” he commanded softly, hands gripping your ass. “Want to watch my pretty sugar baby take what she needs.”
You sank down onto him slowly, moaning at the stretch. Jay’s head fell back, eyes half-lidded in pleasure as you began to move. His hands guided your hips, occasionally sliding up to play with your breasts or tug gently at the diamond J around your neck.
The pace quickened until you both came again, collapsing together in a satisfied tangle of limbs.
Jay kissed the top of your head. “Stay the night. Stay every night.”
You smiled against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
genre: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn
part two word count: 18.1k
warnings: angst, depictions of terminal illness, scenes that occur in hospitals, use of the american (usa) health system (aka receiving medical care is expensive), swearing, slowwwww burn
playlist: this is me trying / cardigan / mirrorball- taylor swift / yellow - coldplay / BIRDS OF A FEATHER - billie eilish / safety net - ariana grande / garden (say it like dat) - sza
note: I AM SO SORRY PLEASE DO NOT HATE ME but part two was well on it's way to being 30k+ and I didn't like how uneven that would have made this story feel. This is part two, and part three will be the final. IT WILL BE, I SWEAR!!!!!!! part three is already mostly written, so rest assured that you will not have to wait nearly as long for it. Also, some of the spoilers I've been releasing are from what is now part three, so know that those moments have not been scrapped. they just haven't happened yet. For now, enjoy part two!
part one | part three
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Park Jongseong is everything you hate. Spoiled, entitled, and the heir to a top conglomerate in the business world you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to break into. You can’t even begin to count how many sleepless nights, skipped meals, and personal desires you’ve sacrificed just for a seat at the table he was born sitting at.
But when a piece of news in your third year of university pulls your world out from under your feet, everything starts to change. Including your feelings towards the one person you thought you’d always loathe.
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Light filters through your half-drawn curtains. It’s brighter now. You’re not sure exactly what time it is, but you’re guessing somewhere just before noon, if the long shadows across the linoleum are anything to go by.
It would be quiet, peaceful even, if it weren’t for the pair of eyes staring at you from the foot of your bed.
“How are you feeling?” Sunoo asks again. It must be nearing the hundredth time this morning alone.
His voice is gentle, but it hits your ears like an accusation.
Put your guilt aside for a second, Jay told you that night in his car, and let people that love you take care of you when you need it.
Avoiding eye contact with your little brother now, it’s still easier said than done. All you can think about is how difficult this must be for him.
If your aversion to hospitals was enough to make your pulse spike at the thought of seeing a doctor, you can’t imagine what he must be feeling now.
But Sunoo isn’t a child anymore. Even since you began university, he’s changed. The years have hollowed out his cheeks, sharpened his gaze. When he looks at you now, it’s with the discernment of an adult.
And with age comes perception. It’s like he can see the gears turning in your mind.
“You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”
“What?” You’re quick to mask the flicker of shock that crosses your features.
It would seem that Sunoo has also become more direct as he’s gotten older. “I can tell that you’re thinking about me. Worrying about me. I don’t think I really need to point out how ridiculous that is.”
He does his best not to let his gaze flicker to the array of IV bags currently attached to the vein in the crook of your elbow, but the implication is obvious enough.
“I’m not worried about you,” you sigh. You are, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I just—”
“Care,” he finishes for you. “Yeah, I know.”
At the end of your bed, Sunoo sighs. He arrived earlier this morning, along with your mother who’s currently speaking to Hana in the hallway outside your room. You’re not sure exactly what kind of conversation they’re having, but the tight, teary smile she offered on her way out five minutes ago wasn’t exactly reassuring.
Since their arrival, it’s been a kaleidoscope of emotions. You kept your promise to Jay. Only two nights passed before yesterday evening, when you finally found the courage to press on your mother’s contact information in your phone’s list of favorites. Your fingers were shaking, but you didn’t back out.
Partly because you knew it would only be worse the longer you put it off. And partly because Jay had been watching you the entire time, brow raised in a silent reminder of the deal you metaphorically signed your name to. At least he’d had the decency to leave the room once your mother picked up.
With a voice that only trembled slightly, you told her everything. Well, most of it.
Your diagnosis, your hospital information, every bit of news the doctor gave you, you divulged to her.
A certain deal struck in a passenger seat, however, remains a secret between you and Jay.
It had taken a fair bit of convincing for your mother not to hop in her car immediately, but once Sunoo and your father had also been filled in, you persuaded them to wait until the morning.
And now, here they are. A mirror image, a sickening sense of warped déjà vu from a scene ten years ago.
Only this time, you’re the one with ruin taking hold in your body and Sunoo’s the one putting on a brave face at the foot of your hospital bed.
Again, your little brother traces the path between IV fluids and your veins with his eyes. You’re not sure if the pain you see reflected is born of memory or the reality in front of him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, but there’s no real command behind it. Partly because you know it’s an impossible request and partly because your energy levels are nearing non-existent. “I’m okay, really.”
For a moment, Sunoo just looks at you. His eyes are glassy. You avoid them, mostly because you’re afraid of finding your own reflection.
“What are you talking about?” he finally asks. “No one… we don’t expect you to be okay. I know you have this idea in your head that admitting you’re in pain or things are difficult will be a burden to us, but you’re my family. My sister. Watching you lie through your teeth because you think you’re sparing my feelings is worse than the truth could ever be.”
The weight of his words settles around you, heavy in the air. For a moment, you almost don’t recognize your little brother.
For the last ten years, it’s as if he’s been frozen in your mind. Warped by trauma and the pain of nearly losing someone so important to you, it’s like you’ve still seen that version of him, young and frail and sick, every time you look at him.
But Sunoo is in front of you now. He sits tall. His skin is so radiant it’s nearly glowing. There are dark shadows under his eyes yes, but the hollowness, the emptiness, is gone.
All at once, you wonder just how heavy a burden the weight of your lingering concern has been all these years. It always came from love, of course, but that never made it any less suffocating.
Even if only subconsciously, you’ve treated Sunoo like glass all these years. As if the wind could blow right through him. As if your protection was the only thing keeping his feet tethered to the earth.
But the Sunoo that looks back at you now isn’t in need of saving. His resilience has outlasted things far more severe than just heavy wind. Along with his baby features, he’s lost his fragility.
He’ll always be your baby brother. That will never change. But when you look at him now, really look, you see the beginnings of a man.
Someone with autonomy and agency and the ability to apply them as he sees fit.
So, after a small, shaky breath, you admit to him quietly, “It hurts.”
Something in his gaze fractures, but it doesn’t break.
You continue, “It’s not a sharp pain, really, but it’s there. My body feels different. Wrong. Weaker. It’s like, I can still do things, I think, but they need more effort.”
You haven’t tested that theory. Haven’t really done anything but lay here for the last two days. Time is broken up by the nurses and doctors that visit. And on more than one occasion, Jay.
He’s not here now. He’s kept himself scarce since the arrival of your family, but until now, he’s been a near constant fixture in your hospital room.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t always have much to say. The man you used to spend entire lectures arguing back and forth with is often uncharacteristically mute when he sits in the chair opposite your bed.
Usually, he just asks how you’re doing, if there’s anything he can do for you, if you need him to tell Hana anything for you.
You never do. You probably wouldn't tell him even if you did. But he comes anyway.
After your standard exchange, Jay’s mouth will always part like he has something else to say. He doesn’t commit to it, though. Just sits quietly, a steady presence.
Now, Sunoo is the one to receive your words, to take them in stride.
“Yeah,” he nods. There’s sorrow in his eyes, but there’s strength there too. He can handle this. The truth isn’t too heavy for him. He won’t crumble under the weight of shared pain. “It’s like simple tasks are suddenly difficult. I know what you mean.”
He does. Of all the people in the world, Sunoo probably understands how you feel the most intimately.
Deciding you’ve had enough doom and gloom, you shift the topic to the one shred of good news you’ve recently gotten. “They have to monitor me a bit longer before they decide for sure,” you tell him, “but I’ll probably still be able to attend some classes. A few times a week, maybe.”
“You want to do that?” Sunoo asks. He’s not judging, not demanding. Just asking.
“Yeah,” you nod. “I think… I think some normalcy will be good.” Will make it all a bit more bearable.
Sunoo’s quiet for a moment. And then he says, “If there’s ever a time when it’s not… If you ever want to come home, you have to know there’s a place for you there. Always.”
The sudden sincerity, his earnestness, make the tears that threaten your lashline feel all the more imminent.
“Yeah,” you nod. Even if it’s an offer you both know you’ll never take him up on. “I know.”
Your eyes flicker to the bouquet sitting on your bedside table, the flowers Sunoo brought you. They’re bright, colorful.
Just like him, you think.
Sunoo takes the lapse in conversation as an opportunity to ask you more questions you give him half-true answers to. He asks about your classes, your hobbies, your nonexistent friends.
When he breaches the topic of romance, you roll your eyes. At least this time, you can be honest in your answer.
“I don’t have time for a boyfriend,” you explain. It’s true. You don’t.
Until now, you haven’t had time for anything that wasn’t studying or working or dedicating yourself to seeing his dreams comes true, but you can’t exactly tell him that now.
Luckily, he seems satisfied enough with your answer, even if it does make him frown a bit.
You’re saved from his line of questioning by your mother who reenters the room moments later. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, but all three of you do an excellent job of pretending they’re not.
Here in your hospital room, it’s not exactly the family reunion you’d envision for yourself, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something deeply comforting about having Sunoo and your mother close again.
Something settles uncomfortably in your gut when you remember that the reason they’re here, the only reason any of this was possible, was because of Jay.
Even now, smiling at your family feels a little bit too much like incurring an unpayable debt.
Still, you do your best to shake the discomfort and to just appreciate the fact that they could be here at all. Your body might be broken, immune system attacking you from the inside out, but when your mother stands to hug you, when Sunoo takes your hand in his, something in you steels its resolve.
You’re not sure where it comes from exactly — this sudden desire to fight, but it gets stronger with every passing second you spend with your family.
Debts aside, you have something to focus on now. Here, with them at your side, it’s more undeniable than ever.
You want to live.
Whether it’s for you or for them or something else entirely, you can’t quite be sure. But your life suddenly feels like something worth fighting for.
So you don’t complain when Hana brings you a meal that tastes more like mush than food. The flavor hardly matters. If you want to live, you need your strength.
You don’t argue when Doctor Kim explains the next treatment phase, along with its extensive list of side effects.
You just nod. You agree. You try.
For you, for them, for whatever forces are on your side, you’ve made up your mind. You’ll do what it takes, one day at a time. You’ll do what it takes to live.
…..
Between treatment cycles and the near constant vigil your family keeps at your beside, nearly a week passes before you see Jay again.
He’s back to his usual ensemble when he steps through the door of your hospital room after three sharp, distinct knocks one Tuesday morning.
Stepping into the light, you can’t help but give him a once-over. The jeans and sweater he wears aren’t anything flashy, but he manages to make them look good. Expensive.
You sigh. It’s him, after all. Not for the first time, the unfailing unfairness of life seems to manifest in front of you and slap you straight across the face. Here you are, fighting for something as innate as your own life, and he has the gall to step through the door looking like he just wrapped a magazine photoshoot.
Unaware of your inner turmoil, Jay lingers near the entrance.
For a moment, he just looks at you. A barrage of emotions flickers over his features, but he shutters them all before you can put a name to any of them.
“Hi,” he finally says, eyes still scrutinizing.
“Hi,” you return, a bit guarded.
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. A furrow passes through his brow, like he can’t quite decide how to start.
You prepare yourself for the inevitable questions you’ve already grown weary of answering from just your family. How are you? How do you feel? How’s your energy? Does it hurt?
You know they’re all well-meaning, but something in you withers a little further every time you have to answer one of them. Mostly because guilt makes you feel like you’re expected to lie through your teeth.
How are you? Terrible. You’re dying. Your own cells are ripping each other to shreds, tearing apart the remnant of your immune system from the inside out.
How do you feel? Like shit.
How’s your energy? So low it’s laughable. Whatever this disease hasn’t taken from you yet, the IV fluids being pumped into your arm day and night are more than happy to steal.
Does it hurt? That one’s probably the most ridiculous of all. Of course it fucking hurts.
So you sigh, already avoiding eye contact as you prepare to answer whichever line of questioning Jay decides to start with.
But he surprises you.
“I brought you something,” he finally says. It’s not a question.
Slowly, like you’re a skittish kitten, he approaches your bed. Careful not to disturb the flowers, he pulls a sizable stack of papers out from his bag before setting them gently on the table next to you.
“What’s that?” You frown.
“Class notes,” he explains. “The ones from Professor Jung’s and all the other classes we share are from me.” He nods to the pile. “I didn’t know you were also taking statistics and marketing comm this semester. I got those from a couple of your classmates.”
“I…” you trail off, momentarily stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs, as if the gesture is nothing. As if his effort is meaningless. “I knew you wouldn’t want to be behind when you do come back to class. Speaking of which, Hana told me that you’re doing well. She mentioned that you might be able to try coming to a couple of lectures next week.”
“Yeah,” you nod. The news had come much to your relief. The nurses, of course, haven’t been exactly pleased with your incessant pestering. You’ve made such a habit of asking when you can return to school that they hardly even admonish you anymore. Just answer with resigned sighs that they’re still monitoring your condition and they’ll know more soon.
Doctor Kim had been the one to finally break the news, actually. He was sure to emphasize that he strongly advised against it and would continue to encourage you to rest as much as possible, but if you really wanted to attend a few of your weekly lectures, he wouldn’t be the one to stop you.
You’ll have to adjust, of course. You’ve already reached out to several of your professors. Keeping the details as vague as possible, you’ve made arrangements to complete the majority of your assignments online.
They all said nearly the same thing: because your grades and performance have been so impressive this semester, they’ll allow you to finish your work remotely, as long as you’re still willing to sit your final exams in person.
The only professor who seemed a bit hesitant was Professor Jung. Of course, you know she’d make far more lenient concessions if you told her your true reasons for not coming to class so often anymore, but then she’d probably also give you the same treatment as Doctor Kim. As everyone else who knows your secret.
She’d insist that you forget about your schoolwork and focus only on your recovery. Give up all the effort you’ve already put in and just concentrate on getting better.
You can’t do that. You won’t.
You’re staying true to your word, your promise sworn in the passenger seat of Jay’s car, but you refuse to sacrifice more than you have to.
If there is some form of happy ending on the other side of all this, you still need your degree. You still have your goals, your one-sided promise to Sunoo.
As long as you physically can, you’ll keep up with your studies to the best of your ability.
Jay, to his credit, seems to understand all of this without you having to say a single word. It’s why you suspect he’s shown up in your hospital room with a stack of notes instead of a barrage of questions.
Looking at him now, you consider your other promises forged with his hands on the steering wheel.
If he’s bringing you his personal notes, he must really be convinced of your virtue. Your agreement to let him finish first in your class. Then again, you suppose he could have forged a couple of answers, skipped a couple of key points.
You doubt it, though. Sabotage doesn’t seem to be his style.
Then, you think of the rest of your bargain. The list you made. The things you want to do before you die.
With the charity gala behind you, only three things remain.
Go on a beach vacation
Ride in a convertible
Kiss a stranger
There are the northern lights, too, of course, but you gave up on that dream nearly within the same breath you wrote it with. It’s just too impossible.
So you’re left with three things. Three tasks you promised him you’d see through.
Now, though, you really have no idea how you’ll make it happen.
A beach vacation? You’re already worried about mustering the strength to attend occasional lectures. Much less afford the necessary transportation costs.
Sighing, you suppose it would be better to bring up your hesitation sooner rather than later. Explain to Jay that it just isn’t feasible for you to actively try checking off your bucket list with everything else going on.
Besides, what’s he going to do? Retract his end of your deal? You don’t think he has it in him.
“Speaking of returning to classes,” you venture, “I wanted to talk to you about the whole bucket list thing. Look, Jay,” you sigh, “I know I agreed to complete it, but it really was just a random list of things I wrote right after I got the diagnosis. They’re not—it’s not a real bucket list. Besides, I’ve already done most of the things on it, so—”
“No.” In your hospital room, the word rings loud and clear.
“What?”
“Nice try.” He shakes his head. Smiles privately to himself, like he expected this. “You’re not getting out of it. You think deals are broken that easily? I’d be more than happy to go find your brother and tell him what’s really going on. He was here earlier, wasn’t he? I bet if I just stick around long enough, then—”
Your eyes flash dangerously, narrowed into slits. “You wouldn't dare.”
“You want to test that?”
Your silence is answer enough.
“That’s what I thought,” Jay nods. “And I’m glad you brought it up. We’re going somewhere this afternoon.”
“Excuse me,” you argue. “What happened to asking? Besides, I’m not allowed to leave right now.”
“You are, actually,” Jay counters. “I already cleared everything with Hana. As long as I keep a, and I quote, careful eye on you, we’re good to go. For a maximum of two hours, but I think you’ll find that’s plenty of time.”
“I don’t want to go.” You sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. You hardly care.
“You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“I know it can’t be anywhere good.”
“It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” Jay points out. “I’d bet on those odds.”
“My family—” You try to protest.
“Drove back home this morning,” he cuts you off. “They won’t be back until the weekend.”
You flounder for a moment, mouth opening. “If you knew that, then why did you threaten to tell Sunoo earlier?”
Jay shrugs. “I’m patient. I didn't mean I would tell him today. Although,” he considers, “I probably could. I bet I could get one of these nurses to pass along his phone number.”
“That’s confidential, you idiot.”
“I don’t know,” he muses. “They’ve been pretty accommodating to my requests so far.”
You scowl. You bet they have. You’re sure he waltzes in here looking like that, and they’re falling over themselves to fulfill his requests.
“Whatever,” you scoff. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” His smile is entirely too smug for your liking. “This is part of our deal.”
“I don’t remember ‘bending to your every beck and whim’ being part of our deal,” you point out.
“It’s not,” he shakes his head, “but this is.”
“How could it be?” you ask. “It’s not like we could possibly go to the beach right now.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and your eyes widen in shock.
“Jay,” you panic, “There’s no way we could—”
“Relax,” he interrupts. “We’re not going to the beach.” He pauses for a moment, then, as an afterthought, adds, “Yet.”
“Then what—”
“Just come,” he pleads, a bit of begging coloring his tone. “Please,” he adds for good measure.
So you do, grumbling under your breath the entire way to his ridiculously sleek car that he insists on pulling around front so you don’t have to walk any further than necessary.
Sliding into his passenger seat, you scramble to guess where he could possibly be taking you, options becoming more limited the longer he drives.
By the time he pulls off the freeway, you half suspect that he was just trying to get you out of the hospital for a bit.
What you don’t expect, however, is for him to expertly navigate his car into a parking spot in front of the local mall.
“What the hell?” you ask when he slides the gear into park. “What, are you taking me for a pretzel dog at Auntie Anne’s or something? I think I’d prefer the hospital food, to be honest.”
Jay just rolls his eyes.
You continue, “And why did you park so far away? You’re really gonna make a sick girl walk all the way to the entrance from here? The least you could do is drop me off at the front—”
Deciding he’s had enough of your assumptions, Jay cuts you off. “We’re not going to the mall.”
“We’re not?” Surprise crosses your features. “Then why are we here?”
“Because,” he intones, tilting his chin to cast a significant look somewhere behind your shoulders, “we’re going there.”
Turning back, you squint. It’s a bit difficult to see with how dark his tinted windows are, but you make out the outline of the luxury department store. Adjacent to the mall, every shop inside is far out of your price range. You’ve never stepped foot inside. Hell, you forgot it was even there.
“Don’t tell me you dragged me out of the hospital because you’re low on Chanel,” you groan. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do in there?”
For a moment, Jay just looks at you, an open mix of disbelief and mild exasperation spread across his features.
“Oh, ___,” he sighs, entirely too patronizing for your liking. “Always so close to the point, and then it just…” he trails off, raising his hand up and drawing an arc over your head, “misses you entirely.”
“Yeah,” you goad, “I’m so dumb and oblivious you had to beg me to let you outrank me in our class.”
“I didn’t beg,” he argues, a sudden defensive edge in his tone. “Although, now that you point it out, it is kind of ridiculous. How are you so damn smart yet so incredibly—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
“Okay,” Jay surrenders, putting his hands up, palms splayed. “Okay,” he concedes, exhaling. “Let’s just go.”
You don’t budge. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to help you pick out another Prada tie.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” he argues back, voice an octave too high like he’s imitating you. “That’s not what we’re doing.”
You open your mouth to hurl another round of questions his way, but Jay won’t let you get one out sideways.
“Just come,” he says, a bit of pleading coloring his voice as it falls back to its usual pitch. “I’ll beg if I have to.”
You’re silent for a moment longer.
“Please,” he adds, and it has the last of your resolve withering in on itself.
Pushing yourself up from your seat takes a fair deal of exertion. More than you care to admit. Wincing, you mask the expression as soon as it comes. The last thing you need is Jay picking up on your discomfort. Your weakness.
But he’s always been too perceptive for his own good. Especially where you’re concerned.
Rushing around from the driver’s side, he stops right in front of you, just slightly too close.
“You alright?” His hands are half outstretched, like he can’t decide if he should reach for you or not.
“I’m fine.” Your words are a thin, frayed thing. Stretched almost as thin as your patience. “Let’s just go.”
Jay still looks like he wants to protest. He checks your expression and thinks better of it.
Still, once you fall into step next to him, he leaves his hands like that. Flexed, ready. Half outstretched like he’s prepared to catch you if you stumble.
You can’t quite decide if his concern makes you want to roll your eyes or let the walls you’ve built with him fall just a fraction of an inch further.
Jay leads you. Steadily, quietly into the entrance of the luxury department store. Immediately, you feel out of depth.
For starters, even the air here seems to be different from your local mall. There are no screaming kids, middle-aged women deep into a gossip session, or twenty-something-year-old part timers trying to shove perfume samples under your nose in front of a Macy’s.
The people here are too… refined for that. They carry themselves differently, like the price tag on their clothes is something worth respecting with good posture and perfect hair.
Even the employees seem in on it. There are no gaudy, ill fitted vests or neon polo shirts with questionable stains. No, the people behind the registers here are wearing suits.
And it’s not just the clothes. It’s their aura. They look expensive, important, worth knowing.
They look like Jay.
And you… well, you’ve seen better days. Your treatment regimen has at least allowed you to keep up with regular showers these past few days, but a hairbrush hasn’t exactly been at the top of your to-do list.
Your jeans are fine, if not a bit faded. It’s not like your simple long-sleeved t-shirt has any stains, but the collar doesn’t lay quite as nicely as it did before the million rounds of laundry you’ve put it through since buying it.
You feel out of place. Like an unwelcome guest.
You think back to Jay’s earlier rebuttal — “It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” — and suddenly, you’re not sure if he was right.
From your periphery, you see a woman take a second glance at you over the top of her wide framed sunglasses – indoors, really? –and begin to wish the spotlessly clean floor would just open you up and swallow you whole.
Jay, at least, seems unbothered by all the sidelong looks. True to his word, he leads you straight past the doors to Prada and Chanel without even sparing them a second glance.
Instead, he walks ahead, you in his wake, down a hallway leading out from the center of the building. It’s quieter, down here at least. Less stares.
Jay doesn’t stop until you’re stood in front of the store at the very end, although you don’t think you imagined the sidelong glances he was passing you the entire way here.
Looking up at the sign, you frown. “How do you even pronounce that?” The brand name looks French, or maybe Italian. Languages were never your strong suit.
For Jay however, it rolls off the tongue easily.
“I’ve never heard of it.” You shake your head.
“It’s a small brand,” he explains. “It’s my friend’s, actually.”
You give him a flat look. “Your friend has a fashion brand.”
Jay shrugs. “He’s building it.”
Glancing in at the stock you can see, your confusion starts to shift. Begins to build deep in your gut with large, uneasy waves that make your footing feel unsteady. Until it looks a lot more like dread.
Because Jay’s friend apparently has quite the eye for evening gowns.
You let the realization settle, understanding beginning to dawn.
“Jay, what—”
“It’s our first step to checking off your bucket list,” he interrupts. “You said you wanted to buy a really expensive dress.”
“Yeah,” you nod, mouth still ajar, “and I did. That dress I wore to the charity gala—”
“Was lovely, so please don’t misunderstand,” Jay placates you with the calm, even tone of someone used to convincing difficult clients. “But I’m not sure it fits the criteria of really expensive.”
“Cost is relative,” you point out, even as some of your pride dies with the admission.
“Naturally,” he agrees. “But this is a bucket list. Once-in-a-lifetime kind of things. Besides,” he nods to the store, “my friend is pretty good. Annoying as hell,” he adds after a moment of consideration, “but he has an eye for evening wear.”
“Jay,” your brows pinch together. “Look, I… appreciate the gesture, but even once-in-a-lifetime things have to be somewhat realistic. And it’s not like getting my card declined during check-out is exactly one of my biggest dreams.”
“Good thing your card won’t be involved during check-out, then.”
“Jay—”
“You promised me,” he cuts you off, gaze suddenly serious. You looked me in the eye that night in my car and you promised me you would try.”
“I am trying—”
“You’re making excuses. You’re coming up with all of these reasons to avoid letting people do things for you. You think I dragged you out of the hospital just for the hell of it? That I haven’t seen the way just walking from here to the car had you breathing heavier than usual? I had to stop myself from offering you a hand over a dozen times today alone, because I know how you’d react.”
“Then just take me back to the hospital, since I’m clearly such a burden to you.”
“You’re not. That’s exactly what I’m saying. You think that every gesture is some kind of transaction. Some kind of score you’ll be expected to settle.”
“Because it is. Shouldn’t you know that better than anyone? Look at what we study day in, day out. Supply and demand. Profit margins. Liabilities. Even this,” you gesture between the two of you, “whatever the hell it is, was a deal. I don’t want to owe you more than I have to.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” His frustration is apparent now, too. In the line of his shoulders, the flex in his jaw. It’s visible, even as he tries to keep his patience steady. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last three days.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t fucking Make-A-Wish either.” Your words are angrier now, chest heaving a bit with the effort. “I’m not some sick doll you can dress up because it eases your conscience and makes you feel good about helping the less fortunate. Go donate to an actual charity if you’re feeling so terribly generous.”
For a moment, Jay goes still. Lips pressed together, eyes trained directly on your face. A furrow appears between his brow.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is low. “Is that how you think I see you?”
You sigh, fighting the urge to let an open palm splay across your forehead. Here, in the quiet corner of an ending hallway, your frustration feels a bit misplaced. “Jay, you dragged me out here to play dress up. How else am I supposed to—”
“For the last three years since I met you, I’ve watched you work yourself to death. Every class. Every assignment. Every test. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a scowl on your face and tension in your shoulders. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a break for so much as a fucking minute.”
“Don’t exaggerate.” You scowl. “It’s not like you actually remember me as anything besides an annoying voice that argues against your points.”
Jay doesn’t budge. “Intro to communication.”
“What?”
“Freshman year. Room 112. The lecture hall with the creaky seats and the lightbulb in the back corner that was always out.”
“Jay, what—”
“It was the first class we had together. And we’ve had at least two every semester since. I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you. People know who you are, ____. They recognize you. They respect you. I’m not deluded enough to think that we were ever friends. Mostly because you’ve always bitten my head off every time I’ve tried to talk to you. But you don’t get to stand there and resent me for things I never did. You don’t get to hate me for whatever kind of person you’ve decided I am all on your own.”
“Jay—”
“I know you’ve made up your mind that life is easier when you do everything all by yourself. I get that this is uncomfortable for you. That letting people help you and do things for you and take care of you fuels that sense of shame you’re always trying to bury beneath bravado. But we’re not here because I think you’re a charity case. And you don’t get to decide what I think about you.”
“And you think you know me? It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? Standing there and telling me who I am and what I think. You don’t know the first thing about me, either.”
“Fine.” His eyes are alive now, sparking with something you don’t know what to do with. “You’re right. Then tell me.”
“What?” You shake your head. “That’s not—”
But he’s not done begging. “Let me get to know you.”
“What’s the point?” It’s so easy to think of rebuttals, to argue against his failed logic. “Even if this does pan out, we’ll be graduating soon.”
“Haven’t you heard? There’s nothing as valuable in the business world as connections. Besides, everyone needs a friend.”
For a moment, you just look at him. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, “You want to be my friend?”
Jay’s sigh comes from somewhere deep. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do this entire time?”
“Why?” You still don’t understand. “I’m not even nice to you.”
“Nice people are overrated,” he shrugs. “They usually just want something from you.”
“Jay,” you fight the urge to rub your temple. It’s terrible logic, given that your entire relationship is quite literally hinging on a deal. On wanting something from each other.
“C’mon,” Jay urges, unwilling to back down because of your inner turmoil. “My friend is expecting us. And I told the nurse I’d have you back in a couple of hours.” He checks his watch. A Rolex because of course it is. “That leaves us just enough time,” he concludes.
Staring at the shop entrance, you remain motionless for a moment longer. It would be easy to keep arguing. Easier than anything else, probably. Besides, if you really refused, what could he do? It’s not like Jay would actually drag you in kicking and screaming. Well, not in front of witnesses.
But then you hear it again. That voice in your head. That version of you, younger, more naive, less hardened to the realities of the world.
She, of course, thinks it would be a fantastic idea to go try on dresses for the next hour. To twirl in front of the mirror like a teenager at prom.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course she does.
Then, there’s another voice. It’s not hers. It’s not Jay’s. It’s just… yours. You, as you are now. And she, you begin to realize, even if only reluctantly, wants this too.
You could still refuse, of course. You’ve had plenty of practice burying your desires. Shoving them beneath contempt and shame and the sham you call selflessness. Jay was right about several of the accusations he just hurled your way, but one sticks out to you now.
It is uncomfortable to let people do things for you. Jay is much easier to handle when he’s at arm’s length. When he’s nothing but an amalgamation of how unfair the universe is when it doles out fortune and wealth and luck.
But your family’s financial situation isn’t his fault. Your diagnosis and dedication to your degree have nothing to do with him.
When he looks at you now, it’s not with expectation. No matter how long you search his open gaze, all you find is hope. Not that you’ll give him something he wants. Not that you’ll prove useful to him in some way.
Just that, for once in your life, you’ll look at the offer he extends without refusing. Without bargaining. Without trying to flip it on its head so that you have the upper hand.
And it’s hard. It tastes like lost pride and stings like guilt. But it also looks a lot like something you’ve been missing in your life for as long as you can remember.
Friendship.
Is this what it’s like? You wonder. Constantly toeing the boundary of what’s acceptable and what’s off limits? Trying, over and over, no matter how many walls you try to plant between you?
It sounds exhausting, you realize. No wonder you haven’t had time for any of it before.
But it also sounds… not comfortable, exactly. But reassuring, maybe. Steady in the way that summer nights are. Movies that you watch again even though you know how they end, because maybe this time, you’ll notice something you didn’t before.
It was never just a dress, you realize. And Jay was never offering you just money. You can’t decide if that makes things easier or a million times harder.
You’re still afraid to owe him things. And something as novel as friendship suddenly feels like a big debt to pay.
Your internal struggle must play out plain as day across your features. Jay speaks before you have your mind made up.
“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. “You can say no. You can always say no.” He pauses for a moment, sighing heavy on his exhale. “But I really hope you don’t.”
Hope. A flighty, fragile thing. It’s made so many of your losses more bitter than they had to be, so much of your effort feel more wasted than it had any right to. But hope has also gotten you here. Has led you through hell and back with a raised chin and shoulders squared.
So, you finally tell him, “Okay,” even if your voice is so low he nearly misses it.
“Okay?” Jay echoes, eyebrows raised.
You look up at him, something vulnerable in your gaze. “Please don’t make me say it again.”
It’s the only request all afternoon that hasn’t been shrouded in sarcasm and your biting attempts at a defense mechanism.
Jay’s eyes widen for a moment. And then he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let’s go.”
…..
The inside of the store is even more impressive than the front display, and that was nothing to scoff at.
You hate to admit it, but Jay was right. This blows the Macy’s sale rack you’d picked up your gala dress at right out of the water.
Jay’s friend appears to have a flair for the subtly dramatic. Each gown has a quiet sense of luxury. The designs are beautiful. Feminine in a way that feels like they were made to flatter. But they’re not simple. Each one has something unique to it, an embellishment of beadwork, an unexpected silhouette, a subtle sheen that nearly glows when the light reflects just right.
They feel like artwork, the kind that hangs in museums. Your instincts are practically begging you to look but not touch. You hardly know where to start.
Beside you, Jay is quiet. He trails at a respectable distance, eyes flickering over your profile intermittently.
“Let me know if you see something you like,” he instructs. “You can try on anything you want.” He must mistake your silence for disinterest, because he’s quick to add, “Or if there’s nothing you like here, we could try somewhere else. I think—”
“Jay,” you interrupt this time. “They’re beautiful. Stunning, actually. I don’t…” You glance around the store again, your overwhelm only growing. “I don’t know where to start.”
He hesitates for a moment, weighing his words on his tongue. Then, finally, “I could help, if you want. I saw a couple that I think would suit you well.”
It’s strangely intimate – the thought of Jay looking at dresses with you in mind. The idea of him imagining the way they’d sit against your skin tone, the way they’d curve around your body.
“I – sure.” You look away, then, if only to hide the way heat starts to spread on your cheekbones.
Jay takes his time. With the same careful attention you’ve assumed was reserved for lectures and particularly difficult economics problem sets, he takes a slow lap around the perimeter of the store. Breezes right past some gowns. Stops for long moments in front of others.
Occasionally, he calls over a store attendant, exchanging opinions in hushed tones.
You watch for a minute longer, content to play the role of the observer, before a voice startles you out of your reverie.
“He might take a little while,” the stranger advises, a small smile in his voice and on his lips. “You’re welcome to sit.” He gestures towards the middle of the store, where a large, open area is bordered by several luxurious looking loveseats.
“Thanks,” you nod. Heeding his advice, you take the few steps necessary to reach the closest one. Sliding down into it, you’re almost surprised to see him follow. Quietly, he sits down into the seat opposite yours.
For a moment, the two of you just face each other silently. He’s handsome, in a classic sort of way. Has the same refined, elegant look that you’ve come to recognize so easily on Jay. Mixed with a distinct, boyish charm, you guess his age is similar to yours. Which begs the question—
“Are you Jay’s friend?”
He nods. “Sunghoon.” Extending a hand, he shakes yours with a firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”
You give him your name in return.
Sunghoon just grins, eyebrow arching slightly. “Oh, I know.”
That gives you pause. You can’t imagine why Jay would be mentioning you to his friends. Mentally, you dismiss it. Maybe it was an offhand comment on a day your classroom rebuttals were particularly annoying to him.
Pressing into other topics, you look around the store once again.
And its owner. Sunghoon, much like Jay, looks like he’s been around money long enough to be comfortable with it, to get used to the way expensive things feel against his skin. If you had to guess, he’s around your age.
The thought almost makes you want to scoff. A university-aged boy with a fashion brand. Jesus christ, the world really is unfair.
But his age makes the space around you more impressive, too. Even if you’d been born to wealth, you doubt you’d be able to replicate any of it.
Deciding you have nothing to lose, you venture into a conversation.
“You…” you trail off, not sure what the most tactful way of asking would be. Deciding you don’t have enough time to be so concerned with mincing words, you ask, rather straightforwardly, “This is your store?”
Sunghoon nods. Honest from the get-go, he tells you, “You could say that. It’s not exactly a store, though. My mother is the chief merchandiser for a rather reputable fashion house. I grew up in the industry. Discovered I had a passion for the design side of things when I was in middle school. Everything here is just display, mostly. Some of it was made for runway and some are editorial pieces. I haven’t actually produced anything for mass distribution yet, but I’m hoping to start soon. Once I finish school. For now, this is mostly used as a show room. Somewhere to bring people who might be interested in capsule collections or model fittings.” He glances at you, considering, “But it’s always nice to see new faces, too.” He pauses, glances at you again. “And any friend of Jay is welcome here.”
You’re still not sure if the title fits or not, but you aren’t here to discuss the nature of your relationship. Instead, you ask about theirs.
“And you two are friends?”
“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods. “Have been since we were kids. Families run in the same circles and all that.”
You already suspected as much. Biting back any hint of sarcasm, you settle on the most neutral response you can muster. “That’s nice.”
“Most of the time,” Sunghoon agrees. “Although the kid drives me crazy sometimes. I suppose it’s only natural, though.” He smiles, as if reminiscing. “My sister and I never argue, so the universe had to give me someone else to fight with.”
That makes you grin, too. Leaning in like you’re sharing a secret, you whisper, “He can be a little ridiculous, can’t he?”
“Oh,” Sunghoon mimics your posture, “the absolute worst. And so goddamn stubborn.”
“Right?” You incline your head, hands on your knees to support your weight. “You should see him in class. He’s always—”
“I can hear you two, you know.”
Startled at the sudden voice, you turn to look over your shoulder. Jay stands directly behind you, eyes already trained on you, lips pulled into a thin line.
He takes in your wide-eyed gaze for a moment. Some of the annoyance softens from his expression. In a tone decidedly less flat, he tells you, “They’re ready for you.”
A fresh bout of nerves flitters through your stomach. Still, when you remember your conversation outside, you’re sure the worst part of the day is behind you. You can do this.
You’re up against death, after all. What are a few dresses in the grand scheme of things?
Leaving Jay and Sunghoon behind, you find the small fitting room tucked away in the opposite corner. The attendant from earlier smiles at you, tells you to let her know if you need anything.
And then it’s just you, the four walls of the fitting room, and the three dresses Jay deemed most worthy of your attention.
Despite yourself, the sudden lump in your throat is difficult to swallow. You’re not sure how he manages to do it every time, see you right down to your bones.
The three dresses he chose, even amongst the endless options of silk and color and fabric, are really, truly perfect.
They’re understated. Simple in a way that makes them feel tangible instead of out of reach. Even though you’ve never worn anything like them in your life, there are elements of your own style you see reflected. Colors you wear to class because you’ve been told they suit you. Silhouettes that you’ve always gravitated towards.
The first one slips over your head easily, although the back proves more difficult to zip and fasten on your own. Even securing it with your hands pressed to your chest, you can tell it suits you even more than you hoped on the hanger.
It’s beautiful. Truly. Makes even the sallow tinge to your skin and hair mussed from days in a hospital look intentional. Like things worth noticing instead of trying to hide behind.
Pushing the door open slowly, you catch the attendant’s eye. She’s quick to come, helps you fasten the back and dishes out compliments all the while.
Even her attention makes you feel shy. But not in a way that makes you want to run and hide. It’s almost like that night at the charity gala. You feel noticed. Seen, but not in an uncomfortable way. Just… more visible than usual.
Once the last of the buttons are finished, she catches your eye in the mirror. “Shall we?”
You frown. “Shall we what?”
“Show them,” she adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
A sudden flare of heat builds deep in your chest, flies all the way to your cheeks. You imagine stepping out into that open space where Jay and Sunghoon are sitting, their attention, his attention on you.
Even the thought is enough to have your knees feeling dangerously wobbly.
“Oh,” you try to dismiss the idea, voice hushed as you work to evade detection. “That's okay. I don’t think—”
It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Your sudden hesitation.
“____,” you hear him call your name. “Are you coming?”
It’s more than a little uncomfortable as you force your feet to move you from the safety of the dressing room to the central, open part of the store. The space that Jay and Sunghoon are waiting for you in.
There’s no actual spotlight, but the overhead lights suddenly feel blinding, have you feeling a bit like a sample under a microscope. Something to poke and prod at. Something to scrutinize for any visible flaws.
The dress is gorgeous. Sunghoon’s talent is undeniable. It wasn’t made for you, but the way fabric seems to flow with your body instead of just over it makes it feel like it was.
The color is perfect, too. Does something for your complexion, even though it’s been made sallow from illness. Brings color back to your features in a way that makes you want to stare at your reflection a little longer instead of hiding from it.
It’s a bit ridiculous. You feel silly for even thinking it, but you feel… pretty.
This was the entire reason you included an expensive dress on your bucket list. For the simple pleasure you’ve been denying yourself ever since you decided that your money and your time and your decisions never fully belonged to you.
You can count on one hand the amount of times you remember doing something for you. Putting something on your body just because you liked the way it made your reflection look.
It feels personal, like a moment just for you. The thought of parading such an intimate part of your psyche in front of others, in front of Jay, is enough to have your mind spinning.
But your feet are already moving and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re there. Facing a fear in the middle of the room.
For a moment, it’s quiet.
Sunghoon is the one to speak first. He nods, smile small and genuine. “It suits you. I like it.”
Next to him, Jay remains mute. You watch as his throat works around a swallow, his eyes slightly wide as if he’s suddenly the one on display.
“It’s…” he finally starts. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.” Meeting your eye then, his words are only somewhat strained when he adds, “You look beautiful.”
Cheeks warm, you look down, brushing away at invisible dust along the top of the skirt.
“Do you like it?” Jay thinks to ask after another beat. “Did you want to try on the others?”
You shake your head. He has good taste, and all three of the gowns he had sent to your dressing room are stunning, but something about this one is uniquely you.
You feel like you already know, can already stand by your decision, without trying on the others.
Jay nods like he understands too. He waits until you’re back in the dressing room to settle things with Sunghoon, as if you'll forget the depth of his generosity as long as you don’t have to watch it up close.
Leaving the store with a matte black shopping bag with gold embossed branding hanging from Jay’s arm feels a bit like resignation. Like giving into everything you’ve been fighting against
A million arguments still sit persistent in your throat. It was too much, too expensive. Money that could have been better spent elsewhere. You don’t even have a place to wear it to.
But for the first time in a long time, you don’t really feel like arguing.
Instead, you give Sunghoon one final reminder of your gratitude with a quiet, “Thank you.”
He brushes you off, insists that any time you need a break from the man at your side, you’re more than welcome back.
Jay rolls his eyes at that, but there’s no real malice. And when he hears the way it makes you giggle, he can’t help but smile himself.
It’s a small moment of happiness, a bubble inside the catastrophe your life has become.
But, you think, looking out the window as you drive back to the hospital, soft rock filtering through Jay’s speaker as he hums along quietly, whether you have three weeks or three months or all the time in the world, an afternoon spent dress shopping with a friend will be one you remember with fondness.
…..
Staring at your phone screen, the message thread materializing in front of you is almost too ridiculous for you to believe it’s anything more than a figment of your imagination. A side effect of all the medication you’re on, maybe.
But everything else about the hospital cafeteria, right down to the barely edible food, seems real enough.
Jongseong: When does your family leave?
That was the message that interrupted your meal nearly five minutes ago.
You: In three days
You: Why?
Between bites of barely identifiable mush, he responded.
Jongseong: I’m booking a guesthouse.
You: ??
Jongseong: At the beach
At that, you nearly choke on what the menu claimed was supposed to be mashed potatoes.
Luckily, you manage to keep them down, but it is enough to catch the attention of your younger brother.
“Who are you texting?” Sunoo asks, a glimmer in his eyes that you know wasn’t there before.
“No one.” Your response is too immediate. Too defensive. Shit. It only makes his eyebrows raise further.
“You sure?” he presses. “You seem pretty… engrossed.”
“It’s just school,” you lie, forcing yourself to turn off the screen.
But not before one more message comes through.
Jongseong: Booking confirmed. I’ll pick you up the afternoon after they leave.
It’s like he somehow knows Sunoo has a watchful eye on you right now. Like he can sense that you’re unable to protest the way you usually would.
But whatever. You’ll deal with Jay later. Right now, Sunoo’s curious expression spells a more immediate issue.
“Right,” Sunoo nods, but you can tell he doesn’t quite believe you. Deciding to let it rest for now, he asks instead, “How is school?”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing in particular,” he shrugs. “I just feel like every time I ask you about it, you brush it off or change the subject.”
He’s right. You do tend to get cagey whenever the topic of university is approached. Mostly because school is almost always a struggle. And your struggles are something you decided a long time ago not to share with your little brother.
Suddenly, the topic feels a little heavy for the hospital cafeteria. Surrounded mostly by elderly patients, you can at least rest easy knowing that most of them don’t have hearing good enough to eavesdrop. It at least gives you the illusion of a bit of privacy.
“It’s fine,” you shrug noncommittally. “Busy sometimes, but manageable.”
“Fine?” he echoes. “C’mon, there has to be something. No crazy professors or annoying classmates or embarrassing drunken mishaps?”
You shake your head. “It’s not like the movies. My professors are only crazy about citations and formatting, and I don’t really drink much.”
You don’t even bother to acknowledge the annoying classmates comment. Mostly because there’s no way you could breach it without mentioning someone you’re deliberately steering far clear of mentioning.
Hoping to pivot the conversation away from you, you ask, “What about the restaurant? How are things coming?”
“See,” he points out, eyebrows raised in accusation. “That’s what I mean. You’re always changing the subject.”
“I’m not trying to,” you lie. “I’m just curious.”
“Yeah,” Sunoo nods. “Just like I’m curious about you. We barely get any updates. You know, Mom had to find out that you made Dean’s list by checking the university website. She was so proud she printed it out and hung it next to the register in the restaurant. She still talks anyone’s ear off that will listen to hear about it.”
Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It’s true that you haven’t kept up as much as you should. That when you do, you always ask for updates more than you give them.
It’s not like you meant to hide things like your honor roll achievement. It’s just that you always assumed your family was busy enough with their own lives. You didn’t want them to feel burdened by constant updates from you.
But across from you now, Sunoo doesn’t look burdened. He just looks… hurt. Upset at the idea of not being kept in the loop of your life.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly. “I just knew that you were all so busy and I–”
Sunoo shakes his head, cutting you off. “We’re never too busy for you.” He looks at you a moment longer. “We miss you, you know. And it’s not just us. Everybody asks about how you’re doing, here in the big city. Our old teachers, people you graduated with, even Mr. Tim from that ice shop we used to go to as kids.”
“The one with the waffle cones?”
“Yeah,” his eyes soften. “His hip gave out last year, so he hasn’t been at the shop as much. But he comes to the restaurant sometimes, and he always asks about you. Remembers how you always used to order extra sprinkles.”
Something about it makes you emotional. The idea of taking up space in other people’s lives. Of being remembered, of being known. Of being seen and thought of and cherished.
You think of Jay’s words from your last argument.
“I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you.”
All at once, you wonder if his assessment might apply a bit more broadly than you thought.
“I didn’t know he still remembered me,” is all you say.
“Of course he does.” Your brother’s words are eager, infused with a sincerity you want to shy away from. “Everyone does. We all do. You know,” he adds, more serious now, “That night you called us, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life.”
The admission sends a fresh stab of pain, a searing, agonizing, wave of guilt, careening right through you.
It’s everything you wanted to avoid, after all. Making your family worry. Causing them pain. Adding to their burden, to their grief.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice nearly breaking on the last syllable.
“You’re sorry?” Sunoo balks. “Why would you ever be sorry? I’m sorry. All I could think about was that you were alone. How scared you must have been.”
“I…” You trail off, suddenly lost for words. It’s all too much, especially for your current setting. Your throat is beginning to feel dangerously clogged. “I’m fine–”
“You’re always fine.” Sunoo frowns. “You always say you’re fine, and then…” he stops himself, trying not to let his frustration, his sorrow, turn to anger. Softer now, he continues, “And then you’re here. Very much not fine.”
For a moment, you’re quiet. Suddenly forced to see things from his perspective, any argument you could make dies on your lips.
He’s right. If the roles were reversed, you’d feel that complicated mix of frustration and worry, too. If you had to beg and plead for fragments of the truth from someone you cared about, it wouldn’t feel like relief. It would make you worried sick.
“Sometimes,” you admit, voice quiet, “it’s easier to just say I’m fine. To not admit that it’s hard or that I’m struggling. I wanted to make it easier for you. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
“I know,” Sunoo says. When you look at him, you think he must be telling the truth. There’s no hint of surprise on his features. Just a sad sort of acceptance. “I’m glad you told us. That we could be here. I’m sorry we can’t be here more.”
You shake your head. “It’s already more than enough. I know how hard it is to be away from home and the restaurant.”
Sunoo opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but your mother interrupts, sliding down into the chair next to you. Wrapping an arm around you, she pulls you close into a hug, squeezing gently at your shoulder.
The thought of her combing through your school’s Dean’s list, wondering why you hadn’t bothered to share the achievement with her yourself, sends a fresh wave of guilt tumbling through you.
“How are my babies doing?” she asks. Turning to you she adds, “Is your appetite okay? Do you want me to see if they can bring something else–”
“I’m okay, Mom,” you assure her. “Thanks.”
“Okay,” she concedes, even if she still looks a bit unsure. “If you’re sure. Doctor Kim wants to see in a few minutes. But if you’re not done, I can ask him–”
“I’m done,” you cut her off again, trying to settle her worries with a small smile. Even though the thought of sitting in his office makes you want to crawl out of your skin, you say, “Let’s go.”
The sooner you see him, the sooner it will be over with, after all.
So you go, you and your small band of support, following your mother and Sunoo to the elevator and pressing the button for the sixth floor.
Doctor Kim’s office is still sterile, still lifeless. His awards and accolades hang on the wall like trophies, like terrible, bruising reminders of everything that’s wrong with you. But this time, with the chairs on either side of you occupied by your family, it feels a bit more bearable.
Especially when your mother reaches over to envelop one of your hands in hers. When Sunoo notices the action and mirrors it.
Doctor Kim doesn’t waste your time.
After glancing down at his notes for a moment, he turns to you and says, “You’re responding well.”
A knot unfurls in your chest. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Next to you, your mother’s grip slackens slightly on your fingers as some of her tension melts away too.
Doctor Kim continues, “Of course, as we’ve discussed previously, treatment is comprehensive. We still have a journey ahead of us. I don’t want to give false hope or misconstrue the severity of your illness, but the preliminary signs are good. Your vitals are strong, and the cells are responding. Today will be your last day in this treatment round. You’ll recover for approximately one week before beginning the next.”
“And in that time?” you ask.
“I advise rest,” he nods, like he expected the question. “As much as possible. I know we spoke previously about potentially resuming classes. It is my duty as your treatment provider to tell you that I must advise against this.”
“But why?” you ask, panic suddenly clawing at your throat. You feel like you’ve been duped, had false hope dangled right in front of your nose only to be snatched away at the last minute. “You said I’m responding well.”
“You are,” he agrees. “Remarkably well. But that doesn’t mean you should be placing your body or mind under any more stress than strictly necessary. After the first round is completed today, it’s likely that you’ll experience severe fatigue during your rest period. This is a natural and expected response, but it will make attending classes far too strenuous for an ideal recovery.” He looks at you, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m more than happy to provide a statement of medical leave for your university. I know it’s not easy, but these are, of course, extenuating circumstances.”
You shake your head, a bit more vigorously than necessary. “I don’t want—”
“We’ll take that statement, doctor,” your mother cuts you off. “Thank you.”
“Mom,” you turn to her, eyes wide. “I can’t just—”
“Of course you can.” She shakes her head. “School will still be there when you’re ready.”
You know it will be. But will your scholarship still stand? Will you still be able to find a tolerable roommate with rent you can afford? Can you live with the guilt of Sunoo needing to wait that much longer to finally see his dream come true?
It’s not just school you’re worried about. It’s everything else, the weight of everything you’ve been pouring your effort into for the last ten years. The culmination of the promise you made to yourself when yours and Sunoo’s roles were reversed.
Letting those things go, even if only temporarily, is more difficult that you can put words to.
Your mom, however, seems to possess the same talent that all mothers do. She silences you with a look.
Fine, you think inwardly, already starting to think of ways you’ll be able to evade her wishes later. For now, at least, you’ll let it rest.
Doctor Kim nods. “I’ll write it immediately.” Looking at your mother, he adds, “If you pass along the Dean of Students contact information, I’ll send it before the end of the day.”
You bristle in your seat but remain silent. As if he can sense your inner turmoil, Sunoo gives your hand a gentle squeeze. When you turn to him, he offers you a reassuring smile. There’s sympathy in his eyes, like he understands how much this means to you, how hard it is for you to let go.
“I know Hana and I have been checking in regularly,” Doctor Kim turns to you now. “But is there anything that’s developed since the first treatment round? Any new pain? Symptoms? Discomfort?”
With Sunoo’s hand still on yours, you shake your head. You tell him you have nothing new to report.
You don’t mention the migraine that’s been beating at your brain since last night, the way it seems to come and go with every new IV bag that’s attached to your vein.
You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to worry your mother. You don’t want to watch Sunoo’s expression fall in concern.
You don’t want to lose what little ground you’ve gained.
If it gets worse, you promise yourself, even if you know you’re lying, if it doesn’t go away soon, then you’ll tell him.
For now, you figure no one needs to know.
…..
Jay’s car looks even sleeker today. You have half a mind to ask him if he just had it run through the car wash before coming. But then again, the shininess of the paint job isn’t really the most pressing of your concerns.
As you draw closer, your brow furrows. It’s not just the shine that looks different.
“Did you get your car painted or something?” you ask.
“What?” is all Jay says.
“Your car,” you jerk your chin towards it. “It looks different.”
Jay’s feet falter. He turns to stare at you like you’ve just said something asinine. And it turns out you have. Because the next thing he says is, “It’s a different car.”
“It is?” You frown in consideration.
Jay’s mouth goes a little slack. “How did you not— It’s an entirely different brand.”
“Sorry,” you shrug. “I don’t know a lot about cars.”
“Clearly.” He still looks affronted. “I mean, seriously.” More to himself than you, he mutters, “This is a 1962 Ferrari 250 GT California Spyder and you can’t even tell the difference.”
Your stare is blank. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Jay sighs. “No,” he resigns. “You can just worry about looking pretty in the passenger seat.”
At that, you feel the beginning of a flush rising on your cheeks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Park Jongseong was flirting.
Suddenly desperate to steer the conversation back to neutral territory, you ask, “Why are we taking a different car? Did you just want to rent one for the drive?”
You really don’t know anything about cars. Maybe he has some aversion to putting more mileage on his own car.
Jay shakes his head again. “This one’s mine, too.”
You shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but your brows raise slightly anyway. “It is?”
“Mhm,” he hums. “I just save it, usually.” A bit quieter, he adds, “For special occasions.”
“This is a special occasion?”
He nods. “Of course it is. Besides, I chose this car in particular for a specific reason.” He’s grinning at you now. “You’ll see.”
“This particular car?” you echo. “What? You have an entire fleet at home or something?”
Jay shrugs, but the smirk that tugs at his lips is unmistakable. “I have my hobbies.”
“And they include car collecting? You know what I used to collect when I was a kid? Rocks.”
“And I’m sure you found some very pretty ones.” Jay opens the passenger door for you before sliding your overnight bag — the one he didn’t let you carry for more than five feet before sliding it wordlessly off your shoulder onto his — into the back seat.
He joins you in the car a moment later, sliding into the driver’s seat. Immediately, he leans over, reaching right into your space as his face comes dangerous close to yours.
The heat on your cheeks is unmistakable this time. Shocked, you nearly trip over your words. “What are you—”
“Glove box,” he explains as his fingers undo the latch. Hands hovering just above your lap, he reaches into it for a dark, sleek case. Opening it, he pulls out a pair of sunglasses. He slides them onto his face, concealing his eyes before putting the case back where it belongs.
He doesn’t close the compartment, though. Instead, he turns his concealed gaze to you. It feels awfully unfair to have his face so close to yours, able to read every single expression that flickers across your features when his own are hidden from sight.
Ignoring the way you fidget under his stare, he tells you, “There’s another pair, if you want them.” He nods towards the glove box. “The sun visors in here aren’t great.”
“Okay.” It’s more of a mumble than an affirmation. Needing to break the intensity of his attention, you turn towards the glove box and pull out the second pair of sunglasses. Only pausing briefly at the embossed Prada logo, you slide them over your eyes.
You try to ignore the fact that these are probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever put on your body. Remembering your recent dress shopping, you amend, well, second most expensive.
Immediately, you’re grateful for them. For starters, you’re on more even footing now. He can’t read you so easily either.
And they do serve their intended purpose well. Despite the chill in the air, it’s one of those rare late fall days where the sun seems to shine with extra ferocity.
As he pulls out of the parking lot, reversing with one hand against the back of your seat, you ask, “How long is the drive?”
“About five hours. A little more if we hit traffic.”
“Mm,” you consider. “That’s long.”
“Don’t worry,” Jay says in a tone that immediately makes you do the opposite. “I have things for us to do.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” you try to dissuade him. “You can just put on some music or something and—”
“Nice try,” he interrupts. “No music this time. I’m asking you questions.”
It’s a nightmare come to life. A confined space you can’t escape as you're subjected to something as horribly incessant as his curiosity.
Your lips pull flat, heartbeat picking up in panic. “You’re not spending five hours asking me questions.”
“It’s fair,” he insists. “Every time I ask you a question, you get to ask me one, too.”
“What is this, a drinking game?” You roll your eyes. “Are we at a dorm party?”
Jay just sighs. “I wish I could give you a glass of wine.”
You balk. “You want me drunk?”
“I want you honest,” he corrects. Glancing at you, he adds, “Something you’ve proven very reluctant to be.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to spill my guts to you.”
“I told you,” he says, suddenly serious. “I want to get to know you.”
“So you waited until you had me in a place I can’t escape.”
He smiles at that. “You’re catching on.”
“Fine,” you sigh. He can’t give you wine, after all. If you don’t like a question, you can always lie. Or just refuse to answer. Besides, there are things he’s said over the course of your strange agreement that pull at your curiosity, too. Things about him that you wonder. Maybe this will be a chance to finally have some answers of your own. “Do your worst.”
Entering the highway, the road stretches out long ahead of you.
Jay starts off easy. Or at least, he tries to. “Why did you choose business as your major?”
For most people, it would be an easy question with a simple answer. For you, it lands right on a subject you’ve been avoiding at all costs.
“It seemed interesting.” You shrug.
“That’s bullshit,” he immediately returns.
“What?”
“You’re the most organized, meticulous, goal-oriented person I’ve ever met. I don’t believe for even a second that you chose your major because it seemed interesting.” His eyes are still on the road. He picks apart your lies with as much effort as it takes to swat at a fly. He tells you, “Give me a real answer.”
Wheels spinning in your mind, you scramble to decide which parts of the truth to give him. Finally, you say, “My family has a restaurant. It hasn’t…. It hasn’t always done so well. I thought that if I learned more about the management and logistical side of things, I could help it get back on its feet.”
“That’s what you want to do?” There’s no judgement in his voice, but his tone is colored heavy by surprise. “Help run your family’s restaurant?”
You shake your head. “Isn’t it my turn?”
He nods, but you can tell he hasn’t let it go. “Alright. Go ahead.”
Suddenly, you’re not sure where to start. There are things you want to ask about his family, about his motives, but they feel too heavy. Too direct.
Instead, you turn his question back to him. “Why did you choose business?"
Jay sighs, and you wonder if the question eats at him somewhere deeper, too. “Family expectation,” he tells you, voice tighter than it was before. “It wasn’t really a choice I made as much as a path I was expected to take. I have grown a genuine appreciation for the field, or at least a deep respect for it. But I wouldn’t say it was my choices that brought me here.”
Right from the get go, he’s more forthcoming that you expected. He’s already divulged more than you thought he might. Either Jay is keeping good on his promise to let you ask just as much as you answer, or he doesn’t keep his secrets quite as close to the chest as you thought.
You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment.
Besides, it’s his turn now.
He asks exactly what you expected him to. “Why did you choose to help run your family’s restaurant?”
You bite at the inside of your lip. Something about the road ahead of you has you feeling more honest than wine ever could.
And suddenly, something aches in your chest at the thought of sharing your true feelings. The innermost parts of you that you’ve never told anyone.
“My family’s been through hell and back,” you tell him. “The restaurant did really well, actually, when I was young. But…” you trail off, taking a deep, steadying breath. You have the feeling that if you divulge this particular bit of information to him, there really will be no going back.
Jay sits quietly in the driver’s seat. Waits patiently for your answer.
“But,” you continue, “my brother Sunoo got sick when we were kids.”
“Sick,” Jay repeats, the word heavy with insinuation. “Do you mean—“
It’s not his turn, technically, but you'll excuse it.
“Yeah,” you nod, a rueful smile on your lips. “Ironic, isn't it? Doctor Kim told me when I was diagnosed. It’s genetic, apparently.”
The truth still makes you feel a bit helpless. Jay’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.
You continue, “My family put everything they had into making him better. Of course they did. We’d do it again, if we had to, no question about it. But it made finances tough. And the restaurant never really went back to normal, even after everything.”
Next to you, Jay is quiet. Anxiety stirs in your stomach as you imagine the gears in his brain turning. As he puts more pieces of your puzzles together, begins to understand even more of the truths you were so determined to keep hidden.
After another long moment of silence, his throat works around a swallow. “I think it’s your turn.”
You breathe. Deciding that this is no time to pull punches, you ask, “You mentioned that your father has certain… conditions for initiating you as a shareholder in the company. Is he always like that?”
“An unsentimental hardass?” Jay clarifies with a scoff.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s pretty much what he’s like. You know that connections are what keep the business world spinning, and it’s not like he has some moral opposition to nepotism. But it’s been made very clear since day one that I am expected to prove myself. To fulfill any expectations and rise to whatever standards he decides are… necessary.”
“You’d never know. You’re a menace in the classroom.”
The corner of his lips tugs upward. Combined with the sunglasses still sitting on his nose, the sight is devastating.
“That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you brush him off. “Don’t let it get to your head. Besides, you know you’re persuasive. I’m here, going to the beach with you right now, aren’t I?”
“I didn’t have to try that hard.”
“I will literally jump into traffic.”
“Fine. You’re so stubborn you make mules look agreeable. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Not exactly, but I’ll take it.” You‘re not sure when it happened, but suddenly you’re smiling too.
After a moment, he asks, “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
For the first time in a while, you imagine that younger version of yourself again. The one with big dreams and the determination to realize them all. This time, the thought makes you smile.
The nostalgia feels like fondness instead of regret.
“Too many things to count,” you tell him truthfully.
Jay just smiles. “I have time.”
The two of you pass the time like that, his questions veering towards a different kind of invasive the more miles you cover.
When he asks if you’ve ever thought about getting married, you have half a mind to reach across the center console and smack him.
“Why?” You ask instead, infusing your voice with as much indignation as possible. “What is this, a blind date?”
Jay just shrugs. “I’m curious.” He hesitates for a moment. Then he bites. “Besides, if anything, this is our third date.”
Cheeks aflame, you don’t press the subject further.
Thankfully, his questions leave you with less reasons to blush after that.
He learns about your favorite color and you laugh when he tells you about how he fell into the pool fully clothed on his family’s second trip to Italy.
He asks about your summers and you ask about his hobbies. Well, the ones other than sports car collecting.
You’re surprised to learn that he plays the guitar, and rather well you suspect, if the way he gets slightly evasive when you ask if he’s any good is anything to go by.
Time sharpens and then blurs as the road ahead of you does the same.
There are traces of Jay that stay true to your preconceptions. Threads of him that you picked up long ago in lecture halls and still ring true in the passenger seat of his car.
But then he tells you about volunteering at the young learner’s summer camp your university hosts every July.
It makes you smile, thinking of him mustering all of his fraying patience as he explains supply and demand to a group of half interested seventh graders for the third time.
And then it makes you frown, thinking of all the ways you got him wrong.
Because he might be uncovering your secrets, but you're putting together pieces of him, too.
And Jay… cares.
Sometimes quietly, like when he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it for you without ever saying a word.
Sometimes loudly, like when he scolded you for not pacing yourself on the champagne at the charity gala. When he all but begged you that night in his car to treat your life like something precious instead of disposable.
Loudly, quietly. Whatever it is, it’s always sincere.
Even when you mention a gelato shop you visited once as a kid and he launches into a three minute explanation of all the ways in which gelato differs from regular ice cream. He rambles on about genuine ingredients and slower melting with the same tone he uses to analyze spreadsheets. As if this deserves the same amount of rapt attention.
You just smile. Few things escape his notice. And as it would seem, even fewer escape his care.
You can’t quite decide if being on the receiving end of that makes you feel lucky or indebted beyond reprieve.
Either way, time passes easily.
For long minutes, it’s easy to forget about the diagnosis sitting heavy in your chest.
Until you finally work up the courage to ask the question that’s been weighing heavy on your mind for days.
“Jay?” You try, interrupting his latest rant, this one on the topic of the perfect temperature to sear steak at.
He picks up on your change in tone, the sudden mix of nerves and seriousness. The words die on his lips.
“Yeah?”
You take a deep breath, gathering the last of your bravery. “Why did you make that deal with me?”
For a long moment, he’s quiet. Long enough for your rapid heartbeat to pound a steady rhythm against your eardrums, inside your rib cage.
You almost regret asking. You’re suddenly terrified of his answer.
You brave a glance over at him. In your periphery, you watch his throat work around a swallow, the line of his jaw tighter than it was before.
There’s something raw in his voice when he finally tells you, “I didn’t—I don’t want you to die.”
His eyes are still on the road and yours are still tracing his side profile. You each hold a bit more of the other in your minds.
And Park Jongseong doesn’t want you to die. Whatever reasons he has, whatever lengths he’s willing to go to, the truth sits between you like a fragile thing.
If it weren’t for your borrowed sunglasses, you’d have to squint.
You turn your eyes back to the road, watching the way license plates blur and clouds streak overhead as you continue onwards.
The car settles into silence for the first time since you left the hospital parking lot. Despite his earlier refusal, Jay reaches for the volume knob on his stereo now, lets the quiet, soft hum of his now familiar classic rock playlist fill the silence.
Minutes stretch, and the silence starts to lose its weight. It settles around the both of you in a comfortable way, all the way until you get your first real glimpse of the ocean.
You can’t quite help yourself then. “Oh my god.” Your nose is practically pressed against his window, but decorum is the last thing on your mind.
“It’s pretty, right?” Jay agrees.
The next exit is yours, and soon the highway slows to a narrow, winding street. The trees that line it are dense at first until eventually they thin.
Your glimpse from the highway pales in comparison.
The ocean is… breathtaking. Even from a distance, the crashing waves are fascinating. The way they build and fall, flowing into each other in a perfect, messy, hypnotizing rhythm.
“We’re close,” Jays says, double checking the map. He glances in the rearview mirror before adding, “This street isn’t too busy. Want to know what I meant when I said this car is for special occasions?”
Reluctantly, you peel your eyes from the ocean and look towards him. “Should I be scared? It’s not going to start flying is it?”
Jay tilts his chin, a small smile spreading on his lips like your ridiculous guess isn’t actually that far off.
“You’ll see,” is all he says.
Then suddenly, the roof above you starts to open. Wind plays with your hair, rougher than you expect despite the slow speed. It washes over your face, a fresh, cool breeze with unmistakable traces of salt.
You look up, the late afternoon sunlight nearly blinding despite your sunglasses. The wind is cold, almost bitingly so, as the rest of the roof falls aways. You hardly care.
You laugh, a bright, airy sound that catches Jay so off guard he nearly swerves.
But you can’t help it, the sudden, intense sense of elation.
Jay brought you to the beach in a fucking convertible.
“You like it?” he asks, grin stretching wider as he shouts to be heard over the wind.
You turn to him, eyes wide as you nod furiously. You don’t use words, but you don’t need them. He can see the way excitement lights up your entire face.
He leaves the top down, stealing sidelong glances at you every so often for the rest of the drive.
You lift your hand to the sky, spreading your fingers just to feel the way the wind weaves between them. A peal of laughter bursts from your throat again.
For the first time in weeks, you’re not thinking about your headaches or your diagnosis or the fact that you could very well still be a ticking time bomb.
Right now, it’s just you, Jay, and the wind. A combination of things that make you feel alive in the most riveting, pulse-pounding way. It’s like you’re drunk on it. The wind feels like freedom, like the promise of a future you never dared to dream of.
All at once, you feel like crying. Not because you’re sad, but because you can’t remember the last time you felt this much life flowing through your veins.
You want a million more moments like this, a thousand more memories to look back on with fondness as you age. You aren’t ready to let it go. The thought of it feels like a dagger to the heart. Piercing, gutting, devastating.
Jay is quiet next to you. His eyes still flicker between the road and you. He watches as emotions play out across your features. Hope, joy, and grief, all mixed into one.
His jaw flexes, this time in determination. You wanted beach vacation, and he’s made up his mind that this will be the best fucking one anyone has ever had.
Eventually, the rushing wind slows to a gentle breeze as Jay turns onto a private road, the speed limit decreasing sharply.
Another minute passes before the beach house comes into view, but when it does…
“Wow.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but the word falls through your parted lips anyway.
Nestled between trees and a perfectly landscaped garden, the house blends right into the beachfront. Two stories tall and a sandy shade of beige, it looks like it was built to belong to the place where it stands.
Looking past it, you see the endless stretch of sand, melting into quiet waves where it meet the ocean. It’s stunning.
Jay slows the car further before shifting into park.
Without the wind from earlier and the hum of the engine, the air around you feels quiet. Still.
And, you realize with a sudden flush, incredibly private. It strikes you, slaps you across the face really, that you’re about to spend two nights with Jay in a secluded beach house with what appears to be no neighbors for miles.
Just you and Jay.
Alone.
“I thought…” you trail off, suddenly desperate for something to fill the silence. “We’re not staying in a hotel?” Even that feels scandalous, but at least there would be other people around to ease the sudden tension.
Jay shakes his head. “It’s off season,” he explains. “Most hotels are already closed for the winter. Besides,” he adds, “this will be more spacious. And the private beachfront is a bonus, too.”
You swallow. “Private?” you echo. “As in…”
“Just us,” he nods, either oblivious to your sudden spiraling or intentionally ignoring it. “If you go half a mile in either direction, the beach is public land, but this little spot right here,” he jerks his chin towards the stretch of beach you can see from the car, “that’s just for us.”
“Oh,” is all you can really manage.
Jay picks up the slack. “C’mon,” he urges. “Let’s go check it out.”
Wordlessly, he takes both of your bags from the back seat.
The walk from the car to the front door is short, but it’s enough to make your breath feel shallow in your chest.
Doctor Kim had warned you that this week would be full of fatigue, but the effort it takes just to walk a few steps is nothing short of frustrating.
The beauty of the beach house is almost enough to make you forget it, though. Almost.
The garden is stunning, even as fall gives way to winter. Less lush than it surely is in the summer months, but the golden brown leaves and shrubbery are still arranged in a way that makes it enchanting.
And the house itself seems to have been given the same attention to detail. Trailing behind Jay through the front door, the space that opens before you is quaint.
Not overly large, the decorations are sparse but intentional. As if the owner knew nothing would ever be able to overshadow the view.
The far wall is hardly a wall at all. Nearly from floor to ceiling, its windows. With a crystal clear view of the beach that belongs to you for the next two days and the ocean it bleeds into.
From here, it’s even more stunning. You feel like you could spend hours here, motionless, just watching as the waves fall into each other, over each other. Battering against the shoreline with an even, flowing rhythm.
It’s captivating. So much so that the sound of Jay’s voice nearly startles you out of your skin when he says near the foot of the staircase, “The bedrooms are upstairs.”
You turn to him, and he motions for you to follow.
Bedrooms, he said. You exhale a sigh of relief. At least you can retain some of your privacy while you’re here.
The second story has the same cozy, lived-in feel as the first. An open central area splits off into two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. In the center of it all is a balcony.
“Which side?” Jay asks, capturing your attention again. “Garden or forest?”
“I’ll take the garden,” you nod toward the bedroom on the left.
Jay nods, leading the way.
You enter the bedroom behind him, glancing around as he flips the light switch and sets your bag on the ground.
It’s a beautiful room. Simple, full of light, airy colors and textures that remind you of the ocean below. The last of the day’s natural light bleeds through the windows, both the ones on the opposite wall that overlook the garden and the far wall that provides a perfect view of the ocean.
To your left, a door leads to an en-suite bathroom.
And in the middle of the room, pressed close to the seaside window, is a full sized bed with too many pillows to count. White bedsheets are tucked in neatly at the corners, far fluffier than any duvet you’ve ever had.
“I hope it’s alright,” Jay says from behind you. You swear you hear a hint of trepidation in his voice. “Options can be a bit limited in the off season, but I thought—“
“Jay,” you interrupt, eyes still caught on the rolling waves outside the window. Your window. “It’s perfect.”
“Oh,” he returns, voice colored with pleasant surprise. “Good.”
You can still feel his presence behind you, hesitating like he’s not quite ready to leave.
After a moment, Jay continues, “I’ll let you get settled in for a minute. I’ll start dinner soon.”
“Dinner?” You turn to him now, eyebrow arched. “What’s our menu for tonight? Ramen?”
Jay just smiles, a small thing. “Something like that.”
But in true Jay fashion, something like that turns out to be nowhere close to your expectations.
The convenience store dinner you anticipated is all but forgotten by the time you make it back downstairs a handful of minutes later, only to find Jay already hard at work.
Half bent over the stove top, an apron covers his torso as he hums quietly to himself. The smell that fills the kitchen is already divine. So much so that you can’t help but ask—
“What are you making?”
Jay grins at you over his shoulder. The sight is far more devastating than it has any right to be. Coy as ever, all he says is, “You’ll see.”
And you do. Thirty minutes later when he sets the most perfectly cooked meal you’ve ever seen down in front of you on the dining room table.
He pours a can of sparkling water into a wine glass and slides it to you with a wink. “Not the real thing, but I thought it might add to the ambience.”
It’s a joke, more lighthearted than anything, but the consideration hits you somewhere deep.
In an effort to distract yourself, you take a bite of the meat Jay’s just finished grilling. Granted, you have been living off hospital food for the past two weeks but—
“Jay.” Your voice rings out across the table, tone laden with something serious.
He turns to you, eyes wide. “What? Is something wrong? Did I undercook—”
You shake your head. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
He flushes. A pretty shade that extends all the way from the tops of his cheekbones to the base of his neck. You have the sudden desire to see if it extends any further, beneath the collar of his well fitted shirt.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I most certainly am not.” You take a second bite for good measure. It’s just as mouthwatering. “Seriously. How did you do that?”
He shrugs, shy under your praise. “My mom taught me.”
“Your mom,” you echo. It strikes you then that all of your conversations about his family have been quite limited. The sparse details you’ve gotten have only really been about the strained relationship he has with his father. “What’s she like?”
“She’s the best.” Jay’s smile is small but genuine. “Honestly, I think her relationship with my father was based more on family status than a real romantic connection, but she loves her family. She always wanted— wants,” he corrects, “me to be good. Not just good at school or business or running the company, but a good person in general.”
The thought makes you smile. There’s something adorable about imagining a tiny version of him, a ten-year-old Jay learning manners from his mother. It makes sense to you. The lessons seemed to stick.
You suspect it’s why he always insists on opening doors for you and carrying your bags and letting you relax while he cooked dinner despite the fact that he just finished driving five hours. You reconsider your assumption that his small kindnesses have been due solely to your illness. Maybe, you think, he really is just a gentleman in every sense of the word.
Dinner is a rather quiet affair, at least outwardly. Both of you already laid out your most pressing questions on the drive over, and the meal really is delicious enough to keep you silent.
But all the stillness gives your mind space to wander. And wander it does.
Sat directly across from Jay, your eyes keep flickering towards him, falling quickly back to the table whenever he catches your stare.
It’s not like you mean to gawk at him. But there are suddenly things about him that are very difficult to look away from.
Has his jawline always been that sharp? Has his hair always fallen that perfectly over his forehead, just barely brushing the long eyelashes that frame his dark, intelligent eyes?
You’ve known what Jay looks like for years. But it’s always been the back of his head that you’ve stared at. You’ve always assumed you were one step behind him, a few rungs beneath him on the ladder of social standing.
Here, across from the small dining room table, you feel more like equals. Everything about him that used to feel so painfully out of reach suddenly seems like it could fall right into your hands if you worked up the nerve to outstretch them.
And that thought feels… dangerous.
Jay is far safer as an enigma, you’re sure. Someone best kept at an arm’s distance. If you ever dared to let your fingers get too close to him, you’re terrified at just how solid he might feel beneath them.
It’s best, you decide, to keep that space between you, even if it’s only an illusion.
Once again, it strikes you just how alone the two of you are. You have an entire house, an entire beach to yourself. Suddenly, maintaining distance feels like a difficult task.
The shadows outside the living room windows are beginning to extend once the two of you are done eating. Pastel tones paint the sky as the sun dips towards the horizon.
Wordlessly, Jay takes both his plate and your to the kitchen sink. And then you hear his voice behind you.
“Should we go for a walk? We’ll catch the sunset if we go now.”
Turning to him, your nod comes easily. You might still be warring with the proximity, but you didn’t put a beach trip on your bucket list with the intention to stay inside the whole time.
Quietly, you pull your jacket over your shoulders, brushing your hair out of the way. And then you follow him out of the front door.
The sand is cool between your toes when he convinces you to remove your shoes.
“It’s the best part of the beach,” he insisted, but his smile was what truly had you agreeing.
Ever attuned to your needs, Jay notices when your breath starts to become shallower, the repeated motion of stepping over sand becoming more difficult. Then, he suggests that the two of you sit. But not before laying out the blanket he carried down with him.
Half of it rests beneath the two of you, a barrier between the sand and your bodies. The rest of it drapes over your shoulders, a makeshift shelter from the cool evening breeze.
The sun falls closer to the sea with every passing breath. Out here, it’s even more stunning. The vibrant pink and orange hues that streak through the sky, the gentle rhythm of waves against the shore, the salt-filled breeze that plays with your hair even as you sit half-hidden beneath the blanket.
There’s something so peaceful about it all, so beautifully serene. It’s a reminder of just how big, how vast, how endless the world is. And how, even still, it finds a way to distill itself into pockets of perfection just like this.
There are no shooting stars to wish on, no magical genies that offer to grant your deepest desires, but it still feels a bit like a peace offering from the universe. Life was never going to be fair, and for you, maybe never even truly kind. But there is still beauty to be found, still contentment to be had. Moments like this that will eventually fade to memories that you’ll treasure forever.
At your side, Jay looks at the horizon too. Watches as the bottom of the sun kisses the waves. You’re not touching, but you can feel the warmth from his body against your side.
“You can lean on me,” he offers, “if you want.” His voice is quiet but sure. Not small enough to be swallowed by the sea.
“I’m okay,” you assure him.
A moment passes. The sun dips a bit lower. Time seems to move faster now.
“I know,” he returns. “But you can anyway.”
Your first instinct is to protest. To insist that you’re okay, that you don’t need his support.
You sneak a glance at him out of your periphery. Watch as his jaw tightens, as his throat works through a swallow.
He’s nervous, you realize. And he used a bit of his bravery to make his offer.
So instead, you let your head fall gently against his shoulder. It’s a bit uncomfortable at first. The angle isn’t quite right.
Your temple presses against bone and your head wants to loll back to a position that you’re sure will make your neck ache.
It takes Jay only the span of a few heartbeats to adjust. He sinks a bit further into the sand, his hand coming to rest against the outside of your head as he adjusts your angle slightly.
He leaves it there, even as you settle into your new position. Tucked closer into his neck, it’s far more comfortable. You can smell faint hints of his cologne with every inhale.
After a few moments, the hand against your hair begins to move. Gently, Jay tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
Your eyes are still on the sun. It’s almost entirely vanished now, light fading as it settles into the sea. Jay’s thumb begins to rub gentle strokes against your temple.
The air is cool, but Jay is warm. So impossibly warm and you can’t help but lean a little further into him, into his touch.
Jay sighs, and it scatters across the top of your head.
The sun finally kisses the day goodbye, dipping entirely below the horizon. Neither of you move, eyes still turned towards the sea even as daylight begins to fade.
Jay wraps the blanket a bit tighter around your shoulders before resuming his light touches against your temple. .
The two of you stay like that for a long time, neither of you willing to move, to break the careful peace that’s settled so comfortably around you.
But time presses onwards and by the time a fourth, obnoxiously large yawn escapes you, Jay makes the executive decision to call it a night. You don’t protest as he stands, extending a hand to help you up to your feet. You don’t comment on the way he keeps your hand wrapped in his just a bit longer than necessary, as if he isn’t quite ready to let you go.
The walk back to the house is quiet, nothing but the sound of your breath and the waves behind you to fill the silence.
Jay offers you a hand again, this time for balance as you brush sand from your feet before putting your shoes back on.
Once you reach the house, you trail behind him up to the second floor. At the top of the staircase, he pauses, then turns towards you. You’re halfway to your bedroom when he calls your name.
At the sound, you turn to look at him. For a moment, he just stares at you, fingers clenching at his sides. Then, he makes his decision. You see it in the set of his jaw, the sudden determination in his eyes.
He takes three deliberate strides forward, all the way until he’s close enough to touch. You take half a step back in surprise and he follows, crowding into your space.
“Jay, wh—”
His fingers wrap around your wrist, effectively silencing you as he pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight embrace.
For a brief moment, you’re too stunned to do anything. And then, regaining your senses, you bring your own hands tentatively to his shoulder blades, let your face fall a little closer into his chest until your lips are brushing over the fabric of his shirt.
Eyes wide in the moonlight, you take a deep breath in, letting his warmth envelop you.
Jay pulls back, just slightly. He still has his arms around you, but there’s a sliver of space now, just enough room for you to look up at him.
You regret it almost immediately. He’s already looking down at you, something indecipherable in his gaze.
It frightens you. It sends a deep, aching thrill shivering down the length of your spine.
Jay leans closer, and your eyelids flutter shut. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.
You feel his lips against your forehead instead. Gentle, unmoving, just there.
A handful of seconds pass. Or maybe a minute. Wrapped in his arms, time feels like a malleable thing. It’s impossible to be sure.
Whatever it is, it’s long enough for something to pass between the two of you, for something to shift.
Jay pulls back, but he doesn't let you go. Not yet.
“Goodnight,” he whispers, breath fanning over your skin.
Your mind is spinning, suddenly full of desires and thoughts and possibilities that you never stopped to consider before.
“Goodnight, Jay,” you manage to return, breathless and more than a little flustered.
At that, he does pull back. Reluctantly, you disentangle yourself from him, still caught somewhere between possibilities and reality.
Jay doesn’t move, hardly dares to breathe, until you turn, until the door to your bedroom clicks shut.
Once it does, you lean back against it, hand flying to your chest. Your heart pounds in your throat, and your breath is suddenly a rather difficult thing to catch.
You go through the motions of preparing for bed mechanically.
Washing your face, changing into the pajamas you packed, climbing into the ridiculously cozy bed in the middle of the room.
All the while, you imagine it, replay it. Jay looking down at you with intention in his gaze. His arms around you, his lips on your forehead.
You’re exhausted. It’s late. But the thought of Jay, just across the hall from you, so close it’s almost painful, keeps pulling you back to consciousness. Sleep takes a long while to find you.
warnings: mdni! sexual content, yearning, teasing, sexual tension, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do it), kind of risky sex, desperate sex, fingering, marking, shared history, hurt/comfort, alcohol use.
wc: 25.5k
note: i finally wrote it :’) i hope this gives you a little bit of closure hehe. thank you so much for all the love part one received, it was my first enha story and i was honestly nervous to even post it lmao. i genuinely love everyone here so much 🥹🫶🏻
i made a small playlist ! (i love doing this):
moon - daniel caesar / the cure - olivia rodrigo / fine line - harry styles / the book of love - the magnetic fields / these days - nico / how was your day? - beabadoobee / mirrorball - taylor swift / waiting room - phoebe bridgers / we’ll never have sex - leith ross / once more to see you - mitski / all too well (10 min version) - taylor swift / cigarette smoke - olivia rodrigo / honeybee - olivia rodrigo / supermodel - sza / riding around the dark - florist
top two taglist: @eclipsegetthatbag @sam1xi3 @nonsochenomemettere0
enjoy ! < 3
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it took exactly one thousand four hundred and sixty one days for the phantom scent of cheap vodka and freezing wind to stop waking you up at three in the morning, though the ghost of that fire escape still lingered in the quiet corners of your mind like an unresolved equation. when you left that place, you hadn't just walked away from a campus or a ranking. you had completely dismantled the person you used to be, trading your grand academic ambitions for the unglamorous mechanics of survival.
your gap year was a blurred cycle of alarm clocks and heavy limbs, an endless stretch of twelve hour shifts at a local clinic where you filed medical records until your fingers went numb, all while living in the cramped, humid spare room of your aunt’s apartment. it was an existence stripped entirely of color, defined by the humiliating reality of counting pennies and sleeping on a mattress that smelled faintly of old dust, your already weak pride completely crushed as you watched your peers from afar moving forward while you were stuck in a static loop just to build back a savings account from nothing.
so when you finally saved enough to enroll in your final year, it wasn't at a prestigious institute with wood paneled walls and competitive hierarchies, but at an underfunded commuter university on the edge of the city where the paint was peeling in the hallways and the professors didn't even bother to memorize your name.
there were no numbered lists on the walls there, no brilliant rivals looking over your shoulder to see your methodologies. and for a long time, the absolute silence of it was harder to bear than the pressure ever had been.
you had spent that entire final year like a machine, putting your head down and grinding through advanced clinical seminars with detached efficiency. you completely refused to make friends or connect with anyone, because you were terrified that if you let your guard down for even a second, the overwhelming bitterness of what you had lost would swallow you whole. you finished your degree not with a sense of triumph, but with a quiet relief, your diploma just a piece of paper that proved you had survived the wreckage of your own life.
and now, two years later, you were standing in the sterile, brightly lit lobby of st. jude’s hospital, the heavy glass doors sliding shut behind you with a dull hiss that felt dangerously like a point of no return. you adjusted the strap of your bag against your shoulder, your fingers nervously tracing the sharp edges of the laminated plastic badge clipped to your blazer. you looked at it anxiously, your name printed in neat letters right above the title junior clinical psychologist.
this was supposed to be the fresh start you had spent so much time bleeding for, the clean slate where your past didn't follow you and your bank account was finally stable enough to let you breathe. yet, as you stared down the immaculate white corridor that smelled intensely of bleach and synthetic lavender, your stomach twisted into that same familiar knot of anxiety. the hospital was massive, a prestigious psychiatric and research hub that took only the best graduates. the sheer irony of ending up right back in an high stakes environment wasn't lost on you as you took a shaky breath, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.
you smoothed down the front of your trousers, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar, and began to walk toward the human resources department on the fourth floor, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors while you fought back the overwhelming urge to turn around and run. you told yourself you were ready, told yourself that the fragile, broken girl who had cried so much was completely dead and buried. but as you stepped into the elevator and watched the metal doors slowly close, the heavy silence inside felt thick with anticipation, as if the universe was just waiting for you to realize that some ghosts can never be outrun.
the elevator dinged, a soft sound that cut through the loud thumping of your heart. the metal doors slid open to reveal a sunlit floor that smelled faintly of that same lavender soap and old paper. you stepped out cautiously, your fingers still white from how tightly you were gripping the strap of your bag, waiting for the weight of the world to crush you again.
instead, a tall guy with a soft denim jacket thrown over his hospital scrubs detangled himself from the reception desk, a folder in his hand and a remarkably gentle expression on his face.
"you must be y/n." he said, his voice a low hum that didn't carry a single ounce of the cutting authority you had spent four years learning to fear. he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that felt completely uncalculated. "i'm daniel. i've been a clinical resident here for a bit of time now. the chief told me to look after you today so you don't accidentally walk into the research labs locked zones."
"good morning." you said, your throat tight, your body still braced for an interrogation about your credentials, your gap year, or the low tier university name printed on your degree.
but daniel just tucked the folder under his arm and gave you a reassuring nod. "don't look so terrified, y/n. we’re glad you're here. let's get you your locker keys first, and i'll show you where the good coffee machine is hidden."
you followed a half step behind him, your shoulder muscles so tense they practically ached because your brain was still operating on old, defensive code.
but daniel just walked at a leisurely pace, his hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket, pointing out things that had absolutely nothing to do with metrics or performance.
"the administrative wing is always a bit dry." he murmured, nodding toward a row of frosted glass doors as he guided you toward a back hallway. "but once you get past the main double doors, it gets a lot more human. the lounge is back here. it’s where we hide when the charting gets too mind numbing."
he pushed open a heavy wooden door as the clinical smell of floor wax was immediately replaced by the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans and toasted bread. the room was spacious, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through a row of large windows that looked out over a quiet inner courtyard. there were mismatched mugs drying on a rack by the sink, a half eaten box of donuts on the counter, and a couple of worn in green armchairs tucked into a corner by a bookshelf overflowing with thick psychiatric volumes.
"alright, locker forty two is yours." daniel said, pulling a small silver key from his pocket and sliding it across the counter toward you. "the lock sticks a little bit, so you have to give it a sharp jolt with your thumb when you turn it. go ahead and drop your things off."
you stepped toward the row of gray metal lockers, your fingers trembling slightly as you slotted the key into the lock of number forty two. you gave it the small jolt daniel had mentioned, the metal clicking open with a dull thud. as you swung the door wide, your breath caught in your throat. tucked inside the small shelf at the top was a small, hand painted ceramic mug with a sticky note stuck to the front in neat handwriting: welcome to the department, y/n! we left the good coffee pods in the top drawer for you. — ava.
you stared at the little note for a long second, the ink blurring slightly as a sudden pressure built up behind your eyes. for many years, you had been acting like a ghost, entirely convinced that your academic failure had stripped away your right to be welcomed anywhere. you had expected cold glances, a desk in a dark corner, and the silent judgment of people who had never had to drop out to survive. but this — this unprompted gesture of kindness from a stranger — felt completely upside down.
"ava is one of our occupational therapists." daniel explained softly, leaning his hip against the counter as he watched you trace the edge of the note with your thumb. his voice didn't carry any pity, just a grounding certainty that made you feel like you weren't about to shatter into pieces. "she remembers how brutal the first day can feel. we all do. nobody expects you to be a flawless machine by nine o'clock, y/n. just take a breath."
"thank you." you whispered, your voice thick as you carefully folded the note and tucked it into your blazer pocket before hanging your bag on a hook. "it’s... it's really nice."
once you had put on the mandatory white coat, daniel took you by the elbow, guiding you back out into the hall to begin the real introductions. but instead of marching you into a boardroom to present your credentials to a panel of hyper critical supervisors, the process was incredibly slow, almost domestic.
your first stop was the central nursing station, a horseshoe shaped desk right in the center of the adult psychiatric wing. an older woman with sharp eyes and her silver hair tied back in a neat bun was typing furiously on a computer, a massive stack of patient charts looming next to her elbow.
"may." daniel called out gently, tapping the top of the counter. "this is y/n. she's the new junior clinician taking over the outpatient cognitive behavioral therapy slots."
nurse may stopped typing immediately. she didn't just give you a professional nod and looked back at her screen. instead, she pushed her rolling chair back, standing up to look at you over her reading glasses. your body instinctively tensed, waiting for the standard evaluation look — a calculating glance that measured whether you were worth her time.
but to your surprise, her face softened into an almost maternal smile as she reached across the high desk to squeeze your hand. her palm was warm and dry, her grip surprisingly strong. "ah, the one with the research paper on adolescent trauma responses." she said, her voice rich and steady. "the chief showed us your abstract last week, y/n. it was beautifully written. we’ve been drowning in the outpatient queue, so you are an absolute godsend. if daniel here gives you any trouble or tries to pass off his intake paperwork to you, you come straight to me, alright?"
"okay." you said, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips for the first time all morning. the knot of anxiety that had been sitting in your stomach since you woke up at five o'clock began to loosen, just a fraction, leaving behind a strange ache of relief.
there were no lists on the walls here. there were no digital boards flashing your ranking to the entire department, no suffocating silence in the hallways where your peers almost refused to look you in the eye.
as daniel led you from the nursing station down toward the junior residents' lounge, introducing you to the speech pathologists, the social workers, and the intake coordinators, the world slowly began to regain its color. a guy named niki stopped eating his toast just to show you how to bypass the temperamental paper jam in the main copier. a senior resident named joe paused his phone call to give you a welcoming wave from his office door.
every interaction was small, subtle, and entirely devoid of friction. you weren't a metric to be beaten or a rival to be kept at a distance, you were just another pair of hands arriving to help carry the complicated stories of the people walking through the clinic doors. by eleven o'clock, as you sat at your new desk in the shared lounge, organizing your highlighters and looking over your first week's schedule, you took a deep breath of the sterile hospital air. right there, you allowed yourself to think, for the very first time, that maybe you had actually made it across the river. maybe the survival part was finally over, and you were allowed to just exist.
by twelve thirty, the morning rush had finally tapered off into a manageable hum. you were just finishing color coding your intake calendar when daniel leaned his head through the open doorway of the lounge, his pager clipped to his waistband and a crooked smile on his face. "alright, rookie." he said, gesturing with his chin toward the hallway. "lunchtime. let's get you down to the cafeteria before the neuro research team eats all the spicy pork bowls."
you stood up, smoothing down the front of your coat, and followed him down the long corridor toward the glass elevators. walking beside him felt easy, the hyper vigilant shield you usually wore around senior colleagues, and people in general, starting to feel a little lighter. your feet moved at an unhurried pace instead of the frantic scurry you had spent years mastering.
the cafeteria on the lower level was massive, flooded with bright sunshine pouring through the floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto the manicured green courtyard. the space was filled with the chaotic symphony of hospital life — the clatter of plastic trays, the low murmur of dozens of conversations, and the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on polished tile. just as you and daniel grabbed your trays and stepped into the salad line, an insistent electronic beep cut through the noise.
daniel unclipped his pager, his brow furrowing as he read the glowing green text on the tiny screen. he let out an apologetic groan, turning to look at you with a genuinely remorseful expression. "ah, damn it, y/n, i'm so sorry. there’s a critical intake issue down in ward b and they need a senior signature immediately. look," he said, pointing a finger toward a sunlit circular table near the center of the room where a girl with a high ponytail and bright pink crocs was violently waving her napkin at him. "go sit with lily. she’s one of our triage nurses on the psychiatric floor and she knows literally every single soul in this building. she won't let you sit alone, i promise. i'll catch up with you in twenty minutes."
"it's totally fine. thank you so much, daniel." you said, offering him a reassuring smile before balancing your tray in your hands and making your way toward the table.
lily didn't even wait for you to sit down before she pulled out the plastic chair next to her, her face lighting up with the kind of uncritical friendliness that you had spent years believing didn't exist in these kind of environments. "you're y/n, right? the new psych junior? daniel’s been talking about your research abstract for three days straight." she said, sliding her container of sliced strawberries toward the middle of the table to share. "sit, please. tell me everything. how was your morning? did nurse may try to scare you with the intake stack yet?"
"she was actually really sweet." you murmured, sitting down and feeling a genuine chuckle bubble up in your throat. "she told me she would protect me if daniel tried to dump his paperwork on my desk."
"oh, absolutely. may is the undisputed queen of this wing." lily laughed, leaning forward on her elbows, her eyes sparkling with a playful sort of energy. "but don't let the maternal vibe fool you. if you take her designated parking spot in the lower deck, she will systematically destroy your clinical rotation schedule. it’s a known fact."
for the next fifteen minutes, you actually found yourself having fun. it was an intoxicating sensation. you sat there eating your lunch, listening to lily dish out the entire social landscape of st. jude’s in a way that was entirely devoid of malice. she wasn't talking about who was publishing more or who had the highest accuracy ratings. she was telling you about the head of cardiology who accidentally wore mismatched shoes to a board meeting, and the radiology resident who was secretly terrified of the dark. you were smiling, your shoulders dropping completely as you let out a light laugh that felt real, a sound that hadn't crossed your lips in a standard hospital setting since the day you packed your bags into cardboard boxes. you felt like a normal girl, a normal twenty four year old having lunch with a coworker, completely wrapped in the warm cocoon of a life that finally made sense.
"oh, but wait, if you really want to know about the elite tier of the hospital, you have to look at the research tables by the courtyard glass." lily whispered suddenly, her tone shifting from bubbly amusement into a slightly dramatic drop that people usually reserve for campus legends or untouchable royalty. she nodded subtly toward the far end of the cafeteria, where the light from the courtyard windows was so bright it casted long shadows across the floor. "that’s the neuro analytics team. they're basically treated like gods by the administration because their data models bring in millions in grant funding every single quarter. but honestly? they are a bunch of absolute weirdos."
you took a sip of your water, still smiling, completely entertained by her commentary. "why do you say that?"
"because they're all completely socially inept, especially the golden boy resident they recruited a year ago." lily murmured, resting her chin in her hand as her eyes scanned the distant table. "god, the drama surrounding that guy is unreal. he came in from some insanely prestigious ivy league track. top of his class, brilliant beyond belief, the kind of mind that makes the chief practically weep with joy. but he is a literal ice cube, y/n. he’s been here like fourteen months and i don't think a single person has ever seen him actually laugh. all the nursing interns try to flirt with him, because he is honestly hot as fuck, but he just looks right through them like they're statistical noise."
the word hit the back of your throat like a drop of freezing water, your smile faltering just a fraction at the familiar terminology, a faint taste of old anxiety suddenly tingling on the back of your tongue.
"seriously, it’s almost tragic." lily continued, completely oblivious to the way your hand had gone entirely still against your napkins. "he works eighty hour weeks, lives in the high level research labs, and looks like he hasn't slept a full night since 2023. people think the mystery is hot though, i guess. his name is-"
"jake sim." lily said, finishing her sentence with a casual pop of a strawberry into her mouth, completely unaware that she had just dropped a live grenade onto the middle of the table. "honestly, just looking at him makes my own anxiety spike."
the name didn't just ring in your ears. it settled into the marrow of your bones with a dull ache that you hadn't felt in months. for the longest time, you had systematically scrubbed his name out of your vocabulary, burying it under stacks of cheap textbooks, twelve hour filing shifts, and the exhausting routine of survival. your heart did a violent thud against your ribs, and for a split second, your skin prickled with the phantom sensation of that dark balcony.
but as the initial shock rippled through your chest, something strange happened. the ground beneath your feet didn't disappear.
you felt the cool plastic of your new ID badge resting securely against your blazer. you felt the genuine sunlight washing over your shoulders from the courtyard glass, and you looked at lily, who was still sitting across from you, completely safe and friendly. you weren't that empty girl with seven hundred dollars in her savings account anymore. you had clawed your way through the dirt to earn this white coat, and you had built a life out of nothing but your own resilience. you were finally alive, and you were sure the ghost of jake sim didn't have the power to pull you back into the dark.
slowly, you turned your head. your eyes shifted past the crowded tables, the clattering trays, and the laughing interns, tracking the bright midday light until it hit the far end of the cafeteria against the glass panels.
there he was.
he looked so entirely different that it almost made your breath hitch in your throat, a quiet gasp trapped behind your teeth. the frantic brilliance that used to radiate off him like a sunburn was completely gone, replaced by a suffocating stillness that made him look entirely detached from the room around him. he was wearing his crisp white coat over a dark charcoal sweater, a pair of thin glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he sat slouched over a tablet covered in complex data models.
lily hadn't been exaggerating — he looked utterly hollowed out.
his sharp jawline seemed even more pronounced against his pale skin, his shoulders slumped forward in a total collapse of posture that made him look incredibly small despite his broad frame. the dark circles beneath his eyes were deep and bruised, a physical manifestation of a quiet rot that no amount of ivy league prestige could cure.
he looked like he was suffocating in the very tower he had broken both of you to keep. you sat there and watched him from afar, a strange mixture of old grief and quiet pity twisting in your stomach. you had spent years believing that he had won everything, that his charisma, his intelligence, his money and his status had bought him a flawless path while you were left to bleed in a cramped spare room. but looking at him now, the contrast was blindingly clear.
and then, as if feeling the sudden weight of your gaze cutting through the white noise of the cafeteria, his slouched shoulders suddenly went completely rigid.
jake slowly lifted his head from his tablet. through the thin silver frames of his glasses, his dark eyes scanned the crowded room with a cold indifference — until they hit your table. until they locked directly onto you.
the world didn't just stop, it felt like it imploded. the color completely drained from jake's face within a fraction of a second, his entire body freezing so abruptly his fingers slipped off the edge of his tablet. behind his glasses, his eyes opened with a raw shock that was so visceral you could feel it across the distance of the room. he didn't blink. he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling in shallow hitches as if he were looking at a literal ghost.
the mutual panic between you was thick, a dark wire pulling tight until it bruised. your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, the urge to run out of the cafeteria scratching at the back of your throat. because despite the new white coat on your back and the ID badge pinned to your blazer, you momentarily felt like that same broken girl, and he momentarily looked like the boy who still held the pieces.
jake didn't move. his knuckles turned white where his hands gripped the edge of the laminate table, a plastic pen slipping from his fingers and rolling off the surface with a dull click that you couldn't hear across the noise, but saw perfectly. the suffocating intensity in his stare was exactly the same as it had been on that fire escape — a direct line cutting through years of separation like it was nothing but thin air. you wanted to look away, you desperately needed to tear your eyes from his, but your muscles felt like concrete.
"y/n? god, you've gone totally white." lily’s voice suddenly pierced through the static in your ears, her hand warm and solid as it pressed firmly into your forearm. the touch felt like an electric shock, forcing the oxygen back into your lungs and breaking the invisible wire that had been pinning you to your chair. you forced your head down, the movement so abrupt it made the bright cafeteria blur into a messy smear of white and green.
"i'm fine." you choked out, your voice sounding incredibly small, a brittle lie that scratched at your throat. you stared at your tray, your fingers trembling so violently against your napkin that you had to tuck your hands between your knees just to hide the shaking. "just... a sudden head rush. i think the fluorescent lights are just a bit much today."
"are you sure? you look like you're about to faint." lily murmured, her playful energy instantly evaporating into genuine concern as she leaned closer, trying to read your downcast face. "do you want me to get you some juice from the counter? or we can go back to the junior lounge where it's quieter."
"no, no, i'm okay, promise." you whispered, forcing a mechanical smile onto your face as you risked raising your chin just enough to look at her, completely terrified of what would happen if your eyes drifted back toward the glass panels. "just give me a second. i just need to breathe."
but even with your back partially turned and your eyes glued to the table, you could still feel him. his gaze was a physical weight on the side of your neck, hot and heavy, a silent scream cutting through the clatter of silverware and the low murmur of the hospital staff. you were supposed to be safe here. you had bled for years to earn this position, to prove to yourself that your worth wasn't tied to his world, but the mere sight of him had reduced all that hard earned resilience into a fragile shield.
you took a slow sip of your water, using both hands to keep the plastic cup from rattling against your teeth. out of the very edge of your peripheral vision, you saw the distant shadow by the window finally change shape. jake hadn't stood up to come toward you. instead, his broad shoulders had slouched even deeper forward, his head dropping slowly into his hands as his fingers tangled desperately in his dark hair, now stripped of the recognizable bleach from your college years. the sight of his collapse sent a strange shiver down your spine. you weren't better than him, and you certainly weren't healed — the frantic thumping of your heart was proof enough of that. seeing the golden boy of your past university completely undone by your mere existence was a complicated pill to swallow.
"hey, daniel's back." lily said softly, nodding toward the entrance where daniel was weaving through the tables, his expression still hurried.
you swallowed the lump in your throat, smoothing down your coat with numb fingers, preparing yourself to look normal, to look functional, to look like the junior psychologist you were supposed to be. even as the ghost from the fire escape sat just a few yards away, drowning in the exact same room.
"hey, sorry that took longer than expected." daniel said, his voice dropping into the empty space at the table as he slid into the chair across from you. he smelled faintly of the cold air from the lower corridors and sterile hand sanitizer, his presence a grounding burst of normal reality. "some intern completely botched a medication reconciliation chart on a sectioned patient down in ward b. absolute nightmare."
you forced your chin up, the muscles in your neck so rigid they actually ached as you offered him a small nod. you had spent the entirety of your gap year learning how to look perfectly functional when your insides were completely hollowed out, and that defensive muscle memory kicked in now with a terrifying efficiency.
"it's fine." you murmured, your voice sounding a little distant, like it belonged to someone else entirely. "lily kept me entertained."
lily looked between the two of you, her eyes lingering on the way your knuckles were still white around your plastic water cup. "she had a bit of a sudden head rush, actually." she told daniel, her playful tone dropping into something more subdued. "i think the air down here is just a little suffocating today. she went completely pale for a second."
daniel’s brows furrowed, his gaze instantly shifting to your face with genuine concern. "you okay, y/n? the first day is a massive sensory overload, honestly. if you need to sit out the afternoon intake observations, i can easily tell the supervisor you're still adjusting."
"no, really, i'm okay." you interrupted, the words tumbling out a little too fast, a little too sharp. you couldn't afford to look weak on your first day. you couldn’t lose your footing the second you crossed the finish line. and more than anything, you refused to let the boy by the window be the reason you stumbled. "just needed some water. i'm ready for the rest of the tour, daniel. really." you stood up, your knees feeling uncomfortably loose beneath your trousers, your hands gripping the edges of your plastic tray with unnecessary force just to keep them from trembling.
as the three of you cleared the table and walked toward the tray return conveyor belt, you were forced to walk a path that ran parallel to the long row of courtyard windows. you didn't look, keeping your eyes locked strictly on the blue fabric of daniel's scrubs ahead of you. but the human brain is a cruel machine, as it mapped out the coordinates of your oldest wound without your permission.
still, you kept walking, the metal doors of the elevator finally sliding shut with a soft click. as it lifted toward the fourth floor, you kept your eyes trained on the small digital floor indicator, watching the numbers glow in the quiet air, forcing your lungs to expand and contract in a mechanical pattern. you had to keep it together. you had a job to do, a life to maintain, and you couldn't afford to crumble into dust before your first afternoon was even halfway over.
the outpatient psychiatric wing was quiet, a stark and comforting contrast to the sensory chaos of the lower floors. the hallways here were wide, painted a muted sage green that seemed designed to absorb the ambient anxiety of the building, and the harsh fluorescent glare was replaced by soft track lighting that casted gentle shadows against the polished floors.
daniel led you down the corridor, his sneakers making a faint squeak against the floor until he stopped outside a dark wood door with a small plastic nameplate reading office 312 — y/n, junior clinician.
"here's your space." daniel murmured, pushing the door open to reveal a compact but cozy room. a heavy oak desk sat against the wall, a tall bookshelf stood empty and waiting for your texts, and two charcoal grey armchairs faced each other near a wide window that looked out over the quiet tops of the courtyard trees. on the corner of the desk, a thick stack of manila folders was waiting for you — your first real patient intake roster. "i'll leave you to look over the files for an hour. at two, we'll do a joint observation in consultation room b. take a breath, y/n. you made it through the first morning."
you managed a small nod, offering him a professional smile as he closed the door behind him. the heavy wood clicked into place, insulating you from the rest of the hospital, and for a few minutes, you forced yourself to go through the motions of a normal life. you sat in the leather chair, logged into the clinical database, and arranged your highlighters in a perfectly straight line. you opened the first file, your thumb tracing the words generalized anxiety disorder and maladaptive coping strategies, trying to anchor yourself to the clinical reality that you were a professional now. you belonged there.
but the moment the room fell entirely still, the clinical terms blurred on the page, and your gaze drifted helplessly toward the glass pane of the window.
your outside shell was holding up perfectly — you had spoken to daniel, you had accepted the paperwork, you were clicking through the software exactly like a competent junior clinician should. but inside, your chest felt completely hollowed out, your mind utterly hijacked by the image of the boy from the cafeteria table.
you were deeply moved by that moment, and it terrified you how easily the mere sight of him could still rip the air straight out of your lungs. for years, you had carried a defensive but silent anger like a shield, entirely convinced that jake had walked away from your ruined relationship with his hands full of gold. you had pictured him thriving on his prestigious track, moving through his wealthy world with that same infuriating, effortless arrogance, completely untouched by the gravity that had left you counting coins in a dark room.
but the difference between the boy in your memory and the person sitting by that window was devastating. you remembered a jake whose posture was always straight with competitive pride, whose dark eyes snapped with magnetic energy whenever he spoke about his research models. he used to look entirely untouchable, like the world was something he could just bend to his will.
but the guy down there today looked smaller. the way his broad shoulders had slouched forward in that exhausted collapse. the deep, bruised hollows beneath his eyes. the frantic way his fingers had tangled in his dark hair — it was so incredibly easy to see how much he had changed.
as you sat in the quiet of your new office, your hands were still ice cold, the erratic thumping against your ribs a painful reminder that you were still incredibly fragile. but as you reached forward to open the next patient file, forcing your trembling fingers to grip the tab, a strange quiet finally settled over your panic. you were okay. your life was actually starting now and you wouldn’t let anyone or anything mess with that, not even your own self.
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the weeks that followed that first afternoon slowly bled into a steady rhythm, the sharp edges of your initial panic gradually wearing down until they were nothing more than a manageable hum. the outpatient wing became a space that didn't just feel safe, but familiar. you learned the strange language of the charting software, figured out exactly how nurse may liked her intake summaries formatted, and found that the charcoal grey armchairs in office 312 actually held the weight of a lot of heavy stories without breaking. to your own quiet surprise, you weren't just getting by, you were actually good at your job. the long years you had spent being hyper vigilant in a spare bedroom, analyzing every slight shift in the air just to survive, finally translated into an intuitive competence. even the socializing part of your life was slowly losing its friction. you found yourself lingering by the central horseshoe desk just to exchange soft, dry humor with nurse may, or letting lily drag you down to the lower courtyard for quick coffee breaks. you were learning how to take up space again, and your outside shell was finally starting to feel less like a fragile shield and more like real skin.
it was a rainy tuesday afternoon in late november when you were just finishing up your notes. as you typed on your laptop, daniel knocked lightly on your open door, a thick blue binder tucked securely under his arm.
"hey, y/n." daniel said, leaning against the doorframe with a tired but collaborative smile. "the chief is pushing for a cross-departmental review on our chronic outpatient queue. we’re trying to integrate our clinical cognitive tracking with the new predictive data models from neuro-analytics to see if we can catch patient regression earlier. we're doing a quick briefing in consultation room c."
"sure, let me just grab my tablet." you murmured, closing your own folder and sliding it into your drawer. you stood up, automatically smoothing down the front of your coat, the fabric now broken in and comfortable against your shoulders. you felt normal. you felt capable as you followed daniel down the sage green corridor, chatting idly about how his morning went.
when daniel pushed open the heavy door to consultation room c, the air inside was quiet, illuminated by the soft gray light filtering through a high window. a senior research coordinator named dr. vance was already standing by the digital whiteboard, his stylus tapping against the screen as he pulled up a series of complex graphs.
but it wasn't the graphs that made the blood instantly turn to ice in your veins.
sitting at the far end of the long metal conference table, slouched low over a glowing laptop, was jake. his pale fingers were moving across his keyboard in a mechanical blur, reminding you of the agonizing hours you used to spend watching him do that, looking just as hollowed out as he had some weeks ago. his broad shoulders curved inward in that heavy collapse of posture, completely detached from the room around him.
"ah, perfect, the clinical team is here." dr. vance said, looking up from the board with an energetic nod. he gestured toward the empty chairs opposite the table, entirely oblivious to the way your entire body had gone completely rigid the second your shoes hit the carpet. "y/n, come on in, take a seat."
jake’s fingers froze instantly on his keyboard.
slowly, as if the movement required an immense amount of physical effort, his head lifted. through the thin frames of his glasses, his dark eyes fixed directly onto you. the indifference that usually masked his face shattered within a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening so hard the muscle visibly jumped beneath his skin. the color drained from his lips, his chest rising in a shallow hitch that you could hear perfectly in the quiet room.
you looked around nervously, seeing that a handful of people were already gathered around the long metal conference table. dr. vance spoke again, quickly taking you out of your trance. "everyone, this is y/n, our new junior clinician on the outpatient slots. y/n, this is dr. cho from neurology, anna from stats, and over there is jake sim from neuro-analytics."
jake didn't move. his hand was still hovering over his laptop, his knuckles turning a stark white as he waited.
you wanted to run, but you didn’t. you couldn’t. instead, you took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing your outside shell to hold together with an icy efficiency. before the silence could stretch into something strange, you offered the table a polite smile and gave a casual nod in his direction.
"oh, we actually know each other." you said, your voice sounding remarkably light, completely devoid of any weight or history, as if you were talking about an old acquaintance you barely remembered. "jake and i. we went to the same undergrad university. good to see you, jake."
the words dropped into the room like a casual breeze, but across the table, jake looked like he had been physically struck. you actually didn’t know why you had said that, or if it even was appropriate in that setting. but the survival instinct had taken over before your conscious brain could even veto it. it was a defense mechanism, pure and simple — a desperate strike to set the boundaries before both of your expressions could give you away to the entire room. if you made him small, if you treated him like nothing more than an old classmate you casually ran into, then the ghost couldn't drag you back into the dark. you were claiming the narrative before he could even speak, forcing the past into a box neither of you were allowed to open.
"oh, small world! i love when that happens." dr. vance chuckled, completely missing the way the color had entirely drained from your faces. he turned back to the whiteboard, tapping the stylus against the screen. "well, that makes communication easier. y/n, for this pilot, you'll be coordinating your weekly clinical tracking metrics directly with anna and dr. cho. jake is going to be handling the macro backend algorithm on the upper floors, so he'll just be pulling from the shared database."
"perfect, that works great for me." you murmured, sliding into an empty chair next to daniel, completely removing your gaze from the far end of the table.
you opened your tablet, your fingers perfectly steady as you focused on the tracking graphs, completely refusing to look back at him. but even without looking, you could feel the crushing weight of his stare burning into the side of your face.
the remaining twenty minutes of the briefing passed in a dull blur. you kept your eyes anchored to the glass screen of your tablet, your fingers tracing the plastic bezel with a mechanical pressure, completely hyper-aware of how the air in the room had turned thick and heavy.
when dr. vance finally clicked his presentation shut, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor felt like a jarring rescue. you moved with quiet efficiency without looking across the table. you didn't wait to see if jake would stand up, or if the coldness in his eyes would melt into something else. you simply slid your tablet into your bag, gave dr. cho and anna a professional farewell nod, and walked out the door alongside daniel.
the frantic rhythm of your chest didn’t truly settle until you were three corridors away, the heavy double doors of the outpatient wing clicking shut behind you and daniel like a physical shield. you had spent the entire walk down the hallway nodding mechanically at daniel’s casual commentary about pharmacy backlogs, your outside shell perfectly intact, while inside, your mind was a spinning wreckage. you had actually done it. you had looked right into those dark eyes — the same eyes that had watched you break, the same eyes that had haunted every quiet room you had gone in for years — and you had reduced him to a footnote. as you kept walking, the phantom taste of adrenaline left a bitter weight under your tongue.
but you didn't look back. and for the next few weeks, you made sure it stayed that way.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
the following days didn't bring a clean break, but rather a slow stretching of time. november bled seamlessly into a frost rimed december, the hospital windows growing opaque with sheets of gray winter rain. you adapted with a quiet precision, rewriting the internal map of your entire life around your new routine and his avoidance. you learned the exact cadence of the neuro-analytics shift changes. you knew never to take the central elevators between noon and one o'clock. you even memorized the specific smell of the fourth floor crossover bridge just so you could avoid it entirely. you told yourself you were healing because you weren't running away, but the exhausting amount of mental math it took to ensure your paths never crossed was a violent proof that he still occupied every corner of your brain.
yet, the hospital was an interlocking machine, and no matter how thick you built the walls of your fortress downstairs, the central server kept pulling your names into the same dark water. every tuesday and thursday evening, you were forced to log into the pilot program's shared ledger to input your clinical outcomes. and there, sitting quietly at the bottom of the encrypted data stream, his digital footprint would appear. j. sim. a timestamp at 7:42 pm. a database synchronization at 2:14 am. you would stare at the glowing gray characters on your screen, your chest tightening with a strange intimacy. you weren't speaking, you hadn't exchanged a single syllable since that morning in consultation room c, but you were reading his insomnia in the margins of the system logs. you knew exactly how late he was staying up, how obsessively he was twisting the code around your clinical notes, while he, on the upper floors, was watching your data drop into his system with the exact same silent regularity. it was a cold war fought in glowing pixels, both of you pretending to be ghosts while leaving digital footprints all over each other's work.
it was a freezing, stormy thursday night when the outpatient wing completely emptied out, leaving you alone in office 312 under the low hum of the fluorescent lights. you were just finishing the final entry on a critical, high risk observation file — a profile that absolutely required the morning analytics baseline — when your screen suddenly flashed a harsh crimson. the system locked. a stark, red diagnostic message blinked against your eyes:
critical error: data sync corruption. cross-departmental token required for manual override. please report to neuro-analytics hub for physical database alignment.
you stared at the blinking cursor, a heavy knot of dread dropping straight into your stomach. the administrative staff had gone home hours ago. there were no on call tech couriers left on the lower floors. if you didn't manually push the token through before midnight, the patient’s entire chart would wipe, and the blame would land squarely on your pristine new record. you couldn't lose this job. you couldn't let your wreckage ruin this sanctuary.
with trembling fingers, you ejected the local backup drive, your heart already starting that familiar clatter against your ribs as you stepped into the darkened elevator. the numbers on the digital display ticked upward with a terrifying speed.
when the silver doors slid open on the seventh floor, the air instantly changed. floor seven didn't hold the soft sage green warmth of your clinical spaces. it was a sprawling labyrinth of brushed steel, glass partitions, and exposed concrete. it smelled strongly of ozone and expensive server cooling units, illuminated only by the deep blue glow of oversized workstation monitors. your flats made a terribly loud click against the polished floor as you moved through the maze of empty desks, your hand gripping the flash drive inside your pocket until your knuckles turned white.
"hello?" you called out, your voice sounding remarkably small, swallowed up by the heavy silence of the tech hub. "is there a resident analyst on duty? i need a clinical sync override."
no one answered. the silence stretched out, thick and heavy with the hum of a hundred cooling fans. you walked deeper into the heart of the floor, towards a private research alcove at the very back where a single amber desk lamp casted a long shadow across the concrete. the heavy glass door was propped slightly open.
you stepped up to the threshold, your lips parted to speak, but the breath died instantly in your throat.
jake was there.
he was entirely alone in the darkened lab, slouched so low in a heavy leather chair he looked almost broken by it. his white coat was gone, discarded carelessly over a nearby partition, leaving him in just a thin sweater that clung to the sharp lines of his shoulders. his glasses were pushed carelessly up into his messy dark hair, and his forehead was pressed hard into the palm of his hand as he stared blindly at a massive wall of cascading code. he looked utterly unraveled — the charismatic golden boy who used to glide through university lecture halls with a lazy ease was completely gone. in his place was a hollowed out resident, his face starkly pale under the light, seemingly surviving on nothing but caffeine and pure willpower.
the sound of your shallow intake of air cut through the low drone of the servers like a physical blow.
jake’s fingers froze instantly against his temple. slowly, his head lifted, his dark eyes adjusting to the dim light before they drifted toward the doorway. the exact second his gaze landed on you standing there, the exhausted slouch vanished. his entire frame went completely rigid, his jaw clenching so hard a sharp muscle hitched beneath his skin. he didn't move, and he didn't speak, but his chest began to rise and fall in a ragged pattern as the trap slammed shut around both of you. there were no senior coordinators there, no statistics teams, and no daniel to slide between your spaces. you were entirely exposed, locked in his high tower, with absolutely nowhere left to hide.
the silence that followed was so absolute you could hear the faint click of the cooling fans overriding the main server grid. neither of you moved. for five suffocating seconds, you just stood frozen on the threshold, your fingers digging into the plastic casing of the flash drive inside your pocket until the edges painfully bit into your palm. you became hyper aware of every single detail — the amber glow of the desk lamp cutting across his pale cheekbones, the way his dark hair was slightly damp from the storm outside, the crushing weight of his eyes locking onto yours.
almost mechanically, jake reached up and pulled his glasses down from his hair, sliding them back onto the bridge of his nose. the movement was deliberate, a shield to put between his exhausted face and your sudden presence.
"the data sync crashed." you said. your voice sounded shockingly thin in the vast concrete lab, a fragile thread that you desperately tried to lace with clinical authority. "outpatient database. it threw a cross-departmental corruption error. i need a physical token override before midnight or the file wipes."
jake didn't answer right away. he just stared at you through his lenses, his jaw working silently as he processed the actual sound of your voice. it wasn't a casual remark thrown across a crowded conference table anymore, but your voice, directly addressing him, alone in the dark.
"give it to me." he finally muttered. his tone was incredibly low, rough and gravelly from hours of silence and too much black coffee. it lacked any of that effortless charisma that used to make entire lecture halls lean in toward him. it just sounded incredibly tired and incredibly bitter.
you took three slow steps into his space, every muscle in your legs screaming at you to turn around and run back to the elevator. you pulled the small silver flash drive from your pocket and held it out, your arm stiff, keeping as much physical distance between your bodies as humanly possible. jake reached out to take it. he was meticulously careful not to let his fingers brush against yours, a deliberate avoidance that felt more intimate than an actual touch. he snatched the drive, the cold metal clicking against his keyboard as he slotted it into the side of his terminal.
the silence returned, heavier this time, punctuated only by the aggressive clack of his fingers hitting the keys. you stood just a step behind his shoulder, your eyes tracking the reflection of the cascading blue data lines across the glass of his monitors. your heart was hammering a violent rhythm against your ribs, a wild animal trying to break free of your crisp white coat. you didn't know where to look, you didn't know what to do with your hands. you just stood there, drowning in the suffocating scent of his sterile soap and bitter espresso.
"it’s a localized token block." jake said, his eyes never leaving the screen, his fingers moving with a terrifyingly robotic speed. "outpatient didn't clear the analytics queue from tuesday. your department is sloppy."
the petty, defensive swipe hit you like a low blow, a sudden flash of the old undergrad jake who couldn't bear to let you have an inch of ground without indirectly reminding you that he was still number one. but somehow, this time it was really direct. a strange heat flared in your chest, melting a tiny fraction of your icy composure.
"our department is handling eighty intakes a day, jake." you murmured, keeping your face carefully blank, though your tone caught on a sharp edge. "we don't have the luxury of sitting in a quiet glass tower playing with algorithms all night. some of us are actually dealing with human beings."
jake’s fingers froze instantly over the keyboard. the sudden halt of the clicking was jarring, making the empty room feel entirely too small again. he didn't look up at the screen, and he didn't look back at you. he just stared at his own knuckles, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a long, ragged exhale.
"is that what you think this is?" he whispered. the venom was gone, replaced by a bleeding misery that made your stomach twist in a deeply uncomfortable way. "playing around?"
you swallowed hard, the cold knot of internal turmoil tightening until it was hard to draw a full breath. deep down, in the places you spent so much time trying to bury under clinical charts, you knew he wasn't playing. you knew he was suffocating there just as much as you had been suffocating in that humid bedroom. you knew you were both ghosts trying to pretend the haunting wasn't real. but admitting that meant letting the walls crumble, and if the walls crumbled, you wouldn't survive the night.
"i just need the file synced." you whispered back, your voice dropping into that polite detachment that probably drove him insane. "that's all i'm here for."
jake let out a breathy sound, a bitter excuse for a laugh. he finally turned his head, looking up at you from his slouched position in the heavy leather chair. from this close, beneath the harsh light of the lamp, you could see those dark bruises of exhaustion under his eyes. he looked so fragile it made your chest physically ache.
"you're so good at that." he murmured, his dark eyes searching your face with an agonizing intensity, looking for any crack in your mask. "the polite junior clinician. the perfect colleague. you look right at me and you don't even blink. how do you do it, y/n? how do you act like you didn't leave a total disaster behind you?"
"jake, please-"
"i stayed away from that floor for months now." he cut you off, his voice trembling slightly, the flat edge of his clinical persona fracturing completely in the quiet lab. "i checked the schedules. i took the back stairs. i did everything i could because i thought... i thought if i saw you, it would kill me. and then you walk into a briefing, look me in the eye, and tell the chief we're just old university acquaintances." he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face just inches away from your coat. "we didn't just go to university together, y/n." he whispered, his eyes wide, swimming with a raw mix of resentment and pure unadulterated longing. "and you know it."
your outside shell felt like it was fracturing, tiny cracks spreading across your entire composure as the sheer weight of his words pressed against you. you wanted to scream at him. you wanted to ask him why he was acting like the victim when he was the one who kept the perfect scores, the perfect path, the perfect building while you had to rebuild your entire mind from scratch. but the survival instinct — that icy, brilliant shield — held the pieces together at the absolute last second.
you took a small step backward, pulling yourself out of the circle of amber light, out of his immediate space. "the system log says the override is pending." you said, your voice remarkably level, light, and entirely devoid of any history, as if he hadn't just laid his ribs bare in front of you. you pointed a steady finger toward the glowing green progress bar on his monitor. "is it clear to eject?"
jake stared at you, his mouth parting just a fraction, looking a bit dizzy from the quiet rejection. the raw emotion in his eyes instantly curdled into a defeated vacancy. you had given him absolutely nowhere to put his anger. you had treated his bleeding heart like an inappropriate interruption to a data transfer. without another word, he reached out, clicked the safety eject button, and pulled the flash drive from the slot. he didn't look at you as he held it out, his hand perfectly still, his eyes fixed blindly on the cascading rows of code. "it's clear." he said flatly, his tone completely dropping back into that lower register, devoid of any warmth or friction.
"thank you, jake." you murmured softly. you took the drive, slipping it back into your pocket, and turned on your heel. your flats made that same lonely click against the polished concrete as you walked away from the alcove, leaving him sitting entirely alone in there, drowning in the silence you refused to break.
the second the weight of his presence was lifted, the fragile scaffolding of your composure didn't just crack — it completely crumbled. you hit the button for the fourth floor, your hand trembling so violently your fingernail clicked sharply against the plastic. you dropped your forehead against the cold stainless steel wall of the elevator, your breath coming in short hitches that fogged the metal right in front of your eyes. your heart was hammering a terrifying rhythm against your ribs, a loud thumping that felt less like a pulse and more like a physical betrayal. that was the part that made you want to scream. you had spent so much time convincing yourself that you were whole. you had sat through countless hours of silence in a tiny apartment, learning how to breathe through the memories, forcing yourself to believe that you had outgrown the wreckage of undergrad. he had come to your mind, of course — in the quiet space between sleep and waking, or when the smell of stale coffee hit a room just right. but you thought you had built an ocean between who you were then and who you were now.
yet, one look at him slouched under that lamp, one sound of his voice dropping into that gravelly register, and your body acted like it was still twenty, trapped on that freezing fire escape, completely unraveled by him. you hadn't grown at all. you had just built a very expensive, very fragile glass box around a fire that was still burning.
why was it beating so fast? you thought, your fingers curling into the fabric of your coat, desperately trying to steady the frantic rise and fall of your chest. you’re a clinician. you know the physiology of panic. force it down. breathe in for four. hold.
but your brain refused to follow the clinical rules. because louder than the panic was the sudden prickle of a deep confusion. you didn't even recognize the girl who had just spoken to him. where had that ice come from? when he had looked up at you, his eyes wide and swimming with that confusing gaze, everything inside you had screamed to reach out, to touch the sleeve of his dark sweater, to ask him if he was eating, if he was sleeping, if he was okay. but instead, your mouth had opened and delivered a series of perfectly timed, brutal rejections. you had treated his emotions like a system error.
you didn't fully understand why you were being like that. it was like your brain had split in two: one half dying to scream his name, and the other half operating with a robotic efficiency that felt entirely alien to you. you were protecting yourself, you knew that deep down, but the sheer coldness of your own voice scared you. you had turned into a monster just to keep him from seeing that you were still bleeding.
and then there was his anger. the elevator jolted as it passed the fifth floor, and a sudden wave of resentment washed through your veins, turning the cold panic into defensive fury. how dare he be mad at you? how dare he stand there in his high tower and act like you had packed your bags and walked away because you wanted to? he knew. he knew better than anyone in the world that you hadn't chosen to leave. you had been forced out. you had been completely shattered, reduced to nothing but a hollow shell while he got to keep the perfect scores, the perfect path, the prestigious analytics spot on the seventh floor. you had left because staying would have killed you. it was survival, pure and simple.
and yet, he was looking at you with those resentful eyes, accusing you of leaving a disaster behind, as if he hadn't been the one holding the match. it almost felt like he was angry because you weren't still broken. it felt like he was angry because you had dared to put on a white coat and heal yourself without his permission. which was absurd to think about, if you were honest. you couldn't possibly know what he was thinking anymore, since you barely knew what your own self was thinking at that point.
"you don't get to be the victim, jake." you whispered into the empty elevator, your voice shaking as an angry tear finally escaped, hot and stinging against your cheek. "you don't get to be the one who's hurt."
the elevator chime gave a soft ding as the doors slid open to the warm, safe, sage green corridors of the fourth floor. you wiped your face with an aggressive swipe of your sleeve, drawing your shoulders back and forcing your spine to go completely rigid once more. you stepped out into the quiet hallway, your mind a chaotic storm of confusion and unresolved history, entirely conscious of the silver drive heavy in your pocket.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
the days continued anyway, like they always did. people still showed up to work carrying paper cups of coffee, the elevators still dinged every few minutes, patients still talked to you in your office about divorces and panic attacks and impossible childhoods. the seasons shifted almost lazily outside the hospital windows, the trees in the courtyard gradually surrendering their last amber leaves until only dark branches remained against the winter sky.
and somewhere inside all of that ordinary movement, your own life quietly continued growing around the wound. but it wasn't linear, because seeing jake like that had definitely affected you.
some mornings, you woke up convinced that you had finally left that version of yourself behind. you drove to work with the windows cracked open despite the cold, singing softly along to whatever song happened to be playing through the speakers, your fingers tapping absentmindedly against the steering wheel as the city slowly came to life around you. you would stop at the café two blocks from the hospital because the owner had started remembering your order, and there was something deeply comforting about hearing someone smile as they asked, "the usual?".
other mornings, you caught the faint smell of burnt coffee drifting from the staff lounge, and before you even understood why your chest had tightened, you were back inside that library. the old one. fluorescent lights humming overhead, rows of impossibly tall bookshelves, the constant clicking of keyboards echoing through the silence. jake, sitting across from you with one elbow resting against the table, completely oblivious to the fact that he had somehow become the center of your entire peripheral vision. your body remembered him before your mind ever had the chance to object.
and somehow, it happened constantly. someone staying late finishing documentation, someone quietly correcting a typo on one of your shared reports before you noticed it, someone absentmindedly pushing a mug toward you because they knew you had forgotten to eat lunch. the library. him.
you hated that place and you hated that person. you hated how something as ordinary as a shared document could still make your stomach twist. sometimes, while waiting for a patient's file to load, you found yourself staring at the blinking cursor on your screen. and all you could think about was another cursor, years ago, appearing underneath yours at two thirty seven in the morning.
lately, you had begun wondering if you were actually haunted by who you had been whenever he was around instead of just being haunted by him. that girl had lived every single day with her shoulders pulled too tightly together, measuring her own worth against numbers on a ranking board and believing exhaustion was something admirable. sometimes, sitting across from your own patients while they slowly untangled years of anxiety, you almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. you could explain the physiology of chronic stress without looking at your notes. you knew exactly what prolonged hypervigilance did to the brain. yet somehow, your own nervous system still reacted to memories of a university library like it was preparing for impact.
he wasn't even there, hadn't been for months. and still your heartbeat occasionally forgot what year it was.
but life kept insisting on happening anyway. lily had somehow decided you were incapable of eating lunch alone. she would appear outside your office almost every afternoon without fail, leaning dramatically against your doorframe.
"come on." she would sigh theatrically. "if you make me eat cafeteria pasta by myself one more time i'm reporting you to hr."
you always rolled your eyes, but you always went anyway.
daniel started saving you coffee whenever he was on early rounds. nurse may had stopped introducing you as "the new junior." somewhere along the way, you had simply become y/n. people knocked before entering your office because they respected your space. patients asked for you by name. and your bookshelf slowly filled with textbooks, sticky notes, and the tiny ceramic plants lily kept insisting made the room "less clinically depressing."
you even caught yourself laughing comfortably now, without a second thought. real laughter, the kind that reached your stomach before your brain had time to overthink whether it sounded strange. you smiled to yourself when you thought about it while walking down the hallway. even if he was on your mind way more than you would ever want to admit, maybe you were healing. and maybe healing wasn't dramatic after all, maybe it just looked like forgetting to be miserable for a few hours.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
by the time december settled over the city completely, the hospital had transformed. paper snowflakes hung crookedly from the reception desk. someone had wrapped ridiculous gold tinsel around nurse may's computer monitor. a tiny artificial christmas tree appeared in the staff lounge, decorated almost exclusively with anatomy themed ornaments someone from surgery found hilarious.
"hospital dinner next friday." lily dropped the announcement onto your desk one morning.
"mandatory?" you looked up from your notes.
"strongly encouraged."
"which means mandatory."
"exactly." she grinned. "you're coming."
you instinctively opened your mouth to decline. the old version of you would have invented an excuse before anyone could ask twice. but you were trying to prove that girl wasn't carrying your life anymore.
"...okay." the word surprised even you.
lily blinked. "that's it?"
you shrugged, smiling into your paperwork. "i guess i can survive one dinner."
"daniel!" lily shouted immediately into the hallway. "she said yes!"
somewhere outside your office you heard daniel cheer dramatically. you couldn't help laughing, completely unaware that, three floors above you, another department had received the exact same invitation.
and just like that, friday arrived much faster than you expected. by six thirty, the winter sky had already dissolved into complete darkness, the city streets shimmering under the glow of christmas lights and the reflections of the afternoon rain. you stood in front of your apartment mirror for far longer than was probably necessary, one hand smoothing invisible wrinkles from the dark green dress you had bought months ago and never found a reason to wear. it wasn't particularly fancy, just soft knit fabric that hugged your waist comfortably, long sleeves, a modest neckline. adult, you supposed.
you looked... older. not older in the exhausted way you used to after pulling consecutive all nighters in the library until your eyes burned from staring at statistical outputs. just older in the quiet sense. like someone who paid rent without completely losing her mind every time the letter came. someone who remembered to buy groceries before running out of milk. someone who had somehow survived long enough to become a woman instead of the anxious university girl who always felt like she was desperately trying to catch up with everyone else.
for a long moment, you simply stared at your own reflection, because it still surprised you sometimes how unfamiliar your own face had become. there were fewer dark circles beneath your eyes now and your shoulders no longer lived permanently curled toward your ears. you smiled more easily, more lived in.
your phone buzzed against the bathroom counter.
lily: if you bail i'm literally coming to your apartment
despite yourself, you laughed. "alright." you murmured to the empty apartment. "i'm coming."
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
the restaurant occupied the renovated top floor of an old brick warehouse overlooking the river, all warm amber lighting and exposed wooden beams that smelled faintly of cedar and wine. somewhere in the corner, someone had hired a jazz trio to play soft christmas standards that disappeared beneath dozens of overlapping conversations.
the outpatient team had already claimed two long tables near the windows as lily spotted you almost instantly.
"she actually came!" she gasped dramatically, standing up so quickly she nearly knocked over her wine glass.
"i said i would."
"i genuinely didn't believe you."
"that's a little offensive."
"i believe it's completely accurate."
daniel looked up from across the table. "look who's voluntarily socializing."
"just... both of you, calm down." you said with a big smile plastered on your face.
"too late." you rolled your eyes, sliding into the empty chair between nurse may and lily.
somehow, the evening unfolded with surprising ease. there was a lot of wine and far too much bread before dinner. someone from physiotherapy confessed to accidentally walking into the wrong patient's family meeting three months earlier and somehow staying through the entire conversation before realizing. even nurse may laughed hard enough that she had to remove her glasses to wipe her eyes. you found yourself laughing too, to the point it left your stomach sore.
at one point, daniel disappeared only to return balancing six tiny desserts because “the kitchen made extras”, as lily insisted everyone rank them. you looked around the table, watching everyone interrupt each other with easy familiarity, and something inside your chest settled.
this was yours. not borrowed, not temporary. for years, you had imagined adulthood as some distant destination where everyone magically stopped feeling afraid. instead, it turned out to look like shared desserts, inside jokes, coworkers arguing over cheesecake. people instinctively saving you the seat beside them because it had simply become your seat. you hadn't fully realized how lonely you had once been until loneliness quietly stopped being your default.
you reached for your wine glass, smiling to yourself, as you heard the restaurant door open again. a burst of freezing december air swept briefly across the room as another large group stepped inside, voices overlapping while they shrugged snow from their coats.
"the research team finally made it." someone near the front called out.
your smile didn't disappear immediately, simply stalling as the glass stopped halfway to your lips. before you even looked, something deep inside your body had already recognized the shift. the old instinct returned with terrifying speed, making your shoulders stiffen and your heartbeat stumble. it wasn't logic, it wasn't reason. it was the same invisible thread that had once taught your nervous system to locate him before your eyes ever did.
slowly, almost against your own will, you turned your head. the research department filtered inside in small clusters, shrugging wool coats off their shoulders and stamping the december cold from their shoes as laughter spilled ahead of them. someone was already apologizing for how late they were. another person was carrying three bottles of wine balanced awkwardly against their chest while everyone argued over where they were supposed to sit.
for a brief, irrational second, you almost convinced yourself he hadn't come. your eyes skimmed over unfamiliar faces. someone from neurology, anna from statistics, dr. cho, another resident you vaguely recognized from the briefing.
and then, there he was. he had stopped just inside the entrance, one hand still wrapped around the strap of his messenger bag, quietly waiting for everyone else to move before he stepped further into the restaurant. he never really had been much of a loud entrance, as he had never had to do that for people to look at him. even now, he instinctively lingered toward the back of the group, waiting for everyone else to find their seats before quietly slipping into one of the empty chairs near the opposite end of the restaurant. someone from cardiology immediately reached over to steal his coat, draping it over the back of another chair before he could protest. another coworker slid a glass of red wine into his hand with an exaggerated grin.
"about time you showed up, sim."
"traffic." he answered simply.
"you've been saying traffic for two years."
jake only gave the smallest shrug before taking a slow sip from his glass, his attention already drifting toward whatever conversation dr. cho had started beside him.
you looked away almost immediately. or at least, you tried to, because for some reason it was embarrassingly difficult. your eyes kept wandering back toward the other side of the room without your permission, catching tiny glimpses between shoulders and half empty wine bottles.
he looked tired, painfully so. even sitting down, his posture carried that same quiet collapse you had noticed since that day at the hospital, his broad shoulders rounded forward as if the weight of the last years had physically settled across his back.
for the first hour, the two of you became experts at pretending the other didn't exist. you laughed with lily, he spoke quietly with his team. you reached for another piece of bread, he accepted another glass of wine. the restaurant buzzed louder around you as more bottles appeared across the tables, conversations dissolving into overlapping stories that no one bothered to finish.
someone convinced the jazz trio to play something more upbeat. chairs scraped across the wooden floor, departments slowly blurring together. and somewhere between the third glass of wine and dessert, something shifted. it was so subtle you almost convinced yourself you had imagined it.
"...that's absolutely not what happened." jake suddenly laughed as you heard his voice. just a short, genuine laugh that escaped him before he seemed to remember himself, one hand instinctively coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose as if he was almost embarrassed by the sound.
your stomach tightened immediately. before you could stop yourself, your eyes wandered back across the room. he looked lighter, only slightly. the exhaustion hadn't disappeared. the dark circles were still there, his shoulders still carried that familiar collapse, and he still looked like someone who hadn't slept properly in months. but the tension around his face had loosened and his posture wasn't so rigid anymore. the wine glass sat forgotten in one hand while the other moved absentmindedly through his hair, and every now and then another small smile slipped past whatever wall he had been holding up all evening.
it was so fleeting, so painfully familiar. for a terrifying moment, you could almost see him again. not the hollow man from the seventh floor, but the boy from the library. the one who used to lean back in his chair after proving an entire lecture wrong. the one whose eyes quietly brightened whenever a discussion became interesting enough to make him forget everyone else was in the room.
your chest ached, because for the first time in months, he didn't just look tired. he looked like himself.
"okay, okay." anna was sitting beside him as she nudged his shoulder with hers. "tell them about the python incident."
jake immediately covered part of his face with one hand. "absolutely not."
"you literally crashed the whole server."
"temporarily."
"for six hours."
"still temporarily."
more laughter. she reached over and shoved his shoulder. he shoved hers back, gently. the kind of thoughtless physical familiarity that only existed between people who had spent enough time together. you stared for one second too long, something ugly twisting unexpectedly inside your chest. it wasn't anger, it wasn't even jealousy. not exactly.
in the blink of an eye, he smiled. really smiled. without thinking, your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, the feeling arriving before you could name it. sharp, old, humiliatingly familiar.
it wasn't that anna was beautiful, it wasn't even that they seemed particularly close, you thought. it was something much quieter than that. watching him from across the room suddenly felt exactly like sitting several rows behind him during undergrad. there he was, surrounded by people, responding effortlessly. moving through conversations with that strange, quiet ease you had spent years trying to understand.
and there you were, watching again. your stomach twisted, and it was ridiculous. you weren't twenty anymore, you weren't measuring yourself against the people around him. you had your own table now, your own coworkers, your own life. lily was halfway through telling daniel an impossibly dramatic story beside you, nurse may was arguing with someone from emergency medicine over whether tiramisu counted as a proper dessert, and three people had already saved you a seat without even asking.
you belonged there, you knew you did. so why did your body suddenly forget? why did one glimpse of him smiling make every old insecurity crawl quietly back beneath your skin? it reminded you of every library walk where he somehow managed to make everyone else laugh before answering your questions with impossible seriousness. every hallway where he had effortlessly exchanged conversations with strangers before turning toward you with that unreadable expression that always made your heart start sprinting.
every moment you had wondered why is it always different with me?
the thought slipped into your mind so naturally it frightened you, although it wasn't a new one. it was actually an old thought you had spent years burying beneath degrees, rent payments, patient notes, and carefully constructed adulthood. but apparently, it had never really left.
you took a slow sip of your wine, letting the heavy liquid burn softly down your throat until the glass was nearly empty. you needed the alcohol to work a little faster. you needed it to dull the sharp edge that had taken over your body the second he walked through the door.
lily leaned into your space, completely oblivious to the quiet storm inside your head, her face flushed red from three generous glasses of cabernet. she clinked her glass against yours with enough drunken enthusiasm to spill a few dark droplets onto the wooden table.
"to surviving a full year of institutionalized chaos!" she announced, her speech slurring just enough to prove she was well past her limit.
"to survival." you echoed softly, forcing a small smile that felt a little too loose around the edges.
as the night stretched past eleven, the atmosphere in the restaurant shifted. the waiters cleared away the heavy ceramic dinner plates, replacing them with seemingly bottomless carafes of wine, amber glasses of bourbon, and small plates of shared desserts. the jazz trio packed up their instruments, leaving behind a warm hum of overlapping voices, clinking crystal, and unfiltered laughter.
the invisible walls between the departments finally began to dissolve. chairs scraped across the wooden floor as people stood up to stretch, drifting toward other conversations. dr. cho carried two open bottles of red over from the research table, pulling a chair right next to daniel, while a few junior analysts squeezed in near lily. before you fully understood how it had happened, the distinct tables had merged into one giant, chaotic circle.
jake was sitting four seats away from you. he had moved with dr. cho, carrying his glass of whiskey, his coat long forgotten over the back of a distant chair. his dark charcoal sweater was pulled up slightly at the forearms, revealing the sharp lines of his wrists. the alcohol had fully softened him, too. the rigid posture he usually wore like an armor had loosened into something fluid and relaxed. he was leaning back, one ankle resting over his opposite knee, his dark eyes glinting under the warm overhead lanterns as he listened to dr. cho speak.
he still wasn't looking at you directly, but he didn't have to. the air between you felt thick, charged with an invisible static that made your skin prickle every time he shifted in his chair.
"alright, listen up." dr. vance announced, standing up at the head of the merged table and tapping his fork against his water glass. his face was bright red, his tie loosened at the collar. "it is officially past midnight, which means the formal portion of this dinner is dead. before we all start ordering cabs, we're doing the annual game."
a collective groan rippled through the table, followed instantly by boisterous laughter.
"no, listen." dr. vance insisted, waving a hand. "two truths and a lie: clinical training edition. three statements about something embarrassing or unprofessional you did during undergrad or residency. the table votes on the lie."
"this is an hr trap." daniel called out, grinning into his beer. "i refuse to self-incriminate."
the game started off fast and messy, fueled by the sheer volume of alcohol everyone had consumed over the last four hours. daniel confessed to falling asleep inside a sterile supply closet for five hours during an overnight er shift. nurse may admitted she had once accidentally thrown away an entire box of research samples in her first week as a nurse and spent two hours digging through the hospital dumpster to retrieve them.
the room echoed with laughter, glasses sloshing, people shouting out guesses and arguing over who was the worst liar. you laughed along, feeling the heavy warmth of the wine creeping deeper into your veins, softening the sharp corners of your mind until your chest felt pleasantly numb.
and then the rotation reached the far side of the circle.
"sim." dr. vance pointed a finger down the table. "you're up. give us something good. the analytics prodigy must have screwed up at least once in his life."
jake let out a low chuckle, a sound so smooth and gravelly it sent a traitorous wave of heat straight down your spine. he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, looking down for a long moment before tilting his head up. he looked loose, effortless, and entirely too handsome, the dark fringe of his hair falling slightly over his forehead. you hated it so much.
"fine." jake said, his voice carrying easily over the quieted table. "one: i once completely slept through a third year observational trial and woke up with my forehead stuck to my own diagnostic notes." a few people tutted in disbelief. "two." he continued, a faint smirk touching the corner of his lips as he glanced casually toward dr. cho. "i accidentally corrupted a full semester's worth of conditioning data because i let an uncontrolled variable slip into the trial."
"oof, painful." daniel muttered, taking a drink.
"three." jake said softly, swirling his glass, his voice dropping into that magnetic register that used to hold whole lecture halls captive. "i spent an entire night locked inside the third floor library stacks because i refused to leave until i solved a statistical anomaly."
the table immediately erupted into loud debate.
"one!" lily called out instantly. "you would never sleep through a trial, jake."
"no, the library." anna chimed in from beside him, leaning in close enough that her shoulder brushed his sweater, smiling up at him with drunken fondness. "jake wouldn't need to stay a whole night there just to solve that."
jake didn't answer right away. he just sat there, holding his whiskey, letting the smirk linger on his face as he let everyone throw out their guesses. he was clearly enjoying the easy attention, looking every bit like the charming boy from undergrad who always held all the answers.
you sat quietly, your fingers coiled loosely around your glass. the alcohol in your blood was humming softly, stripping away the careful adult mask you had worn all evening. you knew the answer, and you knew it with a devastating certainty. you remembered those third floor library stacks. you remembered the rain against the tall windows, the stacked manuals, and the way he had sat across from you, staring at a set of results that refused to neatly align with his theories. but it hadn't only been a statistical anomaly he was trying to solve. it had been an argument with you. a night where his logic had completely failed him, where his careful control had cracked under the weight of something he couldn't measure or code.
and you remembered the conditioning trial, too. there hadn't been an uncontrolled variable.
you didn't shout. you just leaned back slightly in your chair, your voice soft, almost offhand, as if you were merely offering a passing observation about lab methodology.
"it's two." you murmured into the lull of the conversation. you were clearly drunker than you thought, because sober, you would have bitten your tongue raw before saying anything that publicly linked your name to jake's. you were the one who had built the wall between you in the first place, forcing the silence on the distance. but watching him sit there — so relaxed, giving away his quiet charm to everyone else after all this time — a petty needle twisted under your skin. you needed to prove, if only to him, that despite the cold front, you still held the blueprint to who he actually was. that no one else at this table knew him deeper than you did.
jake’s head snapped toward you. the lazy smirk on his face vanished in a single second. the relaxed posture melted away, his broad frame going rigidly still as his dark eyes locked onto yours across the small gap separating your chairs.
"what makes you say that, y/n?" dr. vance asked, looking amused, taking a slow sip of his drink.
you didn't break jake's gaze. you offered an indifferent shrug, your face remarkably calm, light, and perfectly unbothered, though your pulse was thumping a rapid beat in your throat. you let him see the quiet weight in your eyes — a message meant exclusively for him, completely invisible to everyone else at the table.
"because his data is always clean." you said softly, your tone smooth and conversational. "he doesn't let variables slip in by accident. he only abandons a trial when he realizes he can't control the outcome."
a light chuckle went around your side of the table. "damn, spoken like a true former lab mate." daniel joked, taking another sip of his beer, completely missing the radioactive underlying current. "she's got your number, sim."
dr. cho laughed softly, clapping jake on the shoulder. "she's right, jake! you never make reckless mistakes in methodology. you just scrap the whole project when it gets complicated!"
the rest of the table laughed along, accepting the comment as nothing more than a witty jab at his well known academic perfectionism.
but jake didn't laugh. he sat completely frozen, his fingers tightening around his whiskey glass until his knuckles turned a sharp white. the effortless charm he had been displaying all evening was completely gone, stripped away by two quiet sentences that no one else in the room understood.
he stared at you across the dark wood, his dark eyes wide and burning with an intensity that made the rest of the noisy restaurant fade into complete background noise. to the rest of the hospital staff, you had just made a clever joke about his undergrad work ethic. but to jake, you had just looked him dead in the eye and told him that you knew exactly who he was.
the game dragged to a messy, awkward close. jake eventually confirmed the lie with a quiet nod, forcing a faint smile that vanished the second people stopped looking at him. after that, he completely checked out. he just sat back in his chair, staring into the ice melting in his glass, letting the drunken chatter flow right over him.
you noticed every single second of it, of course you did. and you hated yourself for it. you hated that even after four glasses of wine, your brain was still wired to track every micro-shift in his posture.
by one in the morning, the restaurant was finally emptying out. people were slurring affectionate goodbyes by the coat rack, making ridiculous promises for weekend plans no one would keep. lily had disappeared to the bathroom with two pediatric nurses twenty minutes ago.
your head was swimming, your chest tight and claustrophobic from the heat of the room and the great amount of alcohol in your body, so you pushed open the side door and walked outside. the december air hit you like a physical punch. it ripped the warmth straight from your skin, replacing it with a freezing draft that burned your throat and made your eyes water. you leaned your forearms against the cold iron railing, staring down at the churning water from the river below, letting the cold air try to sober you up.
the heavy metal door behind you creaked open, then slammed shut against the frame.
you didn't even have to turn around. the smell of cold wool, dark rain, and bitter whiskey reached you before he even took a step.
"you just had to do that, didn't you?" jake said. his voice wasn't gentle. it wasn't quiet or tragically polite. it was rough, raspy, and thick with alcohol, carrying a defensive bite that cut straight through the freezing wind.
you slowly turned around, resting your back against the iron railing. he was standing four feet away under the dull yellow bulb of the emergency light. his coat was unbuttoned, his dark hair messy and blowing in the wind, his hands jammed aggressively into his pockets. his face was flushed from the cold and the whiskey, his dark eyes wide, bloodshot, and completely stripped of that calm composure he had spent all evening hiding behind.
"do what, jake?" you asked, your voice trembling from the cold, the wine and the anxiety, but your chin tilted up, refusing to back down.
"back there." he snapped, taking an erratic step toward you. "the little commentary on my data. you just couldn't help yourself, could you? you had to sit there in front of the whole department and make sure everyone knew you had some secret, superior insight into how my brain works."
a sharp laugh escaped your throat, turning to mist in the freezing night. "are you serious?" you hissed, stepping out of the shadow of the railing, right into his space. "you sat at that table for two hours giving everyone else your charming little routine, telling a cute little story about undergrad like it was some funny glitch in your pristine record. you were rewriting it, jake. you sat there acting like it was all just lab work, like it was nothing!"
"because it has to be!" he shouted, his voice cracking violently, the loud sound echoing off the wet brick walls of the alley. he looked completely unraveled, his jaw clenching so hard you could hear his teeth grind together, the sheer chaos of his state finally spilling over. "you think i want to stand in front of twenty people and talk about how it actually was?" he rasped, his eyes burning into yours with a terrifying intensity. "you think i want dr. vance or anna or daniel looking at me and knowing that i spent years obsessed with you? you think i want a room full of coworkers knowing that you're the reason i haven't slept a full night in-?"
the admission hit the cold air like a physical blow. the breath vanished from your lungs, your heart hammering a wild beat against your ribs. "what the fuck are you saying, jake-"
"no, y/n, listen to me." he choked out, quieter now. "you act like you're the only one who got wrecked. you stand here looking at me like i'm some cold, unfeeling bastard who walked away without a second thought. but you're the one who ran! you packed your bags, you left the town, you deleted your number, and you built this whole neat new life where you get to pretend i was just a bad habit you outgrew!"
"i ran because i had no choice!" you screamed back, tears finally spilling over your lashes, scalding hot against your frozen cheeks as you forced yourself not to punch his chest. the alcohol was making your entire body shake, dissolving whatever polite restraint you had left. "i also ran because staying near you was making me lose my fucking mind. and i genuinely do not understand why you would even look at me like... like i broke your heart!"
"because you did!" jake roared as he surged forward, his hands flying out to grip the freezing iron railing on either side of your head. he caged you in completely, his tall frame blocking out the streetlights, his chest heaving erratically just inches from yours. "you were breaking it every single day! and you're still doing it, y/n."
he stopped, his breathing coming in ragged hitches that tore through the quiet night air. the sudden, explosive burst of anger seemed to completely drain him, leaving nothing behind but a hollow exhaustion. his broad shoulders slumped forward and he dropped his head, staring blankly at the metal grate beneath your boots as if he couldn't bear to look at your face anymore.
"i can't do this." he whispered, his voice dropping into a ruined scrape that almost sounded like a plea. he squeezed his eyes shut, his knuckles turning an intense white against the black iron. "i can't sit at a dinner table and watch you laugh with everybody else. i can't watch you build a life that i'm not allowed to touch. and i definitely can't sit there while you drop little pieces of our past into the conversation like it's just some lighthearted trivia."
"why?" you choked out. your hands moved entirely on their own, pulling out of your warm pockets to grab the heavy wool lapels of his open coat. you twisted the fabric into your fists, holding onto him because the ground beneath you suddenly felt like it was violently tilting. "why does it hurt you so much?" you begged, your voice shattering on the last word, the sharp december wind stinging the tear tracks on your face as you forced him to finally look at you.
jake pulled his head back just an inch, his hand sliding down to wrap his cold fingers tightly around your wrist, squeezing until the pulse thumping against his palm was impossible to ignore. he stared down into your eyes with an expression of unadulterated ruin — his dark irises wide, bloodshot, and completely devoid of any remaining pride.
"because every time you open your mouth and mention back then..." he whispered, his voice cracking on a painful exhale. "it proves you remember everything. it proves it wasn't a bad dream i made up in my head to keep myself awake at night. you were real. we were real."
he swallowed hard, the sharp line of his throat bobbing as a furious tear finally escaped his lashes, tracking down the high curve of his pale cheek. he didn't wipe it away. he didn't care that he was completely unraveling under that dull yellow light, bleeding out in front of the only person who had ever known how to dismantle him.
"and knowing that you remember it..." he choked out, his chest heaving as he pulled your trapped hand up, pressing your palm flat against the erratic pounding over his own heart. "and knowing you still walked away... knowing you're standing here right now, alive and whole and surviving just fine without me, tells me that i'm the only one who didn't make it out of that library alive."
the frantic rhythm of his heart beating against your palm felt like a live wire. it burned through the freezing cold, through the thick haze of the wine, straight into your bones. you stared at him, at the single tear tracking down his cheek, and the sheer gravity of what he had just confessed threatened to crush you completely.
you couldn't breathe. the alleyway spun around you, the ground tipping dangerously beneath your boots. if you had been sober, you might have folded into him. you might have let the grief swallow you both whole. but the alcohol in your bloodstream was a vicious thing, magnifying your terror as much as your longing. if you believed him now — if you let yourself lean into this unguarded version of him — you would be gambling everything. because tomorrow, when he was sober, he could take it all back. and that would kill you. you wouldn't survive a second heartbreak.
"no." you breathed out, your voice trembling so violently you could barely form the word. you tried to pull your hand away, but his grip was iron tight, his fingers digging into your wrist like he was drowning.
"jake, stop." you pleaded, shaking your head frantically. "stop talking. you're drunk."
"so are you." he rasped, refusing to let go, his dark eyes searching your face with a desperate starvation.
"which is exactly why we can't do this!" you cried, finally wrenching your hand out of his grasp with enough force that you stumbled a half step backward, your shoes slipping slightly on the icy grate.
the sudden loss of contact made the freezing december air rush back in, biting viciously at your skin. you wrapped your arms tightly around your own waist, shivering violently, trying to hold your own ribcage together.
"we're drunk, jake." you choked out, the tears freezing as they fell down your cheeks. "you've had god knows how much whiskey, my head is completely spinning, and you're standing out here in the freezing cold telling me that i destroyed you. what am i supposed to do with that? what do you want me to say?"
"i want you to believe me!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in a sudden burst of frustration, his balance wavering just a fraction. he ran a shaking hand fiercely through his windblown hair, looking entirely lost. "i want you to stop acting like i'm making this up! y-you always fucking do this, y/n."
"but how can i believe you?!" you yelled back, your chest heaving, the raw truth finally ripping its way out of your throat. "you want me to believe this? now? after years of complete silence? you want me to accept this just because we had a few drinks and your perfect pride finally slipped?"
jake flinched. the accusation hit him squarely, stripping away the frantic energy and leaving him looking incredibly hollow. "you think this is just the alcohol?" he asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet rasp.
"i think the alcohol is the only reason you're talking at all." you shot back, your voice breaking on a sob you couldn't swallow down. "tomorrow morning, the whiskey is going to wear off. and you're going to go right back to being the untouchable sim jake. you're going to walk past me in that damn hallway and you are going to regret every single word you just said."
"that's bullshit, y/n, and you know it." he snapped, taking another unsteady step toward you, the anger flaring back up in his dark eyes.
"is it?" you challenged, stepping back until your spine hit the brick wall of the alley, leaving nowhere else to run. "we've spent months treating each other like strangers. you flagged my files, i ignored you in meetings, you looked right through me. and now you expect me to just... what? forget everything because you had too much bourbon and decided to feel sorry for yourself?"
jake stopped dead in his tracks. he looked at you for an agonizing moment, the mist curling between your bodies in the freezing dark. the anger in his face slowly died, replaced by a devastating defeat. he looked like a man who had just played his very last card, only to realize the game had been over for years.
"you really think that little of me." he whispered. it wasn't a question. it was a surrender.
"i think we're both a mess." you cried softly, swiping angrily at your wet cheeks, though the tears just kept coming. "i think we're completely wrecked. and i think if we keep doing this tonight, if we keep standing out here tearing each other apart while we can barely stand straight, we're going to permanently destroy whatever functional pieces we have left."
jake didn't argue. he didn't surge forward again, and he didn't try to touch you. he just stood there in the cold, his coat blowing in the wind, staring at you with an expression so hopelessly sad it made your stomach physically hurt. the alcohol was still humming loudly in your veins, making the silence between you feel dizzying and thick. there was no resolution, there was no comfort. there was just the bitter cold, the heavy smell of whiskey, and the terrifying realization that you were both bleeding out, and neither of you had any idea how to stop it.
the heavy metal door behind jake suddenly flew open with a loud clang, the sharp sound slicing through the suffocating silence like a knife.
"hey! there you guys- whoa." daniel staggered out onto the small space, his tie completely undone and hanging loosely around his neck, a lopsided drunken grin plastered across his flushed face. he was holding a half empty bottle of cheap champagne by the neck, his balance wavering just enough that he had to grab the doorframe to steady himself. he was completely oblivious to the wreckage he had just walked into.
"man, it is like... polar vortex out here." daniel slurred, shivering dramatically as he looked between the two of you. his eyes were unfocused, blinking slowly in the dim yellow glow of the emergency light. "what are you guys doing? having a secret research meeting without me? that's... that's academic betrayal, sim."
the snap of the reality shift was instantaneous, violent, and physically sickening. the exact second daniel’s boots hit the metal grating, the raw version of jake vanished. it was like watching a shutter slam down over a window. his broad shoulders instantly went rigid, his jaw locking into a tight line as he took a deliberate step back from you, pulling himself out of your space entirely.
he turned his head away, his long fingers flying up to aggressively rub at his eyes, wiping away the trace of that furious tear before daniel could track it. when he dropped his hand, his face was a mask of unreadable exhaustion. but it was clumsy, frayed around the edges by the sheer volume of whiskey in his system.
you froze against the brick wall, your heart slamming frantically against your ribs. your hands were still shaking so violently you had to shove them deep into your coat pockets just to hide the tremors. you choked down a ragged sob, the taste of wine and bile burning the back of your throat as you forced your face into something that hopefully resembled sobriety.
"we were just getting some air, daniel." you said, your voice coming out thin.
"air? you're gonna freeze your liquid assets off." daniel chuckled, entirely amused by his own terrible joke. he staggered a step closer, swinging the champagne bottle loosely. "everyone's bailing. you guys want to split an uber to the north side?"
"i'm fine." jake cut in. his voice was a low rasp, entirely stripped of the roaring anger from moments ago, but carrying a vibrating tension that made your chest ache. he wouldn't look at you. he kept his dark eyes fixed firmly on the collar of daniel's shirt, his hands jammed back into his unbuttoned coat. "i'm walking." jake muttered, his speech just slightly thicker than usual, betraying how drunk he actually was.
"walking? sim, it's literally freezing rain." daniel laughed, reaching out to cloddishly pat jake's shoulder. "don't be a hero. come on."
"i said i'm walking, daniel." jake snapped. the sudden edge in his tone made daniel blink, his drunken grin faltering for a fraction of a second as he sensed the radioactive field of tension vibrating between the two of you.
jake didn't wait for a response. he finally turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto your face for one final second. there was no anger left in his gaze. there was only that same hopeless ruin. a quiet warning that everything you had just done out here was going to follow you both into the morning.
he blew past daniel, his heavy shoulder brushing yours as he pushed open the metal door and vanished back into the warmth of the restaurant, leaving nothing behind but the fading scent of cold wool and bitter bourbon. the door clicked shut.
"man…" daniel muttered, shaking his head slowly as he took a swing from the champagne bottle. "he is always so... intense. i don't know how you survived being his research partner, y/n. guy needs to learn how to relax."
you didn't answer. you couldn't. you just turned back to the iron railing, gripping the freezing metal until your knuckles ached, staring blindly out at the river below. the hot tears were finally flowing freely now, spilling over your lashes and biting into your cold skin, but daniel just thought you were shivering from the wind.
you were entirely unraveled, the heavy haze of the wine making the ache in your chest feel double its size. you knew you were right. tomorrow the sun would come up and the hospital walls would turn that sterile, sage green again. and neither of you had any idea how to survive the wreckage of tonight.
the ride home in the back of daniel’s uber was a sickening blur. daniel wouldn't stop talking about the department's upcoming budget review, his voice a slurred drone that did nothing to drown out the looping thoughts in your own head. you pressed your cheek against the freezing glass of the window, staring at the blurred streetlights, your hand shoved deep into your coat pocket. your wrist still ached where jake’s fingers had clamped down, and your palm felt hot, branded by the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat.
i’m the only one who didn't make it out of that library alive.
the words felt like a physical weight on your chest, keeping you awake until the sky turned a bruised gray.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
when you went into the hospital the next day, the walls you had spent years building felt incredibly thin. you spent your morning sessions sitting across from people, trying to help them untangle their lives while your own mind kept drifting to the floors above you. jake was up there, tucked away in the data lab, probably staring at spreadsheets and mapping out human choices into predictable numbers. you knew how his mind worked — he used logic to control everything, hiding behind data until his emotions were buried too deep to find.
you ran into him on monday by the elevators. he was carrying a stack of reports, his lab coat buttoned all the way up, looking every bit like the detached, analytical researcher everyone expected him to be. when he saw you, his posture went completely rigid. you watched his eyes drop to your hands, then snap back up to your face, his jaw tight.
"morning." he said. his voice was clipped, perfectly formal. he gave you a professional nod as the elevator doors opened, stepping inside without waiting to see if you were getting on too.
he was overcompensating. you knew it, and he knew you knew it. it was a textbook display of emotional avoidance, and the deliberate distance made your blood boil. for the next three days, you both played the game perfectly. you over-corrected your posture when you passed his lab, and he looked straight through you when he came down to the clinical floor to drop off files. you were both weaponizing your training, pulling away with a fierce intentionality because admitting that that that night had happened meant admitting how completely unsafe you were around each other.
by thursday night, the hospital felt entirely claustrophobic.
a massive winter storm had hit the city, coating the streets in black ice and causing a power surge that knocked out the central servers. because the digital network was down, the department was forced to rely on physical records for the emergency cases coming in from the icy roads.
at eleven o'clock, you were down in the basement archives — a narrow, windowless vault filled with rows of heavy steel shelves containing years of old patient files and intake sheets. the air down there was freezing, smelling heavily of old paper, dust, and ozone from the backup generators humming faintly through the vents.
you were standing near the back of the longest aisle, your fingers stiff as you flicked through a drawer, trying to find a specific baseline evaluation.
the heavy electronic lock on the vault door suddenly clicked, the sound echoing loudly in the silence. you didn't turn around. you forced yourself to keep looking at the files, even as the slow thud of boots grew closer, accompanied by the distinct scent of cedar and the bitter edge of the black coffee he always drank when he was working late.
jake stopped at the entrance of your aisle. he had taken off his lab coat, wearing just a dark sweater with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. he looked exhausted, his hair messy from where he had clearly been running his fingers through it, and his dark eyes were shadowed with fatigue.
"vance sent me down." jake said, his voice a rough baritone that felt entirely too loud in the cramped space. "the emergency intake needs the comparative data for the patient in bed four. i told him i'd find the physical chart."
"it's in row c." you said, your voice tight, keeping your back to him as you shoved a file back into the drawer. "this is row e. you're in the wrong section, jake."
he didn't move. you could hear his steady breathing, a heavy contrast to the frantic skipping of your own pulse. "i know what row i'm in, y/n." he murmured.
the sheer stubbornness in his tone made you snap. you dropped your hands from the cabinet and turned around, your spine hitting the cold metal structure behind you. "then why are you standing here?" you asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound detached. "we established a pattern this week, jake. we do the professional nods. we don't look at each other. it was working fine."
"it wasn't working fine." he rasped, taking a slow, deliberate step into the aisle. the space was so narrow that his broad shoulders nearly brushed the shelves on either side. "you've been watching me every time i walk into a room. i can feel you calculating the distance from across the hallway, y/n. you're looking at me like i'm a clinical problem you need to solve."
"and what are you doing?" you challenged, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, trying to ignore how his physical proximity was suddenly making the air feel thick and warm. "you're pretending that if you just keep your lab coat buttoned up and stare at your data sheets long enough, you can erase what you said to me the other night.”
jake stopped just two feet away from you. his height completely blocked out the low light from the main vault corridor, casting a long shadow over your body. he looked down at you, his jaw clenching so hard a small muscle twitched in his cheek.
"i can't erase it." he whispered, his speech just a fraction slower than usual, thick with the weight of a week's worth of insomnia. "that's the whole damn problem. i've spent five days trying to look at my work, and all i see is how much i want to touch you."
"don't… don’t fucking say that." you breathed, a sudden wave of panic hitting your chest. you tried to push past him, your shoulder catching his chest as you attempted to navigate the narrow space, but he didn't move an inch. he was a wall of solid heat. "jake, let me out. it's just the stress from the storm, we're both tired and-"
"stop making excuses." he growled, his hand snapping out to grip the edge of the shelf right beside your neck. his fingers flexed against the cold steel, his knuckles turning white. he leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, his dark eyes wide and dangerous. "and stop running from me. you're doing the exact same thing you always do. the second things get real, you pull back and look for an exit."
"because staying here ruins me!" you hissed back, your hands coming up to press against his shoulders, not to pull him closer, but to frantically hold him at bay. you could feel the hard line of his collarbone beneath the wool of his sweater, the heat of his skin burning through the fabric into your palms. "you think you're the only one who's terrified? i spend all day trying to keep myself together, and the minute i look at you, i completely lose my mind. we are a bad idea, jake."
"i don't care." he choked out, his voice cracking violently on the words. he took that final half step, completely eliminating the remaining distance between you. his chest pressed flush against your hands, pushing against your resistance until your back was pinned flat against the metal cabinet. he didn't touch you with his hands yet, as they were still gripping the shelves on either side of your head, caging you in completely. but his entire body was a suffocating pressure against yours.
you let out a broken gasp, your chin tilting up involuntarily as his face dropped into the hollow of your neck. his breath was hot, fast, and smelling of coffee, fanning across your sensitive skin and making a violent shiver tear through your entire frame.
"tell me to go to row c." he whispered fiercely against your skin, his lips brushing the column of your throat as he spoke, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make your knees go weak. "say you don't want this, and i'll walk away. i'm giving you the choice."
your fingers twitched against his shoulders, your nails digging deep into the thick fabric of his sweater. you wanted to push him away. you wanted to save yourself from the inevitable wreckage that was coming. but the physical reality of him — the weight of his body, the desperate sound of his breathing — was a hunger you had been suppressing for so much time.
"i hate you." you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his forehead lean heavily against yours, his dark hair brushing your brow.
"i know." jake rasped, his hand finally leaving the metal shelf to wrap his cold fingers tightly around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. "i know."
for a fraction of a second, nobody moved. the space between your lips was a vacuum, thick with the smell of damp wool and the metallic hum of the archive basement. his dark eyes searched yours, wide and bloodshot, looking for a single reason to stop — a slight pull of your chin, a tensing of your spine, anything. but you didn't move, you couldn't. the lie had run its course, and the devastating weight of it seemed to leave both of you suspended in mid air. your thumb twitched against the knit of his sweater, a subconscious permission that he caught instantly.
the shift was sudden and terrifying. the fragile safety of the quiet room fractured down the middle as jake’s grip on your neck tightened, his control completely evaporating into the cold air.
the kiss was violent. it wasn't gentle, it wasn't a soft reconciliation. instead, it was an angry collision of two people who had been starving in the dark for years.
he shoved you backward, your hips hitting the edge of the cabinet hard as he crowded his entire weight into you, caging you between his body and the metal. his hands ripped themselves from yours, one flying to the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling fiercely into your hair to tilt your head back, while his other hand gripped your waist so tightly it would leave bruises by morning.
you moaned into his mouth, a desperate sound, your hands flying up to tear at the front of his sweater. you needed the barrier gone. you needed to feel the heat of his skin against yours to prove he was real, that this wasn't another cruel dream your brain had manufactured in the quiet hours of the night.
"y/n." he groaned against your lips, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, tasting of bitter coffee and pure desperation. he kissed you harder, deeper, devouring you until your knees buckled beneath you, his heavy thigh instantly slotting between yours to hold you up against the shelves.
the friction was agonizingly perfect. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down, arching your back into his heavy frame as his mouth left yours, tearing down the column of your throat. he bit sharply at the junction of your neck and shoulder, making you gasp, your fingers digging deep into the muscles of his back.
"i hate you so much, jake." you cried out, your head tossing back against the metal shelves as his hands moved down, aggressively bunching up the fabric of your skirt.
"hate me all you want, please.” he rasped, his breath burning against your collarbone as he ripped open the first three buttons of your shirt, his chest heaving. he looked up at you, his dark eyes entirely unhinged, wild with a desperate hunger that made your stomach clench pleasantly.
he didn't give you a single second to catch your breath. his mouth crashed back onto yours again, messier this time, open and wet and completely frantic. his large hand slid higher up your thigh, his rough fingers finally slipping past the hem of your skirt and finding bare skin. the sudden contrast of his burning touch against the freezing basement air made a high noise tear out of your throat, a sound he swallowed instantly with his mouth.
you finally got your hands under his sweater, your palms flattening against the rapid rise and fall of his bare chest. his skin was scorching hot, his heart hammering a violent rhythm against your fingertips. he wasn't calm. the meticulous, controlled data analyst was completely gone, completely destroyed, replaced by a man who was shaking just as badly as you were.
"jake." you whimpered, your nails lightly dragging down the center of his chest, exploring the heavy muscle there.
he shuddered violently at the contact, a guttural groan vibrating deep in his throat. his heavy thigh pressed harder between yours, applying a blunt pressure right where you were aching the most, forcing your hips to completely tilt up into his. you dug your heels into the dusty floor to keep from sliding down the cabinet, entirely at his mercy.
"four years." he breathed heavily against your lips, his voice a ruined scrape as his thumb traced the edge of your underwear, dragging slowly over the fabric to feel the damp heat of you beneath it. "four fucking years of pretending i didn't know exactly what this felt like. have you thought about it, huh? about how well you took me in your mouth in that classroom? mmh?"
you gasped, arching off the cold metal so forcefully your spine bowed. his fingers were slightly clumsy with sheer desperation, completely wrecking whatever fragile composure you had left. you tangled your fingers into his messy hair, pulling him closer, holding his mouth to yours like it was the only oxygen left in the room.
"don't think." you begged, tears of overwhelming relief and frustration suddenly stinging the corners of your eyes, blurring the harsh fluorescent light above. "just don't think about it, jake. please don't stop."
"i couldn't stop if i tried, y/n. i’m completely sick with you." he confessed, kissing the salt of a tear off your cheek before trailing bruising kisses down your jawline.
he shifted his grip suddenly, his strong hands grabbing your hips to hike you up effortlessly onto the waist high metal filing cabinet. the cold steel bit into the back of your bare thighs, a shocking contrast to the suffocating heat of his body as he stepped directly between your parted knees.
he caged you in perfectly, his broad chest pressing flush against yours, his hands moving frantically over your body like he was trying to memorize you all over again. he pushed your shirt off your shoulders, letting it pool uselessly around your elbows, his lips finding the exposed skin of your collarbone. he sucked hard, his teeth scraping against the sensitive column of your throat, deliberately leaving a dark mark that he knew you would have to hide under high necked sweaters for a week.
it was territorial, it was entirely unprofessional, and it made you completely lose your mind. you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, crossing your ankles behind his back to anchor him to you, pulling his hips flush against yours. you ground down against the thick denim of his jeans, chasing the friction, chasing the physical weight of him until you were both just shaking, breathing the same dusty air, actively choosing to ruin each other all over again in the dark.
his hand didn’t stay on the outside of the lace for long. the frantic friction of your hips against his was driving you both to the edge of sanity, but it wasn't enough. it was nowhere near enough. jake let out a harsh curse, pulling his mouth away from yours just far enough to look at you. his chest heaved, his dark hair falling into his eyes, entirely disheveled and completely ruined.
"i need to touch you." he rasped, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly low register. "i need to see if you feel the same way you did back then."
you didn't even get a chance to gasp before his rough fingers hooked under the damp edge of your underwear, pulling the thin fabric aside and sliding directly into you. you shattered immediately. a loud cry tore from your lungs, bouncing off the heavy steel walls of the archive as your head threw back against the shelves. he was completely relentless. his long fingers pushed deep, almost too familiar with how your body worked, moving with a precise rhythm that completely short-circuited your brain.
every single coping mechanism, every boundary, every professional defence you had built over the last four years dissolved instantly under the slide of his hand.
"jake, fuck-" you sobbed, your nails biting into his broad shoulders, your legs trembling violently where they were still locked behind his back.
"shhh." he breathed, though his own voice was shaking just as badly. he leaned in, his lips pressing hot kisses to the side of your neck, his tongue tracing the frantic pulse there as his fingers stroked you faster, deeper. "i've got you. i've got you. you're so fucking wet for me, doc. you missed me this much?"
the clinical nickname was a hot twist of the knife. he was doing it on purpose, weaponizing your shared profession, deliberately blurring the lines between the sterile hospital above and the dirty reality of the basement.
"yes." you admitted, the word an unraveled plea, your hips involuntarily chasing the movement of his hand. "yes, god, i missed you. i missed you so much."
that admission snapped the very last thread holding him together as he withdrew his hand completely. the sudden loss of friction was so jarring you let out an embarrassing whine, your hips instinctively tipping forward to chase his empty hand.
"shhh, don't cry." he murmured, though his chest was heaving, his voice thick with a dark satisfaction. "what happened to my clever little psychologist?"
the sharp metallic clink of his belt buckle echoed loudly in the tight space, followed by the heavy hiss of his zipper. you reached down, desperate to help him, desperate to speed up the agonizing process, but he caught both of your wrists in one large hand, pinning them firmly against the cold metal cabinet above your head.
"y/n." he breathed, stepping into the space you had just created, pressing the blunt heat of him directly against your entrance. "you've been running the show all week. you wouldn't even look at me in the elevator on monday."
he rolled his hips forward just a fraction — not enough to go inside, just enough to drag right over your most sensitive spot. you choked on a gasp, your spine bowing entirely off the metal.
"is this what you were thinking about when you were giving me those polite little nods, doc?" he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, his breath hot and completely ragged. "while you were sitting in your office, playing the perfect professional... were you thinking about how easily i can tear you apart?"
"jake, please-" you begged, the words tumbling out of your mouth without a single thought for pride or preservation. you tried to pull your wrists free, your legs tightening around his narrow waist as you tried to force him deep inside you, but his grip was iron clad. he wasn't going to make this easy. he was going to make you pay for every single day of silence.
"please what?" he taunted, though his own restraint was clearly killing him, a heavy muscle jumping frantically in his sharp jaw. he dragged against you again, a slow friction that made black spots dance in your vision. you let out a broken sob, your nails digging into your own palms where he held them pinned. "use your clinical vocabulary, y/n. tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"fuck you." you cried out, tears of sheer frustration spilling over your lashes, mixing with the sweat on your skin.
"i'm about to." he promised, his voice dropping into a low growl that vibrated straight through your chest. "but you're going to ask for it first. you're going to admit that you're just as obsessed with me as i am with you."
he released your wrists, but only so his hands could drop to your waist, his long fingers digging into your hips to hold you completely still. he rocked against you once more, entirely deliberately, making sure you felt exactly how thick and ready his cock was, how close you were to having what you had been starving for.
"say it." he demanded, his dark eyes burning into yours, completely unhinged in the dim basement light. "you owe me this. say it."
"i'm obsessed with you." you sobbed, your hands flying down to grip his shoulders, your fingernails biting into the thick wool of his sweater. "i want you, jake. i want you so fucking much, please, just put it in. please."
he let out a ragged, tearing sound from the very bottom of his chest, completely undone by the sound of you begging.
"that’s it, my love.” he rasped, and drove his hips forward, sinking completely and devastatingly deep inside of you in one long thrust. the unexpected nickname made your cheeks flush even harder, making your face feel so hot it scared you.
the sheer fullness of his cock stretching you open was a violent shock to your system, stealing the remaining oxygen straight out of your lungs. you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your teeth his skin just to muffle the breathless sob that escaped you. jake went entirely still, his forehead dropping against yours, his upper body trembling with the sheer effort it took not to lose his mind completely. he was buried so deep it felt devastating, his heartbeat a chaotic thudding against your chest.
for a long moment, he didn't move. he just stayed deep inside you, letting your body adapt to his weight, his eyes tightly shut as he swallowed hard, trying to claw back some semblance of his usual restraint.
but you could feel the truth of him. you could feel the ragged vibration of his pulse, the way his fingers were dug so fiercely into your waist that his knuckles were white. the cool, analytical researcher was drowning, and the realization gave you an intoxicating surge of confidence through the haze of your own pleasure.
you slowly shifted your hips on the edge of the cabinet, a deliberate tight squeeze around him.
jake flinched, his entire body jerking as a strangled sound tore from his throat. his eyes snapped open, dark and completely wild, warning you to stop.
"what's the matter, jake?" you whispered, your voice a shaky tease as you leaned back just enough to look at him. your fingers trailed up his chest, your nails lightly catching on the skin of his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone. "a-are you going to cum just like this or what?”
"y/n." he warned, his voice a dangerous vibration, his hips twitching involuntarily against yours.
"y-you spent all week hiding up in your lab, pretending i didn't exist... and now you can barely even breathe just from standing inside me?” you murmured, tilting your chin up, your eyes dropping to his mouth before locking back onto his blown pupils.
an unhinged smile flickered across his lips, though his jaw remained rigid. he leaned down, his mouth brushing against yours, tasting of salt and heat. "you think you're so clever, don't you? you always have." he rasped, his hands tightening on your waist with a bruising pressure that made you gasp. "you want to test my limits? let's see how well you can keep that smart mouth running when you can't even think straight."
before you could reply, he pulled back and drove into you again, his pace suddenly turning brutal and completely unyielding. the first hard thrust knocked the wind clean out of you. the heavy metal filing cabinet groaned violently under your combined weight, a loud rattle that echoed sharply down the narrow aisle. your hands flew back to grip the cold edge of the steel behind you, your knuckles turning white as he hammered into you with a punishing rhythm that made it entirely impossible to form a coherent thought.
any trace of your smug satisfaction evaporated into a ragged sob. he wasn't teasing anymore. the dam had completely cracked, and the flood was tearing both of you apart. the friction was sudden and blistering, the thick denim of his unzipped jeans scraping against your bare thighs, a chaotic mix of freezing metal and sweat slicked skin.
"jake- ah! jake, wait." you choked out, your head slamming back against the shelf behind you as he hit you deeper, driving himself into you like he was trying to fuse his body with yours.
"no." he growled, his voice completely wrecked, his face burying into the crook of your neck. he was panting like a dying man, his teeth grazing over your collarbone, leaving wet marks as his hips slammed relentlessly against yours. "no more waiting. i'm so fucking done with the space between us."
he shifted his grip, his large hands sliding under your thighs to lift you higher off the metal, pulling you completely flush against him so he could bury himself even deeper. the sheer desperation in his movements was staggering. he was clawing at you, devouring your mouth in messy kisses that tasted of unadulterated hunger. you could feel the heavy trembling in his arms, the tight strain of his muscles as he held you up, completely consumed by the need to be closer.
you couldn't think, you couldn't analyze. your legs wrapped even tighter around his waist, your ankles locking behind his back as you began to meet him stroke for desperate stroke. you ground yourself down against him, chasing the blinding heat, your hands leaving the cabinet to tear at his hair. every impact was deep and heavy, a blunt ache that centered in your lower stomach and radiated outward until your whole body was shaking.
"look at me." he commanded, his voice a broken rasp. he pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes glassy with sweat and pure yearning in the dim basement light. he was staring at you like you were his only lifeline in a room that was running out of air. "look at what you do to me. tell me you feel it. tell me you're drowning too."
"i am!" you cried out, a tear finally slipping down your cheek as your hips rolled into his, meeting a brutal thrust that made your vision tilt and white out at the edges. "jake, please... i can't... i'm going to-"
"good." he choked out, a sob-like sound catching in his throat as he pushed even harder, his chest heaving violently against yours. "don't think. just take me. take all of it.”
the rhythm turned entirely chaotic, completely stripped of any calculation or restraint. every slam of his hips was a beautiful shockwave that travelled straight up your spine. he was completely unravelled now, his teeth digging into your shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a permanent mark.
"jake, jake, please." you sobbed into his ear, your fingernails tearing at the skin of his neck, drawing faint red lines. your vision was blurring into unreadable shapes, the light overhead spinning in dizzying circles. the pressure building in your lower stomach was too intense, too heavy to survive. you were right on the edge, teetering over a drop that felt miles deep.
"i'm right here. look at me, y/n. don't close your eyes." he choked out, his voice dropping into a feral whisper. his long fingers dug so hard into your thighs that they left deep marks in your flesh.
you forced your lids open, looking into the fractured expanse of his eyes. he looked entirely unhinged, wild with a desperate hunger that was terrifyingly beautiful. he was watching you go under, tracking every twitch of your face, every ragged intake of your breath.
"jake-" you didn't even finish the sentence. your walls spasmed, tightening around him in a sudden wave of contractions that ripped a shattered scream from your throat. you buried your face in his neck, your teeth sinking into his shoulder as your entire body went completely rigid, formatting itself around the blinding ecstasy of the release.
the absolute fullness of him inside you during those few seconds was staggering, a sharp crest that made your brain go entirely quiet. that crushing squeeze was the final blow to his threadbare restraint. jake let out a guttural roar that vibrated deep inside your chest. he drove into you three more times — hard, deep, completely blind with his own release — before his entire body locked up.
he threw his head back, his jaw clenching so violently the cords in his neck stood out, and poured himself into you with a desperate shudder that seemed to go on forever.
for a long time, the only sound in the archive basement was the overlapping noise of your breathing. jake didn't pull away. he collapsed forward, burying his face in your messy hair, his broad chest heaving against yours as his weight pinned you flat against the metal cabinet. his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to pull you inside his own ribs.
your legs were still locked around his waist, trembling with exhaustion, your skin slick with a mixture of sweat and the freezing air of the vault.
"don't move." he whispered against your ear, his voice a completely ruined baritone. his fingers flexed against your back, his touch suddenly incredibly tender compared to the violence from moments before. "just stay right here. don't run yet."
the steady drip of adrenaline suddenly began to fade, and the reality of the room crashed back in with excruciating clarity. the biting chill of the basement air hit your exposed skin, making a sudden shiver rack your entire frame. the silence in the vault was deafening now, suddenly being acutely aware of everything.
how loud your own chest was heaving. how his skin felt slick and hot against your palms. the absolute wreck of your clothes — your skirt bunched up around your waist, your shirt hanging open with the top buttons missing. your face burned with a sharp spike of self-consciousness that made your stomach do a nervous flip. your eyes darted down, landing on his shoulder where your teeth had left an angry red mark, and a wave of panic hit you.
what did we just do?
you shifted your weight awkwardly on the hard edge of the filing cabinet, your ankles slowly unlinking from behind his waist. your hands, which had been buried in his hair, dropped down to press weakly against his chest, trying to create an inch of space.
"jake." you breathed, your voice sounding small, raspy, and entirely too bare in the quiet aisle. "the... the files. vance is waiting for the intake data. we've been down here too long."
he didn't budge. if anything, he sank a fraction heavier against you, his hips remaining perfectly locked against yours, keeping you pinned to the cold metal. he slowly lifted his head from your neck, his dark hair completely disheveled, his eyes searching your face. they were still dark, his pupils wide, but the feral wildness had settled into a hyper-focused intensity.
"let him wait." jake murmured, his voice a low scrape.
you tried to look past his shoulder, anywhere but at his face, your fingers nervously twitching against his chest. "no, seriously. the digital network is down, they're drowning upstairs with the storm cases. if someone comes down here looking for us-"
"y/n."
the quiet command in his voice cut straight through your panicked rambling. his large hand left your waist, his long fingers reaching up to catch your chin, gently but firmly tilting your face back up until you had no choice but to look at him. his thumb pressed against your lower lip, tracing the swollen skin.
"stop that.” he said softly.
"stop what?" you asked, trying to force your voice into a defensive tone, but it came out as a breathless whisper.
"the retreating." he whispered, his thumb dragging slowly down to your jawline. "i can feel your brain working from here. you're already calculating the damage, trying to find a neat little box to put this in so you can pretend it was an isolated incident. you're looking for the exit."
your throat felt tight, the accuracy of his words making you ache. you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, not to pull his hand away, but just to hold onto something steady because your knees still felt like water. "it's a hospital basement, jake. we're colleagues. this... this is a massive hr violation, for one thing, and it's completely-"
"don't do that." he interrupted, leaning down until his forehead rested heavily against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips. "don't lie to me. not after that. you held onto me like you were dying. y-you told me you wanted this. you don't get to go back to polite elevator nods, y/n. i won't let you do it to me again."
"i'm just trying to be realistic." you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut because having him this close, even after everything, was still making your chest swell with a terrifying amount of yearning. "this changes everything up there. it complicates everything."
"good." jake rasped, his lips brushing against yours slowly. he didn't pull away, he stayed right there, anchoring you to the reality of what had just happened. "let it change. i want it to. i've spent four years losing my mind. i'm not letting you run away this time."
the generators hummed somewhere beyond the thick concrete walls, a steady vibration filling the silence between your mouths. for four years, you had replayed the wreckage a thousand different ways in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he apologized. sometimes you did. sometimes it was loud and explosive, a replication of the fights and the bickering that used to leave you both hollowed out and bleeding in that college library.
never, not once, had you imagined this.
your eyes searched his face, tracking the faint twitch in his jaw, the damp strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. he looked completely exhausted. not just from the late shift or the winter storm, but with the structural fatigue of someone who had been carrying a weight so heavy for so long that he had forgotten how to stand upright without it.
and suddenly, the sterile basement walls dissolved, and all you could see was the university library. the fourth floor windows glowing long after midnight. the half-finished coffees growing cold between stacks of behavioral data prints. the almost mechanical way he used to ask if you had eaten because he knew your blood sugar crashed when you were anxious. the ridiculous arguments over predictive models that were always just a thinly veiled excuse to keep talking to each other.
the classroom. the freezing rain. the boy who had looked at you as though decoding your mind was the only thing that could ever salvage his own.
he had been there the entire time. buried beneath months of sterile protocol and polite nods.
"i'm so tired." you admitted, the confession so quiet it barely disturbed the heavy air between you.
jake’s expression softened, the clinical armor he wore upstairs completely melting away. "i know."
"no." your voice cracked, a raw edge of tears catching in your throat. "i'm tired of fighting you, jake. i'm tired of pretending you're just a name on a shift report."
his eyes closed for a brief second, his long eyelashes casting dark shadows over his cheekbones. when they opened again, they looked unbearably young. stripped of the professional detachment, they looked exactly like they had four years earlier, right before everything went up in flames.
"i'm tired too." he whispered.
the truth of it settled between your bodies with an astonishing gentleness. it wasn't dramatic. it wasn't a breakthrough. it was just a mutual surrender to the exhaustion of running from the same ghost.
you let out a shaky laugh, brushing the heel of your hand beneath your eyes to catch a stray tear before it could drop. "look at us."
he frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in that familiar, analytical way. "what?"
"we're clinical psychologists and behavioral researchers." you murmured, another ironic laugh escaping you. "we literally spend our entire lives studying human behavior, and somehow we've managed to spend years acting like complete idiots."
for a heartbeat, he simply stared at you, his thumb still resting against the curve of your hip. then, the corner of his mouth twitched.
and he laughed. really laughed. it wasn't the polite, polished sound he gave the department heads. it was that quiet chuckle that used to echo through the empty library stacks whenever you managed to prove one of his statistical algorithms wrong.
your chest tightened so sharply it felt like a physical ache.
"there you are." you whispered before your brain could filter the thought.
his smile faded, his dark irises locking onto yours with an intense gravity. "...what?"
"you." you said softly.
he didn't answer, he didn't have to. because for the first time since leaving, you weren't looking at the brilliant data analyst the hospital prided itself on. you were looking at jake. just jake. the boy who was just as terrified of his own depth as you were. and somehow, seeing him clearly after so much time hurt even worse than the silence.
somewhere outside the heavy vault door, the distant sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by the faint chime of the staff elevator. both of you instinctively glanced toward the aisle entrance.
reality was waiting upstairs. patients who needed evaluations. servers that needed to be brought back online. coworkers, morning rounds. the structured, clinical life you had both built to keep yourselves safe from one another.
"we should probably find those files." you murmured, though your hands didn't move from his sweater.
jake nodded, his chest rising and falling against yours in one last sigh. "yeah. vance is going to come down here himself if we take any longer."
neither of you moved. you stayed locked together in the narrow space, your bare thighs still cooling against the metal cabinet, the heat of the encounter lingering in the cold air like smoke.
then, after a long silence, he slowly reached down. his large hand slid over yours, his long fingers carefully intertwining with your own. it wasn't possessive. it wasn't the desperate, bruising grip from before. it was tentative. a lingering question you both should have had the courage to ask four years ago.
you looked down at your joined hands, the contrast of his pale skin against yours, before looking back up into his eyes.
but this time, you didn't pull away.
the end ⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
extra !
the next morning, the winter storm had cleared, leaving the hospital windows framing a blindingly white city. the central servers were back online, the basement archives were locked up, and the frantic chaos of the night shift had settled into the quiet hum of a friday morning.
you were standing at the nurse’s station on the psychiatric floor, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee and staring blankly at a patient chart. you were wearing a high necked black sweater — a very deliberate choice — and your body still ached with a deep exhaustion that felt incredibly sweet.
"you look like you got hit by a snowplow." lily said, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you. she was currently holding a clipboard with a stack of new intake forms while looking at your face intensely. "did you even sleep?"
"barely." you murmured, keeping your eyes on the chart. "the emergency intake was a mess until the network came back up."
"tell me about it. the doctors were breathing down everyone's neck." lily sighed, flipping through her papers. "speaking of last night, did you ever find that baseline evaluation for bed four? vance said he sent you down to the archives, and then he sent jake down to help you, and then-"
the double doors to the wing hissed open.
both of you looked up. jake was walking down the corridor, his lab coat back on, unbuttoned and fluttering slightly as he moved with his usual long strides. he had a tablet in one hand, his eyes scanning a spreadsheet of behavioral data metrics. he looked as sharp and analytical as ever, but his hair was slightly damp from a rushed morning shower, and his jaw wasn't clenched for once.
lily didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. she just kept talking. "anyway, vance said you both took forever, so i assumed the filing system down there was a disaster-"
as jake drew level with the nurse's station, he didn't stop. he didn't even slow down. but as he passed you, his left hand dropped slightly.
his long fingers brushed against yours where your hand was resting on the counter. it wasn't a casual slip. his index finger hooked tightly around yours for a fleeting second, his warm thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles in a private squeeze before he let go.
he didn't look at you, his eyes never leaving his tablet. he just kept walking toward the administration offices, his expression completely blank, a perfect picture of professional detachment.
but you froze. your breath hitched in your throat, and a sudden, uncontrollable flush crawled up your neck, burning hot against the fabric of your sweater. you quickly took a sip of your coffee to hide it, your heart doing a happy flip against your ribs.
lily’s voice abruptly cut off.
you blinked, keeping your eyes glued to the patient file, desperately trying to look natural. "what? you were saying about the filing system?"
silence.
slowly, you turned your head. lily wasn't looking at her clipboard anymore. she was staring down at your hand on the counter, then staring down the hallway at jake’s retreating back, and then very slowly turning her gaze back to your face. her jaw was slightly slack, her eyes wide with a mix of absolute shock and frantic mental math.
lily had been a triage nurse on the psychiatric floor for years, which meant she possessed a near supernatural ability to read a room in under two seconds. she could spot a patient’s subtle shift in agitation, a doctor’s hidden hangover, or a brewing crisis before anyone else even noticed.
and right now, all that clinical intuition had just locked onto you.
she didn't need a degree in psychology to do the math. the puzzle pieces she had been casually collecting for months suddenly snapped together with an audible click.
the polite elevator nods. the way you always volunteered to go to the upper floors when jake wasn't there. the way jake’s posture went completely rigid whenever your name was mentioned in staff meetings. the sudden appearance of your high-necked sweater on a friday morning.
"oh my god." lily whispered, her voice dropping to a scandalized hiss.
"lily, don't." you pleaded quietly, your face burning even hotter as you shoved the patient chart shut.
"the university library." she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she leaned in so close your foreheads almost touched. "the “toxic situationship” from grad school who you said “moved across the country”? the data analyst?! jake?!"
"keep your voice down!" you hissed, looking around frantically, but the nearby nurses were occupied with a medication cart.
"you two have been playing matching coat cold war for months in this hospital, right?" lily muttered, her brain completely short-circuiting with joy. she looked down the hallway again, where jake was just disappearing into vance's office. "he just touched your hand. he didn't even look at you! that was the most calculated, romantic, deeply unhinged thing i have ever seen a researcher do."
"it wasn't calculated." you mumbled, a helpless smile finally breaking through your defensive exterior.
lily pointed a finger at you, her eyes gleaming with absolute victory. "you're smiling. you're glowing. y/n, you went into the basement for files and came back with a boyfriend. i am analyzing this entire situation and concluding that you are a complete idiot for waiting so much time.”
"we're figuring it out." you whispered, your fingers subconsciously tracing the spot on your knuckles where his thumb had just been. "we're... trying to be careful."
lily let out a happy hum, tapping her clipboard against her chin as she looked at you with pure affection. "well, the data doesn't lie, doc. you're a goner. now, tell me everything before daniel comes back out."
