*ËÍÍ â¤ đđđđđđđ đđđđ âŻâŻ đđ : đ.đđ ę° oral (fem received), p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, semi-public, risk of being caught, dirty talk/praises, light spanking, possessive behavior, dom! jungwon, quickie, engaged couple ęą
The constant murmur of the water fountains set the rhythm of a morning that seemed to have begun far too early for you. Between the endless list of dresses tried on, your motherâs insistence on every seam, and the enthusiastic comments from Jungwonâs mother as they walked through the cityâs most exclusive boutiques, you had barely had a second to take in the day. The staff of the Yang residence followed them at a discreet distance, elegantly carrying the parade of bags that testified to the efficiency and excess of the outing, before crossing the glass doors that opened onto the vast rear garden of the property.
Upon stepping outside, the warmth of the afternoon was softened by the impeccable shade of the main porch. The table, dressed in linen and porcelain beneath the pergola, already gathered the three men of the family, who interrupted their conversation the moment the soft clink of the china announced the arrival of the women.
Jungwon did not wait for the servants to step forward. His gaze found you instantly among the group, cut with that natural elegance he had commanded since childhood, dressed in the measured comfort of high society. He rose with a fluid motion and pulled out the chair beside his own, extending a hand toward you in an open invitation to take the place reserved at his side.
âAt least I can rest easy knowing my daughter is in the hands of a true gentleman, someone who will know how to take care of her as she deserves,â your father commented, directing a satisfied smile at Mr. Yang as he observed the scene from the opposite end of the table.
Jungwon did not lose his composure for even a fraction of a second. He kept his attention firmly on you, yet answered toward Mr. Kwon with that nuance of respectful charisma he handled to perfection, charming the elders without ever sounding arrogant.
âOf that you need not have the slightest doubt. I will make certain to treat your daughter as the exceptional woman she is, today and always,â he assured them in a serene voice with a thoroughly mature inflection.
While he spoke those words with impeccable social sobriety, you began settling into the chair. Then he leaned in to adjust it with soft precision, and without rushing, took the cloth napkin, unfolded it, and placed it carefully over your lap. His fingers brushed the fabric of your dress before he took your hand with delicacy, raising it to the height of his face to press a firm, lingering kiss upon your knuckles.
âI missed you all morning,â he whispered very close to your ear, in a tone so low and rough that the rest of the table could barely perceive the movement of his lips.
An instant warmth rose up your neck to your cheeks, forcing you to offer a discreet smile. Though Jungwonâs constant attention had never been foreign to youâsince the complicity you shared had been taking shape long before their surnames signed an official engagement, the transition to being betrothed had given a different weight to every interaction. You knew well that this attentive, gentlemanly facade that dazzled both sets of parents was nothing more than the deceptive cover of a book whose more intense, and frankly less proper, chapters were read only by the two of you when no intrusive gazes were present.
In any case, lunch unfolded pleasantly, amid the subtle clink of cutlery against porcelain and a fluid conversation, punctuated by the complacent laughter of both families. Preparations for the engagement occupied the center of the table, until your mother brought up the eveningâs gathering: a prenuptial reception that the Yang family would host at the residence to officially present the union before their closest circle. Mr. Yang was quick to nod with satisfaction, underscoring the importance of formally introducing the two of you to strategic partners and investors whose influence, sooner or later, would be at the disposal of both of you as future heirs.
âDo you have your suit ready for tonight? I donât want to see you rushing at the last minute, Yang Jungwon,â his mother interjected, turning an inquisitive look toward him.
Jungwon finished savoring a final cut of his juicy steak, chewed with deliberation, then set his utensils on the plate before answering with the impeccable composure that characterized him.
âIâve been overseeing a couple of matters with Father and Mr. Kwon since this morning, so I forgot to stop by the tailorâs. But Iâll go pick it up in a moment, there wonât be any delay, I promise,â he admitted, offering his mother a reassuring smile, and then turned in your direction.
âI can go with you if youâd like,â you offered at once, seeking his gaze naturally. Jungwon watched you for a second, and a spark of mischief crossed his dark eyes before he gently shook his head.
âThe idea tempts me, because nothing is better than your company, love. But Iâd rather build anticipation,â he replied, keeping a tone steeped in affection as genuine as it was calculated. âI want to surprise you tonight, just as I know youâre going to leave me breathless when I see you in whatever youâve chosen.â
Behind the courtesy of his words, the nuance in his voice transmitted a clear and implicit message: âIt isnât wise for us to be alone just yet.â You knew perfectly well what he meant; proximity without witnesses would only complicate the restraint both of you were trying to maintain, and which already hurt so much. You smiled with complicity and slid your hand across the table to brush against his.
âAll right, Iâll wait. Though I can already imagine how handsome youâll look, babe,â you accepted with simulated docility, and he curved his lips into a faint smile. A gesture of discreet approval.
Taking advantage of the fold of the tablecloth that hid the lower half of the table, he slid his other hand beneath it. Without any of those present suspecting a thing, his fingers pressed firmly against your thigh, ascending dangerously close to that place which family etiquette had forbidden him to desire before the marriage certificate was signed. The contrast between the coldness of protocol and the heat of his grip made you hold your breath for an instant. In the eyes of your parents and his, it was nothing more than a tender exchange between two young people in love and destined to be together.
Ah⌠if only someone knewâŚ
But anyway. The afternoon dissolved into a whirlwind of impeccably coordinated activity. The residence staff came and went adjusting the floral arrangements, verifying the garden lighting, and polishing every corner of the mansion. In the room that had been assigned to you (yes, they had granted you an individual space, arranged under the strict premise of avoiding âtemptationsâ prior to the wedding), the styling team hired by your mother-in-law put the final touches on your hair and makeup.
When at last you were alone, you studied yourself in the mirror. The pearl-white satin dress fell with exquisite fluidity over your figure, secured at the neck and leaving exposed a pronounced back neckline that supplied the exact dose of elegance and sensuality. It was not a revealing design, yet you were absolutely certain it would steal every gaze⌠and, above all, shatter Jungwonâs self-control. You finished the look by fastening your heels and applying to your wrists and neck a few drops of the perfume he had given you the night they became engaged.
With the scent still fresh on your skin, you stepped into the hallway and walked directly toward your fiancĂŠâs room.
Inside the chamber, the silence was broken only by the soft tick of the watch Jungwon was finishing adjusting on his left wrist. In front of the full-length mirror, his figure was far from the polish he displayed before the adults: the white shirt remained unbuttoned, leaving visible the firm, defined contour of his chest and abdomen; the black silk tie hung untied over his shoulders, and the dark slacks rested unfastened at the hips, hinting at the elastic of his boxers and the descending line of his member beneath the fabric.
A couple of soft knocks on the wood broke his concentration.
âCome in, itâs open,â he indicated without fully turning, assuming it was one of the household attendants. Yet when your figure reflected in the glass, the air caught abruptly in his throat. He went completely still.
The sight of you crossing the threshold, wrapped in the pearly fall of satin that molded your waist and exposed the clean curve of your shoulders, erased at once any executive or familial thought he might have had. You looked simply divine, like a vision conceived solely to disarm him.
And as if that were not enough, he noticed at once the faint blush that tinged your cheeks upon finding him half-dressed, and that reaction of yours was the final trigger. Forgetting the tie, the watch, and any trace of the prudence he had so firmly preached during lunch, he turned completely and closed the distance between you with firm, inevitable steps.
âMy GodâŚâ he murmured in a husky voice, stopping mere centimeters from you while his eyes traveled over every detail of your face before descending along the neckline of the dress as you turned to show him every detail. âDo you have any idea how beautiful you look? Are you aware that youâre going to drive me insane before the night even begins?â
A soft laugh rose from your throat, a low and melodious sound that resonated in the intimacy of the room with open coquetry, without the slightest trace of regret.
âOh, believe me, I know perfectly well. Iâm not unaware of my own actions and decisions,â you answered with a challenging nuance in your voice, finishing the turn. Then you closed the remaining gap until you stood a breath from his chest.
Your gaze descended without any modesty, traveling slowly over the anatomy you knew by heart: the toned firmness of his torso, the subtle relief of his pectorals, and the defined line of his abdomen that dipped toward his hips, partially hidden by the edge of his underwear and the unbuttoned waistband of his trousers. Nor did you overlook the evident reaction of his body; the accumulated tension beneath the fabric of his pants traced a firm silhouette that left nothing to the imagination.
Jungwon followed the direction of your eyes, and a dark smile, steeped in self-satisfaction, curved his lips.
âIf you keep devouring me with your eyes like that, I swear Iâm going to forget thereâs a hall full of people waiting downstairs for us to pose as the saintly couple everyone thinks we are,â he warned in a voice rough with need. Yet his actions immediately contradicted the sense of his words.
His hand circled your waist with possessive firmness and pulled you against him without ceremony, pressing your body to his so that you could feel with total clarity the devastating effect your mere presence had on him. He slid his other hand to your back, cupping his palm over the bare skin exposed by the dressâs neckline. The smoothness beneath his fingers ignited a violent impulse in his mind: the almost uncontrollable temptation to turn you, pin you against the mattress, and strip away the dress until you were naked and entirely at his mercy, collecting with interest everything he had spent hours imagining doing to you.
The atmosphere between the two of you grew so dense that the air seemed to weigh in the lungs, an electric tension that increased with every shared breath.
âI canât help it, my love. Truly⌠I canât help looking at you and wanting you this way,â you murmured almost against his lips, letting your warm breath brush him, while you brought your left hand to the nape of his neck. That was the drop that overflowed the glass.
Jungwon eliminated any remaining space and tilted his face to capture your mouth in a kiss that bore not the slightest relation to the chaste, reserved propriety both of you displayed before the public eye. It was a hungry, wet, and hot encounter, where tongues sought each other with fierce urgency, fed by the restrained longing of the day and the frustrating weight of family restrictions.
Still wrapped in the frantic rhythm of the kiss, Jungwon took your right hand and guided it firmly downward, pressing your palm directly over the rigid prominence marked in his boxers so that you would feel the magnitude of his hardness. Immediately afterward, his own hand descended to the curve of your backside, molding your cheeks over the dress with a possessive squeeze that lifted you slightly against his hip while his lips left yours to descend blindly, scattering burning kisses and sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck.
A broken moan escaped your lips, murmuring Jungwonâs name in a visceral reaction to the searing brush of his mouth and the firm contact of his hands on your body. He interrupted the path along your neck to ascend the line of your jaw, depositing short, heat-laden kisses before stopping millimeters from your mouth.
âYouâre not helping me at all to maintain the posture of a gentleman and respectful fiancĂŠâŚâ he murmured in a rough voice, his agitated breathing striking your skin. âYou really shouldnât have come in like this, sweetheart.â
You answered him with a smile as sensual as it was defiant. Far from stopping, you continued rubbing your open palm over the bulge in his boxers, exerting measured pressure on the rigid silhouette of his cock, which molded itself to your hand, savoring the almost direct stimulation you were giving him. A soft gasp escaped him at your boldness.
Without breaking the fluidity of the moment, he turned you firmly, leaving you with your back to his torso. He inclined his face to place a trail of deep kisses on the exposed skin of your spine, while both his hands advanced forward to knead your breasts over the satin. Instantly he noticed the absence of a bra when the fine fabric could not hide the way your nipples hardened under his touch. With an instinctive movement, he pressed his hips against your ass, rubbing rhythmically against you so that you would feel the weight and hardness of his member with greater insistence.
The acceleration of their breathing marked a point of no return. You knew that a few more seconds in that position would ruin any possibility of maintaining composure. So, from one second to the next, you gently freed yourself from his hold, turned around, and put a couple of steps between you, bringing your fingers to your lips to slow the pace of the scene.
âWe have to calm down now, Wonie,â you sighed, trying to regulate your own breathing. âIf we keep going at this rate, the last thing weâll do is go down to the reception. Besides⌠at any moment someone could come looking for us.â
Jungwon let out a low growl of frustration, but conceded the point reluctantly. He ran a hand over his face and proceeded to adjust his underwear and zip up his trousers, making a conscious effort to ignore the painful erection that still gripped his groin. He tucked the tails of his shirt into the waistband, buttoned the garment with a certain haste, and fastened the leather belt over his waist.
While he dressed, you took the opportunity to smooth the invisible wrinkles from your dress and carefully check your reflection in the mirror, making certain the lipstick had not smudged after the whirlwind of kisses. Once your appearance was verified, you approached him. Without a word, you stretched out your hands to adjust the collar of his shirt and took the ends of the silk tie to tie the knot with skill. Jungwon did not waste the closeness; he circled your waist with one arm, holding you pressed to his body while he watched the concentrated movement of your fingers.
A couple of dry knocks on the wood interrupted the silence, and immediately the door opened. Jungwonâs mother crossed the threshold, stopping when she saw the image of the two of you in the center of the room. Something that, at first glance and without prior context, appeared entirely innocent.
âBut what a marvel⌠You both look impeccable. Definitely, my dear son, you already have an exceptional wife at your side,â she commented with a moved smile, clasping her hands.
Jungwon did not look away from your eyes for even a second. He kept his arm firm around your waist and offered his mother a measured reply, steeped in a double meaning that only you could decipher.
âI agree, Mother. I am an extremely fortunate man,â he answered with charisma, though the curve of his lips and the inquisitive gleam in his gaze carried an openly suggestive nuance.
Mrs. Yang advanced a couple more steps into the room and took you delicately by the arm, inviting you to separate from him. âWell, dear, since youâre already ready, it would be ideal if you come downstairs with me so I can introduce you to some of the familyâs partners and friends who are arriving.â
You glanced sideways at Jungwon and then at your mother-in-law, searching for a diplomatic excuse to gain more time at his side. âActually⌠I would like to go down with Jungwon; I would feel much more comfortable. Besides, I was only helping him finish adjusting his suit,â you explained in a sweet tone, offering your best smile and praying she would swallow the excuse.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Yang clicked her tongue lightly and shook her head in a dismissive yet affectionate gesture.
âHe can finish on his own, dear. Heâs not a little boy. Come, letâs not keep the guests waiting.â Without giving room for further objections or excuses, she guided you toward the hallway, leaving Jungwon alone in the middle of the spacious room.
Silence settled once more in the place. Jungwon remained motionless, watching the open door through which you had left, before shifting his gaze to the full-length mirror. The prominent and evident bulge beneath his trousers was still exactly there, intact and unrelenting. He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair to clear the frustration.
Definitely, that was something he would have to take care of by his own means before daring to go downstairs.
On the other handâŚ
The ground floor of the enormous Yang property had been transformed into the epicenter of a majestic event, packed with guests distributed almost everywhere. Circular tables with elegantly upholstered chairs filled the indoor space, all wrapped in an impeccable dĂŠcor that fused good taste with the ostentation characteristic of their class. Consequently, the glass doors leading to the rear garden remained wide open, revealing how the exterior housed even more groups of attendees and floral arrangements that decorated the evening under the light of the garlands.
It was precisely in that outdoor area that Mrs. Yang decided to take you as if you were her most prized trophy, dragging you from one group to another and introducing you to an endless list of people. From distant relatives you had never seen in your life, through influential business partners of her husband, to old friends from high society.
At some point during that social parade, the pain in your feet began to become unbearable because of the heels. On the verge of exhaustion, you discreetly turned toward where your parents were standing, casting them a silent and urgent look that pleaded for help. However, they merely returned rehearsed expressions of encouragement and support, urging you with subtle gestures to keep smiling and interacting as protocol dictated. Sighing imperceptibly, you rolled your eyes the moment they turned their backs and, with all the diplomacy you could muster, briefly excused yourself from your mother-in-law and her circle of friends to take a breath.
Intending to rest, you headed toward the main table that had been designated exclusively for Jungwon and you. Yet the moment you took your seat and unfolded a decorative fan resting on the tablecloth to cool your face, the figure of your fiancĂŠ finally appeared among the crowd. In that same instant, his fatherâs voice resonated through the space, calling you to join Jungwon once more at the center of the scene and proceed with the long-awaited official presentation before everyone present.
Fulfilling the expectations of his lineage, Jungwon delivered a brief yet masterfully rehearsed introductory speech. He spoke with the ease and composure of someone who had spent his entire life preparing to lead, presenting himself as the legitimate heir of the Yang family and assuring, with magnetic charisma, that he would be as relentless and competent in the world of business as he would be in his romantic commitment.
Immediately afterward, he yielded the floor to you with an elegant gesture; your intervention was far more concise, presenting yourself with firmness and grace as the heir of the Kwon family, limiting your words to what was strictly necessary without losing a single ounce of sophistication.
Once the formality concluded, the two of you were finally able to return to your table. Before enjoying the seats, you first had to deal with the insistence of a professional photographer who kept demanding various shots and angles to immortalize the event, and afterward with the constant procession of guests who approached to congratulate you and exchange a few words. Tolerating the bustle surrounding you was genuinely exhausting, though at least the dinner was exquisite and you enjoyed the privilege of being the sole occupants of your table. Thanks to that, Jungwon took advantage of the intimacy of the tablecloth to rest one of his hands on your thigh, offering you silent support throughout the evening.
âWhy did you take so long to come downstairs?â you reproached him in a low voice, leaning slightly toward him while maintaining a smile for the rest of the room. âIf youâd delayed five more minutes, I swear your mother would have forced me to shake hands with the president himself, if heâs around here somewhere.â
An authentic, low, and raspy laugh escaped Jungwonâs lips at your complaint. He found it frankly amusing to hear you exaggerate the situation, though deep down he knew you werenât far from the truth, considering how extremely sociable and calculating his mother could become at events of this kind.
âIâm truly sorry for the delay, baby,â he replied, drawing close enough for his breath to caress your ear. âBelieve me, I wanted to be down here right away. However, I found myself obliged to take a good moment alone to solve the âlittle problemâ you caused and left unresolved inside my pants.â
The surprise disarmed you for an instant, your eyes widening at his boldness before a stifled giggle escaped you. âYouâre a complete pervert, Wonie~â you whispered, shaking your head, still smiling in amusement.
âIâm the pervert?â he countered immediately, arching an eyebrow with malice. âCorrect me if Iâm wrong, but you were the one who walked into my room and didnât show a single drop of shame while looking me over, much less when you touched my cock while we were kissing. You were devouring me, and now here you are, sitting so properly, pretending to be a chaste and decent ladyâŚ
He made a tactical pause, sliding his fingers a little higher up your leg before delivering the final blow.
âWhen in reality, youâre the same girl who just a couple of nights ago was moaning my name at the top of your lungs, begging me to give it to you harder while I buried myself to the hilt and pulled your hair. Not to mention how afterward you were riding me as if your life depended on it.â
The impact of his words, summoning such raw and heated images in the middle of a reception like this, flushed your cheeks scarlet in a second. Because inevitably, the familiar sensations awakened in your body, and the blood rushed through you. To make matters worse, your panties were already a mess beneath the dress, soaked since the moment you had been in his room, and only growing unbearably sticky against your most intimate place.
Completely flushed, you reacted by giving him a discreet but firm little smack on the arm in an attempt to silence him. The sudden movement did not go unnoticed, immediately capturing the attention of some nearby guests who, far from suspecting the explicit nature of the conversation, merely interpreted the touch as a charming and complicit gesture, typical of two young fiancĂŠs hopelessly in love.
As the evening progressed, glasses of champagne continued circulating amid refined conversations and a brief moment on the dance floor where the two of you shared a measured dance. However, the constant proximity and the restriction imposed by the watchful gazes of those present only fueled a voracious hunger, making restraint a practically impossible task.
Seizing a moment of collective distraction, Jungwon slipped through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew every corner of his home, staying clear of fixed stares. Moments later, he locked eyes with you and gave you a subtle gesture, a silent cue only you were equipped to interpret. Without thinking twice, you stood and made your way among the guests, sweetly excusing yourself with the pretext of heading to the powder room to retouch your makeup.
Following the invisible trail he had marked for you, you entered one of the mansionâs secondary hallways. Jungwon emerged from the shadow of a column and, with a firm nod of his head, indicated a door concealed in the wall paneling, an access clearly not intended for ordinary visitor traffic. You crossed the threshold and immediately faced him with curiosity.
âWhat is this place?â you asked in a whisper, observing the narrow, sober corridor.
âA private passageway,â Jungwon answered, offering a calm smile as he took your hand firmly to guide you through the dimness. âIt connects the ground floor directly to the upper wing.â
You climbed a series of hidden stairs with agility until you reached another small door at the end of the stretch. When he pushed it open and stepped forward, the surprise left you momentarily speechless: you had just emerged, nothing more and nothing less, into the very same individual room your mother-in-law had assigned you for the stay.
âI never would have imagined this room had an access like thisâŚâ you admitted, looking around with disbelief. Jungwon closed the hidden panel behind him and gave you a sly smile, charged with charming self-assurance.
âIt was my ace up the sleeve, my love,â he confessed, closing the distance toward you. âI planned to sneak in through here later, once the party was over and my parents were deeply asleep. That way we could make love all night long without worrying about anyoneâs restrictions or schedules.â
He turned for a second to head toward the main entrance of the bedroom, sliding the bronze latch with a dry, definitive click that sealed the isolation of the place.
âBut⌠Iâm afraid I find myself in absolute need of advancing the plan. Because frankly, I canât stand even one more second,â he continued, turning back to you with eyes darkened by desire.
Before you could articulate a response or attempt a joke, Jungwon took you by the waist and pulled you abruptly against his torso, capturing your lips in a kiss infinitely more hungry and voracious than the previous one. The impact of their bodies made the urgency contained for hours detonate without remedy.
Your hands, already restless and desperate to feel the heat of his skin, immediately sought the buttons of his shirt to undo them in haste, while his hands rose to the nape of your neck to skillfully undo the fastening that held the dress at your throat.
The satin tie gave way and the upper part of the dress fell, leaving the bare skin of your chest at the mercy of Jungwonâs hands. He did not waste a second in kneading your breasts with hungry urgency, squeezing them, brushing the nipples with his fingertips until they hardened against his palm. The contact tore a muffled sigh from you that was lost against his neck when you tilted your head to bury your lips in his skin, scattering hot, wet kisses over his accelerated pulse. Your fingers finished freeing the last buttons of his shirt, pushing it downward to strip his torso completely bare.
He interrupted the contact with your breasts only long enough to shed the shirt and toss it aside. Without the barrier of fabric, he wrapped both arms around your back and pressed you firmly against his naked torso. You felt the direct heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles tensed by excitement and, lower down, the evident hardness of his erection brushing you through the cloth. You circled his neck with your arms, continuing the trail of kisses along his jaw and neck, while his hands descended over your figure. He guided the fabric of the dress over your hips with deliberate slowness, caressing the curve of your ass as he went, until the garment finally fell to your feet, leaving you only in a pair of white lace panties.
Without breaking the current of electricity that enveloped them, he gripped your backside firmly, squeezing the flesh between his fingers, and lifted you into the air to carry you straight to the wide bed. He laid you on the mattress and positioned himself over you, touching your face with unhurried caresses while his kisses descended again toward your mouth, deeper, more demanding, his tongue brushing yours with promise.
âWe have to be quick, love. It wonât be long before they notice neither of us is in the hall and start looking for us,â he murmured against your lips, his breathing ragged yet maintaining that intense, possessive gaze. Until he made a brief pause, leaning in to delicately bite the lobe of your ear before whispering into it, his voice hoarse with desire : âThat said⌠I guarantee Iâll fuck you again later, when we no longer have commitments to fulfill or authority figures prowling the house. I wonât have to hold back then. Though I donât plan on holding back right now either.â
A playful smile curved your lips at his warning.
âAt least the promise of a second round leaves me more at ease. One is never enough,â you answered with sarcasm, running your hands over his abdomen without any modesty. And taking advantage of that closeness, you descended toward the waistband of his slacks, unbuckling the leather belt and freeing the main button.
You lowered the zipper with deliberate slowness, feeling the heat and hardness of his cock through the fabric, before beginning to slide his trousers down his hips. Yang, noticing the haste with which you were trying to undress him, let out a low chuckle and gently caught your wrists to move your hands aside.
âDonât get desperate, beautiful lady~â he teased, winking at you with malice, though the tension in his jaw betrayed how much it cost him to restrain himself.
You gave him a playful little smack on the chest in response, rolling your eyes with amused indignation. âYouâre the one who just told me we had to hurry, idiot,â you retorted, consternated, and poked him in the side with your finger.
Jungwon released a low laugh and rose so he could quickly remove his shoes. And just like that, without wasting more time, he pulled off his trousers and boxers in a single motion, discarding the last garment. He stood completely naked before your eyes: the imposing figure, the defined muscles, and his thick, hard cock, erect against his flat stomach, reaffirming without reserve the desire he felt for you. Once free of restraints, he positioned himself again on the bed, looming over your body, the tip of his member brushing the fabric of your underwear while his eyes traveled over every centimeter of you, ready to take what was his.
From one second to the next, he leaned over the mattress, shifting his body downward until he settled firmly between your open legs. With a precise movement, he hooked a finger in the edge of your lace panties and shifted them aside, exposing your wet, glistening pussy, shiny with arousal. The cool air brushed your most sensitive skin for an instant before the heat of his gaze replaced it. He let out a low growl, a mixture of possessiveness and pure delight at contemplating how your swollen, slick folds betrayed how much you wanted him and how ready you were.
Without hesitating a second, he pressed his lips against your mound in a burning, open-mouthed kiss. Immediately afterward, he unfurled his tongue to trace a warm, firm, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, carefully parting your folds. The taste of your arousal coated his tongue as he enclosed that small bundle of nerves between his lips and sucked it with skill, dragging his tongue in precise circles. The direct stimulation made your body react instantly; you moaned his name aloud, your back arching, and you tangled your fingers in his hair, instinctively lifting your hips off the mattress in search of more friction, more pressure, more of that hot tongue that was covering you entirely.
However, Jungwon interrupted the oral torture and rose onto his knees. The sheen of your wetness still glistened on his lips. He took his erect member in one hand, pumping it just a couple of times; the thick vein pulsed under his fingers and the tip already shone with a thread of precum. He used the hot, slick head to give you a couple of playful taps against your clit, rubbing it up and down, before aligning himself at your entrance. Without too many contemplations or detours, he thrust his hips forward and sank into you completely in a single deep stroke. You felt how he opened you, how every centimeter of his thick, hard cock slid pushing against your wet walls until he was fully buried, the bone of his pelvis colliding against yours.
A coordinated gasp escaped both of you. The heat of his body filling you, the intense stretch, the pulse of his length inside you. Without wasting time, he gripped your legs and raised them until they rested on his broad shoulders, achieving an angle that allowed him to penetrate you even deeper. He began thrusting without the slightest hint of gentleness; driven by need and the explicit intention of making you lose control, he drove into your body with force and constant rhythm. Every thrust was deep, wet; the obscene sound of skin against skin and of his cock entering and leaving your soaked pussy filled the room. He sought to make you completely drop the composed young-lady façade you had worn all afternoon. The intensity of his movements made your breasts bounce with every thrust, the hardened nipples trembling, a sight that finished clouding his judgment.
Even with your legs up, you moved your hands and lowered them into the gap between your thighs until you reached his defined abdomen and pelvis, caressing the tense, hot skin that collided against yours, feeling how the muscles contracted with every thrust. Jungwon lowered his gaze to your fingers and a malicious, fascinated smile curved his face.
âItâs obvious you canât keep your hands off me, is it?â he teased in a ragged voice, without slowing the strokes in the slightest. Every thrust pushed you a little farther into the mattress, the head of his cock brushing that sensitive spot inside you that made you tremble.
He noticed at once how your eyes drifted, fascinated, toward your feet resting on his shoulders and then descended over the relief of his torso, admiring the way his pectorals defined themselves more sharply from that angle, the skin glistening with sweat, the muscles tensing.
âAnd apparently⌠Neither can your eyes. Youâre a complete pervert, my love, admit it,â he added with smugness.
âShut up⌠you⌠youâre no better than I am. You were the one who corrupted me,â you managed to articulate between broken moans, deliberately tightening your walls around him, feeling how he pulsed harder inside you.
Your beloved fiancĂŠ let out a low, raspy laugh, throwing his head back for a second before delivering a particularly hard and deep thrust that tore a sharp moan from you. He filled you completely, the impact making your clit rub against the base of his cock, forcing you to dig your nails into his abdomen in an attempt to anchor yourself to the pleasure that washed through you in waves.
In response to your grip, he firmly took both of your wrists and guided your hands upward, pressing your palms directly against the hot, sweaty skin of his chest. You felt the accelerated heartbeat under your fingers, the hard muscles against your hands.
âIn that case⌠touch whatever you want, gorgeous,â he ordered in a demanding tone, locking his dark eyes on yours while maintaining the relentless rhythm of his hips. Every thrust was deeper, wetter, the sound of your bodies joining growing more and more obscene. âPut your hands wherever you please, because for this Iâm yours⌠Iâm your man and very soon your husband.â
He leaned his torso closer to your ear, letting his breath scorch against your neck while he continued fucking you hard, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, his cock striking that precise point over and over.
âGet used to it, Mrs. Yang, because this is exactly how Iâm going to have you almost every day once we move in together. Just you and me. I plan to take you on every damn surface of the house weâre going to share.â
Following his words, he tilted his face to place kisses on each of your ankles before sliding his hands along the inner sides of your legs, his fingers advancing over the sensitive, trembling skin. He spread your thighs firmly, securing his grip as he rose onto the bed, his dark gaze fixed between your legs.
âCome for me, my love,â he demanded in a rough, raspy voice dominated by desire. âI can feel how tight and hot you are, how you squeeze me every time I push in⌠I know perfectly well how close you are to falling apart.â
In an instant, he sat back on his heels and shifted your legs from his shoulders to the height of his forearms, opening you even wider to his gaze. With a firm tug, he lifted your hips above the mattress, leaving only your shoulder blades resting against the sheet. The change in angle made his thick, slick cock brush an exact, deep point inside you. The head pressed against that sensitive place with every millimeter, tearing a sharp moan of pure pleasure from your throat.
âDonât stop⌠It feels so good like this, Wonie⌠Iâm so close,â you pleaded with broken breathing, while at the same time holding your breasts in your hands, playing with them.
Responding to your plea, Jungwon brought one of his hands to the place where their bodies joined. He felt the soaked heat of your pussy, the lips that parted around his cock. With the pad of his thumb he began pressing and rubbing your swollen clit in a rapid, precise rhythm, sliding his finger in firm circles, determined to give you the orgasm first. His own ragged breathing and the tension in his thighs betrayed that he wouldnât last much longer either; the base of his cock pulsed inside you, bathed in your fluids.
That double stimulation was the final trigger. You moaned his name at the top of your lungs as the climax hit you fully. Your interior contracted furiously around his cock, the walls squeezing him in rhythmic waves, milking him, sucking him. A warm rush of your arousal soaked the base of his cock and slid down your thighs. Your entire body began to tremble under Jungwonâs grip; your legs turned to jelly, the muscles shaking uncontrollably while the spasms of orgasm swept through you from head to toe.
Yet he was not willing to give you even a second of respite. He pulled out of you abruptly with an obscene sound, then stepped down from the bed, standing at the edge of the mattress. Taking you by the ankles, he pulled you forward until you were at the very limit of the bed, your ass almost hanging off. He immediately leaned over your face to capture your lips in a desperate, hungry kiss, plunging his tongue into your mouth to drink the sighs that still escaped your chest, the salty taste of your skin mixing with his.
âIâm not finished with you yet, Mrs. Yang,â he murmured, brushing your cheek as he pulled away, his voice hoarse.
Without waiting for a response, he took you by the waist and flipped you over on the bed with almost ridiculous ease, dominating your body entirely at his will. He let out a sigh of fascination at seeing how you obeyed, ending up with your ass raised, your back pronouncedly arched, and your hands held docilely against the small of your back. Your already-used pussy was completely exposed in that position, a thread of your fluids sliding down the inner side of your thigh.
Jungwon contemplated the scene for a couple of seconds, admiring the erotic vision you gifted him: the arch of your back, the residual tremor in your thighs, the glistening of your open, soaked pussy.
âYouâre so beautifulâŚâ he praised in a deep voice, before raising his hand and delivering a firm spank to your right cheek. The dry, fleshy sound echoed through the room; the impact left a burning pink mark on your skin, the flesh trembling under his palm. âYou look so sexy like this for me.â
Without further delay, he aligned the head of his cock against your entrance. He pushed and sank into you again in a single deep stroke, opening you all at once once more. The wet, obscene sound of his cock driving fully into your soaked pussy filled the air: a fleshy, slick slap as his pelvis collided with your ass. You felt every vein, every centimeter of his thickness sliding through your still-sensitive and contracted walls, stretching you, filling you to the hilt. Holding you firmly by the hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, he resumed a hard, fast, relentless rhythm.
Every thrust was a deep blow, the sound of skin against skin and of his cock entering and leaving your soaked interior setting the pace. He was shamelessly chasing the point of no return, determined to reach his own orgasm inside you.
The constant overstimulation and the implacable rhythm of his thrusts dragged you, almost involuntarily, into coming apart again. Your entire body contracted in a second violent climax; the walls of your pussy clamped around him in tight, rhythmic waves, milking him, while a new warm rush of your arousal soaked his length. Jungwon received every spasm with a mixture of pride and absolute possessiveness, showering you with rough, explicit praise against your skin, murmuring how good you felt squeezing him, how perfect you were coming around him.
Right afterward, he finally found his own release. With one last brutal thrust, he buried himself in you to the hilt, the bone of his pelvis slamming against your ass, and held himself there. A deep, ecstatic growl left his lips as he threw his head back. You felt the first hot, thick spurt of his cum shoot into the deepest part of your interior, followed by another and another, filling you in pulses while his cock throbbed and contracted inside you. The heat of his release expanded, thick and abundant, mixing with your own fluids until you felt completely soaked and full of him.
Little by little, the intensity of their breathing began to ease. Jungwon let himself fall gently onto your back, embracing you around the waist while scattering warm, unhurried kisses along your spine, still trembling slightly from the residual of his orgasm.
âAre you okay, darling?â he asked in a voice still roughened by the effort, brushing his cheek against yours with genuine concern. âTell me I wasnât too rough⌠I know I got carried away, and considering how little time weâve had since our intimate life started in secret, I wouldnât want to hurt you.â
An exhausted yet deeply satisfied smile curved your face. You could still feel his hot, thick cum inside you, an intimate, viscous reminder of what you had just done.
âIâm perfect, you donât have to worry,â you answered softly, turning your face a little to seek his lips and leave him a short kiss. âIn fact, this was the best thing in the world. And if itâs like this now, I can already imagine everything weâll do once we have no rush and no fear of being caughtâ
Jungwon smiled against your skin, pulling you a little tighter against his chest.
âI love you,â he murmured with a sincere sweetness that contrasted with the savagery of moments ago. âI promise you that later, when weâre alone, Iâll take all the time in the world to be better, go slower, and spoil you the way you truly deserve.â
âAnd I love you, Wonie. I really love you so much,â you whispered, feeling your heart melt a little more for him.
He began to slide out of you with infinite care. His cock, still semi-hard and glistening with the mixture of both of you, withdrew with a soft, wet sound; as it did, a thick thread of his cum immediately slipped from your entrance, warm and viscous, sliding down the inner side of your thigh. He was ready to curl up beside you even if only for a couple of minutes. However, reality did not take long to assert itself.
A few dry knocks suddenly resonated against the main door of the bedroom, making both of you tense instantly, freezing in place. The alarm was total when, from the other side of the hallway, a single call was heard.
âDaughter, are you in there?â asked the unmistakable voice of your mother, sounding clearly through the wood.
They stared at each other for a second of absolute panic, eyes wide. Neither of them made a single sound. When she received no immediate reply, your mother did not call again; instead, a metallic noise froze them completely. The doorknob began to turn and was rattled up and down, being forced from the outside in a silent but insistent attempt to enter the room.
Moving on pure survival instinct, both of you rose from the mattress in all haste. Jungwon gathered his scattered clothes from the floor in record time and, buttoning his shirt halfway and with his shoes in hand, cast you one last warning look before disappearing into the dimness of the secret passageway through which you had arrived.
For your part, you slipped back into the satin dress with agile, trembling hands. It was only then, while readjusting the straps at the neck to return them to their perfect place and finally answer.
âYes, Mom, Iâm here!â you exclaimed, raising your voice enough for her to hear, trying to make your tone sound as casual and calm as possible. âIâm coming out now, I had to use the bathroom in this room because the ones downstairs were all occupied, and I took the chance to do a quick touch-up as well.â
In front of the mirror, your hands worked with millimeter precision while you spoke. You reapplied lipstick to cover any trace of the hungry kisses, wiped with a tissue the small spots where sweat and makeup had mixed, and arranged a couple of rebellious strands that had come loose from your hairstyle. Every movement made you aware of the cum that continued to slowly slip inside you, a secret, obscene reminder of what you had just shared. Once you looked as impeccable as at the start of the night, you walked with forcibly steady steps and unlocked the latch.
When you opened the door, your mother looked you up and down. Fortunately, she seemed to suspect absolutely nothing of what had just occurred mere meters from her.
âWell, hurry up, sweetheart. We need you downstairs right away,â she urged, taking you by the arm with a certain impatience to pull you out of the room. âTheyâre about to make the final toast in your honor and, to top it all off, we canât find Jungwon anywhere.â
You chose not to make any comment regarding your fiancĂŠâs whereabouts. The residual heat between your legs and the thick wetness soaking your underwear were secrets only the two of you shared.
âThen letâs hurry, we shouldnât keep the guests waiting,â you answered naturally, offering a rehearsed smile. You took your motherâs arm and accompanied her downstairs.
Upon reaching the ground floor and advancing toward the open glass doors that led to the garden, Jungwonâs figure emerged in an extremely timely manner from the hallway that connected to the passageway. He looked neat and perfectly put together, as if nothing had happened.
Feigning impeccable surprise upon locking eyes with him, you went straight to meet him. Under the pretext of an affectionate greeting and the relief of having found him, you approached to very discreetly adjust the collar of his shirt and align the knot of his tie. Jungwon caught the hint immediately; he circled your waist with a strategic embrace to disguise the closeness, pressing his forehead to yours.
âIâve been looking for you everywhere, baby. I was starting to believe youâd abandoned me to my fate,â he murmured in a tone loud enough to convince those present, though the sly smile on his lips was only for you.
Your mother, seeing them reunited, hurried them with a gesture of her hands, indicating that they should go out into the garden once and for all.
They were escorted to their special table, where the glasses filled with champagne already awaited them. The final toast proceeded under the warm lighting of the night, with all the guests raising their glasses in blessing for the prosperity and success of the future marriage. Both of you acted with the naturalness and grace expected of you, thanking them with courteous bows.
Yet in the eyes of the guests, you were the perfect picture of high society: two graceful, well-bred heirs destined to be together. But while you raised your glasses and the applause resonated around you, a shared glance over the rim of the crystal and a faint smile held the only truth that mattered to you: the certainty that this engagement was not a cage, but the perfect excuse to belong completely to each other, tonight and for the rest of your lives.
âšââĄâ After a late night at a party, you return to the penthouse carrying the lingering scent of champagne and unfamiliar company, igniting Jungwon's jealousy. What begins as a tense argument quickly spirals into a fight of stubbornness and possessiveness until, in one impulsive moment, he throws you over his shoulder, determined to remind you exactly who you belong to.
The penthouse was dark except for the soft amber glow from the city bleeding through the floor to ceiling windows. Seoul glittered far below like it was still celebrating without me. My heels clicked once on the marble before I kicked them off, the sound too loud in the silence. My dress⌠short, black, backless⌠was wrinkled from dancing, from bodies pressing too close in the heat of the club. My lipstick was smudged. My hair smelled like expensive perfume that wasnât mine and the faint chemical sweetness of whatever had been floating through the air in that velvet draped room full of black and gold balloons and bass that never stopped.
House of balloons. Thatâs what the invitation had called it. Balloons drifting against the ceiling like they were trying to escape, champagne that never stopped pouring, bodies moving like they were trying to forget the week. Iâd told Jungwon I was just going for a few hours. That was six hours ago.
He was on the couch.
Not sitting. Waiting. Hoodie off, black shirt stretched across his shoulders, elbows on his knees, phone face down on the glass table. The second the elevator doors opened, he looked up, and the quiet in his eyes was the kind that made the air feel heavier.
I dropped my bag by the door and tried for a smile. âHey. Youâre still up.â
âYouâre late.â His voice was low. Controlled. The kind of controlled that meant he was holding something sharp behind his teeth.
I walked closer, the soft pad of my bare feet on the cool floor. âThe party ran long. You know how those things are. Everyone wasââ
âI know how those things are.â He stood. Slow. âI saw the stories.â
My stomach dipped. Of course he had. Someone always posted. Blurry videos of the dance floor, gold balloons catching the light, my laugh caught mid song while some guyâs hand rested too low on my waist. I hadnât even noticed at the time. Or maybe I had and just didnât care enough to move it.
âIt was nothing,â I said, softer now. âI barely even talked to him.â
Jungwonâs jaw flexed. He stepped into my space until I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. He was close enough that I could smell the clean scent of his skin under the faint trace of the cologne Iâd bought him. Close enough that the heat of him made the air from the party still clinging to me feel cheap.
âYou smelled like him when you walked in,â he said. âWhoever he was. And you still have glitter on your collarbone from someone elseâs hands.â His fingers lifted, brushed the shimmer on my skin, then dropped like it burned him. âYou told me a few hours. You came home at three in the morning looking like you belonged to that room instead of this one.â
The argument started the way they always did with him⌠quiet at first, then sharper.
I snapped that he didnât get to decide where I went. He snapped back that he didnât care where I went, he cared that I let someone else put their hands on what was his and then walked through the door like it didnât matter. My voice rose. His stayed low and dangerous. I accused him of being controlling. He accused me of liking the attention too much to push it away. Somewhere in the middle of it I shoved at his chest, not hard, just enough to create space, and the second my palms touched him something in his expression cracked.
âYouâre still wearing the dress he touched you in,â Jungwon said, almost to himself. Then louder, voice rough with something that sounded like possession and hurt twisted together, âTake it off.â
âNo.â
He moved so fast I barely had time to gasp. One second I was standing my ground, the next his hands locked around my thighs and the world tilted hard. He threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing, one arm strapped tight across the backs of my legs, the other hand already sliding up under the short hem of my dress to grip the bare curve of my ass. The air left my lungs in a startled sound as he carried me straight through the living room toward the hallway that led to the master suite.
âJungwon⌠put me downââ
âQuiet.â The word was almost a growl against my hip. âYou spent the whole night letting strangers look at you. Letting them touch whatâs mine. Now youâre going to remember.â
He didnât set me down gently. He dumped me onto the massive bed hard enough that I bounced, the silk sheets cool against my skin. Before I could scramble up he was on me⌠knees holding my hips, one hand pinning both of mine above my head against the mattress, the other yanking the zipper of my dress down in one sharp motion. The fabric gave. He peeled it off my body like it offended him, leaving me in nothing but the thin black lace Iâd worn underneath and the faint glitter still clinging to my collarbones.
His eyes dragged over me, dark and hungry and jealous. âLook at you. Still dressed for them.â
I opened my mouth to argue again and he kissed me instead⌠hard, almost punishing, tongue pushing past my lips like he was trying to erase the taste of the night from my mouth. I bit his lower lip. He bit back harder, then pulled away just far enough to speak against my mouth, voice low and final.
âYou belong to me.â
The words hit harder than the kiss. Simple. Absolute. Like he was claiming every hour Iâd spent under those balloons, every hand that had brushed my waist, every laugh that hadnât been for him.
He didnât give me time to answer. He shoved my thighs apart with one knee and dropped his head between them, yanking the lace aside with his teeth. The first long, filthy lick from my entrance to my clit made my back arch off the bed. Jungwon didnât tease. He ate me like he was angry about it⌠tongue thrusting deep, then flattening against my clit and sucking hard enough that my hips jerked. His hands locked around my thighs, keeping them spread wide even when I tried to close them around his head.
He stayed there for what felt like forever.
His tongue worked me open with slow, deliberate strokes, then switched to short, rapid flicks that made my thighs shake. He sucked my clit between his lips and hummed, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. When I tried to rock against his face he held me down harder, pinning my hips to the mattress so I had no choice but to take whatever pace he set. He licked into me like he was trying to taste every second Iâd spent away from him, tongue curling deep, then dragging up to circle my clit again and again until I was panting his name.
âJungwon⌠pleaseââ
He ignored me. Two fingers slid inside without warning, curling against that spot that made my vision blur, while his mouth stayed locked on my clit. The wet sounds were filthy⌠his tongue, my slick, the obscene squeak sound of his fingers thrusting deep and steady. He added a third finger and stretched me open, scissoring them while he sucked harder, and the double pressure had me sobbing into the sheets. Every time I got close he slowed down, pulling back to give me long, broad licks that kept me hovering right on the edge, then dove back in with brutal intensity.
I came the first time with a broken cry, thighs clamping around his head, but he didnât stop. He kept licking through it, softer now, almost gentle, drawing out every aftershock until I was whimpering and oversensitive. Only when I tried to push his head away did he finally lift up, mouth and chin shiny with me, eyes almost black in the low light from the windows.
âStill think coming home late was a good idea?â he asked, voice wrecked. âStill think you can walk in smelling like that party and pretend you donât belong to me?â
I could only stare, chest heaving. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawled up my body and kissed me hard, forcing me to taste myself on his tongue. While he kissed me he shoved his own pants down just enough to free his cock⌠thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He rubbed the head through my soaked folds, coating himself, but instead of pushing in he moved higher, straddling my chest.
âOpen your mouth.â
I did. He guided the head past my lips and I took him in, tongue swirling around the tip, tasting him mixed with my own slick. He groaned low and started fucking my face⌠slow at first, letting me adjust, then deeper, one hand fisted in my hair to hold me still. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard, looking up at him through my lashes as spit ran down my chin. He watched every second of it, jaw tight, eyes burning.
âThatâs it,â he muttered. âTake it. You spent the night letting other people look at this mouth. Now youâre going to choke on me until you remember the only one who gets to have you like this.â
He pushed deeper until the head nudged the back of my throat. I gagged around him, eyes watering, but I didnât pull away. I relaxed and took more, tongue working the underside the way I knew he liked. He cursed under his breath and started thrusting in more purposefully⌠shallow, controlled strokes that still made me struggle for air. Spit dripped down my neck. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. He pulled back just enough to let me breathe, then pushed in again, slower this time, letting me feel every thick inch.
I sucked harder, hollowing my cheeks, and the broken sound he made went straight between my legs. He only lasted a few more thrusts before he pulled free with a wet pop, breathing hard, cock glistening with my spit.
âOn your back. Legs open. Wide.â
I scrambled to obey. He settled between my thighs again, but instead of pushing inside, he dropped his head once more. I cried out when his mouth found my clit again⌠still sensitive from the first orgasm⌠and he licked me open with long, filthy strokes like he hadnât just spent ten minutes doing the exact same thing. He pushed two fingers back inside and curled them while he sucked, and the overstimulation had me twisting under him, half trying to get away, half pushing closer.
âJungwon⌠I canâtââ
âYou can and you will,â he growled against me. âYouâre going to come on my tongue again. Then youâre going to come on my cock. And youâre going to remember who you belong to every single time.â
He kept going⌠relentless, focused, like he had all night and nowhere else to be. His tongue worked my clit in tight circles while his fingers thrust deep and steady. When I started shaking he sucked harder, and the second orgasm hit me so hard my vision went white. I sobbed his name, thighs clamping around his head, and he licked me through every wave until I was trembling and boneless.
Only then did he finally push inside me.
The stretch burned in the best way. He didnât give me time to adjust. The second he was buried to the hilt he started fucking me⌠hard, deep strokes that made the headboard knock against the wall. One hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise as he held me exactly where he wanted me.
âThis is what you get,â he gritted out between thrusts. âWalking in smelling like someone elseâs party. Letting them touch you. Making me sit here imagining every second of it.â Another sharp snap of his hips made me cry out. âYou wanted rough? You got it. Because you belong to me. Not them. Not that room full of balloons. Me.â
He flipped me onto my stomach without warning, dragged my hips up until I was on my knees, face pressed into the silk sheets, and slammed back in. The new angle let him go even deeper. Every thrust punched a broken moan out of me. His hand came down on my ass⌠not hard enough to really hurt, but sharp enough to sting⌠and the sound of it mixed with the wet slap of skin on skin.
âJungwon⌠ah⌠fuckââ
âLouder,â he ordered, fingers digging into the meat of my hip. âI want to hear how much you like it when I stop being nice. When I remind you who you belong to after you come home smelling like balloons and strangers.â
He reached around and found my clit again, rubbing tight, vicious circles in time with his thrusts. The double stimulation was too much. I came again with a sob, clenching hard around him, and he fucked me straight through it⌠relentless, almost punishing, until I was shaking and oversensitive and still somehow begging for more.
He pulled out abruptly. I made a desperate sound at the loss, but he was already flipping me onto my back again, climbing up my body until he was straddling my chest once more. His cock⌠slick with my come⌠brushed my lips.
âOpen. One more time.â
I did. He pushed into my mouth in one smooth motion, not stopping until the head nudged the back of my throat. I gagged around him, eyes watering, but he only groaned and started fucking my face with the same controlled intensity⌠shallow at first, then deeper, one hand fisted in my hair to hold me still. Spit ran down my chin. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. He watched every second of it, jaw tight, eyes burning with leftover jealousy and something darker.
âThatâs it. Take it. You spent the night letting other people look at this mouth. Now youâre going to choke on me until you remember.â
He pulled back just enough to let me breathe, then pushed in again, slower this time, letting me feel every inch. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard, tongue working the underside, and the broken sound he made was almost enough to make me come again untouched. He only lasted a few more thrusts before he pulled free with a wet pop, breathing hard.
âOn your back. Legs open. Wide.â
I scrambled to obey. He settled between my thighs again, hooked one of my knees over his elbow to open me wider, and drove back into me in one brutal thrust. The new position let him grind against my clit with every stroke. He leaned down, mouth finding the side of my neck, and bit down just hard enough to leave a mark while he sucked hard on the skin. His other hand slid between our bodies again, fingers working my clit in tight, merciless circles.
âCome again,â he ordered against my throat. âOne more time. On my cock. I want to feel it. I want you to forget every hand that wasnât mine tonight. Say it.â
I was already so close it hurt. The combination of his thick cock stretching me, the relentless pressure on my clit, the wet heat of his mouth on my neck⌠it all crashed together. âI belong to you,â I gasped, the words breaking on a moan as the orgasm tore through me, walls fluttering and clenching around him.
He followed me over the edge with a deep, guttural sound, burying himself deep and spilling inside me in hot, pulsing waves, hips stuttering through it until he was spent. âThatâs right,â he murmured against my skin, voice rough and almost tender now. âYou belong to me.â
For a long moment the only sound in the penthouse was our shared breathing and the distant hum of the city far below. Jungwon stayed buried inside me, forehead pressed to mine, still holding my leg open. Eventually he eased out carefully, watching the way his come leaked out of me with dark, satisfied eyes. He collapsed beside me, pulled me into his chest, and pressed a softer kiss to my temple⌠the first gentle touch since heâd thrown me over his shoulder.
âNext time you walk into that party,â he murmured against my hair, voice still rough, âyou come home earlier. Or I come find you and drag you out myself. Because you belong to me.â
I laughed weakly, still trembling, and nuzzled closer, the glitter on my collarbone now mixed with the marks heâd left. Outside the windows the city kept glittering, indifferent. Inside, the air still smelled faintly of the party Iâd left behind⌠and of him.
âPromise?â I whispered.
His arm tightened around me. I felt him smile against my skin.
âPromise.â
THE END
Just something quick! Jungwon was always the jealous type, so I thought it fit! Hope you guys like this short fic!
summary: forced into an arranged marriage, you thought your soon to be husband was sharing the same sentiment. little did you know, he has waited for the moment when he gets to take you.
The night was warm, the people around you mingled and drank to their heart's desire, you were caught up in the midst of it all as bride, sitting by the table, the feast in front of you, the lingering scent of meat and spices reaching your nose. You've never had the big appetite, but even the most picky of eaters could find something for themselves in the abundance of food that was prepared, you enjoyed the sweet aroma of a ripe fig, its sugary taste a heaven on your tongue.
With an idle mind you resorted to watching the guests, slowly becoming aware of the mirth in their eyes now that the night was nearing its end, the consummation of your marriage awaited. You knew that well yet you chose to place trust in your now husband, for sure he would find a way to stain the sheets crimson other than with your blood. You were lucky to be married to a man your age, because an older one wouldn't show such restraint, you thought and what violence should such an innocent looking creature even possess? Jungwon's presence showed nothing but gentleness, his eyes deep wells of kindness, sparkling with youthfulness and sympathy.
Only if you knew of the monstrous desire lurking beneath his saintlike demeanour. Even though you thought this union was a coincidence, it was actually perfectly orchestrated by him, he imagined it the moment he has seen you at church the first time he saw you, a divine vision meant for him only. From that day onward, he battled with impatience, with hunger for just a little taste, but the societal norms granted him no mercy. He was barely constraining himself during the whole ceremony, the brief meeting of your lips left him trembling with passion, it evident on the sweat collecting at his brow, but it was summer so none suspected it.
He was an image of propriety but inside of him a war raged on, he was unnerved by the length of the whole ordeal, the congratulations and the smiles all irking him further. He just couldn't wait for the darkness of the room to swallow you both.
The silence of the room was being interrupted by the sound of crickets outside, the window was slightly ajar letting in the mild wind into the room which carried a scent of the stars. The only light cast a warm glow over the furniture, the mirror was dim and full of shadows, you were reluctant to look at your reflection, the image painted there was one of innocence waiting to be touched. Your hair was let down, the locks flowing freely, in your eyes you could make out sparks from the flame of the candles, but the longer you looked, the more a sense of foreboding enveloped you.
In the crevices of your heart doubt crept in, an unsettling feeling in your bones, what if? That damned question crawled its way to you and you felt nauseous all of a sudden and as if it was an omen, footsteps resounded in front of the door. They were determined and powerful, no doubt belonging to a man, an it wasn't any man, it was your husband.
That title although it should, under different circumstances, didn't bring you any comfort, you cast your eyes outside the window, glancing at the stars, only to find out that a dark cloud covered them.
Caught up in your thoughts you hadn't even noticed the door opening and closing, you just sensed a presence in the room, the sound of breathing and a creak in the floorboards, there in front of you Jungwon stood. Outside, wind picked up its speed, rustling the leaves, the curtains danced for a moment and the candle by the bed went out, startling you. Finally, you looked up to the figure shrouded in the black that was towering over you, you couldn't recognize it, as if the man from the dinner was replaced by a phantom.
With a trembling hand you reached out, searching for the matches, striking one, the light exploded for a second, illuminating the space around you, revealing two eyes that were now staring at you from a very close proximity. While you were fumbling in the dark, Jungwon crossed the separating distance between the two of you. You stared at him back, no words coming out, the match in between of you, slowly burning, carefully he took it from your fingers and lightened a candle, restoring the atmosphere in the room.
Uncomfortable with barely there gap between you, you tried moving further away, only to be stopped by the hand weaving itself around your wrist, the hold he had on you was strong like a vice, you dared to look up at his eyes again. The flame reflected in them, otherwise they were completely black, like looking down into a deep well, the one that they warned you about in your childhood, one that carried a danger with it.
With a small voice you uttered his name, trying to break the grip around your hand, but to no avail, there was no doubt a bruise forming, but your strength was no match for his.
He came even closer, inhaling deeply, letting his nose trail the column of your neck, your body reacted at the tingling contact, erupting in a powerful shiver that reached the tips of your toes.
"Don't you know.", his voice was quiet, but deep and rough, his hold on you was still unrelenting and seemed to increase in its intensity when he uttered the next words.
"You are mine now.", then as if to seal the meaning, he left a scorching kiss on your collarbone, the warmth and wetness of his mouth paired with the softness of his lips made a quiet flame start to lick at the base of your spine despite the fact that you were still struggling with his strength.
Finally, he freed your hand, redness blooming along your skin, a tell tale mark of his possession of you, then his hand moved to your shoulder, pushing you down onto the mattress. Your shock filled eyes stared up at him, while he gazed at you with the eyes of a vulture, thirst and hunger reflecting in them. Afraid, you cast your gaze away.
That seemed to anger him, for he pulled his hand up, cupping your face with barely contained roughness, preventing any movement, forcing your eyes on his again, he leaned down to your ear, whispering, "Be good for me, will you?".
His breath tickled you and some hidden part of you keened in delight, the depth of his voice was enticing and the weight of his body pressing on yours was making your hands twitch against your sides, as if on instinct you wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Instead, you chose to grip onto the sheets, bunching them tightly in your grip.
Sensing your pliancy, Jungwon hummed in approval, his thumb coming to rub gently against your cheek, it trailed small circles on your flesh until it traveled to your lower lip, pulling it back and playing with it. His finger demanded entrance and you granted him that, opening your mouth in obedience.
His eyes focused on the way his thumb disappeared into your cavern of warmth, satisfied with the sight and the sensation he moved his index finger too, putting it in as well, pressing down onto your tongue. You were perplexed as to why it felt so good, him exploring your mouth like that, you were not taught about it at all, you were informed only of the basics, but little did you know the night was full of suprises ahead.
He pulled out his fingers, them glistening in the dark, and trailed them along the expanse of your chest, leaving a wet trail, you shuddered at the striking sensation against your skin. Your nightdress was basically useless, see through and slipping down your shoulders, he pulled it down even more, exposing you to the damp air and his hungry eyes.
Jungwon visibly swallowed, greeted by your bare chest, his touch was feather light, mapping out your skin, and then his mouth followed, nibbling all over your breasts, awakening a warm feeling in between your thighs which only intensified when he licked one of your perk nipples, your hands were still rumpling the sheets, even harder then before. Inside you weren't sure if you wanted this but the pleasure he coaxed out of you, the strength which he emitted while treating you, was slowly erasing the reluctance from your mind.
When his hands came to grip at your hips, bunching up the fabric and pressing down with possessive hold, you finally let go and moved your fingers, tangling them in the hair at the nape of his neck, it was slick with sweat, the summer air no doubt taking a toll on him, but in the back of your mind you knew it was something else too. He was breathing hard, barely containing himself from completely ruining you all at once, he was getting tired with all the teasing touches and caresses, impatience growing inside of him but he had to seduce you somehow into obedience. He wanted urgently but he was no beast.
That thought seemed to morph into an affirmative sentence the moment he pulled the hem of your nightdress further up, exposing your damp thighs and the place of which he dreamed of, abundant with warmth and wetness. He couldn't help the groan he let out in the night when his hand greeted the heat of you, dipping into your entrance, his resolve was gone by then.
With clumsy fingers he undid the front of his pants, freeing himself of the shackles that forbid him from having you completely. He was stiff with desire and need, burning up from inside out. With no room for pleasantries or sweetness, he pushed into you, filling you all at once, you let out a gasp, fingers digging into his neck, deep enough to draw blood. Nothing could prepare you for this, nor for what is to come.
He basked in your warmth for a moment, but he couldn't wait anymore, with you gripping him so tightly, he could tell you've only been his and no one else's before. He was pleased to no end, pulling out and then slamming back in without any gentleness. His pace was animalistic and consuming, he was pouring in all of the frustration he had to face ever since he saw you for the first time.
For poor you, it was too intense, small hiccups leaving your mouth in tandem with his thrusts, you didn't know anymore what you were feeling, was it discomfort or pure pleasure, it was all mixed together in the haze of your joining. Your insides began to clench, something was clawing its way up your whole body, a feeling so violent, a consequence of his rough ministrations. You tried to warn him somehow, tried to utter his name but it crashed over you in intense waves, a pleasure so blinding, at that moment you could feel all the love he wanted to fuck into you.
All his passion and obsession, all his restless nights spent thinking about you, he wanted you to taste it too, to be as consumed as he was. He was watching every twitch of your body, satisfied that it was all his doing, no force could stop him now, he was on the top of the world, he met eyes directly with God while taking in the sight of you.
Soon he followed after you, an abrupt stop in his pace while he spilled hotly into you, indulging in every spurt, in every tremor that seized his body, because it was all for you and by you.
Synopsis: The cycle. Sleep, study, eat, and repeat. Every day feels the same, yet somehow, youâre still exhausted. You donât know why, and thatâs what scares you the most. Jungwon, on the other hand, seems to have everything figured out. Good grades, sports, friends, and a life people admire. So why does he still feel so lost?
When two strangers meet at a convenience store at 4 am, both trying to escape the weight of their own lives, a connection begins to form. Through late-night walks, shared silences, and conversations neither of them expected, they slowly realize that surviving life becomes easier when someone finally understands you.
Author's note: This story is a draft I started almost a year ago. Itâs been sitting unfinished for the longest time, collecting dust in my notes. Now that Iâm basically in my âretirement eraâ from writing, I finally decided to finish it whenever I get bored at home⌠and yeah, the rest is history. I honestly thought Iâd keep this to myself. Iâve already said Iâm not really going to be a writer here in this app and that I'd stop posting. But something about this made me feel like it deserves to be seen. So here it is. My final piece and perhaps a quiet little hello from me â¤ď¸
Caution: This story contains themes of emotional distress, burnout, anxiety, and feelings of emptiness or losing oneself. It also includes scenes of crying, loneliness, and struggles with identity and self-worth. If you ever feel this way, please know that you are not alone. Itâs okay to reach out to someone you trust or seek support when things feel too heavy.
Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20
The morning drags itself, but you donât notice. Your steps echo in the corridors of your mind long before they reach the school floors. Eat, sleep, school, sleep again, and repeat. Thatâs your life, or at least, thatâs what it feels like. Every movement, every word, every laugh shared with your friend feels automatic. Even climbing the stairs to your classroom leaves you feeling uncomfortable. Somewhere in the crowd, laughter bounces. Locker doors slam, sneakers squeak. You walk past it all, a ghost with a body that remembers the motions but not the meaning. You wonder if this is what living feels like or if youâre merely surviving.
WhileâŚ
Jungwonâs somewhere ahead, in his own orbit, surrounded by the noise of friends. He smiles, jokes, and excels at everything thatâs thrown at him. Sports, clubs, and recognition, and yet, behind the grin, an uncertainty greets him. Who am I, if none of this is me? Then, he moves through his day, letting that thought sink in his mind.
Corridors intersect. You are laughing at something your friend said. Heâs talking to someone across the lockers. Your paths brush, a fleeting glance, a shadow crossing in peripheral vision, but neither notices, or perhaps you do, in the way people notice the wind stirring a leaf.
and just like that, you continue. Two separate stories, two quiet struggles, moving through the same world, unaware of how intertwined your orbits will eventually become.
âĽď¸
You trail behind your friend, whoâs already a step ahead, swinging her bag with energetic frustration. âCome on, (name)! Donât just walk like a zombie,â your friend teases. âThereâs this new cafe near the park. They have-â
âI donât feel like it,â you interrupt softly, feeling the words escape before you can stop them. You shrug, hiding behind a small smile. I didnât even do anything today. Your friend stops, tilting her head, eyes narrowing in disbelief. âSeriously? Youâve been stuck in your room all week, and now youâre too tired to get out?â
You shake your head, your fingers brushing against the strap of your bag. âItâs not- Iâm just tired. Thatâs all.â
You walk in silence for a few steps. Your friend hums, trying to break the heaviness blanketing the air. âYou know,â she says after a pause, softer now, âsometimes I think you push yourself too hard⌠or you donât give yourself credit. You do stuff, you⌠donât notice it.â
You swallow. You donât answer. You donât know how to explain that everything you do feels meaningless, even the things youâre proud of. The hallway goes on. You notice some guy now, a few steps ahead, laughing with his friends. He seems so certain, so loud, so alive⌠and yet, you think, he probably doesnât feel it either.
Your friend bumps your shoulder lightly, pulling you back from your spiral. âHey, you okay?â
âYeah,â you mutter, but you feel bad lying to your friend like this. Iâm tired, and I havenât even done anything worth being tired for. They reach the corner of the school, the chatter of other students fading behind you. Your friend glances at you, eyebrows raised, searching. â(Name), I know youâre thinking about something. Wanna talk?â
You let a breath slip. âItâs nothing. Iâm tired, like I said.â Your voice falters, but you hide it behind a nod. Your friend doesnât push further, instead looping her arm through yours. âOkay⌠well, whenever you want, Iâm here. Even if itâs to sit in the park and do nothing.â
Your chest tightens at the words, a strange comfort in the simple offer. Even doing nothing with someone doesnât feel pointless. Thatâs⌠new.
In that moment, for a second, the heavy loop of your day feels a fraction lighter.
âĽď¸
Jungwon moves through the school with his shoulders back and laughter easy. His friends flit around him, teasing while bumping into him with the kind of closeness that feels effortless to outsiders. âBro, did you see my dunk yesterday? Itâs good, right?â one asks, nudging him.
Jungwon chuckles. âYeah, man, you crushed it,â he replies, because thatâs what you say when youâre part of a group. You agree, encourage, and belong. Yet even as they walk, his mind fades, as if his body is there but not him. Every compliment, every cheer, every high-five is a mirror showing someone he doesnât recognize. Is this me? he wonders, watching his reflection in the polished lockers. Heâs doing everything, excelling at everything, yet he feels like a blank canvas where the strokes arenât even his.
His friends start joking about weekend plans. âYou in, or are you gonna ghost like last time?â one teases. Jungwon smiles because heâs expected to say yes, but inside, he shrugs. What am I even signing up for? Itâs not laziness. Itâs not boredom. Itâs the gnawing sense that nothing sticks, that everything done is just⌠done.
Somewhere in the crowded corridor, a student walks past. A girl, head slightly bowed, energy quiet but deliberate. He doesnât know the girl. He doesnât even register her as a person yet. Only a passing figure in the blur of bodies. Thatâs it. Nothing more.
The group moves on, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls, and the moment disappears entirely. She was gone from his awareness, as if she had never been there.
âĽď¸
The door clicks shut behind you, and the world outside shrinks into nothing. You lean against it, letting the weight of the day settle into your bones. Your bag slides to the floor with a thud. You slowly change out of your uniform, each movement deliberate. The fabric falls away, and with it a part of the mask youâve worn all day. Standing there in silence, you wonder: Does it even matter?
Finally, you sink onto your bed, the sheets cool against your skin. Your phone rests in your palm, but you donât scroll. You stare at it, the blank screen reflecting your own tired eyes at you. You talk softly, almost to yourself. âWhat am I even doingâŚ?â Your voice sounds small in the quiet room, swallowed by shadows. âI wake up. I go through the motions. I sleep. I do it all again and⌠nothing sticks.â
You prop your head on your hand, the other hand tapping the bed unconsciously. Am I the same as yesterday? The day before? You think about the people you passed in the corridors, the friends laughing, the boy whose face never quite stays in your memory, and a strange feeling of envy and pity settles in your chest. They have⌠something. I donât even know what I have.
Your thoughts drift further, spiraling but controlled, like a slow eddy in a wide river. âDo I want anything?â you whisper. The question is dangerous because it has no answer. You imagine possibilities but immediately crush them with indifference. I donât want. I canât want. Nothing will change anyway.
A sigh slips out, and you turn your gaze back to the ceiling, looking at the familiar shapes of your room youâve seen a thousand times before, yet nothing feels like home. Does it even matter that Iâm tired? That I exist in this loop?
You shift slightly, hugging your knees to your chest, and finally admit the truth aloud. âIâm existing but not really living it.â Your phone vibrates once, a message from your friend. You glance at it but donât respond. You know you canât explain this yet. Not now. Not to anyone. Not even yourself completely.
In the silence that follows, you let yourself sleep, somewhere between thought and nothing, letting the ache of simply being here fill the room.
âĽď¸
The door clicks shut behind Jungwon, but thereâs no moment to breathe. He drops his backpack by the side, already reaching for the sports bag slung over his shoulder. Every day has a cycle: practice, training, and study. Even home is just another arena to move through.
He pulls off his shoes, loosens his tie, but the motions are automatic. Every item removed feels like shedding armor rather than comfort. His muscles ache, not from exertion, but from repetition, from the relentless expectation to perform. Who am I beneath all this? he wonders, standing in front of the mirror. This is not him at all.
He flops onto the bed, still in uniform, and stares at the ceiling. His phone lights up with notifications, his friends asking about weekend plans, reminders about club schedules, and messages from family. He scrolls mechanically, reading each line without processing a single word. Every ping reminds him that the world is moving, and he is moving along, but not with it.
He mutters to himself, almost in disbelief, âI do everything⌠and Iâm still not anything.â His voice is low. He imagines all the achievements heâs collected: medals, accolades, compliments, but theyâre distant, as if someone else earned them. All of this⌠and I donât know who I am.
He sits up, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. Calloused from practice but empty. Am I just this version of me for everyone else? The thought hangs heavy. He wants to scream but thereâs nowhere to release it. A sigh escapes him. He tosses the phone aside, letting silence fill the room.
Maybe no one knows me.
Lying there, staring at the ceiling tiles, Jungwon realizes the truth. He has always been moving, always showing, and yet heâs never truly known himself.
âĽď¸
The clock ticks.
click⌠click⌠click
The ceiling stares back at you. Sleep refuses you, a stubborn passenger refusing to leave the car. You swing your legs off the bed and move on autopilot, pulling on a hoodie and shoes. The streets are quiet, and you walk without purpose, only following the pull of a neon light in the distance. Going to a small shop that is open all night, full of cheap snacks and drinks stacked on shelves. You like it. It feels like a secret space that exists for people like you. The tired, the wandering, the restless. You wander the aisles, fingers brushing the packaged goods. Your eyes settle on something small, sweet, and cheap. You grab it, ignoring the burn of exhaustion in your legs.
The cashier, a sleepy-eyed young man with a thin smile, nods at you. âLong night?â
You shrug. âYeah, I couldnât sleep.â
He nods. âItâs always like that at this hour.â His voice is soft. You nod in return, slide the money across the counter, and leave without another word. Outside, you find a corner by the curb, sitting on the cold concrete. The package rests in your lap. You open it, take a bite, and the simple sweetness of it feels almost sacred.
Then it comes. The tears. It felt hot and uninvited. They spill down your face in uneven tracks. You donât know why. You donât have a reason. You cry. The exhaustion, the emptiness, the existence without meaning. It all comes out at once. You whisper to yourself between sobs, âIâm so tired⌠I donât even know why Iâm like thisâŚâ
Your hands shake as you clutch the snack, grounding yourself in something tangible, something yours. For a moment, the world stops.
âĽď¸
Jungwon didnât know where he was going. The streets were empty. His sneakers scuffed softly against the pavement, echoing in the quiet. He didnât know how long he had been walking. Minutes? Hours? Time had no meaning anymore; the routine of doing everything, achieving everything, and still feeling nothing had stripped it away.
He thought about turning back, about climbing into bed, but sleep had long stopped being a refuge. The night seemed easier to bear than another day of smiling and pretending, but then⌠he saw you.
You were sitting on the curb. A snack in your hands, your hoodie pulled tight, tears tracing your cheeks. He froze, hesitating a step away. Should IâŚ? The question didnât even form into words. He didnât know you. He didnât know if he should look, move, or care.
Though something, he didnât know what, pulled at him. He stayed where he was, watching, merely witnessing your existence could somehow matter. The tears, the shaking hands, the solitude, it all felt foreign and familiar at once. Why is she crying? he wondered, though he knew the answer wouldnât matter. Some pain didnât need understanding. Some pain only existed.
His hesitation continued, long enough for him to notice how fragile you looked, how small and human. The urge to move closer battles with the caution in his chest, with the unknown barrier of silence. For now, he stays there, strangely aware that this moment means something he cannot yet name. After a while, he finally steps closer, keeping a respectful distance. His voice is unsure, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile bubble around you. âHey⌠are you okay?â
You flinch at the sound, turning your head enough to see him. Your hands clutch the snack tighter, your breath catching. You donât answer immediately. The tears keep coming. Finally, you mutter, almost to yourself, âI⌠I donât know.â
You almost regret it the moment the words leave your lips. You could have said youâre fine. You could have said nothing. Let him walk away, leave you alone. You could have maintained the quiet solitude of the night, but you didnât. You said it, and now itâs out there.
He nods slowly, because thatâs all he can do. âYeah⌠me neither,â he admits. His own voice is softer now, a mirror of your uncertainty. âSometimes⌠I donât even know what Iâm doing with myself. I walk, I move, I⌠exist, and itâs like nothing sticks.â
You glance at him with recognition, not of him personally but in the way he speaks. Your shoulders sag slightly in relief at being understood, even by a stranger. âYou think anyone notices?â you whisper. âOr⌠cares?â
He shrugs, letting his words come deliberately. âI donât know. Perhaps it doesnât matter, but even if no one sees it, even if it doesnât change anything⌠what you feel still exists.â You stare down at your hands. For the first time tonight, the emptiness feels slightly less absolute. âThanks,â you murmur, not knowing why, not even sure you mean it.
He gives a small nod. âDonât feel like you have to explain it. Not to me. Not to anyone.â
There, on the sidewalk, two strangers sit together in shared solitude. Neither saves the other. Neither fixes anything. For now, all he can do is stay, letting the silence hold them, letting your sniffles reach his ears.
You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. âI know itâs ridiculous,â you whisper to yourself. âCrying in the middle of the night, holding food.â A shaky laugh escapes you. You take another bite. The tears keep falling, but now thereâs a strange relief in it. You havenât cried like this in a while. Not since everything started feeling like a loop you couldnât escape. âI donât even know why,â you admit, almost surprised at yourself. âIâm not sad. Iâm just tired. Tired of everything. Tired of feeling like Iâm moving and yet not going anywhere. Perhaps thatâs it.â
Your hands shake as you hug the snack to your chest. The world is still empty. The streets are still quiet, but for a brief moment, letting it out, letting yourself be completely exposed in this ridiculous, lonely way, it feels⌠human. Maybe itâs okay to feel this. Maybe itâs okay to exist like this for a moment without pretending.
The soft shuffle of someone approaching makes you glance up. Heâs still there, respectful at a distance. He doesnât say anything. He hears you⌠and for now, that is enough.
He exhales softly, unsure if his voice will make it worse or better, but the words slip out anyway. âYou donât have to be alone,â he says. âEven if itâs stupid or messy, you donât have to do it by yourself.â You glance at him, startled. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. Your throat feels tight, raw from crying and unsaid thoughts.
He moves slowly, then sits down on the cold pavement a little ways from you. After a moment, he murmurs again, âI donât know you. I donât even know why youâre crying, but I think itâs okay to feel like this. To just let it out.â
âI donât- I donât even know why Iâm crying,â you admit.
He nods, as if understanding more than words can say. âSometimes you donât need a reason. It doesnât make it any less real or wrong.â
You inhale shakily. He doesnât say more. He sits there, letting the night hold you both, letting your tears fade into uneven sniffles. You wipe your cheeks again and finally find your voice. âWhy are you walking around in the middle of the night?â
He didnât expect that question. A small silence went between you. Then, slowly, he realizes that maybe he needs to answer. Not for you. Not to explain, but because you let yourself be open first, because the night feels safer somehow, even with a stranger beside you.
âI donât know,â he admits, almost surprised even to himself. âI just walked. I didnât know where I was going. I didnât know how long Iâve been walking. I guess I just needed to move. I needed to feel something that isnât noise.â His hands rest on his knees, fingers tapping against the fabric of his pants. âI didnât expect to talk about it⌠but⌠you made it feel okay. Weirdly, I feel like I can say it here, now.â
You glance at him, listening.
âI do everything,â he continues. âSports, clubs, school, friends⌠and none of it feels like me. Iâm always doing, but I donât know who I am when no oneâs watching. Thatâs why I walk.â He then stares at the ground, not at you. âI didnât think Iâd say this to anyone tonight. Least of all, to someone I donât even know. Although it feels right, I guess because you⌠youâre here. And you said what you said. And now I⌠donât know. I just felt like I could.â
Silence settles again. For a moment, itâs just two strangers, sitting side by side in the emptiness of 4 am, both unburdening pieces of themselves that the world never asked to see. You sniffle one last time, wiping the corner of your eyes with the back of your hand. âIâm (name),â you say quietly.
He is surprised, not by the name itself, but by the ease it brings, the permission it gives him to put a word to you, too, finally. âIâm Jungwon,â he replies, the name awkward in his mouth at first. He glances at you briefly, then looks down. Saying it feels strange, but somehow right.
âYou donât have to say anything else,â you murmur, a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. âI just thought you should know who youâre talking to.â He nods slowly. âYeah, me too. Makes it feel less like Iâm just floating alone out here.â
You hesitate for a moment, then hold it out toward him. âDo you want some?â you ask softly. He freezes, surprised by the offer. Then he shakes his head slowly, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. âYou brought food to cry over?â he teases gently.
You snort, covering your mouth with your sleeve. âHey⌠itâs⌠comforting,â you say, cheeks pink.
He laughs, low and unexpected. âComforting? I guess⌠I can see that.â
The sound of your laughter fills the quiet street. For a few moments, the weight of the day, the exhaustion, the emptiness all fade just slightly. You sit there, side by side, sharing a simple snack and a laugh, two strangers who have, in a strange, fleeting way, found a tiny fragment of understanding in the middle of 4 am.
You finally set the snack wrapper aside. âI should probably get back,â you murmur reluctantly. He nods, slowly standing, the ache of connection tugging at him. âYeah, me too,â he says, not moving closer, letting the space between you remain respectful.
For a moment, you both hesitate, the unspoken understanding comforting. You had shared pieces of yourselves tonight, and that was enough. Neither of you needed more. You stand first, brushing the crumbs from your hands, and offer a small wave. âGoodnight Jungwon.â
âGoodnight (name),â he replies.
Then, without another word, you turn in opposite directions.
âĽď¸
The sun felt a little too bright today for your tired eyes. You moved with the same way you always did, feet brushing the floor in the familiar drag of routine. Classes, assignments, the chatter of other students, it all felt slightly lighter, though you couldnât explain why.
Your mind kept going, unpredictably, to that night. The sidewalk, the cheap snack, the stranger who had listened. You remembered the way he had sat, hesitant but present, the soft timbre of his voice, the way he didnât try to fix you or demand anything from you. The memory made the heaviness of your days feel a little more bearable.
Across the school courtyard, Jungwon moved among his friends, though even in the middle of the day, between classes and routines, his thoughts wandered unexpectedly to you, the girl on the curb, the one he had sat beside in silence. The image of you, fragile but steady in your vulnerability, had planted itself quietly in his mind.
Neither of you spoke of that night again, well, not that he has any contact with you whatsoever, considering that he just met you once, but it was nice.
You glanced at the clock, chewing your lip slightly. Thinking that he was likely somewhere in some school already, moving through the motions of his own life and yet⌠you couldnât stop thinking of him, the memory of his hesitant presence threading through your day.
He, too, felt you. Your absence, your quietness, your honesty. The world felt slightly less empty, slightly more⌠possible. For a brief moment, in the middle of the monotony of school, both of you, separately, were thinking of each other, feeling that small, inexplicable warmth that comes from being seen, even once, in a way no one else had.
Weeks laterâŚ
You ducked into the small school library to escape the noise of the busy campus, hoping for a few minutes before your next class. Shelves lined with books and the faint sound of the air conditioner⌠this was your refuge, your corner of solitude. You turned the corner near the reference section and froze. Jungwon?âŚ.
He was there too, leaning over a table stacked with textbooks, flipping through pages with that precise attention he always seemed to have. He looked up, and their eyes met. For a long moment, neither spoke. Surprise mirrored in their expressions, recognition flashing between them. âYou go here?â you asked softly.
He was caught off guard, then a small, half-smile tugged at his lips. âI didnât expect you here.â
Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag. âYeah⌠I guess weâve never⌠crossed paths before. I mean, the school is huge, butâŚâ You trailed off, laughing softly at the absurdity of it. He chuckled, the sound relieved. âRight. Crazy, I keep thinking about that night, and now⌠here we are. Same school.â
You nodded, a small smile playing at your lips. âHere we are.â
He closed his textbook slowly and looked at you. âDo you want to go outside for a bit?â
You were surprised by the invitation, but nodded. âSure⌠I guess a little fresh air wouldnât hurt.â
You walked out together, the campus grounds quieter now between classes. The noise of students far ahead felt distant, and for the first time in days, the world felt normal. âSo⌠same school?â he said, trying to keep the conversation light. âI really didnât expect to see you here.â
You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. âMe neither. Honestly, I thought weâd never cross paths again. The cityâs huge, and you seem like you move through it all so fast.â
Jungwon smirked. âI try, but apparently, I move too fast to notice the important things,â he teased, glancing at you. âlike library corners with snacks or⌠unexpected people.â
You rolled your eyes playfully. âHey, I wasnât expecting to meet someone I⌠you know⌠shared a midnight snack with, in my own life either.â
He laughed. âYeah, that was weird, huh? In a good way, I guess.â
You walked along the path in comfortable silence for a moment. Neither of you felt the need to rush, to fill every space with words. âSo, do you come to the library often?â he asked. You shrugged. âNot really. Only when I need a place to escape⌠everything else. Apparently, it works for me except today, since I ran into you.â
He laughed softly. âYeah, lucky me,â he said, shaking his head. âI was trying to find somewhere to focus. And instead, I found⌠well, you.â
You tilted your head. âI feel honored.â
Then you muttered, âItâs weird, isnât it? Running into someone at 4 am on the street⌠and then here. In the same school. Itâs like the universe is messing with us.â
He chuckled. âIt just reminds us that the world is smaller than we think.â
You smiled faintly, glancing at him, then looking away. âYeah, smaller, but still big enough to surprise us.â
You walked in silence for a bit longer, both feeling it. Neither brought up the idea of meeting again, but both knew theyâd remember this unexpected encounter. Finally, you stopped near the edge of the campus. âI guess I should head to class,â you said, trying to sound casual, though your heart felt lighter than it had in days.
He nodded, a small smile still on his face. âYeah, me too. See you around, (name).â
âSee you,â you echoed, and with a final glance, you parted on separate paths, but a quiet thread now tied between you both.
âĽď¸
The day had been loud in a way that clung to you long after classes ended. Teachers talking, chairs scraping, friends laughing across tables, well, none of it was bad, yet somehow it felt like too much. By the time the last bell rang, your head felt crowded with thoughts that didnât have anywhere to go. Instead of heading home, your feet brought you to the quieter side of the science building.
There was a staircase leading to the rooftop, though the door at the top was always locked. Students rarely bothered climbing it because there wasnât really a reason to, but the landing just below the door had a tall window overlooking the soccer field. That small space was enough.
You sat on one of the steps and leaned your head back against the wall. Outside, the soccer team practiced loudly, their voices distant and carried by the wind. From here, it sounded far enough away not to feel overwhelming. For a while, you stayed there. Your fingers traced the seam of your sleeve as your breathing slowly evened out. It wasnât happiness exactly, but it was quieter than the day had been.
Then the door at the bottom of the stairwell creaked open. Footsteps echoed upward. The sound bounced lightly off the walls. You lifted your head slightly, listening as the steps climbed closer. A moment later, someone appeared. Huh⌠Jungwon?
He stopped halfway up the stairs when he saw you sitting there. His hand rested on the railing, surprise seen across his face. For a second, neither of you spoke. âOh,â he said quietly.
You sat up a little straighter.
âOh.â
Then he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. âI didnât know you came here,â he admitted.
You glanced around the stairwell briefly before answering. âI didnât know you did either.â
He stayed standing on the step for another second. The hesitation was obvious enough that you noticed it. âYou can sit here if you want,â you said, nodding slightly beside you. âI donât mind.â
He seemed a little surprised by the offer, but he walked up the rest of the steps and sat down beside you. His backpack rested between his feet, and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. The quiet returned almost immediately. Through the window, the soccer team shouted to each other across the field. Their voices were heard through the glass. You glanced at him after a moment. âBad day?â you asked softly.
His shoulders lifted slightly before dropping again.
ââŚYeah.â
You nodded slowly.
âWhat happened?â
He stared at the step beneath his shoes before answering. âNothing specific,â he said after a moment. âThatâs the annoying part. Itâs like⌠I keep doing all these things,â he continued. âClasses, practice, hanging out with people. Iâm busy all the time, but sometimes, it feels like none of it actually means anything.â
You watched the sunlight shift across the floor.
âI get that,â you said softly.
He glanced at you, a little surprised.
âYou do?â
You shrugged lightly.
âSometimes the day ends, and I feel exhausted,â you said. âThough, when I think about it, I didnât really do anything that mattered.â
He let out a small laugh. âYeah. Exactly.â After a moment, he spoke again. âI didnât even realize I was walking here,â he said quietly.
You tilted your head. âHere?â
He nodded slightly. âI needed somewhere quiet,â he said. âGuess I accidentally picked the same place as you.â
You looked around the stairwell, then back toward the window. âWell,â you said after a moment, âgood accident.â He smiled faintly at that. He shifted slightly on the step, glancing out the window at the soccer field. âSo you come here often when you need to think?â he asked.
You shrugged. âNot really. Itâs only whenever the day feels too loud. This place is quiet, at least. It doesnât ask anything from me.â
He nodded slowly, as if understanding more than the words said. âYeah, I get that. Sometimes I wander without a reason, to not feel⌠stuck.â
You looked at him then, a little surprised. âYou wander a lot?â
âToo much,â he admitted with a small smile. âI donât always know why I end up where I do.â
You laughed softly, the sound light in the stairwell. âSounds familiar,â you said. âI do the same thing. Only I donât usually find people⌠here.â
He glanced at you. âYeah⌠lucky me,â he muttered, almost to himself.
You rolled your eyes playfully, but you werenât annoyed. âLucky you? Iâm the one who has to deal with your random company.â
He laughed. âFair enough,â he said. âAlthough, I like it.â
You nodded. âYeah, I like that too.â
A few moments of comfortable silence passed, neither of you needing to fill it. Then he glanced at you, slightly hesitant. âDo you ever feel like youâre just going through the motions?â
You sighed softly, looking down at your hands. âAll the time. Sometimes I even feel invisible. Itâs as if Iâm here, but nothing I do matters. And then I come here, and itâs like someone might notice, just by being here.â
He studied your expression for a moment, then nodded slowly. âI know exactly what you mean,â he said quietly. âItâs exhausting, doing everything and still feeling like youâre nothing.â
You looked up at him then, caught off guard by the honesty. âYeah⌠exactly,â you whispered. He shifted a little closer, not touching you, just sharing the space. âI donât know why I told you all this,â he said. âBut Iâm glad I did.â
You smiled faintly. âMe too,â you said softly, feeling the heaviness in your chest lighten ever so slightly.
He leaned back slightly against the wall, running a hand through his hair. âHey, I donât usually do this,â he started, âbut do you want to⌠exchange numbers? Maybe talk sometimes? Get to know each other a little?â
You were caught off guard. âUh⌠talk sometimes?â you echoed.
âYeah,â he said, looking down at his hands for a moment. âI donât know⌠itâs weird to say, but⌠I feel like⌠maybe weâre supposed to⌠know each other better. You know? Since⌠well, weâve already shared⌠that night.â You chewed the inside of your cheek. That night⌠You hadnât expected it to matter this much, and yet⌠the thought made your chest tighten.
âYeahâŚâ you whispered finally, a small smile forming. âI⌠Iâd like that.â
His face brightened. âCool. Iâll send you a message later, then. Nothing big, only talking. No pressure.â
âYeah,â you said softly. âNo pressure.â
He glanced at you one last time before reaching for his phone. âIâm glad I found you here today,â he said.
You met his gaze and nodded. âMe too,â you said.
âĽď¸
You got home and dropped your bag by the door. Changing into your soft, worn pajamas, you sank onto your bed and stared at your phone. The day had been tiring, but for some reason, it didnât feel as heavy anymore. Your phone buzzed. His name flashed across the screen.
Jungwon: Hey! made it home okay?
you typed back
You: Yeah, you?
Jungwon: Same. Long day
You: Definitely. I want to crash now đ
Jungwon: Me too â
A moment passed. Then,
Jungwon: Random question
Jungwon: Do you wanna go to that store again? Ya know the one thatâs open 24/7
You glanced down at your pajamas and laughed quietly.
You: Iâm already in my weird PJsâŚ
Jungwon: Same, but I donât mind. You still wanna go?
You hesitated for a moment, then typed back.
You: Yeah⌠okay.
Jungwon: Cool
You slipped on your jacket and laced up your shoes, stepping outside for the first time since changing. The night air was cool, brushing against your face. You walked slowly, letting the breeze fill the quiet spaces in your chest. For some reason, the thought of Jungwon, the sudden invite, the randomness of it all, didnât bother you at all.
Pushing open the door to the store, the sound of the refrigerators and the faint smell of fried snacks, and there he was. Your eyes landed on Jungwon immediately, jacket on over PJs, hair a little mussed, looking slightly out of place but calm. He glanced up, and his face brightened just a little. âHey,â he said softly.
âHey,â you replied, feeling your lips twitch into a small smile.
You both wandered the aisles, the faint pop music around you, picking up snacks almost absentmindedly, then paying for it. Chips, candy, maybe something sweet to wash down the small bottles of soda. Nothing extravagant. You carried your snacks toward the small empty table near the window. Jungwon followed, balancing his own choices in his hands. You both sat down, the table feeling oddly like a little island away from the rest of the world. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You opened your bag of chips and nudged them toward him. âHere, if you want,â you said casually.
He picked one up, smirked, and said, âThanks. You didnât have to.â
âYou were the one who suggested coming,â you replied, crunching a chip and leaning back slightly in your chair.
He laughed quietly, a soft sound that made the space feel warmer. âFair point.â
The two of you sat there for a few minutes, eating and letting the quiet settle comfortably around you. Outside, cars passed by, but here it was just you and Jungwon, and the simple feeling of being somewhere neither of you had to pretend. âYouâre actually okay with being in PJs out here?â you asked, glancing at him.
âYeah,â he said, shrugging. âI donât mind. It feels easier this way.â You nodded, thinking how strange it was to feel this normal, this calm, sitting across from Jungwon, who was a stranger a few weeks ago. You slid the bag of chips toward the middle of the table and glanced at what he bought. âYou really picked the sweetest snacks here,â you said, tapping the candy bar he placed down.
He looked down at it and shrugged. âLong day,â he said. âSugar fixes most things.â
âYouâre going to crash later,â you replied, pushing a bottle of water toward him. âAt least drink this too.â
He chuckled softly but took the water anyway. âOkay, thatâs actually good advice.â Jungwon continued, âSo,â he said after a bite of his snack, âwhat do you usually do when your day gets too much?â
You thought for a second before answering. âI walk,â you said. âNot fast. Itâs just until my head clears a bit.â
He nodded, probably storing the idea somewhere. âThatâs actually better than what I do.â
âWhat do you do?â
âI just added more things to my schedule,â Jungwon admitted. âItâs like if Iâm busy enough, I wonât think about it.â
You gave him a look across the table. âThat sounds like the worst strategy ever.â
He laughed under his breath. âYeah, Iâm starting to realize that.â
âMaybe try doing less for one day,â you suggested. âYou should actually start choosing what you want to do instead of everything at once.â
He tilted his head a little, considering it. âYou make it sound simple.â
âItâs not, but you can try,â you said.
He rested his elbow on the table. âAlright,â Jungwon said. âThen what about you?â
âWhat about me?â
âIf walking doesnât work,â he said, âwhatâs the backup plan?â
You thought of his question for a while.
âI donât know,â you admitted.
He nodded toward the snack in your hand. âMaybe start with eating properly instead of sitting on the ground at four in the morning.â
You laughed unexpectedly at that.
âOkay,â you said, pointing at him. âThatâs fair.â
âSee?â he said, leaning back slightly. âAdvice goes both ways.â
The conversation drifted from there. Little things, small suggestions, random stories about school and people you both knew but never really noticed before. Neither of you was trying too hard to keep the conversation going. It just moved on its own. At one point, you reached for the chips again and realized Jungwon had quietly pushed them closer to your side of the table.
You both finished most of the snacks without realizing it. The wrappers sat loosely on the table, and the bottles were nearly empty. You gathered the empty wrappers into one pile and stood up. He followed your lead, tossing the trash into the bin near the counter. The cashier barely glanced up as the two of you stepped back outside. The air felt cooler than before. You zipped your jacket a little higher while Jungwon shoved his hands into his pockets. For a second, neither of you moved, then he nodded toward the sidewalk. âWalk?â he asked.
You shrugged lightly. âSure.â
So you started walking. The streets were mostly empty at that hour, with only the occasional car passing, and the streetlights across the pavement were visible. Your footsteps matched without either of you trying. He kicked a small pebble along the sidewalk absentmindedly. âYou know,â he said after a moment, âI donât usually stay up this late walking around.â
You glanced at him. âReally? You seemed pretty experienced.â
He laughed. âThat was a one-time thing.â
You nodded slowly, looking ahead again. A few steps later, Jungwon spoke again, a little more hesitant this time.
âDo you think we could do this again sometime?â
You looked at him, slightly confused. âWalk?â
âYeah,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck. âOr the snack thing or just talking like this.â He gestured vaguely around the quiet street. âNot like a big plan or anything,â he added quickly. âPerhaps sometimes.â
You thought about it for a moment. It didnât feel like a big decision.
âYeah,â you said.
He glanced over at you, a small smile forming.
âYeah?â
You nodded. âYeah. Sometimes is fine.â
Jungwon looked forward again, the smile staying on his face as the two of you kept walking, your footsteps continuing down the road.
âĽď¸
Days started slipping by faster than you expected. Not because life suddenly became busy or exciting, but because somewhere between classes, late-night walks, and conversations, time just moved differently.
You and Jungwon started meeting as if it had always been normal. Sometimes it was the same 24-hour store, sometimes it was walking down the street with drinks in your hands. The night was always calmer than the day, and both of you seemed to understand that without needing to explain it. Most of the time, you didnât even talk about anything serious.
Youâd complain about school, laugh about small things that happened during the day, or point out random stuff on the street. Sometimes heâd tell you about something stupid his friends did, and youâd shake your head while trying not to laugh too loud in the quiet neighborhood.
During school, youâd occasionally run into Jungwon, too. Passing by near the courtyard, sitting somewhere quiet during free time, or walking together for a bit before heading to your next class. It wasnât planned most of the time, but it kept happening somehow. And after school, when both of you were free, the walking continued.
Side by side, sometimes talking, sometimes listening to the sound of your footsteps and the wind brushing past. The city at night felt slower, giving people space to breathe.
You noticed something after a while.
The heaviness you used to carry around every day didnât disappear. Your thoughts still wandered the same way, the same questions about what you were doing and where you were going still showed up in quiet moments, but it didnât sit on your chest the same way anymore. Somehow, sharing time with him made it feel lighter.
Itâs not like Jungwon solved anything. Not like he fixed the things you struggled with. Though when the two of you walked together or sat somewhere with cheap snacks and quiet conversation, the weight didnât feel like it belonged to you alone anymore.
It was late afternoon. You sat on the low concrete steps near the fence in the school courts. Students were scattered around the field, some finishing practice, others watching and talking. You rested your chin on your hand, eyes drifting toward the court where Jungwon was still playing.
He moved quickly across the floor, sneakers squeaking with every pivot. You didnât really understand all the plays, but you could tell he was focused. Now and then, heâd glance toward the sidelines, as if he were checking if practice was almost over.
When the whistle finally blew, the players started gathering their things. Jungwon wiped his face with the edge of his shirt before spotting you sitting there. His expression changed immediately, from surprised to amused. âYouâve been here this whole time?â he asked as he walked over, grabbing his bag.
You shrugged lightly. âI had time.â
He slung the bag over his shoulder, still catching his breath. âYou couldâve texted. I wouldâve finished faster.â
âThat wouldâve been unfair to your team,â you replied.
He laughed under his breath at that, shaking his head a little. âYou sound like my coach.â
You stood up from the steps and brushed your hands against your jacket. The sky had started turning that soft orange that meant evening wasnât far away. âSo,â he said, adjusting the strap of his bag. âWalking?â
You nodded like it was obvious. The two of you left the school grounds together, stepping onto the sidewalk while the noise from the courts faded behind you. The air outside felt cooler now, and the streets were starting to quiet down as people headed home. Jungwon walked beside you, swinging his bag slightly. âYou really didnât have to wait,â he said after a few minutes.
âI know,â you answered.
He glanced at you briefly, then looked forward again.
âStill did, though.â
You shrugged. âI was already there.â
He let out a small laugh. The two of you kept walking under the dimming sky, your pace naturally matching. The conversation drifted in and out, small things and random observations. Somehow, the walk home felt shorter than usual.
âĽď¸
The room was quiet except for the sound of the clock somewhere in the house. You sat on the couch, knees pulled slightly toward you, staring out the window without really seeing anything. The sky outside had already darkened, the glass reflecting your own still figure at you. Your thoughts moved in slow circles.
Why am I this tired?
Itâs not a tiredness that sleep could fix, or something that sat somewhere deeper, but it felt like even small things are heavier than they should. You tried to shake it off, pressing your fingers against your temple, but the feeling stayed. Your chest tightened a little. You wiped your face quickly when you realized tears had already slipped down. âCrying again, huh,â you muttered to yourself, letting out a small breath that sounded almost like a laugh.
Across the city, Jungwon sat on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His room was dim, the only light coming from the lamp near his desk. His basketball bag was still on the floor where he dropped it earlier. It had been one of those days.
Nothing had gone particularly wrong, but something still felt off. He kept thinking about everything he was doing, practice, school, friends, and how none of it seemed to answer the question he kept asking himself.
Who am I actually trying to be?
He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at his phone on the desk. For a moment, he hesitated, thumb hovering above the screen. Then he called you. Your phone buzzed beside you on the couch. You quickly wiped your face again before picking it up, taking a breath before answering. âHello?â you said, trying to sound normal.
âHey,â his voice came through the speaker. âWhat are you doing?â
You looked back at the dark window. âNothing much. Iâm sitting around.â There was a small pause on the line. âYou okay?â he asked.
âYeah,â you replied quickly. âIâm fine.â
Another silence.
He exhaled quietly. âYouâre crying.â
Your grip on the phone tightened a little. âIâm not-â
âYou are,â he said gently. Not accusing, but only certain. For a moment, you didnât say anything. Then he spoke again.
âIâm coming over.â
Your head snapped up slightly. âWait, you donât have to-â
âIâll be there in a bit,â Jungwon said.
Before you could protest again, the line went quiet. You stared at your phone for a moment, and somewhere in the middle of the heaviness sitting in your chest, there was a small thought. He noticed.
You stayed by the window a little longer after the call ended, hugging your arms around yourself. Every thought in your head seemed louder than the last, echoing the same question over and over. Why am I so tired?
Minutes passed before a soft knock sounded from the door. You wiped your face quickly, though the tears kept slipping down anyway. When you opened it, Jungwon was already standing there, slightly out of breath, looking as if he had rushed the whole way. The moment he saw your face, your swollen eyes, your trembling lips, his expression fell. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms.
His hug was tight, warm, and immediate. One hand pressed gently against the back of your head, shielding you from the world. For a moment, you just stood there in the doorway, frozen in his hold. âIâm so exhausted,â you whispered against his shoulder, your voice cracking. âI donât even know why everything feels so heavy lately.â Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as another sob slipped out. âNo matter what I do, I still feel this tired.â
He didnât interrupt you. Jungwon just held you a little closer, steady and firm, like he was making sure you wouldnât drift anywhere. âYou donât have to explain everything right now,â he murmured. âStay like this for a bit.â
You eventually ended up on the couch, though neither of you remembered exactly how. His arms were still wrapped around you, one around your shoulders while the other rested protectively over your hands. Your face was buried against his chest, your breathing uneven as the sobs kept slipping out. Time passed in a blur.
Maybe it was thirty minutes. Maybe even an hour. You honestly couldnât tell. The only thing you were aware of was the steady rise and fall of his breathing and the gentle way his hand kept brushing over your hair, slow and patient. You cried the whole time, and he stayed there through all of it, never once pulling away, never once asking you to stop. And somehow, in the middle of all that warmth, the world didnât feel quite as unbearable as it had a while ago.
You lifted your head from his chest, sniffing, eyes red and puffy. Your voice was small. âIâm scared,â you admitted. âOf⌠of feeling like this. Of everything being too much.â He moved slightly so he could look at you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. âHey,â he murmured, âitâs okay. Youâre not alone.â
You tried to steady yourself. âI⌠I donât even know why it hits me like this sometimes. I get up, I do everything, I try⌠and yet⌠I still feel like Iâm drowning.â He tightened his arms around you just a little more, holding you firmly but not forcefully. âI get it,â he said quietly. âI donât have all the answers either, but Iâm here. You donât have to face it by yourself.â
You sniffled again. âItâs scary, you know? To feel like this and not have a way out.â
âI know, but sometimes you donât need a way out. Sometimes you need someone to stay with you. Thatâs all Iâm doing,â he said, voice steady and soft. You let out a shaky breath, resting your head back against his chest. You sniffled again, hesitating for a moment before the words escaped. ââŚCan you⌠stay tonight?â you whispered. âI donât want to be alone right now.â
He paused, then nodded without a word. âYeah,â he said softly. âIâll stay.â You let out a quiet breath, relief settling in your chest even as the tears still prickled your eyes. âThank you,â you murmured, barely audible, curling a little closer against him.
He adjusted slightly, making sure you were comfortable on the couch, his arms still wrapped around you protectively. âNo need to thank me,â he said quietly. âIâm not going anywhere.â
For a long while, you lay there, the night settling around you. His presence stayed steady, an anchor against everything that had been too loud in your head. You didnât say anything more, but you didnât need to.
âĽď¸
You stirred slowly, the first light of morning creeping through the curtains. Blinking a few times, you realized you were no longer on the couch. You were in your bed, and he was lying there next to you, still asleep. For a moment, you just watched him, careful not to move too much.
Thump⌠thumpâŚ
Your chest fluttered unexpectedly at the rhythm of your heartbeat, a strange new feeling prickling. Your face was still swollen from all the crying, and you traced a finger across your cheek, noticing the warmth of tears. Yet somehow⌠with him there, it didnât feel heavy anymore. The exhaustion, the worry, the acheâŚit all felt softer. The sun peeked through the window, scattering pale gold across the room. You exhaled slowly, letting yourself sink back into the warmth. Everything felt like it might just be okay.
He stirred beside you, a low groan escaping him as he stretched lazily, still half in that sleepy haze. His eyes blinked open, meeting yours for the first time that morning, and his gaze somehow made the room feel warmer. âMorning,â he said, his voice low and rough from sleep.
âMorning,â you replied quietly, your fingers nervously twisting the edge of the blanket. Donât make it weird⌠just breathe. He moved slightly closer, not crowding you, but enough to make his presence reassuring. âSleep okay?â he asked gently, his tone careful, as if he could feel your still-fragile state.
You hesitated, then nodded. âYeah⌠better than last night,â you admitted.
He nodded. âGood,â he said, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. âThatâs all that matters right now.â
You moved a little on the bed, trying not to wake him, then finally cleared your throat. âUh⌠do you want breakfast?â you asked, your voice still soft from sleep. He stretched his arms above his head before sitting up slowly. âBreakfast?â he repeated, his voice that same low, heavy comfort youâd gotten used to. âYeah⌠I could eat. You making something?â
You nodded. âI think I have some eggs and bread. Maybe we can keep it simple.â He smiled faintly, that lazy, half-awake smile that made your chest flutter. Why does that feel like that? âSimpleâs fine,â he said. âAfter last night, I donât think I can handle anything fancy.â
You laughed softly. âOkay⌠simple it is,â you said, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and standing. Your feet felt cold against the floor, and you shivered slightly as you padded toward the kitchen. He followed a moment later, still rubbing at his eyes, hair mussed from sleep. âSo⌠you cook a lot?â he asked, leaning against the counter as you started cracking eggs into a pan.
âNot really,â you admitted, stirring gently. âMostly when I have to, but I can manage a simple breakfast.â You glanced at him, noticing the way he watched. âWhat about you? Can you cook?â
He chuckled. âDepends. I can manage ramen or toast. Thatâs about it.â
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. âFigures,â you said, sliding the pan onto the stove. âIâm going to have to teach you some things then.â He raised an eyebrow. âAre you volunteering, orâŚ?â
âOf course Iâm volunteering,â you said lightly, flipping an egg with a practiced hand. âSomeone has to make sure you donât starve.â He laughed softly, leaning closer to watch you work. âOkay⌠then I guess Iâm in good hands.â
The two of you moved around the small kitchen. You caught yourself glancing at him more than once, noticing how his messy hair caught the sunlight, the way his shoulders relaxed when he leaned against the counter. By the time the eggs were ready, he had pulled a chair over to the small table, sitting down with a smile. âThanks for this,â he said, almost under his breath.
You set the plates in front of him and took a seat across from him, both of you quiet for a moment. You picked up your fork, feeling that small flutter of comfort again. This morning wasnât perfect; your face was still puffy from crying, the heavy thoughts from yesterday were still there, but with him here, with this simple breakfast and companionship, it felt easier to breathe. This is nice⌠donât overthink it. âYeah,â you said softly, almost to yourself. âthis is nice.â
He looked up at you. âYeah,â he agreed, smiling softly at you.
The rest of the day went by, almost lazily, with him still there. He wasnât sure if he was overstaying his welcome. He knew he had somewhere to be, things to do, but every time he glanced at you, it seemed like you genuinely wanted him there.
You moved through your small routines, tidying up a little, putting on music softly, making tea, and he followed along, sometimes helping, sometimes watching. The two of you existing in the same space, talking in little bursts about random things: a show you liked, silly childhood stories. You laughed at a joke he made about his own clumsiness, and he laughed too. Small gestures like him handing you the remote, or you passing him a blanket, felt meaningful without needing explanation.
At one point, you both ended up sitting on the couch again, sharing a comic or a game on your phone. He looked at you then, and he felt at ease. He wasnât pretending to be anything; he didnât have to hide his own exhaustion or worries. This is⌠okay. âYou know,â he said after a while, voice soft, âIâm glad I came.â
You glanced at him. âYeah, me too.â
The afternoon faded into evening, and somehow, just by being there, laughing a little, sharing small stories, exchanging advice, the two of you bonded in ways neither of you had expected. Not everything was solved, and the struggles werenât gone, but somehowâŚsomehowâŚthe world felt a little lighter when you were together. You hesitated for a moment, then softly said, âHeyâŚâ
He looked up at you, eyes curious. âYeah?â
You swallowed. âIâm really glad I met you.â Donât mess this up.
His lips curved into a smile. âIâm glad I met you, too,â he said. Before you could think twice, you leaned in, and he wrapped his arms around you again. It was gentle. Your cheek pressed against his chest. You stayed like that for a long while, holding each other, letting the warmth of the hug speak everything words couldnât.
âĽď¸
He was watching you move around. Even now, after everything, after all the tears and long nights, Jungwon feels the pull in him that tightens when youâre out of reach. He doesnât want to be away from you. Not just tonight, not just in this moment, but in general.
I donât want to be away from her.
He thinks about the nights youâve spent talking, the walks, the small silences that feel more alive than any conversation with anyone else. Every time you laugh, every time you sigh, every tiny habit of yours, it draws him closer. He realizes that he canât imagine going through his days without the thought of you in them, without your presence softening the edges of his own struggles.
Why does it feel like this already matters so much?
Even when youâre just sitting there, staring out a window or lost in thought, he feels this strange warmth in his chest, where everything is slightly better simply because you exist in it. He catches himself hoping youâll look at him, smile, or even just let him sit nearby. The idea of leaving, even for an hour, feels wrong, where heâd be abandoning something he canât name yet.
If I leave, it feels like I lose something I canât replace.
It scares him a little.
Because he knows heâs feeling something stronger than friendship, something that makes him stay a moment longer than, something that makes him want to protect you, support you, and be close to you no matter what. He doesnât say it out loud yet, not even to himself, but every time you glance up and meet his eyes, that silent thought is there: I donât want to be away from her.
I donât want this to stop.
The realization settles over him, quiet but undeniable. He isnât rushing. He isnât forcing anything, but for the first time, he understands that some connections, like this one, like the one he has with you, are worth staying for, worth guarding, worth letting grow patiently.
Tonight, like every night that follows, he knows he wonât let distance come between you, not if he can help it.
One day, the two of you wandered along the school grounds, sneakers brushing against the concrete as the cool air brushed your cheeks. At one point, he offered his jacket when a breeze swept past, and you accepted without thinking, wrapping it around your shoulders.
Later, sitting on the small steps near the school garden, he nudged you slightly with his shoulder. âYouâve gotten better at smiling,â he said teasingly. âYouâve gotten better at noticing,â you shot back, and both of you laughed softly.
Days passed into weeks, and you noticed something subtle but undeniable. The exhaustion that used to weigh down every step didnât hit as hard anymore. Waking up wasnât just a repetitive cycle of âeat, sleep, go to schoolâ. It was moments to actually live in, small choices that mattered, even if only to yourself. Walking to school with Jungwon by your side, chatting in between classes, laughing at small things, it all began to feel like a life you were shaping, not just repeating.
You could look at your day and think, Okay⌠I did something today. I mattered today. Even if it was as small as helping him with his jacket or sharing a snack, it wasnât meaningless. Your routines were now intertwined with purpose, connection, and subtle joy.
then there was him. Being with you forced Jungwon to slow down, to reflect, and to really see himself. He realized that all the roles he had taken on. Sports, clubs, and expectations werenât truly defining him. Watching you navigate your own struggles, seeing your resilience, your honesty, and your small triumphs, he began asking himself questions he had avoided for years: What can I actually do to overcome this? Who am I beyond this?
He learned that he could like things just for himself, that mistakes didnât make him weak, and that vulnerability wasnât a flaw. He noticed how his moods softened when he saw you, how your small habits and the way you carried yourself made him feel anchored. The moments, the laughter, the late-night talks, they werenât just comforting but were mirrors, showing him parts of himself he hadnât understood before.
She makes things feel clearer⌠even when nothing is solved.
Slowly, day by day, the confusion that had haunted him began to fade, replaced by clarity that wasnât immediate but steady. The more he discovered himself, the more he realized he didnât want to face life without you. You had become his safe place, not in the way he could comfort you, but in how being near you reminded him that he could face himself, too.
Meanwhile, your own struggles, though still present, felt lighter. They didnât vanish, but now they were shared, understood, and manageable. The cycles of exhaustion and self-doubt that had once trapped you were now punctuated by laughter, walks, small gestures of care, and the knowledge that someone understood you without needing you to explain everything.
It wasnât perfection. There were still nights when tears came unbidden, or mornings when your chest felt heavy again, but the difference was now there was someone beside you who wouldnât leave. Seeing Jungwon grow, seeing him face his own questions and fears, you learned that struggles could be overcome, not vanished, but softened, when shared with the right person.
By the time the sun went low one evening, both of you knew, without saying it, that life didnât have to be a cycle of exhaustion anymore. You were still figuring things out, still learning, still vulnerable, but now, you felt like you were moving forward, together.
âĽď¸
You were sitting on the steps outside school with your friend, the late afternoon sun warming your face. She nudged you and smiled. âHey, you seem happier these days. Iâm glad.â
You looked down at your hands for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. âYeah, I guess I am,â you said softly, almost shyly. âThanks. Itâs been better lately.â
Her eyes narrowed playfully, noticing something. âIs it him? The one I keep hearing about?â she teased, a knowing grin spreading across her face. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly, glancing away for a moment. ââŚHm,â you murmured, voice quieter, almost shy. âMaybe⌠sort of.â
Your friend laughed softly. âSort of?â she pressed. âCome on, spill. Youâve been acting differently. Smiling more, laughing easier. Thereâs definitely something there.â
You laughed softly, shrugging and trying to play it cool, but your heart was doing its little flutter. âWell⌠itâs⌠nice,â you admitted finally, voice low. âBeing around him⌠it feels lighter. You know? Comfortable.â Your friend raised an eyebrow. âHuh. Sounds like someoneâs found their safe place.â
You nodded. âYeah⌠something like that.â Even saying it out loud made you feel warmer. You didnât need to label it fully yet; knowing that he was there and that you could be yourself was enough for now.
He really does make things feel easierâŚ
âĽď¸
It was late when your phone buzzed beside you.
Jungwon: Are you awake?
You squinted at the screen, confused. It was 4 am again, the same strange hour when everything always seemed silent. You frowned slightly, remembering how you first met him at the store.
You: Yeah. Why?
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Jungwon: Can we meet? The store.
You stared at the message for a moment. He usually texted casually, but this felt rushed.
You: Right now?
Jungwon: Yeah⌠if you donât mind.
A few minutes later, you were pulling on your jacket and shoes, still wondering why he sounded so strange. The streets were quiet as you walked. When you pushed open the store door, the small bell chimed softly. He was already there. Jungwon stood near the instant noodles shelf, hands in his pockets, glancing around, probably waiting for a while. The memory of the first time you had talked, late at night, made the place feel strangely comforting. âYouâre early,â you said as you walked up beside him.
He turned quickly, almost startled. âOh- hey.â
You narrowed your eyes. ââŚWhy do you look like that?â
âWhat do you mean?â he asked.
âYou seem as if youâre about to confess to a crime or something.â
He let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. âYou know what? just get the noodles.â You grabbed one cup while he grabbed another. When you both reached the counter, you instinctively pulled out your wallet. âIâll pay,â he said quickly. You looked at him. âSince when?â He shrugged awkwardly. âJust let me.â
Outside, instead of sitting at the tables, he nodded toward the pavement. âCan we eat there?â he asked. You were surprised at him. âOh?â
He nodded. You stared for a second before laughing under your breath. âYouâre weird tonight.â He grinned sheepishly. âI know,â he said quietly.
Still, you both sat down on the pavement. The noodles steamed softly between your hands as you ate in silence for a moment, but Jungwon kept glancing at you. Once. Twice. Then again, each time you noticed, your stomach fluttered. You stopped mid-bite and looked at him. ââŚWhatâs wrong with you?â
âNothing.â
âJungwon.â
He sighed softly. For a second, he looked like he might change his mind. Then suddenly, he reached out and grabbed your hand. Before you could react, he placed your hand flat against his chest. Your eyes widened. ââŚWhat are you doing?â
You could feel it immediately.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart was beating fast, ridiculously fast, and you realized how nervous he actually was. He looked away, embarrassed, his ears turning red. âThatâs⌠because of you,â he muttered quietly. You slowly set your noodle cup down beside you. ââŚWhat?â
Jungwon exhaled slowly. âIâve been trying to figure out how to say this without sounding stupid,â he admitted. âAlthough every time I see you, it just gets worse.â You were still staring at him, your hand still against his chest, heart beating unevenly. âI donât want to be somewhere youâre not,â he said. âI realized that a while ago.â His fingers tightened slightly around yours. âItâs annoying because now, everything I want to do somehow includes you.â
Your chest felt warm, your mind racing to catch up.
ââŚJungwon.â
He looked at you finally, nervous but honest.
âIâve said this many times, but Iâm really glad I met you,â he continued. âThat night. The snack. The crying. All of it.â He let out a small, breathy laugh. âNow, I think Iâd be pretty miserable if you disappeared.â
You stared at him for a moment, then laughed softly under your breath. ââŚYou dragged me out at four in the morning just to say that?â He groaned, covering part of his face. âSee? This is why I didnât want to say it.â
You shook your head, smiling, then gently squeezed his hand. âIâve also told you this many times, but Iâll say it again, Iâm glad I met you, too,â you said. His eyes lifted again. âI didnât expect you either,â you admitted. âSomehow, you became part of everything.â You paused slightly, then added softly, âI donât think Iâd like it if you werenât around anymore.â
He stared at you for a second, stunned.
ââŚReally?â
You nodded once.
Then he laughed softly, almost in disbelief, running a hand through his hair.
âCan I kiss you?â
The question made your stomach flip. You looked at him, cheeks warm, then gave a small nod.
ââŚYeah.â
He leaned forward slowly, still holding your hand, and kissed you gently. It was warm, a little nervous, a little unsure.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, laughing quietly. ââŚI canât believe I made you sit on the ground at four in the morning for that.â You smiled softly, letting your fingers squeeze his hand. ââŚI didnât mind,â you whispered.
He gave a small, relieved smile, still keeping his forehead against yours. ââŚGood,â he said softly. âI donât want to be anywhere else right now.â
You felt your chest flutter. The noodles forgotten beside you, it was only this.
The two of you, together.
âĽď¸
He walked home slowly. For the first time in a long time, his mind wasnât racing with confusion; it was calm, focused, in a way that felt right. He realized he knew himself better than before, not because everything was solved, but because he had someone who made him notice who he truly was.
I think Iâm starting to understand myself because of her.
Thinking of you made him smile without even trying. The way you had squeezed his hand, the way you hadnât pulled away when he rested your hand on his chest, it all replayed gently in his mind. It wasnât about grand gestures or words; it was the moments, the subtle closeness, that told him exactly how he felt.
She makes everything feel quieter in a good way.
By the time he got home, he felt lighter, but not in a way that erased struggles. It was shared with someone who mattered. He realized he wanted to do more than be near you; he wanted to build little pieces of life together, small things that mattered to both of you.
The next days were full of ordinary yet meaningful moments, and he cherished them all. He could just be him, with you. You were the part of the world he wanted to understand, the person he wanted to learn from, and the one who made all the small, ordinary moments feel extraordinary.
Even when struggles came, they didnât feel like he had to carry it all alone anymore. You were there, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting beside him, and he began to understand what it meant to share life. He could laugh at himself, plan little surprises, or walk beside you without thinking too hard, and that simplicity was everything.
âĽď¸
You were sitting on the bleachers, backpack beside you, watching him practice. His movements were focused and precise, but every so often, he glanced toward you, where he wanted to make sure you were still there. He jogged over after finishing a round, wiping sweat from his forehead. âHey,â he said, a little out of breath, but his eyes lit up when he saw you. âDid you just watch the whole thing?â
You shrugged, smiling softly. âI was bored, and I kind of like seeing you in action,â you admitted, leaning back on your hands. âItâs interesting.â He laughed, then sat beside you, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead. âInteresting, hm? Thatâs one way to put it,â he teased lightly.
You laughed softly, looking at him, and before you realized, he leaned closer and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to your cheek. âHey,â you whispered, startled.
âI said Iâd show you,â he murmured, grin faint against your skin. âBut alsoâŚâ His tone softened, serious now. ââŚI just want you to know, youâreâŚthe love of my life.â
You were completely taken aback, cheeks heating instantly. âExcuse me?!â
He shrugged a little, suddenly looking almost shy despite the boldness of what he had just said. âYou heard me.â You stared at him, mouth slightly open, trying to process how casually he said it. ââŚWait,â you murmured, laughing softly in disbelief. âSo⌠what are we now?â
Jungwon looked at you for a moment before smiling. âWeâre usâŚbut yeah. Youâre my girlfriend,â he said quietly. He glanced down at your hand resting beside you before slowly intertwining his fingers with yours. âI just know I want this,â he admitted. âYou beside me. Walking home together. All of it.â
You looked at your intertwined hands, then back at him, cheeks still warm. âThat sounded suspiciously sweet.â
He laughed softly, shoulders shaking slightly. âDonât ruin the moment.â
You couldnât help laughing too, leaning lightly against his shoulder. âSo this is really happening then,â you murmured.
âYeah,â he said, turning his head slightly toward yours. âIt is.â
âĽď¸
You slumped onto the couch, shoulders tight, books and papers scattered across the floor. Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, jaw clenched, and a soft sigh escaped before you could stop it. Jungwon was there before you even asked. He sat behind you, hands hovering over your shoulders, watching you. âYouâve been at this for hours,â he said softly. âYouâre tense. Let me.â
At first, you hesitated, a little embarrassed, but when his hands finally pressed into your shoulders, the tension in your body seemed to melt just a fraction. His touch was firm but gentle, and you felt your racing thoughts start to quiet. âSchoolâs been too much,â you murmured, leaning slightly back into him, your voice low.
âI know,â he said quietly, one hand massaging, the other resting lightly on your arm. âYou donât have to do all of it alone.â
You let your head fall back against the couch, the warmth of him pressing into your back grounding you. He moved slightly, pulling a blanket over both of you. âBetter?â he asked softly, fingers still working into the knots in your muscles. You nodded, closing your eyes, letting a small, tired smile slip onto your face. âYeah. This helps,â you whispered.
He didnât answer with words. He kept going, letting the silence and the comfort speak for themselves.
âI like this,â you murmured.
âI do too,â he replied, lips brushing the top of your head. âWe should do this more often.â
You laughed softly. âYeah. Iâd like that,â you said. For a long while, you two stayed like that. You could feel the stress of life slowly give way to a comfort, one that had taken months to grow but now felt unshakable. Jungwon tightened his hold slightly. âIâm not going anywhere,â he whispered.
You smiled, pressing your cheek lightly against his chest. ââŚGood,â you whispered back. ââŚbecause I donât want you to.â
âĽď¸
A year had passedâŚ
though sometimes it didnât feel that long. The staircase leading to the rooftop still looked the same. You and Jungwon sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing one earbud. A soft song played between you, the sound barely louder than the distant chatter of students somewhere below.
Your legs stretched down the step, your bag resting beside you. You glanced at him slightly. âDo you remember the first time we sat here?â you asked quietly. He nodded without hesitation. âYeah.â That was all he said, but it was enough because you both remembered. The bad days. The nights that felt too heavy. The talks went longer than either of you had planned. âFeels like a lot happened since then.â
Jungwon looked at you for a moment before giving a small smile. âIt did.â There was no need to explain further. The music continued playing softly in your shared earphones, and he leaned closer until your shoulders pressed together. His forehead gently touched yours, and instinctively, you leaned in too.
Then suddenly-
The school bell rang loudly.
You pulled back slightly, startled, before laughing under your breath. âOops.â You stood up, brushing your skirt lightly. âGot class soon.â
Jungwon sighed, tilting his head back against the wall. âUnbelievable timing.â
You picked up your bag and turned to go down the stairs, but before you could take another step, his hand caught yours. You looked back just as he gently pulled you toward him, turning you around. And before you could say anything-
He kissed you.
It wasnât rushed, but warm and certain.
When he pulled away, he squeezed your hand once. âAlright,â he said casually, grabbing his own bag. âGo. Donât be late.â You laughed softly, cheeks warm.
âBye. I love you,â you said.
âI love you too. See you later,â he replied.
And as you walked down the staircase toward your class, you realized something quietly. A year ago, everything had felt heavy, a cycle you couldnât escape. Now, somehow, life didnât feel like that anymore. This time, when the bell rang-
genre: university au, younger jungwon, slight age gap (reader is 3 years older)
In your second year of grad school, there are three constant truths. One, you hate Tuesdays with a passion. Two, you rely far too much on an ungodly amount of caffeine to get you through your day. And three, you absolutely do not have feelings other than mild annoyance for Jungwon, the entirely too persistent undergrad that canât seem to leave you alone.
â or, a collection of younger university bf jungwon drabbles.
[see individual parts for warnings, summaries, word counts, and ratings! mature parts are linked here but published on mortaldreams.]
1. part one
2. part two (m)
3. part three (semi-m)
requests/promts (drabbles written as requests from readers):
reader initiating affection/jealous reader | drunk reader showing up at Jungwonâs dorm and being unusually vulnerable and soft | early relationship making out
story tag (picture, asks, random posts, etc. related to hesitation)
genre: university au, younger jungwon, slight age gap (reader is 3 years older)
In your second year of grad school, there are three constant truths. One, you hate Tuesdays with a passion. Two, you rely far too much on an ungodly amount of caffeine to get you through your day. And three, you absolutely do not have feelings other than mild annoyance for Jungwon, the entirely too persistent undergrad that canât seem to leave you alone.
â or, a collection of younger university bf jungwon drabbles.
[see individual parts for warnings, summaries, word counts, and ratings! mature parts are linked here but published on mortaldreams.]
1. part one
2. part two (m)
3. part three (semi-m)
requests/promts (drabbles written as requests from readers):
reader initiating affection/jealous reader | drunk reader showing up at Jungwonâs dorm and being unusually vulnerable and soft | early relationship making out
story tag (picture, asks, random posts, etc. related to hesitation)
caleb and nonMC!reader in an loveless arranged marriage, where he's secretly in hopeless love with her
warnings. angst fest, eventual fluff, failing marriages, misunderstandings, suggestive content, jealousy, stalking/following, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial, feelings are hard
preview. "Why wouldn't I be romantic? I'm your husband." He's been doing that lately--dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they're nothing. Somehow always when you're least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he's either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he's doing. You're willing to bet on the latter.
wc. 7.4k
Your husband does not love you. He doesnât love anyone except for one, and it is not you.
You used to like romance. Youâd fantasize about who your beloved forever would be in your room, kicking your feet childishly at the thought of someone loving you so purely. So innocently. You wondered what kind of person theyâd be, what kinds of foods theyâd like, what their family is like. You wondered which holiday would be their favorite, whether theyâd want children, whether theyâd have a time-consuming job. But really, none of it mattered, because you only wanted someone by your side.
So when you were told youâd be put into an arranged marriage, you tried to be hopeful. An embarrassing, pathetic hope that maybe this man could love you the way men love in books and movies if you tried hard enough.
Caleb Xia is not a loving person. You realized this the moment he stepped into the room with cold, lifeless eyes that seemed to stare straight through you as if the wall was worth more than your presence. Heâd smiled, but it felt stiff. Awkward. But youâre sure yours was the same.
Still, his eyes were beautiful. Your hope flickered like a small stubborn flame in your chest that you wanted to guard against the blizzard. The marriage was simple. You showed up to the courthouse in a knee-length white dress, constantly adjusting at the pearls around your neck anxiously while he signed the papers. Once he was done, heâd simply slid it over to you, evidently avoiding your eyes.Â
âAre you sure?â youâd asked meekly, as if speaking any louder than a whisper would shatter your heart. You werenât sure if you were asking him or yourself. Not that it mattered, much.
He spared you a soft smile. Pity, maybe, with how his eyes remained empty, but you took it anyway.Â
A starved man does not beg for more. The flame remained.
The only reason he married you was because MC had gotten married to another childhood friend of theirs. When he mentioned it, you thought nothing of it at first. But when the only photo heâd put up throughout your entire house was one of him and her as children, while your awkwardly situated courthouse picture sat beside it, you knew. He didnât stop to stare at your photo, ever. Not any of the photos. Only hers.
The final blow to the puny flame remaining in your heart was when youâd finally initiated physical contact. To perform the marital duty, heâd hovered above you in just his pants while you stared up at him in your thin pajamas that did little to hide what was beneath it. There was no setting the mood. The air was cold, the room dull because only your half had any semblance of effort that had gone into decorating it. When he kissed you, it felt more like his lips were simply touching yours gently. Almost tapping it.Â
It felt like nothing.
This was not romantic at all.
âAre you okay? Is this okay?â he asked, pulling back with a furrow in his browsâprobably because you were lying lifelessly while holding your breath. You wondered how he could ask something so softly when his eyes remained so muted. Maybe not softly. Maybe just quiet.
âItâs okay.â You wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but he was the only semblance of warmth in the freezing room.
But when his hand slid up your shirt, resting atop of your stomach, you stopped breathing again. He stopped as well. Your gazes met silently, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. A dull, slow stop. And then suddenly, he was off you, clambering to pull his shirt back on as you sat up in confusion, eyes wide.
âI canât,â he muttered. âIâm sorry.â
The flame went out.
Were you really so distasteful? So disgusting that he didnât want to lay his hands on his own wife? Or was it that you were just too different from her? Should you be offended? Are you even offended? Relieved? Hurt?Â
Does it even matter?
Once you were sure heâs gone, you cried yourself to sleep.
The next few years are a blur that you wish had somehow gone even faster. The days are a bore. Heâs away for weeksâmaybe even monthsâat a time. In those periods of time, the house feels like a maze not meant for only one person. At the same time, maybe itâs better heâs away.
Caleb Xia is not a mean person. On paper, heâs a decent husband. He cleans, cooks, and never complains if you ask him to do something. He smiles, nods, and goes on his way. Yet, it feels more like a vaguely close roommate than a husband. The two of you eat in silence, watch TV in silence, and even go to bed in different rooms. You suppose you canât complainâitâs not like you put in much effort to get to know him well anyway.
The only thing he does that even comes close to romance is bringing you flowers. Youâd told him once that you wished the house had space for a garden to plant them, and heâd brought you a bouquet later that week. Since then, he brings them every few weeks routinely. They appear in the vase beside the couch as if theyâve just magically appeared.Â
Theyâre pretty, you think.
Resentment builds, slowly but surely, probably on both ends as in most marriages. This kind of life is killing you inside. This lonely, aimless life in a house that makes you feel like youâre the only person in the world, in a bed that feels too large.Â
âI want to work,â you say one day, picking at your food blankly. âI have an interview tomorrow, so I wonât be here for most of the day from now on if I get it.â
A fork clatters from across the table. âWhat? Why?â
You donât necessarily have to work given Calebâs plentiful paycheck, but you want to anyway because you canât stand being in that gigantic house all by yourself. But of course, how could you tell this to the man in front of you? The man you donât even know the favorite color of?
âItâs a regular office job.â
âI didnât ask what it was,â he blurts, eyes narrowing in concern. âIâm asking why? Do I not give you enough money? You know you have access to everything on the card, right?â
You shrug. âItâs not about the moneyâŚI just think I need something to do throughout the day.â
âWhat about picking up another hobby?â
âIâve exhausted most of them.â
âThen traveling?â
âBy myself?â you frown. âItâs not like youâre ever here.â
Youâre not sure why the words slip through your teeth, but they do, and the disdain is apparent. He seems surprised at first, blinking, before his shoulder slump again and the corners of his lips twitch downward. For some reason, it makes you feelâgood? Alive, more so. So you keep talking. âYouâre always working. You even missed my friendâs wedding after I told her weâd be there.â
He shoots back immediately, brows tight. âThat was a special caseâit was an emergency.â
âThatâs fine,â you chew slowly on your food. âBut I donât want to wait around all day for you to get back.â
âYou shouldnât work if you donât have to. I make more than enough.â
âAgain, not the point.â
His lips tighten, pursing. âWhat will your family think if they hear that Iâm making you work after I told them that Iâd take care of you?â
You snort. âIs this what you call âtaking care ofâ?â
Immediately, you can tell that youâve struck a nerve. And for some reason, it feels good again. Like youâre alive, again. Maybe you just like pissing him off. His expression shifts momentarily to something you canât recognize before it settles disapprovingly and silence befalls the both of you. You like when he doesnât have that stupid smile he always has. The fake, lifeless smile heâd given you when you first met. Youâd rather he just be upset, just like this. He looks like he wants to say something, but then shuts his mouth, swallowing the lump in his throat.Â
His phone rings, slicing the tension in the air like a knife. Caleb glances at the caller ID for a split second before heâs already on his feet, pacing to the sink to put his plates away in a hurry. âIâm sorry, I need to take this. Let me know how the interview goes..â
You stare at your plate, listening to his feet pad around in a hurry. âIs it MC?â
He whips his head around. âWhat?â
You stand from your seat to dump your food into the sink, ignoring the slight clench in your chest. Heâs always been this way. Jumping at any opportunity to be useful to her, while he leaves everyone else in the dust. âNevermind. Go.â
Once you hear the front door shut, you slump into the couch face first, hoping it swallows you whole before he comes back. This has to be some sort of humiliation ritual. Perhaps you committed a grave sin in your past life, because youâre not sure what you couldâve possibly done to warrant such a feeling. The sunset seeps through the window planes and hits half of your face, bathing you in a warmth that had been missing from the rest of the house. The heat makes you sleepy, and you soon find your eyelids drooping shut, gazing lazily at a photo of the two of you on the coffee table. You donât remember when it was taken, but in it, you genuinely look like youâre almost enjoying yourself. You canât tell with him, though. You can never really tell.
âStupid Xia,â you mutter as you fall deep into slumber.
When you awake again, the sun has fully set. Thereâs a blanket draped over you and when you blink away the blots in your vision, youâre met face to face with a fresh vase of flowers on the coffee table. They smell nice.
Damn it.Â
Sometimes, you wish he was just an asshole.
You learn about him through the photo albums he has stashed away in the attic. Itâs not like you were looking for them. Youâd only been cleaning when they managed to topple right into your hands, and since he always says whateverâs his is yours, you figure you might as well satisfy your curiosity. Thereâs less than you expected, unfortunately. Most photos are taken by him, but thereâs a few in between where heâs the subject. Him at his birthday party, his graduation ceremony, him packing for college, and the day he left for the DAA.Â
Itâs odd. You forget he was a normal teenager at one point, and not a high ranking colonel.
The pictures are through his eyes. Before you can stop, you find yourself becoming engrossed in lacing the photos together into some semblance of a story in your head. You see his childhood home and the model planes he enjoys building. His outings with MC and his grandmother. His last minute halloween costumes. Him and his friends carrying out a prank on someone. His studies. His likes. His dislikes.Â
Caleb Xia is a charming person. If you hadnât met the way you did, you think you mightâve liked him a little more.
When you ask him a question regarding one of the photos at dinner, he nearly chokes on his food. You quirk a brow in response. âWas I not supposed to see them?â
âNo, itâs fine if you lookâŚâ he mumbles, taking a sip of water to gather himself. You squintâare his ears pink? You didnât know he was capable of doing something kinda adorable. âItâs just a little embarrassing.â
âLike the picture of your airplane swim trunks from when you were a kidââ
He coughs again, and you snicker.
You think heâs tolerableâjust a bit.
Weeks pass. Life gets a little easier with your job and more to doâit might even be a bit fun. With your new friends at your workplace and a new sense of accomplishment, the less you stress about your loveless marriage and the more you appreciate what you have. Your interactions with Caleb become less forced. Not because youâve somehow managed to miraculously understand how his brain functions, but because you put less weight on what you say. Itâs hard to see someone as intimidating when youâve seen a photo of them in a stupid halloween costume. He seems to notice the change too.Â
[Caleb Xia]: I got us fried chicken for dinner. Donât be too late so it doesnât get cold :)
Your mouth waters. Itâs nice, almost. Emphasis on the almost.
Outside, the evening chill hits your cheeks, sharp enough to wake you up and wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. The street is busy but not crowded, as the sun has just set. A couple laughs too loudly across the road. Somewhere, a bus exhales.
You start down your usual route.
At first, itâs nothing. Just footsteps. Not out of place. People exist. People walk. People go home.
But somethingâs off. Your gut insists on it, and itâs hard to ignore.
You slow slightly, just enough to be subtle. The footsteps slow too.
Your fingers tighten around your bag.
Coincidence, surely.
You donât turn around, yet. Turning means you have to see something and acknowledge that itâs real. Instead, you adjust your pace again. Faster this time.
The footsteps quicken, dropping your heart to your stomach.Â
Your eyes dart around you anxiously. Itâs dark. Streetlamps are guiding your path home, and though the neighborhood is nice, itâs empty. Well, except for you and the footsteps that seemingly sound like theyâre getting ever so closer every few seconds. You throat feels dry.Â
Phone. You need to tell someone. Even if youâre wrongâeven if itâs just a hunch.
[You]: Still there?
[Caleb Xia]: Yea. why?
[You]: I think thereâs someone following me
Your message sends, and for a moment air doesnât enter your lungs.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
[Caleb Xia]: Iâm coming.
You donât know how heâs going to find you, but you donât bother questioning it at the moment. You swallow, and your throat is dry enough that it hurts. The streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement, and itâs hard to discern whether something is just a shadow or something else in the dark.
You donât turn around.
Your legs carry you as fast as you can go without breaking into a sprint, and your grip tightens around your phone until your fingers ache. Hurry, you think. Hurry up, Caleb.
A car passes.
Heâs closer now, whoever it is.
Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs feel like theyâve forgotten how.
Suddenly, a car turns the corner too fast, tires kissing the curb before readjusting and you nearly jump out of your own skin. The tint on the car makes it too difficult to see inside, not that youâd be able to see much regardless due to the dark. It slows to a stop as it sees you, and you think if this isnât who youâre expecting, it might actually be the end for you.Â
The passenger door swings open.
âGet in.â
Relief floods your body when you hear his voice and you stumble to clamber in.
Relief?
This is Caleb Xia youâre talking about. Now that you think about it, youâre unsure why he was the first you contacted instead of the police. Your fingers had tapped on his profile faster than you could think. Was it just because he was at the top of your contacts? Was it because he was near? It must be, right? It had been instinctual. Your body had reactedâand it had somehow worked out.Â
Regardless, you canât possibly deny how relieved you feel right now.
You wonder if this is how MC always feels. It must be nice to know that someone so reliable is always at her beck and call, right? To come running at just a few wordsâmaybe she wouldnât have had to walk home in the first place. Maybe he wouldâve driven her. You feel sick. This isnât what you should be thinking about right now. Right now, you need to report it to the police and take a much needed nap.Â
A part of you is envious of her.
âYou shouldâve called me earlier.â
The chicken doesnât look as appetizing anymore even despite it sitting before you in all its crispy fried glory. The growling in your stomach from earlier is replaced by a slight pain, and itâs difficult to tell if youâve only lost your appetite or if itâs a different kind of anxiousness. He watches you from across the table with a perplexed frown while you pick at the chicken aimlessly, nodding blankly.
âIâll report it first thing in the morning,â Caleb sighs. âI should pick you up from work from now own. Or Iâll call you a taxi if I canât.â
You nod again.
âAre you okay?â
Ah, heâs asking that again. You hate when he does.
You tilt your head. âIâm just sort of in shock, I think.â
âI know, but you should eat at least a bit. Here.â He holds a piece of chicken on a fork to your face and you scrunch your nose. He smirks. âHere comes the airplane?â
âI might vomit all over you.â A half lie.
He replies instantly. âThen Iâll clean it. Eat.â
For a reason that you just attribute to exhaustion, you donât bother arguing. Instead, you pop it into your mouth, cheeks dusting pink at the intimacy of the act. He hums in approval and you try your best not to choke. Why was he feeding youâa grown woman? And why were you letting him?Â
How bizarre. This whole day is bizarre.
At least youâre homeâthanks to him.
âThank you,â you mumble softly. âFor getting there so fast.â
He looks almost offended, shaking his head. âDonât thank me, it was a given. Iâm just happy you thought to call me. I was worried you wouldnât.â
Why did you call him? Well, you suppose he is your husband at the end of the day. One who has eyes for another, but your husband nonetheless. âWhy wouldnât I?â
He stops for a moment, as if in thought, and then smiles sheepishly. Not the annoying fake smile he puts on for show, but one thatâs riddled with guilt. Shame. You want to know why. âJust assumed you wouldnât.â
Strangely, the words make your chest tight.
Your eyes meet his usual striking violets, shoulders slumping as you look away once the eye contact feels too intense. âIâm glad I did.â
You barely catch the tips of his ears turning pink.
Caleb keeps his word for the months following the event. You never have reason to pass by that street again on foot, and although you continue to insist itâs not necessary, having him as your private driver of sorts does feel kind of nice. You think eventually, youâve come to call him more than a stranger. Heâs easier to talk to. Funnier than you thought, actually, when heâs not being annoying to tease you.
Youâd never tell him that though, of course.
You blink warily, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand when a ray of sunlight escapes through the shades of your bedroom and hit your face. However, itâs not what awakes you. Rather, itâs the insistent buzzing of your phone on your bedside table, which you barely manage to snatch without falling off the edge of the bed.Â
[Caleb (husband)]: morning sleepinghead, you awake?
[Caleb (husband)]: Come eat breakfast :> made apple juice too
[Caleb (husband)]: I better hear you shuffling around in your room in the next few minutes or iâll have to come drag you out.. :)
Caleb Xia, you find, nags a lot.
âSleep well?â he chuckles when you finally emerge, still half-awake despite being fully dressed. You scratch the back of your neck, yawning as you perch yourself on one of the chairs at the counter where heâs standing with an apron tied neatly behind him. If you were just a tad bit more awake, youâd have a field day making a snide comment about it.
âMm.â
He laughs again, gently. Did he always sound so soft?
âYou can always quit your job, yâknow,â he shrugs, placing a plate of breakfast foods in front of you. It smells immaculate, as usual. âOfferâs always on the table.â
You shove a forkful of eggs into your mouth, squinting at him. âWhy do you wanth me shoo be unemployed sho bad? My parentsh donât care.â
âItâs not about your familyâŚIt just doesnât seem necessary.â
âI like working. Just not waking up so early.â
âI only want you to avoid overextending yourself if you donât have to,â he pops a tomato into his own mouth. âI make enough for you to get whatever you want, donât I?â
âBut I want my own money, too.â
âMy money is your money. This is the least I can do.â
âCareful,â you snort. âYou sound dangerously close to being romantic.â
He tilts his head. âWhy wouldnât I be romantic? Iâm your husband.â
This time, you really choke on your food, coughing as he quickly hands you the apple juice. Heâs been doing that latelyâdropping lines like that out of nowhere, like theyâre nothing. Somehow always when youâre least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you heâs either completely oblivious or knows exactly what heâs doing.
Youâre willing to bet on the latter.
Caleb Xia, as you figure out in the time you spend with him in his car on the way to work, has terrible taste in films.
âThat movie is awful. Thereâs no way thatâs your favorite.â
He gasps dramatically and you donât bother suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. âHey, donât judge before you try it.â
âIâd like it if I never had to try it, actually.â
The smile adorning your lips falls in an instant the car slows to a stop. You find yourself growing disappointed when you arrive at your workplace, because it means youâll have to leave him. You want to scold yourself for thinking such preposterous thoughts. What are you? A teenager whoâs hanging out with a boy for the first time?
Youâre married, for godâs sake.
Then again, so what if his company isnât so bad? What if you think heâs a bit more to you than tolerable? Isnât that allowed? Heâs your husband, after all. If it doesnât feel so bad, maybe you could let yourself reprise and enjoy it while it lasts.
âAh, right, I should tell youâIâll be leaving this weekend for work.â
Ah, nevermind. Reality has a way of slapping you across the face when you least expect it.
âHow long?â
âA few weeks at best,â he pauses, voice quieter. âMonths, if Iâm unlucky.â
You really despise the subtle aching in your chest.
You hate how easily it slips in. How, for a second, it makes the flame thatâs gone out years ago flicker, as if these moments could mean more than they do. They donât. You know they donât. They arenât yours to keep. None of it is.
The warmth, the ease, the way he looks at you like thisâlike youâre something he actually cares aboutâitâs all fake. Stolen. Youâre just standing in the space where someone else is supposed to be.
You press your lips together, forcing the feeling down before it can spread any further. Get a grip.
His palm pats the top of your head, making your cheeks heat against your will. With a grin, he nods. But itâs stiff. The slight crinkle between his brows. Upset. Upset? âIâll see you tonight.â
Itâs like he knows what youâre thinking before you know yourself.
âWho said I want to?â
âYou wound me.â
As soon as you enter the building, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.
[Caleb (husband)]: I know youâre at work, butâŚ
[Caleb (husband)]: Movie night tn ?? i can make us popcorn :D
[Caleb (husband)]: And yes weâre watching my fav so you can stop calling it bad :>
[Caleb (husband)]: Last hurrah before i leave
This is dangerous, you think. Really, really dangerous.Â
You seriously hope you donât fall for him, if it isnât too late already.
A few hours later, the living room is dimly lit with soft lights, the low hum of something playing in the background as Caleb sets everything up. The bowl of popcorn ends up a little too full, a few pieces spilling onto the counter as he carries it over, muttering something under his breath as he munches on the ones that are about to spill over. You sink into the couch, watching him move around the roomâadjusting the volume and flipping through options heâs already decided on.Â
Itâs strange, how easy it feels. How normal.
You donât realize youâre staring until he glances over.
So you look away quickly, fixing your gaze on the screen. But a few seconds pass, and you can feel his attention still lingering.
You pretend not to notice.
What are you doing? What are either of you doing?
You donât say anything, swallowing the question down into the pit in your stomach.
The movie stars a side character with a passionate devotion to his family, who reminds you of Caleb. Oddly enough, the resemblance is almost uncanny. You kind of want to root for him but also want him to lose terribly. You huff quietly. âHeâs so intense.â
Caleb glances over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. âWhat? You wouldnât want someone like that?â
You tilt your head, pretending to think. âI mean⌠heâs a bit much.â
A pause.
ââŚbut it comes from a good place. I like him.â
He stills.
You pick at a piece of popcorn, rolling it between your fingers. âHe reminds me of you a little.â
âYeah?â
You shrug, still not quite looking at him. âYeah.â A small breath escapes you before you can stop it. âMC is really lucky to have you.â
He goes quiet. When you glance over, heâs already looking at you.
ââŚLucky,â he repeats, almost to himself.
You hesitate, then ruin it by saying more. "I mean, you're always there for her, you know? If she calls, you come running. Everyone wants someone like that."
It was supposed to come off lightheartedly, but it only digs the hole deeper.
Something in his expression shifts. His smile fades, his face losing its usual ease as it drops to something youâve never seen on him before. It contorts in phases. Surprise, and then confusion, and finally into one you prefer the least.
Panic. Something is wrong.
You wish youâd just shut up. The long pause makes you wish you were just a fly on the wall right now.
âIs this why?â he blinks, and his eyes glisten with something you havenât seen from him. Void of the usual emptiness but replaced with something fuller. Heavier. âIs this why you hate me so much? Because of MC?â
Huh?
âFuck,â one hand pulls at the roots of his hair, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he attempts to hide his face from you. âIâm a moron. I shouldâve known.â
What? Despite your hands growing clammy, you feel cold. Like the blood is draining from your face.
âYou must hate me so much.â
When did you ever hate him? Youâve loathed him, certainly, when heâd disappear for weeks on end leaving you all alone in this cold, lifeless house. Youâve wanted to punch your balled up fists into his chest, knowing that it wouldnât phase him in the slightest simply to alleviate some of your own anger. Youâve wanted to run away a multitude of times. But hate? Have you ever hated Caleb? Can you hate Caleb?
âCaleb.â
âThis is my fault. I shouldâve been more aware. Itâs so obvious now, I feel like an idiot.â
âCaleb.â
âI thought you just hated me because this isnât a marriage you wanted,â his voice cracks, and heâs burying his face into his palms. âI thought staying away from you was what you wanted. Shit, Iâm so stupid.â
âCaleb,â you say, more firmly this time, and he finally looks at you. Thereâs a watery film over his usually lifeless eyes, glistening against the light of the TV screen, and it makes the pit in your stomach grow deeper. You donât like seeing him like this. You thought you would, but you donât.
His voice is a mere whisper now. He looks like he wants to vomit out a million words at once, but thereâs three specific ones that linger on his tongue. Is this what they call a woman's intuition? Youâre not sure how, but in the moment, it feels like youâre in his head. For the first time in the 4 years youâve been wed to Caleb Xia, you feel like you can understand him.Â
A victory that doesnât feel like one at all.
âListen to me,â he grabs your hands in his, holding them in front of his chest. âI donât love herânot as a woman. I havenât in a long time. She and Zayne are like my family, and Iâd be a terrible person not to be happy for them. Iâm sorry I didnât make it clear to you. Iâm so sorry.â
Your heart doesnât seem to be beating anymore.
The air is too thick. Like liquid entering your lungs.
Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his words stuck in the back of his throat. Youâre not sure if you want to hear what he wants to say. The words hold too much value, too many years of hurt, and you donât know how youâll react. You donât want to acknowledge any of this as real, because if it is, what was all of this for? What were the years you spent holed up in your room meant to achieve? Were you just being a fool? And in that case, would you even want to know?
No. You donât.
So instead, you kiss him.
A wordless, messy kiss. Though heâs taken aback at first, heâs quick to slot his mouth against yours eagerly, hands flying to your waist to pull you closer as if a man starved. Itâs desperate. Different from the kiss you shared with him at the courthouse, or for transactional purposes. His mouth feels hot against yours, and when his tongue swipes against your lip, you let him in.Â
You climb onto his lap, straddling him as he presses you flush against him. The movie is long forgotten. His hair weeds through the crevices between your fingers and he deepens the kiss as if heâs trying to physically become one with you. His heart hammers against your own like a timer, warning you of what this could mean, but you donât care.
âPut your arms around my neck,â he mumbles against you, and then youâre suddenly being lifted up to your room with his hands supporting your thighs around his waist. But even those few seconds arenât worth staying apart for, because heâs kissing your neck, mouthing at spots that have you pursing your lips to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. He lets you down gently onto the middle of your bed and follows suit, pushing you onto your back.
Youâre here again.
Heâs looming over you, face flushed in a deep red this time. Heâll ask if youâre okay. If this is okay. And then heâll take off his shirt and his hand will slide up yours. Itâll be better this time, because itâs not out of some twisted sense of duty. Desire pulses at your core, but you canât help but shake off this curdling feeling in your chest, as if you want to hurl. You wait for what you expect, eyes never leaving his.
Instead, he breathes sharply. âI love you.â
The world stops.Â
âYou donât have to say anything back that I donât deserve. I just want you to know,â he whispers.
Can anyone love someone like youâmuch less, your husband? You start breathing again because you have to, staring up at him as if heâs gone insane. In fact, you think youâve gone insane. Kissing him, lying beneath him, enjoying his presence, looking forward to his breakfasts, letting him drop you off at work, feeling disappointed that heâs leavingâyouâve most definitely died and come back as another person, because this is not you.
This is Caleb Xia. He is an unloving person. He cannot love. But what happens if he does? With tears stinging at his eyes, watching you with a mix of pure adoration and sorrow, heâs telling you he loves you. Love is a strong word, isnât it? But he means it. He loves you. Caleb loves you. You want to call him a liar, but heâs not.
You want to cry into his chest and run away at the same time.
The flame flickers, and you panic. Not because you despise him, or because his confession is one you donât want to accept, but because this flame is not one you welcome with open arms anymore. Itâs too easy to hurt. Too easy to shrink, yet somehow impossible to destroy.
âI canât,â you croak. âNot right now.â
Even Caleb canât mask the hurt that deepens his frown, as if youâve torn his heart straight from his chest. For a man with so much power, heâs never looked more powerless than he does now.
It feels too vulnerable. Open. As if youâre naked and heâs fully clothed, when itâs infact the exact opposite. You donât want to open up to him again. You donât want him to snuff out that small flame you have that never seems to go out no matter how much you douse it in water. Or maybe you do?
He forces a crooked smile, strained against his very will and nods before leaving the room. As the door slips shut, he doesnât turn to look at you. âSleep tight.â
You donât get much sleep that night at all.
Morning comes anyway.
And then another.
And another.
His absence returns, but this time because youâre the one avoiding him. You leave earlier than usual, linger longer at work, find excuses in the smallest thingsâemails, errands, anything that keeps you just a little out of sync with him. When you do cross paths, itâs brief. Polite. A short good morning or a quick goodnight. Itâs easier that way.
You tell yourself this is what you wantedâto put distance back where it belongs. Whatever that night was, whatever flame flickered between you, it will fade. It must fade.
He isnât yours. Even if he says he is, thereâs too much pain--too many years of resentment built up that you donât know what to do with.
You catch yourself thinking about it at mundane timesâstanding in line, walking home, staring at your coworkers chatting amongst themselves. The apartment feels different already, like itâs preparing to be emptier. As cold as it was a few months ago, when he was still Caleb Xia, and not just Caleb.
You take the time away from him to reset. To think, but not too much. You find yourself flipping through his photo albums again, smiling when you flip to a particularly embarrassing one. You hear him shuffling outside your room, probably packing for his business trip. Youâre aware of what he risks everytime he disappears for weeks at a timeânot only his life, but the lives of his menâand you donât know how he bears to leave home everytime he does.Â
But he always comes back. He has to.Â
You suppose itâs for the best for now. And when he returns, things will return to normal. The house wonât be as awkward as it is. The two of you will slip into your usual routine of a loveless marriage, and youâll find other avenues in life to derive joy from. So will he.
The front door shuts faster than you anticipated.Â
Heâs gone.
This is fine.
This is what you wanted.
The house is empty again. You pace to the living room, and surprisingly, a fresh bouquet of flowers is propped inside their usual vase. You lift the vase into your hands, letting the scent of the flowers waft into your nose. They smell good. New. Sort of like the detergent he uses when doing the laundry.
You set the vase back down, nails pressing faint crescents into your skin.
His face when you last saw him keeps flickering in your mind. So much hurt. Raw with fear.
âI love you.â
You want to tell him he doesnât. You want to remind yourself that this is your husband. Your heartless, cunning husband who kills people for a livingâwho doesnât care about anyone but his family.Â
But youâre his family, arenât you?
You can still smell his cologne in the air.
You mustâve missed it from the glint of the sunlight in the glass coffee tableâthereâs a small shimmer of something sitting beside the vase. With a quirked brow, you pick it up. He usually never leaves trash lying around.
You nearly drop it.
His wedding band.
Your breath stutters, sharp and uneven, like your lungs have forgotten how to work. Your heart pounds as you realize that you're shaking, eyes wide as saucers as you stare at the object in your hands.
No.
He wouldnât. He wouldnât just leave it.
The ring sits in your palm like a brick that weighs your entire body down. This isnât something you can pretend will reset when he comes back.
This means no more quiet dinners. No more stupid arguments over movies he insists are good. No more messages waiting for you when youâre at work. No more him, standing at the counter every morning with a pan in his hand. No more him.
And worst of all, no more chance to fix it. To tell him your side of the story.
Your body moves before your mind catches up.
You wrench the front door open, not bothering to lock it behind you as your feet hit the pavement with just your socks. The air burns your throat as you run, lungs screaming, heart still pounding like itâs trying to break through your ribcage.
He canât leave.
The stinging beneath your feet go unregistered as you clutch the ring so tightly that it feels like it might dig into your flesh.Â
Just forward, you hiss to yourself. Faster. You turn corner after corner, your body begging you to stop overexerting yourself, but you canât bother to care. You donât even register where youâre going, but you need to go somewhere. It feels like ages and seconds at the same time, as you beg nobody in particular for one more chance.
A chance for what, you're not sure.
Reconciliation? Love? Understanding?
Is any of that possible? And if not, why are you running like your very life depends on it?
The ring digs further into your skin, and you realize it doesn't matter as long as you find who it belongs to. Him. Caleb. The reason and bane of your existence, and apparently what has you running across the entire town in hopes of bringing him back.
Finally, you slam into something solid.
The impact knocks the breath out of you, your grip loosening as the ring nearly slips from your fingers. A hand catches your arms before you can stumble back too far, steadying you with a familiar scent that somehow lets you breathe again.
âHeyâwatch itâoh.â
You freeze in place, breath hitching as you look up. Standing right in front of you, he appears slightly disheveled, one hand still gripping your arm while the other awkwardly balances a paper bag of groceries. Caleb blinks, his eyes immediately scanning over your frame before landing on your feet. âWhy are you here? Are you okay? And where are your shoes, itâs dangerouââ
âDonât go, Caleb,â you sniffle, tears already stinging at your eyes as your body finally has a chance to rest, though it doesnât feel much better. âPlease donât go.â
He stares at you as if you've grown a third eye, nearly dropping his bag of groceries at your pleas. Even the tips of his ears turn red, flustered. "What are you--"
âWhy did you leave the ring? Did you lie?â About loving me?
His expression falls, attention honing in on the ring gripped in your fist. Something seems to click in his head, and immediately, he shakes his head. âNo, of course not, I was going to leave a note. I just went out to get groceries before I leftââ
âSo you were going to leave the ring?â
âWell, yes, but can weââ
âDo you not like me anymore?â you blurt, finger bunching at the fabric of his sleeve. âIs it because I ignored you for a week?â
He almost looks offended. âOf course I still like you.â
âThen why?â
His voice softens, as if speaking too loud will scare you away. Hesitantly, he sheepishly releases your arms. Instead, he slowly takes your hand in his, lips pursing as he sighs. His palm feels rough with calluses from the work he does, but light as feathers against your skin. His touch is gentle, as if youâre the most precious thing in the world. âI figured there was no reason for me to tie you to me anymore. I wonât force you to be with someone you canât even stand to be around. Someone you hate. Itâd be selfish.â
Your words tumble out before you can process them. âI donât hate you.â
Finally, with your hand in his, the world feels okay again. This feeling tells you youâre screwed, but you donât care.
âIâve been mad at you, and I donât know what to do with your feelings because they make no sense, but I donât hate you,â you mutter. âYouâre just too confusing.â
â...Confusing?â
âI justâI donât know what to do, Caleb,â you wipe vigorously at your eyes with your free hand, head falling to avoid looking him at him. âI donât know what to think about you. How to feel about you.â
His eyes ease, and you feel him squeeze your fingers. âDo you want me to leave?â
âNo.â
âDo you love me?â
âI donât know.â
Caleb has always been better at reading you than yourself. A flash of hurt ripples across his face, but his eyes maintain its soft glimmerâbecause he knows. Even if you say you donât know, he knows. He also knows that youâre afraid of those words, and he doesnât blame you for it.
So instead, he asks something else. âWhat am I to you?â
You want to call him a million things. The man who left you by yourself, the man who refused to touch you for so many years, the man whoâd chosen to sleep in the guest bedroom just to avoid taking up space in yours. Heâs felt awful, inconsiderate, and cold. But heâs also the man whoâs gotten you flowers, the man whoâd break four speeding laws to make you feel safe, the man who makes sure youâre never hungry, the man who folds your laundry neatly and organizes it color-coded in your closet. The man who you wish you could slap across the face and hold close to you at the same time. The man whoâs made you feel alone yet so cared for all at once.
You like him, you think. In some strange way thatâs never been covered in the romantic films you used to clutch onto like a life line, you like him. The âLâ word teeters on the tip of your tongue like a marble rolling around to decide what these emotions settling in your heart really are, but it doesnât really matter. All you know is that you need him. You want him. You want him to hold your face and kiss you tenderly, like he did that night. You want him to do it again and again until you canât breathe, and all you can feel is him. You want to eat dinner with him every night and wake up in the morning to his stupid apron. You want to go grocery shopping with him. You want to fall asleep watching a movie in his arms.
âWhat am I to you?â
Tears fall down your cheeks in fat globs and you try your hardest not to let your voice crack. âMy husband.â
His eyes widen for a moment, and then his lips split into a wide grin that resembles the lovesick expression of a teenage boy whoâs holding hands for the first time. Caleb drops his grocery bag to his feet and reaches either hands to the sides of your face, cradling you gingerly as he guides you closer. Before youâre even registering it, he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead and presses a soft but firm kiss to your temple, where you can feel him smile against your skin.
âWho am I to say no my wife?â
Your marriage is a messy, complicated jumble of emotions. The confusion. The fear. The warmth. Itâs not perfect. It never will be. And despite it all, you donât want it any other way, because Caleb Xia is a loving person.
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ŕ¨ŕ§ Summary : Jungwon is known as cheerful, playful younger boyfriend to you. He is always smiling, teasing, and affectionate. But no one knew his other side. Behind closed doors however, he reveals a far more commanding side, leading with confidence and control.
ŕ¨ŕ§ Pairing : youngerbf! Jungwon x oldergf! reader
ŕ¨ŕ§ Wordcount : 2.8k
ŕ¨ŕ§ Warning : porn without plot, explicit scene (well this is straightass porn i guess), harddom!Jungwon, sub!femreader, Consensual rough intimacy, orgasm control, creampie, unprotected sex (PLS PLS WRAP YOUR WILLY), belly bulge, doggy, abs riding, marking.
Everyone knew Jungwon as the cheerful one. The boyfriend who laughed too loudly at his own jokes, stole bites from your plate, and draped himself over your shoulders whenever he wanted attention. Most people assumed he was the younger, clingier one in the relationship. They were only half right. The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind you, something shifted.
Jungwon leaned against the door, watching you with an expression that made your heart skip. Jungwon's cheerful laughter from dinner had barely faded from the air when his hand curled around your wrist. Itâs not rough, but deliberate. His palm was warm as he tugged you toward the bedroom, his eyes losing that boyish glimmer, replaced by something darker and hungrier.Â
âStrip.âÂ
He didnât yell at you, but the tone he set for his voice was enough to make you obey him instantly. Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, discarding it. Your bra followed, then your shorts, your panties. Each piece falling to the floor while he watched, unmoving, arms crossed, his jaw tight. When you stood fully naked before him, you felt his gaze drag over you like a physical touch, lingering on your breasts, the curve of your waist, the dampness already gathering between your thighs.
He didnât smile. He didnât nod. He simply tilted his head and said, âNow undress me. Use your mouth.â
Your heart hammered. You stepped forward on shaking legs, sinking to your knees in front of him. Your hands reached for his belt, but he caught your wrist.
âI said mouth. No hands. Open my jeans with your teeth.â
You hesitated, and his grip tightened.
âDid I stutter?â
âNo, sir.â
You leaned in, your lips brushing against the rough fabric of his jeans. Your teeth found the belt buckle, fumbling, tugging, your tongue working to loosen the leather. It took several tries, your cheeks flushing with heat and submission. He didnât help. He just watched, breathing slow and deliberate, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Finally, the belt gave. You pulled it free with your teeth and let it fall to the floor with a clatter. Then you worked on the button. Your tongue pressing against the metal, your teeth pinching it open. The zipper was next, and you gripped the tab between your teeth, dragging it down slowly. Inch by inch. The sound was obscene in the quiet room.
When his jeans hung open, you looked up at him, waiting.
âGood girl,â he murmured, and the praise sent a pulse of heat through you. âNow pull them down.â
You ducked your head, biting onto the waistband of his jeans and boxers together, tugging downward. The fabric dragged across his thighs, his cock springing free. Already hard, and the tip glistening with precum. You worked the jeans down to his ankles, and then he stepped out of them, kicking them aside.
He stood over you, naked, towering, his erection jutting toward your face. His hand found your hair, gripping the roots, tilting your head back.Â
âKiss me. From my lips down.â
You rose on your knees, your lips meeting his in a rough, demanding kiss. He bit your lower lip, hard enough to sting, then pulled back.Â
âKeep going.â
Your mouth trailed down his chin, his jaw, his throat. You kissed the hollow of his collarbone, the hard plane of his chest, your tongue tracing the ridges of his abdomen. He was taut, every muscle defined, and you felt him twitch beneath your lips as you traveled lower. His breathing grew heavier, his hand tightening in your hair. When you reached his navel, you paused, looking up at him through your lashes. His eyes were half lidded, dark with hunger.
âDonât stop,â he ordered.
You lowered your mouth further, your lips brushing the coarse hair below his navel. Then your tongue flicked out, tracing the base of his cock. He inhaled sharply. You ran your tongue along the length, from root to tip, slow and deliberate, savoring the salt and heat.
He grips his cock and smacks your lips a few times.
âOpen,â he commanded.
You parted your lips, and he guided himself inside, not gently. He pushed deep, hitting the back of your throat, and you gagged. But, he didn't pull out. He held you there, your nose pressed against his pelvis, his cock filling your throat.
âBreathe through your nose,â he said, voice strained. âTake it all.â
Tears welled in your eyes, but you obeyed. Your throat relaxed, the muscles spasming around him. He groaned, low and guttural, and began to move, thrusting into your mouth, fucking your throat with a rhythm that was harsh and unforgiving.
âLook at me,â he growled.
Your eyes, wet and desperate, met his. The sight of you on your knees, mouth stuffed with his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks, made his hips snap harder. He was fully in control, using your mouth as he pleased, and you let him. Spit dripping down your chin, your nose running, every instinct screaming to pull away, but your submission held you still.
He pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He grabbed your jaw, squeezing.
âYouâre so fucking good,â he said, his thumb dragging across your wet lips.Â
He put his back on the bed, completely sprawled. His gaze followed you. The moment you sit still in your position, his patience is running low. He clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed.Â
"Go on." He laces his hands behind his head, settling deeper into the pillows. The pose should look casual, but there's nothing relaxed about the way his eyes pin you in place. "Ride me. But no hands, no grinding. Just that pretty little pussy sliding up and down my abs until you come."
You swallow hard, heat flooding your cheeks. "Jungwonâ"Â
His eyebrows furrowed, not happy with your answer.Â
âWhat did you call me?âÂ
The correction stung from the weight of his authority pressing down on you. You dropped your gaze, your voice smaller when you spoke.Â
âI-iâm sorry Sir,âÂ
He didn't acknowledge the apology with words. He merely waited, his eyes boring into you, his hands still laced behind his head, muscles coiled and ready beneath that deceptively relaxed pose. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until you realized he was waiting for action, not more words.
You moved, climbing onto the bed. You positioned yourself over his torso, your knees bracketing his hips. His abdomen was a landscape of hard ridges defined, warm, intimidating. The thought of sliding your bare, slick flesh across that surface without using your hands or grinding made your thighs tremble. You hovered, hesitant.
"Lower," he said, voice flat. "I want to feel you."
You began, lifting your hips until only your clit grazed his skin, then sinking back down. Â You straddled him, thighs trembling as you hovered over his hard, sculpted midsection. His hands found your hips, guiding you down until your slick heat pressed against the ridges of his abdominal muscles. The contact sent a jolt through your core.Â
"Hands behind your back," he ordered. "No touching me."
You obeyed, clasping your wrists together at the small of your back. The position arched your chest forward, pushed your hips out, and left you completely exposed and unbalanced. He watched, his jaw tight, a predatory stillness in his gaze.
"Now move. Up and down. Slow. I want to see every inch of that cunt slide over me."
You rolled your hips, grinding against his stomach, and the friction was maddening. His skin was warm, slightly damp, and the shift of muscles beneath you made your breath catch. Your hands braced on his chest, nails digging into his shoulders as you move slowly, undulating, and desperate.Â
The sight of your glistening arousal coating his stomach made his cock twitch against his thigh. He didn't touch himself. He didn't need to. His pleasure came from watching you work for his approval.
"Faster."
Your pace increased, your breath coming in sharp bursts. Your thighs burned, your wrists ached, but you didn't stop. The sensation built low in your belly, a slow, desperate coil. Your juices smeared across his abs, leaving a wet, glistening trail.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice dipping lower. "Look at you. Making a mess of me. You love this, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir," you gasped.
"Say it. Say what you're doing."
"I'mâI'm riding your abs, Sirâusing your body to make myself comeâ"
"Good girl." His hands remained behind his head, but his hips shifted slightly, flexing the muscles beneath you, creating more friction. The way your clit shifted around his muscle, it sent the sensation all over your body. It was too much, your clit is swollen and begging for a break.Â
"Please," you whimper. "Won, please, I'm so closeâ"
Jungwon smack your ass. The slap was echoing in your shared bedroom. The pain stings, it feels hot, and it left his handprint on your behind. He hissed.Â
âCall me properly,âÂ
Tears welled in your eyes, âI-iâm sorry sir,â Â
"You're not allowed to come yet." His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your waist, stopping your movement. You whine, the sound pathetic and desperate. "I didn't say you couldnât."Â
His grip on your waist tightened like iron, halting every desperate roll of your hips. The denial hit harder than the slap, leaving you trembling on the edge with no release in sight. His palm smoothed over the heated print on your ass, fingers pressing just enough to remind you who controlled every sensation.
"Look at you," he continued, tone sharp with command. "Whimpering, dripping, begging with that pretty cunt. But you know the rules. Say it."
You swallowed, voice shaking. "I-I only come when you allow it, Sir."
A satisfied hum vibrated from his chest. He shifted his hold, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to arch your spine deeper. The new angle forced him even further inside, the pressure building again despite his order.
"Good. Now stay still and take it. I'm going to fuck you exactly how I want, and you're going to hold that orgasm until I tell you otherwise."
You obeyed, hips rocking harder, your clit dragging against the hard planes of his abdomen. The sensation built, a coil tightening low in your belly, and you gasped, moaning his name. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, pushing you harder. Your movements grew sloppy, desperate. The orgasm was building, cresting, but you needed permission.
"Please, Sirâcan Iâ"
"Come," he commanded.
The release crashed through you, your body convulsing, your inner walls clenching around nothing as your climax spilled onto his stomach, hot, wet, shameless. Your hips kept moving through the aftershocks, grinding despite his earlier rule, but he didn't correct you. He simply watched, his eyes dark with satisfaction, as you painted his abs with your pleasure.
When you finally stilled, trembling, breathless, he reached down and dragged a finger through the mess on his belly. He brought it to your lips.
"Clean it up."
You parted your mouth, tasting yourself on his skin as you sucked his finger clean. He withdrew, then grabbed your chin, pulling you down until your face hovered inches from his.
Jungwon chuckled, low and dark. "Good. Now on your hands and knees."
He was already moving, flipping you over with practiced ease. Your palms pressed into the sheets as he settled behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other wrapping in your hair in a firm, possessive pull that tilted your head back.
"You're so beautiful when you obey." His voice was gravel, rough with restraint. "I'm going to fuck you now. You're going to take it. And you're going to cry for me."
The head of his cock pressed against your slick entrance, and he pushed inside without warning. He thrust his cock in a single, deep thrust that made you gasp, your back arching. He was thick, stretching you, filling you completely, and he didn't give you a moment to adjust. He started moving, hard and fast, each stroke driving the air from your lungs.
His hand tightened in your hair, yanking your head back, and you whimpered.Â
"Pleaseâ"
"Please what?" He leaned over you, teeth grazing your shoulder before sinking in a sharp bite that made you cry out. His mouth latched onto the curve of your neck, sucking hard, marking you. You felt the sting bloom into a deep, possessive heat.
He pulled back, licking the bruise, then bit again, lower, on your shoulder blade. Another hickey. Another claim. His hips never slowed, driving into you relentlessly, and tears pricked at your eyes from the overwhelming intensity of being so completely owned.
"Look at you," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with satisfaction. "Crying on my cock.â
The pressure built again, deeper this time, coiling in your belly. Your legs trembled, your knuckles white against the sheets.
"I'm close," you sobbed.
"Not yet." He pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching, and before you could protest, he hauled you up. Your back hit his chest, his arm locked around your waist, and he positioned you standing, legs spread, bent slightly forward.
He drove into you, the new angle hitting spots that made your vision white. His hand found your throat as a reminder of control. His other hand pressed against your lower belly, and you could feel the outline of him through your skin, stretching you from the inside.
"Feel that? I'm everywhere inside you."
You can't hold yourself up anymore, you sag against him, letting him take your full weight, and he uses it, drives into you harder with every thrust.Â
"Look at you." His voice is low, almost tender, but the words are razors wrapped in silk. "Can't even stand. Such a mess for me. I love it. I love how pathetic you get when I fuck you."
You want to answer, but your voice is gone. All you can do is take it, let him use your body the way he wants, feel the pleasure building again despite how raw you already are. Your legs shook, knees buckling, but he held you up, fucking you with brutal, relentless precision. Each thrust pushed him deeper, and your moans turned to broken cries.Â
"Come for me," he commanded. Â
Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The orgasm ripped through you, violent and consuming, and you felt yourself gush a hot, wet release that splattered down your thighs and dripped to the floor. Your legs gave out, but he caught you, lowering you gently to the bed.
But he didn't stop. He kept thrusting, shallow now, each movement pushing against your oversensitive core, making you whimper. His hand pressed harder on your bulging belly, stretched by his size and the mess you'd made.
"Look," he whispered, guiding your trembling hand to the swell. "That's all me. You're so full."
You cried freely now, a stream of tears and pleas and his name falling from your lips. He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, as he finally stilled, buried deep inside you. He shoved deep one last time, groaning, and you felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick. He stayed there, buried, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against your spine.
When he finally pulled out, he watched his cum spill from you, pooling on the sheets. He gathered it on his fingers and pushed it back inside, pressing gently. Then he gathered you into his arms, pulling you against his chest, his breath warm against your hair.
"That's my good girl," he murmured, softer now, the edge fading. "You did so well."
You curled into him, spent and trembling, knowing that tomorrow he'd be all smiles and sunshine, and no one would know the power he held over you behind closed doors.
When he finally gathered you into his arms, the room felt impossibly quiet compared to everything that had happened before. The sharp edge that had been present in his voice was gone now. Jungwon pulled the blankets over both of you before settling back against the headboard, carefully guiding you against his chest. For several moments, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your uneven breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. His fingers slowly combed through your hair.
Jungwon shifted slightly, pulling you closer.
"You okay?"
The question was quiet. You nodded against his chest.
"Words."
You sighed.
"Yes."
His hand squeezed your shoulder.
"Good."
Another kiss found your forehead. Jungwon only tightened his arms around you. And as you listened to his breathing gradually slow, it became impossible to reconcile this version of him with the confident, commanding person only hours earlier.
No one would ever believe they were the same person. But you knew better. Because both versions were Jungwon. And somehow, you loved every side of him.
ŕ¨ŕ§ Summary : Dr. Sim thought surviving trauma surgery would be the hardest part of his new job. Until he met Dr. Y/N. Cold, terrifying, and impossibly competent, the trauma surgeon quickly becomes the center of every exhausting shift and every thought he canât seem to turn off. Somewhere between overnight surgeries, coffee runs, and years of working side by side, Jake realizes falling in love with her is the easiest thing heâs ever done. The problem? Dr. Y/N doesnât believe in making space for people in her life. Especially not someone as persistent as him.
ŕ¨ŕ§ Pairing : anesthesiologist! Jake x traumasurgeon! reader
ŕ¨ŕ§ Wordcount : 9.4K
ŕ¨ŕ§ Song : Crush - Ego
ŕ¨ŕ§ Warning : STILL A SLOW BURN!! Jake highkey down-bad, FLUFF!!, a bit angst, comedic (if you squint), co-worker to.... (idk) but there's a progress chat!, a lot of banter (please bear with me).
part I
Jake spent a solid fifteen minutes staring at the vending machine. A deep sigh escaped him as he leaned his forehead against the glass. His reflection stared back, looking significantly less charming than usual. Tragic.Â
First day as an attending anesthesiologist, he already got yelled at in front of an entire operating room.Â
Jake still couldnât fully process it.Â
Not during med school. Not during residency. Not even by Professor Kwon, who once made a grown orthopedic resident cry over improper intubation positioning.Â
But you?Â
You had looked up from an actively bleeding patient with the coldest expression he had ever seen and saidâ
âDr. Sim, are you planning to keep up, or should I ask for someone faster?âÂ
The room had gone silent. Even the cardiac monitor suddenly sounded awkward. Jake winced at the memory and rubbed a hand down his face.Â
Okay.Â
In his defense, trauma surgery was insane. Things moved at approximately the speed of light in your operating room. Instruments flew into your waiting hand before people even registered that you asked for them. Residents looked second away from cardiac arrest. Nurses communicated through eye contact alone.Â
And you?Â
You were terrifying.Â
Not loud, not emotional, just brutally efficient. Which somehow made it worse.Â
Jake grabbed an Americano from the vending machine and muttered under his breath.Â
âOne rough induction and suddenly my career flashed before my eyes,âÂ
âYou were slow.âÂ
He nearly fumbled the drink. Turning around, he found you standing there in navy scrubs, arms crossed loosely over your chest.Â
No warning. No footsteps. Psychotic behavior, honestly.Â
âYou always stand there like a disappointed ghost?â
âYou always complain this much?â
âOnly after public humiliation.â
You grabbed your drink from the vending machine. âThen get used to it.â
Jake stared at you in disbelief as you started walking away.
âWow,â he called after you. âThat was kinda mean.â
Jake watched you walk down the hallway without looking back once.
Sure, you were dragging your steps like each one weighed at least fifty pounds after a brutal shift, but somehow you still moved through the hospital corridor with the intensity of someone seconds away from giving a TED Talk titled Why Med School Was The Worst Decision Of My Life.
Jake took a sip of his coffee.
ââŚI kinda respect her, actually.â
âDonât let her hear that.â
"Jesus!"
Jake's heart almost evaporates. A nurse stood beside him now, casually punching numbers into the vending machine. Slowly, and trying to make things more embarrassing, he calmed himself down.
âWhy?â he asked.
âCompliments make her violent.â
He let out a quiet laugh. âThat explains a lot.â
âYouâre new, huh?â
âThat obvious?â
The nurse grabbed her drink with a hum. âYouâre still smiling after getting yelled at.â
Ouch.
Jake leaned back against the vending machine. âDoes she hate everyone equally, or should I feel honored?â
âOh, Dr. Y/N definitely hates incompetence more.â
ââŚThat somehow feels personal.â
âYouâll survive,â the nurse said. âProbably.â
Probably?
Before Jake could question that deeply concerning choice of words, his pager suddenly buzzed against his waist.
OR TWO â TRAUMA ACTIVATION.Â
âWell,â he muttered, pushing himself off the vending machine, âtime to go disappoint a woman again.âÂ
âGood luck,â the nurse called out, already laughing.
He took one last sip of his americano before tossing the empty can neatly into the trash bin.
Missed.
Jake stared at the can lying sadly on the floor.
ââŚThat feels symbolic somehow.â
Then, with what remained of his dignity, he picked it up and headed toward OR Two. Straight into the beginning of his problems.
.
.
.
.
Six months later, Jake learned three important things.Â
First, trauma surgeons operated entirely on caffeine, spite, and unresolved psychological issues. Second, the emergency department smelled permanently like stress and antiseptic. And third, you still hated him. Maybe hate was a strong word. Strongly disliked him? Yeah, probably that.Â
âDr. Sim.â
Jake didnât even look up from the patient chart anymore. âThat tone usually means Iâm about to get criticized.â
âBecause youâre leaning on the sterile table.â
He immediately stepped away. âSee, this is why morale in this hospital is terrible.â
âMorale is not my department.â
âNeither is emotional damage, yet somehow you excel at both.â
Around the operating room, two residents immediately looked down to hide their laughter.
Six months ago, they wouldâve been terrified to witness conversations like this. Now the trauma team had simply accepted that Dr. Y/N and Dr. Sim existed in their own strange ecosystem. Jake adjusted his gloves before glancing sideways at you. Same cold expression. Same sharp eyes. Same terrifyingly competent hands are currently preparing for surgery.
Still terrifying. Still brutally honest. Still the prettiest person heâd ever seen in an operating room.
Which honestly felt medically unprofessional at this point.
âYouâre staring again,â you said flatly.
Jake blinked once. âSee, now youâre just making things awkward.â
âFocus on the patient.â
âI am.â
Your eyes narrowed slightly. Jake grinned behind his mask. Ah. There it was. Progress. Six months ago, you wouldâve ignored him completely. Now you looked mildly homicidal instead.Â
Relationship development.
.
.
.
.
A year later, Jake still couldnât decide whether meeting you had improved his life or permanently damaged it.
Probably both.
You were still terrifying. The difference was that he had unfortunately started finding it attractive. Deeply attractive. Catastrophically attractive, even.
Somewhere between his third overnight trauma call and the time you silently handed him half your sandwich during a fourteen-hour shift, Jake realized he was in serious trouble. Not crush trouble. Real trouble.
The kind where he automatically searched for you first every time he walked into the trauma department. The kind where hearing your voice over the intercom somehow made his shifts less unbearable. The kind where your approval started mattering more than it should.
Which was ridiculous, considering you still criticized him like it was a professional obligation.Â
âBPâs dropping.â
âI know.â
âWell, that response feels unnecessarily hostile.â
You didnât even look up from the patient. âClamp.â
The scrub nurse immediately placed the instrument into your hand.
âPressureâs at eighty over fifty,â Jake continued, eyes moving across the monitor. âSheâs bleeding faster than youâre closing.â
âThat sounds judgmental coming from someone sitting down.â
Jake gasped softly behind his mask. âSee? This is why people fear trauma surgeons.â
âPeople fear incompetence.â
âAnd yet you continue allowing residents into your OR.â
One of the residents nearly choked. You held your hand out wordlessly.
âSuction.â
Jake watched you work for a second.
Fast hands. Steady movements. Zero hesitation. Honestly, it was getting hard to focus professionally when you looked like that during surgery.
âDr. Sim.â
He blinked. âHm?â
âFocus.â
Jake stared. âYou sensed me being distracted?â
âYour monitor alarm has been going off for seven seconds.â
ââŚRight.â
He silenced it quickly while muttering under his breath, âThis is psychological warfare.â
âHeart rate stabilizing,â he said a moment later. âYouâve got a better window now.â
âHow much time?â
Jake glanced at the monitor again. âIf you want the patient alive? Ten minutes.â
âI only need seven.â
âThat confidence is either very attractive or deeply concerning.â
Silence. Then the scrub nurse quietly turned away to hide her laughter. Your eyes narrowed above your mask.
âAre you always this annoying?â
âOnly in rooms where I feel emotionally safe.â
âThen feel unsafe.â
Jake grinned immediately.
Ah. There it was. His favorite thing in the world: the tiny look of irritation you got whenever he made you this close to losing composure.
.
.
.
.
Three years later, Jake could read your moods purely based on how aggressively you tied your surgical gown.
Today?
Dangerous.
Not angry enough to kill someone, but definitely irritated enough to emotionally damage a resident.
âWhy is everyone breathing so loudly today?â
Ah.
Definitely dangerous.
Around the operating room, three residents immediately lowered their heads like civilians avoiding eye contact with a predator. Jake, meanwhile, didnât even look up from the anesthesia monitor anymore.
âGood morning to you, too, sunshine.â
âIâve been awake for twenty-two hours.â
âAnd yet somehow your personality still finds ways to worsen.â
âScalpel.â
The instrument landed perfectly into your waiting hand before the scrub nurse could react. Your eyes flicked toward Jake briefly. Not surprised. Just accustomed. Three years working together had turned your operating rhythm into something almost automatic.
Jake adjusted medications before you asked. You anticipated his timing without looking. The entire trauma surgeries passed with conversations made up of half-sentences because neither of you needed explanations anymore. Honestly, it was a little insane.
âBP stable,â Jake said.
âMm.â
âHeart rateâs improving.â
âGood.â
âYou know,â he continued casually, âmost surgeons say thank you.â
âMost anesthesiologists donât complain during active hemorrhages.â
Ouch.
The surgery continued smoothly after that.
Three years working together had turned both of you into something almost terrifyingly synchronized. You moved. Jake adjusted. He spoke. You already anticipated the problem before he finished the sentence.
Somewhere along the way, working together stopped feeling difficult and started feeling natural. Which was honestly dangerous for Jake emotionally.Â
Nearly an hour later, you finally stepped away from the operating table with a tired exhale.
âClosing complete.â
Jake glanced at the monitor one last time before nodding. âVitals stable.â
âGood.â
The residents visibly relaxed like prisoners being granted freedom.
You peeled off your gloves with the same exhausted irritation you carried through most shifts nowadays. Twenty-two hours awake. Midnight surgery. Terrifying attitude is somehow still fully operational. Jake watched you walk toward the scrub room sink before following behind casually.
âSo,â he started, washing his hands beside you, âcoffee?â
âNo.â
Immediate.
Jake sighed. âYou reject me concerning efficiency.â
âPractice.â
âCruel.â
âAccurate.â
Water ran quietly between both of you for a moment. Your shoulders looked tense. Heavy. The kind of exhaustion that sleep alone probably couldnât fix. Jake leaned slightly against the sink.
âOkay,â he tried again, âthen lunch tomorrow.â
âNo.â
âTomorrow night?â
âNo.â
âBreakfast?â
âIâd rather intubate myself.â
Jake stared at you in disbelief. âSee, comments like that are exactly why HR avoids our department.â
Finally, finally, the corner of your mouth twitched upward slightly. Barely there. Tiny.
But Jake noticed immediately anyway. And there it was. The reason he kept trying. Because every once in a while, after long shifts and impossible surgeries, you let tiny cracks show through the armor. Never for long. Never intentionally. But enough. Just enough to completely ruin him. You grabbed a towel, drying your hands before speaking flatly again.
âGo home, Dr. Sim.â
Jake smiled lazily. âWorried about me?â
âIâm worried your face will still be here when my next shift starts.â
âThatâs the meanest possible version of concern.â
You turned to leave the scrub room. Then paused briefly near the doorway.
ââŚThereâs coffee in the residentsâ lounge.â
Jake blinked once.
âWait.â
You kept walking.
âWas that an invitation?â
Silence.
Jake grinned slowly to himself before following you anyway.
.
.
.
.
Jake realized he was in love with you at 3:17 in the morning.
Which was deeply unfair, honestly.
Not because the timing was inconvenientâ although falling in love during a trauma activation probably counted as psychological damageâ but because the realization happened over something incredibly stupid.
You were eating crackers.
That was it.
Just you sitting on the counter in the residentsâ lounge after eighteen straight hours awake, still wearing navy scrubs while quietly eating stale crackers like they personally offended you. Jake stood frozen near the coffee machine.
Yet somehow, while watching you silently eat crackers at an ungodly hour in a fluorescent hospital lounge, that was the only thought Jake had left.Â
Oh, this was bad.
Because suddenly every annoying thing about you became weirdly endearing. The permanent frown. The exhaustion in your eyes. The way you looked homicidal before caffeine. Even your silence felt familiar now instead of intimidating.
You noticed him staring almost immediately. Of course you did. You looked unimpressed already. Comforting, somehow. Jake grabbed two coffees automatically before setting one beside you. You glanced at the cup.
âI didnât ask for this.â
âYou also havenât gone home in twenty hours. Iâm taking creative liberties.â
You stared at the coffee for a few quiet seconds before taking it anyway. No, thank you, just acceptance. Jake smiled before he could stop himself. And there it was again. That horrible feeling in his chest. Warm. Heavy. Stupidly soft.
God.
He was genuinely done for.
You frowned slightly at him over the coffee cup.
ââŚWhy are you smiling like that?â
Jake leaned against the counter beside you.
âNothing.â
Suspicious silence.
âYouâre being weird again.â
He laughed quietly. Again. Like this was normal now. And maybe that was the exact moment Jake realized the problem wasnât that you were difficult to love. It was that loving you had become the easiest thing heâd done in years.
.
.
.
.
âFine,â you said flatly. âLunch.â
Jake blinked. For the first time since youâd known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard. Then his entire face changed. Not smug satisfaction. Not teasing triumph. He looked happy.Â
Ridiculously, openly happy.Â
âSeriously?â he asked.Â
You immediately regretted everything. âDonât make it weird.â
âIâm not making it weird, you just said yes.â
âTo lunch.â
âWith me.â
âTo food.â
He laughed under his breath, then straightened so quickly it was almost embarrassing. âRight. Yes. Of course. Food.â
You narrowed your eyes. âWhy do you look like you won something?âÂ
âBecause I did.â
âYou did not.â
âI absolutely did.â
That exact moment had permanently altered his brain chemistry.Â
But Jake couldnât help it. Because for everyone else, lunch was just lunch.
For you?
Saying yes to anything personal felt nearly impossible. Which meant Jake remembered every tiny detail of that day with horrifying clarity. The way you sighed before agreeing. The way you rolled your eyes when he smiled too much. The fact that you stayed even after finishing your food.
Tiny things. Meaningless things. Things Jake treasured anyway, like a complete idiot.
âDr. Sim.â
He looked up instantly. And there you were at the end of the hallway, already dressed in scrubs for the next surgery. Same exhausted expression.
Same terrifying aura.
The same woman is currently ruining his emotional stability.
âAre you coming to OR Three,â you asked flatly, âor are you planning to stand there looking emotionally compromised all afternoon?â
Jake blinked once.
âSee, comments like that are exactly why Iâm obsessed with you.â
âThat sounds like a personal problem.â
âIt is.â
You stared at him for a long second before turning around toward the operating rooms again.
âFive minutes.â
Jake immediately pushed himself off the counter to follow after you.
Of course he did.
The hallway lights reflected against the polished floors as both of you walked side by side in familiar silence.Â
âWhy are you smiling again?â
Jake looked over innocently. âYou notice me a lot.â
âYouâre visibly weird.â
âThatâs hurtful.â
God. Even your insults sounded fond lately. Or maybe Jake was just deeply delusional at this point. Honestly hard to tell anymore.
âYou know,â he said casually as both of you stopped outside the OR doors, âwe should do lunch again sometime.â
âNo.â
Immediate. Jake sighed dramatically toward the ceiling.
âAnd yet you already said yes once.â
âTemporary lapse in judgment.â
âOne of the best days of my life, actually.â
Your hand paused briefly against the OR door handle. Tiny. Almost invisible. But Jake noticed anyway. He always noticed. You glanced sideways at him with narrowed eyes.
Silence.
âDr. Sim.â
âYeah?â
âGo monitor your patient.â
Ah.
Deflection again. Interesting.
.
.
.
.
The problem with Jake openly liking you was that nobody in the hospital found it surprising anymore. Â
Not the nurses. Not the residents. Not even the janitors at this point. After three years, Dr. Sim orbiting around Dr. Y/N had simply become part of the hospital ecosystem. Jake brought you coffee. You rejected him. Jake flirted during surgeries. You threatened violence.
Nature healed.Â
âYou know that our hospital scrubs look good on you, right?â
âMove.â
Jake sighed, stepping aside so you could reach the patient's chart behind him.
âSee, this is what I mean. You never take me seriously.â
âBecause you say things like that while blocking the hallway.â
âThatâs not related.â
âItâs extremely related.â
You flipped through the chart with your usual flat expression while Jake leaned beside you like a man with absolutely no survival instincts.
âIâm serious, by the way.â
âMm.â
âThat response feels disrespectful.â
âThatâs because I donât respect this conversation.â
Brutal.
Jake watched you scribble notes onto the chart, completely unaffected. Which honestly felt offensive at this point. Most people got nervous when they confessed to. You looked mildly inconvenienced.
âThree years,â Jake continued. âThree years of emotional dedication.â
âThree years of workplace harassment.â
âWow.â
âYou asked.â
Fair enough.
A resident passing by suddenly changed direction immediately after spotting both of you together.
Coward.
Jake narrowed his eyes at your profile. âDo you genuinely not believe me?â
âNo.â
Immediate.
âThatâs crazy, actually.â
âYou flirt with everyone.â
Ouch.
Jake straightened slightly.
âNot like this.â
Finally, your pen paused. Just briefly. Tiny enough that nobody else would notice. But Jake noticed everything about you. Your eyes lifted toward him slowly.
âDr. Sim.â
âYeah?â
âYou tell nurses they look pretty at least twice a day.â
âThatâs basic workplace morale.â
âYou winked at a pharmaceutical representative yesterday.â
âIn my defense, she gave us free pens.â
Your expression flattened further somehow.
âExactly my point.â
Jake stared at you for a second before laughing quietly under his breath.
God.
This was the issue. You genuinely thought this was just how he was. That he was naturally charming, affectionate, and absolutely naturally unserious.
You finally closed the chart and handed it to him. Your fingers brushed his glove briefly. Accidental. Meaningless. Yet Jake still felt like an idiot.
âTrauma consult in ten,â you said.
Then, just before walking awayâ
ââŚAnd stop flirting in hallways. Youâre disturbing the residents.â
Jake blinked. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.Â
Not stop flirting.Â
Justânot in hallways. Oh. Interesting.
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.
The next morning, you looked terrible.
Not visually terrible. Objectively, annoyingly, you still looked good. But Jake had worked with you for three years. He knew your normal expressions, your normal silences, your normal levels of hostility.
Today? Something was off. You were quieter. Not calmer. Just exhausted in a way that sat too heavily on your shoulders.
You adjusted your gloves with visible irritation before looking over the trauma scans clipped beside the monitor.
âPatientâs unstable. We donât have time.â
Jake kept watching you carefully.
Pale.
âDr. Y/N.â
âWhat.â
âYou have a fever.â
âYou diagnosed that from across the room?â
âI diagnosed it from your personality, somehow getting worse.â
No response. Which, honestly, worried him more. Usually, youâd insult him by now.
âPressure dropping,â Jake said sharply.
âI know.â
âYouâre too slow.â
âI said I know!â
Your voice cracked harshly through the operating room. Everyone froze instantly. Not because you yelled. You yelled all the time. But because your hands trembled afterward. Barely noticeable. Barely there.
Jakeâs stomach dropped immediately.
âDr. Y/N.â
âFocus on your side.â
âDr. Sim,â you said flatly, though your voice sounded weaker now, âeither help me keep this patient alive or stop staring at me.âÂ
Jake looked at the monitor again before adjusting the medications quickly.
âBP stabilizing.â
âGood.â
Your shoulders lowered slightly in relief.
The surgery ended nearly four hours later.
Successful. Technically. But the entire day had gone horribly for you. Two emergency traumas back-to-back. One difficult family consult. Three residents are asking questions at the exact wrong time. No proper meal since yesterday afternoon.
And now this surgery.
By the time you stepped out of the operating room, your face looked noticeably pale beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Jake noticed immediately. Of course he did.
âYou okay?â
âFine.â
Automatic. Flat. You didnât even look at him while stripping off your gloves. The second the operation ended, you scrubbed out quickly and walked straight out of the hallway without your usual post-op lecture to the residents. Jake frowned immediately. That wasnât normal. The residents looked confused, too. You never skipped the chart review. Never disappeared first.
Jake watched you push through the heavy emergency stairwell door before it shut behind you. For a moment, he stayed where he was. Then, without really thinking about it, he followed quietly down the hallway.
The stairwell door didnât close completely. Just enough of a gap remained for him to see through the narrow opening.
And there you were.
Sitting halfway down the stairs with your elbows resting against your knees, eyes closed briefly as your head leaned against the wall. Still wearing your scrubs. Still carrying exhaustion in every inch of your posture. Silent.
Jake froze near the doorway. Something unpleasant tightened in his chest immediately.
Because heâd spent three years watching you survive impossible shifts without slowing down once. Three years watching you carry entire trauma rooms on your shoulders like it was normal. Yet right now, sitting alone in a quiet emergency stairwell, you looked tired in a way heâd never seen before.
Not the kind fixed by sleep. The deeper kind of doctors ignored themselves constantly.
Jakeâs hand rested lightly against the stairwell door. He could go inside. Youâd probably insult him for following you. Tell him to leave. Tell him you were fine.
But for once, he didnât think you wanted someone talking to you. You just wanted silence. So Jake stayed where he was. Quiet. Hidden behind the door like an idiot. Watching long enough to make sure your breathing evened out slightly. Watching until some of the tension slowly left your shoulders.
The exhausted one sitting alone on emergency stairs because the hospital never stopped needing pieces of you. Jake lowered his eyes briefly before exhaling quietly to himself.
Hopeless. Completely hopeless.
Then, careful not to make noise, he stepped away from the stairwell door and walked back toward the hallwayâleaving you your five minutes alone.
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.
The emergency department immediately dissolved into organized chaos the second the paramedics pushed the gurney through the trauma bay doors.
âMale, thirty-eight,â one of the paramedics reported quickly. âBlunt abdominal trauma, hypotensive en route, possible internal bleedingââ
You were already moving before they finished speaking.
âPrep OR Two,â you ordered sharply. âGet blood ready. FAST ultrasound now.â
Jake watched you take over the room instantly. Like always. Fast hands. Fast decisions. No hesitation. The exhaustion from earlier disappeared beneath pure instinct the second a patientâs life landed in your hands.
That was the terrifying thing about you.
No matter how exhausted you were, trauma mode always came first. The patient groaned sharply as nurses transferred him onto the trauma bed. Disoriented. Agitated. In pain.
âSir, stay still,â you said firmly while checking the abdominal tenderness.
âDonât touch me,â he snapped immediately, trying to shove your hand away.
Jake frowned slightly from beside the monitors. Pain response. Confusion. Not unusual. But the patient kept going.
âWhereâs the real doctor?â he barked harshly.
Silence flickered briefly across the trauma bay. One of the residents visibly stiffened. You didnât react. Didnât even blink. Just continued checking his injuries calmly.
âI am the trauma surgeon,â you replied evenly.
The patient laughed bitterly through clenched teeth. âYeah? Then why do you look about sixteen?â
Bad move.
Jake saw several nurses immediately avoid eye contact. Because everyone in the trauma department knew one thing very clearly: You hated incompetent men. But you hated disrespectful ones even more.
Still, your expression never changed.
âYou have internal bleeding,â you said flatly. âYou can either cooperate with treatment or continue arguing while your blood pressure drops.â
âUnbelievable,â the patient snapped loudly. âYou people always act like youâre smarter than everyone else.â
Jakeâs jaw tightened slightly.
Because normally? Normally, youâd shut this down immediately with one terrifying sentence and move on. But today you just looked tired. Not offended. Not angry. Just tired.
âOR is ready,â a nurse interrupted carefully.
You nodded once. âMove him.â
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.
.
.
The silence between you stretched quietly beneath the fluorescent lights.
Cold water still ran over your hands. The steady sound echoed softly through the scrub room while the rest of the hospital continued moving somewhere beyond the wallsâpages overhead, hurried footsteps, distant monitor alarms.
Jake stayed near the doorway. Not leaving. Not speaking. Just there.
You finally shut the water off with a tired exhale before reaching for a paper towel. âYouâre hovering.â
Jake leaned lightly against the doorframe. âYou look like youâre about to commit aggravated assault on the next resident that breathes wrong.â
âThatâs not unusual.â
ââŚFair.â
The corner of your mouth almost twitched upward. Almost. Jake noticed immediately anyway. Three years later, and he still reacted to every microscopic change in your expression like a man discovering religion. You tossed the paper towel into the trash before finally looking at him properly for the first time since surgery.
âWhat?â
Jake shrugged slightly. âNothing.â
âYouâre staring again.â
âYou got yelled at by an idiot patient and still saved his life thirty minutes later. I think Iâm allowed to stare a little.â
Your expression flattened automatically at that. Deflection. Distance. Armor back up.
âItâs part of the job.â
âI know.â
âAnd Iâm fine.â
Jake looked at you quietly for a second too long. Because that word again.
Fine.
Your favorite lie.
The thing wasâyou probably believed it too. Youâd spent so many years surviving impossible shifts and impossible expectations that exhaustion became normal. Hurt became background noise. You kept functioning, so technically nothing was wrong.
Jake hated that.
Not because he thought you were fragile.
God, no.
You were probably the strongest person heâd ever met. But strong people still deserved someone noticing when things got heavy.
âYou know,â he said softly, âbeing good at handling something doesnât automatically mean it doesnât suck.â
For the first time that night, you looked caught off guard.
Tiny reaction. Brief. But real. Your eyes lowered for a second before you shook your head lightly, almost annoyed at yourself for reacting at all.
âSince when did anesthesiologists become therapists?â
Jake grinned faintly. âSince trauma surgeons became emotionally constipated.â
âWatch your tone.â
âThere she is.â
That finally earned him a quiet scoff from you. Small. Tired. But genuine. And somehow that felt like victory.
It wasnât the first time a patient had looked at you and questioned your abilities. Wasnât the first time someone assumed you were too young, too cold, too arrogant to be good at your job. And it definitely wasnât the first time a man raised his voice at you because you refused to soften your tone for his comfort. None of it was new. You learned years ago that being a trauma surgeon meant growing thick skin fast, so you did. You became sharper. Colder. Harder to offend. Most days, it worked. Today just wasnât most days.
The trauma patient was eventually stabilized after agreeing to surgery at the last possible second. The operation itself went smoothlyâefficient, controlled, another life saved. Everyone in the OR moved on quickly afterward. Residents talked about the procedure, nurses cleaned up, and another trauma page already echoed somewhere down the hallway. The hospital kept moving. It always did. You stripped off your gloves quietly before stepping out of the operating room without saying much to anyone.
Jake noticed immediately. Of course he did. He watched you stop near the scrub room sink, hands braced lightly against the counter while cold water ran over your fingers. Just breathing. Just existing for one second without somebody needing something from you. Jake stood near the doorway quietly, not interrupting this time. No flirting. No teasing. Because he knew. Not exactly what it felt like, but enough. Enough to understand that being hurt by something didnât mean you were weak for it. You could hear the same insult a hundred times and still feel it on the hundred-and-first. Especially on days when you were already running on nothing.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then quietly, without looking at him, you muttered, ââŚHeâs alive.âÂ
Like that was the only part that mattered. Jakeâs chest tightened painfully.Â
Because even after getting screamed at, doubted, and disrespected, your first concern was still whether the patient survived. Not your pride. Not your feelings. The patient. And standing there beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, exhausted down to the bone yet still worrying about somebody who had insulted you to your face, Jake felt himself fall in love with you all over again.
A few weeks after that night, the hospital didnât get any quieter.
It never did.
But something between you and Jake had shifted in a way neither of you said out loud. He still trailed after you through corridors, still made unnecessary comments during surgeries, still acted like your personal irritation in human form. And you still told him to move, still rolled your eyes, still treated him like he was one bad joke away from getting kicked out of your OR.
But it wasnât just that anymore. It had started to feel consistent. Familiar in a way that didnât belong to colleagues.
That night, another trauma page came in just after midnight. Jake was already in OR Two when you arrived, tying your gown with sharp, efficient movements that didnât quite hide how exhausted you were.
âMale, forty-two, MVC,â Jake said as you stepped in. âBP unstable en route but responding to fluids.â
âStart transfusion protocol,â you replied immediately.
No hesitation. No wasted movement. Just instinct and control.
The patient came in fast. Too fast. The room snapped into controlled chaos the moment the gurney crossed the threshold.
And Jake noticed it again. You were tired. Not obvious to anyone elseâbut obvious to him. A fraction slower between movements. A tighter set to your jaw. The kind of exhaustion that didnât show up in posture, only in timing.
âDr. Y/N,â Jake said quietly while adjusting anesthesia, âyou slept at all this week?â
âI sleep.â
âThatâs not an answer.â
âIt is the only one youâre getting.â
He sighed under his breath, but didnât push further. Heâd learned that pushing didnât help with you. Not like that. The surgery progressed. Bleeding controlled. Vitals stabilizing. Everything is technically going right.
Until a resident hesitated at a critical step. A second too long. You didnât raise your voice. You didnât need to.
âStep aside,â you said flatly.
The resident froze.
âI said step aside!â
They moved immediately. The room went tense for half a second before stabilizing again. Jake watched it happen, not with judgmentâbut recognition. Because he knew that silence. That tone. It wasnât anger for the sake of control. It was exhaustion protecting something fragile underneath it: the patient not dying on your table.
The surgery finished cleanly after that.
âVitals stable,â Jake said.
âClose,â you replied.
And just like that, it was over.
You moved to the sink afterward, stripping off gloves with slightly slower hands than usual. The kind of tired that had started to settle into your bones lately instead of passing with the shift.
Jake stayed with you this time. Not behind. Not beside like a passing colleague. Just there. Close enough that it was intentional. The water ran quietly between you for a moment before he spoke.
âYouâre not fine.â
Your hands paused under the stream.
Not startled. Just⌠aware. He didnât continue immediately. Didnât push. His voice stayed steady, lower than usual.
âIâm not saying that as your anesthesiologist,â he added. âIâm saying it as someone who actually cares about you.â
Silence. That landed differently. You slowly turned off the water and reached for a paper towel.
ââŚThatâs not your job,â you said flatly.
Jake gave a quiet, humorless exhale. âYeah. I know.â
You finally looked at him then. Properly. Tired eyes. Controlled expression. Walls still up, but thinner than they used to be.
He didnât look away. Because he meant it. Not as a colleague. Not as a coworker orbiting your OR schedule. As someone who had spent too many nights noticing when you stopped being okay before you ever admitted it.
âI donât care about this job boundary thing,â Jake said more softly.
That made your expression tighten slightly. Not anger. Something more complicated.
ââŚYou shouldnât say things like that.â
âWhy?â
He just stayed there beside you in the harsh fluorescent light, like leaving you alone wasnât something he was willing to do anymore.
âYou should stop,â you said.
âStop what?â
âThis.â
A beat.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you, like it explained everything and nothing at once. Jakeâs expression tightened slightly, but he didnât back off.
âNo,â he said simply.
That one word landed harder than expected. Because Jake didnât usually refuse you like that. Not seriously. Not like he had decided something.
You narrowed your eyes. âYou donât get to decide that.â
âI am deciding it,â he corrected, voice calm but firm. âBecause youâre not actually asking me to stop. Youâre telling me to leave you alone so you donât have to deal with it.â
Your jaw tightened.
âThatâs not true.â
âIt is,â he said quietly. âAnd I get it.â
That stopped you for a second. Not because you agreed. Because he wasnât arguing your competence. He wasnât joking. He wasnât pushing your patience just to get a reaction.
He was just seeing it. Like he had been paying attention longer than you realized.
Jake stepped slightly closerânot invading, not cornering, just closing the distance enough that you couldnât ignore him without effort.
âIâve watched you for three years,â he said. âNot just in the OR. Everywhere.â
Your eyes flicked to his face briefly, guarded. He continued anyway.
âYou donât slow down. Not when youâre exhausted. Not when people are disrespectful. Not when youâre clearly running on nothing.â
A pause.
âAnd I used to think that was just who you are.â
His voice softened slightly, but didnât lose its edge.
âBut itâs not strength when itâs constant depletion.â
The word hit differently. You hated that it did. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the sink.
âIâm fine,â you repeated automatically.
Jake shook his head once.
âNo,â he said again, quieter this time. âYouâre functional. Thereâs a difference.â
Silence stretched. The hum of the hospital overhead felt louder now. You looked away first, which annoyed you more than anything else.
ââŚYouâre overstepping,â you muttered.
âYeah,â Jake admitted immediately.
That made you look back at him. He didnât apologize. Just nodded slightly as he accepted it.
âI am,â he said. âBut Iâd rather be annoying than watch you keep pretending you donât need anything from anyone.â
Your throat tightened slightlyâsomething you refused to name. Jake exhaled slowly, then added, softer but steadier:
âAnd Iâm not doing this because youâre my colleague anymore.â
That part landed differently. He held your gaze. No grin. No flirting. No easy exit. Just honesty, stripped down.
âI care about you,â he said. âMore than I should for someone I work with.â
A pause. Then, more firmly.
âAnd Iâm not going to pretend I donât anymore.â
The space between you felt too quiet after that. Not empty. Just full in a way neither of you had labeled yet.
.
.
.
.
You didnât hate people.
Jake had stopped believing that version of you a long time ago. What you hated was the aftermathâthe chaos left behind when someone else made a mistake, and you were the one expected to turn it into something survivable again. The delay. The preventable damage. The clean-up that always landed in your hands. Inconvenience disguised as responsibility. That was what irritated you, not humanity itself.
Because if it had truly been hatred, you wouldnât pause the way you did when a patientâs voice cracked in fear. You wouldnât adjust your tone when someone was too scared to understand instructions. You wouldnât stay late when there was nothing in it for you except making sure things didnât fall apart after you left. Jake had seen it too many times now for it to be an accident.
You had always told yourself engagement with people was complicatedâthat it meant getting pulled into problems you never agreed to take on, responsibilities that didnât belong to you, emotions that would slow you down. So you built distance. Sharpness. Efficiency. Cold professionalism that made everything easier to manage and harder to reach. A system that worked, most of the time.
But life didnât let you stay detached. Not here. Not in trauma. Because here you were anywayâstanding in the middle of chaos, cleaning up what other people broke, making impossible decisions in seconds while others hesitated. Everything you said you didnât want, you were already doing. Jake watched you for a moment longer and thought, quietly, that maybe it was never about hating people at all. Maybe it was just that you cared too much and never permitted yourself to call it that.
So when others called you cold, Jake no longer agreed. Because to him, you werenât the coldest person in the hospital. You were the one who cared the most. Just in a way that didnât ask for credit, didnât ask to be seen, and definitely didnât ask to be understood. And somehow, that made you the warmest person he had ever known.Â
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.
The trauma page came in just after midnight.
MVC. High speed. Multiple casualties.
By the time you reached the ER, the chaos was already organized into sharp, practiced motion. Gurneys rolling in, voices overlapping, monitors beeping in a frantic rhythm.
âMale, early thirties,â one paramedic reported quickly. âSevere chest trauma, hypotensive, possible internal bleeding. Passenger vehicle. Wife is also incomingâpregnant, third trimester, conscious.â
That made your steps pause for half a second. Then you kept moving.
âBring him to OR One. Prep blood now,â you ordered immediately. âCall OB for standby.â
The husband was already fading when they transferred him. Too much damage. Too fast. Internal bleeding, you couldnât fully stop, even as you worked. Jake was there, but he didnât speak much, just watched the numbers, adjusted what he needed to adjust, stayed exactly where he was needed.
And you?
You didnât hesitate.
Didnât break rhythm. Didnât allow anything to slow your hands. But even before the final moment, you knew. That quiet, awful certainty that sometimes came in trauma. When effort stopped being about saving and started being about not losing control of the room.
âBP dropping,â Jake said softly.
âI know,â you replied.
You pushed harder anyway. Longer than most would have. Longer than was reasonable. Long enough that everyone in the OR understood what was happening without saying it.
Finallyâ
silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The final kind.
Jakeâs hand slowed on the monitor. No dramatic announcement. No unnecessary words. Just a small pause before he looked at you.
ââŚTime of death,â he said quietly.
You didnât respond immediately.
For a second, your hands stayed where they were, still in position, still doing the job your body refused to stop doing. Then slowly, you stepped back.
âStop,â you said flatly to the team. âCall it.â
Your voice didnât shake. Not outwardly. The room moved again after thatâprocedures, documentation, cleanupâbut everything felt muted now because the patient wasnât just a case. Not this one.
When the OR finally cleared, you stood at the sink longer than usual. Washing your hands even after they were already clean. Jake didnât say anything. Just stayed nearby.
And then the wife was brought in.
She was still in pain. Still in shock. Heavy pregnant, barely able to sit up properly, one hand gripping her abdomen while the other reached for the space beside her.
âWhere is he?â she asked immediately.
No one answered right away. Not the nurses. Not the resident. Not Jake. Your name was the only one that mattered now. So you stepped forward. The hallway suddenly felt too small.
âIâm your trauma surgeon,â you said calmly.
Her eyes locked onto yours instantly.
âWhere is my husband?â she asked again, sharper now, fear breaking through.
A pause. One that stretched too long. Jake watched your posture carefully. Saw it before you even spoke. That moment where you were still composedâbut only just.
âHe didnât survive the surgery,â you said.
Simple. Direct. No decoration. The words hit her like an impact.
âNo,â she whispered immediately, shaking her head. âNo, thatâs notâhe was fine. He was talking to me. He said he was going to see the babyââ
Her voice broke. And you stood there, still. Holding it together in the only way you knew how. stillness, control, distance. But then she started crying properly. Not quietly. Not politely. The kind of grief that filled the space.
âHe promised,â she said, voice cracking. âHe promised he would be there. We waited so longâthis babyâheâhe canât justââ
Her hand tightened over her stomach like she was trying to hold everything together physically. And something in you shifted. Not visibly. But deeply. Because it wasnât just grief. It was love. It was a future that had already existed in her head, being taken away mid-sentence.
Jake saw it immediately. The way your expression didnât change, but your silence did. He stepped slightly closer, not to intervene, but to stand near you. A quiet presence. Because he knew you. And he knew what moments like this did.
The wife reached forward suddenly, grabbing your sleeve with shaking hands.
âPlease,â she cried. âPlease, you have to do something. Youâre the doctor. Youâre supposed to fix it. You canât justâhe canât be goneâhe canâtââ
Your breath stopped for a fraction of a second. Just one. Barely noticeable. But Jake saw it. And so did you. Your hand lifted slightly, then paused mid-air, unsure whether to hold her wrist or let her hold on. For the first time all night, your voice didnât come immediately.
And when it did, it was quieter. Not clinical. Not sharp. Just human.
ââŚIâm sorry,â you said.
The wife broke completely then.
And you stood there while she cried into the reality you had just given her, your composure holding like something inside you had taken a hit it couldnât cleanly repair.
Jake stayed beside you. Not touching. Not speaking. Just there. Because for once, there was nothing to fix.
The hospital kept moving as if nothing had happened. Paperwork was completed, the OR was reset, and another trauma page already echoed somewhere down the hall. But you didnât go back. You didnât speak. You just walked until you reached the emergency stairwell, the one place in the hospital where the noise couldnât follow you. The door shut behind you with a soft click, and suddenly everything went quiet.
You sat down slowly on the steps, as your body had finally decided it couldnât stay upright anymore. At first, there was only silence. Then your breath broke. Small, uneven, almost imperceptible. You pressed a hand over your mouth like you could contain it, like control was still something you could choose. But it wasnât. The grief came anyway, quiet and heavy, slipping through every restraint youâd built over years of training and survival. Tears fell without sound as you stared at the floor, unable to look away from the memory of a wife holding onto hope that had just been taken from her.
The stairwell door opened softly behind you, but you didnât turn immediately. Jake didnât speak when he stepped in. He didnât rush toward you or try to fix anything. He just closed the door carefully and sat one step above you, close enough that the space didnât feel empty, far enough that you didnât feel cornered. For once, there were no jokes, no teasing, no words at allâjust him staying there with you in the quiet, so you didnât have to break alone.
âHey.â
Your shoulders tensed slightly, but you didnât look up.
Jake shifted down one step, slower this time, closer without invading. âYou donât have to stop,â he said gently. âIâm not going anywhere.â
That did something worse than comfort, it loosened the last bit of control you were still holding onto. Your breath hitched again, shorter this time, and you turned your face away instinctively as you could still hide it. But Jake had already seen enough. He lowered himself fully in front of you now, careful, steady, not rushing. âLook at me,â he said softly.
You didnât at first. So he waited. No impatience. No teasing. No pushing. Just him, there. Eventually, your eyes flickered toward him, tired, wet, unguarded in a way you never allowed anyone to see. Jakeâs expression softened immediately.
âThere you are,â he murmured.
That was it. Something in you broke properly then. Jake didnât hesitate. He reached forward and pulled you into him. Arms around you, firm and steady, like he was catching something he refused to let fall further. One hand came up to the back of your head, holding you gently against him. The other stayed at your upper back, grounding you with quiet pressure.
âItâs okay,â he said softly, close enough that you could feel his voice more than hear it. âItâs okay. You donât have to hold it right now.â
Your hands froze for a second in the air, uncertain, before finally gripping his scrubs like you needed something real to anchor yourself to. Enough that you knew you werenât alone in it.
âIâve got you,â he said quietly. âJust breathe.â
And for the first time since the hospital had swallowed the night whole, you let yourself fall apart without standing back up immediately afterward.
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.
A few months after the stairwell incident, things between you and Jake felt strangely normal again. At least on the surface.
You were back in the OR. Back to correcting residents before they make mistakes. Back to moving through trauma consults like exhaustion had never touched you at all. And Jake? Jake was back to orbiting around you like usual. Except now there was something quieter underneath it.
Something harder to joke away.
It happened late at night after a long surgery. The residents had already left, the nurses were finishing cleanup, and the hospital had finally slowed into that eerie post-midnight stillness.
You stood at the scrub sink washing your hands while Jake leaned against the counter nearby. For once, neither of you spoke immediately. Then Jake sighed softly.
âYou know,â he said, âI donât think you understand how I see you.â
You glanced at him briefly. âUnfortunately, I hear enough from you already.â
Usually, that wouldâve made him laugh harder. This time, he only smiled faintly.
âIâm serious.â
That made you pause slightly. Not because heâd never said things like this beforeâhe had, constantly. But lately, he sounded different when he did. Less playful. More certain.
You shut off the water slowly. âJake.â
âNo, listen to me for a second.â
His voice stayed calm. Steady. Not forcing, but not backing away either.
âYou think I like you because I enjoy bothering you.â A small exhale left him. âAnd yeah, okay, I do enjoy that a little.â
âA lot.â
âA lot,â he corrected easily. âBut thatâs not why.â
Silence settled briefly between you. Jake straightened slightly, eyes fixed on you now with an honesty that immediately made you uncomfortable. Not because it was unpleasant. Because it was real.
âI like the way you care about people even when you pretend you donât,â he said quietly. âI like that you keep showing up for everyone, no matter how exhausted you are. I like that youâre honest even when it makes people dislike you.â His mouth softened slightly. âI like that youâre strong without making it everyone elseâs problem.â
Your chest tightened faintly. You hated conversations like this. Not because they were insincere. Because you never knew what to do with sincerity once someone handed it to you directly.
Jake continued before you could interrupt.
âAnd I know you think I flirt with everyone.â He smiled a little, tired this time. âBut what I feel for you stopped being casual a long time ago.â
The room suddenly felt too quiet. You crossed your arms instinctively. Defensive.
âThat sounds like a bad idea.â
Jakeâs expression barely changed. âBecause you donât feel the same?â
Your jaw tightened immediately.
âThatâs not what I said.â
Something flickered across his face, then small, hopeful enough to annoy you. You looked away first.
âI donâtâŚâ You exhaled slowly. âI donât think about relationships.â
âThatâs a lie.â
You frowned. âExcuse me?â
âYou think about everything.â Jakeâs voice softened slightly. âYou just avoid things that feel complicated.â
You hated how accurate that sounded. He stepped closer, careful, measured.
âAnd I know this is complicated,â he admitted. âWe work together. We spend almost every day together. If things go wrong, it could affect everything.â
âExactly.â
âBut I still want you anyway.â
Your throat tightened slightly at the directness of it. Jake looked at you for a long moment before speaking again, quieter this time.
âIâm not asking you to decide anything right now,â he said. âI just need you to understand that I mean it.â
A pause.
âThat this isnât a joke to me anymore.â
The honesty in his voice made something shift uncomfortably in your chest. Because the problem wasnât that you thought Jake was lying. The problem was that you were starting to believe him.
The problem wasnât Jake.
That was what made this difficult. If he had been careless, immature, or insincere, you couldâve dismissed this easily. You couldâve rolled your eyes, told him to stop being dramatic, and continued your life the same way as before. But Jake meant it. You knew he did now.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
The hospital had taught you how to manage almost everythingâpressure, exhaustion, grief, and responsibility. You knew how to function in chaos. You knew how to make impossible decisions without freezing.
This felt uncertain in a way trauma never did.
Because surgeries had protocols. Complications had procedures. Even death had steps you could follow after it happened. Relationships didnât. Especially not with someone who worked beside you every day.
You sat alone in the attending lounge long after your shift ended, staring blankly at the untouched coffee in your hands. Jakeâs words kept replaying, whether you wanted them to or not.
I still want you anyway.
Your jaw tightened faintly. You hated complicated things. And relationships felt like the most complicated thing possible. Not because you thought love was impossible. You saw it all the time. Families crying in waiting rooms, spouses refusing to leave hospital bedsides, people holding onto each other through impossible situations.
You knew it existed. You just never imagined it fitting into your life. Your life was sharp corners and unpredictable hours. Trauma calls at three in the morning. Twenty-hour shifts. Emotional exhaustion, you barely knew how to process yourself.
Jake already knew this life, too. Which meant if things went wrong, there would be no clean escape from it. You would still see each other in the OR. Still work trauma cases together. Still stand across operating tables pretending nothing happened while everyone around you noticed the tension anyway. The idea alone sounded exhausting.
You exhaled quietly and leaned your head back against the chair. The worst part was that you still didnât know what you felt. Not fully.
Jake mattered to you. That much was obvious now in ways you couldnât comfortably deny anymore. His presence had become something familiar. Important. He irritated you constantly, yet somehow made the hospital feel less unbearable at the same time.
But caring about someone and wanting a relationship werenât automatically the same thing.
Were they?
You genuinely didnât know. And that uncertainty unsettled you more than anything else. Because for the first time in years, this wasnât a situation you could solve by being competent enough.
.
.
.
.
Jake, unfortunately, did not know how to quit.
After that conversation, any normal person probably wouldâve backed off a little. Given you space. Allowed you time to process your feelings without constantly hovering around your existence like an emotionally persistent golden retriever in surgical scrubs.
Jake did none of those things.
âYou know Iâd marry you tomorrow if you asked, right?â
You didnât even look up from the patient file. âIâd rather induce my own coma.â
âThatâs not a no.â
âThat is absolutely a no.â
Yet somehow, he never made it feel like pressure.
Jake didnât confess because he expected something from you immediately. He confessed because he wanted you to know the feeling still existed. Constant. Unchanged. Certain.
And every time you dismissed him, he just smiled like someone who already understood your language better than you realized.
âMorning,â he greeted one day, falling into step beside you while you speed-walked toward trauma rounds. âYou ignored three of my messages.â
âThey werenât messages. You sent me photos of hospital cats.â
âThey reminded me of you.â
You stopped walking immediately. âExplain that statement carefully.â
âMean eyes. Doesnât trust people. Hisses when approached.â
âYouâre brave today.â
âLove makes people fearless.â
âYou need a psychological evaluation.â
Jake grinned like that was a compliment. That was the issue with him. Every rejection somehow fueled him, rather than discouraging him.
A week later, he cornered you at the vending machine at two in the morning while you aggressively tried to choose caffeine.
âYou know,â he said thoughtfully, âif we dated, Iâd let you steal my fries.â
You stared at him flatly. âI can already do that.â
âYeah, but romantically.â
âThatâs the worst thing youâve ever said to me.â
âNot true. Remember when I said epidurals were easy?â
Your expression darkened immediately. âI almost reported you to HR for that.â
âYet here we are. Stronger than ever.â
You genuinely couldnât tell if Jake was flirting or simply surviving on a level of confidence normal people didnât possess. The worst part? He somehow adapted to your personality instead of fighting it. When you ignored him, he kept talking anyway. When you insulted him, he looked entertained instead of offended. And when you got exhausted enough to stop responding entirely, he just walked beside you quietly until you recovered enough to threaten him again.
It was deeply inconvenient.
One afternoon after a brutal trauma surgery, you dropped heavily into a chair in the staff lounge while reviewing scans. Jake appeared two minutes later like a curse.
âYou look terrible,â he said sympathetically, handing you coffee.
You accepted it automatically before narrowing your eyes. âWhy are you here?â
âI sensed emotional distress.â
He sat across from you casually, watching while you drank the coffee in exhausted silence.
âYou know Iâm still trying to date you, right?â
You closed your eyes briefly.
âJake.â
âIâm just making sure we maintain clear communication.â
âYou confessed to me yesterday.â
âAnd today.â
âYouâre proving my point.â
âThat Iâm consistent?â
âThat youâre insane.â
Jake leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered.
âOkay, but statistically speaking, eventually youâre gonna accidentally fall in love with me.â
You looked at him over the coffee cup.
ââŚThatâs not how statistics work.â
âAre you sure?â
âYes.â
âHm.â He nodded thoughtfully. âThen Iâll simply have to increase exposure.â
You stared at him for a long moment before muttering, âI actually understand why residents avoid you now.â
Jake looked delighted.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then Jake shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly.
âSo?â he asked lightly. âAny progress on accidentally falling in love with me?â
You stared at him. Jake stared back hopefully. And despite everything, the exhaustion, the complicated feelings, the fact that relationships still sounded terrifying and inconvenient and deeply impractical, you felt your mouth twitch slightly.
Small. Real. Jake immediately pointed at you.Â
âThatâs improvement.â
âDonât ruin it.â
âToo late. Iâm celebrating internally.â
You shook your head under your breath.
Still no answer. Still uncertain. Still not ready to call whatever this was by its real name. But this time, when Jake called after youâ
âSee you tomorrow, Dr. Y/N. Iâll continue loving you then too.â
You didnât tell him to stop..
Jake watched you disappear down the hallway until the automatic doors closed behind you with a soft hiss. Around him, the hospital kept moving the same way it always didâpages overhead, hurried footsteps, another resident sprinting toward a consult somewhere down the corridor. Nothing had changed. And yet somehow, everything had. Because for the first time since falling in love with you, Jake realized he no longer needed an immediate answer just to keep going.Â
And honestly?
For now, that was enough.Â
tag list : @en-chantedtomeetyou, @ni-kiswife, @sunsetgenie, @jaeunaria0-0, @asa-is-acinggg, @mydearestdongwook, @mrs-r1zzimura, @chxrlz-mxr, @nlylilac, @coatedlily, @d3adaf, @lightyagamigooner, @woninlove, @imsimjaeyunswife, @maishee
You thought the worst thing that could happen after your breakup was running into your cheating ex. Then you got pregnant by JAKE SIM. Captain of the Caldwell Wolves, campus golden boy and the most notorious heartbreaker on campus. Heâs the last person youâd ever trust. Unfortunately for you, heâs also the father of your baby.
đŠđĽđđ˛đĽđ˘đŹđ: Delicate - Taylor Swift // Kiss Me Right - keshi // Sugar Talking - Sabrina Carpenter // It Ainât Over âTill Itâs Over - Lenny Kravitz // Please - BTS // striptease - carwash
đâđŹ đ§đ¨đđđ: i genuinely had the best time writing this fic and getting way too emotionally attached to these characters! please feel free to leave a comment, scream or simply stare into the void thinking about these idiots (i know i will be). your support means more than you know and every notification makes me kick my feet like a Victorian lady seeing an ankle. i hope this fic made you experience at least one completely unnecessary emotion. thank you for ready and PLEASE enjoy!
The party is Minaâs idea. It always is. Youâve stopped pretending otherwise â stopped doing the thing where you spend twenty minutes debating whether youâre really feeling it before Mina gives you the look and you both know youâre going regardless.
Itâs a Friday in late September, the air outside finally tipping from warm to something with a bite in it, and youâve been in your dorm room since two in the afternoon staring at the same paragraph of Middlemarch without absorbing a single word.
âYou need to get out of this room,â Mina says from your bed, where sheâs been watching you not read for the past hour. Sheâs already dressed â black top, dark jeans, the gold hoops she only wears when sheâs decided the night is going to be worth the effort. She decided before she came over. The last hour has been a courtesy. âYouâve been staring at that book like it cheated on you.â
The word lands between you, briefly. Minaâs face doesnât change âGeorge Eliot is a menace,â you say.
âYou love George Eliot.â
âI love George Eliot when Iâm not trying to produce fifteen hundred words on her narrative voice by Monday morning.â You close the book. Itâs not like youâre reading it anyway.
The thing about Delta Kappa parties is that they are, by any objective measure, too much. Too loud, too hot, the bass sitting somewhere in your sternum, red cups and bodies everywhere you look. Mina thrives. You tolerate it with the specific resignation of someone who knows theyâre going to have a good time despite themselves and finds this faintly irritating.
Youâre on your second drink when you see Sunghoon. Heâs across the room near the kitchen doorway, mid-conversation with someone you donât recognise, laughing at something. Head tipped back the way he always did â that particular way, unhurried and a little private, like whatever amused him was his alone. You used to love that about him. You watch it for maybe three seconds before you look away, which feels like a victory of some kind.
Four months. Four months since youâd found out, since youâd sat on your dorm room floor and read a conversation thread you were never supposed to see, since everything you thought youâd built with him had turned out to be built on something rotten underneath.
Two years of your life. Your first real relationship. Youâd thought it would last.
You look away. You drain the rest of your cup.
âHeâs here,â Mina says, appearing at your elbow with the precision of someone who has been watching.
âI know.â
âDo you want to leave?â
âNo.â You mean it. âIâm not leaving a party because of Sunghoon Park.â
She studies you for a moment with that particular look â the one that measures the difference between actually fine and performing fine with uncomfortable accuracy. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her, because she clinks her cup against yours and says, âThen letâs get another drink.â
Youâre at the makeshift bar â someoneâs kitchen counter pressed into service â when you become aware of someone standing beside you. Not waiting for the bottle. Something else. A specific quality of attention that you register before youâve consciously clocked it. You look up. Jake Sim looks back.
You know who he is the way you know most things about the people who exist in Caldwellâs uppermost stratum â passively, through cultural osmosis, without ever having chosen to learn. Captain of the Wolves. Deanâs son. The name that comes up in a specific tone of voice, like a warning dressed as gossip.
Up close he is, unfortunately, exactly as good-looking as that reputation implies. Tall, built through the shoulders and chest in the way that years of hockey builds â not showy, just solid, like his body was designed to take up space and does so without apology. Dark eyes. A jaw that should probably be illegal. A mouth curved at the corner like heâs already three steps ahead of the conversation and finds this mildly entertaining.
âYouâre doing maths,â he says.
You blink. âWhat?â
âYour face.â He nods at you, vaguely. âVery intense for someone just standing at a bar.â
âIâm making a drink.â
âYouâve been staring at that vodka for forty-five seconds.â
âI didnât realise I was being timed.â
âYou werenât.â He reaches past you for the bottle â close enough that you catch something clean and faintly expensive â pours his own cup, sets it back.
âIâm Jake.â
âI know who you are.â Something moves through his expression. Amusement, maybe, or the specific satisfaction of a fact confirmed.
âMost people do,â he says, and thereâs no arrogance in it, just a statement of observable reality, which is somehow worse. âAnd youâreââ
âAlso a person,â you say.
That gets a real smile. Brief, but actual. âFair enough.â
You should find Mina. Youâre aware of this the way youâre aware of the coursework due Monday and the fact that itâs past midnight â true, noted, irrelevant. Instead you stay where you are and let the conversation go where it goes, and it goes somewhere you didnât expect.
Heâs good at this. Thatâs the thing you clock first and keep clocking â the way he makes conversation feel like it has momentum, like youâre building toward something together, the timing of his humour landing slightly off-beat in a way that catches you. He asks questions and actually listens to the answers. You know itâs a formula. You know it has worked on an uncountable number of girls at an uncountable number of parties exactly like this one, and knowing that should make you immune to it, and it doesnât.
Mina finds you at some point, clocks the situation in under a second, raises her eyebrows precisely two millimetres â a full paragraph in two millimetres â and disappears back into the crowd.
At some point his hand finds the small of your back. Light. Questioning. You donât move away from it. At some point, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them, he says: âWe could get out of here.â
You think about Middlemarch, which youâre not going to read tonight regardless. You think about the two years you spent being someoneâs person and the four months since that have felt like learning to walk in a body thatâs been subtly rearranged. You think about Sunghoon somewhere in this house with his head tipped back, laughing.
âOkay,â you say.
His room is in the east block upperclassmen housing â a single, because of course, because Jake Sim has probably never had to negotiate space with anyone in his life. Itâs tidier than youâd have guessed. You file this away without meaning to, the way youâre still filing things even now, even when youâve told yourself youâre not doing that anymore.
He closes the door and youâre already turning toward him and then his mouth is on yours and itâs nothing like how he acted downstairs â no charm, no ease, just heat and intent, his hands gripping your face and kissing you like heâs already decided exactly how this goes.
You grab his shirt and walk him backwards and he turns you instead, smooth and immediate, your back hitting the wall beside the door hard enough to knock the breath out of you and you donât care, youâre already pulling at his shirt and heâs already got your top halfway up your body.
He strips it off you and his mouth drops straight to your throat, open and hot, and then your bra is unclasped and gone before youâve fully registered his hands at the back of it.
Then his mouth is on your tits and he makes a sound low in his chest like the sight of them was specifically designed to ruin him. His hands cup them, squeezing, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples and watching your face while he does it. You feel your cheeks go hot because his expression is entirely too focused, too attentive, like heâs cataloguing your reactions and filing it away for later use.
He bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, tongue working in slow wet circles. Your head drops back against the wall on a moan you didnât mean to let out that loud.
âYeah,â he says against your skin, rough and pleased, âget loud,â and bites down lightly you gasp and your nails find his shoulders through his shirt.
He marks you up like he has all the time in the world â mouth dragging from your tits to your throat to your collarbone and back again, teeth and tongue, leaving his work on your skin with a thoroughness that should feel like too much and instead just makes you want more.
His hips grind into yours against the wall, the hard line of his cock pressed against your core through clothing, slow and deliberate, the friction makes you roll up into it and he does it again to which you make a sound thatâs honestly embarrassing.
âBed,â you manage, and he pulls back just enough to look at you â mouth-bitten, dark-eyed, satisfied with himself in a way you donât have the capacity to be annoyed about right now â and walks you to it.
You land on the mattress and heâs over you immediately, his mouth back on your tits before youâve stopped bouncing on the mattress, youâre pulling at his shirt until he lets you get it off him and then his jeans are gone and yours are gone and heâs settled between your thighs in just his boxers and the weight of him is â a lot, in the best way, solid and warm and pressing you into the mattress, his hips grind down slow as his cock drags against your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties, you grab his shoulders to hold onto something.
He does it again. Slower.
His mouth is still at your nipple, tongue working it stiff while his hips keep that maddening rhythm, grinding into you with enough friction to make your thighs clench around him but not enough to give you anything real, you can hear how wet you are, can feel it and judging by the way his jaw tightens he can too.
âJake,â you say, and it comes out more desperate than you intend.
âI know,â he says, like thatâs an answer, and then heâs moving down your body.
He hooks your underwear off, throws it somewhere and finally puts his mouth on your pussy. Your back comes off the mattress.
He licks into your folds slowly, taking his time, his tongue dragging from your entrance up to your clit in one long stroke and then doing it again, his hands are spread flat on your inner thighs holding you open and still and there is nothing to do but take it.
Heâs good â infuriatingly good â like heâs genuinely interested in making you cum, like this is something he wants to do rather than something heâs doing to get to the next thing. Youâve got one fist in the sheets and one pressed to your own mouth to which he pulls your hand away from your face without looking up. âDonât,â he says against your cunt, and goes back to work.
His tongue finds your clit and stays there, tight focused circles, two fingers then press at your entrance and push in slow, curling immediately, finding the spot that makes your hips jolt and working it with patience that feels almost cruel.
The sounds coming out of you are loud and continuous and undignified and he hums against you like he approves, the vibration travelling straight up your spine, and you can feel yourself getting close embarrassingly fast, your walls clenching tight around his fingers, your whole body chasing it.
âDonât stop,â you manage, âdonât â please ââ and he doesnât, his tongue relentless on your clit and his fingers curling deep, and you cum on his mouth with your thighs shaking, his name coming out broken and too loud for the room.
He works you through every second of it, tongue gentling, fingers slowing until youâre twitching and oversensitive and pulling at his hair to get him off you, he comes back up your body looking composed in a way that feels like a personal attack. Thereâs something dark and satisfied in his expression as he looks down at you and kisses you before you can say anything, slow, and you taste yourself on his tongue.
His cock is hard against your hip, straining against his boxers, you reach between you and wrap your hand around him and feel him shudder. Heâs thick and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip and when you stroke him his composure cracks â hips pushing into your grip, jaw tightening and a low rough sound forming against your mouth.
You work him slow and watch his face and feel something warm and powerful settle in your chest. âCondom,â you say.
âYeah,â he says and reaches for the nightstand.
He pushes in slow and you feel every single inch. The stretch of him opening you up, thick and relentless, your walls giving way around his cock, you dig your nails into his back and breathe through it until heâs fully seated. Youâre so full it sits somewhere between pleasure and pain and then he rolls his hips and it tips firmly into the first one.
He starts slow â deep, grinding strokes, his cock dragging against every nerve of you, the weight of his hips pinning yours into the mattress and his mouth finds your tits again immediately, like he canât help it, tongue working your nipple while his hips keep their deep rhythm and you stop being capable of thoughts that go anywhere.
âYouâre so fucking tight,â he says against your breast, low and rough, and bites down on the swell of it and soothes it with his tongue and does it again somewhere else.
âJakeââ
âI know,â he says, his thumb finds your clit. The added pressure makes you gasp and your hips jolt up to meet his and he makes a sound that isnât quite a groan and picks up the pace.
The slow grind gives way to something sharper. His hips snap against yours and the headboard knocks the wall and the wet sounds of it fill the room. You have completely stopped caring about anything except the way his cock fills you on every stroke, deep and thick, the drag of him pulling back and driving in again setting off a chain reaction of sensation that climbs fast.
He shifts your leg up higher over his hip and the angle changes, deeper, and the sound you make at that is genuinely obscene. âYeah?â he says, doing it again, deliberate. âThere?â
âYes,â you manage, âthere, donât stop, pleaseââ
âDirty when you want something,â he says, low and pleased, and fucks you harder.
His thumb circles your clit without stopping, his cock drives into your cunt again and again and his mouth marks your throat. The build crests too fast to catch â you cum for the second time harder, walls clenching rhythmically around him, his name coming out wrecked and he follows you over with his hips buried deep and his face pressed to your throat, low broken sounds against your skin as he cums.
The room goes quiet. You stare at the ceiling. Your body has been taken apart and put back together slightly differently and everything feels warm and loose and heavy.
That, you think distantly, was either the best or worst decision youâve made in months.
Possibly both.
Jake disposes of the condom, comes back, drops onto the bed beside you. The quiet settles. Itâs almost comfortable â the dark, the warmth, both of you just breathing. And thenâŚ
âYou can go whenever,â he says. Flat. Casual. Already looking at the ceiling like youâre no longer the most interesting thing in the room. Like youâve been downgraded, in the last thirty seconds, from a person to an inconvenience thatâs resolved itself.
You blink. You can go whenever. Not you donât have to rush, not do you want some water, not even basic human decency. Just â you can go. Doorâs there. Thanks for coming.
Something cold moves cleanly through the warmth in your chest and extinguishes it. You sit up. âRight,â you say. Your voice comes out level. Youâre proud of that.
He says nothing. He is staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head like a man with absolutely no awareness that heâs just been profoundly rude, or perhaps perfect awareness and total indifference, which is worse.
You find your clothes in the dark with quiet methodical efficiency â jeans, top, shoes, bra shoved into your bag because life is short. You do not look at him while you dress and he does not look at you. At the door you pause, and you genuinely donât know why, some reflex kicking in from a life spent being polite to people who havenât earned it.
âBye, then,â you say.
âMm,â says Jake Sim, at the ceiling not even at you. You want to scoff in his stupidly hot face.
You close the door behind you.
The walk back across campus takes twelve minutes and you spend all twelve of them with the cold night air doing its best against the heat in your face. Not embarrassment â or not only that. Something sharper. The specific anger of someone who knew exactly what they were walking into and walked into it anyway and is now annoyed at themselves for being annoyed.
I knew, you think, with each step. I knew what he was. Everyone knows what he is. I justâ
Youâd let the hour at the bar do its work. Youâd let the conversation and the hand at the small of your back and the dark eyes and the unfair jaw do their work, and youâd told yourself it was fine because you were going in clear-eyed, and the sex had been â god, the sex had been amazing â but then heâd opened his mouth and reminded you exactly who he was and now here you are, at one forty in the morning, crossing the quad with your bra in your bag.
You text Mina. still up?
The reply is immediate. obviously. how was it?
You stare at your phone for a moment. come to mine, you type back.
Mina is sitting up in your bed when you get back, laptop open, a bowl of cereal balanced on her knee that she definitely made while waiting. She takes one look at your face as you come through the door and sets it on the nightstand. âTell me.â
You drop your bag, toe off your shoes, and sit on the end of the bed. You press your fingers to your eyes for a moment. âThe sex,â you say carefully, âwas genuinely incredible. Like â top three of my life, Mina. Easily. Potentially top two.â
âOkayââ
âAnd then, the moment it was over, he looked at the ceiling and told me I could go whenever.â You drop your hands. âIn the tone of someone dismissing a tradesman. Like Iâd come to fix his boiler.â
Minaâs expression moves through several stages. âHe did not.â
âHe absolutely did.â
âWhat did you say?â
âI said bye then and closed the door.â
âBye then?â
âI panicked and defaulted to manners.â You flop backwards onto the duvet. âI knew. Thatâs the thing. I knew exactly what he was before I ever spoke to him and I did it anyway becauseââ You gesture at the ceiling. âI donât know. Because Iâm tired of being careful. Because Sunghoon was across the room being beautiful and I wanted to feel something that wasnât about him.â
Mina is quiet for a moment. Then: âWas it, at least something that wasnât about Sunghoon.â
You consider this with the ceiling. âYes,â you admit. âAnnoyingly, yes. Right up until he opened his mouth.â
âHe really is the worst,â Mina says, with the conviction of someone delivering a verdict.
âHe really, genuinely is.â You stare upward. âHeâs got such a good cock though, Mina. Like. Iâm annoyed about it. Iâm actively annoyed.â
Mina puts her face in her hands. You watch her shoulders shake. âItâs not funny,â you tell her, and then youâre laughing too, and the tight mean thing in your chest loosens by a fraction, and outside the window Caldwell goes on being loud and indifferent and fully lit up, and you are fine.
Youâre fine. Youâre completely fine.
The week after the party you are, by any reasonable measure, completely fine.
You turn in the Middlemarch essay on Monday morning â fifteen hundred words on narrative voice, mostly written Sunday afternoon in a single focused stretch that you attribute to having gotten something out of your system.
You go to your Tuesday seminar and your Wednesday lecture and you have coffee with Mina on Thursday at the place near the English building where they do the good almond croissants, and you do not think about Jake Sim.
Or you think about him the normal amount. The amount that is appropriate for a person you slept with once at a party and will probably never speak to again, which is to say occasionally and without weight, the way you might think about a film you watched on a plane â enjoyable in the moment, not something youâd seek out again, largely irrelevant to your actual life.
This is what you tell yourself. Mina does not challenge it, which means sheâs either convinced or sheâs decided to let you have it, and knowing Mina itâs the second one.
Sunghoon texts you on Wednesday. Just â hey, saw you at Delta Kappa Friday. you looked good. You stare at it for a long time. You donât reply.
You see Jake on Monday. Youâre crossing the main quad, coffee in hand, bag over one shoulder, running approximately four minutes late for your seminar, and heâs coming the other direction with Jay Park and someone you donât recognise, all three of them in Wolves gear, clearly post-practice.
Heâs laughing at something Jay said, head tilted back, and he looks â easy, and loose, and completely unbothered by anything in the known universe, which you knew, which is exactly what you expected, and yet something about seeing it in person at ten forty-three on a Monday morning makes your jaw tighten anyway.
He doesnât see you. Or he does and gives no indication of it, which amounts to the same thing. You look straight ahead and keep walking and do not think about it for the rest of the morning.
You think about it a little bit in the afternoon. By evening youâve filed it away under irrelevant and moved on, which is the correct and mature response and youâre proud of yourself.
The sickness starts on Wednesday morning. You wake up with your stomach doing something wrong â not dramatic, not the sharp unmistakable rebellion of food poisoning, just a low persistent nausea that sits behind your sternum like itâs made itself at home. You lie still for a moment, waiting for it to pass.
It doesnât.
You get up, make it to the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub for ten minutes breathing carefully, and then it eases enough that you can brush your teeth and get dressed and tell yourself youâre fine.
Youâre not fine by Thursday morning.
The nausea is worse â still not acute, still this low insidious wrongness, but itâs there when you wake up and it doesnât fully lift, and your coffee tastes like something burnt and metallic and you push it away after two sips which Mina clocks immediately from across the table at the place near the English building.
âYouâre not drinking your coffee.â
âIâm not feeling it today.â
Mina looks at the cup. Looks at you. âYou have never in three years of knowing you not felt like coffee.â
âThereâs a first time for everything.â She watches you for a moment with that look. You look back at your laptop and donât say anything else.
By Saturday you feel actively, genuinely terrible.
Not sick-sick â no fever, no aches, nothing you can point to as a specific illness â just this relentless creeping nausea that is worst in the morning and fades by afternoon and makes the idea of eating before eleven oâclock an abstract and unpleasant concept.
You cancel your Saturday morning coffee with Mina, which you have never done, and sheâs at your door by noon with a container of crackers and a forensic expression. âTalk,â she says.
âI think Iâm coming down with something.â
âWhat kind of something.â
âI donât know, Mina, a virus. A bug. Something thatâs going around.â
She sits down on your bed and opens the crackers and holds them out to you and you take one because the sight of them is, somehow, the most appealing thing youâve encountered all week. You eat it slowly. Your stomach does not immediately rebel. You take another one. âHow long?â Mina asks.
âSince Wednesday morning.â
âAnd itâs worst in the morning.â
âYes.â
âAnd you canât drink coffee.â
âIt tastes wrong.â Mina is quiet for a moment. You eat another cracker and look at the wall. âIâm sure itâs just a bug,â you say.
âYeah,â Mina says, in a tone that means something else entirely. âProbably.â
The conspiracy theories start that evening, though. Itâs the two of you on your bed with Minaâs laptop open and a bag of pretzels between you, and it begins reasonably enough â you googling nausea worse in morning possible causes and working through the list with the detached efficiency of someone who is definitely not spiralling. Stress. Acid reflux. Inner ear issues. Viral gastroenteritis. Dietary changes.
âHave you eaten anything different lately?â Mina asks.
âNo.â
âStressed about something?â
âWhen am I not stressed about something.â
âFair.â She scrolls. âIt says here inner ear problems can causeââ
âI donât have inner ear problems, Mina.â
Mina scrolls further. You eat a pretzel and watch her face and wait for it. You know itâs coming. Youâve known since Saturday morning, if youâre being honest, since sheâd sat on your bed with that specific expression and said probably in that specific tone, and youâve been not-thinking about it with considerable effort for the past several hours.
âOkay,â Mina says, carefully, still looking at the screen. âWhat if.â
âNo.â
âI havenât said anything yet.â
âYou donât have to.â You pull the laptop toward you and close the tab. âItâs been less than two weeks. Itâs too early for that. Itâs a bug.â
âYou used a condom?â
âObviously.â
âTheyâre not a hundred percent.â
âItâs a bug,â you say. âItâs a completely normal bug that normal people get and it has nothing to do with â itâs a bug.â
Mina looks at you with the expression of someone who has several more things to say and has made a strategic decision to not say them yet. âOkay,â she says. âBug.â
By Sunday you canât keep breakfast down. You sit on your bathroom floor at eight in the morning with your back against the tub and your forehead against your knees and you think about the party, and Jakeâs room, and the nightstand, and the condom, and you think no very firmly and repeatedly and it doesnât help at all.
You text Mina. can you come over
Sheâs there in seven minutes. She doesnât say anything when you open the door, just looks at your face, and you nod back at her.
The Caldwell campus drugstore is a five minute walk from your building and has, blessedly, a single-occupancy bathroom at the back that Mina sweet-talks the Saturday cashier into letting you use on the grounds that youâre not feeling well, which is at least entirely true. Itâs a very small bathroom.
The two of you fill it completely â you on the closed toilet lid, Mina with her back against the sink, the test sitting on the edge of it between you with three minutes on Minaâs phone timer counting down. Nobody says anything.
The tile is white. Thereâs a motivational poster on the back of the door â youâve got this! in yellow letters â that you stare at with a feeling you canât fully name.
Two minutes.
âItâs probably negative,â you say.
âProbably,â Mina says.
âThe condomââ
âYeah.â âAnd itâs been less than two weeks. Like. The timingââ
âThe timing is actually about right,â Mina says, gently, âfor symptoms toââ
âStop,â you say.
One minute.
You watch the timer. The timer watches back. Your hands are completely still in your lap which surprises you â youâd have expected them to shake, but instead you feel very calm in the specific way that you get sometimes when something is about to happen and your body has decided that panic is a resource to be conserved.
The timer goes off.
Neither of you moves for a second. Then Mina picks up the test and looks at it. Her face does something â a flicker, fast and controlled, there and gone â and she hands it to you without speaking.
Two lines.
You look at it for a long time.
âOkay,â you say, finally.
âYeah,â Mina says.
The motivational poster on the wall says youâve got this! in yellow letters and you stare at it and think about Jake Sim telling the ceiling you can go whenever and feel something move through you that is too big and too complicated to have a name yet.
âOkay,â you say again. Like if you keep saying it, itâll start meaning something useful.
â
You donât go to him straight away. That feels important somehow â that you donât just spiral out of that drugstore bathroom and make a beeline for the Hargrove Center in a panic, that you go back to your dorm first and sit with it for a while like a person with some degree of self-possession.
You and Mina order food you mostly donât eat and sit on your bed with the test face-down on the nightstand like if you canât see it itâs less real, and you talk around it for a while before you talk about it directly, which is its own kind of processing.
âYou donât have to decide anything today,â Mina says.
âI know.â
âYou donât have to tell him today either.â
âI know.â You pull your sleeves over your hands. âBut I feel like â I donât know. He should know. Like in or not heâs â itâs his. He should know.â
Mina is quiet for a moment. âOkay,â she says. âBut eat something first.â
You eat half a portion of noodles. Itâs the most youâve managed in days and your stomach accepts it cautiously, like itâs making no promises. Then you change your top, put your shoes on, and look at Mina.
âDonât come with me,â you say.
âI wasnât going to.â
âYou were absolutely going to.â
She opens her mouth. Closes it. âText me the second youâre out.â
The Hargrove Center is a twenty minute walk across campus and you use all twenty minutes to rehearse what youâre going to say, which turns out to be a complete waste of time because the moment you push through the side door and the cold air of the rink hits you â that particular sharp smell of ice and equipment â your prepared sentences evaporate entirely.
Practice is just wrapping up. You can see them from the entrance, the Wolves coming off the ice in clusters, helmets off, sticks in hand. Jay Park says something that makes Riki Nishimura laugh. Jungwon Yang is already halfway to the boards.
And Jake is â there, centre ice, still, talking to one of the assistant coaches with his helmet under his arm and his hair pushed back from his face, and even from here he looks like someone who has never had an uncontrollable variable in his life.
You wait.
Youâre good at waiting. Youâve spent the last two weeks being good at things you didnât choose to be good at.
He sees you when he comes off the ice â clocks you in the way that people clock something unexpected in a familiar space, a brief recalibration. Something moves across his face, too fast to read. Then itâs gone and heâs walking toward you with the easy unhurried stride of someone who has decided to be unbothered and you stand your ground and wait for him to reach you.
âHey,â he says. Like youâre an acquaintance. Like heâs mildly surprised to see you and finds it mildly unremarkable.
âI need to talk to you,â you say. Something shifts.
The easy expression doesnât disappear exactly but it adjusts, becomes more guarded. He glances around â Jay is watching from the boards with open curiosity, Riki less subtly â and then jerks his head toward the corridor off the main rink.
You follow him into it. Itâs quieter here, the noise of the rink muffled, the overhead lights slightly too bright. He turns and faces you with his arms crossed and his weight back, and waits. You had sentences. You had very good sentences, all the way across campus.
âIâm pregnant,â you say.
The corridor goes very quiet. Jake looks at you. His expression does several things in quick succession that he doesnât quite manage to keep off his face â shock, and something that might be fear, and then a shuttering, a closing, something careful dropping down over all of it.
âOkay,â he says.
âOkay,â you repeat.
âThatâs â okay. How farââ
âI just found out today. So.â You fold your arms across your chest. âNot far.â
He nods slowly. His jaw is working. He looks at the floor for a moment and then back at you and the careful expression is fully in place now, composed and unreadable, and you donât know whether to be relieved or furious about it.
âAre you sure itâs mine,â he says.
The corridor goes even quieter somehow.
You look at him. âWhat did you just say.â
âIâm justââ He shifts his weight. âWe donât know each other. I donât know who else youâve beenââ
âAre you calling me a slut.â It comes out flat. Not a question.
âIâm not calling you anything, Iâm just saying I donât knowââ
âYouâre the only person Iâve slept with in four months.â Your voice is very level. âI was in a relationship. It ended. I havenât â thereâs been no one else. Thereâs only been you.â You look at him. âAnd I canât believe Iâm standing here explaining that to you.â
âIâm not trying toââ
âYou literally just implied I could have slept with someone else.â The level voice is beginning to fray at the edges. âYou literally said that. To my face.â
âLook, I justââ
You slap him.
You donât plan it. Your hand moves before the decision has fully formed, the sharp crack of it landing across his cheek, and then thereâs a ringing silence and your palm is stinging and Jakeâs head has turned with the force of it and heâs looking at you now with an expression you havenât seen on him before. Not angry. Something more complicated than angry.
âDonât ever,â you say, quietly, âimply something like that to me again.â
He says nothing. His hand has come up to his cheek, not pressing, just â there. His jaw is tight.
âI thought you should know,â you say. âThatâs all. I thought you deserved to know because itâs yours and you deserved to know. I havenât decided anything yet and Iâm not asking you for anything.â You pull your bag higher on your shoulder. âOkay?â
âOkay,â he says. Low. You walk back out into the cold. You text Mina out and she sends back seventeen question marks which is fair.
You tell her youâll explain when you get back and spend the walk home feeling the particular hollow exhaustion of someone who has done the thing they needed to do and now has no idea what comes next.
Youâre back in your building, one flight up, when you hear him behind you. âHeyââ
You turn. Jake is in the stairwell, still in his practice gear, slightly out of breath like he walked fast to get here, and you have absolutely no idea how he found out which dorm youâre in and youâre going to have questions about that later.
âHow did youââ
âJay knew,â he says, which explains nothing and everything.
He comes up the last few steps and stops on your landing and runs a hand through his hair and looks like someone who has been having a very difficult internal conversation at speed. âCan Iââ
âNo,â you say.
âTwo minutes.â You look at him. He looks back. The mark from your hand has faded from his cheek but his expression is still doing that thing â complicated, unreadable, something working behind it.
âTwo minutes,â you say, and unlock your door. Your room is small and suddenly smaller with him in it. He stands just inside the door like heâs not sure heâs allowed further in, which is the most uncertain youâve seen him, and you sit on the end of your bed and look at him and wait.
He reaches into his jacket. He puts a stack of bills on your desk. You look at the money. You look at him. âJake.â
âItâs enough to cover â whatever you decide.â Heâs not quite meeting your eyes. âIâm not â look. I donât want a kid. Iâm not in a place for that. We donât know each other. But Iâm not going to justââ He stops. Starts again. âTake it. Whatever you need it for.â
You stare at the money for a long moment. âAre you going to want to be involved,â you ask. âIf I decide to keep it.â
Something crosses his face. âI donât â I havenâtââ He exhales. âI donât know.â
âOkay,â you say. âThatâs honest at least.â
âAre you going to keep it,â he asks. Quietly. Like heâs not sure he has the right to ask.
You look at the money on your desk. You look at him â standing in your doorway in his practice gear, jaw tight, trying very hard to look like someone who has this handled and not quite managing it â and you think that this is the first time heâs looked like a person to you. Not the reputation, not the corridor composure, not the ceiling of his bedroom. Just a person who is as blindsided as you are and coping with it badly.
âI donât know yet,â you say. âIâll let you know when I do.â
He nods. He looks at you for a moment longer than necessary. Then he picks up the money from your desk and puts it on your nightstand instead, like the desk was somehow wrong, like the four feet of distance makes a difference, and you donât say anything about it.
âIâm sorry,â he says, at the door. âFor what I said. At the rink.â
You look at him. âWhich part.â
âAll of it.â
He closes the door behind him and you sit on your bed in the quiet of your room for a long time, the money on your nightstand and the weight of everything pressing down, and then you pick up your phone and call your sister.
She picks up on the third ring. âHey, you.â Hannahâs voice is warm and slightly distracted in the way it always is â you can hear one of the kids in the background, the particular high-pitched negotiation of a five year old who wants something and has decided now is the time. âGive me two seconds.â
Then, away from the phone: âLily, baby, I said after dinner. After. Yes. Because I said so, thatâs why.â A door closing.
Then: âOkay. Hi. Sorry. Whatâs up?â
You open your mouth. Youâve been sitting on your bed for forty minutes since Jake left, the money on your nightstand and your phone in your hand, and youâve composed this conversation approximately thirty times in your head and all thirty versions started more coherently than what actually comes out, which is: âI did something kind of stupid.â
âHow stupid.â
âSignificantly.â
A beat. Hannah has always been good at letting silence do its work, at not rushing in to fill it with the wrong thing. Itâs one of the things youâve always loved about her. âOkay,â she says. âTell me.â
So you tell her. All of it â the party and Jake and the test and the corridor and the slap and him in your room with the money â and Hannah listens through all of it without interrupting, which is its own kind of gift, and when youâre done thereâs a moment of quiet that feels like her sorting through it.
âOkay,â she says again. âFirst question. Are you physically okay?â
âYes.â
âSecond question. Do you have someone with you?â
âMinaâs coming over in an hour.â
âGood.â You can hear her moving around, the soft sounds of her kitchen. âThird question, and I want you to actually think about it before you answer â not what you think you should say, not whatâs practical, not what he wants or what anyone else wants. Just you.â
She pauses. âDo you want to keep it?â
You look at the money on your nightstand.
You think about the question the way she asked it â stripped of everything else, just you, just the truth of it underneath all the noise.
The thing is, you already know. Youâve known since the bathroom floor this morning, since you sat with your back against the tub and your forehead on your knees. Itâs why the knowing has been so terrifying â not because youâre uncertain but because youâre not, and being not uncertain makes it real in a way that uncertainty would have postponed.
âYeah,â you say. Quietly. âI do. I just â I donât want it to be his. I donât want to be tied to someone whoââ You stop. âI donât want the situation. I just wantââ
âThe baby,â Hannah says. âYeah.â Sheâs quiet for a moment. âThose are two separate things,â she says. âThe situation and the baby. They feel like the same thing right now but theyâre not.â
You hear her sit down somewhere. âMarcus and I â when I had Lily, things with us were not good. You remember. We were not in a good place. And I thought about it the same way â I want her, I just donât want this. And it was hard. It was genuinely really hard. But sheâs five now and sheâs the most annoying, amazing person Iâve ever met and I canât â I canât imagine.â
You press the back of your hand to your mouth.
âIâm not telling you what to do,â Hannah says quickly. âI promise Iâm not. Whatever you decide Iâm with you. I just â you asked.â
âI know,â you manage. âI know youâre not.â
âIs he terrible?â she asks. âThis Jake person.â
You think about the corridor. The money. Iâm sorry. For what I said. All of it. âI donât know yet,â you say. âHeâs â I donât know what he is.â
âOkay.â Hannahâs voice is careful and warm. âYou donât have to know yet. You donât have to know anything yet except what you want. Everything else gets figured out.â
You sit with that for a moment. âIâm keeping it,â you say. Out loud, to another person, for the first time. It lands differently than it did in your head â more solid, more real, like something that has been decided rather than something being considered.
âOkay,â Hannah says, and she says it the way Mina says it â not okay as in fine but okay as in Iâve got you. âThen we figure out the rest.â
You tell Mina when she comes over and she holds your hand and doesnât say anything for a long moment and then says âokay, what do we need to doâ in the tone of someone rolling up their sleeves, which is exactly right, which is why sheâs your person.
You tell Jake two days later.
You find him after morning practice on a Wednesday, same side entrance to the Hargrove Center, and this time he sees you coming and something in his posture adjusts â not quite bracing, just becoming more careful, more deliberate, the way he gets when heâs paying attention. âHey,â he says.
âIâm keeping it,â you say.
He goes very still. You watch him process it â the stillness and then the almost imperceptible movement of his jaw, the way his eyes go somewhere internal for a second before coming back to you. He looks like someone doing rapid and complicated mathematics. âOkay,â he says finally.
âYou donât have to be involved. I meant that when I said it. Iâm not â Iâm not asking you for anything except to know. You deserved to know and now you know and whatever you decide to do with that is up to you.â
âI said Iâd provide,â he says. âI meant that.â
âMoney isnât the same as involved.â
âI know.â He shifts his weight. His hands are in his pockets and heâs looking at you with that careful expression, the one you canât fully read. âI donât â Iâm not going to be the guy who just throws money at it and disappears. Thatâs notââ He stops. âI donât know what I am yet. But Iâm not that.â
You look at him for a long moment. There is, underneath the practice gear and the careful composure and the history of the last two weeks, something that might be decency in there. Itâs buried. Itâs inconsistent. Youâve seen it appear and disappear enough times already to know better than to trust it yet. But itâs there. âOkay,â you say. âThen figure out what you are and let me know.â
You turn to go. âCan Iââ He stops. You look back. âCan I have your number,â he says. âProperly. So we can â so itâs easier toââ
âTo what.â
He looks, briefly, like someone who hasnât thought this far ahead. âTalk,â he says. âIf we need to.â
You look at him for a moment. Then you take out your phone and hold it out. He puts his number in and hands it back and you save it under Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) which you do not show him. âIâll be in touch,â you say.
Jake doesnât mean to tell his friendâ or he does, but not like this, not in the locker room with his gear half off and Riki eating a protein bar on the bench across from him and Jay taping his wrist in the corner and Jungwon doing something on his phone. It comes out the way things come out when youâve been holding them too long and the effort of holding them finally exceeds the effort of saying them.
âI got someone pregnant,â he says.
The locker room goes quiet. Riki stops chewing. Jay puts down the tape. Jungwon looks up from his phone. âIâm sorry,â Jay says, with the careful enunciation of someone who wants to make sure theyâve heard correctly. âYou what?â
âYou heard me.â
âI heard you, I just want to make sure Iââ Jay sets down the tape fully and turns to face him. âWho.â
âGirl from Delta Kappa. Three weeks ago.â Another silence. Jay is looking at him with an expression that Jake doesnât particularly enjoy â something between concern and the specific look of someone doing the maths on how this could have happened and arriving at several uncomfortable conclusions about Jakeâs general life choices.
âAre youââ Jungwon starts.
âIâm fine.â
âThatâs not what I was going to ask.â
âThen what.â
Jungwon looks at him steadily. âIs she okay.â
Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks about you in the corridor at the rink and your voice going flat and your hand cracking across his face, and then you in your dorm room â calm and certain and telling him you werenât asking him for anything, which was somehow the part that landed hardest. âI think so,â he says. âSheâs â yeah.â
âDo you like her?â Riki asks, with the bluntness of someone who has not yet learned that some questions require more runway.
âI donât know her,â Jake says.
âThatâs not what I asked.â Jay shoots Riki a look. Riki shrugs and takes another bite of his protein bar.
âWhat are you going to do?â Jay asks, turning back to Jake.
Jake leans his elbows on his knees and looks at the floor. The locker room smells like it always does â ice and rubber and effort â and itâs familiar in a way that is almost destabilising right now, how normal everything around him is when nothing feels particularly normal. âI donât know yet,â he says. âBe there, I think. As much as sheâll let me.â
âAs much as sheâll let you,â Jay repeats. Something in his tone.
âSheâs not â sheâs not soft.â Jake looks up. âSheâs not going to make it easy.â
âShould she?â
Jake looks at him. Jay looks back, steady and unhurried. âNo,â Jake says, after a moment. âProbably not.â
Jay nods once. Picks the tape back up. âThen figure it out,â he says, like itâs simple, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world, and Jake sits with that in the familiar smell of the locker room and thinks that he probably needs to.
â
The truce, when it forms, is not announced. It happens gradually over the following week â a text from him checking if you need anything, which you respond to with Iâm fine thanks and nothing else. A text from you three days later telling him your first appointment is booked for the following week, which he responds to with do you want me there and you respond with not yet and he responds with okay and thatâs it, thatâs the whole exchange, and somehow itâs the most civil conversation youâve had.
He doesnât push. You note this without letting it mean too much. Youâre not friends. Youâre not anything with a name. Youâre two people who made a mistake that turned into something neither of you planned for, and youâre figuring out how to exist in the same orbit without either of you combusting, and most days it feels manageable and some days it feels impossible and on the days it feels impossible you call Hannah, who answers on the third ring and lets the silence do its work.
Itâs something, you think. Itâs not much but itâs something. For now, that has to be enough.
The thing about Caldwell though, is that itâs a big campus until it isnât.
Thirty thousand students, four faculties, two libraries, a quad the size of a small park â and yet somehow the people you most want to avoid have an unerring instinct for occupying the same coffee shop, the same corridor, the same stretch of pavement at the same time.
Youâve been navigating this for four months with Sunghoon and youâve gotten good at it. You know his schedule well enough to avoid it without meaning to, the way you learn the shape of someone after two years and canât quite unlearn it.
Which is why it catches you off guard when heâs just â there. The library cafĂŠ, a Tuesday afternoon, three weeks after the test. Youâre at a corner table with your laptop and a cup of tea youâve been nursing for an hour because coffee is still wrong and probably will be for the foreseeable future, and youâre halfway through a close reading of Middlemarch chapter forty-two when someone pulls out the chair across from you and sits down and you look up and itâs Sunghoon.
He looks, as he always looks, like something assembled with unreasonable care. Dark hair, clean jawline, the particular quality of stillness he has that used to make you feel calm and now just makes you feel tired.
âHey,â he says.
You look at him. Then at the chair heâs sitting in. Then back at him. âI didnât say you could sit.â
âI know.â He doesnât move. âI just wanted to talk.â
âSunghoon.â
âFive minutes.â
You close your laptop. Not because youâre agreeing, but because whatever heâs about to say you want to be looking at him when he says it. âFive minutes,â you say. âAnd then youâre going to go away.â
Something moves through his expression â not quite hurt, but adjacent. He folds his hands on the table. He has nice hands. You spent two years noticing his hands. âI saw you at Delta Kappa,â he says.
âI know. You texted me.â
âYou didnât reply.â He looks at you steadily. âYou were talking to Jake Sim.â
There it is.
You keep your face very neutral. âI was at a party. I talked to a lot of people.â
âJake Sim isnât a lot of people.â Something in his voice shifts â not quite possessive, not quite jealous, threading that needle with the precision of someone who knows he doesnât have the right to either and is trying to disguise it as concern. âHeâs not a good person to get involved with.â
âThank you for that,â you say. âIâll bear it in mind.â
âIâm serious.â
âSo am I.â You look at him. âSunghoon. You donât get to come sit at my table and tell me who I should and shouldnât talk to. You gave that up.â
His jaw tightens. âI know I did.â
âThen why are you here?â
Heâs quiet for a moment. Outside the cafĂŠ windows the quad is grey and overcast, students moving across it with their heads down against the wind, and Sunghoon is looking at you with an expression you know â youâve catalogued it, the way youâve catalogued everything about him, two years of accumulated knowledge you canât seem to put down. Itâs the expression he gets when he wants to say something and is choosing his words with care.
âI miss you,â he says.
You look at him for a long time. The honest answer is that you miss him too â or you miss the version of things you thought you had, which isnât exactly the same as missing him but lives close enough to it that the distinction is hard to maintain on a grey Tuesday afternoon with him sitting across from you looking like that.
You miss having a person. You miss the shape of your life before it got complicated in every possible direction.
But you also know what he did.
You know it with the specific clarity of something youâve gone over enough times that itâs stopped being sharp and started being just â true. A fact about him. A fact about what he chose. âI know,â you say. Carefully. âBut thatâs not my problem to fix.â
He nods. Slow. Like he expected it and it still costs him something. He stands up, pushes the chair back in, and then pauses with his hands on the back of it. âAre you okay?â he asks. âActually? You lookââ He stops.
âI look what.â
âTired,â he says. âYou look tired.â
âIâm fine,â you say.
He looks at you for a moment longer. Then he goes, and you open your laptop, and you stare at Middlemarch chapter forty-two for a while without reading any of it.
You donât tell Jake about Sunghoon.
Thereâs no reason to.
You and Jake are not â whatever you are, it doesnât include telling each other things. It includes occasional texts, one appointment you went to alone where a doctor confirmed what you already knew and gave you a due date that made it real in a new and specific way, and a strange careful politeness that exists between you like a temporary structure neither of you fully trusts.
He texts you on a Friday evening. how are you feeling
You look at it for a while. Fine. Less sick this week.
thatâs good
A pause. Then: do you need anything?
You think about your sisterâs voice. You donât have to know anything yet except what you want. You think about Jake in your dorm room, the money on your nightstand, Iâm not going to be the guy who just throws money at it. You think about how many times in the past three weeks heâs almost been decent and then done something to complicate it.
Iâm okay, you send back. Thanks.
He sends a thumbs up and you put your phone face down and tell yourself this is fine, this arrangement is fine, and mostly you believe it.
You find out about the girl on a Saturday night.
Youâre not looking for it â youâre not the kind of person who goes searching for things they donât want to find, you learned that lesson with Sunghoon â but Caldwell is a big campus until it isnât, and Minaâs friend group overlaps with the hockey crowd in the specific way that happens at schools where athletes are their own ecosystem but not a fully separate one.
Itâs Mina who tells you, with the careful expression of someone who has been sitting on information and decided youâd rather hear it from her. âI heard Jake hooked up with someone last weekend,â she says. Not leading with it, not burying it either. Just: here is a thing that is true.
You look at your coffee. Youâve graduated back to coffee this week, weak and milky, which feels like a victory. âOkay,â you say.
âYouâre allowed to have feelings about that.â
âWeâre not together, Mina.â
âI know.â
âHe can do whatever he wants. Weâre not â thereâs nothing between us. Weâre justââ You move your hand in a vague gesture that encompasses the entire situation. âThis.â
âI know,â Mina says again, in the tone that means she has more to say and is choosing not to. You continue to drink your coffee.
The thing is â and this is the part you donât say out loud, the part you turn over privately in the quiet of your own head â the thing is that you know sheâs right.
You are allowed to have feelings about it.
You do have feelings about it, somewhere underneath the very reasonable and correct observation that Jake Sim owes you nothing beyond basic decency and whatever co-parenting arrangement you eventually figure out.
You have feelings about it the way you have feelings about a lot of things lately â in the muffled, at-a-distance way, like theyâre happening to someone slightly removed from you and youâre watching through glass.
Youâre pregnant with his baby and heâs sleeping with someone else and youâre not together and you have no claim on him and all of that is true simultaneously and youâre not sure what to do with the fact that it still sits in your chest like something uncomfortable.
âI donât care,â you tell Mina. She looks at you with the expression that means I know you and I know thatâs not entirely true but I love you so Iâll let you have it.
âOkay,â she says.
â
Jake texts you on Sunday.
heard youâve been doing better. thatâs good
You stare at the message for a long time. Yeah, you type back. Thanks.
A pause. Then: can I take you to your next appointment?
You put the phone down. Pick it up. Put it down again.
The question sits there, simple and direct, and the thing about it is that it isnât nothing. Itâs not the gesture of someone who is just throwing money at a situation. Itâs â something. Small and tentative and probably not enough and something nonetheless.
Itâs in two weeks, you send back. Iâll let you know.
okay, he says. no pressure.
You put the phone down and look at the ceiling and think about a girl you donât know and a Saturday night you werenât part of and the specific stupidity of having feelings about either, and then you think about your next appointment and the due date the doctor gave you and the small impossible reality of all of it, and you decide that you are going to take a nap and deal with every single one of these things later.
Later, you think. All of it later.
He comes to the appointment, in the end you let him. You texted him the details the night before â time, building, room number â and heâs there when you arrive, standing outside the health centre with his hands in his jacket pockets and his breath fogging in the cold, and he looks up when he sees you coming and something in his expression does that thing, that complicated unreadable thing, and he falls into step beside you without saying anything.
Inside, in the waiting room, you sit next to each other in plastic chairs with a magazine between you that neither of you reads. A couple across the room are holding hands. You and Jake sit with six inches of space between you like a demilitarised zone.
âYou okay?â he asks, quietly.
âFine,â you say. âYou?â
âFine,â he says.
The nurse calls your name and you both stand up and Jake follows you in and stands slightly to the side while the doctor talks and asks questions and pulls up the scan on the screen, and you look at it â the small impossible blur of it, the heartbeat a flickering certainty on the monitor â and you feel the thing in your chest that youâve been keeping at distance move closer without permission.
Beside you Jake goes very still.
You donât look at him. You look at the screen.
âEverything looks perfect,â the doctor says.
You nod. You donât trust your voice.
In the corridor after, walking back out into the cold, Jake is quiet for a long time. Longer than usual even for him.
Youâre almost at the path that splits â his way, your way â when he says, without looking at you: âThat wasââ
âYeah,â you say.
He nods. Puts his hands back in his pockets. âIâll walk you back,â he says.
You think about the girl he slept with. You think about Sunghoon in the library cafĂŠ. You think about the scan on the monitor and the heartbeat that is real and certain and not theoretical anymore.
âOkay,â you say.
He walks you back. You donât talk much. Itâs not uncomfortable exactly â itâs something more complicated than that, something neither of you has a name for yet, and when you reach your building he stops at the bottom of the steps and looks at you and opens his mouth and then closes it again.
âWhat,â you say.
âNothing,â he says. âJust â take care of yourself.â You look at him for a moment.
âYou too,â you say, and go inside.
â
Sunghoon doesnât give up. Youâd half expected him to â one conversation in the library cafĂŠ, youâd said your piece, heâd said his, and youâd thought that would be the end of it. Sunghoon has always been precise about things, economical, not the type to repeat himself unnecessarily. Youâd thought heâd take the answer and file it and move on.
Instead he texts you on a Wednesday. Just â how are you doing. No punctuation, which for Sunghoon is practically shouting.
You donât reply.
He texts again on Friday. can we get coffee sometime? just to talk?
You stare at it for a long time.
You show it to Mina, who makes a face. âDonât,â she says.
âIâm not going to,â you say.
He finds you on campus on Monday â the English building, your own territory, which feels deliberate. Heâs waiting near the entrance when you come out of your seminar and you see him before he sees you and for one uncharitable second you think about turning around and going back inside.
You donât. You keep walking. âHey,â he says, falling into step beside you.
âSunghoon.â
âI just want to walk with you.â
âI didnât say you could.â
âI know.â He walks with you anyway, hands in his coat pockets, quiet for a moment in the way that used to feel comfortable and now just feels like pressure. âHow are you feeling?â
You glance at him. âFine.â
âYou look better than last time I saw you. Less tired.â
âThanks,â you say, flatly.
Heâs quiet again. The path curves toward the quad and you keep walking and he keeps pace and youâre aware â acutely, uncomfortably aware â that youâre starting to show. Not dramatically, not in a way thatâs obvious under your coat, but enough that you know. Enough that itâs a matter of time.
âI meant what I said,â Sunghoon says. âIn the library.â
âI know you did.â
âIâm not trying to pressure you.â
âYouâre walking next to me uninvited,â you say. âWhat would you call that?â
He stops. You stop too, half a beat later, and turn to look at him. Heâs standing in the middle of the path with that precise, careful expression and something underneath it that isnât quite what heâs performing, and you know him well enough to know the difference and wish you didnât.
âI made a mistake,â he says. âI know I did. I know what I did and I know it wasââ He stops. Starts again. âI just want a chance toââ
âSunghoon.â You keep your voice even. âI canât do this right now. I genuinely cannot â there is too much happening in my life right now for me to also be doing this. Okay? Please.â
He looks at you. Something in his expression shifts â a question forming, something heâs noticed that he canât quite place. âWhatâs happening?â he asks. Carefully.
âNothing thatâs your business,â you say. âPlease just â let me go.â
And he lets you go.
But the problem is that Caldwell is a big campus until it isnât.
The problem is that two weeks later youâre at a party you didnât particularly want to attend â a smaller thing, a friend of Minaâs, an apartment off campus â and both of them are there. Jake and Sunghoon.
You donât notice Jake first. You notice Sunghoon, across the room with his circle, and you note it and move on, youâre good at that now. You get a drink â water, the specific reality of being the only sober person at a party hitting â and find Mina and settle into the corner and decide youâll stay an hour and then leave.
You notice Jake about twenty minutes in.
Heâs near the kitchen with Jay, and thereâs a girl â tall, dark-haired, laughing at something heâs said with her hand on his arm and her body angled toward him in the specific way that means something. You see him lean in to say something close to her ear. You see her laugh again. You look away.
You look back to Mina, who is mid-conversation with someone and hasnât clocked it, and you drink your water and you are fine, you are completely fine, this is exactly what you knew was happening and seeing it in person doesnât change anything and you are fine.
You last another twenty minutes before you decide youâre going to get some air.
The problem is that getting air requires passing the kitchen. Jake sees you at the same moment you see him and something in his expression shifts â that recalibration, that adjustment â and the girlâs hand is still on his arm and you keep walking, eyes forward, almost pastâ âHey.â
His voice.
You stop. You turn. Heâs stepped slightly away from the girl, who is watching with a politely curious expression. âHey,â you say.
âYouâre here,â he says, which is not his most articulate moment.
âBriefly,â you say. âDonât mind me.â Something moves across his face.
âYou okay?â
âFine.â You smile at him â pleasant, neutral, the smile of someone who is absolutely fine. âEnjoy your night.â You keep walking.
The air outside is cold and you stand on the small concrete step outside the apartment and breathe it and tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just the stuffiness of the party and not anything else.
You hear the door behind you. âHeyââ
You turn, expecting Jake, and itâs Sunghoon. Of course itâs Sunghoon.
Heâs in his coat, hands in his pockets, and he looks at you with that careful expression and says âI saw you come outâ like that explains what heâs doing here, which it does, which doesnât make it better.
âI needed air,â you say.
âI know.â He comes to stand beside you. Close, but not touching. âYou looked upset.â
âIâm not upset.â
âYou have a face,â he says, gently, and you hate that heâs right, hate that after four months and everything that happened he can still read you like that. âWhatâs going on?â
âNothing.â
âIs it Sim?â Something in his voice changes â not quite hard, not quite angry, threading the needle. âAre you involved with him?â
âThatâs not your business.â
âIâm asking because Iâm worried about you, not becauseââ
âSunghoon.â You turn to face him. âPlease stop. Please justââ
The door opens behind you. Jake comes out. He takes in the scene â you and Sunghoon, close, Sunghoonâs expression, yours â in about half a second and his jaw tightens in a way youâve learned to read as something being suppressed.
âEverything okay?â he asks. Looking at you, not at Sunghoon.
âFine,â you say, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
âShe said sheâs fine,â Sunghoon says. His voice is even. âSo you can go back inside.â Jake looks at him. Something passes between them that has nothing to do with you â some older, unnamed thing.
âI wasnât talking to you,â Jake says.
âThen walk away.â
âIâm not going anywhere.â
âJake.â Your voice is sharper than you intend. âItâs fine. Go inside.â
He doesnât go inside.
He stays where he is with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on Sunghoon, and Sunghoon stays where he is with that precise stillness, and the cold air between all three of you is doing a lot of work.
âYouâre the one sheâs been seeing,â Sunghoon says, to Jake. Not a question.
âThatâs not your business,â Jake says.
âIt is when youâreââ Sunghoon stops. Something has crossed his face â heâs looking at you, at your coat, and the realisation moves through his expression slowly and then all at once.
His eyes find yours. âAre youââ
âDonât,â you say.
âAre you pregnant?â
The step goes very quiet.
Jake goes very still.
You look at Sunghoon and there is a specific kind of exhaustion that moves through you â the exhaustion of someone who has been managing too many things for too long and has just watched one of them slip out of their hands.
âThat,â you say, carefully, âis none of your business.â
âItâs his, isnât it.â Not looking at Jake. Looking at you. Something in his voice that you donât have a name for â not anger, not hurt, something more complicated and less clean than either. âYou hooked up with Jake Sim at a party and now youâreââ
âSunghoonââ
âWhat were you thinking?â And there it is â the composure cracking, the precision slipping, something rawer underneath. âWhat were you actually â with him, of all peopleââ
âHey.â Jakeâs voice is hard. âWatch yourself.â
âYou stay out of itââ
âShe told you itâs none of your businessââ
âIâm talking to herââ
âThen talk to her with some respectââ
âOh thatâs rich, coming from you.â Sunghoon turns to Jake fully now and the precise stillness has sharpened into something else. âEveryone knows what you are. Everyone knows how you treatââ
âAnd everyone knows what you did,â Jake says, low and flat. âSo donât stand here and act like youâve got the moralââ
âStop.â Your voice cuts through both of them. They both look at you. âBoth of you. Stop.â
A beat. âIâm going home,â you say. âThis isââ You gesture at the three of you, at the step, at all of it. âIâm not doing this.â
âIâll walk youââ Both of them, simultaneously.
âNeither of you will walk me anywhere.â You pull your coat around you. âI want to go by myself and I want both of you to leave me alone tonight. Okay?â
Sunghoon opens his mouth.
And then â later, when you try to reconstruct the exact sequence, itâs hard to isolate the moment it tips â he reaches for your arm, a gesture, just trying to stop you leaving, and Jake moves at the same time, stepping forward, his hand coming out to push Sunghoon back, and Sunghoon turns, and the angles are all wrong, and Jakeâs elbow catches you across the side of your face.
Itâs not hard. Itâs not a real blow â itâs the edge of the motion, glancing, the kind of thing that in any other circumstance would be an accidental knock in a crowded corridor that youâd shake off and keep walking.
But you make a sound and stumble back.
Jake turns and sees your face and goes completely white. âFuckââ He reaches for you.
âDonât touch me.â
Your hand comes up. Your voice has gone very quiet. The side of your face is throbbing, low and dull, and underneath it everything else â the tiredness, the party, Sunghoonâs face when he realised, the girlâs hand on Jakeâs arm â all of it presses in at once and you are so, so tired.
âI didnât â it was an accident, I didnât mean toââ
âI know it was an accident,â you say. Still quiet. Still very controlled. âI know that.â
âAre you okay? The babyââ
âIâm fine. It was my face, notââ You stop. Press your fingers briefly to your temple. âIâm fine.â
Jake is looking at you with an expression you havenât seen on him before â something undone about it, all the composure gone, something almost desperate. âLet me take you homeââ
âNo.â
You look at him. Then at Sunghoon, who has gone very still and very pale. âIâm going to get Mina. Iâm going to go home. And I donât want either of you to contact me tonight.â
You take out your phone. You text Mina. You wait on the step with your back to both of them until she comes out, takes one look at your face, takes your arm, and walks you away without saying a word.
Behind you, you donât look back.
Jake texts at midnight. Iâm so sorry. please tell me youâre okay
You look at it for a long time. Iâm fine, you send back. Goodnight Jake.
He sends: Iâm sorry again
Those two words, and you put your phone face down and stare at the ceiling of your dorm room and Mina is asleep in your desk chair with a blanket over her because she refused to go home and you love her for it, and the small dull ache in your temple has faded to almost nothing, and the baby is fine, youâre fine, everything is fine.
You donât text him back.
He tries on Sunday.
A text at nine in the morning â can we talk please? â that you look at and put face down without replying.
Then at eleven: I know youâre angry. you have every right to be. I just want to talk.
Then at two in the afternoon, which shows either impressive persistence or a complete inability to read a room: Iâm going to keep texting until you tell me to stop.
You text back: stop.
He texts back: okay. Iâm sorry.
You put the phone in your drawer.
He doesnât stop.
Well, he stops texting â he respects that, or he tries to, mostly â but he finds other ways. Thereâs a bag outside your dorm room door on Monday morning: crackers, the specific brand youâd been eating in the early weeks, ginger tea, a punnet of the green grapes that youâd mentioned once in passing to him that youâd been craving. No note. Just the bag.
You stand in your doorway looking at it for a long time.
You bring it inside. You eat the grapes. You do not text him to say thank you and you do not text him to say stop and the not-texting feels like its own kind of answer that youâre not ready to examine yet.
On Tuesday heâs outside your building.
Not lurking â heâs sitting on the low wall by the entrance with his hands between his knees and his jacket on against the cold, and he stands up when he sees you come out and he doesnât move toward you, just â stands there, and waits, and lets you decide.
You stop on the steps. âJake.â
âFive minutes,â he says. âI know I donât deserve them. Five minutes and then Iâll go and I wonât â Iâll leave you alone if thatâs what you want.â
You look at him. He looks back. He has, you note, the specific appearance of someone who hasnât been sleeping well â not dramatic, just a tightness around his eyes, a quality of having been somewhere difficult in his own head for the past two days.
Good, says a part of you.
The other part steps down off the steps and stands in front of him and crosses her arms and says: âFive minutes.â
He exhales. âIâm sorry,â he says. âFor Friday night. For â all of it, the whole night, but specifically forââ He stops. His jaw works. âI should never have let it get to that point. I should have walked away from him the second it started and I didnât and you got hurt and youâre â the baby could haveââ He stops again. Something in his face that isnât composure. âI will never forgive myself for that. I need you to know that. It keeps me up.â
You look at him. âIt was an accident.â
âIt was an accident that happened because I couldnât keep my head.â His voice is flat with self-assessment. âSame difference.â
âItâs not the same difference.â
âItâs close enough.â He looks at you steadily. âIâm also sorry for the girl at the party. I know you saw. I know weâre not â I know you donât have any claim on me and I donât have any claim on you and technically I didnât do anything wrong but Iâm still sorry because I saw your face and I knew and I did it anyway and thatâsââ He stops. âThatâs not who I want to be. With this. With you.â
The wall by the entrance is cold and grey and a girl from your floor passes you both with her earphones in and doesnât look up and the world keeps moving indifferently around this conversation.
âYou hurt me,â you say. Not the elbow. The other thing. The girl at the party and the ceiling of his bedroom and the weeks of almost-decency that kept getting complicated. âNot â not physically. You just keepââ You stop. âEvery time I think maybe youâre a person you do something that reminds me why I shouldnât think that.â
He takes that. Doesnât deflect, doesnât explain, just takes it. âI know,â he says.
âI need you to be consistent,â you say. âI canât â Iâm going to have your baby, Jake. Weâre going to be in each otherâs lives for a very long time. I need you to be someone I can rely on or I need you to be completely absent because the in-between isââ Your voice doesnât shake. Youâre proud of that. âItâs too hard. I canât do the in-between.â
Heâs quiet for a moment. The wind moves across the quad and he looks at you with that expression â the undone one, the one without composure â and says: âI donât want to be absent.â
âThen be consistent.â
âOkay.â
âThatâs it? Okay?â
âWhat else do you want me to say?â Heâs not defensive â itâs a real question, earnest in a way that sits oddly on him, like a piece of vocabulary he hasnât used much. âTell me what you need and Iâll do it. Specifically. Iâm not good atââ He moves his hand. âGuessing. Feelings. Whatever this is. But if you tell me what it looks like Iâll do it.â
You look at him for a long moment.
âNo more girls,â you say. âNot while weâre â not while this is what it is. I know I have no right to ask that but Iâm asking.â
Something shifts in his expression. âDone,â he says. No hesitation.
âAnd show up. When you say youâre going to show up, show up.â
âDone.â
âAnd donât fight people on my behalf. I can handle my own situations.â
His jaw tightens slightly. âThat oneâs harder.â
âJake.â
âDone,â he says. âOkay. Done.â
You look at him. He looks back. The five minutes has long since passed and neither of you has moved and the cold is starting to get into your fingers.
âThe grapes were good,â you say finally.
Something in his expression â brief, warm, gone almost immediately. âIâll get more,â he says.
âYou donât have toââ
âI want to.â He says it simply. No performance in it.
You nod. You pull your coat tighter. âI have a seminar,â you say.
âI know. Go.â He steps back, hands in his pockets. âThank you. For the five minutes.â
You go.
He tells his father that evening.
He doesnât plan to. He goes to his dadâs office on the east side of the admin building for what is ostensibly a standing weekly dinner that they do on Tuesday evenings â a thing theyâve done since Jakeâs freshman year, his dadâs attempt at maintaining something normal in the specific abnormality of being the deanâs son at your own fatherâs university. They go to the Italian place two blocks off campus. They talk about the team, the season, coursework, the usual rotation.
Except tonight Jake sits down across from his father and picks up the menu and puts it down again and his dad looks at him over his own menu with the steady, unhurried attention that has always been the most disarming thing about him â the way he looks at you like he has all the time in the world and means it â and says:
âWhatâs going on.â Not a question. His dad has never really needed to make them questions.
Jake puts his menu down. He looks at the table. He thinks about you on the steps this morning saying every time I think maybe youâre a person and the specific accuracy of it, the way it had landed not like an attack but like a diagnosis.
âI got someone pregnant,â he says.
The restaurant is quiet around them â mid-evening, not full yet, the soft noise of other peopleâs conversations providing cover. His dad sets his menu down with the deliberate care of someone who is choosing his response carefully.
âHow far along,â he says.
âAbout eight weeks.â
His dad nods slowly. Heâs a big man â Jake has his build, the same broad shoulders, though his dad carries more grey now at his temples and something steadier in his face, something earned. He looks at Jake with the expression that Jake has never been able to fully decode â not anger, not disappointment exactly, something more complicated and more patient than either.
âTell me about her,â he says.
Jake blinks. Of all the things heâd expected â âWhat?â
âThe woman. Tell me about her.â
Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. He thinks about you â the flat voice in the corridor at the rink, your hand cracking across his face, I canât do the in-between. The grapes. The way youâd said the grapes were good like it cost you something to admit it.
âSheâsââ He stops. Tries again. âSheâs a third year. English lit. Sheâs sharp. Like â she doesnât let me get away with anything, she just looks at me and calls it and moves on. Sheâs notââ He shifts. âShe didnât want this to be mine. She told me that. She wants the baby, she just didnât want it to be complicated, and Iâve made it complicated.â
âHow.â
Jake looks at the table. Lists it. The slap he deserved, the money that was clumsy, the girl at the party, Friday night and the elbow and her face and the specific look sheâd had, controlled and exhausted and done.
His dad listens to all of it without interrupting. When Jake finishes thereâs a pause â his dad picks up his water glass, drinks, sets it back down.
âDo you like her?â he asks.
Jake looks up.
âItâs a simple question,â his dad says.
âWe donât â I donât know her. Not really.â
âThatâs not what I asked, son.â
Jake is quiet for a moment. He thinks about you outside your building this morning, arms crossed, giving him five minutes you didnât have to give. The way youâd said I need you to be someone I can rely on like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like you werenât asking for anything extraordinary, just â consistency. Basic human consistency. The thing he has never had to be for anyone.
âYeah,â he says. Quiet. âI think so.â
His dad nods. Like thatâs the piece he needed. Like everything else was context and that was the information.
âThen be someone worth liking,â he says. Simply. Like itâs obvious. Like itâs the only thing that matters and everything else is just logistics.
Jake looks at him.
âYouâve never had to work for anything,â his dad says, and itâs not unkind â itâs just true, delivered with the directness of someone who has been watching this coming for a long time. âNot really. Not the things that count. Youâre talented and youâre smart and things have always â moved for you. And thatâs partly my fault.â He meets Jakeâs eyes. âBut sheâs right. You canât be the in-between. Youâre going to be someoneâs father. Thatâs not a thing you can be inconsistent about.â
Jake absorbs this.
âI know,â he says.
âDo you?â
âIâm trying to.â
His dad looks at him for a long moment. Then he picks his menu back up. âGood,â he says. âThatâs the right answer.â He glances over the top of it. âOrder something. You look like you havenât eaten good in a while.â
Jake looks at the menu.
âDad,â he says.
âMm.â
âI reallyââ He stops. âIâve really made a mess of this.â
His dad lowers the menu slightly. Looks at him with that steady, unhurried attention. âYes,â he says. âBut messes can be cleaned up.â He raises the menu again. âThe carbonara is good tonight.â
Jake picks up his menu.
He end up ordering the carbonara.
â
The thing about consistency is that itâs quiet.
It doesnât announce itself. It doesnât arrive with a gesture or a speech or a moment you can point to and say â there, thatâs when things changed. It just accumulates, slowly, in the background of your ordinary life, until one day you look up and realise the weight youâve been carrying has shifted without you noticing.
Jake shows up.
Thatâs the only way to describe it. He shows up in the small ways, the unglamorous ways, the ways that donât make for a good story but add up to something anyway. He texts when he says he will. Heâs outside your building on Wednesday mornings because you have a seminar and the walk takes you past the science quad where the wind is brutal and he started walking with you three weeks ago without asking and has not stopped. He brings food â not always the crackers and ginger tea, sometimes just the grapes, sometimes something from the good Thai place near the rink that youâd mentioned once you were craving and didnât expect him to remember.
He remembers things.
This is, you find, the most disarming thing about him. More than the jaw and the shoulders and the specific quality of his attention when heâs fully in a conversation.
He remembers that you take your tea with one sugar and that youâre writing your dissertation on George Eliot and that your sisterâs youngest is called Lily and that you cannot watch medical dramas right now because they make you anxious in a way you canât fully explain. He files things away and uses them with a quietness that suggests heâs not doing it to impress you â heâs just paying attention.
And god, itâs harder to be angry at someone who pays attention. Youâre still trying.
Your bump begins appearing at eleven weeks.
Not dramatically â not one morning you wake up transformed, just a gradual undeniable softening of the line of your stomach that means your jeans sit differently and your favourite hoodie, the oversized one youâve worn for three years, suddenly doesnât hang quite right. You stand in front of your mirror on a Thursday morning and put your hand flat against it and stay there for a moment with the strange doubled feeling that has been following you for weeks now â the unreality of it and the complete reality of it, existing simultaneously, refusing to resolve.
Mina notices before you say anything. Sheâs been noticing for two weeks, you suspect, and has been waiting for you to bring it up, which is one of the reasons sheâs your person.
âYouâre showing,â she says, on Friday afternoon, without preamble.
âA little,â you say.
âHow do you feel about that?â
You think about it genuinely. âWeird,â you say. âGood weird. Mostly good weird.â
Mina nods. âHave you told Jake?â
âHeâll notice,â you say. âWeâre â weâve been spending time together. Heâll see.â
Mina looks at you with the expression that means she has registered the significance of weâve been spending time together and is choosing, for now, not to make anything of it. âOkay,â she says.
âDonât,â you say.
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were going to.â
âI really wasnât,â she says, in the tone that means she absolutely was.
He notices on Saturday.
Youâre at this Thai place â his suggestion, your agreement, the two of you in a corner booth with menus neither of you needs because youâve been here enough times now that you already know â and youâve taken your coat off because the restaurant is warm and youâre wearing a fitted top and when you reach across the table for the soy sauce you catch him looking.
Not rudely. Not in a way that makes you want to cover yourself. Just â looking, with that attentive expression, taking in information.
âDonât,â you say.
âIâm not doing anything.â
âYou have a face.â
âI have a face,â he says, which is almost a smile. âYouâre showing.â
âI know.â
âYou lookââ He stops. Considers his word choice with unusual care. âGood,â he says finally. âYou look good.â
You look at him across the table. âThat was very diplomatic.â
âI meant it.â
âJake.â
âI genuinely meant it.â He meets your eyes. âYou look good. Youâve looked good for a while. I justââ He stops again. âDidnât say it. You looks beautiful actually.â
The restaurant is warm and smells like lemongrass and the couple at the next table are arguing quietly about something and the ordinary world is going on all around you and Jake Sim is sitting across from you saying you look good with an expression that has nothing performative in it, no angle, no formula.
You pick up your menu that you donât need and look at it. âThank you,â you say, at the laminated page.
He goes back to his menu too. Neither of you says anything else about it. But the air between you has shifted by some small degree and you both know it and neither of you is ready to name it yet and that, you think, is okay.
For now thatâs okay.
The not-naming becomes its own kind of language eventually.
He walks you to your seminar on Wednesday and waits fifteen minutes in the wrong direction from the rink to do it, which you know because youâve looked at the campus map, which you will not be telling him. You bring him coffee one morning â just once, without explanation, the specific order youâve heard him give three times now â and he takes it without making anything of it which is exactly right. You text him a photo of a onesie Mina finds online that says future hockey player as a joke and he sends back a voice note that is mostly him laughing, genuine and unguarded, and you listen to it twice.
You do not examine why you listen to it twice.
Sunghoon texts once more â I hope youâre okay. I mean that.
You look at it for a long time. You think about the library cafĂŠ and the step outside the party and the way his face had looked when he realised. You think about two years and what they were and what they turned out to be underneath.
Iâm okay, you send back. Take care of yourself.
He sends a single: you too.
And that, you think, is the end of that chapter. It doesnât feel like closure exactly â closure implies a clean line, and there is no clean line, just a gradual and mutual putting down of something that had gotten too heavy to carry. But it feels like something finished. Something that needed to be done.
You feel lighter, after.
Jake finds out about the dissertation.
Not in a dramatic way â youâre in the library one afternoon, the two of you at adjacent tables because youâd both ended up there independently and moving would have been more pointed than staying, and he leans over at some point and looks at your screen and reads two sentences and says: âYou write like this normally?â
âLike what.â
âLikeââ He gestures at the screen. âLike that. Like it means something.â
You look at him. âItâs an academic paper.â
âI know what it is.â He looks faintly annoyed, the way he gets when heâs trying to say something and the words arenât cooperating. âIâm saying itâs good. It sounds like you.â
You turn back to your screen. You are not going to make anything of this. You are a reasonable and self-possessed adult and you are not going to sit in the library and catch feelings because Jake Sim said your writing sounds like you.
âThanks,â you say, at your laptop.
âIâm serious. Itâsââ He picks up his pen. âGood.â
âYou said that.â
âBecause I mean it.â
You look at him. He looks back, pen between his fingers, entirely unaware that heâs just done something dangerous, and you look back at your dissertation and breathe carefully and remind yourself of all the reasons this is complicated.
There are many reasons. They are good reasons. You know them all.
The night it almost becomes something, itâs late November and itâs cold enough that your breath fogs and Jake has walked you back from the library and youâre standing at the bottom of your buildingâs steps in the dark and neither of you is moving.
âI should go in,â you say.
âYeah,â he says.
Neither of you moves.
Youâve been doing this â the standing, the not-moving, the conversations that go slightly longer than they need to â for three weeks now. It has a shape, this thing between you, even if it doesnât have a name. It has weight. Youâre both aware of it and both moving around it with the particular carefulness of people who have been burned recently and are not in a hurry to be burned again.
âJake,â you say.
âI know,â he says. Like he already knows what youâre going to say. Like heâs been having the same conversation in his own head.
âI just need it to stayââ You gesture between you. âLike this. For now. Okay? I need it to stay manageable.â
He looks at you. âIs it not?â
You look back. âLess and less,â you admit.
Something moves through his expression. Warm and complicated and controlled. âOkay,â he says. âWeâll keep it manageable.â
âOkay.â
âI just need you to knowââ He stops. Starts again. âIâm not going anywhere. Whatever this is, whatever speed it goes. Iâm not going anywhere.â
The cold is sharp and the steps are lit by the yellow glow of the entrance light and you are eleven weeks pregnant and standing in the dark with the father of your baby who is looking at you like youâre something worth staying for, and you think about all the reasons this is complicated and you think about your sisterâs voice â those are two separate things â and you think that maybe, maybe, the situation and the feeling donât have to be the same thing.
âGoodnight, Jake,â you say.
âGoodnight,â he says. You go inside.
At the top of the first flight of stairs you take out your phone.
You open his name â Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) â and you look at it for a long moment.
You change it to Jake.
Just Jake. Nothing else.
You put your phone in your pocket and go to bed.
â
He asks you out on a Tuesday.
Not dramatically â not with any of the ceremony you might have expected from someone who has spent the better part of four months being alternately infuriating and disarming. He just falls into step beside you on the Wednesday morning walk to your seminar and says, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes forward: âLet me take you to dinner. A real one. Not Thai because weâve done that.â
You look at him. âAre you asking me on a date?â
âYes.â
âJust like that.â
âDid you want me to make it complicated?â
You look back at the path ahead. The quad is grey and cold and a girl on a bike nearly takes out a first year near the fountain and life goes on all around you, indifferent and ordinary. âNo,â you say. âI didnât want it complicated.â
âFriday,â he says. âSeven. Iâll pick you up.â
âI know where the restaurants are, Jake. I go here too.â
âI know you do.â He glances at you sideways. âLet me pick you up though.â
You look at him. That expression â patient, certain, not performing anything. Just asking.
âFriday,â you say. âSeven.â
He nods. Looks back at the path. The corner of his mouth does something that isnât quite a smile and is better than one.
The restaurant he takes you to is small and Italian and not the kind of place youâd have expected from him, which youâre finding is a theme â Jake Sim consistently failing to be what you expect in the specific ways that make him hardest to keep at distance. Itâs candlelit without being try-hard about it, the kind of place where the pasta is made that morning and the wine list is handwritten and the tables are close enough that youâre aware of his knee near yours under the table for the entirety of dinner.
You talk. Thatâs the thing â you just talk, the way you have been talking for weeks now on walks and in the library and over Thai food, except tonight thereâs no pretence of it being anything other than what it is. He asks about your dissertation and actually listens to the answer. You ask about the season and he tells you about the conference standings with genuine animation, hands moving, and you watch him and think about the ceiling of his bedroom in September and the corridor at the rink and the bag outside your dorm door and all the distance between those things.
âWhat,â he says, catching you looking.
âNothing,â you say. âYouâre different.â
âFrom what?â He laughs.
âFrom who you were in September.â
Heâs quiet for a moment. He turns his wine glass slowly on the table. âYeah,â he says. âI think I am.â
âIs that â do you mind that? Being different?â
He looks at you. âNo,â he says. Simply. âI donât mind it at all.â
You look back at your pasta.
Under the table his knee settles against yours and stays there and you donât move away from it and neither does he and you eat your dinner in the warm candlelit ordinary of it and let yourself be there, fully, without managing it from a distance.
Outside afterward the cold hits and youâre pulling your coat around you when his hand finds yours. Not reaching, not making a thing of it â just his hand finding yours in the dark like it already knows the way, fingers threading through, warm and certain.
You let him.
You walk back across campus like that, not talking much, and when you reach your building you stop at the bottom of the steps and he turns to face you and you look at him in the yellow entrance light and you think about goodnight, about all the goodnights, about the careful distance youâve been keeping.
âCome up,â you say.
His expression does that thing â complicated and warm and something that isnât quite controlled anymore. âYou sure?â
âI just asked, didnât I?â
He follows you up.
Your room is warm and small and familiar and heâs been in it before but not like this â not with the door closed and the lights low and both of you knowing exactly what this is. He stands just inside the door and looks at you and you cross the room and kiss him.
Itâs different from September.
September was heat and momentum and two people who didnât know each other doing something that felt like a decision.
This is â slower. His hands come up to your face the way they did at the party but gentler, more deliberate, like heâs paying attention to something he nearly missed before. He kisses you like he has something to say and this is the only language that fits, and you feel it move through you differently than anything has moved through you in a long time.
âHey,â he says, against your mouth.
âHi,â you say back.
He pulls back just enough to look at you â really look, the way he does now, the full attentive weight of it â and his thumb traces your cheekbone and he says, quietly: âYouâre so beautiful. Do you know that?â
âJakeââ
âI mean it.â You can tell he means it. Itâs in his face, unguarded and certain. âIâve been â I should have said it a long time ago.â
You look at him for a moment. Then you pull him back down.
He undresses you slowly, which is new â September was efficient, purposeful, barely stopping. Now he takes his time like heâs making up for it, his mouth following the line of your throat, your collarbone, his hands sliding your top off with a care that makes your breath catch. When he gets to the soft curve of your stomach he stops.
He goes to his knees.
You look down at him, breath held, and he puts both hands flat and warm against your bump and just â holds them there. His forehead drops forward to rest against you. The room is quiet. You put your hand in his hair without thinking about it.
âHey,â he says softly. Not to you.
Your throat tightens.
He turns his head and presses his lips to the curve of your stomach, gentle, then again, then moves his hands slowly like heâs learning the shape of it, and you feel something in your chest come undone quietly and without ceremony.
âJake,â you say, and your voice is not entirely steady.
He looks up at you. His eyes are dark and very serious. âOkay?â he asks.
âMore than okay,â you manage.
He stands back up and kisses you again and walks you back to the bed.
He lays you down and settles over you and his mouth goes back to your tits immediately â youâd forgotten, or youâd tried to forget, the specific focused obsession of it â his hands cupping them, heavier now, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples until youâre arching up into his mouth.
âPerfect,â he murmurs against your skin, âyouâre so perfect,â and the praise lands warm and low in your stomach and you pull at his shirt until he lets you get it off.
Heâs as good-looking as you remembered, which is annoying.
His mouth works down your body and his hands slide your underwear off and then he looks up at you from between your thighs with an expression that makes your brain go briefly offline. âOkay?â he says again.
âIf you donâtââ you start.
He puts his mouth on your pussy and the rest of that sentence evaporates.
He goes slower than September. Thatâs the difference â the same precision, the same devastating accuracy with his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling deep into your walls, but slower, like he wants to take you apart carefully this time, like heâs paying attention to every sound you make and adjusting accordingly.
Your hands find his hair. Your hips roll up. He holds them down with one forearm across your hips and doesnât stop, doesnât change pace, just keeps that steady merciless rhythm until youâre shaking and pleading and your walls are clenching around his fingers and you cum on his tongue with his name coming out wrecked and too loud for the room.
He comes back up your body looking â different than September. Still composed, still that infuriating ease, but underneath it something open. Something that wasnât there before.
He reaches for his jacket on the floor. Finds his wallet to grab a condom.
You start laughing.
He looks at you confused. âWhat.â
âJake.â You press your lips together. âWe donât â Iâm already pregnant.
He looks at the condom in his hand. Looks at you. Something crosses his face and then he laughs too â real and unguarded, the laugh from the voice note, the one you listened to twice â drops it back on the floor and comes back to you.
âFair point,â he says, against your mouth.
âIncredible,â you tell him. âYouâre incredible.â
âShut up,â he says, warmly, and kisses you.
He flips you over.
Not roughly â carefully, one hand at your hip and one at your shoulder, mindful, and you end up straddling him and looking down at him and his hands settle on your hips and he looks up at you like youâre the best thing heâs seen.
âYou good?â he asks.
âVery,â you say, and sink down onto him.
The sound he makes is low and immediate and deeply satisfying. You feel every inch of him filling you, your walls stretching around his cock, and you go slow â partly because of the bump, partly because you want to, partly because watching his face as you take him is something you want to draw out. His jaw is tight. His hands on your hips are firm but not directing, just â there, holding on.
âFuck,â he breathes. âYou feelââ
âI know,â you say, and roll your hips.
His head drops back.
You find your rhythm â slow, deep, the grind of your hips meeting his, and his hands tighten and his hips push up to meet you and his mouth falls open and he is, you think, the best-looking thing youâve ever seen like this, undone and flushed and completely present, all the composure stripped away.
âPerfect,â he says, rough and low, watching you move. âYouâre so perfect, look at youââ
The praise moves through you like heat and you move faster, his thumb finds your clit and you gasp and his other hand spreads warm and careful over your bump and the gesture â the gentleness of it, the instinct of it â tips something over in your chest that youâre not going to examine right now because youâre busy, but you feel it, you feel it clearly.
You cum the second time with his cock buried inside you and his thumb on your clit, his hand on your stomach and his eyes on your face. He follows you not long after with his hips driving up and your name in his mouth, said like it means something, said like heâs been saving it.
Afterward you lie tangled together in your narrow dorm bed, which is not really built for two people but is managing. His hand is resting on your stomach with a naturalness that would have been impossible three months ago and youâre staring at the ceiling and feeling the particular peace of someone who has been braced for a long time and has just, finally, put it down.
âCome to my game next week,â he says.
You turn your head to look at him. âWhat?â
âHome game. Friday.â Heâs looking at the ceiling too. Casual. Except you know him well enough now to know when the casual is covering something. âCome watch.â
You look back at the ceiling. âOkay,â you say.
He turns his head. âActually?â
âDonât make it weird,â you say. âYes. Iâll come to your game.â
The corner of his mouth. That almost-smile thatâs better than a real one. âOkay,â he says, and looks back at the ceiling, and his hand stays where it is, warm and certain.
â
The following week is small moments.
Tuesday he brings you the grapes and stays to help you outline your next dissertation chapter, sitting on your floor with his back against your bed and your notes spread between you, and he asks better questions than you expect and you donât tell him that.
Wednesday the walk to your seminar, his shoulder bumping yours, the coffee he brings without asking â your order, exact, without you saying anything.
Thursday a voice note at eleven at night: just wanted to check you were okay. donât reply if youâre asleep.
You reply and end up talking for forty minutes.
Friday morning heâs at your door.
In one hand, coffee. In the other, folded fabric â dark blue, the Caldwell Wolves crest on the chest, white lettering across the back. SIM. 9.
He holds it out. âYou donât have to,â he says, before you can say anything. âItâs not â Iâm not trying to make it a thing. I just thoughtââ
You take it from him.
You pull it over your head immediately. Itâs enormous on you â falls to mid-thigh, swamps your shoulders, the fabric soft from washing. You look down at it and then up at him. His expression is something you donât have a word for.
You reach up and pull him down by his jacket lapel and kiss him, there in your doorway, in the yellow morning light, slow and certain.
When you pull back he looks â stunned, almost. Like he didnât expect it even after everything.
âWhat was that for,â he says with a big grin.
âThe jersey,â you say. âCome on. Weâll be late.â
The Hargrove Center is loud in a way that is different when youâre in the stands rather than the corridor â a living, moving noise, four thousand people and the echo of the ice and the announcerâs voice bouncing off the rafters. Mina is beside you, which youâd insisted on, and sheâs wearing a Wolves scarf she definitely did not own before today and is eating a pretzel with the focus of someone who has decided to enjoy this.
Someone sits down on your other side.
You look over. Heâs older â Jakeâs build, the same broad shoulders, grey at his temples, a Wolves cap and a measured, unhurried expression.
âYou must beââ he starts while smiling at you with the same grin Jake gave you not long ago.
âDean Sim,â you say. âHi.â
He looks at you for a moment with that steady attention that is so recognisably Jakeâs that it almost makes you laugh. Heâs smileing â warm, real. âHe talks about you,â he says. âQuite a lot.â
âGood things, I hope.â
âMostly.â He settles back in his seat. âHe told me about the grapes.â
You look at him. He looks back with an expression of someone who finds this mildly amusing and is being polite about it.
âHe remembered I was craving them,â you say.
âI know,â Dean Sim says. âThatâs why he told me.â He looks out at the ice where the Wolves are warming up, Jake moving with that particular ease that is the same on ice as off it, unhurried and certain.
âHeâs better than he knows how to show yet,â his dad says, quietly. Not performing it. Just â true. âBut heâs getting there.â
You watch Jake on the ice.
âYeah,â you say. âI know.â
The Wolves win.
Not narrowly â convincingly, the way they do when Jake is in the kind of form heâs been in lately, sharp and present, the kind of player who makes everyone around him better just by being fully there. You find yourself on your feet twice without meaning to be and Mina is absolutely losing her mind beside you in a way that suggests she has been quietly wanting to attend a hockey game for some time and has simply been waiting for the invitation.
After the final buzzer the arena stays loud, the celebration on the ice spilling into the stands, and Dean Sim shakes your hand and says it was lovely to meet you with a warmth that is entirely genuine, and you watch him go and think that Jake got the best of him, underneath everything.
And then the jumbo screen above the ice lights up.
You see it before you process it â your name, in big white letters, and then: JAKE SIM WANTS TO KNOW â WILL YOU BE HIS GIRLFRIEND?
The arena does not go quiet because four thousand people do not go quiet, but there is a definite shift â a ripple, a collective awareness, people turning and pointing and the noise changing character. Mina grabs your arm. You stare at the screen.
âOh my god,â Mina says.
âOh my god,â you say.
âAre you â are you going toââ
And then heâs there.
Full hockey gear, skates and all, somehow having gotten from the ice to the stands in the time it took you to register what the screen said, and heâs standing at the end of your row with his helmet under his arm and his hair damp and his face doing that thing â the unguarded thing, the thing without composure â and four thousand people are watching and Mina has both hands over her mouth.
âWell?â he says. Over the noise. Just to you.
You look at him. You look at the screen. You look back at him.
âYouâre insane,â you say.
âYeah,â he agrees. âIs that a yes?â
You laugh â real and helpless, the kind that comes from somewhere you havenât accessed in a while â and you step over Minaâs knees and go to him and he meets you halfway and you kiss him in the Hargrove Center in front of four thousand people and full hockey gear and the crowd does what crowds do when they witness something and the noise is enormous but you donât hear any of it.
When you pull back his forehead drops to yours.
âYes,â you tell him. âObviously yes.â
He exhales â slow, like something released. His hand comes up to your face. His thumb at your cheekbone, the way it always is. âGood,â he says.
âGood,â you say back.
Behind you Mina is making a noise that suggests she is going to be telling this story for the rest of her natural life.
â
Three weeks later you are officially four months pregnant and the bump is undeniable now, round and real, and youâre sitting on Jakeâs bed in his room â tidier than September, same room, different everything â with your legs across his lap while he reads something for class and his hand rests on your stomach with the absent certainty of someone who has stopped thinking about it and started just doing it.
The Wolves won again last night. His jersey, what you wore last night and have been to every game, is on the back of his chair.
Outside the window Caldwell goes on being large and indifferent and fully lit up, and in here it is warm and quiet and ordinary in a way that is â everything, actually. The whole thing. The specific ordinary of someone elseâs presence that youâve been missing without knowing how to name it.
âHey,â Jake says, without looking up from his page.
âHey,â you say.
âYou good?â
You look at him â at the line of his jaw and the hand on your stomach and the room that used to be just a room and is now something else, something yours â and you think about September, about the corridor and the money and the slap you donât regret. You think about Mina in the drugstore bathroom and Hannah on the third ring and the heartbeat on the monitor that made everything real.
You think about how none of this was the plan and how a plan was never the point.
âYeah,â you say. âIâm good.â
He turns a page. His hand stays where it is. Outside, Caldwell. Inside, this.
â° You + Calebâs tits = match made in heaven - â ď¸
â° Dilf!Caleb has your best interest in mind - â ď¸ âď¸
â° Late hours & a horny Caleb - â ď¸ âď¸
â° Caleb + you & valentineâs day - â ď¸
â° Itâs complicated⌠⢠SMAU - â ď¸
â° Started With A Glance - 4.2K â ď¸
â° A river running right into you - â ď¸
â° What Caleb wants, Caleb gets - âď¸
â° Accidental Fate - 3K â ď¸
â° Itâs complicated⌠pt.2 ⢠SMAU - â ď¸
Ex-Husband!Caleb Mini-Series
â° Ex-Husband!Caleb ⢠Part One - 2.3K+ âĄď¸ âď¸
â° Ex-Husband!Caleb ⢠Part Two - 4.2K+ âĄď¸
â° Ex-Husband!Caleb ⢠Part Three - 4.6K+ âď¸
â° Ex-Husband!Caleb ⢠Part Four - 7K+ â ď¸ âĄď¸ âď¸
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summary: you and jungwon grew close over time, with unspoken feelings between you. after his messy breakup, caused in part by his exâs insecurity about you, he almost confessed but backed out and asked you to be his fake girlfriend for prom instead. thinking he didnât truly want you, you agreed anyway, hoping it was the closest youâd get to being with him.
pairing â§Ë ¡ . yang jungwon x reader
genre ! established friendship, fluff and angst, arguments, miscommunication, cheating and infidelity
friends to lovers! word count: 2524
part 2
AUTHORS NOTE:: back from insane hiatus, let me know if this was okay since its been so long since ive written anything, and it feels a bit messy
senior year was supposed to be unforgettable, for you at least, prom, boyfriends, talking stages, liberated from the grip of the overwhelming academic pressures to graduate and land a scholarship at a worthy university up to your parents' standards.
you thought you had it all, an amazing friend group, friendships you cherished till the day you die, a best friend, good grades, and you were happy. everything you thought you ever wanted was there, but the more you dwelled on this feeling in your gut, the more uneasy you felt, and time was running out. you had everything right? but why did it feel like something so immense, a want, a need for something or someone so grand you cant shake it off, youre yearning for something you cant seem to put a finger on and its driving you insane.
"y/n?" there it is, the soft melodic voice of your best friend jungwon, lulles you out of your reeling thoughts, "hm?"
"thought we lost you for a second" he giggled, and you turned to see your entire friendgroup looking at you with slight concern, you dismissed the lingering looks, "sorry, just thinking about something", you replied, your head leaning against yoonchae's shoulder for support.
"probably worrying about a prom date huh" jake snickered, looking softly at jungwon, then back at you.
ah yes, prom. one week away, and you still had no plan, no date, nothing. it bothered you more than you wanted to admit. this was your last year, your last chance to make something out of it, and the idea of letting it pass by uneventfully sat heavy in your chest.
"ill figure it out eventually, unless some degenerate wants to take me" you snort.
It earned a few laughs, and just like that, the attention shifted, the table was quiet for a moment and this time toward Jungwon. there was something in the way everyone looked at him, like they were holding onto a joke you werenât fully in on.
âspeaking of dates,â sunghoon added casually, âwhat about your ex?â
the mood shifted, subtle but noticeable. you noticed the way yoonchae shifted uncomfortably in her seat, nudging you accidentally, and niki throwing an unreadable look at sunghoon.
you didnât say anything, but you felt it, that weird yet familiar tension that always boiled over whenever she was mentioned. hana. she had never liked you, not really from what you saw and heard. even during their short three-month relationship, your name had come up more times than it should have. not because jungwon meant anything by it, at least, thatâs what you told yourself, but because you were always there. his best friend. his constant.
âsheâs still trying, you know,â hoon mentioned. âto get back together.â
jungwon scoffed, shaking his head. âi donât care what sheâs doing,â he said flatly, final. the rest of the table nodded in agreement, almost like they knew not to mention it again.
you glanced at him briefly. heâd never told you why they broke up, not really, nor did he ever even really talked about his relationship with her. and youâd never asked, you didnt feel like you needed to. that was just how things worked between you. no pressure, no pushing. whatever existed between you stayed unspoken, tucked neatly beneath the surface where it couldnât ruin anything.
it felt easier that way.it was calm. safe. comfortable.
but lately, it didnât feel as simple.
jungwon leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, he had this look, he was thinking about something before he spoke up again, âhey y/n, can i pull you aside for a secâ
there was a pause. and you nodded slowly.
you stood up to follow him, as yoonchae looked up at you now standing, "whats up?"
"ill be right back, ill meet you in class" you say as you give her a tight shoulder squeeze and slung your bag on your shoulder. the group didnt pay attention, and hadnt really realized you and jungwon departed from the table, as the conversation swiftly changed to what color their suits and ties would be as yoonchae scoffed at the thought of jake pulling up to prom in a neon orange bow tie.
the walk with jungwon was silent, while he steadily guided you down the hall where less students would be hanging around since everyone was either in the field or in the cafeteria.
"youve been oddly quiet lately" you broke the silence, looking up at him with a slight smile, "ive been thinking about something.. and i need to know if youre okay with it" he replied
the further you two walked, the quieter it got, and the gap between you and jungwon closed, hands ever so slightly touching. you zeroed in on him, your full attention on him, like he was the only person that mattered and the world stopped spinning, time moved slower and you were at peace.
your conversations were always so soft, so endearing, you could talk about whatever, wherever for hours on end and it never seemed too much.
he never wanted you to stop talking, he would sit there and listen, eyes on you, unwavering, whatever the topic of your conversation was, he was all ears and invested, and vice versa.
but when things needed to be quiet, and you both needed the time to just sit and relax, side by side, in silence doing whatever, it was calm and tranquille, you both understood each other in a way that you felt that no one else in the world could. he needed you just as much as you needed him.
however, when he got into a relationship with hana, things between you two slowly came to a halt, not abruptly and it wasnt sudden, you knew why and you never felt wronged for it.
you spent less time alone together, and mainly talked and caught up over text or when you were with friends.
it lasted 3 months the relationship, your friends often gave you these looks that you could never figure out what they meant, you continued living out the year just as you normally would, but with less jungwon and more your friends, yoonchae stayed by your side and you were thankful.
life continued on, things were normal, you would tell yourself, its normal that a teenage boy, gets a girlfriend.
but everytime you saw them together, you felt this strange tension creeping in, you couldnt figure it out and it would often send you spiraling, and you would constantly deny your not so obvious feelings for him. hes your best friend afterall, and the mere thought of ruining that friendship just because you couldnt control whatever you were feeling, scared you so much.
as for jungwon, hana was a distraction. he knew it was awful on his part, but he needed to try to move on from these feelings creeping up on him, as for him, whether he was just a friend, or best friend, he was okay with that, as long as you were by his side, he settled for it. but he knew he wanted more, and thats why he came up with this utterly stupid idea.
jungwon confided in niki, after niki caught him staring at you. to set the scene, everyone was at the beach, the air was fresh, the sun beaming harshly, and the ocean glittering in the light, and you were splashing around in the water with yoonchae and minju.
while he and the guys were in the sand playing volleyball, he was distracted, often getting yelled at by jake and sunghoon for not focusing but he thought you looked gorgeous, he couldnt stop looking at you, unti hana grabbed his arm and pouted at him.
"focus on the game won we're losing" she whined "sorry.."
his breakup hadnât been sudden, it had been building quietly for weeks, maybe longer. hana had grown tired of it, of him, of the way your name seemed to exist between them even when you werenât there. At first it was small things, sharp comments, subtle digs thrown your way whenever she got the chance, all masked as jokes that didnât quite land. but it didnât take much to see through it. It wasnât really about you. It was about what you represented. something she could feel but couldnât compete with.
by the time it ended, it was almost inevitable. at a party, surrounded by people and noise and everything that made it easy to act without thinking, she cheated on him. word got around quickly, but when it reached jungwon, he barely reacted. no anger, no confrontation, just a quiet acceptance that settled in almost too easily. a part of him felt like he deserved it. not because of anything he had done outright, but because of everything he hadnât said. because even while he was with her, some part of him had always belonged somewhere else, with you.
after that, whatever restraint she had left disappeared. the remarks became more direct, less disguised, her frustration spilling over into open hostility. and eventually, she gave him an ultimatum one that hung between them like a final line drawn. either he got back with her and proved, clearly and undeniably, that he didnât love you, in a desperate last resort to keep him for herself and she would stop and leave you alone, let everything go, or he finally admitted the truth, to her, himself and to you, and took you to prom instead.
thats when niki cornered him and started questioning his actions. jungwon ended up telling him his feelings, and expressed remorse for what he did to hana, but admittingly would never mention his feeliings to you, worried that he could ruin this safe space he built with you.
"take y/n to prom then" niki deadpanned, "won im serious, ask her to be your date, take things slow, its a small step, and its nothing crazy, you guys do everything together anyways, what difference would it make if you took her to a stupid dance"
and that lands you back here, in the quiet of the hallway, just around the corner. jungwon had planned this in his head for the last week or so, to ask you to prom and to finally take a small step forward, as niki said. and then everything got too real and he got scared.
youre looking up at him, your glittering eyes staring into his, waiting for what he has to say, that he had dragged you all the way out here for privacy. you almost felt giddy.
when they broke up, you told yourself it didnât matter and that it wasnât your place to feel anything about it. but the truth settled in quietly, undeniable and sharp: you were happy. not in a loud, obvious way, not in anything you would ever say out loud, but in the way your chest felt lighter, in the way something tense inside you finally loosened. and when Jungwon came back to you, falling so easily into what you had always been to each other, it felt right in a way that made you uncomfortable if you thought about it for too long. because beneath it, there was something selfish you couldnât ignore. you had hated seeing him with her. hated knowing that, for a while, he belonged to someone else in a way he had never quite belonged to you.
youre waiting for him to speak him, and by the way his foot shuffled, the way he had wiped his palms on his jeans, he was nervous.
your chest tightened, anticipation creeping in before you could stop it. you knew him well enough to recognize when something was coming, when he was working up to say something that mattered. and for a second, just a second, you let yourself believe it.
his eyes flickered up to meet yours, then away again. He inhaled like he was about to jump.
âcan I ask you something?â your heart skipped. âyeah, of course.â
another pause. longer this time. his shoulders tensed, jaw tightening as if he was fighting himself.
you waited.
and then you watched it happen. the shift. the hesitation turning into doubt, doubt folding into fear. whatever he was about to say, whatever had been sitting right there on the edge, he pulled it back.
âwould youâŚâ he trailed off, swallowing, his voice coming out quieter. âwould you be my girlfriend?â
your breath caughtâ
âlike, fake,â he added quickly, almost stumbling over the words. âjust for prom. So hana backs off. she wonât stop unless she thinks iâve moved on, and⌠if we go together, itâll be easier. for both of us.â
the moment cracked.
you forced yourself to stay still, even as something inside you dropped. he wasnât looking at you now, his gaze fixed somewhere else, like he couldnât bear to see your reaction.
âit wouldnât mean anything,â he continued, more controlled now, like heâd settled into the safer version of what he almost said. âwe can set rules. keep it simple.â
for a second, you just looked at him.
he had been right there. right on the edge of something real.
and then he chose this instead.
and he immediatly regrets it, he saw your smile falter and you look lost, disappointed. and now he too was confused.
you blinked, the silence stretching just a second too long as your thoughts scrambled to catch up with the shift. âohâuh⌠yeah,â you stammered, forcing a small nod. âsure.â
the word felt strange coming out, heavier than it shouldâve been.
he exhaled, relief flickering across his face, and that alone told you everything you needed to know or at least, everything you thought you did. If he had wanted to confess, he would have. if he had meant something more, he wouldnât have taken it back so quickly, hidden it behind something safe, something controlled.
so this was what he preferred.
and you accepted it for what it was.
âyeah, itâs fine,â you added, a little more steady now. âwe can⌠figure out the details later.â
you didnât stay long after that. you made some excuse something about needing to get to class, or meeting someone and left before the conversation could stretch into something worse, something harder to hold together. "y/n wait..."
walking away, your mind spun, trying to make sense of the moment that had almost been something else. It left you confused, caught between what you thought you saw and what actually happened. but beneath that confusion, there was a quieter realization settling in.
he didnât want you like that.
not really.
you were the safe option. the easy one. the one that wouldnât complicate things.
and somehow, that hurt more than if he had just said nothing at all.
but still you said yes.
because even if it wasnât real, even if it didnât mean anything to him, it was the closest you were ever going to get to knowing what it might feel like to be with him. just for now, you'll bear it.
Synopsis: Y/n has spent her entire life orbiting her radiant best friend, Yeonseoâcontent to be âYeonseoâs friendâ and nothing more. When Yeonseo starts dating Jungwon, a quietly observant basketball player, Y/n is pulled into their shared circle and discovers, for the first time, what it feels like to be seen for herself. As Jungwon and Yeonseoâs relationship fractures over mismatched ideas of love, Y/nâs bond with Jungwon deepens into something dangerous: secret feelings, a stolen kiss, and a web of half truths meant to protect everyone that instead end up hurting them all.
âI canât pretend anymore.â
That sentence had been looping in my head so long it no longer sounded like words. It was just a pressure behind my eyes as I stood in the middle of the crowded hallway, pressed up against a line of lockers like I could disappear into the metal.
Ahead of me, the hall seemed to curve around a center that wasnât me.
I watched Yeonseo laugh at something Jungwon said, her head tipping back, ponytail swishing. Her laugh carried above the general noiseâthat kind of easy, bright sound people turned toward without meaning to. Around them, the flow of students split and reformed as if they were a rock in a river: classmates, teammates, random kids from other grades who didnât know them but knew of them.
I hugged my books tighter and looked away.
I was used to being on the outside of circles like that. It had always been that way: me at the edge, watching her in the middle. Iâd been in Yeonseoâs shadow for as long as I could remember. It never used to bother me. If anything, her brightness shielded me. I could follow a few steps behind, walk in the outline of her shape, and quietly exist. I told myself that was enough.
Lately, though, the space between us felt less like a shadow and more like an actual gapâone that kept stretching, day by day.
âY/n!â
My name pulled me back. I glanced up.
Yeonseo was waving me over, eyes warm, face still flushed from laughing. She stood with one hand on her hip, the other in the air like a tiny sun Iâd been invited into. Beside her, Jungwon leaned against the lockers, tall and relaxed, his basketball bag slung over one shoulder.
âThere you are,â she said when I reached them, like Iâd been missing for hours instead of minutes. âYou always vanish between classes. We should just tie a string around you or something so I donât lose you.â
I managed a small smile. âI donât think thatâs allowed. Pretty sure the school handbook says no human leashes.â
She laughed and, in one smooth motion, slipped her arm through mine and pulled me closer. I could feel a faint sheen of sweat on her skin from rushing between periods. She smelled like citrus shampoo and the cafeteriaâs overâbuttered toast.
âYou remember Jungwon, right?â she asked.
Jungwon nodded politely. âHey.â His voice was lower than I remembered from the times Iâd heard him shouting on the court.
âHi,â I murmured, my voice coming out softer than I intended.
I remembered him, of course. Weâd been in the same year for a while, and Iâd seen him aroundâmostly on the basketball court, or surrounded by teammates, or asleep on his desk before homeroom. Heâd been around our classroom more often recently. At first, I thought it was just because there was a practice room nearby or because he had some project with another classmate.
Then I realized: Yeonseo was dating him now.
The athlete everyone liked. The one people stopped to watch when he played; the one girls whispered about in the bathroom mirror, trading rumors about his last game or who he might like.
I didnât know what to do with that.
Over the next few weeks, school began to feel like one long, empty stretch of time with a few bright interruptions I wasnât sure I belonged in.
When the final bell rang, I walked home alone more often than not. It wasnât that Yeonseo had suddenly abandoned me. Sometimes she had committee meetings or practice. Sometimes she wanted to stay behind and talk with her new friends. Sometimes she and Jungwon left together, shoulders brushing as they disappeared down the hallway.
In our group chats, the familiar backâandâforth that used to be just the two of us was now layered with names I didnât recognize and inside jokes I hadnât been present for. Messages scrolled by faster, full of stickers and emojis and references to places I hadnât gone, conversations I hadnât heard.
I told myself it was fine. People grow. People date. People get busier. I was just being childish.
But one afternoon, as we sat on a bench under the cherry trees behind the gym, petals gathering in the folds of my skirt, even Yeonseo seemed to notice.
âYouâve been weird lately,â she said.
She was peeling the label off her bottle of orange juice, edges of paper piling in her hand. Her brows had that tiny pinched line they got whenever she was thinking too hard about something.
âDid I do something?â she asked.
A breeze pushed a strand of hair into my face. I tucked it behind my ear, staring at the cracks in the pavement. There was a loose thread on my skirt hem, and I picked at it like I could pull my restlessness all the way out through that single thread.
âNo,â I said. âIâm fine.â
She frowned. âThatâs exactly what people say when theyâre not fine.â She straightened up, turning fully toward me, knee bumping mine. âSeriously. Tell me. I canât fix something if I donât know itâs broken.â
The words sat in my throat, heavy and jagged. I didnât want to sound clingy or pathetic. I didnât want to sound like I couldnât survive without her.
But pretending hurt more.
âI justâŚâ I stared at the ground until the shapes blurred. âI miss you.â
She blinked. âYou see me every day.â
âYeah, but not really.â I swallowed. My voice felt too big for my mouth. âYouâre always with other people now. With him. With his friends. I know that makes me sound selfish, but I donât know how toâŚfit anywhere else.â
For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could hear shouts from the gym behind us, the thud of balls, and a whistle blowing. A petal landed on the toe of my shoe and trembled there.
Then I felt her hand cover mine.
âY/n,â she said softly. âWhy didnât you just say so?â
âBecause itâs stupid.â I huffed out a laugh that didnât sound like one.
âItâs not,â she said, squeezing my fingers. âI donât want you to feel left out. Actually, I was thinking about this. I could introduce you to my other friends properly. To Jungwonâs friends. You always just stand at the edge like youâre about to run away.â
âThatâs because I am about to run away,â I muttered.
She laughed, bumping her shoulder against mine. âYou wonât have to if theyâre your friends too. Letâs fix this, okay? I donât want you to feel lonely.â
Her certainty settled into me like warmth I wasnât sure I deserved.
Being introduced to Jungwonâs friend group felt like being placed in the middle of a circle I hadnât asked to stand in.
âThis is Y/n,â Yeonseo said at lunch one day, her voice bright. âMy best friend since forever.â
We were at one of the bigger tables in the cafeteria. Trays crowded the surface: halfâeaten rice, bowls of soup, the inevitable pile of kimchi on someoneâs tray that they never touched. Sunlight from the high windows pooled on the scratched plastic.
A few of the boys nodded. One of them, I remembered vaguely from seeing him on the court, grinned and jerked his chin at the empty space. âSit.â
I slipped into the seat beside Yeonseo, directly across from Jungwon. Up close, without the stage of the court between us, he seemed strangely normalâtired eyes, slightly messy hair, a faint red line on his arm where a ball had probably smacked him.
He didnât talk much at first. Neither did I.
Around us, loud voices overlappedâarguments over which teacher was the worst, jokes only they understood, someone complaining about extra laps in practice. Every now and then, one of the guys would nudge another and say, âHey, pass the kimchi, idiot,â and theyâd start mock arguing again.
I listened. I nodded when it felt appropriate. I answered questions when someone asked me directly: what class I was in, whether I liked this teacher, whether I watched their games. I was quiet, but they didnât push.
It surprised me how, little by little, the typical silence between me and Jungwon stopped feeling as heavy.
Heâd ask how my classes went. Iâd ask about his upcoming games. Sometimes heâd complain about his coach; sometimes Iâd complain about group projects where I ended up doing everything.
And sometimes, after school, the three of us would go to a cafĂŠ or the convenience store by the bus stop or just wander aimlessly until we reached someoneâs neighborhood. It always started with âIâll walk with you,â and ended with, âOh, I guess I kept going,â until our routes split and we realized how far weâd gone without noticing.
âYou donât talk much, do you?â he said once as we walked home, plastic bags swinging at our sides. Yeonseo was a few steps ahead on a phone call, gesturing wildly as she talked.
I glanced at him, suddenly nervous. âIs thatâŚbad?â
He shook his head. âNah. Itâs just different. Everyone around here shouts over each other. Itâs kind of nice that you donât.â
I wasnât sure what to do with that, so I just smiled faintly and looked back at the road.
One evening, a message from Jungwon popped up on my phone.
Jungwon: hey, do you have a sec?
Me: yeah?
Jungwon: i want to do something for yeonseoâs birthday
Jungwon: like a surprise
Jungwon: but iâm bad at that kinda stuff lol
Jungwon: can you help??
My stomach tightened with nerves, but my fingers were steadier than my heartbeat.
Me: sure. what were you thinking?
We ended up meeting at a small bakery near the station to plan. The place smelled like warm bread and sugar. The display case glowed with rows of cakes and tarts. Watching him agonize over which cake flavor sheâd like best made me realize how much I knew about her.
âShe doesnât like overly sweet things,â I said automatically. âStrawberry shortcake is safe. But if thereâs too much cream, sheâll scrape some off. So this one.â I pointed.
âRight,â he said, nodding like Iâd given him secret intel. âYouâd know better than me.â
Hearing that should have made me feel secure, like I had a permanent, irreplaceable place in her life. Instead, something jittery moved under my ribs.
We bought decorations from the discount store down the street, argued over which playlist sheâd like, reserved a table at her favorite restaurant, and spent hours texting her other friends to coordinate who would arrive first.
Somewhere between carrying bags of streamers and choosing between two nearly identical gift bags, I found myself talking.
âSometimes I feel like I donât know who I am without her,â I admitted as we walked to the bus stop, arms full of party supplies. The plastic bags bit faintly into my fingers. âWeâve always justâŚbeen together. People know me as âYeonseoâs friend.â Not asâŚanything on my own.â
He glanced at me, his expression softer than usual. âIs that why you were upset before?â
âMaybe.â I shrugged, my shoulders curling in. âItâs not her fault. I just donât know how to be any other way.â
He hummed thoughtfully. âI donât think thereâs anything wrong with being close to someone. Or depending on them sometimes. ButâŚit would suck if you thought you were nothing without them.â
âI donât think Iâm nothing,â I said quickly, then faltered. âI just donât know who I am outside of âwith her.ââ
He didnât push. His words stuck with me the rest of the night, even as we messaged back and forth about candle colors.
When the surprise finally unfoldedâlights flicking on as Yeonseo walked into the decorated room, everyone shouting âHappy birthday!ââher eyes went wide, then wet. The room was a blur of balloons, laughter, and the smell of food.
âDid you do all this?â she asked later, pulling me aside, her voice thick.
âJungwon did,â I said. âI just helped.â
She hugged me so suddenly I almost dropped the cup in my hand.
âI donât deserve you,â she murmured into my shoulder.
I didnât know then how much Iâd cling to those words later, turning them over and over like a charm Iâd eventually crack.
After most people had gone home, Jungwon found me outside, leaning against the railing. The night was cool; the music inside was muffled by the door.
âHey,â he said. âThank you. Really. I couldnât have done that alone.â
âIt was nothing,â I said automatically
âIt wasnât.â He studied me for a long moment, as if trying to see past my shrug. âYou always know what she needs.â
I looked down at my shoes. âI grew up learning it.â
He smiled a little. âYou did good today, Y/n.â
Something warm flickered in my chest, small but insistent.
The three of us were closer after that. At least, thatâs how it looked from the outside.
We ate lunch together almost every day. We shared stupid memes in a group chat, the notifications lighting up my screen late into the night. I watched as people teased Yeonseo and Jungwon for being âdisgustingly cuteâ and rolled my eyes when she pretended to be offended but leaned into his side anyway.
One afternoon, while we were eating in the courtyard, a girl from another class leaned over from the next table.
âYeonseo,â she said, smirking, âhowâs it going with your boyfriend?â
âDo you love him?â someone else asked, halfâteasing, halfâserious.
She hesitatedâjust long enough that even I noticed.
âIâŚmaybe?â she said finally. âI really like him. A lot.â
The table erupted.
âWhoa, love!â
âAlready?â
âHave you guys kissed yet?â
Yeonseo flushed, pressing her palm to her cheek. âThatâs private.â
âCâmon, just tell us!â someone whined.
She peeked at Jungwon, who scratched his cheek, looking vaguely embarrassed but not exactly protesting. Then she sighed.
âFine. We kissed before we even started dating,â she admitted.
That set off a whole new round of squealing.
They demanded details. Yeonseo gave in, telling them about the day she and Jungwon ran into each other at a festival game boothâhow heâd helped her win a stuffed toy because the stall owner was clearly cheating her, how theyâd ended up walking around together after that, how, after moments of private feelings, one thing had led to another at the edge of the fireworks crowd.
As she described the momentâhow nervous sheâd been, how heâd leaned in, how their friends had yelled in the backgroundâI felt everything slow down around me.
In my head, I rewound the memory I didnât have.
I imagined standing where she had been, feeling his breath ghost over my lips, hearing the noise around us fade. I imagined being the one he looked at that way.
And then I hated myself for it.
A few days later, Yeonseo stayed late after school to help decorate for an upcoming event.
âGo ahead without me,â she told us, wiping her hands on a roll of tape, streaks of marker on her fingers. âIâll be here forever if I donât finish this.â
âYou sure?â Jungwon asked, lingering near the doorway.
âYeah. You two can walk home together.â She winked. âKeep each other company. Make sure Y/n doesnât get lost in her thoughts.â
Her joke lodged in my throat like a stone.
As we left the school gates, the evening light was soft and gold. Our footsteps echoed in sync on the pavement. Usually, if it was just the two of us, either one of us filled the silence quickly with small talk. That day, the quiet stretched, taut and humming.
I thought about that first kiss sheâd described, wondering if I wouldâve had a chance with him if Iâd been braver the day we first metâif Iâd talked more, smiled more, been more like her.
âShould I be worried?â he asked suddenly.
I blinked. âAbout what?â
âYouâve been quiet,â he said. âQuieter than usual.â
âIâm always quiet,â I deflected.
âYeah, but this feels like a different quiet.â His tone was light, but his eyes were searching my face.
âI was just thinking,â I lied. âAbout exams.â
He studied me for a second longer, then nodded. âMakes sense. Theyâre coming up fast.â He didnât push. I was gratefulâand annoyed at myself for wishing he would.
Still, that night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, all I could think about was him. The way he listened when I spoke. The way he remembered small details Iâd mentioned once. The way my chest tightened uncomfortably whenever he smiled at me.
Guilt pooled in my stomach like lead.
I knew it was wrong. He was my best friendâs boyfriend. There were rulesâunspoken but understood. Iâd always believed I would never be that kind of person.
And yet, whenever I tried to remind myself of that, my mind slipped back into daydreams where he looked at me like I mattered the way she did.
When Jungwonâs big basketball game rolled around, the gym buzzed with noise. Banners waved from the bleachers, sneakers squeaked on the polished floor, whistles shrilled every few seconds. The air smelled like sweat, floor polish, and the faint tang of the cheap snacks they sold at the entrance.
I stood near the back of the bleachers, clutching a plastic bottle of water and scanning the crowd for a familiar ponytail.
Yeonseo wasnât there.
She hadnât wanted to come.
Earlier that day, her voice had cracked when she told me why.
âI told him I loved him,â she said, perched on the edge of my bed, twisting the hem of my pillowcase. âAnd he justâŚcouldnât say it back. He said he still wanted to date, but he wasnât sure yet. Like love is some exam he hasnât studied for.â
Iâd struggled for words. Part of me ached for herâfor how brave sheâd been, for how hard it mustâve been to hear that. Another part of me felt an ugly, invisible relief I couldnât admit to anyone.
âThatâs notâŚwrong of him,â I said slowly. âItâs honest. You canât make someone feel something before theyâre ready.â
Her eyes flashed. âYouâre taking his side?â
âIâm not. I justââ
âYou are,â she snapped, standing up so quickly the bed creaked. âYou always think Iâm the one overreacting. Maybe I shouldnât have come. I donât want to talk about this anymore.â
Later, she texted that she wasnât going to the game. I canât cheer for someone who made me feel that stupid, sheâd added, then unsent it.
So I went alone.
When the final whistle blew and the team huddled in the center of the court, Jungwonâs eyes scanned the crowd. For a second, I could see the hope on his faceâsearching for someone who wasnât there.
When he saw me, his shoulders relaxed, but there was a flicker of something else too: resignation.
He jogged over, still catching his breath, his hair damp with sweat.
âWhereâs Yeonseo?â he panted.
âSheâŚâ I hesitated. âShe didnât want to be around either of us. I told her I understood where you were coming from.â
His expression shifted, a quick flash of disappointment and guilt. âFigures,â he muttered.
âIâm sorry,â I said quietly, though I wasnât sure who I was apologizing for.
He shook his head, forcing a small smile. âNot your fault. Thanks for coming, though. Want to grab food? My treat. As a thankâyou for cheering.â
I knew I should have said noâfor her, for me, for the thin line we were already walking.
But I was tired of being guided only by what I should do.
âOkay,â I said.
The restaurant was mostly empty: humming fluorescent lights, the faint echo of the TV playing some variety show in the corner. We sat in a worn red booth, steam rising from bowls of noodles between us.
âSheâs really upset, huh,â he said, prodding his food.
âShe feelsâŚrejected,â I said. âLike she was risking everything by saying it, and she wanted you to jump with her. When you didnât, it felt like she jumped alone.â
He sighed, chopsticks stilling. âI know. I justâŚcanât fake something like that. I tried to explain, but it came out wrong. It always does.â
âHave you ever been in love before?â I asked before I could stop myself.
He looked up, startled, then nodded slowly.
âYeah. I have,â he said. âWith my ex. She was my first love. We thought we could handle the distance when she transferred, but it fell apart. I tried so hard to keep it together. It still ended anyway.â
He stared at his soup like it might give him a different answer.
âAfter that, I didnât know what love was supposed to look like anymore. Or if I even wanted it,â he continued. âWith YeonseoâŚitâs not that I donât care. I like being with her. Sheâs fun and warm and everyone likes her. But when she said she loved me, I felt like I was back there againâabout to promise something I didnât fully understand. I donât want to hurt her like that.â
âYouâre not a bad person for being careful,â I said quietly.
He studied my face, searching for judgment and finding none.
âYou always say the right thing,â he said.
âI donât think sheâd agree with that.â
âMaybe not,â he conceded, âbut I do.â
On the way home, he walked me to my door even though it meant doubling back from his usual route. The street was still damp from an earlier drizzle; the pavement glistened under the streetlights.
âCan you not tell her everything I said?â he asked, stopping just short of my gate. âAbout my ex and all.â
âI wonât,â I said. âItâs your story.â
He nodded, looking oddly relieved. âThanks. AndâŚthanks for tonight. You made it easier to breathe.â
He left before I could answer.
The next day, Yeonseo cornered me by my locker, her eyes still slightly swollen from crying.
âI went to see him last night,â she said.
My heart sped up. We hadnât talked much since the argument.
âWe talked,â she continued. âI apologized. I realized I was kind ofâŚforcing something. Weâre still young. Maybe I donât even know what love is yet.â She tried to smile. âAll I know is that I like being with him. I donât want to lose that because Iâm impatient.â
âDid he forgive you?â I asked.
She nodded. âHe said heâs been hurt before because of love, but he didnât say much about that. Just that being with me reminds him he deserves to be loved. He wants to make me happy.â
Her voice wobbled. âStillâŚit feels a little different now. Like thereâs a crack weâre both ignoring. But Iâm scared that if I keep pushing, itâll break completely.â
I didnât know what to say to that. How could I tell her that from the outside, I could see both of their fears like a thin film neither of them could quite peel away?
Later, as we walked home together with Jungwon, I watched them from the corner of my eye. On the surface, they looked the sameâteasing, bumping shoulders, stealing glances. But I could see the stiffness in Yeonseoâs smile, the way Jungwonâs laugh didnât reach his eyes.
When we reached her house, she waved and left us at the corner.
âIâm glad you guys made up,â I told him as we continued down the street.
He frowned faintly. âIs she really okay? It didnât feel like she was.â
âSheâsâŚtrying,â I said. âBut she wasnât satisfied with your answer.â
âI figured.â He sighed. âSometimes I wish she could be more like you.â
âLike me?â
âYeah. You understand that Iâm still figuring things out. You donât make me feel like Iâm failing some test.â
âShe just wants to be loved,â I said quietly. âShe feels like she has everything else. She doesnât see why she shouldnât.â
âAnd what if I canât give her that?â he asked.
âThen itâs not fair to either of you,â I said.
He fell quiet until we reached my house.
âDo you think Iâm a bad person?â he asked suddenly.
I shook my head. âNo. I think youâre just scared. And that you donât want to repeat your past.â
He looked strangely moved. âIâm surprised you can still be this kind to me. Iâm not exactly being fair to your best friend.â
âI care about her,â I said. âBut I care about you too. Youâre my friend now. I donât want to choose between you.â
He let out a soft huff, something like a laugh. âYou have a big heart, you know that?â
No one had ever told me that before. I wasnât sure I believed it.
Weeks later, the inevitable happened.
âWe broke up,â Yeonseo said one afternoon, her voice flat like all the emotion had drained out and left only the outline.
We were sitting on the swings at the park where we used to go as kids. The chains squeaked every time we shifted our weight. Little kids ran across the sand, their shouts carrying easily in the late afternoon air.
âHe said we were both being selfish,â she continued. âThat there was no point in pretending. I was willing to wait for him, but he said that would only burden him. That I deserved someone ready to love me now.â She scoffed. âHe also said he couldnât risk getting his heart broken again. As if I was about to stomp on it.â
I thought of how tense heâd been each time the word love came up, how careful he was not to step on what he couldnât yet name. I didnât know if he was wrong or right. I only knew that whatever line theyâd been tiptoeing along had finally snapped.
âWhat did you say?â I asked quietly.
She dug the toe of her shoe into the dirt. âI told him he was a coward. That he wasnât even giving us a chance. I said I wished Iâd never tried so hard.â
The words hung between us, heavy.
Later that day, I got a message from him.
Jungwon: can we talk?
We met at the park, under the same tree where weâd once waited for Yeonseo to finish buying snacks.
âI told her it was for her sake,â he said, staring at the ground. âThat she deserved better. ButâŚhonestly, I couldnât take the pressure anymore. Everyone expecting us to be this perfect couple. Her expecting me to catch up to her feelings. Every time we hung out, I could feel how much she loved me, and I felt like a villain.â
He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. âI broke up because I was overwhelmed. Thatâs the truth. Not because I was being noble.â
âYou were still brave,â I said. âYou chose what you could handle instead of lying and dragging it out. That doesnât make you good or bad. Just honest.â
âYeah, and now she hates me. And youâll probably have to stop talking to me too, since she needs someone on her side.â
âNo,â I said quickly. âYouâre both my friends.â
He shook his head. âYou canât have it both ways forever.â
I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to believe that if I tried hard enough, I could hold everything togetherâher, him, myself.
I didnât understand yet that trying to hold everything sometimes meant crushing it in your hands.
We started meeting more often after that.
At first, it was accidental runâinsâat the riverbank, near the convenience store, on the walk home when our routes just happened to overlap.
Then it becameâŚless accidental.
âYeonseo knows weâre hanging out, right?â he asked me one evening as the sky turned orange over the water.
âYes,â I lied. âShe doesnât mind.â
In reality, Iâd barely mentioned him. The breakup sat like a sore spot I was afraid to bump.
âShe doesnât think itâs weird?â he pressed.
âSheâsâŚokay with it,â I said, the lie scraping my tongue on the way out. âWeâre all just friends.â
He sighed in obvious relief. âI wish we could all hang out together again,â he said. âBut I guess thatâs not happening.â
âDo you still have feelings for her?â I asked.
He thought for a long moment. âIâm not sure. I think about her sometimes. She made me laugh a lot. It hurts when she walks past me like Iâm no one. But when I imagine getting back together, I just feelâŚtired.â
Something in my chest twisted.
âIâm scared that would happen to me,â I said before I could stop myself.
âTo you?â
âIf she ever stopped being my friend,â I said, eyes on the river. âI donât think anyone would miss me like that. Iâm notâŚspecial like she is.â
He turned fully toward me.
âThatâs not true,â he said firmly.
I shrugged, trying to make it a joke. âItâs fine. Iâm used to being the background character.â
âY/n.â His voice was gentler than Iâd ever heard it. âYouâre not anyoneâs background.â
I swallowed.
âYou helped me when I couldnât even understand myself,â he said. âYouâve been there when I felt like I was the worst person alive. You see things other people donât. And you donât do it to get attention. You justâŚsee. Thatâs special.â
I felt my throat close up.
âI didnât know who I was without her either,â I admitted quietly. âBut with you, I started to feelâŚlike I could be a person on my own. Not just her shadow.â
He smiled, soft and a little sad. âIâm glad. There was never anything pathetic about you, you know. So what if youâre quiet? That just makes getting to know you feel like a privilege.â
Something inside me cracked open then.
âThank you,â I whispered.
We sat in silence for a while, the air between us warm and buzzing with something I was too scared to name.
Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me.
I froze. My mind went utterly blank, like someone had wiped the slate clean. His lips were soft and hesitant, tasting faintly of the soda weâd shared earlier. For a heartbeat, my world shrank to just that feelingâthe surprising rightness of it, the dizziness of being wanted.
When he pulled back, his eyes were wide with the same shock I felt.
âIâIâm sorry,â he stammered. âIs thatâŚokay?â
My heart was pounding so loudly I almost couldnât hear my own voice.
âYes,â I breathed. âButâŚwhy?â
He exhaled shakily. âI justâŚfollowed my heart. Like you told me to.â
The worst part was, I knew exactly which conversation he meant. Months ago, when heâd agonized over whether to keep dating Yeonseo despite his fears, Iâd said the words like some kind of advice: You have to follow your heart. Otherwise youâll always wonder.
He kissed me again, and this time, I let myself respond.
For a moment, there was no Yeonseo. No rules. No guilt.
Just us.
Guilt returned quickly.
It started as a cold spot beneath my ribs, then spread into a steady ache I couldnât ignore.
A few days later, he asked to see me again.
We met at the river, in the same place weâd kissed. The water looked exactly the same. I didnât.
âI shouldnât have kissed you,â he said, staring at the ground. âIt was the heat of the moment. I donât want to hurt you. Or Yeonseo.â
The words stung, even though a part of me had been expecting something like them.
âItâs okay,â I said, forcing a little laugh that scraped my throat. âWe can justâŚpretend it never happened.â
âI like being your friend,â he said earnestly. âI donât want to destroy that. Friends mean more to me thanâŚthan whatever that was, if itâs just going to blow everything up.â
âMe too,â I lied.
A classmate biked past us then, slowing down.
âHey, Jungwon. Y/n,â she said, eyeing us curiously. âWhat are you two doing?â
âWeâre just hanging out,â he said easily, the practiced nonchalance making the lie feel bigger.
She nodded slowly, then pedaled away.
Something cold settled in my stomach.
People were watching.
People would talk.
I realized then: no matter how careful we were, there was no version of this where no one got hurt. We could pretend the kiss meant nothing, but we couldnât unâmean it.
The next day at school, the same classmate approached me near the lockers.
âSoâŚwhat were you doing with Jungwon yesterday?â she asked, her tone light but probing.
âHe was asking about Yeonseo,â I said quickly. The lie slid out so smoothly it scared me. âHe still cares about her, you know.â
Her eyebrows rose. âDoes he want to get back together?â
âI donât know,â I lied again. âMaybe he still has feelings for her. I was going to talk to her about it after school.â
That afternoon, as I walked home with Yeonseo, my pulse thudded in my ears.
âHave you talked to him since the breakup?â I asked, trying to sound casual.
She shook her head. âNo. Why would I?â
âI ran into him by the river,â I said. âHeâŚasked me about you. Said he misses spending time with us. The three of us.â
Her steps faltered.
âHe asked you that?â she said.
âYeah,â I said, staring straight ahead. âI told him it wouldnât be a good idea. That it would just drag things out for you.â
She scoffed. âItâs strange,â she muttered. âThe only reason we hung out was because I was dating him. Now that weâre not, thereâs no point in us all being friends. Thatâs what you told him, right?â
âYes,â I said, my voice small.
âGood,â she said curtly. âIf he has something to say to me, he can say it to my face. I donât need you to be the messenger.â
My chest burned.
That night, I went to the river alone and found him already there, sitting on the low wall and tossing pebbles into the water.
âHey,â he said, looking up in surprise. âWe keep running into each other here.â
I sat beside him and told him about the nosy classmate, about what Iâd said.
âThey donât know we kissed,â he said. âSo itâs fine.â
âDo you regret it?â I asked, the question like a splinter I couldnât stop poking.
He stared at the water for a long moment.
âNo,â he said finally. âI donât regret feeling what I felt. But I know itâs notâŚright.â
âWhy isnât it right if you followed your heart?â I asked, frustration threading through my voice. âYou tell me thatâs what I should do, too.â
He sighed. âI followed my heart with my ex. It still ended, and I felt stupid. I followed it with Yeonseo. We both got hurt. Following my heart doesnât mean I get to be selfish.â
âDo you have feelings for me?â The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He froze.
After a long pause, he said softly, âMaybe I do. But I canât act on them. Youâre her best friend. It would make everything worse. For you. For her. For me.â
Something inside me crumpled.
I thought about telling him the whole truthâthat Iâd fallen for him quietly, piece by piece. That every kind word and shared secret had stitched him into my ribs. That the kiss had only confirmed what Iâd been too afraid to admit.
But if I did, what then? Would he think Iâd only been there for him because I liked him? Would he pull away completely to protect me, or himself, or her?
âI get it,â I said instead. âYouâre right.â
I hated myself for agreeing. I hated that Iâd pushed him to follow his heart only to flinch when it led him to me.
When I got home, Yeonseo was sitting on my bed.
âYour mom let me in. Iâve been looking for you,â she said. âWhere were you?â
âJust walking,â I said, heart racing. âBy myself.â
Her eyes searched my face, catching on things I hadnât hidden well enough.
âIs something wrong?â she asked. âWe barely hang out these days.â
âIâm okay,â I said. âI justâŚdonât feel as lonely when Iâm by myself anymore.â
Her brows knit. âWhy?â
âBecause Iâve made more friends,â I said. âAt school.â
âMy friends?â she asked slowly. âYou barely talk to them when Iâm not around.â
I bristled. Shame and defensiveness tangled in my chest.
âWhat are you trying to say?â
âNothing,â she said quickly. âI justâŚnever see you with anyone else. Thatâs all.â
âDo you think Iâm incapable of making friends?â I snapped before I could stop myself. âDo you honestly think Iâm that pathetic?â
Her eyes widened. âI didnât say that. Iâve justâŚnever seen you do it. Thatâs why I was surprised. Why are you so defensive? Do you have a problem with me?â
âYes,â I said, the word cracking out of me before I could tame it.
Silence crashed between us.
âIâm tired of everyone acting like I need you to survive,â I continued, the dam broken. âMaybe that used to be true, but itâs not anymore. Instead of telling me to be myself, youâre always telling me how to act, like Iâm some extension of you.â
âThatâs not fair,â she shot back. âThe only reason weâre so close is because weâre similar. You were always too scared to take initiative. I just pushed you a little. If youâve been thinking this way the whole time, you donât know me at all.â
Frustration boiled over.
âYou always have to be right,â I said. âIf things donât go your way, everyone else is the villain. Just because Jungwon wasnât ready to love you, you threw him away completely.â
Her eyes flashed. âWhy are you defending him? I didnât do anything wrong by expecting my boyfriend to love me. And why would I stay friends with someone I still liked? Iâd only get led on. You wouldnât understand any of this anyway. Youâve never been in a relationship.â
âMaybe I understand more than you think,â I said quietly. âHe hurt you. You hurt him. Youâre the one keeping that hurt alive.â
âIf heâs still hurt, thatâs his problem,â she snapped. âLove is unfair, Y/n. Thatâs what you donât know.â
âI know exactly how unfair it is,â I said, my voice shaking.
She stared at me for a long moment, her gaze sharp and wounded.
âYouâre hiding something from me,â she said finally. âI donât know what it is, but I can feel it. And it hurts that you donât trust me enough to be honest.â
Her words hit exactly where they were aimed. Because she was right.
âJust leave,â I whispered. âPlease.â
She left.
I collapsed onto my bed and cried until my chest ached, not just from what Iâd said but from what I still couldnât.
It wasnât that I didnât trust her. It was that the truth would shatter whatever was left between us. I wasnât ready to watch that happen.
For the first time, I started to hate the version of myself who thought silence was kindness.
That night, I called Jungwon.
âDo you think love is unfair?â I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He was quiet for a long time.
âYeah,â he said eventually. âI think it can be. A lot of the time.â
âYour ex,â I said. âIf she had to move away because of her parents, that must have been unfair for her too. Maybe she didnât want to end things. If you forgave her, maybe youâd finally let go.â
âWhy are you worrying about that now?â he asked softly. âDid something happen with Yeonseo?â
âWe fought,â I admitted. âBecause Iâm a coward. Because I couldnât tell her the truth.â
âAbout the kiss?â
The word sat like a stone in my throat.
âYes,â I forced out. âAbout you. About me.â
He sighed. âDo you want me to get back together with her?â
âNo,â I said quickly. âI just want you to be happy.â
Silence stretched between us, full of things we understood but still refused to say.
âI want you to be happy too,â he said finally.
I looked at my reflection in the dark window and barely recognized the person staring back.
The next day, as we walked home together, my chest felt heavy with the decision I kept postponing.
âI have to tell her,â I said. âI canât keep lying.â
He nodded, though his jaw tightened. âWhatever happensâŚthatâs between you and her,â he said. âI donât want to be the reason you lose your best friend.â
âYouâre not the reason,â I said. âI am.â
âStill,â he said. âIf she hates me more, Iâll live. If she hates youâŚthatâs different.â
I didnât answer.
I found Yeonseo after school the day after, near the shoe lockers.
âI need to talk to you,â I said.
She crossed her arms. âAbout what?â
âAbout Jungwon,â I said. âAnd about me.â
On the walk home, my words stumbled out in halves and starts. I didnât tell her about the kiss. I told myself I was protecting her from more pain. I knew, even as I spoke, that I was also protecting myself.
âAfter we became friends, I started to like him,â I said quietly. âMore than a friend.â
She stopped walking.
âKeep going,â she said, her voice low, controlled.
âAfter you broke up, we kept hanging out,â I confessed. âI hid it from you. I told myself I just liked being his friend, that it wasnât about wanting him. But I was wrong. I should have told you sooner.â
Her eyes shone with something brittle.
âDoes he know?â she asked.
âNo,â I lied about that part. âAnd Iâm not going to tell him. I justâŚwant things to go back to how they were.â
âThey canât,â she said flatly. âYou wanted him for yourself. Even if you didnât date, you built something with him that I didnât get to see. You chose him over me and then lied about it.â
âThatâs notââ
âI donât want to be your friend anymore,â she said, cutting me off. âI donât trust you. Do whatever you want with him. I donât care.â
It was only later, turning her words over in my head, that I understood: she cared too much. That was the point.
I watched her walk away, my heart splintering in slow motion.
I didnât chase her. Not because I didnât want to, but because I didnât think I deserved to.
When I told Jungwon, his face fell.
âShe doesnât want to fix it?â he asked.
I shook my head. âShe said she canât forgive me.â
He stared at me for a long moment.
âIâm still your friend,â he said softly.
âI donât feel like Iâve been a very good one,â I said. The truth about the kiss pressed against my teeth. âShe didnât know about us. AboutâŚany of it. I lied to both of you.â
âYou said youâd never choose,â he said quietly. âBut you did. You chose me.â
âI know,â I whispered. âIâm sorry.â
âWhy?â he asked. âWhy choose me?â
Because I loved you, I thought.
âI developed feelings for you,â I said instead. âBut thatâs not why I stayed. I wanted to be your friend because you made me feel seen. I lied because I was scared of losing that. Of going back to being justâŚsomeoneâs shadow.â
He exhaled slowly. âI understand why you did it,â he said. âI just wish you hadnât. I know youâre trustworthy, but right nowâŚI donât know how to give you that trust again.â
âIf Iâd told you sooner how I felt,â I said bitterly, âwould you have still kissed me?â
âNo,â he said immediately. âI wouldnât have wanted to confuse you like that. None of this would have happened if Iâd controlled myself.â
He looked away, jaw clenched.
âIâm sorry too,â he added quietly. âI knew how complicated it was with Yeonseo. You trusted me not to cross that line, and I did. I put you in an impossible position. Thatâs on me.â
âThis is my fault,â I said. âI tried to have everything and ended up with nothing.â
He didnât argue. Maybe because we both knew the truth was somewhere in between.
The next few days passed with no words from either of them. I felt like I was being punished, so I accepted it.
Yeonseo now walked past me in the hallway without a glance.
At lunch, a few classmates approached my table, where I sat alone with my untouched food.
âDid something happen between you and Yeonseo?â one of them asked. Everyone had started noticing the tension between us.
I stared at my tray. âI made a mistake,â I said. âIâm dealing with the consequences.â
They tried to pry, but I shook my head.
âItâs between us,â I said. âI justâŚhope she forgives me someday.â
To my surprise, one of them sat beside me and nudged my shoulder.
âYou can sit with us,â she said. âSo you donât have to eat alone.â
âYeah,â another chimed in. âYou look like youâre about to cry.â
I almost laughed.
Their kindness felt strange and new, like a pair of shoes I hadnât broken in yetâstiff, a little uncomfortable, but warming my feet anyway.
During PE, I saw Jungwon across the gym. To my surprise, he waved. My new friends glanced between us.
âAre you guys close?â one of them asked.
âWe were,â I said. âWhen he was dating Yeonseo.â
Later, as we rested by the bleachers, I asked them about his ex.
âOh, her,â one girl said. âShe was smart. Quiet. A nerd, kind of like you. They started dating when she tutored him. Her parents were strict, though. They didnât like her dating. I heard she got transferred to an allâgirls school when they found out.â
âSo it wasnât just the distance,â I murmured.
They shrugged. âGuess not. Parents like thatâŚwhat can you do?â
I thought of what Iâd told him, about forgiveness and unfairness.
Maybe his ex hadnât wanted to leave him at all. Maybe sheâd been trapped by something bigger than them. Maybe theyâd both spent years blaming themselves for a choice that had never really been theirs.
On the walk back to class, my classmates giggled about seeing me with him at the river before.
âSorry I told everyone,â the girl with the bike said, grinning. âBut you two looked like you were on a date. You kind of suit each other.â
My face burned.
âI wouldnât date him,â I said quickly. âHeâs Yeonseoâs ex.â
âThey donât talk anymore,â one of them pointed out. âWhy does it matter?â
âBecause itâs still wrong,â I said. âAnd he wouldnât go for it either.â
They traded looks.
âDoesnât look like he minds walking with you,â someone muttered.
I changed the subject.
After school, Jungwon caught up to me near the gates.
âHey,â he said. âWant to walk together?â
I hesitated. It was surprising that he wanted anything to do with me. Walking with him felt like sliding back into a familiar rhythm I wasnât sure I deserved.
Then I nodded.
âWhy arenât you avoiding me?â I asked bluntly once weâd fallen into step.
âI thought about what you said,â he replied. âAbout honesty being brave. You told me the truth even though it cost you everything. I respect that. It would be stupid of me to punish you for the thing I always say I want.â
He glanced down the road, where Yeonseo had just passed us earlier without a glance.
âWhen I saw her ignore you,â he said quietly, âI remembered how it felt when my ex moved away. Like Iâd been erased. You donât deserve that.â
My throat tightened. âI hurt her.â
âYou lied to protect her feelings,â he said. âIf I were you, I mightâve done the same. It was a mistake, sure. But not evil.â
I exhaled shakily. âI asked my classmates about your ex,â I said. âI hope thatâs okay.â
He shrugged. âWhat did they say?â
I told him everything.
He looked stunned. âI knew her parents were strict. She always wanted to keep us a secret. At some point, I thought she was embarrassed by me. That I cared more than she did.â
He laughed bitterly. âThen she agreed to let people know. Took that risk. And I thought, âOkay, she really loves me.â I never knew that might be what got her sent away.â
âShe might not have had a choice,â I said softly.
âMaybe,â he said. âBut that just means I should be with someone whoâs free to follow their heart. No restrictions. No secrets forced on them.â
I thought of Yeonseo. Of the invisible tether between us. Of how it tied my heart to hers even now, when we werenât speaking.
âSometimes I feel like Iâm still restricted,â I admitted. âBy her. By what I did. Even when sheâs not around, Iâm measuring every step against what sheâd think.â
He glanced at me. âI know. And I hate that for you.â
We walked in silence for a while.
âI told my teammates weâre friends,â he said suddenly. âThey were cool with it, actually. Said you seemed chill.â
A small smile tugged at my lips. âThatâsâŚgood?â
âIt means we donât have to hide,â he said. âWeâre not doing anything wrong by hanging out. Yeonseo clearly doesnât care what we do anymore, so why should we?â
âShe cares,â I said quietly. âThatâs why it hurts her so much. If she didnât, none of this would matter.â
He sighed. âYouâre still defending her.â
âI always will,â I said. âEven if weâre not friends. Iâm still grateful to her.â
âFor what?â
âFor helping me meet you,â I said.
He looked away, ears turning pink.
Exams approached, and our afternoons filled with notes and highlighters.
âAre you good at studying?â he asked one day.
âItâs the one thing Iâm confident in,â I said.
âThen help me,â he grinned. âIâll pay you back somehow.â
We met by the river to study, our textbooks spread out on a blanket, pages fluttering in the breeze. My friends teased me about âtutoring my almostâboyfriend,â but I ignored them. I told myself this was practical: he needed help, and I could give it. That was all.
Sometimes, when he leaned over my notebook to ask a question, our shoulders brushed. My heart would stutter, then settle into a rhythm that felt like both too much and exactly right.
Over time, the sharp ache of my earlier guilt dulled into something softer, like a bruise fading from purple to yellow. I still liked him. Maybe I always would. But I started to accept that what we hadâa friendship built on shared confessions, quiet afternoons, and mutual trustâwas something I didnât want to risk for a label.
After exams, he stretched his arms behind his head and smiled.
âI think I did okay,â he said. âIf I pass, Iâm treating you to dinner.â
âYou donât owe me anything,â I said.
âI want to,â he insisted.
He also wanted to play basketball with me.
âYouâve never played with me,â he pointed out one afternoon.
âBecause I suck,â I said.
âThatâs okay. Iâll go easy.â
We played at a nearby park until the sun dipped low. I missed shots; he exaggerated his reactions when I actually scored. At some point, I realized I was laughing, loudly, without worrying about who might be listening.
Later, we went to see a movie Iâd been wanting to watch, and he endured my whispered commentary with exaggerated patience.
As we left the theatre and headed toward a small restaurant, we ran into one of Yeonseoâs friends.
She took in our proximity, the easy way we stood side by side, and her eyes narrowed.
âAre you twoâŚdating?â she asked bluntly.
âNo,â Jungwon said, expression sharpening. âWeâre friends. Why do you care?â
âYou know why,â she said coolly. âJust remember she exists.â
She left before either of us could respond.
âWhy does everyone assume weâre together?â Jungwon muttered. âDo we look that good together?â
My face heated. âApparently.â
He glanced at me, more serious now.
âDo you still like me?â he asked.
The question knocked the air out of my lungs. For a second, I considered lying. It would have been easier.
âMaybe,â I admitted. âA little. But our friendship matters more to me. I donât want to ruin it. I already ruined enough.â
He nodded slowly.
âI definitely had feelings for you at some point,â he said. âMaybe I still do. But I donât think Iâm ready to date anyone. And youâve never even dated before. ItâsâŚa lot.â
âI know,â I said.
âIâm just glad we can say this out loud,â he added. âIâve never had that with anyone. With my ex, with YeonseoâŚthere was always something I kept back.â
He hesitated.
âIf you started dating someone elseâŚwould we still be this close?â he asked.
I thought about it. About all the ways Iâd already chosen him, silently, in the space between options.
âIâd want us to be,â I said. âBut I donât know. Iâd probably still pick you, if I had to choose. I already did once.â
He smiled sadly. âIf I end up loving someone someday, I hope they understand why I care about you. I wouldnât want them to make me choose.â
I bumped his shoulder lightly. âDid you just say you love me?â
He flushed. âNot like that.â
âSure,â I said, grinning.
He laughed. âWeâve come a long way, huh.â
âYeah,â I said softly. âWe have.â
A few weeks later, our class went on a tripâhiking, sightseeing, pretending to pay attention to a guide who talked about history while everyone secretly took photos instead.
I spent most of the time with my new friends and some of his teammates. We took pictures with mountains in the background, shared snacks, complained about the uphill sections.
Yeonseo was there too, always just far enough away that I could see her but not reach her. Sometimes our eyes met for a fraction of a second. She always looked away first.
At one point, one of Jungwonâs friends jokingly draped an arm over my shoulders.
âCareful,â he teased Jungwon. âI might steal her.â
âCut it out,â Jungwon snapped, a little too quickly. âYouâre making her uncomfortable.â
I laughed nervously, cheeks burning, aware of several phones pointed in our direction.
Later, I slipped away to walk by a small creek, needing air that wasnât shared with laughter and halfâtruths.
He found me there, hands in his pockets.
âSorry about my friend,â he said. âHeâs an idiot.â
âItâs okay,â I said. âI was justâŚembarrassed. No oneâs ever flirted with me before.â
He blinked. âSeriously?â
I nodded.
âIf we werenât friends,â he said lightly, âI probably wouldâve flirted with you by now.â
I snorted. âI could use the practice.â
He considered this.
âOkay. Youâre pretty,â he said. âAnd I like how mysterious you are.â
I raised an eyebrow. âYouâve said that before.â
âMaybe I was flirting then too,â he said. âWithout realizing.â
âNo oneâs ever told me Iâm pretty,â I admitted. âNot seriously.â
âThen theyâre blind,â he said.
For once, I didnât automatically argue.
A few weeks after the trip, he told me heâd run into his ex while visiting relatives.
âI always wondered what Iâd feel if I saw her again,â he said as we sat by the river, feet dangling above the water. âTurns outâŚit was like seeing an old classmate. I wasâŚfine. I think that means Iâm over her.â
âIâm happy for you,â I said. And I was. It meant one ghost had finally let go of his throat.
âShe asked if I was seeing anyone,â he continued. âEven asked me out. She said she didnât want her parents to control her life anymore. That she regretted what happened. But I wasnât interested. WhichâŚsurprised me.â
He scratched his head.
âShe asked if there was someone else,â he said. âI told herâŚmaybe.â
âWho?â I asked, heart pounding.
âYou,â he said simply.
My brain shortâcircuited.
âAs a friend,â he added quickly, seeing the panic in my eyes. âLikeâŚValentineâs as friends. Itâs normal, right? People do that.â
âNo,â I said flatly. âItâs not.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause everyone already thinks weâre dating,â I said. âAnd my friends would never shut up about it. And Yeonseoââ
âThere it is,â he said, a little sharply. âWhy do you still care so much about what she thinks? Do you really think youâll be friends again?â
âI donât know,â I whispered. âBut I havenât forgiven myself yet. Maybe thatâs why I canât let go. It feels wrong to be happy when Iâm the one who broke us.â
âThe only thing you did wrong was lie to protect her feelings,â he said. âAnd like I said, I wouldâve done the same. Whatâs the point of regretting the past? All we can do is be honest now.â
He was right about one thing: regretting hadnât changed anything. All it had done was keep me stuck.
âThen honestly,â I said, âI canât be your Valentine.â
âFine,â he sighed. âThen weâll just spend the day alone. Together. No labels.â
âHow is that any different?â I asked.
âItâs not,â he said quietly. âJust like how what we have isnât that different from dating. We do everything a couple does. We just donât call it that.â
I stared at him.
âYouâre the one who said we should never kiss again. For Yeonseoâs sake,â I reminded him. âNow youâre saying it doesnât matter?â
He grimaced. âYouâre right. Iâm contradicting myself. I keep pretending that as long as we donât name this, itâs harmless. Maybe thereâs no point pretending anymore.â
The air between us felt heavier than it had in a long time.
âWe both know our feelings didnât just disappear,â he said softly. âWe just buried them to protect what we had. MaybeâŚwe donât have to anymore.â
âAre you saying we should date?â I asked.
He held my gaze.
âIâm sayingâŚwe could try,â he said. âIf you want to. If you are ready to stop pretending this is nothing.â
Fear fluttered in my chest, quick and wild.
âWe might ruin everything,â I whispered. âWhat if it ends? What if you leave too? I donât think I can lose you as a friend.â
âI trust you more than anyone,â he said. âIâm not scared of you hurting me. And if something feels off, we can talk about it. Actually talk. Thatâs more than Iâve had with anyone.â
âItâs too sudden,â I said. âWeâve spent so long building this version of us. Are we really going to throw it away in one conversation?â
âWeâre not throwing it away,â he said. âWeâre justâŚcalling it what itâs becoming. But if the timing feels wrong to you, Iâll wait. Iâm not in a rush to be with anyone else.â
âLet me think,â I whispered. âI donât want to have regrets. Not again.â
He nodded. âOkay.â
That night, I went to Yeonseoâs house.
She opened the door, surprise flickering across her face, quickly replaced by wariness.
âWhat do you want?â she asked.
âTo talk,â I said. âPlease.â
We sat in the small park near her house, where weâd played as kids. The swings creaked; the slideâs metal was cold under my hand.
âIâmâŚhappy that you seem okay,â I began lamely.
She shrugged. âIâm not. But Iâll live.â
I took a deep breath.
âI still see Jungwon,â I said. âA lot. WeâreâŚclose. Closer than I ever expected. He asked if we should try dating.â
Her expression darkened immediately.
âAnd you came to ask my permission?â she said. âDo you feel no shame at all?â
âI do,â I said quickly. âI feel ashamed all the time. I know I hurt you. I know I lied. Iâm not asking you to approve. I justâŚdonât want to keep holding myself back for your sake without you knowing why. That feels like another lie.â
She looked away.
âDo you still like him?â I asked carefully.
âNo,â she said. âNot like that. Iâm hurt, not heartbroken. Iâm hurt that you chose his side. That you saw him struggling and decided he needed your sympathy more than I needed your loyalty. You say you care about me, but when it came down to it, you picked him.â
Tears pricked my eyes. âI was selfish,â I said. âI wanted both of you. I wanted to be the person he confided in and the person you trusted. I tried to be both and failed at both.â
âYeah,â she said. âYou were selfish. And so was I. And so was he. Thatâs why everything fell apart. I resented both of you. Thatâs why I cut you off.â
She exhaled, long and shaky.
âBut Iâm tired,â she said. âIf being with him makes you happyâŚthen be with him. I wonât pretend Iâll ever be okay with it. If you date him, weâre not going to be friends again. I canât imagine that right now. Maybe thatâll change someday, I donât know. But for a long timeâŚitâll be over.â
My chest ached.
âYou have a big heart,â I said quietly. âBigger than I gave you credit for. Iâm sorry I couldnât be honest sooner.â
She snorted. âYou donât get to say that.â
She stood.
âIf you said everything you needed to say,â she said, âthen Iâm going home.â
I watched her walk away without looking back.
For the first time, I let myself accept that our storyâhers and mineâmight have reached its ending, at least for now.
I hated that my choices had helped bring us here. But for once, I wasnât going to pretend they hadnât.
That night, I called Jungwon.
âI talked to her,â I said.
âAnd?â
âShe said if we date, she and I will probably never be friends again,â I replied. âAt least not for a long time. But she wonât stop us. She doesnât want to be the reason Iâm unhappy. Even if she canât forgive me yet.â
âAnd what do you want?â he asked.
I closed my eyes.
âI want you,â I said. âAnd it hurts that I canât have both. But I canât keep pretending I donât feel this way. Iâve been pretending for so long, I donât know who I am when I stop. Iâm tired of hidingâfrom you, from her, from myself.â
There was a pause. Then I heard him exhale, like heâd been holding his breath for months.
âThen letâs stop pretending,â he said. âLetâs try. We donât have to promise forever. JustâŚhonesty. If something feels wrong, we say it. If weâre scared, we say it. No more lying to protect each other from the truth. No more lying to ourselves.â
âIâm scared,â I admitted. âNot just of losing you. Of becoming the kind of person who hurts people and doesnât care.â
âYouâre not that person,â he said immediately. âYou care too much. Thatâs why this hurts so much. Thatâs why you told her, even when you couldâve kept quiet and had things easier. Youâre allowed to move forward, even if you made mistakes.â
Tears slid down my cheeks.
âWill you be happy?â he asked softly. âIf weâre together?â
âYes,â I said. âI think Iâd be happier than Iâve ever been. Even if it hurts too.â
âThen thatâs enough for me,â he said.
I wiped my eyes and nodded, even though he couldnât see it.
âOkay,â I whispered. âLetâs try.â
For the first time in a long time, the words didnât feel like a lie.
I couldnât change what Iâd done. I couldnât undo the hurt Iâd caused or the friendship Iâd cracked. But I could stop pretending I was someone who didnât want anything. I could stop hiding behind other peopleâs expectations and start living with the consequences of my choices.
In little ways, I tried to do better. When classmates asked nosy questions, I didnât lie. When Jungwonâs teammates teased us, I didnât dodge the truthâI just said, âWeâre figuring it out,â and let that be enough. When my new friends invited me to lunch, I didnât wait to see who else was going. I said yes because I wanted to.
Maybe one day, Yeonseo would forgive me. Maybe she wouldnât. Maybe our paths would cross in some distant future where weâd both grown into different versions of ourselves. If that day came, I wanted to be able to look her in the eye and say Iâd at least learned from the way I hurt her.
Either way, Iâd finally said the thing Iâd been swallowing for months:
I canât pretend anymore.
And somehow, that felt less like an ending and more like the beginning of something honest.
i didn't want her to be two parts but i don't think it's all fitting in one post, ignore this if you commented under my last post, you've been added already!
RELEASE : first part will be out within the next week i hope, she's almost done just needs a couple tweaks.
taglist open!! pls specify if you want to be added to my perm tg or not.
pairing: Yang Jungwon x f!reader (reader is older than Jungwon)
synopsis: you thought working as a producer for Enhypen would be fun. hardworking artists who treat their staff respectfully, so respectfully they make sure you feel comfortable and relaxed. Jungwon in specific takes great care of that. Preferable in-between your legs.
content warnings: explicit!language, explicit!content, smut, oral sex (f receiving), pussyaddict!jungwon, squirting, heavy overstimulation, messy messy messy eater, typos! Not proofread
You have always been a workaholic. Not because you need the money, not because you need to impress anyone anymore at this point, but simply because you love your job.
You feel blessed, every day, for being able to live out your dream and spread your music across the world, even if itâs someone else singing it. You have been working as a producer for the kpop industry for about two years now and now, finally, you kind of settled for a specific group you would be working for more frequently. Enhypen was kind of the perfect choice, the ideal group to work for. The boys were well-mannered, polite and overall easy to work with. And of course, incredibly handsome as well.
Youâve only been permanently working for them for about two months now and youâre currently preparing demos for the next comeback.
âFuckâ, your scream echoes through the entire studio and is soon followed by the sound of your fist slamming onto the desk in front of you.
file couldnât be saved.
file couldnât be saved.
file couldnât be saved.
âNo, no, no!â You grunt in frustration. This is the second time already, that this happens to you and although you try your best to refresh your screen or redownload the projects, your hard work is lost and you know it. Itâs already night by now and youâve been working on this for the past 5 hours. 5 hours of work down the drain because of your old, stupid laptop.
Youâre so deep in your frustration and anger, you donât even notice the door to your studio slowly opening. Like some ghost entering unnanounced, but instead itâs Jungwonâs head bopping around the corner.
You donât want him to see you like this. Jungwonâs always been exceptionally sweet to you. So considered and gentle, just like the proper, good leader that he was. He was cute too, in a playful, almost childlike way. But he isnât a child, he is a man and youâve already noticed that a bit too much especially lately.
Even in your frustration you canât deny the fact that he looks so hot in his grey sweatpants and tightly fitted black shirt. And those glasses heâs wearing. They make him look like a hot nerd. Youâre so distracted by his looks, you almost forget about the misery youâre in. Until his voice pulls you back into reality. Heâs standing right in front of you now and closes the door behind him.
âWhatâs wrong, Noona?â He asks you in a soft tone. You find it cute when he calls you that, so you chuckle softly even though you feel like crying.
âMy laptop acted up once again and now my works have been deleted, but itâs okay, Iâll just redo them.â, you try to cheer yourself up but fail miserably and Jungwon immediately senses it by the look in your eyes. He sighs in frustration too as he looks back and forth between you and the laptop in front of you, trying to figure out a way to help you, but he canât. He doesnât know much about composing, not the way you do anyway.
And he really admires you for that. He never wanted to admit it to you, but he was actually the person that had talked their ceo into hiring you permanently.
âIâm really sorry that happened, Noona. If you want I can stay here with you, so youâre not aloneâ, he suggests with a smile on his face. He looks even cuter like that, with his dimples and squeezed eyes. âOh, youâre probably tired, so go home, Jungwonah, I got thisâ, you assure him but Jungwon insists by already sitting down next to you. If heâs being honest with himself, he just wants to watch you as you work.
And thatâs what he does. He watches you so attentively as you lock back into your work and try to recreate the files youâve lost. His head rests on his hand comfortably as he studies the serious expressions on your face:
The way you furrow your eyebrows and push your hair back. The way your head bops to the rhythm, the way you clench your jaw when youâre uncertain about specific sounds. You look so hot, Jungwon thinks and he feels his ears heating up right away. When heâs assured that youâre not noticing his piercing eyes on you, he allows his eyes to wander down your neck to your cleavage. Youâre only wearing a black top, a tight one that hugs your round tits perfectly. Jungwon canât help but bite down his lower lip as he watches them jiggle a bit as you move in your chair.
You truly donât notice him. Youâre a workaholic, after all. Once youâre locked into the music youâre creating, a bomb could go off next to you and you wouldnât notice. Thatâs probably why you barely noticed how you accidentally dropped the pen youâve been holding in your hand for no particular reason.
But Jungwon does right away so he gets up.
âItâs ok, just leave itâ, you assure him absentmindedly but Jungwon is already on his knees, looking for the pen underneath your desk and thatâs finally when your attention shifts a bit. Because how can THAT possibly be left unnoticed? Jungwon crawling underneath you, right in front of your legs. You try not to look down, try to keep your mind from shifting to forbidden places, forbidden thoughts. But again, how is that even possible? For a moment youâre worried. Jungwon shouldnât be down there in front of you when youâre wearing a skirt that he could easily peak under. That would be entirely inappropriate of him. But⌠why is it turning you on so much?
âI got it!â, Jungwon suddenly exclaims in a cheerful chant and you meet his eyes when you look down. Heâs on all fours right in front of you, cat eyes darting up at you, looking at you through his lashes. Heâs smiling so proudly and you hope he canât see that the heat has already risen to your cheeks. The position the two of you are in is⌠risky, to say the least. Dangerous and Jungwon finally notices it too.
Your knees are right in front of him and if only you parted your legs.. just a bit. The two of you seem frozen for a moment, unable to move and thatâs when a very tempting thought crosses the boyâs mind. He wants to comfort you, right? He wants you to relax after losing your precious files. As an artist, itâs his job to make his coworkers feel comfortable⌠feel good to work with him.
He doesnât even notice how he slowly starts to lick his lips but you do. Fuck, you think to yourself. That just looked so fucking hot. That tongue, that pink, soft tongue with the little slit in the middle. He must be so skilled with that - no. You stop yourself. You cannot think about such things, not when itâs about Yang fucking Jungwon.
âYou⌠thank you for picking it upâ, you mumble almost inaudible because you fear you might accidentally let out those ridiculous thoughts. And you hope that he takes this as a call to get back up but he stays right there, so all you could do is focus back on your laptop. Which is entirely impossible with Jungwon right there in front of you on his knees.
âYour legs must hurt from sitting around all day, Y/n noonaâ, Jungwon suddenly whispers and you can sense the shift in his voice right away. Youâre still a musician after all. Thereâs an airiness to his voice, a soft groan almost. And itâs gotten lower, darker, more⌠lingering, yet almost seductive. No, itâs definitely seductive.
You hear it and you feel it in the way you suddenly feel his fingers on your legs, running them up and down. His hands feel so good and heâs not wrong after all: your legs do feel a bit numb from sitting around all day. Youâre still not looking down but you can feel his breath hitting against your knees so you know heâs shifted closer to you, causing you to immediately clutch your legs together even more. The friction is relieving and thatâs when you feel you have long started to get wet and you wonder if Jungwon is doing this because heâs noticed it. Maybe heâs already seen your juices leaking through the thin fabric of your slip or heâs already smelt their sweet scent.
Nevertheless, you feel so embarrassed, you canât even think about ever meeting his eyes again. Why is he not getting up againâŚ? You ask yourself again and again and again.
His hands continue to run up and down your lower legs until he begins digging his fingers into your soft skin. Heâs massaging your calves now and heâs loving the way youâre obviously avoiding to look at him. Heâs enjoying the view of your tits from below too much anyway. He canât see underneath your skirt yet but he wants to, he will eventually, he knows it. He knows it because youâre not stopping him. He would make this count and entirely unforgettable for you because heâs already thinking ahead to the times he would repeat this very action. And many other actions.
It doesnât take long for his fingers to wander up but they stop at the hem of your skirt. Then he waits for your approval and when you finally look down again, he feels as if his heart jump out of his chest. The look in your eyes screams pure sex, you canât deny it. Heâs riled you up just by massaging your legs, you feel pathetic but you also donât want to let this opportunity go to waste. How many times will you find an idol between your legs again? Especially one you like as much as you like Jungwon.
âWhat are you doing?â You whisper in a serious tone but both Jungwon and you know that youâre not intended to stop him. Jungwonâs head is already between your legs now, with your knees on both of his headâs sides, but your skirt is still covering your clothed core. Jungwon grins now. He feels at his rightful place: right there underneath you, on all fours, about to eat you out like youâre his last meal. He truly has to stop himself from drooling onto the floor at the thought of tasting you just once. Oh he can already picture your pretty pussy. Oh, how he would dive right in there, bury his entire face in your womanhood until heâs suffocating. His cock feels like itâs about to explode in his pants. At this point heâs so hard it hurts.
âI want to help you relax, Y/n. Youâve been working so hard for us, the least I can do is return the favour.â Jungwon speaks in such a low tone, youâre actually surprised and it turns you on even more. He starts letting his finger dance over the fabric of your skirt. He doesnât intend on taking it off, that would just cost him unnecessary time. So instead, he folds it up enough to finally reveal your panties. And theyâre SOAKED. You havenât even realised how much more juice has seeped past your lips. You can hear him inhale deeply and you can hear him do it too.
Jungwon closes his eyes as he inhales once again, taking in as much scent as he can and he immediately starts grinning. Just from the smell he can tell heâs about to have a FEAST. Everything this man does is so fucking hot to you, the impatience inside of you keeps growing and growing. Well, the impatience between your legs is.
Jungwon leans forward now, pressing his nose against the wetness of your underwear and you gasp in shock but all he does is snicker and inhale your scent yet again. Youâve never seen a man do that. The vibrations of his little laughter immediately send shivers down your spine and ring against your swollen clit that already demands to be touched, but Jungwon takes his sweet time. You can tell he takes eating pussy very seriously and it only excites you that much more. With one hasty move, heâs pulled your slip all the way down to your ankles but once again, he doesnât bother wasting time on taking them off all the way because slowly, he is starting to become the impatient one. He has to taste you now, thereâs no way around it.
Jungwon wraps his arms around your legs from below and lifts them up over his shoulders immediately, which causes you to shift downwards in your chair, causing his core to be pressed against his chin already, just like he had planned.
The first thing he does is twirl his tongue around your entire womanhood in a big circle. Another approach no man has ever done with you. For Jungwon, itâs truly about collecting all those juices with his tongue, as if heâs trying to swoop them up.
A moan leaves your lips already and you immediately press a hand to your lips. You didnât expect him to be THIS good already and he hasnât even started fully yet. Jungwon snickers once again.
âFuck, you taste amazing Noona!â, Jungwon praises against your lips but heâs still looking up into your eyes past your folded skirt and thatâs when you giggle a bit. He looks forbiddingly cute like that, even when heâs eating you out. Then he pulls back a little to lick his lips as if heâs just eaten a very luxurious dinner. Now that his curiosity is killed, he wants to take his time to truly pamper you slowly and romantically, like you deserve. So he starts to press sweet kisses to your inner thighs, but it actually only pisses you off.
âQuit teasing, didnât you say you want to help me relax, Jungwonah?â, you grunt in frustration and try to shift to press your pussy back against his lips which only makes the cheeky boy laugh devilishly. Oh, heâs a tease. Youâve always known that.
âForgive me, Noonaâ, he says before licking up a long stripe from your entrance over your juice-coated lips all the way up to your clit. Thatâs when you squirm once and he knows where your sweet spot is right away. He focuses on your clit right away and starts to twirl his tongue around it. His tongue dances almost as well as he does. That magic muscle inside of his mouth, it drives you crazy. Heâs so precise with his licks, yet so sloppy at the same time. Heâs drooling onto your already oozing pussy, so he slurps up your wetness again and again inbetween kitten-licks. Your moans fill the room that is already used to music, but certainly none of this kind. In a twisted way, you think about how insane this sound would go in a song. The sound of jungwon groaning against your cunt, mixing with his slurping and sucking and licking.
Jungwon is desperate. Desperate for your juices, desperate to eat you out and itâs very clear: heâs not doing this for you. Itâs not about just getting you off, itâs not about GIVING. HE needs that even more than you do. To be between your legs, to eat your juices until heâs satisfied - which he never is.
Heâs completely high on your juices by now and heâs still only focusing on your clit. His head is bobbing and shaking from side to side, up and down repeatedly, again and again and again and heâs getting faster too. Youâre completely overstimulated already, youâve never felt anything like this before. You wouldâve never thought this sweet, young, hardworking leader would know how to eat pussy THIS WELL. Your hand sneaks into his hair on its own but Jungwon doesnât mind. In fact, he even lets a desperate cry, a whimper accidentally slip his mouth when you gentle pull on it and press him closer to your core.
What sends him over the edge is when you start grinding your pussy against his face, running it against his nose and chin and all he has to do is stick out his tongue to occasionally dip past your folds inside your entrance. He doesnât care that youâre already coating his face with your juices - in fact: he wants you to soak it as well. And still, his eyes never leave yours. He loves to study the way your face twitches or your mouth open and he adores when you frown like that as you moan his name which also gets louder and louder.
âJungwonahâŚâ, you whine for more as you feel your orgasm slowly nearing and he gets it immediately. He wraps his arm around your thighs now to hold you in place, but his free hand is already at your entrance, with both his index and middle finger fiddling with your folds while his incredibly skilled tongue is already focused on your clit again. He changes between licking and sucking at the sensitive bud, but what trips you over the edge is when he slowly starts pushing the two digits past your entrance right into you. You twitch inside your seat as much as you can, but Jungwonâs grip around your thighs is tight, so all you can do is sit through it. Literally.
Jungwon doesnât waste any time again and starts fucking into you, with his fingers slightly curling up to meet the rigged spot right above your entrance, your g-spot. Heâs so fucking skilled, it blows your mind once again. As heâs thrusting into you with no mercy at a speed that doesnât give you time to attempt to muffle your loud cries, heâs still licking eagerly at your clit. His head is shaking like crazy now and thatâs when you feel it.
Your legs cramp around his neck, your stomach sinks and your entire body tenses up as your own orgasm washes over you with no warning. You bend your back so much, youâre almost lying on his shoulders only.
âAhh- Jung- Jungwon!â, you cum with his name on your lips, just like heâs wanted you to but Jungwon doesnât think about stopping even when your release has long spilled into his ever-hungry mouth. No, in fact, heâs still twirling his tongue all around your clit so sloppily now, your legs start to shake as your try to push him off because youâre pussy is already so sensitive from your intense orgasm.
âPlease- please I canâtâŚâ, you whimper as you continue to try to push him off with your entire lower body shaking around his head and thatâs when, at least, Jungwon pulls his pussy-juices soaked fingers out of you. But he only does that to wrap his other arm around your legs as well to hold you even steadier as he dives in even more.
Heâs truly just making out with your sore pussy by now and youâre screaming and squirming, thereâs even a tear or two escaping your eyes and the orgasms just never end. Your body is on fire, struck by lightning, youâve truly never felt anything like this ever before and Jungwon only laughs as your juices finally gush out of you right into his face, on his tongue and against lips. Heâs gotten exactly what heâs wanted ever since youâve started working for them and thatâs FINALLY when he gently puts your legs down and moves back just enough for you to see the mess youâve made out of him.
Your juices are all over his glasses, he can barely see through them anymore but he doesnât care. No, he wanted that and you know it.
Thereâs juice dripping from his chin, juice dripping from his lips that heâs licking now and he looks so fucking proud itâs leaving you speechless.
In fact, all you can do is focus on collecting your breath for now. There are still single moans escaping your lips from time to time, but you feel completely destroyed. You feel like your body is on fire while being made out of jelly.
âFeeling relaxed, Noona?â, Jungwon asks smiling proudly as he cleans his glasses on his shirt after heâs gotten up again and youâre still there half lying on the chair that is ALSO soaked in your releases and you donât even notice how the boy has sneakily stuffed your soaked panties into the pocket of his sweatpants.
âi only threw this party for you. yeah, if you saw my tears, would you touch me?â đ⨞đ˘Ö´ŕťđ§ŕžŕ˝˛ â party 4 u by charli xcx
ĘÉ pairing: jungwon x female!reader content: angst // skinny love // fluff warnings (?): more depressing if you listen to the song while reading (lol) wc: ??
synopsis . Ýâ âš . Ý âĄ Ý . âš â Ý. after the sudden disappearance of jungwon, the person you had a one-sided love for, you threw a party in hopes that heâd show up.
you tapped profusely on your phone, stalking through all of jungwonâs social media accountsâ seeing if he was busy doing something.
reason for that is simply because you threw a party. yes. you. not only were you surprised at yourself for declaring a party at your own house, but your other friends were too. it was quite unusual of you.
to your party, you had invited all of jungwonâs close friends, all in hope that he would come.
youâre intentions behind the party was obvious, but only your best friend knew the real reasoning.
jungwon and you had been friends for sometime, always hanging out in the same circle, classes, and bumping into each other around campus. as soon as you locked eyes with him, you were stuck.
whenever he talked or even did a small gesture, you paid all your attention on him. literally whatever it was. day after day, he was on your mindâ in a very unhealthy way. the two of you never hung out one on one, but you felt that jittery feeling being near him all the time.
but recently, jungwon had went full ghost on you.
he disappeared.
he didnât show up when you happened to be present. and it was killing you.
back to scrolling on your phone, he had posted nothing. getting tired of trying to figure out yourself, you went up to ni-ki, his close friend.
âhi ni-ki, how are you holding up?â
he turned around swiftly and smiled, grasping the red cup his hand by the rim. âiâm great, what about you?â
âamazing too!â of course you were lying. but you continued on,
âhey, by chanceâ you havenât seen jungwon, right?â
âmhm, thatâs right. dunno what heâs up to.â
he fumbled with the sunglasses that were resting on his head and put them over him eyes.
âoh, okay. wellâ thanks. iâll leave you alone now.â
he nodded his head and turned back around to continue the conversation he had earlier before interrupted.
you scouted for his other friends, anyone that could answer your question.
âhey, jake!â
jake spinned. âyo, whatâs up y/n?!â jake dapped you up politely.
âi was just wondering.. uhâ if the rest of your group was coming to the party?â
he raised an eyebrow. ârest of my group?⌠oh!â you mean, jungwon?â
your eyes lit up, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. âwell, if youâre making that connection, then yeah.â
âi donât know, man. havenât heard from him. we all tried reaching out to him, but he never answered.â
âokay, well thanks for helping.â
âhelping?â he leaned against the wall for support of his own body.
âiâ you know what i mean.â you smiled.
â⌠y/n, we all know you like him.â
you folded your arms. âi donât.â
âyeah, you do. iâm assuming you just came up to me to ask if he was coming, am i wrong?â
silence fell.
âyouâre not completely wrong.â
âi know.â he took his hand and patted your shoulder lightly. âdonât get so worked up about it.â
you kept a blank face and walked away.
but actually.
how could you not get so worked up about it?
you and jungwon had been hanging out in the group, and you were going crazy thinking if he even liked you how you liked him. but againâ none of you ever said anything.
so whoâs fault really was it?
you found a corner in the spot of your back patio, staring into the distance. music played in the background, still heard from in your houseâ it was quiet, yet so loud.
your eyes started to fill with tears.
everything was overwhelming.
not the party.
you carried so many thoughts of jungwonâ and you had no clue what to do with them. you were way too scared to say anything to him. fearful of what he would sayâ how he would act.
now, with him gone out of your sightâ everything seemed impossible and you were filled with despair.
ây/n?â
you were quick to turn your head at the sudden voice that appeared next to you.
lo and behold, it was yang jungwon.
there he was, standing a few feet away from you.
he furrowed his brows as he examined your face.
âgoshâ are you okay?â
he quickly rushed over to take a closer look. a few inches from your face, you covered yourself with your hands and turned away from him. âiâm fine. where did you come from?â a sense of relief of embarrassment hit you.
âi-i just got here. thatâs not watch care about though, did someone do something to you?â
his hand hovered over yours, but he still didnât touch you directly.
you took a deep breath.
screw it.
âyou did something, jungwon.â
his head tilted. âme?â
âyes, you.â you turned towards him fully now. âi like you, jungwon. and this whole party was for youâ i threw it just for youâ just so i can see you. youâve been gone for weeks, days, and now.. now you show up?â
he was frozen and in complete silence.
âi never ever thought id like you this much. and i never planned to have you on my mind this often. so im sorry if this is sudden, but i just canât hold it in anymore.â
you took another breath,
âit hurts to be around you, liking you so much while you donât even care.â
jungwon swallowed before he reached over to place his hand on your face. your eyes widened slightly as he gently wiped away the tear falling from your cheek with his thumb.
âi donât think you know how much i actually do care.â
you searched in his eyes to find some sort of explanation as he settled his hand against your face.
âi care too much. too much that i think about you every night.â he paused for a moment. âi didnât know you liked me like that.. thought i was the only one feeling this way.â
so this whole time, jungwon has liked you. you both were oblivious and scared to acknowledge each otherâs feelings. though he just admitted everything, a part of you felt denial.
âdo you really feel that way, jungwon?â
âo-of course i do.â he let out a breathâ tangling his hand with yours.
and finally, for the past months of overthinking and questions⌠you finally had an answer.
~~~~
.đĽ Ý Ëđ.âď¸ ÝË authors note: hihi guys, iâm back :3 originally i was going to make this completely angst and depressing but my mind canât handle that rnâŚ. so i needed to make a happy ending for the sake of my mental health and yours (youâre welcome!!!!!!)
âşâş pairing boyf! yang jungwon x reader warnings jealousy , angst , skinship , ft. jay , wc 1.5k ć MLIST
you've seen jungwon jealous. too many times to count. he was vocal about it when it had to be or just ended it with a targeted look at the guy too close to you.
but he never addressed it to you or towards you. you'd ask him what's wrong, he'd tut and shake his head, "nothings wrong."
you thought it was cute. never seeing it as jealousy. you never thought jungwon was the jealous type, though everyone except you thinks otherwise. you never made him jealous intentionally, it just happened. you would shrug it off, the topic buried elsewhere. until today.
it was a minor argument. a thing he'd said, his tone you'd pointed out, him saying you were making up things, and before you knew it, things escalated. all hours prior an event you both had to attend.
the car ride is silent for the most of it. the wrinkled hem of your dress catching your attention as you extend your arms to straighten the fabric. jungwon's voice immediately reaches you. "did you seriously remove the ring?"
your attention shifts to your hand as you notice the missing promise ring, the one you wore at all times. shit. "must've forgotten."
he scoffs under his breath, fingers gripping the wheel. "really? 'cus you never forget it."
you feel the irritancy from the argument earlier arise back as you narrow your eyes. "well i don't fucking plan when to forget and not."
"really fucking believable." he takes one look at you before averting his eyes to the road again.
"you just have to start before something don't you." you sigh, already drained.
jungwon takes a minute, his breathing controlled as he exhales out, counting down the seconds.
that leads you to where you are now, at the event. his annual family dinner. reserved at a fancy downtown restaurant. always grand, loud and bustling. unfamiliar faces, kids giggling and tables full of side dishes.
you greet the familiar faces warmly, offering hugs and compliments. introduce yourself to the distant relatives, asking questions when needed. offering your neat packed gift to his mom when the right time arrives, something you'd been looking for once you heard his mum mention it in a passing conversation. she thanks you well along with a few follow up praises.
you do everything right. laugh when needed, pipe in the conversation during the right times and offer polite nods to anyone and everyone speaking.
everything was right. except the man beside you. jungwon didn't spare you a glance. merely smiled when his mum showed you off to everyone. didn't even lead you through the way with his usual hand on your back.
the final straw was when he sat down on the dinner table. you thought you were imagining things when jungwon pulled the seat across the table. sitting facing you. the two empty cold seats besides you seemed like a joke, a set up. he cannot be for real right now.
soon enough, the table was filled and everyone had taken their places. thankfully, the ones besides you too.
you looked at jungwon for a beat, who was too invested listening to his second cousins ex boyfriends chronicles and poked your fork into your asparagus.
alright. you see how things are.
everyone had moved on from their appetizers to the main course now. the table had fallen into a familiar warm rhythm as everyone shared stories and bites together.
you didn't even realize how invested you were with the new face besides you to notice your boyfriend.
jay. park jeongseong. jungwons cousin, few months older and a business major. he was kind, nice and funny without trying. his witty remarks and endless jungwon imitations had you nearly clutching your stomach from how hard you laughed.
unfortunately, yang jungwon was terrible at masking his jealous. he knew how to behave and be proper except when it came to jealousy. his perfectly controlled facade slipped before he knew it. his features hardening as his eyes darted from you to his cousin beside.
first, you smiled at jay. mouth curved upwards, eyes sparkling.
jungwon caught your eyes and gave you a fleeting look before going back to conversing with one of his uncles.
second, you laughed at him.
he hated it because it was genuine. the rumble of your laughter, slight shake of your shoulder and the way you shut your eyes. his grip around the fork seemed ridiculously tight.
why are you laughing at him like that?
the frown between his brows gradually deepens as hit attention zeroes at you and only you.
third, you hit jays arm.
the tips of your fingers brush against jays bicep as you roll your eyes.
there's a alarm going off in jungwons head as he's burning a hole into you with his gaze. he's about to lunge off this table any second if you don't take your hand off him.
it's been 3 seconds. it's still there.
without breaking the same unwavering gaze he's placed on you, his foot moves.
you're genuinely entranced by the way jay imitates a 15 year old jungwon. his animated gestures and sudden deadpans making you laugh your heart out.
you feel something against your leg. you already know it's jungwon. you freeze. and finally look up to the man sitting against you.
he's staring at you when you look up. eyes hooded, breaths slow, calculated and jaw clenched. his food and the relatives long forgotten.
you hold his stare for a while. what's wrong with him.
when he keeps frowning at you like you're somewhere you're not supposed to be, you look away.
jays new story piqueing your interest as he goes into yet another of jungwons family classic tales.
the foot against your heel goes higher, harsher, slow. the cool edge of his foot colliding with your bare leg through the slit of your dress.
you drop your hands under the table, shoving his foot off with a lack of force as you don't bother sparing him a glance.
if anyone on the table looked at him for long enough, they'd see the cloud of steam over jungwons head and his angry reddened ears.
jungwons feet move again. not near you, but behind your seat ad he hooks his feet onto the hind legs of your chair before pulling you towards the table sharply.
you gasp as the seat jerks forward and the bottom of your chest is pressed to the cold marble. you look at him this time. eyes narrowed, irritated.
he leans forward, his eyes never leaving yours. jays words fade into the back round. you furrow your brows, trying to figure out what possibly could have aggravated your grumpy boyfriend again tonight. you greeted the guests, hugged his mum, asked dad things about his mundane job. what does this boy want.
there was a look in his eyes. a mischievous yet angry glint in his orbs as he leaned forward, too forward. head traveled halfway across the width of the table. he stretched his arm, fingers curling around the wine glass. one second you think he's grabbing it, the next his fingers move. move away and let go.
the glass tips towards you as it's red contents spill over your gown. the cool liquid now stained your dress as the dampness spreads across the thin fabric. a soft gasp leaves your lips as you exhale, stunned.
a few towards your end of the table look over, ask if you're okay, offer towels. you try your best to nod and swat their concerns away. the frantic movements of jay are blurred in your vision as you fixate your gaze on him. he sits there, smug, the angry glint still visible in his orbs.
"excuse me." you murmur as you move away, rushing towards the bathroom. your feet move fast as you try to rub at the growing stain on your gown.
your fingers curl against the restroom knob, ready open. but before you know it, there's boots clicking behind you. a hand against your back, pushing you into the room hastily.
you stumble slightly before turning around only to see jungwon locking the door before he faces you.
you take three strides before standing in front of him. "what the fuck was that?"
his gaze is on you. hard, unreadable, unmoving.
a scoff escalates your lips. "I don't understand what's wrong with you. did I do something out of the place? say something wrong? why are you fucking acting like I'm not your fucking girlfriend and you hate every single second of me being herâ"
"why were you smiling at him like that?"
took you a few seconds to process his words. "what?"
jungwon gripped your hips, tight, and spun you to pin you against the locked door. his rough fingers digging into your flesh as you furrowed your brows at him.
he pulled you towards him until your chests were pressed flush against each other. body's tangled in sync with the beating hearts divided by skin and bones. he was so close to you, you could feel his breath blowing against the bridge of your nose. his pupils were blown, angry and restless.
"y/n," his voice harsh. his left knee rises up, in the space between your legs as he pins you to place. "what the fuck could've been so funny hm?"
you turn his words over and over in your head as it registers. he's jealous. you're boyfriend's jealous.
you try to widen the almost non existent gap between your bodies which jungwon instantly refuses. a stern head shake and grumble of denial leaves his pressed lips as he further pushes you into the door along with him.
"your suit." you point to his white fabric catching a hint of the bright red drink from you dress.
he dosen't bother looking, preferring your face instead. his mouth is still clenched and eyebrows nearly becoming one.
the smile you try to fight is long forgotten as your expression cracks. eyebrows raise up and your lips curl the slightest bit. "won, are you jealous?"
his hands travel alongside your sides as his hardened gaze melts. "I am. so stop talking to him. don't look at him."
"really baby?" you frown as your fingers find his collar, tugging it towards you. "why'd you avoid me then?" you pull at his ironed shirt. "in a place full of people I don't know. I think you deserved it a little."
jungwon's gaze darts around your face as he rests his forehead against yours. his fingers digging into your flesh as he breathes against you. "'cus you and your damn attitude. whatever, fuck that, sorry. i'm sorry baby. I'll make it upto you, whatever you want."
you've never seen jungwon so worked up. good for him, you like it. a smile makes it's way upto your face.
