you look too good to leave ๋࣭⭑ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 enhypen
you try to make it out the door, but your boyfriend makes it really, really hard to go.
he watches you from the couch, pretending not to be watching. but he’s quiet now. too quiet.
you’re standing by the mirror, twisting your hoops into place, wrist glinting with perfume. hair perfect. outfit devastating.
he’s trying so hard to be mature about it. he really is.
but when you bend slightly to buckle your heel—he snaps.
“that’s what you’re wearing?”
you glance back, amused. “yeah. why?”
he shrugs, lips tightening. “nothing. it’s cute.”
“who else is gonna be there?”
you turn slowly, brow raised. “you’re not even coming, hee.”
“i know,” he says, getting up. “but that doesn’t mean i want everyone else staring.”
you stare at him for a second too long. he knows that look you’re enjoying this.
“you never say anything when i dress like this,” you tease.
“yeah, because you usually take it off for me before anyone else gets to see it,” he mutters, walking over.
now you’re biting back a grin. his hand ghosts over your waist as he stands behind you, looking at your reflection in the mirror.
“you really tryna do this to me tonight?” his voice drops. “you know how you look right now?”
you shrug. “like i have plans.”
his eyes narrow. you… always picking a fight in silk. but it’s your patience that kills him—the part of you that knows exactly what you’re doing, and takes your sweet, dangerous time doing it.
“i don’t think you understand,” he says quietly, “how much it takes for me to not get possessive.”
you lean back into him a little. like it’s innocent. like you don’t know.
“then don’t,” you whisper.
he exhales slowly. then? his hands slide to your thighs. not rushed. not aggressive. just steady. the kind of touch that builds, and builds, and builds—until it has to be let out.
“you’ve got ten seconds to tell me you don’t want to stay,” he says.
you don’t say anything. your breath hitches when his lips touch the side of your neck.
your phone buzzes on the table. a ride outside. your name lighting up the screen.
but you don’t reach for it. not when his hands are under your dress now. not when his voice is this low. not when he murmurs, “you really think i’m letting you walk out looking like that, with all that softness that’s mine, all that heat you won’t give anyone but me—?”
he stops himself. pulls you in tighter.
“nah,” he says. “you’re not going anywhere.”
and just like that, your night out becomes a night in.
you’re at the mirror, fixing your earrings, when you catch his reflection on the couch behind you.
he’s not scrolling anymore. not pretending to be busy.
just sitting there, elbow on his knee, watching.
you roll your eyes, grabbing your bag. “i told you, i’m meeting the girls.”
“yeah,” he says, leaning back, “you did.”
but he doesn’t stop watching. his eyes follow you as you walk past, lingering in a way that makes your skin warm.
you’re halfway to the door when his voice comes again.
“you really think you’re walking out like that?”
you pause. “what’s wrong with what i’m wearing?”
“nothing,” he says, standing now. “that’s the problem.”
he closes the space between you without hurry.
his gaze drops to your neckline, then down the curve of your waist, then back up to your face.
“you’ve got the perfume on,” he says quietly. “the one that makes people turn around.”
“lip gloss too. new dress.”
he smirks, just a little. “and you’re going somewhere without me.”
you try to brush past him, but his hand comes up, palm on the doorframe, blocking you.
not hard—just enough to make you stop.
“i’m not telling you not to go,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “but you’re not leaving like this.”
you tilt your head. “so what do you want?”
his free hand slides to your waist, thumb brushing the side of your ribs.
“give me something to think about while you’re gone.”
you laugh under your breath. “you’re ridiculous.”
“probably,” he says, leaning in, “but you still want to.”
you let him kiss you—slow, sure, the kind that makes you forget you’re supposed to be somewhere.
he tastes faintly like coffee, his grip on your waist tightening just enough to pull you closer.
when he pulls back, his thumb wipes a smudge of gloss from your lip.
you reach for the handle.
he steps back, but his eyes stay on you.
“don’t make me come get you,” he says, half a warning, half a promise.
you’re barely at the door when he speaks.
he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, hair messy, still warm from the nap he just woke up from.
he’s not glaring. not pouting. just staring at you like he’s trying to memorize the way your skin catches the light.
“where are you going again?”
you blink. “i told you. brunch.”
he nods. “right. with the girls.”
you laugh. “yes. with the girls.”
but his eyes drop to your legs. the soft fabric of your sundress. the sheen on your collarbone. the gloss on your lips that smells like peaches.
your phone is in one hand. your little purse in the other. you’re not even wearing heels. you’re not trying to be extra. but still— he sighs.
“you look too good,” he mutters.
“no,” he says. “like… too good to be seen by other people.”
you raise a brow. “so i should change?”
he leans back on his hands, tilting his head like he’s thinking.
“nah,” he says finally. “you just shouldn’t go.”
he shrugs. “what? what am i supposed to do? sit here while you walk out smelling like that?”
you roll your eyes. “it’s just brunch.”
“and you chose that dress for it?” he asks, voice getting quieter now. “you chose to smell like that… for them?”
you blink. “they’re my friends.”
he exhales hard through his nose. doesn’t say anything at first. then—
“can i just say something before you go?”
he gets up. walks over. he doesn’t touch you. not yet.
just looks you up and down, lips parted, eyes soft but dark underneath.
“you know how i feel about you, right?”
“so you know how it feels,” he whispers, “to watch the only person that makes me feel safe, wanted, seen—walk out looking like that… and not know who’s gonna get to see her smile today.”
his hands find your waist. gentle.
“i’m not asking you to stay.”
“i’m asking you not to leave like this.”
you don’t answer right away. because it’s jake. and he always does this—asks without asking. hurts without trying.
you tilt your head. “how do you want me to leave then?”
he doesn’t blink. doesn’t hesitate.
“with my hands on your thighs. lip gloss on my neck. something to remind me you’re coming back.”
you set your purse down. you step in closer. and this time—you kiss him. soft. slow. like a promise. like you’re saying, you’re still the only one.
he holds you there for a second too long. because letting you go never gets easier. even when he knows you’ll come back.
you walk into the room, grabbing your lip gloss from the side table.
he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone. he doesn’t look up at first. just says:
“out,” you answer, casual. “sydney’s picking me up.”
he hums. then finally looks up. and that’s when it hits him.
his phone drops to the mattress.
he stands. walks toward you. slow. quiet. his eyes never leave yours.
“you’re wearing that out?”
you raise an eyebrow. “it’s just a dress.”
he laughs once. but it’s not funny. it’s the laugh of a man trying not to lose his shit.
“you’re dressed like that, and you expect me to sit here?”
you try to lighten the mood. “i’ll be home by midnight.”
he doesn’t smile. doesn’t budge.
“you want people looking at you?” he asks, voice low.
you frown. “it’s not like that.”
he tilts his head. “but you know they will.”
you open your mouth. close it again.
he steps closer. his hand slides to your hip. grip tightening.
“you know exactly what you’re doing,” he mutters. “you want to be seen.”
you breathe out slow. “sunghoon…”
“nah,” he cuts you off. leans in. his mouth brushes your jaw.
“you don’t get to walk out looking like this without paying for it.”
you’re brushing setting powder off your cheeks when he spots you.
he’s laying on his stomach, scrolling through his ipad, but the second you walk out of the bathroom? he sits up.
“okay—where are you going and why do you look like you’re about to go on a date?”
you laugh. “i told you—brunch.”
he narrows his eyes. “brunch doesn’t require looking like that.”
you shrug. “i just felt like dressing up.”
he flops dramatically back onto the bed. arms stretched wide. like he’s been wounded.
“you felt like dressing up… and you didn’t invite me?”
you roll your eyes. “you’re the one who said you were too tired to come.”
he props himself on one elbow, watching you adjust your necklace.
“okay. but i didn’t know you were gonna step out looking like this.”
“it’s not that serious,” you mumble, biting back a smile.
“…is it a rooftop brunch?”
“you’re gonna be in direct sunlight looking like that?! are you trying to start rumors? you want people to fall in love with you on the street?!”
you laugh again, walking past the bed to grab your shoes. “you’re being dramatic.”
“am i?” he says, rolling to follow you. “because from where i’m sitting, it feels like you’re cheating on me.”
you bend to put on your sandal. he stares. stares like you’re not real.
“that’s insane,” you mutter, grabbing your purse.
he just sighs. leans in the doorway as you walk past.
“you could’ve at least kissed me like you meant it before walking out looking that edible.”
you pause. turn around slowly.
“i want at least three,” he pouts. “and one of them better ruin my whole mood so you feel guilty the entire time you’re gone.”
you roll your eyes. but you walk over anyway.
then one more, deep and slow, lip gloss on his mouth, hand in his hair.
you pull back. he blinks up at you, dazed.
he grabs your wrist before you can move.
“then at least come back with dessert.”
his face breaks into a grin.
you’re slipping on your earrings when he walks in.
you nod. “yep. they’re already downstairs.”
he hums. but he doesn’t move.
he just leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you tuck your phone into your bag.
you’re wearing a sundress. nothing crazy. but the back dips a little. your shoulders are bare. and your skin looks is exactly how jungwon likes it — soft and sweet.
“it’s just lunch,” you say, glancing at him.
but his jaw’s tight. his eyes are fixed on your lips now—glossy, slightly parted.
you raise a brow. “you good?”
he uncrosses his arms. walks toward you. slow. deliberate.
“do you… ever think about how i feel?”
“about you walking out like this. dressed like this. looking like that.”
he exhales, eyes flicking down your body once—then right back to your eyes.
“i’m not mad,” he says softly. “i just…”
he trails off. his hand grazes your waist.
“it’s hard. knowing other people get to see you like this. want you like this. when i’m the only one who knows how you taste.”
“it’s okay,” he whispers. “you can go.”
but just before you turn to leave— his hand slips under your dress.
soft. possessive. right at the base of your spine.
“just… leave something with me first,” he murmurs, pulling you closer. “a reminder.”
he pulls you back for a second. a third. until your lip gloss is smeared and his hands are fully under your dress now.
he finally lets you go. but just before the door closes behind you, he calls out—
you know he’s saying it as in, protect yourself. but also he’s telling you to remember who’s at home waiting for you as well.
you finish tying the strap on your shoe. nothing crazy—just a cute little dress. light makeup. earrings.
you stand. check the mirror.
behind you, he’s laying on the bed, one arm tucked under his head.
he’s been watching you get ready this whole time. quiet. unreadable. phone in hand but barely looking at it.
“i’ll be back before eight,” you say, heading to the door.
his voice stops you cold.
“you’re wearing that for them?”
he sits up now. still calm. still quiet. but his eyes are sharper. darker.
“you’re glowing,” he says, almost like he’s stating a fact. “you know that?”
you shrug. “i just wanted to look good.”
“you do,” he says, standing. “you look….”
you laugh nervously. “okay—”
but he’s already walking toward you. and suddenly, the air shifts.
“you’re wearing that for people who don’t even know what it feels like,” he mutters, stopping right in front of you.
his fingers graze your waist.
“they don’t know how you taste. they’ve never heard the sounds you make.”
his voice is low now. dangerously soft.
“but they still get to see this version of you?”
“you said you didn’t wanna come,” you whisper.
“i didn’t,” he says. “but i also didn’t know you were gonna walk out looking like every single thing i’ve ever wanted.”
he kisses you before you can speak. slow. deep. he doesn’t rush. he lingers. like he’s trying to ruin your lip gloss just enough to leave a mark on whoever dares look at you.
his hand slides under your dress. just a little. just enough.
he pulls back. looks you dead in the eye.
“but don’t forget who you looked like that for first.”
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