Lola

| she/her | | 06 entj baby | | live love laugh lol |

[swiftjay23]

10 𝓣𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝓘 𝓗𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝓐𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝓨𝒐𝒖

For four long, excruciating years, you and Lee Heeseung have been at war, every class, every grade, every scholarship. NYU’s golden boy with a silver tongue and an ego to match has been your shadow and your competition since freshman year. You hate his perfect grades, his smug grin, his cologne that lingers in lecture halls long after he’s gone. You hate that your professors love him. You hate that your boyfriend can’t stand him. Most of all, you hate that you can’t stop thinking about him. A stupid list taped above your desk, 10 Things I Hate About You, becomes the only thing keeping your sanity intact. But somewhere between study dates, heartbreak, and the blur of your final semester, the list starts to change. Hate turns to ache. Ache turns to something you don’t have a name for yet. And by the time you finally rewrite it, it’s too late to pretend you never loved him.

𝓖enre: rivals to lovers, academic AU, fluff, smut, coming of age, contemporary romance, and hella angsty

𝓟airing: enemy!academic rival!Heeseung x academic rival!reader.

𝓦arnings: Academic rivalry, intellectual tension, emotional cheating, blurred boundaries, breakup aftermath, guilt, angst, mixed signals, jealousy, insecurity, alcohol usage, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, arguments, verbal fights, personal insults, emotional vulnerability, crying, self-realization, breakup (reader × Jaehyun), academic pressure, burnout, unhealthy habits (skipping breakfast), self-worth struggles, perfectionism, catharsis, bittersweet tone, reader confusion, ghosting, blocking, yearning, tension that hurts and heals.

𝓦arnings (SMUT!): MDNI. 18+. Explicit Sexual Content. Car sex. Slight nipple play. P in V. Unprotected sex (DONT!) Marking. Degradation. Praise. Use of petnames. Consented Sex even if drunk.. Handjob. Fingering. Usage of the reader's ex to taunt. Heeseung is big. Mentions of sex with Jaehyun. Orgasm. Creampie.

𝓒ameos: Jaehyun from BoyNextDoor (your ex-boyfriend), Megan from Katseye (Your best friend), Jake from Enhypen (Heeseung's best friend), Taesan from BoyNextDoor (Jaehyun's best friend)

𝓘nspired 𝓑y: 10 Things I Hate About You

𝓦ord 𝓒ount: 21K

Sam: Catch me S.O.B.B.I.N.G.

[Better Than The Movies] [Masterlist]

LEE HEESEUNG. 

There was nothing you hated more in this world than Lee Heeseung.

Gosh, even the mere existence of this man made you shrivel in disgust, like the sour taste of a lemon that overstayed its welcome, or the annoying screech of nails scraping down a board.

Even the sound of his name made your stomach twist. Lee Heeseung. It had that polished, arrogant ring to it, like it came pre-packaged with good genes, private tutors, and a trust fund.

He was everywhere. Every class you took, every debate you signed up for, every scholarship you applied to, there he was. Always one seat ahead, one second faster, one mark higher.

Four years. Four years of war.  NYU’s golden boy. The department’s favorite. And your personal nightmare. It didn’t matter how clever you were, or how incredibly, relentlessly responsible, because the conversation would somehow always circle back to Heeseung somewhere or other. It was always 

“Oh Y/N, this is great, but now take a look at Heeseung’s here—” 

Heeseung this and Heeseung that.  You were quite literally fed up with it. So, so tired of it.

“Miss Y/L/N, I assume you’ve completed the reading?” Professor Adler’s voice cut through your thoughts. You blinked, realizing too late that every head in the room had turned toward you.

“Yes,” you managed, flipping through your annotated copy of The Social Construction of Genius. “In fact, I was just thinking about how selective recognition often undermines actual intellectual merit.”

The professor raised an approving brow. “An excellent observation.”

Behind you, Heeseung’s smooth voice followed: “Are we implying, then, that recognition itself invalidates genius? Because if that’s the case, half of the Western canon ceases to exist.”

Your jaw tightened. He didn’t even look up from his notes; he just said it, confident and deliberate, like he knew you’d take the bait.

You did.

“I’m implying that social bias tends to elevate the loudest voice, not the smartest one,” you snapped. And there it was, the faint smirk you hated more than anything, that slow, condescending curl of his lips.

“Ah,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair, “then it’s fortunate I’m both.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the lecture hall. You didn’t laugh. You were too busy imagining how satisfying it would feel to throw your pen at his perfectly symmetrical face.

Oh how you would love to twist his perfect hair out of his scalp until—

“Miss Y/L/N, your counterpoint?”

You blinked, snapping back to the present. Professor Adler stood at the head of the seminar room, looking mildly entertained, which was far too much for your liking. The rest of your classmates had already turned toward you with that familiar, anticipatory grin.

Because everyone knew what was coming.

You and Heeseung were the unspoken spectacle of the Political Theory department, equal parts admired and pitied. Every lecture was a battlefield. Every debate, a duel.

“Yes, Professor,” you said, forcing a calm tone as you adjusted your notes. “While Mr. Lee makes an excellent argument about social contracts as tools of cooperation, he conveniently ignores their function as instruments of control. Hobbes wasn’t writing about harmony; he was writing about fear.”

A low hum of approval rippled through the room. You caught Heeseung’s subtle exhale, short, amused.

He looked infuriatingly relaxed in his seat, legs crossed, a fountain pen twirling between his fingers. The navy sweater he wore fit too well; his hair fell in just the right kind of mess that looked unplanned, but you knew wasn’t.

He smiled. “Fear, yes, but fear is what maintains order. You can’t expect morality without consequence. We aren’t altruistic by nature, are we?”

You gave him a tight smile. “Speak for yourself.”

The class laughed. Adler sighed.

“Children,” she said, though there was no real reprimand in her tone, “one of you will have to concede eventually.”

You glanced at Heeseung. “He can start.”

He grinned, pen tapping against his notebook. “After you.”

The debate dragged on for another fifteen minutes before the professor finally dismissed the class, muttering something about “academic tension and actual tension” under her breath.

You gathered your notes quickly, determined to escape before—

“Y/N.”

That voice again. Smooth, self-satisfied, silk dipped in amusement.

You didn’t turn right away. “What do you want, Heeseung?”

He leaned against the desk beside yours, close enough that the sharp scent of his cologne, expensive, woody, maddeningly clean, reeking of someone who’d never taken the subway during rush hour, slipped through the air between you. He never seemed to sweat, never seemed ruffled. Always perfect.

“Just checking if your boyfriend’s coming to the study group later,” he said, tone casual but eyes glinting. “I wouldn’t want to intimidate him again.”

Your jaw flexed. “He’s busy.”

He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “Shame. He’s fun to watch. Gets that twitch in his jaw every time you and I start arguing.” The corner of his mouth curved. “Almost like he’s… threatened.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh, come on,” Heeseung murmured, taking a small step closer. “Business major, right? You think he’s not comparing himself to your GPA?”

You glared at him. “Don’t talk about him.”

“Relax, I’m just saying—”

“Don’t.”

For a heartbeat, the room went still. He held your gaze, the practiced smirk fading into something quieter, almost curious. Then he straightened, sliding his pen behind his ear with that infuriating grace of his.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, rival.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving the echo of his cologne, his voice, and the uncomfortable thud of your pulse behind.

That night, your apartment felt too small. The hum of the refrigerator, the muted rush of city traffic, even the neon glow leaking through the blinds pressed against you like static. You should’ve been reading, outlining, doing anything productive, but every time you tried, his voice slithered back into your head. You dropped your pen, rubbed your temples.

Why does he always have to—

Your phone buzzed.

Jae: heeseung giving you hell again? You: always. Jae: don’t let him get to you. he’s just jealous.

You stared at the message for a long moment. A faint smile tugged at your lips, affection, habit, guilt. The idea of Heeseung being jealous of anything you had felt absurd, but the thought lingered anyway.

You typed back, He’s not worth the headache, then set the phone face-down. Silence again. The apartment lights were low, your laptop screen a pale reflection in the window. Outside, the city glowed, sirens, laughter, the hiss of rain on asphalt. It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

Because your heartbeat still hadn’t slowed since class. Because you could still see the shape of his grin when he’d said “rival.”

You reached for a sheet of paper, any excuse to focus on something else. A blank page stared back at you, judgmental.

At the top, in sharp, impatient letters, you wrote:

10 Things I Hate About You

You paused, then started listing.

You’re fucking selfish.

You make my boyfriend look like a roach.

You’re an annoying, cocky, rich bastard who doesn’t know what it’s like to work a day in your life.

You’re so bitchy, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.

You’re… handsome… I guess.

You’re fucking smart.

You’re unreasonably irrational.

Ink pressed deep into the paper, almost tearing it.

And right above it, a printed, zoomed-in photo of Lee Heeseung you snatched from the university website, his stupid NYU ID grin and all. You take a thick black marker and scratch a line straight through his eyes, once, twice, again, until the paper wrinkles under your fury. Then, for good measure, you add doodles, devil horns, a pitchfork, a speech bubble that reads “I’m a pretentious jerk.”

When you step back, arms crossed, breathing hard, the sight calms you. A little.  Until you remember you’ll have to see him again tomorrow. And then the marker squeaks again, right over his smile this time.

You leaned back, chewing at your lip. The first three spots were still empty, waiting for something vicious, something that would make the list feel complete. But your mind stayed blank. Or worse, it kept circling back to the way his voice had softened when he said your name.

You exhaled, frustrated, and pinned the list to the wall above your desk with a pushpin. A list for your own sanity. A declaration of hatred, discipline, survival. You told yourself it was proof, proof that you despised him, that you were in control of the narrative.

But as you stared at the crooked paper fluttering gently in the breeze from the half-open window, another truth whispered through the noise of the city. If you didn’t write it down, if you didn’t force yourself to remember all the reasons you loathed him…

You were afraid you might start thinking about him again.

The NYU campus always looked prettier when you were in a bad mood. Maybe because you refused to admit that anything about this place could actually be pleasant.

The morning air bit at your cheeks as you crossed Washington Square, cup of coffee in one hand, laptop bag in the other. The quad was alive with that academic chaos you secretly loved, students shouting about forgotten projects, professors clutching their papers like shields, the occasional skateboarder weaving through the crowd like a death wish in motion. You thrived in this misery. It was your natural habitat.

You had a seminar in thirty minutes and a caffeine dependency to feed, so you ducked into the tiny café off Mercer Street. It smelled like burnt espresso and ambition, just the way you liked it.

Nothing like a cup of overpriced coffee and the crippling weight of student debt to start the morning.

The line moved slow. You scrolled through your emails, tuning out the chatter behind you, until you heard a voice that made every nerve in your body stiffen.

“Large Americano. Two shots of espresso. And, uh, put it on my tab. Lee Heeseung.”

You froze. Of course. Of course, he’d be here. You could almost feel the universe laughing at your suffering.

When you turned, there he was. NYU’s golden boy himself, standing at the counter with that effortlessly perfect posture, a navy sweater rolled up just enough to show his veins, hair tousled in the kind of way that screamed I don’t try, I just wake up like this.

Heeseung glanced over his shoulder and met your stare, like he’d felt your glare burning into his back. His lips tilted into that infuriating smirk, the one you’d come to recognize as his favorite pastime.

“Y/N,” he said, voice smooth as espresso. “Didn’t think you were a morning person.”

“Didn’t think you were a person at all,” you muttered.

He laughed. God, even that sounded smug. “Still as charming as ever.”

“And you’re still everywhere I don’t want to be.”

“You wound me.”

The barista slid both your coffees across the counter at once. You grabbed yours like a weapon. Heeseung lingered just a second longer, enough to make it annoying, enough to make your stomach twist with irritation (and something you refused to name). You could feel his smirk following you out the door.

By the time you reached your seminar room, you’d already decided to forget about him. You had bigger things to worry about, like your final thesis proposal, which was due next week. You’d spent months researching potential mentors, finally settling on Professor Kim, the woman who basically ran the entire department.

When she walked in, everyone straightened up. She had the kind of presence that could silence a hurricane.

“I’ve reviewed all of your thesis requests,” she announced, setting a neat stack of papers on the podium. “And I’ve made my decisions.”

You sat up a little straighter.

“For the joint thesis mentorship, our top applicants—” She paused, scanning the class. “I’ll be pairing Y/N and Lee Heeseung.”

It took a full three seconds for your brain to process the words. Then you blinked.

“Wait, what?”

Heeseung turned his head, slow and deliberate, eyes locking with yours. His expression? Pure, delighted evil. Lucifer would be jealous. Gosh, how much you wanted to punch that expression off his handsome—no, wait, not handsome—face.

“Two best minds in my department,” Professor Kim continued, clearly proud of herself. “You’ll challenge each other. Competition breeds brilliance.”

“Or murder,” you muttered under your breath.

“I’m sorry?” the professor asked, glancing up.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, arms crossing, a lazy grin on his lips.

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, huh?”

You gripped your pen so tightly you were surprised it didn’t snap.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ll be too busy actually working.”

“Good,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to carry you.”

You hated that your pulse skipped when he said “we.”

Misery loves company.

You hated him. You hated his smirk, his laugh, his unearned confidence. But most of all, you hated that your heart was beating faster than it should’ve been.

You told yourself it was just a presentation. One joint project, one shared grade, one final chance to prove that Lee Heeseung wasn’t as perfect as everyone thought he was.

You were wrong.

The first study session was at Bobst Library, third floor, right under that giant window that made everyone look academically miserable in the morning light. The kind of light that exposed every pore and regret. You arrived early, because of course you did, claiming the table near the outlet and spreading your notes like battle plans.

Your coffee had gone lukewarm by the time he appeared.

Heeseung strolled in like the world owed him a GPA. Coffee in one hand, laptop in the other, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He looked like the kind of person who didn’t study so much as absorb knowledge through sheer arrogance. That damn easy grin was already in place.

“You started without me?” he asked, sliding into the chair opposite you.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t show up,” you said, not looking up.

“That’s rude.”

“That’s honesty.”

He laughed softly. It wasn’t even a bad laugh, worse, it was the kind of laugh that made the corners of your mouth twitch before you caught yourself. You hated that.

“So,” he said, opening his laptop, “our topic—‘The Intersection of Economic Inequality and Modern Ethics.’ Sounds fun.”

“Fun?” You raised a brow. “You think the collapse of late-stage capitalism is fun?”

“Everything’s fun when you win.”

You stared at him for a long, dangerous second.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here we are, studying together.”

You briefly considered shoving your stapler into his coffee.

Heeseung worked in irritating bursts, typing fast, leaning back, sipping coffee like it was an accessory to his brilliance. You, on the other hand, poured over citations, checking every comma like it was sacred. Every so often he’d lean over, his cologne brushing the air, and murmur something like:

“You know, for someone who hates me, you sure like sitting close.”

“I’m sitting close to the outlet.”

“Sure you are.”

You considered throwing your pen at him. Instead, you highlighted your notes with unnecessary aggression. Pretty sure you tore a page at some point of time.

By 8 p.m., the library had mellowed into that quiet hum of collective suffering. Someone’s classical playlist leaked faintly from across the aisle. The smell of stale espresso and ambition hung in the air.

“You type too loud,” you said suddenly.

Heeseung didn’t look up. “You breathe too judgmentally.”

“You click your pen like you’re trying to summon demons.”

“You highlight like you’re trying to exorcise them.”

You scowled. Heeseung smirked. Somewhere in your chest, something traitorous fluttered. You blamed it on low blood sugar and the stress he was giving you.

Around nine, you both decided to take a break. You went to refill your water bottle; he followed, of course. 

“Following me now?”

“Supervising. I don’t trust you not to poison my coffee.”

“I don’t need to. The campus café did that for me.”

He snorted, leaning against the vending machine. “You know, I actually thought you’d be worse.”

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged, the motion lazy, infuriatingly confident. “You give off overachiever with a superiority complex vibes, but you’re… tolerable.”

“Wow. High praise from the man who thinks capitalism is a competitive sport.”

He smirked. “You noticed.”

You hated the way your pulse jumped when he said it.

Back at the table, the silence was louder. The kind where every key press felt intimate. You caught yourself glancing at his hands, long fingers tapping the trackpad, knuckles flexing. You quickly looked back at your notes like they’d personally offended you.

He leaned back suddenly. “Your thesis paragraph’s weak.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s circular. You’re using the conclusion to prove the premise.”

“It’s nuanced.”

“It’s a rhetorical ouroboros.”

“You’re a rhetorical nightmare.”

Heeseung laughed quietly, eyes glinting. “You like it when I challenge you.”

“Wrong.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You wanted to strangle him with your laptop charger. But he’d laugh, and probably say something along the lines of, “That’s kinky.” You vanquished that image from your mind as quickly as it had propped up, because you did not need that kind of energy. By midnight, the library had thinned out, leaving only the desperate and the delusional. The city glowed faintly through the glass. You’d both slouched into an unholy blend of exhaustion and focus.

When you caught him staring, you didn’t mention it. When his knee brushed yours under the table, you pretended it didn’t happen.

“You’re frowning again,” he said.

“I’m thinking.”

“You always frown when you think.”

“You always talk when no one asks.”

“See? That’s why we work well together.”

You gave him a flat look. “We don’t.”

“Sure we do. You bring the neurosis, I bring the charm.”

“You bring the delusion.”

“That too.”

He smiled, slow, knowing, dangerous.

At 1 a.m., you finally saved your draft and shut your laptop with a sigh. “Truce,” he said, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just slightly.

You looked away too fast. “This isn’t a war.”

“Sure feels like one.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’d rather die than admit you like the competition.”

He wasn’t wrong, and that was the worst part.

You both headed out together, the fluorescent hallway buzzing faintly. Heeseung walked beside you, too close, your shoulders brushing every few steps.

“Next session, my place,” he said casually.

You scoffed. “So you can distract me with your ego? No thanks.”

“Please. My ego’s the least distracting thing about me.”

You gave him a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood. “I’m sure you think that’s true.”

He smiled, leaning just a little closer. “I don’t think. I know.”

You reached the elevator, hit the button a little too hard. “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

“Night, partner.”

The doors closed on his grin.

Back home, your room looked like the inside of your brain, notes, coffee mugs, half-dead highlighters. On your wall was your “10 Things I Hate About You” list. Above it, taped crookedly, was a candid photo from class, Heeseung mid-smirk, mid-sentence, mid-irritation.

You grabbed a marker and, in furious black ink, wrote:

11. You make me forget I’m supposed to hate you.

Then you stared at it for too long before scratching it out, the ink smearing. You dropped the marker, muttering, “Not worth it.” Because you didn’t need that energy in your life. 

But when your phone buzzed, the screen lit up with a new text:

Heeseung: next time, bring better arguments. and maybe better coffee.

Asshole, you muttered, smile betraying you.

You sighed, half-laughing, half-ready to throw your phone across the room. Then, against your better judgment, you saved his contact under HEESEUNG (DNI!) and went to bed smiling, furious about it the whole time.

You had never believed in curses until that day, the day of the presentation from Hell.

Because apparently, the gods of Academia had decided that watching you and Lee Heeseung crash and burn in front of an entire seminar room was peak entertainment.

Now, three days later, your list titled “10 Things I Hate About Lee Heeseung” had evolved into something far less poetic and far more deranged, forty-three bullet points of rage, complete with footnotes, timestamps, and the occasional profanity-laced rant in all caps.

You’d even taped a printout of his face on the cover of your notebook (mainly because you ran out of space to right more on the original one still taped above the list) a very unflattering picture from the campus newspaper, and scratched over it with black ink until it looked like some avant-garde art project about suffering.

Nothing like a cup of overpriced coffee and casual defamation, you muttered under your breath, nursing your latte as you sat in your usual corner of Bobst Library.

The paper cup was already sweating against your palm, caffeine burning through your veins as if it could erase the memory of his smug face saying, ‘You sure you want to go with that argument? It’s weak even for you.’

You’d wanted to throw your entire laptop at him. Instead, you’d smiled sweetly and said, “I’d rather be weak than wrong, but clearly, you wouldn’t know the difference.”

The class had gasped. The professor had sighed. And Heeseung had grinned. Now, every time you blinked, you saw that grin, the kind of grin that said I got under your skin, and you can’t stand it.

You took another sip of your drink, scrolling through your notes. The thesis outline was a disaster: chaotic annotations, mismatched citations, and a Google Sheet that looked like it had been color-coded by Satan himself.

Somewhere between the footnotes and the coffee stains, you realized the most humiliating part of all: he’d been right about a few of his critiques.

Just a few, though. Enough to make you furious about agreeing with him. 

So you added another item to the list:

#44 — He’s annoyingly correct sometimes, and I hate that about him.

It wasn’t just that presentation. It was every presentation after that.

Because somehow, despite your mutual loathing, the professor thought your “chemistry” made your debates productive. She called it “healthy academic friction.” You called it hell in a PowerPoint.

Week after week, you found yourselves side by side again, debating utilitarian ethics, arguing over Kant versus Marx, and turning every discussion into an intellectual knife fight.

Heeseung would lean back in his chair, that lazy smirk tugging at his mouth, and say things like: “Your definition of moral relativism is convenient. You should trademark it.”

And you’d shoot back, “Maybe I will, since you love profiting off other people’s ideas.”

The class loved it. Your professor called it “dynamic engagement.” You called it slow emotional decay. Because the worst part wasn’t that he got under your skin, it was that sometimes, he made sense. And that, God help you, was almost attractive.

By the time Jaehyun, your sweet boyfriend, showed up at your table that afternoon, you’d already spiraled into the familiar academic delusion, where your laptop screen looked blurry from exhaustion and your thoughts felt like static.

“Hey, baby.”

You looked up to find him holding a smoothie in one hand and his backpack in the other, hair tousled like he’d just come from a jog. Business major, marketing minor, too kind for his own good.

He smiled at you, that soft, easy smile that always made your heart unclench.

“You’ve been here since morning, haven’t you?” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “Did you even eat?”

You hummed, reaching for his smoothie straw. “Coffee counts.”

He gave you that look, the one that said he’d argue if he wasn’t too used to losing. “You’re gonna burn out, Y/N.”

You offered a dry smile. “I’ll burn out faster if I fail.”

He chuckled, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You won’t fail. You never do.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the words “never do” suddenly reminded you of Heeseung, because that’s what people said about him.

And that reminder sat like a stone in your stomach.

“Was it that bad?” Jaehyun asked later, after you’d packed up your notes.

You hesitated. “You mean the presentation?”

“Yeah. I heard from someone in the class next door. They said it got… heated?”

You snorted, looking away. “That’s one word for it.”

Jaehyun smiled lightly, trying to coax the tension out of your shoulders. “You didn’t punch him, right?”

“Tempting, but no. I used my words like a civilized scholar.”

“That’s my girl,” he teased. “Always articulate, even in warfare.”

You grinned, because he was trying, and that softness of his had always been your weakness. But your mind, cruelly, flickered to the memory again, Heeseung standing beside you at the front of the room, his voice low and steady, the two of you volleying arguments back and forth like it was a blood sport.

He’d cornered you rhetorically, just enough to make your pulse quicken. You’d countered with a point sharp enough to draw metaphorical blood.

And when the professor finally stopped you both, he’d leaned down and whispered, “You make losing almost worth it.”

Almost.

You’d stared straight ahead, every nerve in your body awake.

Now, sitting across from Jaehyun, you forced a laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Heated’s the word.”

He followed you home that evening, carrying your bag like he always did, talking about his internship, the new campaign he was planning, how excited he was for summer. His voice was calm, steady, dependable. Everything Heeseung’s wasn’t.

At your apartment, he set your bag down, opened the takeout boxes, and said, “I figured you’d forget dinner. Again.”

You smiled faintly, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “You know me too well.”

“Of course I do.” He sat beside you, passing you chopsticks. “So, how’s the thesis coming?”

You hesitated. “Exhausting. Heeseung’s… Heeseung.”

Jaehyun grinned. “The guy who argued with the professor about ethical relativism for twenty minutes?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sounds like you met your match.”

“God, don’t say that.” But you were smiling again, small and traitorous.

He nudged you. “Hey, maybe he pushes you because he sees potential.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “People only argue that hard when they care. You both clearly… care.”

You nearly choked on your noodles. “We don’t, no, he’s, ugh. He’s impossible.”

Jaehyun laughed, oblivious. “You always say that when you like someone a little bit.”

You went very still.

He reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

You forced a laugh, even though something cold unfurled in your stomach.

He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. Because nothing had happened. But still, there was something about the way Heeseung looked at you across the seminar table, the way his voice dipped when he said your name, that made you feel like something had.

And that guiltm the quiet, heavy kind, was starting to eat at you.

After dinner, you both sat watching some mindless reality show. Jaehyun’s arm was draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. You leaned into him because you wanted to feel steady again.

“This is nice,” he murmured. “You, me, no spreadsheets, no caffeine addiction.”

You smiled into his shoulder. “You make it sound like I’m a corporate intern, not a philosophy major.”

“Same thing.”

You laughed. He pressed a kiss to your temple, soft, familiar.

And yet, in that soft moment, your brain betrayed you again: Heeseung’s voice, low and mocking, saying, ‘You argue like you’re afraid of being wrong.’

You blinked it away, forcing yourself back into the present, into Jaehyun’s warmth.

“Sorry,” you murmured, pulling back slightly. “Just… brain’s still in study mode.”

He nodded, smiling even as a hint of worry crossed his face. “It’s okay. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

You wanted to reach out, to tell him that it wasn’t him. That it was the damn project, and the rivalry that had turned into something you couldn’t quite name. That you didn’t mean to carry the ghost of another man into your living room.

But instead, you just squeezed his hand.  Because Jaehyun was safe. And Heeseung was chaos.But your heart enjoyed the adrenaline of the thrill he gave you.

That night, when you got home, you opened your notebook again.

Page after page of messy handwriting, coffee smudges, and angry doodles, Heeseung’s name scribbled over, circled, underlined.

You traced the list with your finger. #12 had been “He breathes too loud.” #17: “Thinks sarcasm is a substitute for personality.” #38: “Smiles like he knows something I don’t.”

You added one more line, slow and deliberate: #45 — He ruins everything good. Even the people who don’t deserve it.

Then you stared at it for a long time, jaw tight, before closing the notebook and turning off the light. But as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone buzzed once.

HEESEUNG(DNI):

Next week’s topic, moral responsibility under power imbalance. Try not to make me look too bad, yeah?

You didn’t need to ask who it was. You stared at the message until the screen dimmed, your pulse thrumming in your throat. Then, against your better judgment, you added a new note at the bottom of the list:

#46 — I hate that I want to reply.

The final presentation day came like a storm.

You’d dressed in your sharpest blazer, printed the slides three times, practiced until your throat ached. You weren’t nervous, not really, but the moment Heeseung walked in, something in your chest went tight. He looked infuriatingly calm, like the room belonged to him, like you belonged to the argument that was about to unfold.

He dropped into the seat beside you, tie perfectly straight, voice low enough for only you to hear. “Ready?”

“Born ready.”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth curving in that way that made your pulse flicker. “Let’s hope your argument was, too.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. You wanted to hate the way he smelled faintly like cedar and coffee. Instead, you stared ahead and told yourself that the heat in your neck was irritation,  not anything else.

At first, it went fine. The two of you were balanced, almost graceful: he spoke, you followed; you countered, he adapted. The class was caught between awe and anticipation. It should’ve been perfect, it always almost was.

Until it wasn’t.

He cut in halfway through slide nine, voice steady, confident. “Oh, come on, Y/N,” he said, a hint of laughter beneath the words. “You can’t seriously think your theory holds without variance bias. That’s, what? freshman-level oversight?”

Your heart stuttered. Not because of the jab, but because he was smiling when he said it. Like this was foreplay. Like you were the only one who mattered in the room.

You forced a breath, the edges of your voice sharper than you meant. “Maybe if you actually read the data instead of coasting on charm, you’d see the difference.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, surprise, maybe. Hurt, maybe. He hid it with a lazy lean on the podium. “Some of us don’t need to read everything twice to understand it.”

The room fell quiet. You could hear your heartbeat in the silence.

You finished your part, each sentence mechanical, distant. But your hands trembled on the remote, and your throat burned with words you couldn’t say, You make me crazy. I hate that I care what you think. I hate that I see you.

When the polite applause came, you didn’t wait. You gathered your notes, spine stiff, and walked out before anyone could stop you.

You heard him behind you, his voice, softer this time, calling your name. You didn’t look back. Not until the sound of quick footsteps closed in, and a hand caught your wrist.

“You don’t always have to prove you’re smarter than me,” he said. It wasn’t mocking. Not this time. His voice was low, raw, like he’d been swallowing those words for weeks.

You turned slowly, your breath uneven. “Maybe if you weren’t handed everything, I wouldn’t have to.”

The line hit him harder than you expected. For once, Heeseung looked unsure, eyes flickering over your face like he was trying to read something that didn’t belong in the syllabus.

“I didn’t mean to humiliate you,” he said finally. His voice cracked just slightly, enough to sound human. “I just, I get caught up when it’s you.”

That last word hung there. You. It wasn’t the word itself, but how he said it, careful, quiet, like it meant too much.

You swallowed hard, trying to hold the glare, but your pulse betrayed you. “Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t say things you don’t mean just because you feel bad.”

He shook his head. “You really think I don’t mean it?” He took a small step closer. You could see the tension in his jaw, the apology in his eyes that words could never cleanly hold. The hallway light hit his face just right, and suddenly he didn’t look like your rival anymore. Just a boy who’d spent four years hiding behind precision and ego, too proud to admit what was obvious to everyone else.

For a moment, you forgot to be angry. For a moment, you almost let him touch your face.

Then the thought of slide nine, of the laughter in his voice, the sting of the class watching, came crashing back. The ache hardened.

You pulled your hand free. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“Y/N—”

“No,” you said quietly, backing away. “You don’t get to look at me like that after what you said.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that pressed between ribs. He opened his mouth, closed it again. And when you turned, the air between you trembled, a wound half-open, half-healed.

You walked away before he could see the first tear fall. But he didn’t move either, not until the echo of your footsteps faded completely, leaving him alone in the fluorescent quiet with the taste of everything he never said.

There were worse ways to ruin a week than crying in a university hallway because of Lee Heeseung. You told yourself that on repeat for the next two days, while pretending not to hear his name in class, while skipping the seat you always took beside him in the library, while ignoring the small white envelope someone had slipped onto your desk during seminar.

His handwriting was unmistakable, neat, angled, infuriatingly confident.

You left it there the whole lecture, staring straight ahead while your pulse thrummed in your ears. When class ended, you shoved it into your bag without opening it. You didn’t want to know what he had to say. You didn’t want to see his words and feel something again.

You lasted until Friday.

Inside wasn’t a letter, just a single sticky note, black ink on white paper, written in that maddeningly calm handwriting you’d memorized from every red-marked comment on your Google Docs.

We don’t have to hate each other. Let’s be civil. Coffee? Sunday, 4 p.m., Blue Bottle, Lafayette Street.

You stared at it for a long time before tossing it into the trash.

You picked it out again five minutes later.

You spent Saturday overanalyzing every word. 

“Civil” — what did that mean?

“Coffee” — neutral, safe, casual, but written with a period, not a question mark. Was it really an invitation or a command?

And Sunday? He knew you hated studying on weekends. Was that deliberate? Was he deliberate?

By Sunday afternoon, you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even forgiveness. It was diplomacy. A truce. Two overachievers agreeing not to combust in public again.

Still, you changed your outfit three times.

You ended up in a cream sweater, dark jeans, and boots that clicked too sharply against the pavement as you walked. You didn’t bring your notes, but you did bring your pride, stuffed somewhere between your phone and your emergency concealer.

“Nothing like a cup of overpriced coffee and unresolved resentment,” you muttered under your breath as you pushed open the door.

The café smelled like roasted beans and quiet pretension. He was already there, of course he was, sitting by the window, sunlight painting his skin gold. His navy sweater looked soft, annoyingly so, and his hair fell just the right way over his eyes as he scrolled through his laptop.

You froze for half a second. He looked… human. Not the academic rival who made your blood boil, just a boy who’d stayed up too late grading his own perfection.

Then he looked up and smiled, and the spell broke.

“You came,” he said, standing just slightly, like you deserved a proper greeting. “Didn’t think you would.”

You crossed your arms. “You left me a note. Who does that? Are we twelve?”

He chuckled, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. “Apparently, it worked.”

You sat, dropping your bag onto the floor like a punctuation mark. “Let’s make this quick.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You always start conversations like that?”

“Only with people who make me cry in hallways.”

He flinched, small, barely visible, but it was there. You caught it, and for a split second, you hated yourself for noticing.

“Right,” he said quietly. “About that. I was, I went too far.”

You folded your arms tighter. “You think?”

“I just… sometimes I forget that not everything’s a competition.”

“That’s literally all you make it.”

“I know.” He met your gaze, and this time there was no smirk to hide behind. Just a raw honesty that made your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “That’s why I asked you here.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You’d built your entire script around hating him, not around him apologizing. So you looked away, muttering, “This doesn’t make us friends.”

He smiled faintly, almost shyly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The first twenty minutes were awkward. You stirred your coffee until the foam collapsed. He made polite small talk about class. You gave short answers that were supposed to end conversations but somehow didn’t.

Then, slowly, the tension shifted. He made a joke about your color-coded notes, “I swear you’re one sticker away from a full psychotic break.”

You snorted, despite yourself. “You alphabetize your citations. You have no right to talk.”

“Touché.” He grinned. “But mine at least look normal.”

“Normal?” you scoffed. “You literally color-code your pens.”

“That’s organization.”

“That’s a cry for help.”

The banter slipped back like muscle memory, sharp, familiar, addictive.

You teased him about his pretentious taste in coffee (“You pay eight dollars for bean water”), and he shot back, “I’d offer to buy you one, but you’d accuse me of privilege again.” You laughed, an actual laugh this time. The sound startled both of you.

After that, it got easier. You talked about professors who graded too harshly, about the smell of the psychology lab that no one could explain, about how the vending machine on the second floor only ever dispensed diet soda.

He told you about the time he accidentally called your mentor “Mom” in a meeting, and you laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink. He laughed too, and it wasn’t that calculated, public kind of laugh you’d seen in class. It was real, unguarded, boyish.

Somewhere between all that laughter and teasing, you realized something horrifying: you were having fun.

You shouldn’t have been. But you were.

When you looked up mid-sentence, you caught him watching you, not with amusement or challenge, but with something warmer. Softer. Like he was memorizing you.

“What?” you asked, heat crawling up your neck. He blinked, looking away too quickly. “Nothing.”

“You were staring.”

“You were talking.”

“Same thing.”

He smiled, small and knowing. “You think I stare at everyone I talk to?”

You scoffed, flustered. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he murmured.

The air shifted, heavier, quieter, charged. You busied yourself with your drink, but your heart was drumming too loudly for you to taste anything.

When you finally glanced at your watch, it was almost six. You stood abruptly. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Right,” he said, smiling like he already knew you were lying to yourself. “Just two people who hate each other a little less.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ve said worse.”

As you turned to leave, he called out, “Hey.” You looked back, hand on the door.

“Next time, I’ll buy the coffee.”

“There won’t be a next time,” you said automatically.

He only smiled. “We’ll see.”

That night, your phone buzzed.

A new message. 

Heeseung: Still think I’m a rich asshole?

You stared at it for a full minute before typing back.

You: Yes.

A pause. Then —

Heeseung: Goodnight, rival.

You rolled your eyes, thumbs flying.

You: Don’t call me that.

No response.

You stared at the screen for longer than you’d admit, waiting for the typing bubbles that never appeared.

When you finally set the phone down, you realized your chest felt strangely hollow. Not angry. Not smug. Just, expectant.

Outside, the city hummed softly through your window, lights blinking like faraway stars. You told yourself it was just caffeine. Just the high of debate and intellectual adrenaline.

But deep down, you knew better. Because every time you closed your eyes, you still saw him, leaning across the café table, smile crooked, eyes warm, saying your name like it meant something new.

You could feel the distance before it had a name.

At first, it was just space, small, harmless things. The missed calls, the rescheduled dates, the way Jaehyun’s texts came slower, shorter, like ellipses that never quite closed.

Then it was the silences. The kind that didn’t come from anger, but from exhaustion. The kind where he’d sit beside you on the couch, scrolling through his phone, and you’d sit there too, close enough to touch, but miles apart in every other way.

And under it all was that quiet, gnawing guilt.

Because you knew why.

You thought about someone else too much.

You said you hated him, but your heart didn’t believe it.

It never did.

Jaehyun noticed before you did.

He noticed the way your tone changed when you said Heeseung’s name.

He noticed how your eyes flicked down when he asked how the project was going.

He noticed that you smiled, smiled, when you got a text late at night and swore it was “just your class group chat.”

He didn’t ask at first. He trusted you. You’d been together for two years, through finals and burnout, broken coffee machines and nights spent studying until dawn. He knew you better than anyone. At least, he used to.

Lately, you’d stopped talking at all.

It started small. A Thursday night, his apartment. You showed up late, still buzzing with caffeine and irritation, muttering about Heeseung’s impossible standards and his ridiculous new “efficiency chart.”

Jaehyun listened, like always, half-smiling, half-tired, until your rant trailed into silence. Then he said, quietly, “You talk about him a lot.”

You froze mid-sip. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but there was an edge there. “Just… you talk about him more than you used to.”

You blinked. “Because he’s annoying, Jaehyun. You know that. I’m venting.” 

“I know,” he said. “It just… doesn’t sound like venting anymore.”

That stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “It means I can tell when something, someone, is getting under your skin. And I think he has.”

You laughed, sharp and defensive. “You think I like him? Are you kidding me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Jaehyun looked at you then, really looked, and there was something in his eyes you’d never seen before. Something brittle. “I think you think about him,” he said slowly. “And I think you don’t realize how much.”

You scoffed. “So now I can’t even talk about my partner for class without being accused of cheating?”

He shook his head, jaw tight. “That’s not what I said.”

“Feels like it.”

“I said you think about him,” he repeated, voice rising a fraction. “That’s not the same thing, but maybe it’s worse.”

You set your cup down hard. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“It means I watch you,” he said, exasperated. “I watch you light up when you talk about him, even when you’re mad. I watch you defend him when your friends complain about him. I watch you come here every night exhausted and still manage to bring up something he said.”

“That’s not fair—” 

“It’s true!”

The word cracked through the room.

You stared at him. “You’re overreacting.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Am I? You don’t tape pictures of people you hate.”

You went still.

He nodded once, grim. “Yeah. I saw it.”

“Jaehyun—”

“The list,” he said quietly. “The one on your wall. Ten Things I Hate About You. Real subtle. And the extended one in your notebook?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“It’s not what you think,” you managed finally, voice small.

He laughed once, sharp and hollow. “Then what is it? A scrapbook?”

“It’s a joke,” you said quickly. “It’s stupid. It’s—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted. “It is. Stupid. And childish. And maybe even cruel.”

You flinched. “You’re making this sound worse than it is.”

“I don’t have to make it sound like anything,” he said, pacing now, running a hand through his hair. “You already did that yourself.”

“Jaehyun, please, stop. You’re twisting it.”

“No,” he said, turning sharply. “You are. You’re twisting everything. You’re twisting how you look at him like you don’t even realize it. You talk about how much you hate him, but your eyes say something else. You think I haven’t noticed?”

Your chest felt tight, your throat burning. “You’re imagining things.” 

He barked out a humorless laugh. “Right. I’m imagining the texts you hide, the late nights, the way you flinch when his name comes up. I’m imagining the smile you try to bite back when you read your stupid project messages.”

“Stop,” you said, voice trembling.

“Why? Does it sound too close to the truth?”

You stared at him, tears stinging. “You think I’d ever do that to you? After everything?”

He shook his head slowly, something breaking in his expression. “No,” he said softly. “I think you already did, just not in the way you think.”

You swallowed, the room spinning. “You’re being unfair.” 

“I’m being honest.”

Silence. It was unbearable. He finally spoke again, voice quiet, wrecked. “I don’t think you cheated, Y/N. I think you fell in love with the idea of someone who challenges you. Someone who fights you. Someone who sees you the way you’ve always wanted to be seen.” He exhaled, long and shaky. “And I think you stopped seeing me a long time ago.”

Your lip trembled. “Jaehyun—”

He shook his head. “Don’t. You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m not,” he said, eyes glassy now. “You are.”

You took a step forward, desperate. “I only have eyes for you.”

He gave a soft, bitter laugh that sounded like the end of something. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”

The words hung there, trembling between you.

Something inside you splintered.

He exhaled again, quieter this time. “You don’t have to explain it. I get it. I really do. You can’t control what you feel.”

“Jaehyun, please, don’t go.”

He smiled sadly. “You already did.”

The silence that followed felt endless.

You didn’t cry until he closed the door, quietly, carefully, like he still didn’t want to wake you from the wreckage.

And when you finally did, it wasn’t loud. It was the kind of crying that came from your ribs, quiet, trembling, raw. Because for the first time, you realized you’d lost something good. And worse, you weren’t even sure you wanted it back.

You block him before you can change your mind.

Not Jaehyun, Heeseung. It happens in the half-light of evening, your reflection ghosted on your phone screen, thumb trembling over his name. You stare at it like it might blink first.

There’s no unread message. No missed call. Nothing waiting. He hasn’t texted since the presentation feedback last week, nice revisions, good job, rival. But that doesn’t stop you from checking. Over and over.

Every time your screen lights up, a part of you hopes it’s him. Every time it isn’t, something small inside you sours.

So you do it. Block.

The gray icon disappears, and with it, every trace of his number. The chat thread turns to dust, all those sarcastic quips, snarky comments, inside jokes born from too many nights editing Google Slides together. Gone in a second.

Silence.

Your chest burns like you swallowed static. You don’t breathe until your phone screen goes black again, until there’s no chance of him replying, until the quiet presses so hard it becomes a sound of its own.

You shove the phone into your tote bag before you can regret it, before you can start imagining what he’d say if he found out.

(You blocked me? Wow. Guess I win after all.)

(Or maybe he wouldn’t say anything.)

That thought hurts worse.

You switch on Do Not Disturb like it might mute your thoughts too, then head for the subway. You don’t even know where you’re going until you’re already there.

Bobst.

It’s muscle memory, your body moving through the gates, your ID card beep echoing faintly, the scent of old books and burnt espresso wrapping around you like something half-familiar. The third floor. Near the outlets. Your spot.

You’ve always liked it there, tucked behind the concrete pillar, half-hidden from view, where you could disappear for hours under fluorescent light. No one ever takes it because it smells faintly like dust and caffeine and loneliness.

You drop your bag. The thunk echoes. Open your laptop. The screen flares to life, sterile and white. Blinking cursor. Blink. Blink. Blink. It almost sounds like a heartbeat. You’re supposed to be finishing your paper. You’re supposed to be fine.

But Jaehyun’s voice won’t leave your head. “You don’t tape pictures of people you hate.” 

And your own voice, brittle, defensive, “It’s not like that.”

And then the silence that followed. The kind that settled like ash after something burns out. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You try to type. You really do. But every word feels hollow, meaningless, tinny against the white noise of your thoughts. You told him it was bullshit. You told him you loved him. You told him Heeseung was nothing.

And maybe, maybe you even believed it when you said it. Maybe you wanted to. But sitting here now, under the too-bright lights of the library, your reflection warped in your laptop screen, you realize how quiet it’s been since you blocked him.

Too quiet. Too still. Heeseung used to fill the silence. Not kindly, not gently, but completely.

With sarcasm, with competition, with that sharp glint in his eye when he’d say, You missed a citation, or You’re getting sloppy, rival. With laughter that slipped out between arguments, too quick to catch. With tension that lived in the air like a current, humming beneath every word.

Now there’s nothing. Just the hum of the outlets beneath your table. The faint buzz of someone’s pencil scratching behind you. The hollow ache of space he used to take up without even meaning to. You glance at your phone again, knowing what you’ll find:  Nothing. No missed calls, no messages, no notifications, just the faint ghost of his contact name still flickering behind your eyes.

You tell yourself you did the right thing. That cutting him off is cleaner. That silence is easier than confusion. That love isn’t supposed to feel like an argument you can’t stop having.

But the cursor keeps blinking, steady and cruel, and all you can think about is how much you miss the noise. How much you miss him.

And how blocking someone doesn’t make them leave. It just means they live somewhere quieter, in your head, in the pauses between sentences, in the silence you tried so hard to escape.

The library’s nearly empty when you realize you’re crying.

Not the cinematic kind, no trembling lip, no single tear gliding down your cheek like a poetic tragedy. It’s the ugly, silent kind. The kind that sneaks up on you mid-sentence, salt water catching in your throat until you can’t swallow around it anymore. The kind that leaves your sleeve damp and your heart hollowed out.

You don’t even remember what triggered it. Maybe a stray sentence in your draft. Maybe the memory of Jaehyun’s voice, tired and heavy. Or maybe just the sound of your own breathing echoing too loud in the emptiness. You try to hold it in, to blink fast, breathe steady, pretend your body isn’t betraying you, but it’s useless. You press the heel of your palm to your eyes, like you could physically push the emotion back inside, but it spills through anyway, quiet and relentless.

That’s when you hear it. Footsteps. Soft. Hesitant. Familiar. And somehow, you know. Of course you do. You don’t need to look up. Your body recognizes the rhythm before your brain does. Of course it’s him.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, his name catching like a splinter in your throat.

For a second, there’s nothing, just the sound of the outlets humming, the air conditioner sighing. Then comes the scrape of a chair pulled out beside you. He doesn’t say anything, no smirk, no comment, none of the sharp edges you’ve learned to brace for. Just the quiet rustle of fabric as he sits.

You keep your eyes on the table, because looking at him feels dangerous. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t try to. He just sits there, elbows resting on the desk, gaze flicking between your laptop and your trembling hands like he’s trying to measure the damage without making it worse.

For a moment, you both just breathe. The world narrows to that, breathing, blinking, existing. The hum of the outlets fills the space. The city beyond the glass blurs into streaks of orange and white, like watercolor bleeding at the edges. Somewhere below, a siren wails and fades. Someone laughs too loud on the first floor. Life goes on, indifferent, distant.

Then, finally, his voice, soft enough you almost miss it.

“You know,” he says, “you’re the only person I can’t predict.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. “That’s because you think too highly of yourself.”

He smiles, small, real, a flicker of warmth cutting through the chill in the air. It’s the kind of smile that starts in his eyes and doesn’t need words to finish. For the first time in weeks, the silence isn’t cruel. It’s gentle. Like a truce neither of you expected but both needed.

You stare at the table, tracing a crack in the wood with your fingertip, before your voice breaks the quiet again, soft, cracked open. “I feel guilty, Heeseung. So fucking guilty.”

Your throat burns, your eyes sting. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t answer. He just shifts, the movement so subtle you barely notice until his chair scrapes closer. Then his arm is there, hovering, hesitant, like he’s asking without words. You don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

When his arms finally wrap around you, it’s cautious at first. Then tighter, steadier, an anchor you didn’t know you were reaching for. You let yourself fall into it. Into him.

The scent of his hoodie, clean detergent and coffee and something that’s just him, floods your senses. Your forehead presses to his shoulder, tears soaking through the fabric. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He just holds you.

He doesn’t say it’s okay. He doesn’t say I told you so. He just lets you cry, steady and real, until the ache in your chest starts to ebb.

It’s the first time you’ve ever let him. The first time you’ve let anyone. When you finally pull back, your eyes are swollen, your nose red, your breath uneven. The laptop screen glows quietly between you, the cursor still blinking like a metronome for everything unsaid.

Your voice comes out a whisper, small and breaking. “He and I... we didn’t officially break up yet.” 

Heeseung’s eyes soften instantly, the kind of look that hurts to meet. “Y/n…”

You shake your head too fast, panic bubbling up. “No, Heeseung, you don’t get it.” The words tumble out, frantic, tangled. “I love him. I, I love Jaehyun.”

The name tastes bitter now, but you force it out anyway, like it might make everything cleaner if you just say it aloud.

“I’ve got to go,” you breathe, already reaching for your things.

You shove your laptop into your bag, ignoring how your hands shake, ignoring the way his gaze follows every movement, quiet, unblinking, almost pleading.

When you stand, your throat aches from holding back everything you don’t say. Thank you. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t you. You walk away before the tears can start again, before your heart can decide to stay. Maybe you mean it when you say you love Jaehyun. Maybe you want to.

But your chest feels hollow, and your pulse skips in the wrong direction. Because somewhere deep down, your heart already knows, the ache isn’t for him anymore.

It’s for the boy sitting behind you in the half-lit library, his hoodie damp with your tears, watching you leave with his heart in your hands and your name still trembling on his lips.

You text Jaehyun first. Then again. And again.

I’m sorry. I was stressed. It didn’t mean anything. Can we please talk?

Each message feels smaller than the one before, like you’re shrinking every time you hit send. You stare at the typing indicator for what feels like forever, three bouncing dots that promise salvation, or maybe just an ending. They disappear.

No reply.

You leave the phone on the table, pretend you’re not waiting. Pretend you’re reading, studying, breathing. But every few minutes, your hand drifts back to the screen like muscle memory. Still nothing.

Two hours later, your restraint cracks.

Jaehyun, please. I just need you to understand.

You don’t know what exactly you want him to understand, that it wasn’t cheating, not really? That Heeseung’s name had just been on your tongue too long and Jaehyun had finally noticed? That you never meant for things to blur the way they did?

He doesn’t answer that night. Or the next morning. Or the one after that. He just leaves you on read, and you’re not sure what hurts more.

When his reply finally comes, it’s short and almost kind, which somehow hurts worse than anger. 

I think we need space.

Space. The word feels sterile. Scientific. Like distance could be measured, quantified, scheduled into existence. You reread it again and again, hoping the meaning might shift if you blink fast enough. It doesn’t. You call once. He doesn’t pick up. Twice, straight to voicemail. By the third time, your own voice sounds unfamiliar when you hang up, small and strained. You stop calling.

Because there’s only so long you can talk to static. In the silence that follows, the truth begins to settle like dust, gentle, but suffocating. Maybe it isn’t love anymore. Maybe it’s just the memory of it. The comfort of being wanted, of knowing who you are when someone’s looking back. You keep telling yourself you miss him, but really, you just miss not being confused.

So, you bury yourself in work. You fill every minute with motion until you forget what stillness feels like. You go to class early. Sit in the back. Pack up before the bell. You eat lunch in corridors, study in cafés you never liked before. You avoid the library completely. When you hear his voice, Jaehyun’s, echo down the hall, you turn in the opposite direction, pretending to check your phone, pretending your pulse doesn’t jump every time.

And still, somehow, Heeseung finds you. He always does. By Thursday, he corners you outside your lecture hall, not dramatically, not like a scene from a movie, but quietly. Almost gently.

He stands close enough that you can smell coffee and clean laundry on him, one hand braced against the cool marble wall just beside your shoulder. His voice is low, threaded with something like concern.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

You don’t look up. “I’m not.”

He raises an eyebrow, expression unreadable. “You switched lab sections.”

“Coincidence.”

“You haven’t been in the group chat for a week.”

“Bad Wi-Fi.”

“Y/n.”

Your name in his voice is dangerous, too soft, too human. It pulls something loose in your chest. You sigh, eyes fixed on the floor. “I just need time.”

He studies you, long, silent seconds that feel like being seen and dissected all at once. Then, finally, he nods. Steps back. The sudden space between you feels colder than it should. “Fine,” he says after a beat. “But midterms are next week. We can at least study. Neutral ground.”

It’s not really a question. He’s always been good at pretending things are choices when they aren’t. You hesitate, teeth worrying your bottom lip. “Heeseung—”

“Library. Friday. Six.”

His tone softens, a small half-smile ghosting across his face. “I’ll even buy you coffee.”

You should say no. You almost do. But guilt tastes a lot like loneliness, and you’re tired of feeling both. So you nod. “Fine.”

Friday comes too fast. You tell yourself it’s just studying. Just academics, caffeine, and pen caps chewed raw. But your hands shake when you pack your bag anyway.

You arrive first, take the same seat by the window you’ve always taken. The campus glows gold outside, the sun dipping behind buildings. The air smells like burnt espresso and the start of regret. Heeseung slides into the seat across from you, laptop already open, smile easy. “You look less homicidal today.”

You roll your eyes, opening your notes. “Don’t ruin it.”

It almost feels normal, almost. Until you feel it. That prickling sense of being watched. You glance up. And your stomach drops. Jaehyun. He’s standing across the atrium, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. He looks… tired. Not angry. Not cold. Just hurt in a way that makes your chest ache.

You freeze. The world narrows until it’s just the space between you and him. The hum of the espresso machine fades. The chatter dulls. You push back your chair so fast it scrapes the floor. “Jaehyun—”

His gaze flickers. For half a second, something like hesitation crosses his face. Then he looks away, turns his head, says something to Taesan beside him, and walks out.

No glance back. No second chance. Just gone. You stand there, motionless, pulse thudding in your ears like a countdown you missed the start of. When you finally turn back, Heeseung’s already watching you. He doesn’t speak, not immediately. His expression is calm, but his jaw tightens once, sharp and silent. You don’t need him to say anything; the air between you says enough.

The rest of the study session happens in near silence, the kind that hums with everything unsaid, louder than any fight could be. Pages turn. Pens scratch. Outside, the sky shifts from gold to gray. You don’t finish the equation. You don’t finish anything.

The library had emptied hours ago, reduced to the faint hum of vending machines and the scratch of highlighters. You and Heeseung had claimed your usual table by the window, the one near the dying ficus and the outlet that only half-worked.

Stacks of notes had given way to coffee cups, and coffee cups to the kind of comfortable silence that only comes from exhaustion. For once, you weren’t arguing. Not about citations, not about phrasing, not about who deserved more credit. You were just… there. Two overworked students sharing the same patch of dim yellow light, trying not to fall apart.

Heeseung was slouched over his laptop, a pen twirling loosely between his fingers. His hoodie was pulled up halfway, hair messier than usual, and you hated that it looked good on him. You hated even more how easily he focused, eyes darting between pages like he was inhaling information.

“Another coffee,” he mumbled at one point, voice low and wrecked with fatigue.

You didn’t look up. “Finish the problem set first.”

He grinned, that sharp, knowing grin that always made you want to roll your eyes and lean in at the same time. “Bossy.”

“Efficient,” you corrected.

Hours passed like that, trading notes, muttering equations, occasionally bumping elbows. You told yourself it was fine. It was neutral ground. Just two people trying not to fail midterms.

But around 2 a.m., the air shifted. The room was too quiet, the lamps too warm. You could hear your own breathing, and his, slow, steady, dangerously close.

His shoulder brushed yours again, lingering a beat too long. Your pulse stuttered, but you didn’t pull away. A few minutes later, his pen rolled out of his hand. You turned your head just in time to see him blink once, twice, and then his eyes fluttered closed. His head tipped sideways and landed squarely against your shoulder.

You froze. Completely. Lee Heeseung. NYU’s golden boy. The boy who corrected your grammar mid-presentation, who once wrote “citation?” in the margins of your love poem draft just to get a rise out of you. And now he was asleep against you, breathing evenly, hair tickling your jaw.

You could move. You should move. You didn’t. The silence felt almost holy, the kind that hums instead of hurts. Outside, the city blinked in muted light. Inside, everything slowed: the rhythm of his breathing, the weight of his head, the strange, impossible calm in your chest.

For the first time in weeks, the world wasn’t demanding anything from you. No debates, no comparisons, no Jaehyun, no guilt. Just warmth. Just him. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just exhaustion, proximity, gravity. But something in your chest whispered otherwise.

He stirred around 3:15, blinking awake, voice gravelly from sleep. “Did I—” He yawned softly. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

You kept your eyes on your notes. “Obviously.”

He rubbed his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You didn’t push me off.”

“Because I was annotating.”

“Sure.” His tone was lazy, teasing, but his gaze lingered, studying you like you were the only equation he couldn’t quite solve.

Silence again. Then, quieter, almost uncertain: “You don’t really hate me, do you?”

The words hit like static. You looked up, at the tired crease between his brows, the tentative glint in his eyes. The same boy who used to make your blood boil now looked almost human.

You swallowed. “Go to sleep, Heeseung.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s not a no.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was a mess, a mix of exhaustion, fondness, and something you didn’t dare name. You packed your bag, muttered something about seeing him tomorrow, and left before he could say anything else.

At home, your apartment felt too quiet. The city noise through the window only made it worse.

You opened your notebook, the one with the taped, crumpled picture of him and the messy handwriting that said 10 things I hate about you.

Your pen hovered over the page for a long moment. Then, almost against your will, you wrote:

8. You’re handsome.

You hesitated, then added, smaller, like a secret you weren’t ready to say out loud, a tiny heart beside it. Just one. Small enough that you could pretend it wasn’t there. You closed the book quickly after that, as if shutting it fast enough could erase the confession bleeding through the paper. But it didn’t. The ink smudged a little, and you knew, you were already too far gone.

You woke up to pounding on your door. The kind that wasn’t casual, wasn’t friendly. The kind that made your stomach drop before you even opened your eyes.

“Y/N,” Jaehyun’s voice came through, sharp but trembling at the edges. “Open the door.”

You dragged yourself out of bed, hair still messy from the library, eyes gritty with half-slept guilt. The clock on your nightstand blinked 9:47. Saturday. Too early for this kind of dread.

When you opened the door, Jaehyun was already halfway in, hoodie thrown on backwards, jaw tight, eyes red. You could tell he hadn’t slept either.

“Jaehyun, what—”

“Did you stay up all night with him?” he cut in.

The question hung there. Not shouted, but it didn’t need to be. It was enough to pull the air out of the room.

“I— we were studying,” you said, instantly hating how small your voice sounded. “We have midterms next week, and—”

“Don’t.” His laugh was hollow. “Don’t insult me with that.”

You froze. He was looking at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he said, voice low, “to sit in class and watch the person I love light up when she’s arguing with another guy? To listen to her talk about him every other sentence? How smart he is, how infuriating, how unfair,  like he’s the center of your damn universe.”

You flinched. “That’s not—”

“You don’t realize, Y/N.” His eyes met yours, sharp but breaking. “You talk about him like he’s yours.”

It felt like someone had split you open from the inside. Because he was wrong, he had to be wrong. You hated Heeseung. You hated him so much you made a list about it. You swore you’d never let yourself care. But even as Jaehyun stood there, waiting for you to deny it, your throat stayed closed.

You couldn’t say no. You couldn’t say anything. The silence between you stretched, suffocating. Finally, Jaehyun exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for months. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Jaehyun—”

“I need space.” He stepped back, rubbing his face like it hurt to look at you. “I love you, Y/N. But I can’t keep loving someone who’s already halfway gone.”

Your breath hitched, he sighed, tears brimming in his eyes, mirroring the ones swimming in yours, “I think…” a pause, “I think, we’re done.”

And before you could reach for him, before you could find the right words, the door clicked shut behind him.

The apartment felt colder than usual. You stood in the middle of your room for what felt like hours, staring at the mess of papers, textbooks, and empty coffee cups. The silence pressed against your chest. Your eyes drifted to the wall, to the stupid, taped-up list that had started as a joke and turned into a confession.

The picture of Heeseung stared back at you, half-scribbled over with ink, the edges curling from where you’d stabbed it with thumbtacks too many times. Something in you snapped.

You ripped it down in one brutal motion. The tape tore, the paper crumpled, and for a second it felt good, destructive, satisfying. You stood there, breathing hard, staring at the wrinkled mess in your hands.

You could throw it away. You should throw it away. That would make sense.

But your fingers wouldn’t move. Because underneath all the anger and the ache, you knew it wasn’t just a hate list anymore. It was a timeline. A record of everything you’d felt and everything you hadn’t wanted to admit. You folded the paper carefully, almost tenderly, and tucked it into your drawer.

Then you sat on your bed, phone face-down, and let yourself cry until your throat hurt. You hated him. You hated yourself more for knowing that wasn’t true. You sat there for a long time after. Not moving. Not crying. Just… listening. To the sound of Jaehyun’s footsteps fading down the hall, the elevator doors sliding closed, the hum of the city pressing in from the window like a reminder that life was still happening somewhere else.

You thought maybe if you stayed still enough, the world would rewind, that he’d knock again, softer this time, and you’d open the door and say all the things you should’ve said ten minutes ago. But the only thing that came back was your own breathing.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just grief, the quiet kind, the kind that settles in the bones. You sat on the edge of your bed until your hands started to shake. Not from cold. From the realization that you’d been waiting for this, for him to see what you refused to admit.

You didn’t mean to fall out of love. You just… tripped somewhere along the way, and when you looked up, Heeseung was there. Smirking. Challenging. Alive in a way that made everything else feel dull.

You wanted to hate him for that. You wanted to hate yourself more. Your phone buzzed once, a notification, a cruel reminder that the world didn’t care about your personal disasters. You flipped it over without looking. You couldn’t take more words tonight.

Your eyes drifted back to the list again. The torn corner, the ghost of the tape still clinging to the wall. You could almost see it there, the half-smiling photo of him from your first presentation, his handwriting scrawled in red ink next to yours. “Respectfully, you’re wrong.” You’d written “Respectfully, I don’t care.”

Maybe that was where it started. Maybe that was the first time someone had looked at you like your mind was something worth arguing with. You picked up the list again. The wrinkles smoothed a little under your thumbs. The ink was bleeding slightly, from your tears, probably. You traced over the last line you wrote, the one that shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did.

8. You’re handsome. The little heart beside it looked ridiculous now. Childish. Honest.

You folded the paper once. Twice. Tucked it in your drawer like a secret you couldn’t destroy. Then, almost without meaning to, you reached for your phone. There was a text from Heeseung. Just one. Sent an hour ago, before the pounding at your door. You’d unblocked him that morning, debating until your heart practically ached for you to do it. 

heeseung: made it home?

You stared at it for a long time. Three words, simple and harmless, and yet they undid you more than Jaehyun’s entire speech. Because Heeseung shouldn’t have cared. He wasn’t supposed to. But he did. And you wanted, terribly, for that to mean nothing. You typed a reply, erased it, typed again.

yeah. thanks.

You hit send before you could stop yourself. The message bubble sat there, too small for everything you wanted to say. When his reply came, a quiet between the storm brewing inside you.

good. get some sleep.

You blocked him again.

You turned off your phone and pressed it face down on the nightstand like it was evidence. You lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. The world felt heavy, blurred at the edges. Somewhere between the ache and the exhaustion, you realized you weren’t crying for Jaehyun anymore. You were crying because Heeseung’s voice had sounded like concern. Because his “good” felt like something dangerously close to home.

And because you finally understood: you hadn’t lost Jaehyun. You’d already been falling for someone else.

You didn’t go to class for six days. The first two days, you tell yourself it’s just space. Space for him. Space for you. Space to make sense of the mess that’s become your life.

By day three, you start avoiding the mirror. You look at your phone screen instead, at the text bubble that’s been hovering for hours: Seen. No reply. The words you sent, I was irrational, I’m sorry, can we please talk? sit there like something dead and unburied.

You try again the next morning. And again that night. Different variations of the same plea, all met with silence. The more you type, the more your sentences crumble into nonsense. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t choose him, I don’t even know what this is anymore. Delete. Rewrite. Send anyway.

By Thursday, you’ve gone through half a box of tissues and all your self-respect.

You stop going to class. Stop responding to Megan’s messages. The curtains stay closed, air stale and heavy with the smell of old coffee and something sweeter, his hoodie still draped over the back of your chair. You’ve been meaning to give it back for weeks, but now it just sits there like an accusation.

The first night you dream about him, he’s not even doing anything. Just standing at the edge of the subway platform, staring straight ahead. You call his name, but he doesn’t turn. You wake up sweating, pulse racing, throat tight like you’d been screaming.

You tell yourself you deserve this.

You chose this. You let someone else walk into your head, rearrange the furniture, and now you can’t find the exit.

Your inbox overflowed, your phone buzzed endlessly, Heeseung, Megan, even your professors, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Every time you rolled over, your brain echoed with Jaehyun’s words: You talk about him like he’s yours.

You weren’t sure which part hurt more, that it was over, or that he might’ve been right.

By the seventh morning, your curtains were still closed, your hair was still unwashed, and your heart still hadn’t shut up. 

The week had passes in a blur of half-eaten takeout and unwashed hair. You scroll aimlessly through old photos, Central Park in spring, museum dates, that terrible couple selfie outside Bobst, and realize that the thing you’re mourning might not even be him. It’s the idea of what it felt like to be loved so easily.

You’re crying before you notice it. The kind of quiet crying that sneaks up, slow and soundless, until you’re gasping for air. That’s when the door bangs open.

“Okay, no.” Megan’s standing there in ripped jeans, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. She takes one look at you, puffy eyes, old hoodie, comforter cocoon, and exhales through her nose. “You’re not rotting in here over a boy.”

You blink, sniff. “I’m not—”

“Please. You look like a Victorian ghost who died waiting for a text back.”

You groan, shoving your face into your pillow. “Megs, please. Just… not today.”

“Not any more days,” she says, yanking the comforter off. “You’ve had your sad montage. Now it’s makeover time.”

You glare at her, but she’s already rifling through your closet like she owns the place. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.”

“Megan–”

“Okay,” she said, hands on hips, scanning your tragic state. “This is sad. Even for you.”

You groaned into your pillow. “Go away.”

“Nope.” She yanked your blanket off like a villain. “You’ve been moping for a week. You need sunlight. Or tequila.”

“I don’t want sunlight or tequila.”

Megan tilted her head. “Come on. Nothing a few drinks can’t make you forget. Well—” she grinned, “—at least for a few hours. Then the hangover makes you forget the rest.”

You stared at her blankly.

“Y/N,” she said softly. “You can’t just let him live rent-free in your head. Let’s get you out.”

You sighed. “One drink.”

“Perfect,” she said, already raiding your closet. “And you’re wearing this.”

It wasn’t a dress, it was a weapon, black, tiny, scandalous, hugging every inch of you like it wanted revenge. Megan curled your hair, fixed your lipstick, spritzed perfume on your collarbone like she was anointing you for war.

The bass hits before you even reach the door. That low, thrumming pulse that rattles in your ribs, vibrating through the thin November air. Someone’s already spilled beer on the steps, and the smell of cheap vodka hangs heavy as you climb up after Megan, one hand gripping the railing, the other clutching your phone like a lifeline.

You tell yourself you’ll only stay an hour. Two drinks, maybe three if they’re weak. Enough to pretend you’re fine, not enough to feel anything real.

The door swings open and you’re swallowed whole, heat, sound, bodies pressed too close. Someone shouts Megan’s name, and suddenly she’s gone, swallowed by the crowd, her laughter trailing behind her like glitter.

You stand there for a moment, coat still on, eyes scanning faces you half-know. It’s too bright, too loud, too much. But maybe that’s the point.

“Loosen up,” Megan’s voice echoes in your head. You try. You really do.

There’s something oddly poetic about heartbreak under disco lights. You lean against the kitchen counter, watching amber liquid pour into red cups, someone shouting about shots. A girl with winged eyeliner and a broken heel stumbles past, laughing. The song changes, something pop, something everyone knows the words to, and the room roars in unison.

You smile, even laugh once. It feels weird, like wearing someone else’s mouth. When a guy from your sociology class offers to make you a drink, you nod. The cup he hands you is sweeter than expected, the burn delayed until it hits your throat. It makes you dizzy in the nicest way.

By your third drink, the edges blur. You stop checking your phone. You stop caring that your mascara’s probably smudged. For a moment, you forget the list taped to your wall. The boy with soft brown eyes who stopped texting. The other boy whose name you can’t stop hearing in your own head.

Nothing like a cup of overpriced coffee and a few reckless choices to remind you you’re still alive, right? You laugh at your own joke. It’s not even funny.

Someone spills beer near your shoes and apologizes profusely. You wave it off, muttering something that could be “it’s fine” or “I’m fine.” It doesn’t matter. The room spins anyway.

That’s when you step outside. The backyard’s colder than you expected, the late fall wind slicing through your dress. You lean against the porch railing, half-empty cup dangling from your hand, the other arm wrapped tight around yourself. The sky above New York is the usual kind of disappointing, greyish-black, no stars, just the faint buzz of city light.

You close your eyes. Just for a second. The music fades into a dull hum behind you, and all that’s left is the ache in your chest, the one that never really went away. You think about Jaehyun. His voice when he said space. You think about Heeseung. His voice when he said you don’t really hate me, do you?

You hated that you thought about Heeseung. You press your fingers to your temples, trying to exorcise the thought of him. It doesn’t work. You didn’t notice him until his shadow fell over yours.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said.

You freeze. That voice, low, familiar, entirely unwelcome, is the one thing you’d prayed not to hear tonight.

He’s standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, curls damp from the mist. Heeseung looks out of place here, too clean-cut for the chaos of a frat party, too composed for a night built on ruin. You blink once, twice, wondering if you’re imagining him. But then he moves closer, and the air shifts. Your chest clenched.

Of course he was here. He was always here, at every turning point, like the universe refused to give you a break.

Heeseung leaned against the railing, dressed too casually to be that unfairly good-looking. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his hair pushed back, a drink in his hand. He looked at you like he’d been searching for you all night. You looked away, trying to sound unaffected. “Don’t you have someone else to charm?”

“I was looking for you.”

You scoffed. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ghosting me,” he said simply. “And I don’t like being ghosted.”

You laughed, but it came out wrong. “Poor golden boy. Someone finally said no to you?”

His smile faltered. “What’s wrong with you?”

That broke something open.

You stood, a little unsteady from the alcohol, eyes burning. “You want to know what’s wrong with me? You made me break up with him.”

Heeseung froze. “What?”

You laughed, half-drunk, half-angry. “He thought I was cheating on him. And I couldn’t even argue, Heeseung, because I didn’t know if he was wrong.”

The words hit the air like shrapnel. You hated how quiet he went. You stared at him, eyes glassy, voice trembling. “You made me ruin something good. You made me—” You choked, pressing a hand to your chest. “I don’t even know what you did to me.”

He set his drink down carefully, stepping closer. “Y/N.”

“Don’t.” You stumbled back a little. “You don’t get to pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you.” His tone softened, his eyes dark in the glow of the string lights. “You don’t deserve that.”

His hand lifted, hesitant, and then his fingers brushed your cheek, barely there, a touch that made you stop breathing.

You hated the way your body leaned into it before your mind could stop you.

The bass from inside thumped faintly through the walls. You could smell the smoke on his clothes, the faint sweetness of his cologne. He looked at you like you were something fragile, and it made your chest ache.

“Heeseung,” you whispered, meaning it as a warning.

It didn’t sound like one.

“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly.

You didn’t.

The night felt stretched too thin, music pulsing through the walls, laughter spilling from the kitchen, the scent of beer and sweat clinging to the air. Somewhere inside, someone was shouting the lyrics to a song you used to love. You could barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Heeseung’s hand was still hovering near your face, not quite touching now, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he did. His expression wasn’t smug, wasn’t teasing, just open in a way you’d never seen before. It terrified you.

“I said don’t,” you whispered again, but softer this time, like you didn’t mean it.

He swallowed, voice almost lost beneath the bass. “Then tell me what you do want.”

You hated that you didn’t have an answer.

For a moment neither of you moved. The string lights flickered above, the soft hum of a generator filling the silence. You could see the faint cut on his knuckle, a paper slice from the night you’d fought over formatting. You remembered teasing him about being dramatic. He’d smiled, said, only with you.

Now that same boy stood inches away, breathing like every inhale hurt.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you said.

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I told myself that too. Every night since you disappeared.”

Your throat tightened. “You didn’t have to look for me.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Something in his tone made your knees weaken, not pleading, not desperate, just true. The kind of truth that left no room to hide. You took a step back, but the railing met your spine. Heeseung didn’t move closer, yet somehow the space between you still shrank. The air felt heavier, warmer, the buzz of the party fading until it was just the two of you and the sound of your breath.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like this is okay.”

His eyes flicked over your face,  the smear of lipstick, the crack in your voice, the tremble you couldn’t disguise. “I’m not trying to make anything okay,” he said. “I just—” His jaw tightened. “I can’t stand pretending it isn’t there.”

“What isn’t?”

He looked at you like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Whatever this is.”

Your pulse stuttered. “There’s nothing, Heeseung.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then why are you shaking?”

You wanted to tell him it was the alcohol, the cold, the exhaustion, anything but him. But your mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

He reached out again, slower this time, his fingertips grazing the edge of your jaw, tracing the line where your pulse jumped. “You hate me, remember?” he murmured. “You wrote it down.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Maybe I lied.”

His hand paused. “Y/N.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” you said, voice breaking. “Please.”

He didn’t move closer, didn’t pull away. “How should I say it then?”

You met his eyes, and suddenly it was too much, the noise, the lights, the guilt, the way he looked at you like you were something he’d spent his whole life trying to solve. The space between you buzzed with everything unspoken.

You could’ve stepped around him. You could’ve walked back inside, found Megan, drowned yourself in noise again. Instead, you stood there, breath hitching, heart reckless, and whispered, “You shouldn’t want me.”

“I already do.”

The words landed like a confession and a promise all at once. Your chest ached. The lights hummed. Somewhere inside, someone popped open another beer, and the night went on as if your world wasn’t breaking apart.

You laugh once, the sound brittle enough to splinter in the cold air. “All those looks,” you start, voice shaking with something between fury and heartbreak. “The arguments. The fucking—” The word catches, burns. You cut yourself off, breath hitching. “You made me feel guilty every single time I was with him.”

Heeseung takes a step forward. Then another. Slow, deliberate, like a man walking toward the edge of a cliff he knows he’s going to jump from anyway. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” you snap, the bitterness spilling out before you can stop it. “Didn’t mean to ruin everything? Didn’t mean to crawl under my skin until I couldn’t think straight? Until I started wondering if being with him was just a lie I told myself to forget you?”

He stops inches away, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body, smell the faint trace of his cologne, clean, expensive, familiar. The kind of scent that used to cling to your clothes for days after. The party lights leak out from the house behind you, painting his face in streaks of red and gold. For a second, he looks almost unreal. Like a memory you’re not supposed to touch.

Then his voice drops, low, raw, trembling at the edges. “Were you?”

Your brows furrow. “Were you what?”

He swallows hard, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze. “Cheating on him?”

The question lands between you like a live wire.

You exhale, sharp and trembling, the word no forming slowly, painfully, in your throat. “No,” you whisper. “But I couldn’t argue if he thought I was.”

Something in him shatters, silently, invisibly, but you feel it in the way the air changes. His hand lifts, uncertain, fingertips brushing your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he touches you too hard. You don’t move. You can’t.

The first touch of his thumb against your skin sends heat straight to your chest. Heeseung leans in, hesitant for only a heartbeat before gravity wins. His lips find yours like a confession, soft, almost apologetic, the kind of kiss that says I shouldn’t but I can’t stop.

And then, like every time before, it breaks open.

The kiss deepens, roughens, desperate. His hand slides to the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist hard enough to make you gasp. You clutch his shirt like you’re drowning, tasting the faint salt of tears you didn’t realize were yours. There’s too much between you, too much history, too much wanting, too much regret, and none of it fits neatly inside a kiss, but you both try anyway.

He kisses you like he’s trying to rewrite time, to undo the nights you spent avoiding him, to erase the memory of the ring on someone else’s finger. The world around you blurs into noise—music, laughter, a burst of drunken voices from the house, but right here, there’s only this: the heat of his mouth, the tremor in his breath, the sick, sweet ache of wanting what you can’t have.

When you finally break apart, you’re both gasping like you’ve been underwater. His forehead presses against yours, skin hot, breaths uneven.

“You shouldn’t have come tonight,” he says, voice so quiet it almost disappears under the music.

You close your eyes, whisper back, “You shouldn’t have found me.”

For a long, suspended moment, neither of you move. The world keeps spinning, cars passing, laughter echoing from the porch, but you stay there, suspended in the wreckage of a kiss that shouldn’t have happened. The kind that tastes like goodbye, but feels too much like coming home.

Then he leans in again. The second kiss is what destroys you.

There’s no hesitation this time, no restraint, no room left for logic. Just the sound of fabric, the heat of his hands, the small, desperate noise you make when he tilts his head and deepens it. It’s not perfect, it’s not romantic, it’s messy, raw, real. Every insult, every sleepless night, every time you swore you hated him burns down to this.

You pull away first, lips swollen, chest heaving. Heeseung’s eyes search your face like he’s memorizing the damage. Like he’s afraid you’ll regret it before he can.

“You blocked me,” he says quietly.

“You deserved it.”

He nods once, laughs, the voice low and brittle. “I deserved worse.”

Something in your chest twists. You want to tell him you know. You want to tell him you already forgave him without realizing it. But the words get lost somewhere between your ribs.

Instead, you whisper, “You did.”

The sound of it does something to you. Makes your chest ache in that familiar, infuriating way. You want to yell at him. You want to kiss him again. You want to forget he exists. He takes a step back then, just one, and you feel the space immediately, cold air rushing back in like punishment. His jaw tightens, his hands curl and uncurl at his sides.

He pulls back first, just enough to look at you. His breath ghosts across your cheek, the kind of almost-touch that still burns.

Heeseung’s jaw clenches. The silence stretches, the kind that feels like falling. Then he takes a small step closer, his fingers twitching like he almost wants to reach for you again, but doesn’t.

“Then why didn’t you?” he asks.

“Didn’t what?”

“Hate me enough to stay away.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because he’s right, you didn’t. Not really. And that realization feels worse than the kiss.

Heeseung's mouth claims yours again in a fiery kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with yours in a sensual dance. Your lips part eagerly, welcoming him inside, relishing the taste of him, sweet and intoxicating. The heat between you escalates, fueled by your shared desire and the forbidden nature of this tryst. 

Heeseung's lips continue their sensual journey, trailing down the delicate slope of your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. Each feather-light brush ignites a spark within you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. A soft moan escapes your lips, almost a whisper in the quiet night air.

At the sound, Heeseung pauses, his head lifting to look at you with concern etched across his features. "Do you consent, rival? You're...drunk, and I don't want to do anything you'd regret in the morning."

Your drunken haze clears momentarily as his words penetrate the fog of desire clouding your mind. With a surge of clarity, you realize just how far things have progressed. But the thought of stopping now, of denying yourself this pleasure, is unbearable.

"Yes," you breathe, your voice husky with need. "Yes, please. I want this, Heeseung. I've wanted it for so long."

His eyes darken with lust at your response, a low groan rumbling in his chest. Without hesitation, he descends once more, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

His hands roam your curves, exploring the contours of your body with a hunger that mirrors your own. He cups your breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened peaks through the fabric of your dress. You arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping you as sparks of pleasure shoot straight to your core.

Breaking the kiss, Heeseung trails open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin. You tilt your head back, granting him better access, lost in the haze of arousal that clouds your mind.

"God, you taste incredible," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot and urgent. "I've dreamed of doing this for so long...feeling your skin, tasting your sweetness."

His words fan the flames of your desire, and you can feel yourself growing wetter by the second.

Your voice, husky with need, barely audible above a whisper: "Need...you...to...fuck me, Heeseung."

Heeseung's eyes flash with a primal intensity, his pupils dilating as he gazes at you with an unspoken promise. His grip on your waist tightens, and he lifts you off the ground, his stride long and powerful as he strides towards his car. The cool night air rushes past your face, a stark contrast to the raging inferno that has taken over your body.

As he reaches the car, he opens the door and slides you onto the leather seat, his hand lingering on your thigh as he positions himself between your legs. You feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken challenge to resist him.

But resistance is futile. Your body craves his touch, hungers for the release only he can provide. You're lost in the depths of his dark eyes, drowning in the stormy sea of desire that has consumed us both.

Heeeseung's hand glides up your leg, pausing at the hem of your dress before dipping beneath the fabric. He hooked a finger under your lace panties,  groaning against your mouth at the wet patch already forming on top of them. 

"You're so wet, gonna fuck you so good baby,” You barely had time to reply before he yanked your panties to the side, undoing his belt with a low growl. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, and your body clenched at the sight. He pumped it a few times, the angry red tip leaking with precum.

He groaned when you brought up a free hand to spread it along his slit. “Feel so good, baby, you’re hand’s so warm.” He threw his head back, groaning as his free hand roamed around your body. Tracing and memorising every bit.

You gasped when he shoved the lace aside, guiding his cock to your entrance. His blunt head teased your soaked folds, the stretch already making you claw at his back.

With one smooth thrust, he bottomed out, both of you moaning when he does.

His hips flex, withdrawing to the hilt before plunging back in, his strokes building in intensity with each passing second. The friction is overwhelming, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. Your fingers dig deeper into his back, urging him on as he pounds into you, the rhythm of his movements a symphony of desire.

You can't help but beg, your voice a husky whisper: "Harder, Heeeseung...please, harder."

Heeeseung's response is immediate, his pace quickening as he drives deeper, the head of his cock rubbing against that sensitive spot inside you. Your body begins to quake, the sensation almost too much to bear.

As he continues to pound into you, his hand snakes around to your front, his fingers finding your swollen clit. A sudden jolt of electricity shoots through you, and you can't hold back the scream. "Oh, yes...yes, Heeeseung!"

The world around you dissolves, leaving only the two of you, lost in this primal dance of lust and need. His groans harmonize with yours, their ragged breathing the only sound as you shatter beneath him, the release you've been craving finally within reach.

“Does he make you cum like this? Hmm? Jaehyun” Your body jolted at the memory of him, but his words made your pussy clench around him, slick spilling down his length. He groaned, tipping his head back against the seat.

“Ngh—mhmmmm! Heeseung–” you whine, feeling the knot building up in your stomach, waves of pleasure washing over you everytime his cock kisses your cervix, making your eyes roll back.

His eyes darken, something feral flashing through them, and then he’s growling through his teeth: “Do you think of me when he’s inside you? Think of me fucking you dumb while another man’s cock’s inside you?”

You shake your head rapidly, trying to deny his words, but that only makes him fasten his pace, “Damn right, you’re mine, get it? Only mine.”

The filthy promise rips another moan from your throat, your body arching as his pace grows brutal, punishing. He’s rutting into you like he wants to breed you right there in the car, his hips slamming against yours, his cock hitting every spot inside you with devastating precision.

You break first, your orgasm tearing through you in a violent wave, your entire body shaking as you scream his name. But Heeseung doesn’t stop. Your nails rake down his back, tears streaking your cheeks, but the overstimulation only makes it more unbearable, more addictive.

“Fuck, gonna fill you up,” Heeseung snarls, pulling you flush against him as he thrusts deep one last time, holding you down on his cock while hot spurts of cum flood you. His chest heaves against yours, his lips brushing your ear. “Take it. Take all of it. My pretty little rival.”

Your head dropped to his shoulder, breath coming in shallow spurts as you tried to wrap your head around what just happened. You’d just fucked Lee Heeseung, NYU’s Golden Boy, the one you swore you wouldn’t let ruin you. 

Heeseung just smirked lazily, his eyes holding adoration, draping an arm over the headrest, he tilted his neck backwards, squeezing his eyes shut, adams apple bobbing up and down as he panted for breath. 

The car is still running. The faint hum of the engine is the only thing keeping the silence alive.

You’re on his lap, skin against skin, the air inside thick and hot and dizzying. His arm rests lazily over the headrest, fingers tracing idle shapes into the fogged glass. He’s looking at you, though, not like he just had you falling apart against him, but like he’s afraid if he blinks, you’ll vanish.

You don’t meet his eyes. You’re too busy memorizing the way the world looks through the windshield, all blurred streetlights and December rain, the kind of night that feels like it’s holding its breath. Your hands are still trembling where they rest against his chest. His heart hasn’t slowed yet. Neither has yours.

It hits you in waves, all at once: the taste of him still on your tongue, the echo of Jaehyun’s voice in your head, the ache somewhere deep and impossible to name.

Heeseung is the first to move. His thumb grazes the underside of your jaw, slow, careful, as if he’s afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing just bloomed between you. You don’t flinch. You just breathe, sharp, uneven.

He whispers, “You shouldn’t have come tonight.”

You laugh once, breathless. “You shouldn’t have found me.”

That earns the faintest smile from him, tired, bittersweet. His hand slips to the back of your neck, palm warm against your skin. For a second, it feels like he’s about to say something, but the words never come. They die somewhere between you, swallowed by the sound of your shaky breath.

You shift off his lap, fixing your dress with shaking fingers. The cold air bites at your bare thighs. Heeseung doesn’t move, just watches you in silence, eyes tracking every small motion like he’s trying to anchor himself to it.

You reach for the door handle. “I should go.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

But you don’t move yet. Neither of you do.

The silence stretches, a slow bleed of everything you can’t say. The street outside is wet and empty, and in the reflection on the fogged window, you see both of you, two silhouettes that never should’ve touched.

When he finally exhales, it sounds like surrender. “Do you regret it?”

You don’t answer at first. Your throat is tight, the words caught somewhere painful. You turn to face him, and he looks ruined, hair a mess, shirt rumpled, lips still red from the way you’d kissed him like it was the only language you knew.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Ask me when I can breathe again.”

Heeseung lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s not really laughter. More like disbelief, at you, at himself, at how far you’ve both fallen from the careful lines you used to draw.

You finally open the door. Cold air floods in, smelling like winter and regret. Heeseung’s voice follows you, soft but certain.

“I’ll drive you.”

You want to protest. You really, really do. But your body’s too tired, your chest too raw. So you just nod.

The drive back is wordless. You lean your head against the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of yellow light. Every song that plays on the radio feels wrong, too happy, too sad, too much like a memory that hasn’t happened yet.

Heeseung doesn’t look at you, but his hand rests near the gearshift, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for yours and knows better. You think about Jaehyun. About his voice when he said he wanted space, how he never raised it, not once. How his eyes softened even when his words didn’t. And now, all you can think is that you’ve just done the one thing that can’t be undone.

The car slows near your dorm. Heeseung doesn’t park immediately, he just idles by the curb, staring at the glowing entrance like it’s some kind of verdict.

You break the silence first. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

He nods. “Okay.”

But he’s still looking at you like it means everything.

You swallow hard, gripping the strap of your purse. “We were drunk. That’s all.”

“You weren’t that drunk,” he says quietly.

That stings. You look away, blinking fast. “Neither were you.”

Another silence, heavier this time. Then he leans back in his seat, eyes closing, head tilted against the leather. He looks exhausted, older somehow. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Please.”

He opens his eyes, looks at you again. “You’re going to hate me tomorrow, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I already do.”

He smiles, faint, broken. “Goodnight, rival.”

You hate that it makes your chest hurt. You hate that you want to say it back.

Instead, you open the door, step into the cold. The night swallows the heat of the car whole. You don’t look back, not even once, because you know if you do, he’ll still be there, watching, waiting, the same way he always has.

When you finally reach your dorm, your knees give out against the door. You slide down to the floor, breath ragged, heart racing. You press a hand to your chest, half hoping you can slow it down, half hoping you never can.

You don’t cry. You don’t sleep either.

Outside, the city hums quietly, alive, indifferent. Somewhere, Heeseung drives away, and you know that no matter how much you try to pretend, something between you just changed forever.

Silence comes first. Not the kind that’s peaceful, but the kind that clings, that hums in the back of your skull, presses against your ribs until it hurts to breathe.

You don’t speak to Heeseung. Not in class, not in the hallways, not when you pass each other near the coffee kiosk in the lobby of the humanities building. You keep your head down, fingers wrapped too tightly around your paper cup, eyes glued to the floor tiles. And he, he pretends nothing happened.

He laughs with your classmates. He debates like he always does, confident and unshakable, answering every professor’s question with that same quiet arrogance. It should make your blood boil. It used to. Now it just makes your throat burn.

Everywhere you go, he’s there, just enough for the world to feel smaller. And still, you can’t look at him. Not after the car. Not after the way his mouth tasted like regret and relief and everything you’d never meant to want.

You start sitting three rows behind where you usually did in lecture. Heeseung still sits in the same seat, one arm over the back of the chair, posture lazy, eyes flicking down at his notes every now and then. You can feel the heat of his gaze, even when you refuse to meet it.

You take too many notes. You underline everything twice. Every time your professor says group work, your stomach drops, like you’re waiting for your name to be spoken next to his again.

You tell yourself it was a mistake, the kiss, the car, the way your hands had memorized the shape of him. You say it over and over in your head until the words lose their edges, until mistake starts sounding like memory.

You don’t believe it, but it’s easier to lie when it’s only to yourself.

Megan notices first. “Did you and golden boy kill each other yet, or is that next week?” she teases, trying to coax a laugh out of you.

You just shrug. “I don’t talk to him anymore.”

Her eyes widen. “Wait. Anymore? Since when were you talking to him?”

You don’t answer. She doesn’t push, but you can feel her curiosity simmering between you both like static.

Later, when you’re back in your dorm, the silence feels heavier. The bed is cold. The window is open just enough to let the city noise bleed in, sirens, chatter, the occasional honk. You used to love that sound; it made you feel alive. Now it just makes you feel small.

You find the old list buried under a stack of printed essays in your desk drawer. The edges are wrinkled, ink smudged in a few places, probably from the night you ripped it down.

The heading still reads, Ten Things I Hate About Lee Heeseung.

You smooth it out on your lap and stare at it for a long time.

4. You’re fucking selfish.

5. You make my boyfriend look like a roach.

6. You’re an annoying, cocky, rich bastard who doesn’t know what it’s like to work a day in your life.

7. You’re so bitchy, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.

8. You’re… handsome… I guess.

9. You’re fucking smart.

10. You’re unreasonably irrational.

For the longest time, you stare at the three empty spots on the top of the list. You had left them empty for something absolutely atrocious and vile to put there, and now? You had the perfect muse. You pick up your pen. The ink bleeds black into the paper, heavy and deliberate.

3. I hate that you make me feel wanted.

2. I hate that you made me fall in love.

You stare at that last line for a long time. The word love looks foreign in your handwriting. Too soft. Too final. You almost cross it out. Almost. Instead, you add one more. The top spot, the one that shatters your heart in half to fill in. 

1. I hate that maybe I don’t hate you at all.

In class the next day, Heeseung raises his hand to answer a question, and your chest does that stupid fluttering thing again. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. He catches you looking. Just once, a flicker of eye contact, barely a second. But it’s enough to pull you apart inside. He looks away first, jaw tightening like he’s chewing back a dozen words.

You avoid him everywhere else. The campus library, the study lounges, the coffee shops. It’s like you’ve built your own orbit around him, one where you can see him but never touch, always close enough to burn. The memory of the party burned into a skin like a bad omen you can’t shake off.

He tries once, after class, to talk to you. “Y/N,” he calls, quiet but certain. You freeze in the hallway. The students passing by blur into noise.

He’s standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. “You don’t have to avoid me.”

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m not.”

He shrugs, a faint curve at his mouth, too gentle to be smug, too familiar to ignore. Your heart, the traitor, trips over itself. “Can I borrow your copy of Mrs. Garcia’s assigned book?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why? Where’s yours?”

He chuckles, low and warm. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just an excuse to talk to you.”

That stops you, just for a heartbeat. The hallway hums around you; someone laughs in the distance, doors slam. You stay still.

Then you turn away before the sound of his voice can undo you again. The next day, you see him again. Not in class this time. Outside the student center, leaning against the railing with a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. The afternoon sun hits him just right, gold against his skin, softening all the edges you used to sharpen in your head.

You almost walk away. You should. But you stop. He looks up. Meets your eyes.

And for the first time since that night, neither of you looks away. He smiles, barely, like he’s scared to break the moment. “Hi,” he says, simple, quiet, devastating.

You don’t know what comes next. You just know that something inside you shifts again, that small, traitorous part that refuses to go back to hating him. Instead, you fish a hand inside your backpack, pulling out Mrs. Garcia’s assigned book, and handing it to him wordlessly. Heart thudding when your fingers brush over each other.

That night, when you sit back at your desk, the list is still open beside you. You run your thumb along the edge, tracing over every line like it might fade if you don’t. You whisper, half to yourself, “I don’t hate you, Heeseung. Not anymore.”

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the most terrifying thing of all. The confession your heart had failed to admit when it was most necessary. 

He shouldn’t have come. He knows it the moment you open the door, hair tied back, eyes wide, lips parted like you’ve just forgotten how to breathe. You look different, quieter, steadier. He looks the same, but he isn’t.

He tells himself it’s just to return your book. Just to give you back the battered paperback Mrs. Garcia assigned two weeks ago, with his notes still in the margins and your doodles bleeding through the corners of every page. But when you step aside and let him in, he knows it’s a lie.

Your apartment smells like coffee and paper. There’s a candle burning on the desk, vanilla and something faintly citrus. He follows you inside and tries not to look like he’s searching for pieces of himself that he left behind.

The book is already in his hand when he notices it. The list. It’s pinned on the wall beside your desk, a little crumpled, written in the same messy penmanship he used to tease you about. But this one’s different. Newer. Some of the lines are crossed out, others rewritten.

He reads without meaning to.

"I hate that you make me feel wanted. I hate that you made me fall in love. I hate that maybe I don’t hate you as much."

The words sink like stones in his stomach. He doesn’t realize he’s spoken until you turn around, startled.

“You really hate me that much?”

Your shoulders stiffen. Then, after a pause, softer, “Not anymore.”

It’s not a forgiveness. Not yet. But it’s something. He laughs quietly, the sound rough and low, like it hasn’t been used in a while. He runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly.

“Good,” he says. His voice shakes. “Because I think I’ve been in love with you since sophomore year.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You blink once, twice, the kind of stunned quiet that feels like gravity shifting. He looks at you, really looks. The light catches on your cheekbones, on the curve of your mouth, on every reason he ever ruined himself trying to stay away. The faint curve of your rosy lips he so desperately wishes to kiss until they are bruised. 

His eyes flick to yours, there’s a final sort of look between them. 

“You were, you were supposed to be my rival, my competitor,” you whisper.

He nods. “I know.”

“You made me lose everything.”

“I know.” He steps closer, slow, careful. “And I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms, like you’re holding yourself together. “You can’t just say that and expect it to fix things.”

“I don’t expect it to,” he says. “I just needed to say it.”

He pauses, breath uneven. “You didn’t deserve the way I made you feel. But I can’t keep pretending that I didn’t want you, that I didn’t—”  He cuts himself off. The air feels too heavy. “Every time I saw you, I wanted to tell you. But it was easier to ruin things than to risk you knowing.”

You look at him for a long moment. The candle flickers between you.

Then you whisper, “You broke me, Heeseung.”

He flinches, because he knows it’s true. But when you add, “And I still don’t know how to hate you,” something inside him finally cracks.

He takes a shaky breath and moves closer, not close enough to touch, just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Then maybe we start from there,” he says softly. “From not hating each other.”

Your eyes lift to his. For the first time in months, you don’t look away.

It’s not a kiss this time. It’s a heartbeat. A shared, quiet understanding, that everything’s broken, but maybe not beyond repair.

He places the book on your desk, fingers brushing against the corner of the list.

“Keep it,” he murmurs. “If you ever rewrite it again… maybe add one more line.”

“What line?”

He smiles, just barely. “I don’t hate you anymore, either.”

When he leaves, the candle’s still burning. And you don’t take the list down.

Graduation Day. The event feels mundane, almost underwhelming. For what was supposed to be perhaps the happiest moment of your life. You feel, oddly grown up, as if the days of silly errors are left behind you. As if you are experiencing how to be reborn again, breathing in the fresh morning of winter. 

The morning light spills through your blinds, gold and unhurried. It’s the kind of day that feels like a comma instead of a period, something ending, but not quite finished.

Megan’s sitting cross-legged on your bed, curling her hair with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. She looks up when you emerge from the bathroom, cap and gown draped over your arm, and lets out a low whistle.

“You look hot for someone who’s about to sob in public.”

You roll your eyes, but you smile anyway. “Thanks, I think.”

She pats the bed beside her. “Come here.”

You sit, smoothing out the edge of your dress. It’s quiet for a moment, just the hum of the hairdryer and the faint sound of birds outside. Then Megan says, softly, “Can I ask you something?”

You glance over. “What?”

“Be honest with me. About him.”

You don’t have to ask who she means. You just stare down at your hands, at the faint smudge of nail polish, the crease where the gown’s folded.

And then you tell her everything. About the list. The fight. The car. The silence that followed. About how he made you furious, and how you couldn’t stay mad. How love, real love, isn’t always a fire; sometimes it’s the ache after it burns out. And desire is the only thing both fueling and extinguishing the feeble spark of life. Love isn’t shallow, it’s deeper than anything one can witness in life. Perhaps even get lost in it if you forget what you truly are meant to be. 

Megan listens, quiet, eyes soft but unreadable. When you finally stop talking, she reaches over and squeezes your hand.

“You know,” she says, “I think you loved him right. Maybe he just didn’t know how to be loved back then.”

You blink back the sting in your eyes. “Maybe.”

The ceremony is held in the courtyard, all white chairs and fluttering programs. The air smells like spring and beginnings. Your parents are somewhere in the crowd; you wave when you spot them.

And then, as if the universe wants one last cruel joke, you see him. 

Heeseung’s across the lawn, fixing his cap, laughing at something his friend, Jake says. He looks lighter somehow. Older. The sunlight catches on his hair, and for a second, you remember everything, the library, the list, the way his voice cracked when he said he loved you.

When his eyes find yours, the world narrows. He smiles, small, hesitant, and lifts a hand. You return it. Nothing more. But it’s enough. 

What matters now isn’t the rivalry, or the heartbreak, or even the list taped to your wall. It’s that NYU shaped you into something real. Not a machine chasing perfection, but a person, flawed, bruised, alive. A person who has known love. A person who has lived.

After the ceremony, you’re sitting on the steps, waiting for Megan, diplomas clutched tight, caps discarded. The city hums around you, alive and endless. He finds you there. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands, shifting awkwardly, holding two iced coffees.

“One’s black,” he says. “Figured you’d still hate anything sweet.”

You take it, trying not to smile. “You figured right.”

He sits beside you. The silence is comfortable this time, not something to fill, just something to share.

He tells you he got accepted into the same grad program. You laugh. “Of course you did.”

“Still rivals?” he asks, eyes glinting.

“Always.”

It feels different now, not like a battle, but a dance you both know the rhythm to.

The conversation drifts, plans, memories, small jokes that almost sound like old times. And then he looks at you, really looks, the way he used to when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I think I’m done pretending I don’t want to kiss you.”

You exhale a laugh that trembles halfway through. “You shouldn’t.”

He smiles, soft and certain. “I know.”

He kisses you anyway. His lips are soft against yours, tasting of everything you missed.

It’s not like before, not angry, not hungry. It’s slow, quiet, the kind that feels like a goodbye and a beginning at once. You taste coffee and sunlight and surrender.

When he pulls back, he whispers, “See you in grad school?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “See you there.”

He leaves a minute later. You don’t stop him. You don’t have to. The ache in your chest isn’t pain anymore, it’s something gentler. Something like acceptance.

That night, you tape the list back on your wall. This time, it’s rewritten in neat, steady ink:

I hated you.

I loved you.

Maybe that was the same thing all along.

Funny, isn’t it? How a stupid 10 Things I Hate About You list could bring together two people who were never supposed to fit, poles apart, but somehow meant for each other.

To Lee Heeseung, you think, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. Here are ten things I hated about you.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in a long while, it feels like peace.

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[heejamas]

I DON’T WANNA BE JUST FRIENDS ; sjy

» summary: jake was stuck. sex had gotten boring, always the same routine, nothing exciting enough to stick in his head. he wasn’t exactly searching for something new, but when a stupid bdsm test came up in conversation with you, he found himself way too curious. suddenly, he’s researching kinks at 3am, making reddit posts like an idiot, and realizing that maybe he doesn’t just want answers, he wants to try them with you. and maybe all he wants right now is ask: i don’t wanna be just friends, don’t wanna be away from you, can i be a pet?

✰ pairing: jake x fem!reader // ✰ genre: smut (mdni!!), friends to lovers, college au, slowburn-ish #nowplaying » cat & dog - tomorrow x together | mutt - leon thomas | wet dreamz - j. cole | doo wop (that thing) - lauryn hill | mrs. officer - lil wayne | so fresh, so clean - outkast | word count: 28k

!! warnings: smut (mdni), smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), petplay, brat!reader x brat tamer!jake, power dynamics, bdsm dynamics, alcohol and weed consumption, anal play, oral sex (m and f receiving), size kink, fingering, squirting, degradation and praising kink, dirty talk, rough sex, bitch the whole thing they are freaky lmao

JAKE SIM HAD THIS REPUTATION AROUND CAMPUS, AND HE KNEW IT. he wasn’t the type to deny it either, he kind of leaned into it. he had the face, he had the charm, the easy smile that worked on almost anyone, and he was well aware that people liked talking about him. he wasn’t shy about the fact that he hooked up with a lot of girls, not in a bragging way, more like he genuinely didn’t see the point of pretending otherwise. if he wanted something, he went for it, and most of the time he got it.

the funny part was that it never really felt like enough. people would assume he was satisfied, like he had it all figured out, but the truth was, after a while, it all started blending together. same kind of nights, same routines, same conversations that ended in the same place. he liked it in the moment, of course, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but he always went home with this weird feeling, like something was missing, and it wasn’t the whole “looking for love” thing either. it was more that he wanted something different, something he couldn’t even name yet.

he wasn’t the type to sit around and analyze himself too much, but he noticed the pattern. no matter how many people he fucked, he’d end up lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking, is that really it?

he didn’t talk about it with anyone, because what was he supposed to say? “yeah i’m sleeping with half the campus but i’m still kind of bored”? that would sound ridiculous. and you knew him enough to know the image he carried, everyone did, but what people didn’t really see was that restless part of him, the part that kept looking for something he couldn’t find. and he hated admitting it, but lately he started realizing that maybe the problem wasn’t the girls or the sex itself, maybe the problem was that he wanted to try things he didn’t even know how to explain without sounding insane.

“you ever feel like… sex is just the same shit over and over?” jake asked, not even looking directly at sunghoon while the fifa match rolled on his tv.

sunghoon paused the game immediately, which already said a lot, because sunghoon never paused fifa for anything. he turned to look at jake dead in the eye. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i’m serious,” jake said, sighing. “like, yeah, it’s good, but sometimes i’m just… i don’t know, bored.”

sunghoon started laughing so hard he almost dropped the controller. “you? bored? mr. i-had-sex-in-the-theater-bathroom last week? nah. shut the fuck up.”

“that’s exactly what i mean!” jake argued, leaning forward. “it’s always the same shit. hook up, make out, fuck, pass out. repeat. i’m telling you, i feel like there’s supposed to be more, but i don’t know what the hell that is.”

“okay,” sunghoon said, nodding like he was being thoughtful, but his grin gave him away. “so what you’re saying is… your dick’s tired.”

“that’s not what i said.”

“sounds like what you said.”

before jake could fire back, the door creaked open and heeseung walked in with a bag of chips and a joint between his fingers, looking like he hadn’t slept in two days. he glanced at the tv, took a drag, then looked at them. “you guys talking about gooning?”

“kinda,” sunghoon answered instantly, pointing at jake. “apparently mr. campus heartthrob is bored of pussy.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow, ripped open the chips, and sat down on the armrest. “wow. should we throw you a funeral?”

jake groaned and buried his face in his hands. “you guys are fucking useless.”

“nah, bro, i’m serious,” sunghoon said, nudging him with his foot. “maybe you just need some freaky shit. like, tie someone up, put on a costume, bark a little. switch it up.”

“the fuck are you even saying?” jake shot back, but the way his ears went red didn’t go unnoticed.

heeseung caught it instantly, grinning like a devil. “wait. wait. oh my god. jake wants to bark.”

“shut the fuck up,” jake muttered, ending the conversation.

but the thing is, jake thought sometimes about barking. i mean, not literally standing in someone’s room on all fours going woof, but the thought of something that wasn’t just the usual sex crossed his mind more than once. like, there had to be people out there doing shit that wasn’t just missionary or whatever. he wasn’t about to admit it out loud to sunghoon or heeseung because he knew they’d never let it go, but after that night, the whole “maybe you need to bark” thing kept replaying in his head. and he didn’t immediately shut it down. he laughed in front of them, told them they were idiots, but later that week, lying in bed at two a.m., he actually caught himself googling “unconventional sex stuff.”

that’s how he ended up on reddit. it wasn’t even intentional, he just clicked link after link until suddenly he was in some forum full of people talking about kinks like they were trading recipes. half the stuff freaked him out, the other half made him curious in a way he didn’t know how to process. he didn’t think he was a freak, but then again, maybe he was, because none of this was coming up in regular conversations, and he clearly couldn’t bring it up to his friends without being clowned for the rest of his life.

so one night, after reading through threads for way too long, he gave in and made a throwaway account.

r/TooAfraidToAsk

u/australianlebron127 | 12m

i feel like i’m bored of sex but don’t know what i’m looking for, is that normal?

i’m a 23 year old male and i’ve been pretty active since like freshman year of college. i’ve hooked up with a lot of people, and i guess on the outside it sounds cool, but honestly it all feels the same and i keep thinking i’m missing something. my friends make jokes about “freaky stuff” and once someone even said i probably just need to bark or whatever, which was stupid, but now i can’t stop thinking maybe i actually do need something like that.

i don’t even know what i’m into, i just know regular sex feels kind of… repetitive. i’m not in a relationship and i’m not looking for love advice or anything like that, i’m just wondering if it’s normal to feel like this or if i should be trying to figure out what i like more. and if i should… how do you even start? like i can’t just ask someone “hey wanna let me experiment with you” right? idk.

after he posted it, jake shut his laptop like he just confessed a crime. he honestly thought no one would even read it, but the next morning when he checked again, there were already a bunch of replies. some of them were just people trolling him, like one guy wrote “bro just buy a dildo and stop crying,” which didn’t help at all, but there were also some longer comments from people who actually sounded like they knew what they were talking about.

one person wrote something like, “you don’t have to know your kink right away, just pay attention to what sticks in your head. if something makes you curious, that’s worth exploring.” another person said, “try to communicate with partners, you’d be surprised how many people are also bored of ‘regular’ sex and want to experiment too.” and then there was one comment that just said, “maybe you’re into power dynamics. look into dom/sub stuff, that’s usually a good starting point.”

jake read through all of them with his face buried in his pillow, feeling like if anyone walked in and saw what he was doing, he’d have to transfer schools immediately. but at the same time, it made him feel a little less crazy. apparently, other people were going through the same thing, or at least close enough. he wasn’t the only one who felt like sex got repetitive after a while. still, he didn’t know what to do with that information. he wasn’t about to sit sunghoon down and say, “hey bro, what do you think my kink is?” and he sure as hell wasn’t going to test this out with some random hookup from a party. if he was going to try anything new, he wanted it to be with someone who actually knew him, someone he trusted not to laugh in his face. 

and that’s when he remembered you.

he met you through jungwon and sunoo. you were always around, more like part of the background of the friend group. jake thought you were cool, funny without trying too hard, and yeah, obviously really hot, but he never made a move because you weren’t like the other girls he usually talked to at parties. you didn’t even go to half the parties. when he did see you, you were usually laughing with your friends, completely unbothered by whatever was going on around. you never hooked up, never even flirted, but there was this one time that stuck with him. 

he was walking past in the middle of a random conversation between you and sunoo, and he caught enough of it to never forget. you were holding your phone, laughing so hard, and you went, “who the fuck gets a hundred percent vanilla on the bdsm test? you have to try to be that boring.”

sunoo immediately grabbed the phone from you, yelling, “shut up! you literally got ninety-six percent petplay, you freak! what are you even talking about?”

jake didn’t even know what to do with that information at the time, but he remembered the way you just laughed and shrugged, like it was nothing. he laughed too, mostly because sunoo looked like he was about to pass out from embarrassment, but the conversation burned into his brain. now, weeks later, lying in bed after scrolling through way too many reddit threads about kinks, that memory hit him again, like his brain suddenly pulled out a file he didn’t realize he kept. and you sounded so comfortable with it, like talking about sex wasn’t this big taboo topic.

jake thought about it more than once after that, and now, with all this restless energy in his head, it started to feel like a sign. maybe you weren’t close, maybe you weren’t the person he texted at two in the morning, but you were the only person he could think of who might not laugh in his face if he admitted he was… curious. so he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts until he found your name, and stared at it for a solid minute like the letters might rearrange themselves into “don’t do this.” then, because he was jake, he typed something dumb and hit send before he could overthink it.

jake: yo do u know if the cafeteria is still selling those massive cookies or did they stop

you didn’t answer right away, which made him instantly regret his entire life, but then the screen lit up.

you: why are you texting me about cookies at 11pm

you: and yes they still sell them lol

he grinned, already feeling lighter.

jake: good to know

jake: important info

there was a pause, and then you sent back:

you: you’re so weird sometimes

he laughed out loud at that. it was stupid, but it gave him enough courage to type what he really wanted.

jake: hey random question tho

jake: u remember that bdsm test thing u joked about w sunoo once

jake: do u still have the link perchance

he stared at the message after sending it, suddenly way too aware of how insane it looked. but it was too late, it was out there. his brain was screaming at him that this was either the best idea he ever had or the dumbest one, and he wouldn’t know which until you answered, but your reply came quicker than he expected.

you: LMAO jake why are u asking me this

you: are u abt to send me ur result rn bc i wanna see

you: don’t lie i KNOW ur not 100% vanilla

you dropped the link right after, and jake felt his stomach twist because now he had no excuse. he clicked it. the layout looked ancient, like a quiz someone coded in 2005, but it was apparently the same test everyone online swore by.

he started reading the questions, and it was instantly ridiculous. stuff like “would you enjoy being tied up?” or “would you enjoy tying someone else up?” and the scale went from “absolutely not” to “hell yes.” jake sat there, thinking way harder than he expected. some of them were easy to answer—no, he didn’t want to be whipped until he couldn’t walk—but others made him hesitate, like maybe he’d try it, maybe it didn’t sound that bad.

when the petplay questions showed up, he froze for a second. he could practically hear sunghoon in his head going “bro, bark,” and it made him want to close the tab, but at the same time… he didn’t click “absolutely not.” he thought about it, sighed, and picked “maybe.”

twenty minutes later, the results loaded on his screen in neat little percentages, like it was about to diagnose him with something.

100% switch; 98% dominant; 97% brat tamer; 94% pet; 80% experimentalist

jake stared at the screen. part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to throw his phone out the window, and another part of him just thought: yeah, that actually makes sense. he sat there, debating whether sending it to you would make him look confident or like the biggest clown alive. but you had asked to see it, and he kind of did want to know what you’d say. so he did send you the screenshots, three images of his percentages sitting in your chat, and you answered almost instantly.

you: LMAOOO

you: okay i expected switch 100% bc u give off that vibe

you: but 94% pet?? never in my life would i have guessed that

jake felt his ears burn. he didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean, but the way you typed it made him smile anyway.

jake: bro don’t act like u weren’t the one clowning sunoo abt this shit

you: yeah but i didn’t expect u to be secretly into meowing

jake: i didn’t say i’m into that

you: mhmmm the math says otherwise jakey

he groaned and threw his phone onto his pillow, but then picked it right back up. he wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, it felt good that you weren’t making it weird. you were teasing him, yeah, but it was soft, like the way you’d tease a friend. even though jake didn’t know if friend was the right word.

jake: alright then, where’s urs

you: oh i’m not sending mine

jake: tf why not

you: bc it’s funnier to let u wonder

jake: wtf does that mean

you: it means one day maybe i’ll show u in person idk

jake stared at that message for a solid minute. in person? what do you mean “in person”? he had no idea if you were flirting, being sarcastic, or just messing with him for fun. either way, the thought lodged itself in his brain immediately and refused to leave. he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that, but his brain decided to run off with it anyway. like maybe, hypothetically, if one day you actually did drop to your knees in front of him and said “meow,” he wouldn’t hate it. actually, he might really, really not hate it.

so that week jake couldn’t stop thinking about it. so naturally, at three in the morning when any normal person would be asleep, he was hunched over his laptop, typing “what is petplay kink” into google like some dad learning how to use tiktok.

the first page of results didn’t help much. there were a bunch of articles that tried to sound educational but were really just people overexplaining, and then there were forums with way too many details he wasn’t ready for. he clicked through anyway, and five minutes later he was learning that apparently some people actually bought collars for this stuff, and leashes, and there was a whole thing about drinking water from bowls. he sat back in his chair, “no way,” he muttered to himself. “there’s no way i’m buying a dog bowl.” but then another part of him was like… okay, maybe not the bowl, but the collar thing? that didn’t sound as insane.

he kept scrolling. one post talked about how petplay wasn’t always about barking or crawling around, sometimes it was just about roles, like playfulness, obedience, teasing. that part made more sense to him. then he fell into another rabbit hole, this time about “brat taming.” apparently it meant dealing with someone who liked to push back, tease, talk back until you had to put them in their place. jake read three different threads about it and had to close the tab because, yeah, he was definitely into that.

he shut his laptop after an hour of scrolling, face buried in his hands, because what the hell was he even doing? one week ago he was just another guy with too much free time, and now he was sitting there seriously wondering if buying a collar off amazon would be insane or just a solid investment. and the kicker was, every time he thought about it, your face showed up in his head.

so when he saw you for the first time after that, he felt something weird going on around his pants. and jake wasn’t a fucking teen anymore, he wasn’t gonna get hard just by looking at a girl, but somehow he was… semi hard. it had been a long time since that happened out of nowhere and he thought it was kind of strange, like his body was reminding him of things he hadn’t thought about in months.

you looked up from your laptop, saw him, and smiled. that smile — bright, easy — made him immediately forget that anything felt weird. you waved, and jake had to remind himself to actually walk toward you instead of standing there like a moron.

“hey!” you called, motioning him over. “come sit.” you were sitting at a table with jungwon and sunoo, laptop open in front of you. jungwon was typing something, sunoo was scrolling on his phone, “so… did you get the giant cookie from the cafeteria or what?” you asked, a playful grin on your face.

jake internally thanked you, harder than he wanted to admit, for not bringing up the test. one, because he would have died of embarrassment with jungwon and sunoo there, and two, because honestly, thinking about it again might have made him get hard all over again in the middle of the library cafe. “uh… no, not yet,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not make it sound like his entire body was having a meeting about you.

“oh, okay,” you said, opening your laptop wider. “we can grab some after i finish this thing.”

he slid into the chair next to you, careful not to get too close, careful not to breathe like he was dying, and just tried to act like a normal human. which, for jake, was hard work when you were smiling at him like that.

after a while, you both got up and headed to the cafeteria. he was quieter, more reserved, but trying to respond, trying to interact without sounding like he was hyperventilating. by the time you got to the display with all the cookies, it was just the two of you. jake tried to act casual while his brain reminded him that he was, somehow, still semi hard and that his body was apparently having its own agenda today. he felt like a complete freak but the thought made him laugh at himself.

“so… chocolate cookie?” you asked, eyes sparkling, and then paused dramatically. “or are you gonna switch to vanilla?” you emphasized the word switch, looking at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.

jake couldn’t help it. he laughed out loud. “oh, okay, i see what you’re doing,” he said, shaking his head. it was ridiculous, and he felt ridiculous, but in a way that made him feel… funny.

“what? i’m just trying to make cookie decisions fun,” you said, smirking, clearly loving that you got a reaction out of him.

“yeah yeah, sure,” he replied, and then couldn’t resist pushing a little. “sooo… you said you were gonna show me your result personally, remember?”

you tilted your head, mock-serious. “wow, curious, aren’t you?”

he felt his face heat up, part embarrassment, part horniness, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how casual you were about all this. am i really getting turned on by a conversation about cookies and some quiz? he thought, mentally cursing himself, and then laughed a little because, yeah, apparently he was. “i mean… i’m not curious,” he said, though he was. “i just… maybe want to see it. for science.”

“mhmm, for science,” you repeated, grinning, clearly reading right through him. you sat down at a table after paying for the cookies, you opened your laptop casually, and started scrolling through your results. “alright, so… brace yourself,” you said, smiling at him, “here.” jake leaned a little closer, trying not to stare too obviously at your face and also trying not to think about other… possibilities. 

switch: 99%, submissive: 95%, brat: 92%, pet: 90%.

jake blinked a few times, and his brain immediately went to the oh shit this is hot mode. he felt his stomach tighten and had to consciously remind himself to breathe. he tried not to picture too much, trying not to lose it right there in front of you. after a beat, he swallowed and forced his voice casual. “yeah… i mean… i kinda imagined your result being something like this.”

you raised an eyebrow, grinning like you knew exactly what he was thinking. “ahh, so you were thinking about my results, huh?”

jake felt his face heat up instantly, but he couldn’t help laughing a little. “shut up…” he said after you teased, clearly enjoying the fact that he was squirming just a bit.

“never thought you’d be into petplay,” you said casually, glancing at him.

“me neither,” he admitted, a little embarrassed. “i’ve never actually done it.”

“oh really?” you teased. “but it’s on your test.”

“yeah… i’m just… assuming i’d like it,” he said, shrugging. “never explored my kinks before. that’s why i did the test.”

you smiled at him, eyes soft. “honestly, i get it. it’s fine. makes sense.”

for some reason, hearing you say that made him feel comfortable, thinking how nice it was to have someone he could actually talk to about it. you kept talking about the results, scrolling through different percentages, laughing at some of the weirder ones, shaking your heads at others, like “who the hell is this person” kind of stuff. jake felt like he could actually breathe a little easier, like maybe exploring this shit didn’t have to be some big awkward thing. 

and then he caught himself thinking about it — again, for the hundredth time — that maybe having you actually… participate in some of it wouldn’t be that bad. like, actually being there while you did the petplay stuff or teased him, whatever. and the thought hit him in a weird way that made him grin like a complete idiot, because yeah, it was exciting, and yeah, he could feel that familiar tightness in his pants again.

so after that, jake found himself doing more research about things you might like. he didn’t even know why he was looking this stuff up. he told himself it was curiosity, like he was just trying to understand a phenomenon or something, but deep down he knew it was more than that.

he was intrigued by the kinks, by the way you’d come across as so… private. he’d never seen you with anyone, never heard stories about your experiences, and somehow that made him hornier and more curious at the same time. the weirdest part was that he felt like he knew a lot about you because of that damn bdsm test, but also realized he didn’t know shit—whereas you probably knew tons of stories about him and his past hookups.

eventually he went back to reddit. of course he did. he found a server for kinks and typed out a post, hesitating over every word, trying not to make himself sound like a total weirdo.

r/kink_advice

u/australianlebron127 | 3m

how do i talk to a friend about mutual kinks?

hi, i’m a 23m and i have this friend (24f), she’s cool, funny, super private, and i think maybe we like the same kinks. we’ve talked a little about bdsm stuff and she shared her results on this bdsm test once, which were very similar to mine. i’m curious and want to maybe explore things with her, but i have no idea how to even bring it up without making it weird. any advice?

the replies came fast. some were generic, like “just be honest and communicate,” or “don’t push anything she’s not into.” but then one comment made him stop scrolling for a second.

comment: if she’s into petplay or praising kink, just call her a good girl out of nowhere and see how she reacts, or tell her to behave.

jake stared at that comment for longer than he should have. he couldn’t believe that the solution was potentially so simple, and also so terrifying. he wasn’t sure if it was genius or completely insane.

so he thought about putting the plan into practice that weekend, at the frat party. he already knew you’d be there because you’d mentioned jungwon and chaewon had been bugging you to go, and for jake, that sounded like the perfect opportunity. when he got to the house, sunghoon shoved a drink into his hand before he could even say hi, and riki was already trying to drag him outside to smoke a joint. jake brushed both of them off with a laugh, sipping the drink just to keep sunghoon from nagging, and then he saw you.

you were across the room, leaning against the counter with chaewon, laughing about something. you weren’t dressed overly flashy, nothing insane, just jeans and a cropped tank top that showed a sliver of skin when you moved, and your hair pulled back like you didn’t even try that hard. but for some reason, to jake, it looked better than half the girls in glitter dresses floating around the place.

he felt his stomach tighten in that same way it had the other day, and he had to stop himself from grinning too obviously. you had this golden retriever kind of energy, the kind of person who always smiled when someone waved, always asked how people were doing, and jake had that too, except his version usually came with flirting and ending up in someone’s bed.

he could feel the stares of other girls in the room, some who he’d already hooked up with, some who he knew wanted to. he caught one or two smiling at him, making the kind of eye contact that usually meant come over here later, and he knew he could. he could pick almost anyone in the room if he wanted. but for once, he wasn’t interested. the whole point tonight was you.

jake took another sip of his drink and pushed through the crowd, his eyes flicking back to you every other second. he was hyping himself up in his head, thinking about that stupid reddit comment and whether he was actually crazy enough to try it out. every step closer to you, the thought kept repeating in his head: good girl. just say it once. see what happens.

so he walked up to you, slid into that little circle, and went, “hey,” giving you and chaewon a nod. you both greeted him back, chaewon with her usual dry smile and you with that bright one that always made him feel like you were actually happy to see him, even if it was just a quick hello at a loud party.

the conversation was easy, just small talk but not awkward. eventually chaewon excused herself to get a drink, and right then minjeong walked past. she gave jake a quick once over and stopped long enough to rest her hand on his shoulder, leaning in with a smile that was way too obvious. “jake, later come find me, okay?” she said in that flirty tone that didn’t leave much room for interpretation. he just gave a small nod, polite enough but already knowing he wasn’t going to.

when she walked off, you tilted your head and started laughing under your breath. “wow,” you said, dragging the word out, “how many girls here have you hooked up with?”

jake immediately shook his head, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. “not that many,” he said, though even he knew it sounded weak.

you raised your brows, clearly amused. “and none of them made you wanna… what was it again? meow?” you asked, grinning at him like you were way too proud of yourself for remembering.

he froze for a second, caught completely off guard, before he tried to play it cool. “you’re not letting that go, huh?” he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it might soften the blow of how flustered he actually was. “but, i mean, maybe it’s because none of them knew how to behave like you, i think.”

he said it half teasing, half testing, and his smile was trying to cover the way his heart was picking up. you squinted at him, amused but confused, and went, “what do you mean behave like me?”

jake didn’t even hesitate. “uh, it was in your test. brat, sub, pet, you know what i’m talking about.”

you let out this little laugh, shaking your head. “ok, that’s in my test, but you don’t know if i’m actually like that in real life. you literally said you’ve never done petplay, and you’re just assuming you’d like it.”

he shrugged, leaning back slightly, but his eyes stayed on you. “yeah, but have you done it?” his tone was way too direct for the middle of a crowded party.

you laughed again, but this time it was softer, like you were a little embarrassed. “uh… yeah.”

jake grinned, instantly smug. “then there you go. point proven. you do behave.” you didn’t say anything right away, and that threw him off, because you were almost never quiet around him. you just looked at him for a second, like you were deciding something in your head. so he tilted his head and asked, “what?”

“nothing,” you said quickly, then paused. “just thinking if you’ve ever even talked about this with anyone else before.”

he scratched the back of his neck, a little awkward now. “not really. i mean, sunghoon once told me i should bark at someone to see if i’d like it, but i didn’t take him seriously.”

you cracked up at that, covering your mouth for a second. “maybe minjeong would like that. i don’t know. you could always try it on her.”

and that was the moment it hit him, clear as day. he didn’t want to try anything with minjeong. he didn’t want to test it out with some random girl who was already halfway throwing herself at him. he wanted you.

before he could say anything though, you excused yourself, saying you were gonna grab some water or check on chaewon or something, and then you slipped into the crowd. jake stood there for a second, realizing that if he actually wanted this to go anywhere with you, he was gonna have to be more direct about it. no more hiding behind jokes or waiting for you to bring it up.

after a while, jake found you by the drinks table, leaning against it with a plastic cup in your hand. you were turned, and when you noticed him coming over, you gave him this small smile, the kind you always did that looked automatic. “can you fill mine up too?” he asked, holding out his cup.

“sure,” you said, reaching for the tap and tilting his cup under it.

the words came out of him before he even thought about them. “good girl.”

you froze for a second. like, literally stopped mid-pour. then you turned your head slowly to look at him. “what’d you say?”

he didn’t flinch. “i called you a good girl.”

he had no idea where the confidence was coming from. maybe from the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, maybe from the way you’d been laughing at his teasing earlier, maybe from too much beer, maybe from all of that. but he didn’t look away. you held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once, finished filling his cup, and handed it back to him.

he grinned. “what? did you get flustered at that?”

“shut up, jake,” you said, but you were smiling, trying to hide it, and then you turned and walked off before he could say anything else.

he’d said it once, and you didn’t blow him off, didn’t get weird, didn’t shut it down. if anything, you’d reacted. ok, he thought, taking a sip, i need to be even more direct.

later that night, jake found himself outside, because jake was jake and he couldn’t say no to a blunt rotation with his friends. he was leaning back against the side of the house with heeseung and beomgyu, all of them passing around a joint. heeseung was halfway into some rant about how he thinks all stanley cups are potentially weapons when you came bouncing out the door.

“wow,” you said immediately, spotting them. “look at you guys, stoner squad.” you laughed, light and teasing, but not mean.

jake felt that stupid twitch in his pants he’d been fighting all night right away and he hated himself for it. you weren’t even doing anything. you were just smiling like always, tail wagging friendly, and somehow that was enough to get him semi hard again. 

​​he held the joint out to you. “want some?”

you tilted your head, eyes narrowing like you were weighing it. “hm. it’s been a while. i don’t know how i’ll react.” but you took it anyway. your fingers brushed his as you grabbed it, then you brought it to your lips, inhaling slow. jake couldn’t stop watching the way your chest rose and the way you let the smoke slip out through your lips. then you looked up at him, big doe eyes, blinking like a puppy, and it wasn’t just the weed. that was a look, and he knew that look. he saw it tons of times before from other girls he knew that wanted him to fuck them.

“you did good,” he said quietly, the words almost slipping out of his mouth on their own. his voice was low, soft but steady. praising.

you blinked, eyes widening a little, and then, of course, you smiled. not your usual grin, but this smaller one, just for him. you passed the joint back to him, and didn’t say anything. jake smirked, turned, and shoved the joint back at heeseung and beomgyu. then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. “you two get the fuck outta here.”

heeseung frowned like he was about to argue, but beomgyu caught on quick, grabbed his arm, and dragged him off with the joint still in his hand. jake barely noticed, his eyes were already back on you. he could feel that edge of nervous energy sitting in his chest.

“you know,” he started, voice little lower than usual, “i’ve been thinking a lot about that test we took.” 

you tilted your head, sipping the last of your drink. “oh yeah?”

he let out a quick laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “yeah. like, i’ve always wanted to try some of that stuff with someone, but i never really had anyone to test it out with.”

you snorted, but it wasn’t mean, it was playful. “come on, jake. you’re telling me you’ve had no one to test kinks with? that’s new. that’s not the jake i know.”

he laughed too, shaking his head, stepping just a little closer. “come on, you know that’s not what i mean.”

“how’s it not what you mean?” you asked, raising your brows like you were calling him out. “jake, there are at least ten girls in this house right now that i’ve personally heard say they’d do literally anything you asked. you’ve gotta be more confident.”

“the problem,” he said, this time leaning in slightly, his eyes flicking down to your mouth before back up, “is that i don’t want just anyone.”

you paused, holding his gaze, and your lips tugged into this little smirk. “then be confident and ask the person you actually want.”

you said it so obviously, like you were spelling it out for him, and jake knew you’d already figured it out. you weren’t running from it either, which only made his pulse faster. he forced himself to stay calm, not too flirty, just enough to keep it casual, smug in the only way he knew how to handle this. “look,” he said, “i know this might sound a little out of nowhere, but when i say i’ve been thinking about it, i mean i’ve actually been thinking about it.” you didn’t interrupt, you just watched him, waiting. “and i don’t want it to come off like i’m some fuck boy with weird kinks trying to test them on anyone who’s remotely into the same stuff. that’s not it. but…” he hesitated for just a second, then pushed through, “if you wanted to… if you were down… you could maybe show me the things you’re into sometime. so i can see if i’m into them too.”

he said it steady, without laughing, without looking away, even though inside his stomach was doing flips. you smirked at him, leaning in just enough to make him think that you were about to say something he wanted to hear. “yeah,” you said, dragging it out, “i could try that sometime.”

jake froze for a second, because hearing you actually say that out loud hit him harder than he expected. it had been a long time since he’d felt this type of nervous to hook up with a girl, he wasn’t just anxious but he was also excited, and his brain was already five steps ahead picturing what it would be like. and now you were looking at him with those wide puppy eyes, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been this gone over someone in a while.

so he leaned in, not even thinking too much about it, just following the way your words had practically given him permission, but right before he got there, you stepped back, smirk still on your face. “sometime”, you corrected, “i didn’t say tonight.”

and then you turned, casually walking off, and jake just stood there, blinking at the back of your head as you went back to the house. he didn’t even know what to do with himself. he could only think one thing: when exactly had he gotten himself this fucked?

after that night, jake couldn’t think about anything else at all. every morning he woke up, the first thought in his brain was basically: when is sometime? it was killing him. his dick was practically on a constant timer, ready to embarrass him at any random moment. he’d see you on campus, just doing normal-ass things, like tying your shoe, talking to someone, sipping your coffee, and then you’d look up, smile at him like you didn’t casually say you might let him try out some kinky shit with you, and instantly his pants got tight. it was torture.

he tried to play it cool, but the truth was his brain was fried. he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways it could go. you acting like a brat and him finally having an excuse to put you in your place? yeah, he wanted that. you in a collar? he was picturing it. you on all fours, maybe purring at him? his dick didn’t see a problem with it.

the only issue was, he knew there were steps to get there, like he couldn’t just skip straight to “here’s your leash.” but still, he wanted it, and every day it was getting more unbearable. and jake kept replaying it in his head, wondering if you’d been kinkshaming him that night. but no, you didn’t look disgusted. you looked like you enjoyed making him squirm. 

so after days of overthinking, he finally just thought, fuck it, i’m texting her.

he stared at his phone for a second, then finally muttered to himself, “fuck it.” jeans went down, dick out, and he just leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. this was the first time he was sexting someone like this, like really trying to push boundaries, and he never imagined he’d get this fucking horny reading messages.

the thought of you was too much. he didn’t even really see your words at first. his eyes were half lidded, mind spinning, imagining you there, acting like you were challenging him to keep control while he was already losing it. your texts were just triggers at that point—he didn’t need them to imagine every little sound, every whine, every little movement you’d make when he told you to behave. his hand moved on its own, faster and harder, and then he felt finally letting go, spilling all over himself, and it hit him how long it had been since he’d actually come like that just from his own hand and a fantasy. it wasn’t some casual fap to random porn. it was you. the idea of you teasing him, bratting him, letting him call you a good girl, and him slowly building you up in his mind.

finally he wiped his hand, leaned back, and looked at his phone again. the last message from you was there:

you: youre jerking off arent you?

you: hope u have fun thinking about me

you: good night jakey 😊

he just froze for a second, grinning like a complete idiot, and then read it again. and again. and again. every time he did, he couldn’t help himself— his hand went back to his dick, and he was off, imagining your voice, your little smirks, the way you’d act bratty and subby and soft all at once. he spent the rest of the night like that, phone beside him, mind completely tangled up in fantasies about you, and every time he looked at those messages he had to jerk off again, like a fucking teenager. 

and it kinda turned into a routine before he even realized it. every night, somewhere between brushing his teeth and pretending he was gonna go to bed early, jake ended up texting you. it started light, memes, random shit from his day, but without fail it slid into something else. not always full on sexting, sometimes it was just you pushing him with one-liners that had him hard in minutes. like that one time you just sent:

you: good pets beg nicely, don’t they?

and he actually sat there, cock throbbing in his sweats, typing and deleting five different responses before finally sending something he never thought he’d put in writing.

and yeah, he was screwed. because he did like it, he liked you bratty, needy, whiny. he liked calling you his pet. but the thing that really fucked him up was realizing he’d always end up giving in to you anyway. no matter how much he talked big, if you told him to try something, he’d try it. if you wanted him to push a boundary, he’d push it. he was supposed to be the dom, but half the time he felt like a dog wagging his tail waiting for scraps from you. and yeah, the results saying “switch” were not a surprise at this point.

he even got nerdy about it. he continued reading reddit threads, doing kink tests, scrolling through subs at 3am like he was studying for a final exam (he should be studying for a few, actually). the only problem? he still hadn’t seen you in person. and that was driving him insane. 

he could type all the filth in the world, imagine you in a collar, call you his pet until his dick hurt, but at the end of the day you were still just words on a screen. and jake wanted more, he wanted your voice in his ear, your body under his hands, not just a fucking notification making him hard. and the longer it went, the worse it got. he’d go to bed thinking about you, wake up still hard, spend the day waiting for your messages just so he could crash again in that same loop. at some point he realized he was way past curious. 

and jake wasn’t even subtle about it. he’d been walking past your dorm for like the third time that week, pretending to be interested in the vending machine in the lobby. he’d already bought a snickers earlier but here he was again, suspiciously pressing buttons like he couldn’t decide between m&ms or kitkat, when the truth was he didn’t give a shit about chocolate. he just wanted to “accidentally” run into you.

and then it happened. you came through the door, head down, digging through your bag for your keys. he froze with a kitkat half dangling from the machine slot, suddenly feeling like he’d been caught doing something illegal. you finally looked up and your face lit up with that same smile you always gave him, like he wasn’t the guy who called you pet and jerked off every night to your bratty texts. he felt that familiar kick in his chest, the one that made him insane because it wasn’t just sexual. sure, you drove him crazy with how much he wanted to fuck you, but there was more. he liked you, like actually liked you, and that was worse somehow. mutt-level disaster, horny as hell but also weirdly in awe every time you looked at him like that.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, eyebrow raised, smile playing like you already knew the answer.

“uh, just grabbing something from the vending machine,” he said, holding up the kitkat like it was evidence. smooth.

you gave a small smirk, clearly not buying it, but you didn’t call him out. instead, you shifted your bag on your shoulder and said, “come on, i need to grab something from my dorm. sunoo is waiting for me at the library”

he followed, trying to act casual even though his brain was on fire. his heart was racing, not just because maybe something could happen, but because he had no idea how to handle actually being around you in real life. so when you opened the door to your dorm, he stepped inside and it was like stepping straight into your head. everything screamed you.

“you want coffee?” you asked, already moving toward your tiny coffee setup.

“i’m good,” he said, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“well, i’m making some anyway. i can’t function without coffee after lunch.”

he leaned against the wall, watching you move around, trying not to think too hard about how bad he wanted something to happen. like, yeah, he could just sit here and drink coffee with you and that’d be fine, but at the same time, every cell in his body was screaming that he wanted more. he was running through a dozen different scenarios in his head, every single one ending with him in your bed.

you sat down on the couch with your coffee, legs crossed, and jake stayed planted against the wall, staring at you. you looked up at him, those doe eyes soft and ridiculous, and asked, “what’s up? you not gonna sit?”

he swallowed, felt his chest flip, and thought, oh my god i’m about to do something dumb, but then he just did it. he dropped to his knees right in front of you, which made you blink, because nobody ever kneeled in front of you unless they were messing around. now you were exactly eye level with him, and that felt like a weird, intense pause. you raised one brow. “what are you doing?”

he gave that stupid smirk he always used when he wanted to sound like he knew what he was doing. “roleplaying,” he said, like it was the most normal explanation in the world.

you laughed, set your mug down on the side table, and then came back to him, serious for a second. “jake… are you sure you want this?”

he blinked, because of course he was sure. “are you kidding? i think i made it pretty obvious.”

you watched him for a beat, like you were checking him out, “i want you to be comfortable testing something you’ve never done before,” you said.

“i’m comfortable,” he answered, eyes locked on yours. “you comfortable?”

you let out a small, low laugh and relaxed against the back of the couch and spread your legs a little so he had room, shifted so your knees were wider, like you trusted him to handle whatever came next. “very,” you said, voice steady, challenge hiding under the calm.

he smiled, the kind that was more confident than he’d felt in weeks, and slid his hand up to rest on your knee, fingers pressing the inside of your thigh as he edged closer. he kept his touch soft at first, like he was checking the water temperature, then moved a little higher, deliberate but not rough, watching you for every little reaction. “you got me down bad for you,” he murmured, a bit proud, but pissed off at how much he wanted you.

you rolled your eyes, amused and dangerous. “then why are you taking so long to take what’s yours?” you teased, voice quiet and sharp.

so the moment he caught your eyes flicking down to his mouth, he decided he wasn’t gonna make this easy for you. in one quick motion he slid his hands behind your thighs, gripped hard, and just picked you up like you weighed nothing. before you could even gasp he’d flipped the whole situation — he was on the couch now, you on his lap, straddling him. you let out this sharp little yelp, more surprise than anything, and the second you realized the position, you went quiet. his hands were holding your thighs tight, his bulge pressed right under you.

“i’ve been dreaming about you sitting on my lap like this,” he said.

“yeah?” you breathed out, lowering your face closer to his, testing him. you shifted your hips just enough to grind against him through the layers of clothes, and that made his fingers dig in, holding you down so you couldn’t keep moving.

“behave, won’t you?” he muttered, his voice flat but loaded.

that made you smirk. “what, jakey? i thought you wanted this,” you whined, tilting your voice into that bratty little tease you knew would get him worked up. and then you were grinding on him again, slower this time, just to push.

his grip on your thighs went rough, firm enough you’d probably see the marks later, and you leaned forward like you weren’t fazed at all. he was smiling now, biting his lip, annoyed and turned on beyond reason. “give me a kiss before i put you in your place,” he said, like it was some casual request, but you both knew it wasn’t.

you were still smirking when you leaned in, noses almost brushing, clearly waiting to see how far you could stretch him before he snapped. jake thought, yeah, this girl is gonna ruin me, but he wasn’t about to let you see that written on his face. he just held you tighter and kept that cocky little grin, watching you lean in with the most torturous pace ever.

and when you did, you kissed him slow, dragging it out like you wanted to prove a point, and he kissed you back like he’d been training for this exact moment, tongue slipping into your mouth like it belonged there. he’d imagined this a hundred times, maybe more, but in reality it was so much better. when you started grinding down on him again, all drawn out and teasing, he caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugged, then went right back in. he didn’t stop until he had to pull away just to breathe, drunk on you, trailing down your jaw with his mouth, nipping and kissing until he got to your neck.

the second he heard that tiny whimper spill out of you, he fucking lost it. his hand came up, not soft, cupping your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. you smirked at him, and it made him growl out, “you’re so fucking hot.” before you could toss some bratty reply back, he cut you off. “kneel for me.”

you hesitated just a beat, smirking, like you were about to be clever. but then you surprised him, you actually obeyed, slipping off his lap and sinking to the floor in front of him. his chest felt tight watching you like that, hair a little messy, looking up at him from the floor. he leaned forward, spread his legs a little wider, and let out this low laugh. “good girl,” he said, steady. then he added, “hands on your knees. look up at me.” you did it, but with that smirk like you were humoring him, not surrendering. he arched a brow. “what’s with that look?”

“what look?” you asked, voice all fake innocence, eyes wide.

“the one that’s begging me to make you behave,” he shot back. his hand went to your hair, not pulling hard, just testing. you didn’t flinch, you leaned into it. “say please,” he said next.

you tilted your head, lips parting. “please what?”

“don’t play with me,” he warned, squeezing the back of your neck lightly.

you laughed, bratty and breathless. “you don’t even know what you want me to say please for, jakey.”

he groaned, like you were already driving him insane. “jesus christ, you’re a handful.”

you beamed, proud of yourself. “am i not your favorite little handful though?”

he gave a dry laugh, leaning forward, eyes locked on you. “yeah, you are. and you’re gonna regret milking that.” his thumb brushed your lower lip, pressing down just enough to make your mouth part. “open up,” he said. you stuck out your tongue in response, rolling your eyes like you were daring him to do something. “god, you’re such a brat,” he muttered, shaking his head but clearly loving every second. “don’t worry. i’ll train you right.”

jake already knew he was too deep in this to stop now, so when his thumb pressed harder into your lip and you opened wider, he spit right into your mouth without thinking twice. you blinked at him, a little shocked. “swallow it all,” he’d said, and you did, no hesitation. he could see it hit you too, the way your shoulders shifted, that look in your eyes flipping. that was the first time any guy had done that to you, and jake clocked the moment you gave in a little, the brat suddenly turning pliant. 

he smirked, dragged his thumb out of your mouth and replaced it with his index finger, pushing against your tongue. “suck.” you did, lips wrapping around it, tongue working slow like you wanted to torture him. he groaned, letting you do it, and then switched it up, making you take his thumb. “good girl. now tell me what you want, pet.”

your eyes flicked up, all teasing again, and you mumbled around his thumb, “it’s hurting, jakey.”

his brain stalled for a second. wow, she’s actually kinky as hell, he thought. he softened, brushing his free hand across your cheek. “what’s hurting, baby?”

you pulled his thumb out just enough to pout at him, voice dripping brat, “i need you so much it hurts.”

that one hit him straight in the gut. he was in awe, just staring at you. “aw, princess,” he said, almost laughing in disbelief. “do you need me to take care of you?” you nodded fast, lips pushing out in a little whine. “but,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead close to yours, “you gotta deserve to be rewarded, you know that, right? will you behave for me?”

your nod was eager this time, quick. “i will, i promise.”

“yeah?” he said, standing up slow, eyes locked on you the whole time while his fingers went to his belt. he tugged it loose, the leather sliding through the loops while he bit his lip. your eyes tracked every movement, wide and hungry, those stupid puppy eyes making him feel feral. but the second you started to lift your hands from your thighs like you wanted to reach for him, he snapped. “uh-uh.” he pointed right at you. “what’d i tell you? hands on your thighs, pet.”

you huffed, clearly annoyed, but put them back exactly where he wanted. “good girl,” he said again, dragging his zipper down nice and slow, making sure you stayed right there, waiting. he tugged his jeans and briefs down in one go, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, and the second your eyes widened he almost lost it. you actually drooled a little, lips parted, and he laughed low, cocky as ever. “yeah, like what you see, huh? big, but you can take it, right baby?” 

his hand landed on your head, gentle but firm, fingers threading through your hair. you pouted up at him, whining softly, “i don’t know, jakey.”

he grinned like you’d just said the funniest shit in the world, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “don’t know? c’mon, you’re my good girl. you can take it. i know you can. don’t make me remind you.” and you nodded so fast, eager, like his words flipped some switch inside you. “see? there she is. good girl. now… go slow, pretty. just lick it. like a kitty.” you leaned in, tongue shy at first, just dragging along the tip, and he hissed, hand tightening in your hair. “fuck, yeah… just like that. lap it up for me.”

you licked your way down his shaft, soft little flicks of your tongue, and he was going crazy, eyes screwed shut for a second, trying to hold back. “jesus fuck, look at you. you’re actually licking me like a fucking kitten. do you even know how cute you look right now?” 

you hummed against him, pulling back with a wet mouth and whispering, “maybe i just wanna play with you.”

he laughed again, smug but wrecked already, giving your cheek a few pats like he was rewarding you. “play all you want, sweetheart. just remember who owns you now. okay?” your eyes went wide at that, pupils blown, and you nodded, lips pressing back against the base of his cock, licking slow all the way up. he groaned, the sound broken. “fuck, that’s it. my pretty pet, my good little kitty. keep showing me how bad you need it. you’re making your owner so proud.”

jake never pictured himself like this, or saying those things, not with anyone. he’d had his fun before, sure, but the fact that he was seconds away from spilling down your throat from those innocent little eyes alone? yeah, that was new. he was way more down bad than he ever admitted.

so when your tongue started moving faster, when you got bolder, sloppier, sucking him off with that bratty determination like you wanted to prove something, he groaned, hand snapping down to your hair. a sharp tug, a wet pop leaving your lips as his cock slipped free. you looked up at him, eyes wide, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

“aw, you want more, baby?” he teased, voice ragged, trying to keep control when he was already losing it. you nodded instantly, needy, and his smile widened. “you’re getting it, don’t worry. but for now…” he leaned back on the couch, cock heavy against his stomach, and patted his thigh. “come on, hop on.”

you did exactly that, crawling up into his lap like the little cat he kept calling you, hands pressing into the cushion as you moved, hips hovering just enough that your clothed core brushed his bare cock. the second you started to grind down, though, he didn’t let you have it, he flipped you fast, pressing you down so your cheek met the couch cushion, ass up high for him. “that’s better,” he muttered, sitting under you. the sight alone nearly ruined him, your ass arched perfectly, skirt riding up.

his fingers slid along your thighs before catching on the fabric, tugging at your skirt. “let’s take this off, mhm?” he peeled it down slow, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties. he let his palm rest over one cheek, rubbing soft, soothing circles, like he was calming his pet after riling her up too much. “look at you,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost in awe. “all laid out for me. such a good girl.” his hand smoothed over your ass again before giving it a light squeeze. “stay just like this, pet. don’t move unless i tell you to.”

you whined into the cushion, wiggling your hips like you were trying to bait him, and he laughed low, shaking his head. “bratty already? we talked about this, remember? ass up, face down. behave for me, or you’ll wait longer.” his tone was playful, not cruel, but it still made you still, biting down your whines. he leaned in, letting his cock brush lightly against your thigh, teasing. “good. that’s better. see? my sweet pet can listen. and when you listen, you get rewarded.”

his hand drifted down, slow, lazy, like he had all night to play with you. two fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your panties, dragging along the damp spot he already knew he’d find. the second he felt it, he chuckled, low and pleased, rubbing small circles just to hear you react. “aw, you’re soaked right through, baby. that’s so hot.” his tone was teasing.

you whined, pressing your face harder into the couch, your voice muffled but still clear. “only for you.”

that made his cock twitch, he leaned forward, chest almost brushing your back, lips close to your ear. “oh yeah? only for me?” he pressed his fingers harder against the fabric, not slipping inside, just making you squirm. “then tell me, pet. tell me what you want me to do.”

you let out a frustrated sound, trying to grind back against his hand, but he had you pinned with his thigh under your stomach, keeping you in place. “i want your fingers,” you whispered, needy.

“my fingers, huh?” he dragged them along your slit, slow enough to make it torture. “you want me to make you feel good with these?” he brought one up to your lips, letting you see the damp shine of your own arousal. you nodded quickly, pout forming again, and he laughed, patting your ass lightly like he was warning you. “needy little thing. so spoiled. but since you asked so nicely…”

his fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties at last, the fabric dragging down just enough for him to slip inside and find your folds. you moaned loudly and whiny, and he swore under his breath at how wet you were, coating his fingers instantly. “fuck,” he muttered, curling one finger inside you while his other hand smoothed over your hip, keeping you steady. “there we go. my good girl, taking me so easy. stay still for me, pet. let me play with you just like this.”

his fingers started moving faster, curling and dragging in a way that made your whole body jolt against his thigh. you yelped, louder this time, the sound bouncing in the quiet room. jake immediately leaned down, his breath brushing your ear. “quiet, pet. don’t want anyone hearing, do we?” you bit your lip, tried to hold it back, but the next time his fingers pushed deeper, a sharp whimper slipped out anyway. his voice dropped. “i said quiet.”

you tried again, muffling yourself against the couch cushion, but your body betrayed you, another sound ripping through your throat when his pace picked up. and then, suddenly, he pulled his hand away completely. the emptiness made you groan, frustrated, your hips wiggling back in protest. “ill have to punish you now, you know that right?” he said it calm, almost like he was explaining something obvious, but the way his hand smoothed over your ass right after made you shiver.

you tilted your head just enough to glance back at him, pouty and bratty. “maybe i wanted you to stop.”

he raised his brows, amused, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “oh yeah? is that what you’re telling yourself?”

you wiggled again, pushing your hips back against him like you were testing his patience. “maybe i like it better when you’re mad.”

he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, but there was heat in his eyes. “careful, pet. you’re about to get exactly what you’re asking for.” 

and then his hand came down. not too hard, but enough to make your body jolt, the sound echoing sharp in the room. you gasped, and then laughed breathlessly, almost taunting. “that all you got, jakey?”

his jaw flexed, and his hand landed again, harder this time, the smack making your skin sting. “you really wanna test me right now?” he let out a low groan, dragging both hands over your ass before landing another quick series of spanks, steady and controlled. each one made your body jerk, and each time you made some sound that only pushed him further. “fuck,” he muttered, “you like this too much.”

his hand smoothed over the warmth he’d left behind, fingers soothing, but then he landed one more sharp smack that made you yelp louder than before. he immediately grabbed your hair, tugging your head back just enough so you couldn’t bury your face anymore. “i wanna hear you beg properly,” he said, his tone firm now, “say you’ll be good for me, and maybe i’ll give you back my fingers. if not…” he squeezed your ass hard, “we’re staying right here until you learn.”

the moment you opened your mouth, ready to fire back with something bratty or maybe even give in and beg, the bell rang. both of you froze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

jake blinked, still holding your hair, then muttered, “i think you were too loud?” but the way he said it wasn’t teasing, wasn’t even part of the game, it was just matter of fact, like he really thought your whines had carried down the hall.

you stared back at him, cheeks flushed, and scoffed. “no, i don’t think so.” and then the bell rang again, even longer this time, and you panicked, scrambling, yelling “i’m coming!” towards the door.

jake almost choked, because his brain short-circuited for a second and he thought, god, i wish she’d say that in a whole other context.

everything after that moved way too fast. one second you were half naked, bent over, bratting about his punishment, the next you were yanking your skirt back up and pulling your shirt down, your hair all messy and your lips swollen from kissing. you grabbed his pants and his wrist and dragged him towards your bedroom. he was stumbling after you, his dick still hard, bouncing against his stomach because he wasn’t even wearing pants anymore, which just made the whole thing ten times more ridiculous.

“stay there, quickly, i’ll be right back,” you hissed at him, shoving him into your room and throwing his pants at him while he caught them in the air.

jake stood there, half dazed, half turned on, thinking this was the most chaotic blue balls situation of his life. his cock was throbbing, his shirt was wrinkled, and he was hiding in a girl’s bedroom like a teenager.

he sat there on the edge of your bed, pantsless, staring at the door and he could hear everything clear as day. suddenly he could hear sunoo’s voice carried through the dorm, cheerful and way too loud for jake’s current situation. “y/n! i was calling you, you didn’t answer. i was waiting for you at the library. i got worried!”

you sounded way too casual for someone who’d just been spread out over the couch whining under jake’s fingers. “oh, sorry, i dozed off. i was so tired.”

there was a pause, then sunoo’s suspicious tone: “why are you red? and your hair looks… what happened?”

you snapped back instantly, “i was sleeping, i told you.”

jake, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands. jesus fucking christ. this was ridiculous. that was his cue, he quickly pulled his boxers back up, then wriggled into his jeans. because as much as his dick hated it, it was way too humiliating to sit there listening in with his bare ass on your sheets.

while he was buttoning up, his eyes wandered. your room was… very you. he noticed sanrio plushies stacked in the corner, a little snoopy mug on the desk with pens sticking out of it, and an actual pink and white gamer setup with a keyboard that lit up like cotton candy. he blinked at that one, he didn’t even know you gamed, but apparently you did, and you did it in the most annoyingly cute way possible. it was distracting, like the whole place was a scrapbook of your personality, and he was sitting there in the middle of it half hard, listening to your best friend interrogate you in the next room.

then he heard you again, your voice a little rushed. “let me just go to my room and fix myself up, i’ll be quick.”

sunoo didn’t sound convinced. “i’ll come with you—”

“no, wait in the living room. were you born glued to me or something?”

“what the—are you crazy?” sunoo shot back, baffled.

“sunoo, let me change alone,” you said, sharper now, but still playful enough to throw him off.

jake had to bite back a laugh, shaking his head. you were juggling this so smoothly, meanwhile he looked like an idiot sitting on your bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, pretending this was normal.

and then the door cracked open and you slipped back in, closing it quickly behind you, leaving sunoo muttering to himself outside. jake was sitting there, finally dressed, looking suspicious. you let out this little laugh, low, like you couldn’t believe how cute he looked sitting there stiff on your bed surrounded by your plushies. he stood up, kind of sheepish, and you just smiled at him like nothing was out of the ordinary, whispering, “im so sorry, i have to go,” with a pout that made you look more like a kid ditching class than someone who just had her ass smacked red ten minutes ago. 

he thought you were adorable like that, so he shook his head and said, “it’s okay, i liked distracting you.”

then you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. not hot, not horny, not dripping with tension, just a casual kiss. and that’s what fucked him up a bit, because he never did casual kisses like that with anyone. 

“i’ll change, leave, and you can stay here, okay? i’ll leave the door open so you can head out whenever. you can even get comfy if you want to, i don’t mind,” you said like you were inviting him to borrow a hoodie or something. easygoing, no stress. he stood there thinking, wow, you really weren’t trying to make him feel embarrassed, even though you could’ve. you could’ve outed him to sunoo in two seconds flat, but you didn’t.

so you turned around, grabbed clothes, changed right there like it was nothing, and then you were gone, chatting back at sunoo.

and jake just sat there on your bed, hands on his knees, staring at the kuromi plush in the corner like it had answers. his dick was still half hard in his jeans, but his brain was louder than his body this time. he thought, holy shit, i just had the kinkiest, freakiest time of my life and somehow my dick never even got inside her once. 

after that day, things between you and jake definitely got steamier. he was still jake, pretending he just “happened” to run into you on campus, but really he was timing shit out. he knew your class schedule better than his own. sometimes he’d wait outside one of your lectures and play it off like, “oh hey, didn’t know you had class here,” and then two minutes later he had you pressed against a wall making out. subtle wasn’t his thing anymore.

he started hanging around your friends more too. jungwon, who he already kind of knew, turned into his partner-in-crime somehow. jake was showing up to sit at your table like he belonged there. sunoo kept giving him these looks, like he was three seconds away from calling him out, and jake swore the guy had to know something even though you promised you hadn’t told him a word. it was just the way sunoo looked at him– suspicious as hell.

and the thing was, jake couldn’t really keep his hands off you. you’d be standing in line at the vending machine and he’d pull you aside to kiss you like he hadn’t seen you in a year. in between classes he’d tug you down some hallway and you’d laugh, telling him to chill, but you’d still kiss him back. the parking lot was another story. he kissed you once against your car, his hand already halfway down the back of your jeans, when someone walked by and you had to shove him off, both of you laughing.

the thing is, none of it ever went further than hot kisses and some wandering hands. it wasn’t full-on sex, not yet. and that was what was killing jake slowly. he was losing his mind because you’d give him just enough: enough roleplay, enough teasing, enough touching to keep him hooked, but never the whole thing. every time you whispered something bratty in his ear or let him grab your waist in the middle of campus, he wanted you more. and the more he got, the less satisfied he felt, because it only made him hungrier.

so he came up with this plan. he wanted to make it special, and he couldn’t quite figure out why he cared so much. the timing lined up with jungwon’s birthday, just a small gathering at his place with close friends. jake was invited, obviously, him and jungwon were basically glued at the hip now. so he offered to pick you up.

when you got into his car that night, jake didn’t even wait a beat. you barely closed the door before he leaned over, caught your chin, and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed though, he kissed you slow, deep, like he’d been starving all week. you kissed him back, let him taste you for a second, before pulling away with a laugh. “jake, we’re gonna be late,” you said.

he smirked and said “worth it.” then, just to make your stomach flip, he grabbed your other hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before starting the engine. jake kept sneaking looks at you, thumb brushing your hand where it rested in his. when you arrived at jungwon’s, jake slipped his hand to your lower back as you both walked inside, guiding you.

the whole night, jake barely left your side. if you went to the kitchen, he was there leaning against the counter, sipping from his cup, making stupid commentary. if you sat down, he took the spot next to you, knee brushing yours. it wasn’t possessive, not even official, but he hovered like a guy on a date, even though neither of you had ever said that word out loud. and the thing was, you let him.

sometimes your friends would tease – sunoo gave you this knowing look across the room at one point – but you brushed it off. the real issue wasn’t what people thought. it was that every time jake leaned in close to whisper something dumb in your ear, every time his fingers brushed against yours under the table, you wanted him so bad it made you dizzy. and judging by the way he kept staring at your mouth all night, he was having the same problem.

when the party ended, he offered you a ride back to your place, and at the elevator going down in jungwon’s building, he already couldn’t hold it. the doors closed, the silence hit, and he cornered you right there, pressing you against the wall before you could even blink. his mouth was on yours, hot and messy, your little whine breaking between the kisses making his head spin. you tugged at his shirt, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been waiting for this all damn night.

he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, and whispered, “come to my place, please.” he didn’t even think before saying it. it just spilled out.

you didn’t even hesitate. you just nodded, whispered “okay,” and kissed him again like you couldn’t wait either.

the car ride was a whole other mess. his hand was glued to your thigh, fingers sliding higher  and you weren’t doing anything to stop him. he kept smirking at you, leaning close enough to murmur shit like, “you’re so needy, aren’t you?” or “you’ve been teasing me for weeks, baby. you think i’m letting you off easy tonight?” and every time, you’d bite your lip and nod, your bratty side slipping but not disappearing entirely.

by the time he pulled into the driveway, you were both buzzing. he didn’t even bother with slow steps once you got inside. the moment the door shut, he pressed you against it hard, kissing you. one hand held your waist, the other grabbed your wrist and guided it straight to his bulge through his jeans. “see?” he panted against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. “this is what you do to me.”

and you felt it hard and heavy under your palm, and the way you looked up at him, wide eyed and needy, just about made him lose his mind right there.

he didn’t even give you a second to think. he was now scooping you up, you gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he carried you down the hall like he’d done it a hundred times before. except he hadn’t, and he was going crazy about the fact that it was you in his arms. he kissed you the whole way, sloppy, greedy kisses that landed half on your lips and half on your jaw because he refused to stop even while moving.

by the time he made it to his room, he basically tossed you onto the bed. he climbed on after you, settling between your legs like he was claiming his spot. ​​“open up for me,” he said, and you did, spreading your thighs wide, and the way he looked at you like that nearly made you combust. he grabbed your leg, lifted it, and started kissing up from your ankle, slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails on your skin until he was nipping at your inner thigh. 

“i’ve been dying to have you like this,” he murmured against your skin, and then looked up at you, eyes dark, “you’re mine, aren’t you?” you were too far gone to answer, your head falling back, a whimper spilling out instead. that wasn’t enough for him. “answer me, pet,” he demanded, giving your thigh a squeeze.

you nodded desperately, voice breaking as you whispered, “i can’t take it anymore, jakey. i need you.”

he smirked, brushing his lips right where you were the most sensitive but not giving you what you wanted yet. “i got you something,” he said, and just like that, he pulled back.

you blinked up at him, confused and needy, while he turned to his nightstand. he pulled the drawer open and, without much hesitation, pulled out a pair of shiny handcuffs. “oooh,” you laughed, your cheeks heating, but there was excitement in your voice.

the thing was, jake had been planning this longer than he cared to admit. last week, he had walked into the little sex shop near campus and walked out with a small bag of things he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually use. he told himself it was “just in case,” even though deep down he was already picturing you.

the shop itself had been an experience. he walked in like he belonged there, but the second he saw all the shelves stacked with vibrators, butt plugs, leather collars, and some shit he didn’t even know the name of, he nearly turned around. he swore the old lady behind the counter was judging him, even though it was literally her job. jake had grabbed the handcuffs, lingered a little too long in front of the section with leashes and collars, and even picked up a blindfold before chickening out and putting it back.

he paid fast as hell, shoved the bag in his backpack, and prayed no one he knew would walk past the store. and now here he was, finally pulling the cuffs out. 

he looked back at you on his bed, all spread out and waiting, and thought, holy shit, i actually bought this for her. i’m really about to do this. “do you want that?” he asked, voice low, holding the cuffs up so they caught the light.

your stomach flipped. you couldn’t stop the bratty little grin curling at your lips, couldn’t stop the way your thighs shifted like you already knew what was coming. “yes,” you whispered, your voice just breathless enough to make his smirk turn sharp.

“fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head like you were too much, “you’re so dirty, aren’t you?”

before you could even think of something smart to throw back at him, he was already climbing over you, grabbing your wrists and snapping the cuffs around them, locking them together above your head. the metal was cool, firm, and you shivered when you felt it click. ​​he spread your thighs wider with a slow push, his hand on your knee like he owned every inch of you. 

“stay still, or i’ll punish you,” he said, and it was low, commanding, no room for play in it. you whined, hips already twitching up toward him without your permission. “behave,” he warned, shooting you a look that made you clamp your lips shut, “already told you.”

he reached down, tugged your skirt off, tossing it aside so you were bare under his gaze. he kissed along your inner thigh, slow and messy, lips dragging up your skin, making you squirm even though you tried so hard to stay still like he told you to. when his mouth got close enough to your panties, he pressed his face against the heat of you, inhaling, and you heard him groan low in his throat. “my bunny smells so fucking good,” he muttered, almost like he was drunk on it already.

“your bunny?” you whispered, testing the word, voice shaky.

he smirked against you, looking up through his lashes. “yeah, mine. my pet. my bunny.” something in you melted, and you couldn’t stop yourself from nodding, tugging uselessly at the cuffs. “what does my pet want?” he teased, his voice dropping lower, his lips brushing the fabric of your panties as he spoke. “want me to eat you out, hm?”

you nodded desperately, the words tumbling out of you, “please—jake, please.”

he tilted his head, pretending to think about it, then tapped your thigh. “aw, you deserve it, don’t you? you’ve been so obedient.”

you whimpered, nodding, whispering, “yes, yes, i deserve it, please—”

and then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down in one quick move, tossing them to the floor. “fuck, look at you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss just above your heat, deliberately avoiding your clit while you squirmed beneath him. “drooling for me already. my perfect little bunny.” you tugged at the cuffs, frustrated, whining his name. he chuckled against your thigh, the sound vibrating through your skin. “patience, baby. i’ll give you what you want when i’m ready.”

and then, finally, he licked a slow stripe up your folds, and your whole body jolted. you moaned, loud and messy, your back arching as his tongue pressed deeper, as he lapped you up like he’d been starving for it. he groaned into you, “that’s it,” he mumbled against you, licking you again and again, “make those pretty noises for me. let everyone know who you belong to.”

his tongue was everywhere, sliding, circling, pressing against your clit just right before pulling away, dragging down to lick into you, greedy and messy. his hands were firm on your thighs, holding them open wide, keeping you spread for him like you had no choice but to take it. you were whimpering, tugging at the cuffs, your chest rising and falling fast. “please, jake—”

he groaned into your pussy, the sound vibrating against you, making your hips jerk. he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, lips and chin wet. “say it properly, pet. you wanna cum? beg for it.”

your face burned, but the desperation in your voice gave you away. “please let me cum, i need it, i need you, please, please, i’ll be good—”

he laughed low, then pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your head fall back. “you’re gonna cum when i say, okay, bunny?”

you nodded frantically, whining, “okay, okay, i’ll wait, i’ll wait—”

but your body betrayed you. the way he sucked on your clit, the way he lapped you up like he wanted to drink you dry, it was too much. your thighs shook, your whole body tensed, and then you broke apart, cumming hard into his mouth before he even gave the word. you cried out his name, the cuffs rattling above your head as you tried to ground yourself, and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, messier now, tongue fucking you while you were still trembling, overstimulated, every nerve raw. you tried to squirm away, but his grip was too strong, holding your thighs wide open, his mouth still working you like you were his.

when he finally pulled back, his lips shiny, his breathing heavy, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawled up over you. his hand caught your chin, firm and unyielding, forcing your face up to look at him. “did you just cum without my permission?” he asked, his voice dark, his eyes locked on yours.

you bit your lip, trying not to smile, bratty even with your chest heaving. “yeah, what you gonna do?”

his grip on your chin tightened just a little, his smirk sharp, dangerous. “you’re about to fucking find out, bitch.”

the word made your eyes widen, a flash of surprise mixed with the way your stomach twisted with heat. he saw it, of course he did, and it only made his grin curl wider. without saying anything else, he freed you from the cuffs, and then he reached over to his drawer again, sliding it open, and soon after you felt him turn you over, pressing you chest down into the mattress. his hand slid along the back of your neck as he fastened something firm around your throat. a collar.

“if you wanna act like my bitch,” he muttered close to your ear, tugging on it once to test the fit, “maybe i’ll just put a leash on you.” your body shivered at the sound of it, and you let out a whine muffled against the sheets. he gave you a second to breathe before pushing off the bed, standing tall. “get off the bed,” he ordered, his voice steady but sharp. “kneel on the floor. hands on your thighs. like i taught you.”

you moved quickly, scrambling off the mattress, and the second your knees hit the floor, you dropped into position, head slightly bowed, palms flat against your thighs. you felt the weight of the collar with every breath, heavy, real. jake sat back on the edge of the bed, legs spread just enough, elbows resting loosely on his knees. he looked down at you for a long moment, letting the silence sit, letting you squirm under his gaze. then his hand came out, patting the top of your head like he was rewarding a pet.

“you look so fucking pretty in a collar,” he said, his tone low, rough. “acting so obedient now. not so bratty anymore, huh?” your lips parted, but you stayed quiet, because you knew better now. he leaned back a little, watching you stay perfectly still on your knees in front of him. the collar sat snug on your neck, and he let his fingers trace over it like he was reminding you who put it there.

“good girl,” he said slowly, almost teasing. “but let’s see if you actually learned something.” his hand came down, tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his eyes. “you want me to let you touch me?”

“yes, please,” you whispered immediately, your voice shaky but eager.

he smirked, clearly satisfied with that, but still not giving in. instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your face. “tell me what you are.”

your eyes flickered, nervous but turned on. “i’m your pet.”

his grin stretched wide. “and what does my pet want right now?”

your body squirmed as you shifted on your knees, thighs pressing together, heat pooling low. “i want to please you.”

“hm,” he hummed, tilting his head. “you want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

“mhm, yes, so bad.” you said whiny.

he raised a brow, clearly enjoying dragging it out. “why should i let you?”

you whined, the sound spilling out without you meaning to, and he chuckled low. “please, jake… i’ll be good, i promise.”

he leaned forward again, his lips brushing against your ear. “beg properly, pet.”

your hands clenched against your thighs, nails digging into your skin as you whispered quickly, desperate, “please let me suck your cock, i need it, i’ll be good, i’ll do it how you like, just please.”

he smirked like he’d been waiting for that exact moment, thumb dragging over your bottom lip again before pulling his hand away completely. “open my pants.” ​​your hands shot forward instantly, fumbling just a little with the button and zipper, pulling them down slowly, careful, like you knew he was watching your every move. he shifted his hips up to help, letting you slide the fabric down enough, and when his cock sprang free, thick and already hard, he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to look at it.

“there it is,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “the thing you’ve been begging for.” you licked your lips, eyes wide, but you stayed frozen until he gave the word. he smirked again, tugging your hair gently. “go on, pet. show me how good you can be.”

you started slow, almost too slow, your lips brushing against the tip first, tongue flicking against the slit while your hand wrapped around the base. jake groaned right away, his head tipping back as his fingers tightened in your hair. “fuck… you’re really gonna tease me now?” his voice was low, almost strained, but you didn’t speed up. you flattened your tongue along the underside and dragged it down, taking your time, making him twitch against your lips.

you slowly pushed him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, but still holding back, pulling off every few seconds just to lick around his head again. drool was already starting to wet your chin, and the sight made him groan even louder. “shit… look at you. on your knees, drooling for me.” he tugged harder on your hair, guiding you back down, and you let him.

he held you there, watching you take him slow, your throat stretching around him as you gagged softly, eyes watering a little. that sound made him grit his teeth. “fuck, you like this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice harsh now. “mhm? you like choking on my cock like a good little bitch?”

you moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver through his body. he pulled you off suddenly, saliva dripping from your lips, and forced you to look at him. “answer me,” he demanded, his grip unrelenting.

you gasped, your voice weak but clear. “yes, yes! i like it.”

he smirked, his thumb smearing your spit over your lips. “damn… you like the whole thing, don’t you? degradation too?”

before you could answer, he pushed you back down, this time not letting you go at your own pace. he thrusted up into your mouth, using your head like a handle, fucking your throat without mercy. your gagging filled the room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gasped for breath between strokes. “that’s it, baby,” he groaned, his hips snapping up harder, faster. “take it. take it all like the dumb little slut you are.”

you clawed at his thighs, not to push him away but to hold on, and he laughed breathlessly. “jesus christ, you’re sick for this. my obedient pet one second, my dirty slut the next. fuck, i’m never letting you go.” he shoved himself deeper, until your nose pressed against his skin, and held you there, watching your throat work around him. you gagged, choked, saliva spilling everywhere, but you didn’t fight it, you let him use you, collar tight against your neck, and it drove him fucking insane.

he drove himself until he lost it, groaning your name as he came, and the warm, filthy flood hit the back of your throat. you gagged around him, eyes wide, stomach tightening as his hips convulsed, and when he finally slowed and stilled you swallowed reflexively, shaking, tasting him on your tongue.

he watched you the whole time, chest heaving, and then he pulled out. you were breathing hard, cheeks flushed. he scooped you up with this sudden tenderness that almost felt comical after the roughness, picked you up like you were light as a feather and carried you back to the bed. 

you lay there as he settled down beside you, and his hands were all soft now. he kissed your face like he was making up for everything, trailing from your mouth down to your collarbone, lingering, then along your arm to your hand where he actually sucked on your fingers for a beat, ridiculous and sweet and wildly out of sync with what he’d been doing minutes before.

“my baby did so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice full of something that wasn’t only lust. “you treated me so well.”

you were breathless and whining, voice small and needy. he smiled into your neck, tasting you again, and you felt both stupid and right to be lost in the softness after the dirty stuff. his praise kept coming, until, in a quick motion that made your heart jump, he shifted behind you so your back pressed into his chest. he folded you into him, one arm wrapping under your ribs, the other finding your legs and holding them open wide.

“i’m gonna reward you now, okay?” he said into your hair, voice steady. “i feel bad for being mean to my bunny.” there was a teasing edge but also actual warmth. you could feel him hard against the small of your back, steady.

he cupped your thighs, fingers warm, and brushed a palm over your slick where he’d made you come earlier, slow, deliberate. you squirmed, he kissed the back of your ear, then whispered, “do you want my fingers again? or do you want me inside you?”

you looked back over your shoulder, eyes bright, tiny smirk slipping through the haze. “i want you,” you breathed.

he hummed, pleased, and his hand slid between your legs, fingers parting you easily. he started with one finger, slow, pressing in and curling gently, testing, then adding a second as you moaned into his shirt. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in easy circles while his fingers worked inside you, a steady, confident rhythm that built you back up from the edges. “that’s it,” he praised, low and rough. “such a good girl. take it for me.”

you were trembling, the combination of his fingers and the proximity of his cock against your back making everything too much. you whined, hips rocking, chasing more, and he laughed softly, biting at your shoulder. “you make the dumbest little noises when i touch you. it’s almost embarrassing how much you need me.”

his thumb pressed harder, fingers curling deep, and your whole body shook, forehead falling against his shoulders. he kissed the back of your neck, lips dragging over the collar around your throat, his breath hot against your skin. then his voice dropped darker, meaner, right in your ear. “do you want my cock inside you, hm?” you whined and nodded, and his fingers slowed, teasing, holding you on edge. “ask me nicely, pet.”

you squirmed, chest heaving, and finally whispered, “please, jake, i want it. i want your cock, please–”

he groaned low, his grip tightening on your waist. “that’s my girl. begging so sweet.” he lifted you up just a little, enough to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. he didn’t push in right away. instead, he held you there, rubbing himself through your folds, letting you feel how hard he was. “feel that? all yours if you behave.” you whined and tried to sink down, but his hands stopped you. he breathed against your ear again. “slow. i’m gonna make you take it slow.”

inch by inch, he guided you down onto him, your body stretching around him, every second dragging out. he held your hips steady, forcing you to feel every bit of him sliding in. your moans filled the room, shaky and raw, and he kissed the side of your neck, whispering, “good girl. you’re doing so good for me.”

he bottomed out finally, keeping you still, cock buried deep inside you while his arm locked you in place. his lips pressed to your collar, then your ear. “stay right here. don’t move. let me feel you.” 

you could feel the way his chest rose sharp against your back, the way he was fighting to breathe steady. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, and for a moment he didn’t move at all, just holding you there, stuffed full, his heavy cock twitching inside you. “fuck,” he groaned, low and broken, like he’d been waiting forever for this. his hand dragged down your thigh, squeezing tight. “you don’t know how long i wanted this. how bad.” his hips shifted just a little, not even pulling out, just grinding deeper into you, chasing more of your heat.

when he finally started to move, it was slow, dragging himself out a few inches and sliding back in just as carefully. the stretch made both of you gasp. he kissed your shoulder, your neck, muttering, “fuck, you feel perfect. so tight.” his thighs shifted under you, his body adjusting. he pressed his feet into the mattress, grounding himself, and the new leverage let him sink back in harder. the bed creaked with the movement, his grip on your waist tightening.

his thrusts picked up, still controlled but deeper, faster, each one hitting with more force. the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, his breath rough in your ear. his rhythm built steady, more sure with every thrust, the need he’d been holding back finally breaking through as he fucked into you from below, hips snapping up against you.

“that’s it,” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “take it. take my cock, pet. bounce on it.” his free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make you jolt. you whined, back arching into his chest, and he laughed low, mean but so turned on. “look at you– you love when i rub your clit while i fuck you stupid, don’t you?”

your answer came out broken, just a mess of yes and please, and he rewarded you by pressing harder, rubbing tight circles while still driving his cock into you rough and deep. “good girl,” he panted, his lips brushing the side of your neck, wet from his kisses. “you’re mine. my sweet bunny, taking me so well.”

he slowed just enough to shift you, his hands sliding down your sides as he pulled out of you. you were still shaking when he turned you around, moving you onto his lap so you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. his cock brushed against you, wet and hot, as he guided you down onto him again, inch by inch, until you were seated fully, face to face.

his eyes locked with yours, dark and heavy. “that’s better,” he murmured, breathless. “i want to see you while you ride me.” he grabbed your hips, steadying you, then started rolling them forward, showing you the rhythm he wanted. “move, puppy,” he said quietly, voice rough. “show me how you ride.”

you began to move, slow at first, your hands pressed to his chest. his palms slid up your sides, then cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. he squeezed, played, tugged gently, making you moan. “look at my pretty pet,” he said, fingers teasing your nipples while his hips pushed up into you. “bouncing on my cock so good. does it feel good, pup?”

you whined in answer, head tipping back, and he reached up and caught the collar at your throat, fingers curling in the strap to pull you back down until your faces were inches apart. “closer,” he ordered. “right here. eyes on me, baby.”

his grip on the collar held you steady as you rode him, your breasts moving in his hands. he pinched your nipples again, rolling them between his fingers while he thrust up into you, forcing another whimper from your throat. your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to move on him, the stretch making your breath come out in shaky little sounds. your forehead dropped to his, eyes squeezed shut.

“jake–-” you whispered, voice breaking. “it’s too much. you’re too big…”

his smirk flickered, a small groan in his chest as he pulled a little on your collar to make you look at him. “aww,” he said, low. “but you can take it, can’t you? slow down, baby. don’t run from it. let it in.”

you nodded, trembling, and started to roll your hips slower, dragging yourself up and down his length inch by inch. the shift made it even deeper, and you gasped, biting your lip. jake leaned back, eyes fixed on you, and put both hands behind his head, elbows out, like he was watching a show. his cock twitched inside you as you tried to keep the rhythm, struggling a little at how full you felt.

he let out a quiet, cruel laugh. “can’t even take all of it without whining. you love it, though. you love how big i am.” you whimpered, hips moving slower, trying to adjust, and he tilted his head, smirk growing wider. “that’s right. ride it nice and slow. so tight around me. so small. look at you struggling on my cock like that, fuck, so hot—”

you slowed down on purpose, hips rolling even slower than before, your hands pressing against his chest like you were testing him. your eyes caught his as you bit your lip, that bratty look on your face making him groan. he tugged at the collar just enough to make you jolt. “don’t play with me, pup.” his voice was low, sharp. “you think i won’t punish you?”

you tilted your head and moved even slower, your nails dragging down his stomach. “maybe i want you to.” your voice was soft, teasing, a little whine under it.

his jaw flexed. “oh, you want to act up?” he sat up, one hand gripping your hip tight. “you’re just begging for it, aren’t you.” he pulled the collar again, making you lean closer to his face. “say it. say you want me to punish you.”

you let out a small sound and whispered, “i want it.”

he smirked. “good.” with a quick motion he flipped you off his lap and onto the bed, stomach down. his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down while he shifted behind you. “hands and knees. now.” you scrambled to obey, getting on all fours, the collar still around your neck, your hair falling into your face. his hand slid down your back and squeezed your ass. “stay like that. don’t move until i tell you.”

you were already whining softly, arching a little. “look at you,” he said, voice darker now. “do you want me to punish you for real?” you nodded, still on your hands and knees. “say it.”

“i want you to punish me.”

his palm landed on your ass in a sharp smack, not too hard but enough to make you gasp. “that’s what i thought.” his other hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing just close enough to where you wanted him but not touching. “my little bunny likes acting up so she can get punished, huh?”

“yes—” you whispered, squirming under him.

“then stay still.” he pressed himself against you, his cock sliding along your folds but not pushing in yet, just rubbing enough to make you moan. “this is what happens when you’re bratty, pup. you get teased until you’re dripping. you want it now? want me to fuck you like this?”

“please,” you whined, pushing back a little.

he grabbed your hips hard. “ask properly.”

“please fuck me, please punish me,” you said, voice breaking.

he chuckled, low and rough. “good girl. now you’re talking.” he gave another slow thrust against you, still not entering, his fingers circling your clit. “tell me what you are.”

“i’m your pet,” you gasped.

“louder.”

“i’m your pet!”

he groaned at the sound, leaning down to speak right into your ear. “fuck yeah you are” his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against you but still waiting, making you squirm even more. his smirk was audible in his voice. “now i’m gonna show you what happens when you’re bratty, pet.”

he slid forward suddenly, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. before you could whine another word he pushed your face down into the mattress, palm on the back of your head, making you arch with your ass up and your cheek pressed to the sheets. “this is where you belong when you’re acting like a brat,” he growled. “face down, ass up.” his other hand came down on your ass again, sharper this time, making you let out a choked moan.

you tried to lift your head but his palm kept you there. “stay down. don’t look at me. pets don’t look at their owner unless they’re told to.”

“fuckk—” you whimpered, voice muffled by the sheets.

he slammed the rest of the way in with one rough thrust, making you cry out against the mattress. “that’s it. take it. you’re just a little bunny for me to fuck, aren’t you?”

“yes—”

he started moving, rough thrusts, his hips slamming into you while his fingers dug into your skin. “fuck, listen to you,” he snarled between breaths. “whining like a toy. you like when i use you like this? you like being my bitch?” he gave another sharp slap to your ass, then slid his hand up to grab your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear you gasp. “say it.”

“i like being your bitch—”

he groaned and slammed into you harder, his cock hitting deep, his hand still tangled in your hair, and his thrusts picked up pace, rough and unrelenting, his free hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit while he fucked you from behind. “you’re gonna cum when i tell you. until then you’re just a hole for me to use, you understand?” you whimpered something incoherent and he smirked, fingers still working your clit. “what? can’t even talk now? my little pet’s gone all dumb on my cock?”

“yes—” you managed to gasp, hips trembling.

he chuckled darkly and slid his other over until his thumb pressed against your asshole. he didn’t push, just rubbed in slow circles while still thrusting into you. the sound you made was almost a squeak. your hips jerked and he felt it immediately. he pushed a little harder with his thumb, still circling, testing. “ohhh,” he said low, voice heavy with amusement, “you like that too, huh?”

you buried your face in the sheets and nodded. “fucking dirty little puppy,” he growled, pressing his thumb a little deeper, then pulling back to circle again. “getting wet while i play with your ass. you’re so fucking filthy. is that what you want? you want me to fuck your ass too?”

“yes, fuck, jake—” you said again, voice high and shaking.

he leaned down, lips brushing your ear, thumb pressing just a bit harder. “fuck, you’re unreal. begging for more when you’re already full.” you whimpered again, hips pushing back against him without thinking. “tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his cock sliding slow inside you while his thumb teased your ass. “tell me you’re my dirty bunny and you want me to take you wherever i want.”

you gasped, “i want you to take me—please—”

“not enough,” he said, thrusting a little harder, his thumb pressing a little deeper. “say exactly what you want.”

“please use me, please fuck me—”

he smirked against your ear. “use you where?”

“fuck my pussy—please—”

“and?” he pressed.

“play with my ass—please—”

his laugh was low and sharp. “you’re fucking unreal.” his thrusts got faster, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room. his thumb slipped just inside your ass now, shallow, teasing, while his cock filled you completely.

“oh fuck—” you cried out, your voice cracking.

he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to arch your back. “look at you,” he muttered, “fucking begging to be filled from both sides. you’re my dirty little bunny, aren’t you?”

“yes,” you whined, “i’m your bunny, please—”

“what do you want now?”

“i want to cum,” you begged, voice shaking. “please, i need to—”

he slowed down, almost stopped, his thumb still moving at your ass. “you’re gonna cum when i say, pet. got it?”

“please,” you cried, hips trembling, “please let me—”

he leaned down to your ear, still holding your hair tight. “ask me right. say you want your owner to let you cum.”

you gasped, “please let me cum, please, please—”

his cock slammed into you again, hard enough to make you cry out. “again.”

“please let me cum,” you sobbed, “please let me cum—”

he finally lost it, his thumb pressing deeper, his cock pounding into you rough. “fuck, you’re so fucking perfect—cum. now. do it.”

you broke with a loud moan, your whole body shaking as you came around him, clenching so hard he had to grip your hips to hold you steady. he didn’t slow down, his thrusts got even rougher while you were still coming. his voice dropped low, almost a growl. “you like this, bunny? you want me to fill you too? want me to pump you full?”

you whimpered a weak “yes—” still trembling.

“say it right,” he said, still thrusting. “say you want me to breed you.”

“i want you to breed me,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “please fill me—”

he bit your shoulder lightly, his thumb still at your ass, his cock slamming into you harder and faster. “fuck—” he groaned, “keep saying it.”

“please breed me, please fill me up, i’m your puppy, please—”

he lost whatever control he had left. his hips snapped hard, one final thrust burying him deep inside you, his breath coming out as a rough moan. “fuck—” he hissed, his cock pulsing as he spilled into you, still grinding against you to push it deeper. he stayed there, pressed against your back, his hand still on your hair, his thumb still teasing your ass while he twitched inside you, panting against your ear. “good fucking girl,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

you were still shaking, whimpering quietly, your body soft under him. he kissed your shoulder once, still holding you there, still buried inside you. “you’re mine now,” he said, low. “so fuckingperfect.”

he stayed there for a while, and kissed the back of your neck, gently, slightly sliding off after a moment. he took off your collar while he still kissed your neck, and both of you went quiet, just breathing. it wasn’t heavy or awkward, it just felt like everything around had slowed down, just quiet in a way that felt right. jake moved first, reaching down to grab the sheet that had ended up at the foot of the bed at some point. he pulled it over you and ran his hand down your arm once, probably making sure you were okay without actually asking out loud yet.

you didn't say anything, just turned your head a little with your eyes half closed. he sat up and reached for his water bottle on the nightstand, the one he always kept there, and handed it to you without a word. you took a few sips and smiled at him, the kind of small tired smile that doesn't need explanation.

he was still catching his breath a little, looking at you like he was trying to process the last hour. it was one of those moments where he seemed caught between wanting to laugh at himself or just stare at the ceiling and think about his life choices. he let out a breath and said, "you good?" you nodded, and for a second neither of you moved or said anything. then he laughed, quiet and almost to himself. "i can't believe i get to do this with you."

you looked at him, a bit confused at first, then smiled. "what, the freaky stuff?"

"no," he said, shaking his head but still smiling. "i mean yeah, that too obviously. but i'm talking about all of it. i never thought i'd actually find someone who'd let me figure shit out without making it this whole weird thing, you know?"

you laughed and turned on your side to face him properly. "jake, we already did enough weird shit to last you the entire semester. i think you've figured plenty out."

"yeah i know," he said, laughing too. "but i'm being serious right now. you make it easy. i didn't know that was even possible with this stuff."

you grinned, half teasing him because that's just how you two worked. "you're getting all emotional on me now."

he grabbed a pillow and threw it at you playfully, and you caught it against your chest while laughing. "shut up," he said. "i'm trying to have a moment here."

"you're doing great," you said, your voice still light but a little softer.

he smiled for real then, the kind of smile that takes over his whole face even when he's trying to play it cool. he leaned over and kissed your forehead, staying there for a second with his hand resting on your side. "just tell me if anything ever gets too much, alright? like anything at all. i don't want to fuck this up."

you nodded, and there was a pause before you said, "you won't. i'd tell you if something was wrong."

that seemed to settle something in him. he laid back down, one arm behind his head and the other still draped over you. the room was quiet except for the sound of the sheets whenever either of you shifted around. you laughed out of nowhere, and he turned his head to look at you with his eyebrows drawn together like he was trying to figure out what was funny. "what?"

"nothing," you said, still smiling. "you just look like you're overthinking again."

he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, then looked back at you. "yeah, i was just thinking about something. i don't ever want to be too rough with you or whatever."

you blinked, a little surprised he was bringing that up now, then smiled. "jake, it's fine. i like it. you know i like it."

“yeah, i know,” he said quickly, his thumb brushing your arm while he talked. “but i don’t want you to think that’s all this is. that i just want that.”

you turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. “it’s not?”

he frowned, confused that you even had to ask. “no, of course not.” 

you stared at him for a second, quiet, and it was the kind of silence where you both realized you might not have been on the same page about this whole thing. he kept tracing these light patterns on your shoulder with his fingers and said, "i mean yeah, i wanted to try stuff and experiment or whatever. but i don't want you thinking i'm just using you for it. that's not what's happening here." you looked down for a second, feeling a little embarrassed but also not really knowing what to say to that. he reached up and tilted your chin with his hand so you'd look at him again. "you know i could hook up with literally anyone else if it was just about trying shit out, right?"

you rolled your eyes and laughed. "okay yeah, i get it. you're very popular and desired."

he smiled but shook his head. "that's not what i'm trying to say."

you laughed again, softer this time and less defensive. "i know."

he watched your face for a moment and said quietly, "do you want to talk about it?"

"only if you want to talk about it," you said, your voice smaller but honest.

and then neither of you said anything for a full minute. it was funny in that awkward sort of normal way, like both of you knew this was one of those conversations that could get too serious too fast, and you were just tiptoeing around it. he started messing with the edge of the sheet and you started tracing random shapes on his arm with your finger, both of you obviously thinking about the exact same thing but pretending to be casual about it.

here's the thing though: jake had started catching feelings for you at some point, it just happened. it wasn't just about the sex anymore, and honestly it maybe never was from the start. he liked that you didn't treat him like he was this thing people whispered about at parties or like he was someone's weird project. you just looked at him like he was a regular person trying to figure himself out, not like he was some reputation that walked around campus. you made him feel like it was okay to be curious and mess up and not have everything figured out right away.

he looked at you again and said, "you okay?" and you nodded, smiling just a little, like you both understood that things were different now but neither of you wanted to ruin the moment by saying too much too soon. he leaned in and kissed your forehead again, even softer this time, and you laughed under your breath.

so you ended up staying there the whole next day. it wasn't really planned or discussed, you both just didn't mention leaving and it made sense to stay. he tossed you one of his shirts when you went to take a shower, this soft worn out one he always slept in, and he grinned like an idiot when you came out wearing it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you ordered food later because neither of you felt like cooking anything, and he made this whole big production out of picking a place even though he always ended up choosing the same korean spot every time. he let you take the last dumpling and then spent ten minutes complaining about it just to keep the joke going. by the time it got dark outside, there was still some movie playing in the background that neither of you were really watching, and you'd ended up half asleep on his chest while he scrolled through his phone with one hand and rubbed these slow circles on your arm with the other.

it was all very normal and kind of domestic, which was weird because this was jake, the guy who never really stuck around with anyone for more than a night or two. but there he was, asking if you wanted water every twenty minutes and telling you to stop thanking him so much for every little thing.

heeseung and sunghoon had gone out that night, which honestly made everything easier. jake mentioned they'd probably get back late, and they did. you heard the front door open at some point but by then you were already half asleep in his bed with his arm around you, both of you pretending not to hear them trying and failing to whisper in the hallway.

the next morning though, that's when it got funny. you woke up first and stole one of jake's hoodies because the place was freezing, then went to make coffee in the kitchen. sunghoon walked in first with his hair going everywhere and his eyes barely open, and he just stood there for a second staring at you like his brain was buffering.

"morning," you said, trying to act completely normal while pouring coffee into a mug.

he blinked a few times, pointed at the hoodie you were wearing, and said, "is that jake's?"

before you could even answer, jake walked in behind him, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "yeah, what about it?"

sunghoon just started laughing, but it was that disbelieving kind of laugh. "nothing man, just wow. didn't think i'd ever see this day actually happen."

later that day you headed back to your place, jake drove you back. he kissed you before you got out of his car, one of those slow ones that made you both smile after, and then when you got inside your dorm, he stood there in the parking lot like an idiot, watching you get in.

the thing was, after that morning, jake couldn't get you out of his head. and not just in the way he'd been thinking about you before, when it was mostly about wanting to try things or wondering what you'd be like. now it was different, now it was everything.

he'd be sitting in class, supposedly paying attention to some lecture about marketing strategies or whatever, and instead he'd be thinking about the way you'd smiled at him that morning when you handed him his coffee. or he'd be at the gym with sunghoon, mid set, and suddenly he'd remember the way you laughed when he made some dumb joke, and he'd lose count of his reps. he'd remember your moans, then he had to immediately shut that thought away because he didn't want to get hard in front of his gym bro.

"dude, you good?" sunghoon asked him one afternoon, watching jake stare at his phone for the third time in ten minutes.

"yeah, why?"

"you've been weird all week," sunghoon said, setting down his weights. "you keep smiling at your phone like a psycho."

jake shoved his phone in his pocket. "i'm not smiling."

"you literally were just smiling."

"shut up."

but sunghoon wasn't wrong. jake was down bad, and he knew it. the problem was he didn't know what to do about it. you two hadn't really talked about what you were doing, if this was just experimenting or if it was more than that. and jake, who usually never cared about labels or definitions, suddenly found himself wanting to know.

he thought about texting you constantly. not even anything important, just random shit like "what are you doing" or "did you eat today" but he didn't want to seem clingy. except he kind of was being clingy, because every time his phone buzzed he hoped it was you, and when it wasn't, he felt weirdly disappointed.

it got worse at night. he'd lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and his brain would just replay everything. the way you looked in his hoodie, the way you fit perfectly under his arm, the way you'd kissed him goodbye. and yeah, of course he thought about the freaky sex too, but it wasn't just that anymore. he wanted to wake up next to you again, wanted to make you coffee, wanted to hear you laugh at his stupid jokes.

"i think i'm fucked," he said out loud to his empty room one night, and then laughed at himself because yeah, he definitely was.

by thursday, he'd seen you twice on campus. once you were walking with chaewon and you'd waved at him, that bright smile that made his chest feel tight, and he'd waved back trying to act normal. the second time you were sitting in the library and he'd sat down next to you without asking, and you'd just looked up, smiled, and went back to your laptop like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"you're distracting me," you'd said after a while, not looking up.

"i'm not doing anything."

"you're breathing loud."

he'd laughed, quiet so he wouldn't get shushed by the librarian. "sorry, i'll stop breathing."

you'd looked at him then, that little smirk on your face. "don't be dramatic." and he'd stayed there for an hour, pretending to study but really just sitting next to you, and when you finally packed up your stuff, he'd walked you to your next class even though his was in the opposite direction.

friday night, the guys wanted to go to some party, but jake wasn't really feeling it. he was lying on his bed, scrolling through unhinged instagram reels, when heeseung knocked on his door. "you coming or what?"

"nah, i'm tired."

heeseung raised an eyebrow. "you? tired of a party? since when?"

"since now."

"does this have anything to do with y/n?"

jake looked up at him. "what about her?"

heeseung grinned. "nothing. just seems like you've been in your head a lot lately." he paused, then added, "she's cool, by the way. i like her."

"yeah," jake said, looking back at his phone. "me too."

"then maybe stop being weird about it and just tell her that."

after heeseung left, jake stared at his phone for a solid five minutes before finally opening your messages.

[jake]: you doing anything tonight

you answered almost immediately.

[you]: was gonna watch a movie probably why

[jake]: can i come over

[you]: sure :))

so the thing is, jake wasn’t planning anything when he texted you. like, actually nothing. he just wanted to see you, sit around, maybe talk, maybe not. that was it. except, obviously, his brain didn’t get the memo. because the second you said “sure :)” he was already pacing around his room like an idiot, thinking about what shirt to wear, and then laughing at himself because why the hell did it matter what shirt he wore if this wasn’t a date.

he kept telling himself it wasn’t like that – that he wasn’t going over to hook up or whatever. so there he was, caught somewhere between i just wanna hang out and oh god what if i end up wrapping a collar on her neck again, and honestly, it was ridiculous.

the problem was, jake had never really done this before. not the whole “liking someone” thing, at least not in a way that made him feel this normal, it was messing him up. his chest hurt sometimes, but in a good way, and it annoyed him how much he liked it. he wasn’t used to missing people. usually, when things ended, they ended. easy. but with you, it was different. he was basically down bad and self aware enough to hate it.

he couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. gone to see someone just to be around them. it had been years, maybe never. he wanted to be near you, which felt ridiculous for someone who used to brag about never catching feelings.

somewhere between grabbing his keys and pulling on his hoodie, he had this thought that made him stop and laugh. maybe this was his actual kink. not any of the stuff he'd spent hours googling at three in the morning or reading about on reddit. his real kink was apparently just wanting to spend time with you. no expectations, no plan, just you existing in the same room as him. which was possibly the lamest thing he'd ever admitted to himself, but also kind of true.

and for jake, that was kind of terrifying. because yeah, he’d done a lot of freaky things, but this? catching feelings? this was new level freaky. he had no idea what the next step was. he didn’t know how to play it cool, didn’t know what it meant if he just wanted to hang out, didn’t even know if you felt the same. all he knew was that when you said sure :) he felt something warm in his chest that no amount of hookups ever gave him.

so he got in his car, sat there for a second with his hands on the steering wheel, and said, “this is so stupid,” before driving anyway. because no matter how dumb he felt, he knew he’d rather feel dumb next to you than cool anywhere else.

when jake showed up at your dorm, he didn’t really know what he was expecting. maybe he thought you’d tease him for getting there so fast, or that you’d joke about him being obsessed, which, honestly, wouldn’t have been wrong. but when you opened the door, hair a little messy, wearing some oversized hoodie and cute kuromi socks, he just smiled. it was automatic, the kind of smile that happened before he could even think about it.

you went back to the couch and sat down, pulling your legs under you, while he hovered for a second like he didn’t know where to sit. then he just dropped next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “so,” you said, turning toward him. “did you come here for a reason?”

he looked at you for a second before answering. “i just wanted to see you.”

you raised your eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “that’s it?”

“yeah,” he said, and that was the truth. he shrugged a little, but his hand found your thigh without even thinking, resting there gently like it belonged. “that’s it.”

you didn’t say anything right away, but your smile softened. you leaned back into the couch, and he followed your movement like gravity. it wasn’t even about anything physical; he just couldn’t help it. his arm went around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. it was clingy, yeah, but he wasn’t trying to hide it.

you picked up the remote, flipped through netflix for a while, and he watched you instead of the screen. it was stupid, but he couldn’t help paying attention to the small things, like the way you curled your toes under the blanket, how you made tiny comments about every movie title you didn’t like, how you’d glance at him now and then with that small knowing look like you could tell he wasn’t really watching. “you’re not paying attention,” you said, side eyeing him.

“i am,” he said, though he definitely wasn’t.

“what’s the movie about, then?”

he paused. “uh… friendship?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s twilight, dumbass.”

he grinned, leaning in until his chin was resting against your head. “yeah, but maybe there’s still friendship in there somewhere.”

you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t push him away. he stayed there, arm heavy around you, tracing lazy lines with his fingers on your arm. it wasn’t like him to be this still, this soft, but he didn’t really care. after a while, you said quietly, “you’re weirdly touchy today.”

“you don’t like it?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you.

you thought about it, lips pressed together like you were pretending to consider it. “i didn’t say that.”

“so you do like it,” he said, smirking.

“maybe,” you said, eyes still on the screen. he chuckled and leaned in closer, his nose brushing the top of your head, smelling you. you didn’t move away, just sighed in that way that said you were pretending to be annoyed. his hand stayed resting on your leg, thumb brushing back and forth like a small habit. you glanced at him again and said, “you know you don’t have to act all sweet just to hang out, right?”

he smiled, soft but sure. “i’m not acting.”

you gave him that look, the one that was amused but skeptical, but you didn’t push it. instead, you leaned into him more, your head finding its way to his chest. he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. everything felt slower here, quieter. he liked it more than he’d admit out loud.

later, when you started talking about random things, the class you hated, how the dining hall food was getting worse, how sunoo accidentally set off the dorm alarm again, jake listened like every word mattered. he didn’t even try to hide the smile that kept showing up on his face. and if anyone asked him what that night was, he wouldn’t have known how to describe it. it wasn’t a date, it wasn’t anything official. it was just him and you, a blanket, twilight rants (jake laughed his ass off), and a weird sense that something about all this felt new.

after a while the movie was still on but neither of you were really watching anymore. you were warm under the blanket, leaning against him, and he felt your breathing slow down a little. his own eyes were heavy but he didn’t want to move, not when you felt that close. eventually though you stretched, yawned, and mumbled that your neck was starting to hurt from sitting like that. he nodded and followed you when you got up, both of you kind of quiet but in that easy, comfortable way.

your bed was small, definitely not made for two people, but you didn’t even have to ask him to join you. he slipped in right behind you, pulling you close without hesitation. it was a little awkward with all the shifting around, but once you were both settled under your blanket, it just felt natural.

he tucked his chin against your shoulder, one arm wrapped tight around your waist. you stayed like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe, the silence stretching out in a way that didn’t feel heavy. then he said, voice low like he wasn’t sure if he should break the quiet, “i wanted to see you tonight. that’s all.”

you turned your head slightly, trying to look at him. “i know,” you said softly. “i can tell.”

he let out a small laugh, kind of embarrassed. “good. because i didn’t… like, i wasn’t coming here expecting anything. i just wanted to hang out. i like being around you.”

you felt your chest warm at that, even if you tried not to show it too much. “you’re being really sweet right now.”

“yeah, don’t get used to it,” he teased, then got quiet again. his fingers started tracing light patterns on your stomach, like he couldn’t sit still. “can i be honest about something?”

“always,” you said.

he hesitated, then said, “you know how we’ve been messing around… i really like it, what we're exploring, i don't know.” he laughed at the way he said it, but kept going. “more than i thought i would.”

you blinked, but you didn’t pull away. “okay,” you said, keeping your tone even. “you can just say that. it’s not weird.”

“i know,” he said quickly. “i just don’t want it to sound like that’s the only reason i’m here, because it’s not. i figured it’s better to say this out loud instead of keeping it in my head.”

you nodded slowly. “that makes sense. so what about it do you like?”

he smiled a little, though you couldn’t see it. “the control. the way you look at me when i push you like that. it’s… i don’t know. i didn’t think i’d be into it this much, but i am. and i think i want to explore more of it, but only if you’re into it too.”

you thought about it for a second, then said, “i am. i like it too. and i like that you’re saying this, actually. it makes it easier for me to tell you what i like.”

he squeezed your waist gently. “yeah? tell me, then.”

you turned a little so you could face him better, your noses almost brushing in the dark. “i like when you call me names, but not just mean ones. like, the pet stuff feels… i don’t know, kind of comforting? even when you’re rough. it makes me feel close to you.”

his eyes softened. “that’s good. i want you to feel that way. i don’t want it to ever cross a line where it feels bad.”

“it doesn’t,” you said quickly. “and if it ever did, i’d tell you. but i like that you’re not afraid to be rough and that you pay attention when i push back. it feels balanced, you know?”

he nodded, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “that’s what i want. i don’t want it to just be me getting what i want. i want it to be both of us, figuring it out together.”

“that’s what this is,” you said. “we’re figuring it out.”

he smiled at that, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your temple. “you make it sound easy.”

“it is easy,” you said, settling back against him.

he wrapped you up tighter, holding you close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your back. “okay, then here’s me being honest again,” he said after a pause. “i’ve never really done this before. not just the kink part, but… like, the after part. i’ve hooked up, i’ve tried stuff, but actually wanting to stay after, wanting to come over just to watch movies? that’s new. and -- it scares me a little.”

you reached back and laced your fingers with his. “i think that’s fine. it doesn’t have to be figured out all at once.”

he exhaled like that was what he needed to hear. “thanks. i… i really like this, i mean.”

you smiled into the dark. “i like this too, jakey.”

for a while neither of you said anything else. his hand stayed tangled with yours, his body warm against yours. you shifted a little, not because you were uncomfortable but because you wanted to see him. when you turned in his arms, he loosened his hold just enough to let you face him, your noses close in the dark. he blinked at you like he hadn’t expected you to move, and for a moment the only thing either of you did was look at each other.

you reached up and brushed your fingers along his jaw, soft and slow. he leaned into your touch without thinking, like it was natural. then you kissed him, and it wasn’t rushed or hungry, not the way you’d kissed before when things were heated and messy. this one was tentative at first, a press of lips that lingered, both of you testing the space.

he kissed you back just as carefully, almost shy in the way he moved his mouth against yours. his hand came up to the side of your face, his thumb rubbing small circles near your temple. it stayed like that for a while, slow and steady, until you tilted your head and opened to him a little more. the change was small but he noticed right away, kissing you deeper, still unhurried but with more intent.

he pulled back just a fraction, enough to whisper, “you feel so good,” before kissing you again.

the warmth built gradually. every time you moved your lips against his, every little sound you made, it drew him in further. he shifted closer until his chest pressed to yours, until there was no real space left between you. you hooked your hand into the collar of his hoodie, pulling him down when he tried to lift his head. when he finally rolled forward, easing his weight over you, it was careful. he braced one arm beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, letting you feel the solid press of him without it being too much. your legs brushed his, your hands sliding up into his hair, and the kiss turned heavier but not rushed.

he pulled back again, just slightly, breathing against your lips. “you’re perfect,” he said quietly, and it didn’t sound like a line. it sounded like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

you kissed him again, harder this time, and he let out a low sound, moving with you, his body lowering a little more until his hips were pressed to yours. still, his pace stayed gentle. every movement was patient, every kiss followed by another, his mouth moving from your lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, then back up like he couldn’t get enough but didn’t want to rush.

“you’re so good to me,” he murmured against your skin, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “i don’t even know if you realize how much.”

your chest tightened at that, and you held him closer, wrapping your arms around him fully now. he pressed his forehead to yours, smiling a little. “i think i could get used to this,” you said, giggling.

“yeah?” he asked, voice low.

“yeah…” you said again, softer this time.

next thing you knew, it was the next morning. sunlight sneaking through your blinds, the both of you tangled up under your blanket, very obviously naked. the night before hadn’t been about roleplay or collars or anything wild. just you and him, a lot of kissing, a lot of laughing in between, and, well, some very unconventional sex. unconventional in the sense that it felt so unplanned and sweet, but also somehow clumsy in a way that made jake whisper “fuck, this might be the best sex i’ve ever had” against your shoulder while you both tried not to laugh.

you both had class that day, but when your alarms went off, you just looked at each other, groaned at the thought of moving, and made a joint decision to skip. you didn’t even say it out loud, jake just reached over, turned off your phone, and pulled you closer.

the day turned into this weird mix of domestic and ridiculous. you made instant noodles together in your dorm kitchen, him insisting he was the “chef” even though he literally almost forgot to put water in the pot. you ended up watching some more twilight movies on your laptop while lying in bed, and he kept pausing it every ten minutes to ask, “wait, so who’s this guy again?” even though you’d explained three times already.

somewhere in the middle of all this, jake got curious and started testing out “soft” versions of kinks he hadn’t gotten around to yet. nothing serious, more like experiments. at one point he asked if he could blindfold you, then immediately ruined it by laughing because he tied it too tight and you complained you couldn’t breathe. another time, he asked if you’d let him feed you chocolate with his hands while calling you “princess,” and you went along with it until you both started laughing so hard the chocolate melted everywhere. he even half joked about barking for you, even though he was actually being very serious.

the point was: it was fun. it wasn’t serious or heavy. just you two being idiots together, seeing what worked, what didn’t, and realizing that sometimes the kinkiest thing was just how easy it felt to try with each other.

when night rolled around, he finally had to leave, which turned into a whole production. you walked him to the door, and he kept stalling like he forgot something: first his phone, then his hoodie, then his keys, even though they were all in his hand. every time you leaned in to give him a goodbye kiss, he found an excuse to kiss you again, until it was basically ten minutes of nonstop kisses.

“okay, i really have to go now,” he said at least four times, and yet he was still standing there, thumb brushing your jaw.

“you’ve said that already,” you pointed out, laughing.

“yeah, but i mean it this time,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again. when he finally pulled back, his voice dropped a little softer. “i had a really good time, you know. like… today. all of it.”

you smiled, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “me too.”

jake kissed your forehead, then your lips one last time, and finally walked out the door. and of course, thirty seconds later, you got a text from him: miss you already.

so obviously you told sunoo about it. what was going on between you and jake. and of course he freaked out, because that’s sunoo. he gasped so loud you had to shush him before someone else heard, then he grabbed your pillow and started smacking you with it, yelling things like i knew it! i knew he liked you! until you had to bribe him with snacks to calm down.

and the thing was, you didn’t even know what you wanted to call it. you’d always kind of liked jake, but in that he’s hot but he’s also kind of an idiot and will probably break my heart kind of way. he’d always been the friend who didn’t take things seriously, the one you swore you’d never catch feelings for because, well, you didn’t want to get hurt. so you built this wall around yourself, kept reminding yourself this was casual, just fun. and you decided you weren’t going to put any labels on it unless jake said he wanted to.

meanwhile, across town, jake had just gotten back to his place. he kicked off his sneakers, flopped down on his bed, stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, then pulled out his phone. and, naturally, he opened reddit.

he's typing out a draft for r/Relationship_Advice. the title says friends with benefits situationship except i don't wanna be just friends and i wanna be her pet instead. he’s mid sentence writing about how you wear stupid kuromi socks that distract him way too much, when he decides to scroll the subreddit first.

and then he sees a post. a post that sounds… exactly like you.

r/RelationshipAdvice

u/KeroppiNumber1Lover | 2h

am i overthinking this or is my fwb secretly my boyfriend?

okay so i (24f) have been friends with this guy (23m) for a long time. we were just friends until maybe a month or two ago when he came to me asking for advice about kinks. he remembered i once did that bdsm test thing for fun and thought i’d know more than him, and he wanted to “try some stuff out” and i said fine, why not?? we trust each other, no big deal. so we started hooking up and trying some of those things together.

except now it doesn’t feel like we’re just testing things anymore, it’s different. he still jokes around a lot but when we hang out, it’s not always about sex. sometimes he comes over and we just sit there watching dumb movies. last time we spent hours making fun of twilight together and it was TOO fun. he also keeps doing these little things like he brought me coffee one morning just because???? and then played it off like it wasn’t anything and when i told him i was stressed he hugged me for so long i thought my back would crackkkk sirrrrr that is not fwb behavior omg 

the problem is he is kind of known for hooking up with a lot of people in college?? not in a bad way just he never seemed serious with anyone. he’s always been the type i wouldn’t trust to water my plants because he’d probably forget after one day so i’m scared i’ll be stupid if i start to catch feelings for him. but i think i already am?? i do like him, i just don’t know if he feels the same or if this is just me overthinking it. should i say something, or keep my guard up until he says something first?

jake is lying there in bed with his phone basically falling onto his face. he blinks at the screen, rereads it once, then again. “nah… no way. it can’t be… can it??”

then he hits the part about the bdsm test. his brain short circuits. because he did ask that. he literally asked that. he scrolls faster, sees the twilight part, the coffee, the hug. every line feels like a receipt against him. it’s not even subtle. he groans into his pillow. “oh my god. this is literally about me.” then he makes the mistake of reading the comments.

comment 1: “girl if he used to be a fuckboy, protect your heart.”

jake, out loud, also typed: “I WASN’T EVEN THAT BAD. jesus. can y’all move on??”

comment 2: “sounds like you’re already dating, just without the title. either lock it down or walk away.”

jake: “ok see?? finally someone with a brain. pin this comment.”

comment 3: “guys like that just want comfort without commitment. don’t fall for it.”

jake, furious: “i literally brought her coffee at 8am and watched twilight for her. TWILIGHT. what more commitment do you want??”

comment 4: “if he’s treating you like a gf, he probably thinks of you as one already.”

→ jake: “YES. thank you random internet genius. i love you.”

comment 5: “say something before it drags on. if he’s serious, he’ll say yes. if not, at least you’ll know.”

he sighs. “okay. yeah. fine. i get it. i’ll say something. god.”

he ends up throwing his phone down on the bed and just staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe is laughing at him. like, of all places, reddit?? that’s where he finds out you’re basically calling him your “maybe-boyfriend”?

but deep down, even while he’s cringing at strangers dissecting his love life, he can’t help smiling. because at least now he knows he’s not the only one catching feelings.

so after doomscrolling reddit for like an hour and basically convincing himself he was the main character in your post, jake sat there and thought, ok i can’t just do nothing. he wanted to make a move, but not the usual dumb moves he always made. he started running through everything he knew you liked. movies. you had a letterboxd longer than a textbook, always roasting his “basic” taste but still making him watch stuff with you. sanrio. you had those socks on, like, every time he came over. your little chococat keychain was hanging off your bag right now. the oversized hoodies you lived in. your pc setup that he still couldn’t get over because he never struck you as a gamer, but then he walked into your dorm that one time and saw a glowing pastel keyboard with little frog stickers on it.

he kept trying to figure out: how do i surprise her? he thought about showing up in a full hello kitty hoodie (terrible idea), maybe making you watch every twilight movie in one sitting (he’d die), or even buying you some dumb sanrio plush and pretending he didn’t spend hours looking for it. none of it felt right.

a few days later he was sitting on the floor while heeseung was baked out of his mind, button mashing fifa with sunghoon. jake was half talking to himself when he muttered, “i just… i don’t know how to ask her without making it weird.”

heeseung, not looking up from the screen, said, “why don’t you just ask her out like a normal person.” jake stared at him. “yeah, like, words. say them. ‘do you wanna go out.’ boom.”

sunghoon snorted. “crazy concept.”

jake groaned, but in the end he thought, maybe they’re right. maybe you’d actually take it well.

so the next day, he pulled the dumbest move possible. he memorized your class schedule. you were sitting in one of your electives, sunoo on one side of you, when jake just strolled in and sat down on the other side. no notebook, no laptop, not even pretending. he just leaned back in the chair like he belonged there.

you blinked at him, whispering, “what are you doing here? you don’t even take this class.”

sunoo leaned forward across you, eyes narrowed. “yeah, what are you doing here?”

jake ignored him completely and looked at you, his voice low. “are you free tonight?”

you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “yeah… why? wanna come over?” you asked, teasing him before he could answer.

but jake shook his head, smiling a little. “actually, i’ve been thinking about taking you out.”

sunoo raised his brows, looking back and forth between you two like he was watching a live drama unfold. you just bit back another laugh, a little caught off guard but also clearly not against it. “okay,” you said softly. “where?”

he hadn’t actually planned that far, but he quickly blurted, “there’s this restaurant off campus. i heard it’s good.” it wasn’t fancy, but it was nice enough that it felt like a real step up from eating cup noodles in your dorm.

you tilted your head, still smiling. “so… a date?”

jake nodded, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. “yeah. a date.”

you tilted your head a little, smiling. “yeah, that sounds nice.”

and in his brain, jake basically blacked out. oh my god she said yes we’re going on a date holy shit this is happening. he wanted to fist pump the air like an idiot but instead he just sat there nodding like it was no big deal. he mumbled something about texting you later, then immediately packed up and left the classroom before sunoo could say a word.

the second he stepped out, he pulled out his phone and typed “she said yes” into his notes app like he needed proof it actually happened. then he drove home and told himself to stay calm. he was not calm. he tore through his closet, tried on three different shirts, showered twice, searched “best first date outfits men” on pinterest. eventually he gave up and picked the cleanest shirt he had, some jeans, and sneakers that didn’t look like they’d been through war.

when he went to pick you up, you opened the door and jake’s brain short circuited again. you weren’t overdressed, you just looked nice. too nice for him, he thought. your hair, your perfume, the way you smiled at him, it all hit him at once. he immediately leaned in for a quick peck, lingering a little too long, his hand sliding down to your waist like he couldn’t help himself. “you look really good,” he blurted.

you smirked. “you too.”

the restaurant was this little italian place just off campus. dim lighting, small tables with candles, the kind of spot people actually go to for dates. he held the door for you, pulled your chair out, doing all the things he never thought he’d actually do. the conversation was easy. you both ordered pasta, and while waiting for the food you ended up talking about random stuff, laughing over the couple next to you who were obviously on a bad date, debating which twilight movie was the worst one.

“new moon,” you said confidently.

“nah, eclipse,” jake argued, shaking his head. “that one fight scene was garbage.”

“you laughed the entire time.”

“exactly. it was trash.”

the food came and you both dug in, joking about how unromantic it was to slurp spaghetti. at one point you teased him about how “un-jake” it was for him to plan something like this, and he shrugged with a small grin, admitting, “yeah well… i wanted to do it right.”

after dinner, he drove you back, and when he parked outside your dorm, the air in the car felt a little heavier, charged but not exactly awkward. he glanced at you, smiling. “you know, i had so much fun today.”

“me too,” you said, meeting his eyes.

jake leaned in and kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand finding your cheek. when he pulled back, he looked at you for a second, then smirked. “even though you’re calling me your maybe-boyfriend on reddit.”

you froze. “what— oh my god. you read that??”

he laughed, nodding. “yeah. it popped up. i knew it was you.”

you covered your face with your hands, groaning. “i’m gonna actually die.”

he gently pulled your hands down, kissing your palm, still grinning. “no, don’t worry, i liked it. i even went through the comments. i might’ve called a girl an idiot for saying you should protect yourself from fuckboys.”

“you argued with strangers about it?”

“yep. full on fighting in the replies. i was on your side, by the way.”

you shook your head, laughing. “you were on your side!”

he kissed your cheek, still laughing, softer this time. “maybe. but i like being your maybe-boyfriend.”

you kind of froze when he said it, like it took your brain a second to actually process. your face went a little hot and you looked down, suddenly shy. he noticed right away and leaned in a little closer, still holding your hand. “hey, don’t freak out. i like you. i’m not trying to rush anything, i swear.” you blinked, trying to figure out what to say, and he kept going before you could answer. “like, i know this was supposed to be a friends with benefits thing, right? but every time i’m with you i feel like… i don’t know. like i’m the one chasing you. and i keep calling you my pet in bed, but it kinda feels like i’m your dog instead.”

that made you laugh, like actually laugh out loud, and he smiled because you finally looked at him again. “you’re ridiculous,” you said, still laughing.

“yeah, but i’m serious. i don’t wanna be just friends.” he squeezed your hand and added, a little softer, “i want more than that.”

you let out a small sigh, still smiling but definitely nervous too. “i like being with you. i like you, jake. i just… didn’t know if you felt the same.”

“well, i do.”

your face lit up immediately. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you smiled tenderly and that was all he needed. he leaned across the console, kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand cupping your cheek while you kissed him back. it was sweet and warm and a little desperate, the kind of kiss that made it pretty clear neither of you were just “friends” anymore.

so the whole week after that, jake was basically living in boyfriend mode without even saying he was, but oh boy, he was. like, he was picking you up from class just because he “happened to be around,” but then he’d have your favorite snack waiting in the car. you two started having this dumb little routine of going grocery shopping together, and he’d put random stuff in the cart just to see you roll your eyes and then sneak it back when you weren’t looking.

at night, he’d call you even if you’d already spent the whole day together. sometimes he’d just be lying in his bed, rambling about whatever, and then suddenly go quiet like he realized how much he liked hearing you breathe on the other end. he’d come over to yours a lot too, and half the time sunoo would be there making fun of him for being “clingy as hell.” jake didn’t even deny it anymore, he was too busy following you around your own place like a golden retriever.

but there was one night where he was acting especially wild. like, from the second he saw you, he couldn’t stop touching you. his hand on your back, his arm around your waist, kissing your shoulder while you were just trying to make popcorn. he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were actually there with him, which, to be fair, was how he felt most of the time.

you noticed, of course. you kept laughing at how clingy he was being, but he just smirked like he didn’t even care if he was obvious. he leaned in close while you were sitting on the couch, his voice lower than usual. “you know,” he said, fingers brushing over your knee, “i kinda wanna try something different with you.” you tilted your head at him, curious, and he grinned, eyes way too mischievous. “don’t freak out, i’ll explain. but i promise you’re gonna like it.” 

later that night, you were in his bedroom, and the whole house was quiet. jake was in one of his moods, where he couldn’t keep his mouth off you. he kissed along your neck, your shoulders, down your chest like he was trying to memorize every bit of you. his hands were slow but firm, holding you in place like you were something he wanted to worship. every time you made the slightest sound, he murmured praise into your skin, all soft but teasing. you looked at him, a little out of breath, and asked, “what is it you wanted to try?” your voice was curious, and that made him grin even wider, like he’d been waiting for you to ask.

he sat back on his knees, eyes glued to you, and said, “i got you something. a little toy.” the way he said it was too casual, like he wasn’t basically throwing gasoline on the fire. “thought it’d suit my puppy.”

the second he called you that, you slipped into it without even thinking. you tilted your head at him, playful, already slipping into that pet energy he loved so much. your hands curled against the sheets like paws, and you looked at him with wide, eager eyes. jake chuckled low, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “see? there she is. my good girl.” he leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time, almost smug at how naturally you fell into the role. “you’re gonna let me try it on you, right?”

the way you nodded instantly made him laugh against your mouth. “of course you will. my puppy always listens.” he kept praising you in between kisses, dragging his hands down your sides, his voice soft but dripping with control. 

he reached over to his nightstand, opening the drawer like he was trying to be casual about it, but you could see the way his hands hesitated for a second. jake pulled something out, set it on the bed next to you, and for a moment he almost looked shy. it was a buttplug with a soft little tail attached, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure if he’d just ruined the mood.

“i, uh… got this for you,” he admitted, glancing at your face quickly, testing your reaction. “it might be a little… freaky. i wasn’t sure if you’d even wanna try it.”

but you didn’t flinch. instead, you smiled at him in that way that always made him feel like his chest was on fire. “i want to try whatever you want to, jakey.”the second you said that, something in his head clicked, the nerves melted into pure want. his whole body reacted before his brain caught up.

he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, but you could see how much hotter he suddenly looked at you. “you’re… insane, you know that? i bring this out and instead of running you’re saying yes. fuck. my perfect puppy.”

he kissed you hard then, deeper than before, one hand cradling your jaw like you were something fragile even while his words were all possession. he left the tail sitting on the pillow beside you, within sight, like a promise for later. “you’re already so good for me,” he kept murmuring against your skin as he started peeling your clothes off piece by piece. every time a new inch of you was bare, he touched it, kissed it, praised it. “beautiful… all mine… such a good girl for me.”

his hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to stay, gripping your hips, sliding up your ribs, tracing along your thighs. his voice stayed low but steady, every praise making you sink further into the role he loved. “you’re my puppy,” he whispered against your stomach as he kissed lower. “you listen, you let me take care of you, and you make me want you more than anything.”

he stayed there for a second, breathing against your skin. jake looked up at you, and there was that look again, the one he’d had when he showed up in your class, when he asked you out, when he kissed you in the car after dinner.

“you know,” he said, voice softer now but still a little teasing, “when i first started this… all i wanted was to mess around. try things. have fun. i didn’t think it’d turn into… this.” he gestured between the two of you, a small huff of laughter escaping. “you’ve got me completely gone.”

you reached out, brushing his hair back, laughing, “i like being yours. i wanna be yours”. and he exhaled like he’d been holding it in for weeks.

he kissed you then, slow, warm, but still a little desperate. when he stopped, he smiled so wide it almost broke his face, and whispered, “good. because i don’t wanna be just friends. i wanna be yours too.”

the toy stayed on the pillow, forgotten for now. just the two of you, finally admitting what everyone probably already knew.

!! ronnie's notes: i can’t believe i finally finished this fic 😭 i actually started writing it back in june and for some reason it took me forever to get it done lmaoo mostly bc i really wanted to take my time with it and make it feel right. i’ve been planning to post it for kinktober since literally junee, so the fact that i’m managing to post it before october ends feels kinda unreal 😭 this is actually my third kinktober fic this year, i also posted one for jake (which was technically for a sabrina carpenter album collab but it counts 😭) and one for soobin that i wrote like a million years ago. but this one was the fic i’d been planning for kinktober since the beginning, so she’s special to me!!! anyway, i really hope you guys like it. thank you for reading and for sticking around <3

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[sundives]

The art of tension ✶ nrk.

Summary: Your divorce has been the talk of the town. The cold and meticulous CEO who wasn’t able to give affection to her ex-husband, eventually was replaced with someone younger and prettier in less than five months after the divorce. You tried to keep your reputation stable despite all the names thrown to you, but when an art gallery exhibit trailed you to Nishimura Riki — handsome, fine, reputable-looking yet younger male who seems to be drawn to you, tension arises and gossip articles start to brew.

Riki seems to love playing with the fire he started, meanwhile it’s clear that you’re not playing along with his games — especially when you swore to yourself that you're not going to stoop to your ex-husband’s level.

First installment of Big reputations series.

✰ Song inspiration: Don’t blame me by Taylor Swift, Kill bill by SZA, Love again by Dua Lipa.

✰ Word count: 22.4k

✰ Tags: CEO au, age gap (5 years), aged-up characters (ni-ki’s 24, reader’s 29), sexual tension, slow-burn, power imbalance, denial of feelings, confessions, smut, fluff with angst ofc, painter! ni-ki, ceo! reader, heeseung as reader’s ex-husband, they’re civil? with a lot of banter and snarky comments, huge flirt & pathetic yearner nishimura riki, he calls reader noona sometimes, nude painting slayyyy, kpop idols as other characters. Not proofread.

✰ CW: plot with porn, smut, kissing, makeout, power imbalance, sub! ni-ki, dom! reader, cowgirl, unprotected sex (pls. don’t), edging, dirty talk, overstimulation, cream pies, hand jobs, oral (f receiving), cum eating, noona kink? I don’t know lol. Shitty smut but sub!ni-ki is so sexy hahaha.

✰ Asul’s note: oh hey, starting my new series with Ni-ki’s story. I hope you enjoy this one and the upcoming stories of the other members. I still couldn’t believe that this reached 20k words, I was hoping for it to be less than 20k words, but I guessed I enjoyed writing it too much lmao, and I hope you guys enjoy this fic!

✰ Series taglist: @kyutiepeachy @rosepetals09 @toastmenace @k1ttyjwon @kikidoul @brokenengene @tatikeu @ddeondalandan @ellyre @addictedtohobi @fancypeacepersona @heeseungsgf26 @axfyl @dollvtte

-

Your ex-husband is getting married.

A model. The new face of beauty brands and high-end clothing lines. Her face was on every mall establishment and billboard in your country. Thin, pale, a bit shorter than Heeseung, but she was tall nevertheless, but most of all — younger.

Younger than you. Six years younger than you. A fresh face that seems to be at the peak of her career — something guys would love to have. A rising star that would vanish all of the sudden and become a housewife for their hardworking, business-minded husband. A beautiful, younger wife who eventually, will end up as a trophy wife for husbands to brag during company dinners and important events.

Something your ex-husband couldn’t do to you, because in the spotlight of your relationship with Heeseung, the public has always seen you two as equal to each other.

Having the same age as your ex-husband used to have a lot of pros. Both of you relate and understand each other. Given that you two run a company, you assumed that you and Heeseung will always be on the same page.

The public called you the power couple, your relationship was always on the public’s display. Marriage, future, and company collaborations were always on the line. There was peer pressure for you, but you love him. You were sure that he’d be the one you want to spend your forever with. That’s why it was easy for you to marry Heeseung

It was a small and intimate wedding. No press or reporters, just you, him, and people who had witnessed your relationship grew. It was filled with happiness and love, and you found yourself secured. Everything in your life was perfect — you have a loving husband, a famous company, and your reputation’s in good hands.

But that didn’t even last a year. 

You noticed it immediately. The way Heeseung wanted more than just marriage — a family. A happy one that’s picture perfect from the public’s perspective.

Heeseung didn’t ask you to step down from your position, but he wanted you more to be his wife. He wanted domesticity and the simplicity of marriage. Not a penthouse that’s big, cold, and lacked any colors, and perhaps, your cold and quiet personality was too suffocating for him. Both of you were busy, but in his mind, you were busier. You couldn’t spare time for him and feelings started to fade. You didn’t notice that little by little, your marriage was crumbling.

Maybe Heeseung couldn’t handle the fact that he couldn’t control you. You didn’t want to be controlled by him either. Serious arguments came a few months after the marriage. It wasn’t the type that you two were shouting at each other and throwing things out of rage, the arguments came cold and rational, logical like a debate wherein no one wanted to lower their pride. Heeseung always ended up defeated, because all he could see was how cold you were when you looked at him — like you don’t love him at all and he wasn’t your husband. 

It probably hurt him. You’re a tough cookie to break, and believe me because Lee Heeseung, who’s always oozing with charisma and had learned the art of persuasion, wasn’t able to manipulate his own wife. That probably hurt his ego.

Divorce papers were sent not even ten months after your marriage. Signed immediately. The divorce was settled and you two decided that maybe, you two aren’t just compatible. Your four-years relationship with Lee Heeseung vanished all of the sudden.

Of course, the news spread out like wildfire. Comments about your marriage and divorce came left and right — mostly about you, unfortunate to your side.

How Lee Heeseung couldn’t even get you to settle down. How heartless you were and Heeseung probably didn’t love you completely. You were a workaholic, you’re married to your company instead. Every name they could think of was thrown to you and despite everything, they still quiver when you're in their presence. Your reputation never faded and your company stood strong despite the criticisms on you. After all, you didn’t care about what they said, since they didn’t even care that the divorce was just a matter of fallout.

Now, it’s not even less than five months since your divorce, and your ex-husband’s getting married. It surprised you at first, but when you saw his fiance, it didn’t surprise you anymore. She looks like something straight out of a men’s magazine — every guy’s fantasy, and all you could think of was that Heeseung probably found a girl who he can control. Good for him though.

It was Heeseung who’s getting married, and yet, in some ways, the press had managed to find a way to drag your name in his articles. 

Comparisons between you and the fiance were the topic. The public wasn’t surprised that Heeseung replaced you with someone younger and prettier. Someone who’s kind at heart and bubbly. The fiance was on the trend now, the nation’s sweet darling, as what everyone calls her. She’s smart and media-trained. Her answers and words were articulated and well-spoken, as if she was in a beauty pageant.

She was the complete opposite of you. She’s what Heeseung deserves, they say. Praises were given to the new couple while you were thrown into the pit of shame, because you may be the CEO of the biggest magazine publishing company in your country, you’re the one who’s ex-husband divorced due to your cold personality.

If only. They say. If only you weren’t cold or evil or too much, then maybe, Heeseung wouldn’t have divorced you. If only you weren’t self-centered who only thinks about herself, then maybe, you could’ve had the happy marriage that was supposed to last forever. 

Still, you didn’t care nonetheless about it. You thought that maybe, marriage and love wasn’t just for you. You could read all the hateful comments and opinions from the public all day, but not a single sting could be felt on your heart. 

That’s when you decided to close your phone, realizing that maybe, you’re just a heartless monster just like what everybody says. You placed your phone on your table and focused once again at your monthly due dates for the month when you heard the door open.

“Hey chief, I hope a bun of cinnamon roll would cheer you up,” you looked up and saw Sunoo standing in front of you. Holding a paper bag wherein a faint smell of freshly baked pastry filled the air. 

Talking about right timing, Sunoo came in with your favorite pastry. He placed down the paperbag and you only grabbed the box out of it. Your best friend sat on the chair in front of you as he took a sip on his strawberry latte.

“You’re done with the article I sent you?” You asked as you took a bite on the bread.

“I did, I guess you haven’t opened my email yet because you’re too busy reading Heeseung’s article.” Sunoo teased.

You only chuckled in disbelief, “people are funny you know? My ex-husband’s getting married but somehow, I’m still the one getting all the negative comments.”

That made your best friend groan. Rolling his eyes as he spoke, “Right? Not even a what if Heeseung and that girl were having an affair while you two were married — I mean come on now! Five months? Not even a dating article or rumors? It’s been five months since you two divorced and he’s getting married already? What’s the rush?”

Now that you think about it, five months was indeed too fast, as if you and Heeseung didn’t have a long-term relationship before getting married. It never crossed your mind whether he had an affair while you two married — you didn’t care about that thought. Perhaps, Heeseung really just wanted to settle down and have a family. If he couldn’t do it with you, he’d find someone else for sure.

“He has certain goals that he wanted to hit before turning thirty, so it’s not a surprise he’s a rush.” you commented.

“I bet my next bonus that the girl’s pregnant,” Sunoo joked.

“Already? That’s a shame for the girl,” you mumbled before taking a bite on the bun. “Imagine, you’re at the peak of your career and you had to throw it all away just to become a wife and a mother.”

“Something you don’t want to do.” your best friend teased.

You smiled at him, “Yeah, that’s why he divorced me.”

“I don’t know if I should feel bad for you or not.”

Before you could even speak, a knock on the door interrupted you two. Both looked towards the direction wherein the door opened revealing one of the company’s interns.

“Good morning Ma’am — and Sir Kim, Sir Kang asked me if I could get your comments regarding the articles of your ex-husband’s marriage.” she asked, voice almost timid and unhearable for you.

You crossed your arms as you looked at the intern. “Why?”

She flinched at your tone. Looking up to see your icy gaze that sent chills to her spine. “He — Sir Kang just instructed me to, it’s for the press release Ma’am, everyone’s reaching out to him for your statement regarding Mr. Lee’s marriage.” 

Of course. Your statement will just add fuel to the fire. Everyone loves drama, and what’s a good mess if there’s a statement from the ex-wife?

“Tell him I don’t have any comments about it,” you stated loud and clear. “And next time, if he wanted my statement, he’d come up to my office instead of sending you. Tell them that to him.”

The intern nodded frantically. “Of course, thank you Ma’am. Thank you so much —” 

“You may go.”

She bowed one last time before leaving the office. You took another bite on your pastry while Sunoo only gave you a side eye.

“You’re scaring all of our interns,” he remarked.

“I have to,” you let out a sigh. “If I’m all bubbly and happy-go-lucky, no one will take me seriously.” 

“Maybe a smile wouldn’t kill you y/n.” Sunoo suggested

“There’s nothing to smile about.” you mumbled.

“Gosh, and here I am wondering how I was able to put up with you.” Sunoo rolled his eyes while you only smirked teasingly at his snarky remark.

“You’re the only one who could put up with me.”

“Heeseung used to, but now he’s not here anymore.”

“Maybe love isn’t for me Sunoo,” you stated. “I don’t care nonetheless, what good will it give me, right?”

Sunoo didn’t agree to your statement. He only took a sip on his latte, watching you take a bite on your pastry as he deeply pondered about whether you’re greatly affected by your ex-husband’s marriage or not.

And as he looked at your dead eyes, filled with nothing but ice-cold stares and blank expressions, he wondered if there would come a time that there would be someone who’d be able to melt your heart — someone who’s completely the opposite of your ex-husband.

-

Your company’s PR officer advised you to stay out of the public’s eyes for a moment. 

Unknowingly, you followed their advice. It’s not like you’re the type to follow someone’s instructions, it just happens that you didn’t have any schedule that required you to go out. Next month’s issue is coming by and you spent most of your days inside your office, evaluating articles, photoshoots, and contents for the magazine like a good CEO would do.

Your “no comment” on your ex-husband’s marriage was still a statement that the public bought. It caused some drama, people love to stir the pot after all. They thought you were bitter about it but didn’t want to show it to the public, while others think that you’re just a heartless and workaholic CEO who doesn’t care about her ex-husband. The comments never stopped just like how you never stopped working.

It’s been two weeks since the announcement was released. You spent your days hiding in the shadows of your office and in the comfort of your house. Your family couldn’t reach out to you and the only person who you talked to was Sunoo. You’ve done this when your divorce was publicized, it’ll eventually pass — hopefully, because you’re tired of dealing with the press and drama.

The elevator bell rang, and everyone stopped when you got out of the elevator. Greetings were given left and right while you strutted your way towards your office, not even bothering giving a glance to your employees. Everyone could feel the cold aura you emit — powerful and overbearing. Not a single word was spoken by you and as soon as you’re inside your office, everyone sighed in relief. 

You haven’t even sat in your chair when the door opened once again, revealing Sunoo who’s holding two cups of coffee. 

“Thank fucking god it’s a Friday,” you stated as you received the coffee from Sunoo.

“You know how Taehyun advised you to not go out in public for a while,” Sunoo started and you only stared at him.

“What about it?”

“Well, there’s an art gallery in the Aphrodite Hall today. The painter’s making a name in the art industry, and he had held exhibits around the world and wanted to finish the last exhibit here,” Sunoo explained. “What if you look into it?”

“Why me? Are our writers incompetent now that I have to do it?” you asked with an irritated tone.

But your best friend only laughed. “Well, you’re our biggest critic.”

“Art’s not even on my forte.”

“Well, I just want some good drama, the cold and heartless CEO l/n at the exhibition of Nishimura? It’ll draw attention.” he suggested.

“You’re just convincing me for your entertainment’s sake?” you raised an eyebrow.

Sunoo lets out a sigh of defeat. “You know, sometimes, you just have to be petty and play with the fire Heeseung started.”

That’s when you laughed. “There’s no fucking way that I am going to stoop on my ex-husband’s level.”

“Oh come on now, I heard Mr. Nishimura’s fine as hell.” he convinced.

That’s when you gave him a judging expression, “are you trying to set me up with someone? You know that I’m done with love and dating.”

“I am not trying to set you up, I’m just trying to convince you to go out and touch some grass rather than lock yourself here in the office.” Sunoo elaborated.

You stared at Sunoo for a good minute. Friday’s are usually your lazy days, tasks aren’t that heavy at the moment, so perhaps, you do need some time outside your office.

That’s what made you grab your bag and coffee. “Fine, I’d do it for your entertainment, if I found the gallery ugly and boring, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll thank me.” Your best friend winked at you and you didn’t say anything. Knowing Sunoo, he’s not just going to suggest anything if it wasn’t to your standard.

You left the building and drove your way towards Aphrodite Hall. Arriving there after twenty minutes, you parked at the underground parking and rode the elevator upwards the hall.

The outside layout of the exhibit’s entrance was already touched with the artist’s brand. It didn’t look cheap at all which tells you that he isn’t just a novice artist. Every detail and layouts felt like a welcoming notion to know the artist before entering the exhibit itself. Impressive. You thought. 

There were a few people around, given that it was ten in the morning and a Friday. No reporters or photographers around, you found the right time to visit the place.

“Ms. l/n!” you looked to your left and saw a woman approaching you. She gave you a smile while you only stared at her.

“We’re surprised to see you here! Please, allow us to guide you through the exhibit —” 

“You don’t need to. It’ll just distract me from my work,” you halted her words. “I’d prefer to be alone and see the gallery for myself. Thank you.”

She was left stunned. It took her a minute to recover before she nodded. “I understand Ma’am — I hope you enjoy the gallery.”

Still much enthusiasm left on her even though she was stuttering through her words. You eyed her one last time before entering the exhibit. 

A display of portraits and paintings welcomed you. It was a mixture of avant-garde and contemporary art. Bright and vivid portraits against dull and muted backgrounds. The artist had a vision in every painting. More or less, every painting spoke, and you couldn’t help but to be in awe at how he perfectly used the vivid colors to tell a story. 

You pass by every painting, stopping one by one to observe every description of the paintings. Every painting was given two sentence descriptions. You noticed that it was intentional — perhaps it meant that it’s up to the audience to interpret what it means.

“Ms. l/n, a pleasure to see you here,” a deep voice startled you. Turning to your left, you saw a tall man standing in front of you. 

Sharp, refined visuals, he looks boyish nevertheless, alongside his youthful grace with sophistication. He wore something custom-made. A suit that perfectly captured his body proportions. Nice skin, with moles scattered on his face, he looked foreign yet familiar for you.

He looked at you like he’s happy to see you, with milder enthusiasm compared to the woman earlier — just something that will show you that he’s used to known public figures in his exhibit.

“You must be Mr. Nishimura,” you said as you stretched out your hands. “You seem to know me.”

“It’ll be a shame not to know you Ms. l/n,” he chuckled before accepting your hand. But the next thing you knew, he pulled it towards his lips, landing a perfect kiss on your knuckles which immediately startled you — retrieving your hands from him.

“You’re too bold,” you commented, shaking off your right hand.

“That’s what everybody says to me,” he said without batting an eye. “That’s what brought me here.”

“Would a little humbling keep you grounded?”

“If it’s from you, I don’t mind.”

He’s flirting. You’re not dumb to notice it immediately. He didn’t also hide it from the way he looked at you. The sparks on his eyes, it faintly ignited something fiery from him — and that made you curious yet wary about him.

“I’m not someone who humble strangers Mr. Nishimura.” you pointed.

“You can call me Riki, Mr. Nishimura is too formal.” he chuckled.

“I prefer formality,” you crossed your arms. “I’m just here to look into your gallery.”

“Well, I do hope you’re enjoying the gallery.”

“I do, until you decide to show up.”

Riki laughed, a bit loud enough to draw attention from the people around. Your gaze at him remained, brow raised with your arms crossed. You weren’t supposed to draw attention but it’s the total opposite for him. He seems to be feeding off the attention because all eyes were on you two and you knew what it meant for your image. You’re already dreading the articles that’ll be released today or tomorrow.

“It seems like you did, I noticed you loved ‘At the right time’ the most,” Riki explained.

“I didn’t certainly love it, but it caught my attention the most,” you clarified. “Care to explain it further?”

“Just like what the title says, at the right time,” he casually explained. “Everything has its own right time. Maybe for you, now’s not the right time, but somewhere in the future, there will be. I used the bold colors of orange and yellow because it shows hope and warmth. It gives hope against the blues and gray. Dull days happen but you don’t have to make it everyday either.”

His words were shallow. Not depth nor critical. It was simple, yet it left you impressed. He’s not those snobbish painters that paint the most sub-standard paintings and slaps a deep meaning behind it. Riki paints to tell stories and encourages it. A fresh face in the industry, you understood why he’s a rising name too.

That’s why you look around. Seeing the public enjoy his paintings, the smiles and nods, everything about the exhibit makes sense that Riki’s gallery perfectly captured the public rather than a specific group of people. 

It amazed you, and yet, you kept a blank expression throughout. “You seem satisfied with the outcome of your gallery.”

“It’s my first,” Riki shared, tone filled with pride. “I did have a lot of doubts about it, but seeing how the public was able to interpret every painting in their own perspective, it leaves a lasting impression on me. If they were able to understand it, then it satisfies me as an artist.”

“What about your perspective then,” you asked. “You’re a painter. I’m pretty sure you made some paintings with a clear message. What would happen if they understood it in a different message?”

“There’s no clear intentions for me, we have different perspectives, and it enlightens me — that my paintings can be interpreted that way aside from mine.”

“You really are a rookie,” you commented. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“But did it impress you?”

“I have a fair share of rookies like you. Some are too goal-oriented, some are hungry for success, while others like you — are people pleasers.”

“I don’t please people. But for you, I would be very glad to do so.” he jabbed and one more flirty remark, you’re going to turn around and walk away.

“Flattery won’t give you a good article, Mr. Nishimura.” you stated.

“Who says I’m doing it for a good article?” he taunted

“What is it for then?”

“Oh come on, am I not that obvious?” he chuckled, and that was your answer. He was definitely flirting with you.

“You are,” you started. “But I am simply ignoring it Mr. Nishimura.”

Yet, the smirk on his face only widened. Riki chuckled softly before shifting his gaze at the painting in front of him.

“Do you know the meaning of this painting?” 

You gazed at the painting in front of you. Red streaks, bold and seem rushed. Streaks of gold and orange hues can be seen. The title of the painting, ‘per chance’ meant that everything just didn’t simply happen because of fate or destiny, some just took the chance and got away with it.

It meant that the moment Riki saw you, he took the chance to approach you and talk — flirt with you. If he had noticed that you stopped at one of his paintings for too long compared to the others, it meant that he had been inside the gallery the whole time.

With that said, he approached you perfectly when you were at this painting in front of you, which meant that he perfectly took that right time to approach you.

What a brave heart, you think. Bold and courageous just like any man who assumed they found the one for them.

You already know these patterns. Approach them, start with small talks with subtle hints of flirting until you two could go on a date. Fall in love, think that this will be a happy ending, and then expectations will fall — part ways.

“I do, and chances are, there are no chances for you Mr. Nishimura,” you immediately stated, before looking at your watch. “It seems that I have spent too long in this exhibit. I will be going now.”

“I’d be happy to walk you out Miss —”

“There’s no need, I don’t need tabloids dragging my name along with yours, I’ve already had enough with it for the past few weeks.”

“I don’t care about them.”

You simply chuckled in disbelief. “I do, and for a rookie like you, ignorance may seem like a bliss, but it’ll eventually eat you out as you stay longer in this industry.”

But the smirk on Riki’s lips never faded. He simply gave you a bow, his eyes still dark and desireful remained on you. No matter how many jabs or cold statements were given to him, he never faltered.

“Have a safe drive back to your office, Ms. l/n.” he bid, eyes still gazing on you.

You didn’t say a word but instead, turned your heel and walked out of the hall — you didn’t even bother turning around one last time to glance at the young painter, afraid that it might give him the wrong intention.

The moment you reached your car, you turned on the engine and reached out for your phone first. Looking at the notifications, there weren’t any important or urgent messages for today. You only let out a sigh before you decided that instead of going back to the office, you opted to go home instead.

On your drive home, all you could think about was Riki. The tall height, deep voice, and never faltering confidence. He was a newbie, yet he wasn’t afraid of you — he even had the guts to flirt with you, which bugged you. Why?

You’re used to being feared, knowing how powerful your words were. You can twist his image in just a snap, but he didn’t care about that, and instead, continued to throw those chill-sending words that if you were a normal teenager, you would’ve been flustered.

But you weren’t. You’re a divorcee who’s sick of love and happiness, and yet, the younger remained in your mind when he should’ve been out of it the moment you left the hall.

Maybe because, and as much as you wanted to deny it, Riki reminds you oddly of your ex-husband. The way he acted around you, his words and actions —  it was like Heeseung when you two started dating.

Perhaps that’s the reason why you couldn’t get him out of your mind — and that thought scared the hell out of you.

-

As expected, the cheap tabloids took the opportunity to link you with Riki.

“I hope you enjoy it,” you teased Sunoo who’s reading the article. The same cheap tabloids who were calling you names are now insisting that you were meeting someone new, which was unfortunate to you, was Riki.

Coincidentally, someone managed to capture Riki kissing your hand, and of course, they started to speculate things with it. But you know the truth — you were there for work purposes.

“He’s good-looking,” Sunoo commented, scrolling through his phone as he took a closer look at the pictures. 

“And young,” you pointed out, eyes locked on your screen. After finishing your draft for the review article, you decided to look up Nishimura Riki.

Twenty-four years old. Born December 9. Sagittarius. He studied in a famous art school in Tokyo, Japan, moved to South Korea at the age of seventeen and was an apprentice to one of their famed painters for seven years before debuting his own exhibit.

Aside from that, he seems to be secretive about his private life. His family lives in Okayama and no details about them were disclosed either. No scandals nor issues but maybe because he’s just a rising name in the industry. Most of his articles were about his current exhibit, and just like Sunoo mentioned, he debuted it in different countries. 

There were also some short articles about his fashion style and choices, aside from his artistry, it seems like the public is swooning over his looks and enigmatic aura.

“You’re making it sound like it’s a problem,” Sunoo laughed.

“It is,” you stated. “Younger guys are immature, older ones are manipulative.”

“And same-age guys?”

“Are a mix of both.” you joked, making your best friend laugh.

“So, you’re just going to stay single forever?” Sunoo asked.

“I think that’s fated to me,” you shrugged. “I couldn’t care nonetheless.”

“Hey, you’re still young you know? Who knows, maybe you’d meet him at Mr. Young’s dinner party this Saturday”

That’s when a groan escaped your lips. “Do I really have to go there?” “You’re invited by Mr. Young  himself, you had no choice.”

“Could you at least accompany me?”

“As much as I want to, I have plans that night, so good luck chief — oh, and don’t get caught in another gossip okay?”

“Sounds hard, they’re the one following me after all.” you joked, earning a hearty laugh from your best friend.

-

Dinner parties and charity events under the disguise of money-bragging are the things you hated the most.

But there are things called decency, and some business people still think that it’s decency to invite you to their expensive yet cheap-looking dinner parties just for the sake of impressing you. 

An hour had passed and all you could do was plaster fake smiles and kisses, indulging in their egoist comments as you chugged down the tasteless wine they served.

Seriously, you could’ve just spent your Saturday night watching the latest series in your watchlist, but here you are trying to understand their next projects and vision which you utterly don’t give a fuck about.

Bored of the conversations, you looked at your watch and thought that it was too early to leave, so you excused yourself from a circle and wandered around the venue. Looking for something interesting when someone caught your attention. 

Coincidentally, he caught yours too. With a soft smile from the people he was talking to, he excused himself and approached you who only stood there frozen.

“It’s a surprise seeing you here,” your ex-husband started.

“A surprise?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Still a pleasure,” he smiled, the same boyish smile you fell in love with years ago. “It’s been a while.”

“You must be busy, with the wedding preparations and everything,” you commented. “Congratulations by the way, sorry it took me weeks to tell you that.”

“I don’t know if you’re being sarcastic,” Heeseung jabbed.

“Of course not,” you smiled at him. A genuine one. Not a fake one that’ll show him that you’re fine and not a bitter ex-wife. “You deserve it, you deserve someone who’d put up with all you want.”

Heeseung didn’t say a word. He knew what you meant. An apologetic expression shifted in him. “You know that that’s not the reason why we separated.”

“I know,” you agreed and yet, it didn’t hide the bitterness in your tone. “But let’s not dwell in the past. I’m tired of hearing about us Heeseung, the public wasn’t very nice to me for the past few weeks.”

“Yes, the public wasn’t really nice,” Heeseung commented. “Although, I’ve heard some interesting things lately from the tabloids.”

“I didn’t know you read cheap tabloids Mr. Lee.”

“The headline caught my attention — a rising painter trying to swoon Ms. l/n? He seems a charmer to me.” he teased.

“He’s bold,” you pointed out. “But young. Tabloids love to speculate things, I was just doing my job there.”

“Of course you are, when were you not doing your job?” Heeseung joked.

“Tonight supposedly, binge-watching some series,” you replied with a shrug. “But here I am.”

“Here you are,” he raised his glass and you only toast to his wishes. Your eyes were on your husband’s hands as you took a sip on your wine. The gleaming gold band of his engagement ring stood out. It was a sudden reminder for you, he’s going to marry someone else while you’re here single, and oddly, having a conversation with him.

“You’re happy with her?” you couldn’t help but to ask.

“I am,” he admitted and you only smiled at him.

“Good.” you said with diction.

“One day, you’d experience this kind of love too,” Heeseung told you and that made you laugh in disbelief.

“I did experience it once, four years ago,” you stared at him for a second. “It’s a frightening feeling now that I get to experience it. I think once is enough for me.”

“Really? Not even a change of heart?” he mocked.

“You know me Heeseung, I never changed,” you answered.

“Then it’s a shame.” he bitterly smiled.

“For you it is, but I’m fine with it.” With that, you looked at your surroundings. Of course, all eyes were on the two of you. Whispers began to be loud and all you could think about were the gossip articles that were to be released tomorrow morning. So you took a small sip on your wine again and glanced at Heeseung one last time.

“I think it’s time for me to go, don’t want to cause any chaos in your soon-to-be married life,” you bid.

“It was nice talking to you,” Heeseung softly spoke. “Genuinely, I miss you.”

“Goodbye Heeseung,” you answered instead. “And to answer your invitation, I’m not going to your wedding, I don’t want to ruin your soon-to-be wife’s wedding day.”

You gave him one last smile before you left him standing there. The stare became more and more obvious, but you ignored it as you walked with confidence towards the champagne table wherein you got yourself another glass. 

You decided that socializing more will drain the energy out of you, that’s why you opted to go to the veranda for some breather. The cold air welcomed you as you pushed the door open. Placing down the champagne glass on the corner table, you leaned against the railings as the silence swallowed you whole.

You let out a deep sigh as the loneliness felt comforting. This is what you needed. You’re on your own, yet you’re in your own peace. It deeply moved you found yourself more relaxed and having fun staring at the stars rather than conversing with the people inside.

“Thought I’d find you here,” but your fun faded when you heard the glassdoor open. At first, you ignored it, but you turned around when you heard a familiar voice. Raising an eyebrow as you look at Riki who’s smiling ear to ear.

“Wine?” he offered and you only glanced at the glass on the corner table.

Riki seemed to understand what you meant, he placed both glasses he was holding on the table and stood beside you.

“What are you even doing here?” you asked, still staring at the view in front of you.

“Mr. Young bought two of my paintings, and he invited me as a form of gratitude too.” Riki answered, tone filled with pride which made you roll your eyes.

“Not that,” you clarified. “Here, what are you —”

“Thought you need some company.” the younger male grinned.

“I don’t need company Mr. Nishimura, I am fine with my own solitude.” you told him.

“I told you, Riki would be fine,” he insisted.

“Would it offend you that I call you kid instead?”

“You’re acting like I’m way too young,” he sounded offended with your words.

“Five years, I’m older than you by five years,” you heave out a sigh.

“That doesn’t stop me though,” he smirked and you could only scoff in disbelief.

You didn’t answer him, but you glanced at him. Riki was wearing the usual boring suit and tie just like any other gentlemen out there. He had his hair pushed back and cleaned, probably drowning in hair gel meanwhile the small rectangular glasses enhanced his visual. — a charmer overall, you noticed how despite wearing boring clothes, he makes it up to his accessories and jewellery.

Truly, this kid is a casanova. That's one thing you should be careful of. People are now watching you two since he’s romantically linked to you, it didn’t help that your ex-husband’s marriage is still being the talk of the town.

It’s an avoidable scandal. Just tell him to back off, you’re not interested and move on. It should’ve been easy but Riki seems to be the type to persuade you more the more you reject him — a casual act from your ex-husband during his younger years.

“Mr. Nishimura, I am going to repeat myself. I am not interested in any bullshit you have in your sleeves,” you told him. “I had enough of scandals and cheap gossips on my end due to my ex-husband’s marriage, I am not going to let my name be dragged down by a mere rookie like you who couldn’t take a fucking hint.”

“That wound me,” he teased, acting like you shot him in his heart. “Your ex-husband was an asshole for letting you go.”

“Don’t disrespect my ex-husband like that, people divorce for a reason, we weren’t just compatible.”

“Maybe, just like him, you need someone younger, you know?” he suggested.

There was silence for a minute. You only stare at Riki whose eyes never left you. You could feel your cheeks red, ears warm as the blood rushed on your body like you were a teenager.

Yet, there’s a hint of annoyance in your face. A sigh of disappointment before grabbing your wine glass. “I’ll let you know this one last time Mr. Nishimura, if there’s one thing about me that you should know, I am not going to lower myself to any man, especially my ex-husband. So give up now, and find someone your age to charm.”

“It’s a shame, when I have my eyes on someone, I am very determined to have it.” he stated with a disappointed tone.

“You’re playing with fire Mr. Nishimura.”

“If it’s you who I am playing with, I don’t mind.” Riki casually shrugged, taking a step forward wherein he’s just an inch close to you. 

It deeply frightened you and yet, you didn’t move. You’re not one who’d backed out of fear, especially in front of a guy? You’d rather die.

“I’m not going to play with your childish games,” you whispered to him, eyes cold at his burning ones. “I’m too old for that bullshit.”

“But not too old for me.”

“Goodbye Mr. Nishimura,” it was the only thing you could say. “I hope this is the last time we see each other.”

“I’m afraid this is just the beginning of our many wonderful encounters, Ms. l/n.” he smiled, a charming one which stunned you for a split second.

Riki watched as you went back towards the hall, closing the door of the veranda, you stared at him through the glass door. He stood there, with wine on his glass, a toast for you and a smirk forming on his lips.

You could feel your heart beating fast. Scared and unable to process anything that you two had exchanged, you left the place with a wondering heart and mind about the younger who seems to have his goal set to have you.

-

Another article. Another speculation about you and Riki. Of course, it was news worthy that you and Riki were talking alone on the veranda.

Your PR officer is now lecturing you for not being careful which annoyed the fuck out of you. It was Monday morning and he’s already waiting in your office, sitting on the chair in front of your desk while Sunoo was on the couch, scrolling through his phone and reading all the comments the public had left for you.

“I told you to be careful,” Taehyun said with an annoyed look.

“I am being careful,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s not my fault that he’s insistent about me —”

“Insistent?” he breathed. “You two are having a private moment at the veranda of Mr. Young’s hotel, and dare you say, insistent?”

“You think I am doing this on purpose?” you asked with a cold tone, standing up from your seat as you stared at Taehyun, your gaze dark and powering that your employee flinched. 

“You think I want to be linked to an immature painter who doesn’t know how to accept a rejection? You think lowly of me Taehyun.” you smiled at him, a taunting smile that kept the male shut. “You think, after all the names that were thrown to me because of my ex-husband’s marriage, I wanted the public and media to be their money-maker with this baseless rumor? I am busy running an empire here, I don’t have time to deal with all of this bullshit.”

The whole room fell into utter silence. Taehyun looked away, embarrassed, meanwhile Sunoo’s stare at you never faltered. A proud expression written on his face despite the tense atmosphere.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to accuse you of such things,” Taehyun said. “As your PR officer, I am doing my best to clean —”

“I only want you to take care of my company’s image, not mine. Let the public speculate, no matter what statements we release, they don’t even listen,” you rolled your eyes heavenwards. That’s when Taehyun stood up from his seat, brushing off the dust from his suit as he looked at you, pissed yet defeated.

“Right, just doing my best. Have a nice day Ms. l/n.” Taehyun excused himself and you stood there, watching him leave your office with the door closing in a soft thud. You couldn’t help but to take a sip on your coffee before heaving a deep sigh.

“How do I even get rid of the kid?” you asked, glancing at Sunoo who only smiled at you.

“Asking the same question four years ago,” he observed. “Feels like deva ju right?”

“A nightmare you could say,” you sat on your chair before opening your desktop computer.

“Does Mr. Nishimura scare you?” Sunoo asked and you only quipped a smile.

“Not really, he’s like a pest that no matter I step on, he’s still alive and beating.” 

“Well, maybe that’s your sign to just play along with his games.”

“I don’t have time to deal with his bullshit Sunoo.” you complained.

“You’d say that right now, but knowing you, you’d end up doing it too.” Sunoo pointed out.

“Please kill me if that happens.”

“I’d have my hitman ready then.”

Sunoo stands up from his seat, you didn’t bother raising your head to bid goodbye to your best friend, eyes already focused on your work when you hear the door closed.

It didn’t take a minute for it to open once again.

“You left something Sunoo?” you asked, eyes still on your computer.

“Chief, you have a visitor,” Sunoo said, voice filled with excitement and teasing which made you glance at him — immediately halting you.

“So, this is what the office of Ms. l/n looks like,” Riki’s eyes wandered around your office before glancing at you. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I don’t entertain unwanted visitors,” you coldly said. “I am busy if you couldn’t see it.”

“I can see and I apologize for disturbing your working hours but I have a concern, deeply regarding the article you wrote about me,” Riki flashes a smile and you scoff.

“You have the nerve to say that Mr. Nishimura, you should be thankful that I spare time to write an article about you and your gallery.” you stated.

“I am honored Ms. l/n, but you missed a small piece of information about me.” he insisted.

You smiled at him. That smile that tells people who you are and they shouldn’t have opened their mouth. 

You’ve seen hundreds of reactions to your smile. Wide smiles fading, the fear in the eyes, and avoidance of contact — some even shook in fear.

But Riki? He only stood there, hands on his back with his head held high. Smiling and waiting for your answer, and that’s when you felt deja vu. 

Not again. You thought as you stared at the younger man. You swore to yourself. No more, not anymore. Especially when this young man in front of you scarily reminds you of your first love.

“What piece of information could I possibly have missed about you?” you asked, trying to shake off that feeling of yours about the young painter. 

“That I am single, and very ready to mingle.” he proudly said.

You wanted to laugh out loud. You couldn’t believe it. You’d think that he’s joking but he remained his cool expression as you stared at him, lips thinning as you let out a sigh. 

“That piece of information is irrelevant.”

“The public loves to dive into every personality’s lovelife, you probably know that right?”

“Right,” you smiled, knowing what he meant. “But I am not your PR officer, I am just a writer who writes articles about trending topics, and while you may be a rising painter, I think you haven’t made any noise in this world, don’t you think?”

He tilted his head amusingly, “I don’t know Ms. l/n, lately my name’s popping out in every article and media page, along with a pretty familiar name, don’t you think?”

“You know your way of words kid.”

“Just want to swoon a woman, is that bad?”

You blink for a minute and then smile. “Just fucking tell me your intentions before I call security, there are enough articles about us and I am not going to double it up especially when you just fucking walked into my office without any notice.”

“Too bad, I was planning on tripling it.”

You didn’t say a word but instead, you picked up the telephone on your table, glancing at Riki who only chuckled.

“I’m just kidding Ms. l/n, you’re too tense.” Riki teased. “But I am actually here regarding the article you wrote — how do I say this without offending you? It’s too shallow.”

You raised an eyebrow, “shallow?”

“Well, we might’ve started on the wrong foot but your article isn’t good.”

“And you can do a better article than what I wrote?” you raised an eyebrow.

“No, but there are some ways that you can get to know the painter and his art aside from scouring through the internet for his information and visiting his gallery.”

Riki has a point and that infuriates you. As much as you want to scrape off the article that you wrote about Riki and his art because it’s too shallow compared to your other articles, you must push through it to avoid the rumors of you two. It was your stunt to prove that you were just at the gallery because you were doing your job. 

Deep inside, you were unsatisfied with what you have published and found the article cringe. Riki was right with his point but of course, you’re not going to say that to him. Showing your weakness to a man only inflates his ego.

“Then what do you suggest Mr. Nishimura?” you asked, crossing your arms especially when you knew what he’s going to say. 

“An interview, a more in-depth conversation with the painter for more than an hour or maybe two.”

“Is this your way of asking me out?”

“No, of course not,” he sarcastically smiled. “But if you insist I wouldn’t mind.”

You only rolled your eyes before leaning back against your chair, since it's in your lapses, you must comply with it. It’s just a mere interview, a conversation with Nishimura Riki. Surely, you could handle an hour or two with this eager kid who wanted to score a date with you.

“Fine,” you said in defeat. “I’ll send you the details of the interview along with the venue and time and date. Don’t be late Mr. Nishimura.”

“Can I pick you up?”

“It’s an interview Mr. Nishimura, not a date,” you clarified. “If you don’t have any questions, you may leave now, I still have things to do.”

“Can I bring you flowers?”

“Leave.” 

-

A hotel cafe was your choice for the interview venue.

Late lunch. Wednesday. A fifteen minute drive from your company. Located in the business district, the cafe was filled with influential people who, just like you, have set a meeting with their clients or business partners.

You took a sip on the chamomile tea that you ordered before glancing at the glass wall wherein the hotel’s garden could be seen. Spring has arrived, and you could only stare at the bright and pastel-colored flowers blooming against its green bushes and plants.

Indeed, it was beautiful weather to go outside. You could’ve spent the hours inside your office, helping with the gala ball preparations but unfortunately, you’re mentally preparing yourself for your interview with Riki.

Speaking of the kid, he immediately caught your attention when he was walking towards you. Your eyes went wide at the huge flower bouquet he’s casually holding. 

“Hi.” he greeted with a smile which made you stand up from your seat.

“What is this?” you asked, eyeing on the flower.

“Uhm…flowers?” Riki stated the obvious, raising the bouquet to give you a clearer look.

“Mr. Nishimura, this is a formal interview, strictly professional,” you lectured.

“I know, take it, as a token of appreciation.”

“That is not necessary.” you told him, and despite your words, you still accepted the bouquet as an act of decency.

“Anything you want Mr. Nishimura?” you asked the moment he sat on the chair in front of you.

“A glass of water would be fine, I ate lunch before going here, how about you?” he said casually, leaning against the chair.

“Skipped one,” you nonchalantly replied, opening your small notebook which you use whenever you do an interview with someone.

“What? You should’ve — wait, let me order you some food —”

“I am fine with my tea Mr. Nishimura,” you stated, clicking your pen open. “Let’s formally start this interview.”

“You know, you need to loosen up a little bit,” Riki commented and it made you glare at him. 

“There’s no need to loosen up in a formal interview — look, do you even want an article or not, I could throw away my article if you keep acting like a kid.” you threatened and your words only had him forming a teasing smile.

“Do you have any drag on me other than calling me a kid?”

“That’s all I could think of,” you answered sternly. “After all, I barely know you.”

“Would you like to get to know me more?” he asked, his tone hinted with flirtiness that you lightly scoff.

“Sure,” you gave him a fake smile. “Let’s start from the very start, I’d like to know when you first discovered your love for painting.”

Riki chuckled in disbelief as he leaned against the chair, legs crossed as he looked at you. “Fine, if that’s what you want, Ms. l/n, I’d happily oblige.”

For the duration of your talk with your Riki, you have learned so much about him. 

Riki’s well-spoken and his answers were articulate and formal. If he didn’t open his mouth to flirt with you, you would’ve taken him seriously.

You observed that he’s also a sentimental person, most of his answers about his art and passion were influenced by his mentor and family, which you found quite impressive.

You were half-glad that Riki didn’t drop some flirty remarks and jabs throughout the interview — if he had done it, you would’ve walked out of the cafe without any hesitation. 

“When will we expect your new exhibit Mr. Nishimura?” you asked as you continued jotting down some notable answers from him.

“That’s hard to identify Ms. l/n,” Riki laughed, there’s a hint of bitterness in his words, which made you glance at him.

“Artist block?” you asked. 

He only nodded to your question.

“Would it be hard for you? You’re at your momentum at the moment, disappearing in the spotlight all of the sudden will ruin it.”

“I know, but for me, I shouldn’t rush art, and my last exhibition was mentally and physically exhausting for me, that I couldn’t think of another collection at the moment,” he lets out a deep sigh as he looks at you. “I am lacking a muse, you see.”

“A muse huh?”

“Yes, a muse — my last exhibition's muse was my journey and my hometown, but right now, I wanted to paint something — someone perhaps.”

“You’re looking for a muse,” you mumbled mindlessly as you wrote it down in your notebook.

“I am actually looking at her, right now.” That's when you stopped writing. Looking up, you noticed how Riki’s staring — no, gazing at you like a predator that had found his own prey. His eyes darkening, lips stretching into a smirk as his arms rested casually on the armrest of the chair. 

You felt your heart skip a beat. Eyes never faltered as you two held an intense staring contest. 

It snapped in you within a few seconds, eyes shifting to a bored one.

“I think you should keep on searching for your muse, Mr. Nishimura,” you coldly said.

“Not going to help me out?” he taunted.

“You’re a grown man, you can do it.”

“Funny, because you just called me a kid earlier.”

“And here I thought, you’d take this seriously.” you whispered.

“I take things seriously Ms. l/n, maybe try and change your perspectives on the people you meet — seems like you’re the one who doesn’t take me seriously.” 

You stopped. His tone was serious. A bit defensive on your end but when you looked at him, he gazed at you with a small smile, teasing like he’s right about what he said.

You’d admit to him that he’s right. Why on earth would you take a twenty-four year old rookie seriously when he had done nothing but to fuck around whenever you’re around him and act like a kid chasing after his favorite toy? Unless he shows a deeper motive about his intentions to you, that’s all you could see of him.

You find him impressive as an artist, you’re not going to deny it, but it’s hard to avoid that he’s clearly a love-struck fool to you. He seems to be enjoying every bit of it, and it had you wondering — was the game you two had talked about during Mr. Young’s event had already started?

No wonder why. Riki seems to be enjoying playing games with you who haven’t made a move yet. 

“I think we’re done with this interview Mr. Nishimura, do you have some last words to say before we part ways?” but you’re not one who loves to play games. That’s why you chose to ignore his words, closing your notebook as you looked at Riki who clicks his tongue before glancing at you once again.

“Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are beautiful?” he asked with a genuine tone.

“Yes, my ex-husband said that same thing four years ago and I am not falling for that same bullshit again,” you explained to him before standing up from your seat. Riki followed shortly, and before you could speak another word, he snatched your notebook and jotted something on a page.

“Well, your ex-husband is no painter,” he stated before returning you your notebook. “What I meant is, your eyes speak more than what your mouth wants to say. It’s the type of eyes that painters wanted to paint.”

“You artists have such a way with words,” you commented. “I’d be flattered, but only my eyes?”

Riki chuckled. “Of course not, and if you’d let me, I’d prove you the truth.”

You raised an eyebrow, “what? Have me convinced to be painted by you.”

“Seems like you’ve read my intentions.”

“I told you, I had memorized every guy’s moves to swoon a woman.” you stated. “And for your information Mr. Nishimura, a woman like me, could never be a good muse.”

“The artist says otherwise though,” he chuckled. “My offer still stands, if you’re interested, you know where to find me.”

He gave you a quiet bow before he started walking away. You stood there appalled, heart beating at a rapid pace as your eyes locked on him, while your clasped on your notebook tightened. 

So, the game really has begun, and now, you’re wary about what his next move will be.

-

It’s been a week since your interview with Riki and he’s been radio silent ever since.

You had published Riki’s article three days after your interview with him, and best believe that you’re satisfied with the outcome. You’re half-glad that Riki took it seriously and his answers were sentimental enough to give colors not only to his personality, but also to his paintings. 

Four days had passed and Riki hadn't bothered you, and that thought bothered you — you expected his presence afterwards. An unwanted visit with flirty jabs or glamorous gifts he brought to love bomb you. Riki was persistent after all. The type of guy who doesn’t accept rejections. That is why it surprised you that Riki hasn’t made any contact after a week.

The silence was torture — it sinked into you that his silence was much bothering than his loud presence. For you, it wasn’t because you got used to him following you around, but because you felt that there’s something brewing inside — like Riki was up to nothing good again.

You sat on your office chair. The office building has fallen under a dimmed silence. It’s past midnight and usually, around midnight you’d be in your penthouse, relaxing, but you’re stuck in your office, thinking about something — someone perhaps.

The article of your ex-husband’s grandiose wedding filled the screen of your computer. A click on your tongue was all you could do. He looks so happy — even happier than he was during your wedding. Perhaps it was because his new wife really looks like the epitome of sunshine. She looks youthful and stunning — they really are suited for each other.

Yet, it left a distasteful feeling on your heart. It’s not because your ex-husband immediately replaced you, but because he went for someone younger. It made you wonder if age really matters. You wondered if Heeseung had married someone your age or maybe someone older, would there be any difference?

You thought about that rookie painter who has been in your mind for the past few days and the thought of him irritated you — was it necessary for you to fall under the fate as your husband? 

That is, if you cave into your own emotional crave. But Nishimura Riki was too young and reckless for your taste. You curse him for being too young and the thought of you going the same route as what your husband did, bruises your ego and pride. 

You swore yourself you’ll never love again. Not when all you know was that all men are the same and the damage your ex-husband had scarred in your heart could never be mend by the amountful of love Riki could give.

What’s funnier was that Riki reminds you of Heeseung, and if he ever do the same thing Heeseung did — fuck, that would’ve been the death of you.

That’s when you glanced at your notebook, a phone number and address was scribbled along with your notes. His messy handwriting leaves a torturous yearning for you and you knew that this was his move — wait for you to make the next move. 

You hummed quietly, fingernails scraping against the rough texture of the paper. You should’ve been convinced that there’s no need for you to make a move, knowing that you never had any intentions of playing with his games, even though, deep inside you’re curious of what outcome would it be to play along with his game. 

Your thoughts were battling, but your rational side couldn’t bear to be the subject of baseless rumors and gossip once again. You’re reminded once again, why Heeseung divorced you. That’s why you ripped off the page and threw it in your trash bin — that was your move in his silly game.

-

You’ve soon learned that the game’s not over when you bump into Riki at the hotel cafe the next day.

“Ms. l/n, what a surprise,” he seemed happy to see you, bright expression and wide smile while you raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?” you asked instead, your heart beating fast and mind being burned into panic especially when you threw away the very last piece of his presence in your life.

“Just sent a painting to a client,” he answered. “You? Another interview.”

“I thought you had an artist block.” you asked

“It’s a commissioned painting, I still need money,” Riki laughed. “There’s no way I’m going to be a starving artist Ms. l/n.”

You blinked at his words before nodding. “That’s good to hear, at least you managed to pick up your brush.”

But Riki shakes his head as a form of disagreement. “You didn’t witness how many times I crashed out and suffered before finishing the piece.”

“Is that how you process when it comes to painting?” you asked.

“Depends, if I’m inspired or not — for that? Well, money’s big, I just have to suck it up and paint,” Riki explained. “But with a muse? It’s easy to pick up a brush and paint.”

“Still lacking a muse I see.”

“I wasn’t able to see her for week, it was torture to be honest.” 

“There you go again.”

“You know Ms. l/n, my offer still stands.” he said instead, which completely caught you off-guard. You never expect that those were the things that he’ll say next. 

You glanced at him, his words filled with temptation that made you stare at him longer than usual. 

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, they say. Riki seems to love playing with the fire he started, and you wondered, what more if he found you playing along but — he’s currently on the losing streak.

It was tempting. Something inside you was burning, an odd feeling that you’ve been ignoring for days ever since you walked into his museum. Should you just throw every rational thought you had and play along?

“What’s in for me then?” you asked and you noticed the way Riki’s eyes widened.

Yet, you remained calm and cold. Icy gaze staring at his hopeful one.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice deeper than usual.

It felt luring, like an angel asking for your prayers. His words plead with temptation and desperation. It felt as if you had asked him to be on his knees and beg, he’d be happy to do so.

The thought made you dizzy. You wondered about it —would he be no different than your ex-husband? Was there a reason why Heeseung chose a younger wife? You knew that your answer would only be answered by no one other than you. 

“Take me to your studio.”

-

Riki’s studio was clean. It smelled oddly like oil paint and old newspaper. Nevertheless, it was spacious, with a lot of empty canvases on the side and painting tools compiled on a corner.

Riki watched as you looked around the studio before glancing at him. His breath halted. He couldn’t believe it. You’re here in his studio. After weeks of chasing after you, and flirting with you, you walked into his trap. Now, all he wants is nothing but to just grab his materials and draw the most beautiful painting he could ever do.

“Your studio looks nice and clean,” you wondered, glancing at him who kept a casual appearance even though deep inside he was sweating hard. “It doesn’t look like someone suffered painting a piece here.”

“I keep my things clean post-painting,” Riki shrugged. “I don’t like unorganised things.”

You only hummed at his words. “You want to paint me right, Mr. Nishimura?”

“Of course, if you’d let me.”

You smirked for a second, until it formed into a vixen smile as you stared at him for too long, you could see how his throat bobbed.

“Well, there’s one thing that has been one of my interests for years,” you pondered. “Having a nude painting.”

Riki choked on his own saliva and you faintly chuckled. “Flustered?”

“Surprised you said that,” he cleared his throat, watching you wander around his studio, he could feel himself getting nauseous at the thought of you.

His eyes never left you, watching every movement you do, he couldn’t help but to hold his breath as you stopped in the middle of the studio wherein the lights highlight you as the masterpiece in the whole room.

You looked at him as your hands reached out for the zipper on the side of your dress, slowly you pulled it down and without missing a beat, let it drop on the floor.

You stood there in your glory — naked and vulnerable, left with your black seamless panty as your eyes locked on the young painter who was left stunned. If it wasn’t enough your fingers traced the hem of your panty and slowly slid it down to your feet.

Riki stood there frozen as you only approached him with confidence. Alluring and tempting like you’re the greatest sin he could ever commit. He could feel the oxygen leaving his body as you stood an inch closer to him, hands strumming his chest which made him gulp out of nervousness.

“Would you guide me, Mr. Nishimura?” you asked softly yet seductively.

“You’re driving me crazy Ms. l/n,” he chuckled.

“Scared?”

“Of my own urges? Would it scare you if I say yes?”

“But I do want a painting by the end of the day,” you smiled at him and Riki could only compromise.

Riki led you to a long couch in his studio wherein the sun gleamed in the afternoon — which completely kissed your skin as you lay there naked, hair sprawled on your shoulders. You had one arm resting on your stomach while the other one lay above your head. Closing your eyes, you breathe into the cold air as you lifted one leg while the other one lay flat on the couch. 

Riki was a few steps away from you, in front of his easel stand where a canvas board was placed, prepared to be filled with your colors. The younger man had his palette on his right hand and a brush on his left hand, eyes darting at you who only relaxed at the warmth of the sun.

“You seem nervous,” you mumbled, eyes still closed as the position felt comfortable and relaxing.

“I have to make sure that everything’s perfect.” Riki answered, he dabbed his brush on the oil paint, mixing colors together before he started to paint on the canvas. Careful as his eyes kept on darting on you at every minute. He holds on his palette tight as he dabs his brush back in the oil paint. 

The studio fell under a serene silence. All you could hear was the faint hum of the air conditioner along with the subtle strokes of Riki’s brush against the canvas. You almost fell asleep on the spot — you failed to notice how relaxed and safe you were in your most vulnerable skin, in front of the man you swore was a walking pest for you.

Your hands drafted on your chest, palms closed near your heartbeat faint and soft, Riki didn’t say a word when you moved but instead he kept on going. He glances at you minute by minute as his talent did everything to capture the view in front of him.

“Have you tried realistic portraits?” you couldn’t help but to break the silence in the middle of the session. “Seems like you’re having a hard time painting a portrait.”

“This is my first time,” Riki confessed, and yet his hands never stopped. “Don’t worry about me, art takes time nevertheless.”

“Should I be scared?” you asked.

“No, of course not, there’s no way I am going to let this be imperfect,” he assured and you didn’t answer for a second. 

“But what if your subject itself was imperfect?”

Riki stopped. He looked at you whose head had turned away, eyes darted on the window, staring at the view of the studio’s front yard, your lips formed thin as you wondered why those words came out of your mouth.

“That’s such nonsense,” Riki scoffed. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I see you are perfect — beautiful in such ways.”

“Then you think highly of me,” that’s when you glanced at him. “Should I remind you that I’m only human too? I am still flawed Riki, and you look at me as someone who’s perfect in everything — then, you don’t know me at all.”

Riki became quiet for a moment. A part of him was angry. How can someone like you could think of lowly of herself. If only, if only you could see yourself from his perspective, Riki hoped nothing more than to show you that you’re more than what his eyes could speak.

“Come here,” he dropped his palette and brushed, as he walked towards you, helping you stand up from the couch before carefully guiding you towards his canvas.

Riki didn’t say a word. He let you take a glance at the unfinished painting of his. There were no backgrounds nor props. It was just you — only you, naked yet divine. Your eyes closed and body at ease, hands on your chest just like earlier and how Riki managed to capture the change in your position shocked you.

“It’s —” you couldn’t even say it. Your pride got in the way. You didn’t like how Riki painted you so beautiful that you’re in awe of it. 

“How?” you asked instead.

“Muses keep the artist alive,” Riki answered. “whether worshipped or admired or inspired — an artist’s creativity never falters.”

His words cut deep through your heart. You weren’t able to say another word when you looked at it one last time before Riki had walked you back towards the couch. You’re suddenly hyperaware of him. How his hand brushed against your back and his figure behind you — so huge yet comforting in some ways.

“I told you,” Riki smiled, making you glance at him. “I see you’re perfect in such ways.”

“And just like I said,” you smiled back at him. “You think highly of me.”

“Maybe, because not even the goddess of beauty could match your beauty.” His hands darted on your face, fingers brushing against your cheeks, careful not to touch your bare skin as the two of you held a staring contest.

The tension was thick, you could feel it as you stare at Riki’s eyes — dark, hungry, and something inside him was fighting against his urges.

What he didn't know was you’re also holding back too.

“There you go again with your exaggerated compliments,” you taunted.

“You think I’m joking?”

“We’re playing a game aren’t we?” you asked.

He tilted his head amusingly, “We were? I thought you’re too old for stupid games.”

But you stepped closer to him. An inch close that Riki was taken back, despite the undeniable height gap between the two of you, you couldn’t help but to feel how you’re still in power between the two of you. It surprised you, but you suddenly felt the urge — to feel more of that power.

“Supposedly, but now, I am curious about the price of playing games with you.” you whispered.

“Why don’t you fuck around and find out?” he teased and you only chuckled at his answer.

“Maybe I do want to.” you smiled and immediately, Riki’s teasing smile faded.

You gave in.

The moment your lips landed on Riki’s lips was the moment you gave in. You’re now playing to win.

Riki’s back landed on the couch, almost stumbling back to sit while you bravely straddled on his lap, naked as his painted-smeared hands held the soft plush of your skin. His kisses were rough, eager, and loud, while yours were aggressive yet testing. Moans began escaping on his lips like he hasn’t touched a girl before —

That’s when you stop, looking at him who stared at you like the goddess of beauty herself offered you to him. His eyes glistened like millions of stars in the sky. That’s when your hands trailed on his face, tracing it softly as your red-painted nails caressed his cheeks.

“You want this right?” you asked, tone low and seductive.

“Ever since you walked inside my gallery, I knew that I wanted to have you,” he confessed, like a sin, and it gave you nothing but chills in your body. He looked at you like you were his greatest desire and that deeply burned you into your chest.

“Then you have to earn it.” you said to him before you locked him into another deep kiss — lustful and greedy, completely breaking down every wall you had built against him.

The studio became hot as you two continued making out on the couch. Sweat started to bead on your forehead as your lips travelled down on Riki’s jaws towards his neck which made him throw his head back with a breathy groan. Your hands busied itself on unbuttoning Riki’s blouse shirt, which made his hands tighten on your waist. You pushed it open and broke away from him.

“Hands down, you can’t touch me unless I told you so,” you ordered. “You want me right? Follow my instructions and I'll give you all.”

A whimper escaped on the younger’s lips before he nodded, removing his hold on you and placing his hands on his side, palm flat against the soft surface of the furniture. He watched as a faint smirk formed on your lips before your finger began tracing his sturdy chest, trailing it down to his refined abs that clenched against your feather touch, until you reached downwards to the obvious bulge in his slacks. 

Your soft hands ghosted against it, and Riki could only make soft moans from his lips as the first press sent shivers down his spine. He was breathless as you started to palm it. Squeezing every inch your hands could hold, you looked at the younger male whose eyes shut tightly, the smirk on your lips widened as you unzipped his slacks before pulling it down enough to leave him on his boxers.

His cock was straining underneath the garments. Without any second thought, you pulled down his boxer, revealing his hard length, already red and leaking with pre-cum. You spat on your palm before wrapping your hands around his shaft, earning an airy whimper from Riki which made you stroke his cock at a fast pace.

“Fuck — fuck, fuck!” Riki lets out a string of curses as your hand does wonders around his cock. He tried to thrust upwards, but you straddled his hips down. Firm hands pushing his chest to relax as you squeezed his tip gently before stroking his cock once again.

“Stay still,” you commanded and Riki could only nod as another groan escaped his lips. He couldn’t do anything but to feel your hand stroke his dick faster then suddenly, slower — then proceed to stroke it fast once again. You were a fucking tease, squeezing his tip, thumbing his slit, and using his precum to lubricate his length more. 

“Shit — please,” he stuttered, making you glance at him. He’s sweating hard, eyes shut as his tearline was already wet. You wanted to laugh at him. He was flushing red which amused you. Where did the confident and flirty Riki go? 

There was an undeniable greed and lust brewing inside you as you watched Riki fall under you. You knew he was desperate to have you. But you didn’t think this would be the outcome — to let you control him in everything. 

“Open your eyes,” and he was quick to obey too. Teary eyes staring at you while you fasten your stroke against his cock. His mouth was opened apart, only breathy moans and soft whines escaped his lips which only made you smile wider.

“Please,” he begged and you only cooed, your free hand cupping his cheeks as the tears strolled down from his eyes. Wiping the tears away as if you’re not the reason he’s a crying mess.

“You want to cum?” you asked so sweetly that it felt chilling. Riki feverishly nodded. You could feel him too, his body shaking and dick twitching. He’s about to cum. Any moment now, and he’s about to give in, he’s just holding back because of you. 

“Fuck — I — god —” Riki wasn’t able to finish his words when you removed your hands. A choke cry left his lips as his dick stood there red, denied, and twitching. 

“Look at you,” you hushed, gripping his face to look at you upwards. “You look so pathetic Riki, do you really want this?”

“Please! I’m begging you,” he pleaded as his desperation could be seen in his stare. 

You chuckled darkly before you reached for his cock once again. Riki whined loudly as you stroke his dick all of the sudden. His head fell onto your shoulders, like he was seeking for your warmth as your hands continued its pace.

His hands could do anything but to form into knuckles on his side. Afraid of disobeying you, Riki could only do nothing but to feel your hands fuck his dick, his stomach tensing and breathing becoming unstable. He could feel it again, his orgasm coming —

“Fuck!” his voice echoed inside his studio as you removed your hands once again. The soft laugh escaping your hands before placing a kiss on his cheeks. Riki whimpered at the thought of being denied once again and yet, he remained from where he was seated.

“Poor boy, couldn’t even try to cum because of me,” you teased as you planted a kiss on his lips. Soft and tender as you separated, you caught how Riki reached for you. 

“Relax, I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry,” you assured before you pushed him to lean against the headboard. Clean hands cupping his cheeks softly, that you could feel his soft breathing relaxing against your touch.

Riki watched as you fixed your position, hips up enough before you grabbed his hard shaft. He watched as you lined his tip on your entrance and slowly sank down on his cock. The stretch was new for you, he’s big and girthy that it burned against your walls.

“Fuck — you feel so good,” you moaned as your tight pussy swallowed him whole, making you full as squirm around his cock. Adjusting to his size as soft exhales escaped your lips.

Riki couldn’t help but to reach for your body, in a snap, you swat it away and placed it on his side.

“No touching.” you reminded him coldly.

“But —”

“Riki.” you warned, staring at him who looked at you with pitied eyes.

“How could I not, when you look so beautiful in front of me?” he muttered and though his words had your heart skip a beat, you only stared at him deadpan.

“Flattery won’t take you anywhere,” you whispered to him. “But obedience will.”

You started moving. Grinding against his hard dick meanwhile the only thing he could do was watch you use him. Taking everything you give him, your pussy sucking his dick hard that it got him holding his breath, his hands turning red against his knuckles as he fights himself from cumming inside you. 

“There you go, good boy,” you whispered darkly against his ears before you started bouncing onto his dick. Your wet pussy squelched against his hard shaft, the sound echoing inside the studio along with Riki’s whimpering cries. 

“Y/n — fuck —”

“What?”

“N-noona, please,” he breathed and his begging only had your pussy twitching. The way he stuttered his words, calling you that word — something inside you was triggered.

So this is what it feels like to have control of your partner? It’s no wonder your ex-husband chose a younger significant other. They’d fall under your command in just a snap.

You thought that Riki was a different case. He was a man. You thought he was so desperate to have you that he’d do everything to dominate you — but instead, he’s desperate to have you so that he’s willing to submit himself to you.

That’s why a chuckle of disbelief escaped your lips. Men have never been nice to you. You were a woman and the only place that you had dominated was your company and its industry. Never in your life had you dominated Heeseung, and it never crossed your mind to even dominate a man.

But now, seeing how Riki beg, whine, and choke under everything you do, thrilled you — in the end, you still have power even outside your work.

“Hold it.” you ordered and it only made him whimper as you took all of him, harder and harsher. His cock kissing your cervix as you moans become more louder than before. Your right hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, tilting his head upwards to make him look at you.

“Shit.” Riki groaned loudly and the next thing you knew, you felt warm liquid spilling inside your pussy. You stopped your actions as his hot cum continued spurting inside you, filling your insides all of the sudden. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Riki begged, tears flowing from his eyes as your hold on his hair loosen up.

“I told you to hold it,” you stated with a cold tone.

“I tried — I’m sorry, I just — you just feel so good,” he excused but a click on your tongue was the only thing you could do.

“And here I thought you’d do anything for me.” you said with a disappointed tone.

“I do, please, I’m sorry! I’ll do anything please.” Riki pleaded. His cries became loud while your gaze remained on him. 

“Anything you said?” you asked, and without any second thought, Riki nodded.

So you began moving your body once again, you felt Riki stiffening beneath you. His cock was still rock hard despite having to cum.

“W-wait, what are —”

“Don’t fucking move, I haven’t get to cum yet,” you stated before moving up and down. Grinding against his cock as Riki started to shake against your hold.

“Stop —”

“You said you’d do anything right? Now don’t move and let me use your dumb cock.”

Riki could only whimper. Your hands rested on his shoulders, nails digging on it deep as you bounced on his cock, eager for it to brush against your sensitive spots. Your pussy’s wet and loud, mixed with both of your juices, you continued your ministrations, trying to chase after your high.

“Slow down please,” Riki begged. He could feel his dick twitching and aching, hard as your warm walls engulf around him.

You brought your clean hands to muffle his mouth, dark eyes staring at him as your hips fastened its movement.

“You know what I like in a guy? When they’re quiet and don't tell me what to do. You’d do that for me Riki? Stay pretty and quiet like a doll while I use your dick to get me off?” you asked with your most rotting sweet tone. You watch as Riki’s eyes gleam with desire and mercy, nodding eagerly, making you smile. 

“Good, let’s put you to use don’t we? You’re fucking me good baby, my good, good boy,” you taunted as you could feel your body becoming more sensitive. Your stomach’s curling and movement getting sloppy. 

You removed your hands from his mouth before locking it with your lips which he reciprocated with much aggressiveness, both leaving hefty moans against the wet kisses as you quickened your pace, chasing after your orgasm as you felt Riki’s heavy breaths against your mouth — he’s near too.

“You’re going to cum?” you asked against his lips.

“Please — I’ll be good — fuck, please let me cum,” he begged and you only kissed his lips one last time.

“Cum with me baby, fill me good with your cum,” you ordered, and with a harsh thrust, you squeezed on his cock tight that it triggered Riki’s orgasm along with yours.

Both of you could feel the overwhelming sensation of the high, louder moans filling the studio, but that didn’t stop you from bouncing on his cock, you continued moving until Riki’s became messier underneath you. You’re eager to milk his shaft dry as you continued to fuck both of you into your highs.

The studio was warm and smelled like sex once you stopped. You lean on Riki’s shoulders as both of you are catching your breath. Riki couldn’t help but to rest his head on the headboard, tired and fucked-out, as his hands finds itself around your waist, in which you didn’t mind as you snuggled closer to his body.

“You alright?” he asked, strong hands rubbing warmly your back meanwhile a soft exhale escaped your lips.

“Yeah.” you shortly replied.

“Did I do a good job?” he asked once again, making you lift your head, looking at him, you only smiled as you planted a kiss on his lips. 

“You’d do good if you help me clean up.” you teased.

Riki didn’t hesitate. He helped you get off his lap, mixtures of liquid spilling out of your pussy, which only made the younger blush hard. 

“Noona — if you let me —”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“I’d clean you up,” he offered. “If you let me.”

Before you could say another word, he laid you down on the couch, kneeling in front of you as he spread your legs wide.

“Riki —”

“I want to make you feel good, please,” he requested, hands already on your thighs which left you with no choice.

“Fine.”

With that, Riki didn’t hesitate to lick a strip on your pussy. Tasting both his cum and yours, he didn’t care about the odd taste as he licked gently, moaning against your pussy as his tongue flicked against your entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck,” your moans began to fill the studio and Riki hold onto it like his pride that’s why he cleaned off your pussy fast and eager, slurping at every liquid his tongue could taste. Eager like a dog in heat, he buried his face close to your cunt.

“Right there Riki — shit! You’re doing good baby,” you cooed, which only earned a strong lick from him. His tongue doing wonders in your pussy, licking your entrance and swiping right on your clit. Giving it much attention makes you shake underneath his touch. His hands gripped on your thighs tightly, spreading your legs wider as he continued his ministrations.

You couldn’t help but to hold onto Riki’s hair as your hips started to thrust upwards to meet his tongue, you could only shut your eyes close as your curses escaped your lips. 

“Cleaning me good like a good boy you are, fuck Riki —” you softly said as you could feel your body shaking because you’re all over sensitive.

Riki didn’t stop, but instead used his tongue deep inside your entrance, protruding and sucking your pussy clean. He continued bobbing his face to meet your thrust, his nose bumping on your clit on purpose which only left you moaning and shaking in pleasure.

“Oh my — gonna cum — ah!” your legs began shaking, toes curling and body twitching as your second orgasm came crashing down, you were a crying mess as Riki continued sucking your pussy harshly, drinking every juice it emits, his hold on you tight as you whine in pain for the overwhelming sensation.

With a harsh tug, you lifted Riki’s face from your core. He looks at you with his glistening eyes and mouth and chin filled with your slick.

“Get up,” and he only did what you told him. 

“Did I do good?” he asked once again. 

A breathy chuckle escaped your lips, “it was perfect.”

Riki only smiled at your words before locking his lips on your once again. You kissed him back without any hesitation, tasting yourself on his lips as your arms wrapped around his neck and tugged him closer to your warmth.

-

“Something’s inaudibly different about you,” Sunoo pointed out.

You looked at him, before darting your stare back at your computer desk. “What are you talking about?”

Sunoo was quiet for a second. He was observing you like you’re a criminal in an interrogation room. “You had that glow in your face, the same one you had when you first started dating Heeseung. It’s also the same as when you two got married.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“You look relaxed, lighter, and happier — did something between you and Riki? Oh my god, you two had sex didn’t you!? That’s a post-sex glow!” he shouted.

“Oh my — office volume please,” you warned but Sunoo clapped insanely as the smile on his face became wide. “So you let the kid bang you.”

You scoffed, but the smirk on your lips was obvious. “More like the other way around.”

“Oh? Oh — you? I mean not surprising though,” Sunoo thought for a moment. “You ended up doing what I told you.”

“Which is?”

“Doing what your ex-husband did.”

“Went to the younger one?”

Sunoo nodded, and that stopped you for a second. 

“It’s just sex — not marriage with all the scandals.” you looked at him. “I know what I am doing.”

“So you’re just fucking around.” your best friend clarified.

“Am I not allowed to?”

Sunoo shook his head as an answer. “No, no, of course not, just be careful — situationships are hard, and I am telling you this as a best friend who's concerned about your feelings and image. You don’t want the public to criticize you more, right?”

“Of course,” you breathe. You’re not a reckless person. You knew what you were getting into when you started to play along with Riki. “Thank you, I understand where you’re coming from.”

“Right, just be extra careful and you know, enjoy whatever setup you and Riki have.” your best friend advised one last time.

Sunoo’s words got into you throughout the whole day.

You didn’t even notice it — but Riki did.

“Care to share what you’re thinking of?” Riki asked, his hands never stopped on your portrait while you lay on the same couch where a lot of things happened a few days ago.

“It’s nothing that should concern you,” you brushed off.

“But it concerns you,” Riki rebutted. “Come on, we have all night here.”

“You’re dropping me off at my place at eleven.”

“That’s too bad, I wanted to keep you here.” he smiled.

You only rolled your eyes at his words. The room fell into silence once again as Riki continued his work, he didn’t pry further and it made you wonder how he’s so observant about you. 

“Have you always been like this?” you asked.

“Like what?” he asked back, still focused on his painting.

“Observant.”

Riki chuckled. “It’s not hard when my subject’s expression is off.”

“My expression you say?” you hummed at his words. “That’s odd. People always say that I am cold. I always wore a neutral expression and the only expressions I could make were annoyed and disgusted.”

“Maybe you don’t show much of yourself to others, you only show your true self to the people you trust.” Riki pointed out.

“You think I’ve shown my true self to you just because I show an off expression?”

Riki stopped. He peaks over his canvas and stares at you for a minute before smiling. You stopped your trances when Riki places down his palette and paintbrush on the side. He walked towards you who sat up on the couch immediately.

Instead of sitting beside you, Riki squatted in front of you, head up looking at you observingly before he traced your face.

“It’s a pleasure to see that you’ve shown different expressions when it’s just the two of us.” he stated.

“Such as?”

“Bothered, relaxed, satisfied —” his stare darkened. “Pleasured.” 

You hummed to his answer. “Which one do you like the most?”

“I haven’t seen it yet.”

Your forehead creased.

“I haven’t seen you happy yet,” Riki confessed, and you only stared at him, stunned with his answer. 

“Maybe someday,” you told him, even though you’re unsure when it will happen. “Will you be patient?”

Riki stands up and leans a kiss on you. Something short and sweet that happened in a blink. “If it means waiting for eternity, then I would be happy too.”

You only blinked at his words. It was a hypothetical question which he answered with a promise. He left you there deep in thoughts as returned to his work, making you shift back to your old position before the room fell into utter silence once again.

It was past eleven when you decided to call it a night. After a takeout of ramen and gyoza, you’re getting ready to leave his studio when you open your bag and remember something.

“Here,” you handed Riki a small red envelope, thick and faintly smelled like rose.

“What is this?” he asked as he accepted the envelope.

“An invitation to the Metro Gala Ball,” Riki heard of it, "The Metro Gala Ball is the annual gala ball held by your company. A private yet public event that’s exclusive and knit-tight. You’re the host of the ball and there’s not a year where you exceeded last year’s event.

Every celebrity would die to receive an invitation from you. You hand-picked the guests yourself. Powerful names in the business industries, celebrities from different categories — films, music, fashion, and even sports. You’re selective and weren't the type to hand out invitations to anyone.

With Riki receiving one, it means that his name is known to you. 

“Woah,” it was the only thing he could say as he opened the envelope and grabbed the thick paper inside that contained the details and dress code.

“Be in your best behavior there Riki,” you told him and he quipped his head at you with an offended look on his face.

“Why would you say that to me?” he asked, appalled.

“Because my ex-husband will be there.” you informed.

Riki’s forehead creased. “You invited your ex-husband?”

“He’s a well-known businessman, and his wife is the current trending idol-model, it’ll cause a stir if I don't invite them,” you shrugged. “For formality.” 

“Should I keep you company then?” he suggested, and you only smiled.

“No Riki, this is an opportunity for you to mingle with potential clients and sponsors,” you told him. “I am doing you a favor.”

“But I want to dance with you there,” he whined, like a kid asking for candy and the act only made you roll your eyes.

“The ball doesn’t require any dance.” you pointed out.

“Well, will I still see you there?” his hands crept onto your hands, fingers intertwining as the warmth immersed between the two of you. Something about his gesture felt soft and gentle — quickly, you could feel your heart’s betrayal due to its rapid beating.

You blinked, looking at him as you only nodded slowly. “Of course.”

-

The night of the gala ball had arrived.

Photographers, reporters, and hosts are on the entrance of the convention hall who took pride in hosting your annual ball. 

You arrived last. Stepping out of the limousine, you exit the vehicle alone. You wore a vintage gown lent by one of your sponsored brands. A fiery red gown that perfectly shaped your figure. You wore it along with your hair down and clean makeup.

You were welcomed by the cameras flashing, the photographers screaming your name, and reporters announcing your arrival. You only flashed your professional smile as you did a few poses before arriving inside the hall wherein guests stopped what they were doing the moment you entered the place.

All eyes were on you — the most powerful women not only in the hall, but all in the media and publishing industry. Your words hold every weight and power. For years of running your magazine, you have done nothing but to be brutally honest that everyone either hates you or respects you.

Sunoo guided you towards the stage where you gave your welcoming speech. A small smile and eloquent words were given throughout your speech, not a single word stuttered out of your lips. With a glass of wine in your right hand, you raised a toast to officially open the event.

Then came the socializing part. A lot, of course — a lot of people would love to strike a conversation with you. You knew that you’re in for the whole night. The fake smiles and backhanded compliment, you continued putting your senses on every conversation you had from different strangers, hoping that you wouldn’t end up bored or annoyed. 

You had escaped a few strangers when Sunoo had dragged you to talk to you. Thankfully, your best friend knew when you shut down and from time to time, he would drag you to converse with him along with your secretary. 

“Excuse me,” the three of you stopped when a masculine voice interrupted your conversation.

To your shock, it was your ex-husband who’s standing in front of you. Looking lavish in his navy blue suit and tie — it looks custom-made especially when it’s hard to not notice the entranced details on his suit. 

“Can I borrow y/n for a moment?” he asked.

“Only if she wants to,” Sunoo sassed.

“It’s fine,” you answered. The two of them who only nod at your request, leaving you and your ex-husband alone in that place.

“Congrats y/n,” Heeseung started. “Extravagant yet polished as always, just like the way you like it.”

“Thank you, I do hope you’re enjoying the ball, I heard you just got back from your honeymoon,” you said.

“Santorini was a beau, you should go there sometimes,” he laughed.

“Maybe when I retire from this industry,” you joked and Heeseung merely laughed.

“Your wife’s not clinging on you tonight, a shocker,” you quipped.

“She’s talking to some model friends of hers,” Heeseung turns to his right, glancing at his younger wife who’s sharing laughs with her same-age friends. You noticed how clear her glass was compared to the rosy tint of pink wine of the ball.

“She’s pregnant,” Heeseung announced, and that made you glance at him. “A month pregnant.”

You nod. You could feel your heart palpitating at the news. It felt bitter in your heart but the only thing you could do was click your tongue and nod as you stare at Heeseung, a proud yet small smile on his lips.

“Congratulations then,” you told him, trying hard not to sound bitter at all. “You got what you want. I hope you’re happy now.”

“Thank you,” he quipped. “I don’t see your boyfriend around, afraid to show him to the world?”

You laughed, a sarcastic one. “He’s not my boyfriend Heeseung.”

“Really? What is he to you? Some kid you play with?” he mocked. “I guess you really had a change of heart and went for the younger ones.”

“He keeps following me around, the more I push him the more he wants to be in my life,” you answered. “Does it ring a bell?”

“Sounds like your type of man,” Heeseung teased and you only rolled your eyes.

“More like you guys couldn’t accept rejection.”

“Hey, you rejected me once but look what led us,” Heeseung laughed and you chuckled in disbelief.

“Yes, divorced,” you took a sip on the wine. “If I had known this would be our outcome, then I shouldn’t have given you a chance.”

“You know the divorce wasn’t just my fault,” Heeseung stated with a serious tone.

You stared at him a second, a bitter smile forming on your lips. “Right, because I am incapable. If not, cold and heartless who wouldn’t comply with your wishes.”

“I thought I could change you, but you’re just stubborn.” he answered back.

That’s when you laughed, “change me? With what? The traditional bullshit of being a housewife? I run a company Heeseung, I have a reputation and my name’s something people quiver when heard. You think I’d exchange all of that to become a submissive housewife of yours?”

“That’s not what I want you to do.”

“That’s how I felt.” That's when you heave out a sigh. “What’s the point of arguing this? You’re married Heeseung, and your wife’s fucking pregnant, do we really have to talk about this all over again when this is the reason why we divorced.”

“See, that’s the problem with you, you avoid the problem instead of facing it, you never listened to me nor acknowledge what I feel because you only care about your feelings.” Heeseung argued, his tone becoming higher and angry. “You’re not cold nor heartless, you’re selfish too.”

You only stared at him deadpan. “Maybe I am selfish, and maybe I am incapable of loving someone. It doesn’t matter to me though.”

“You just proved my point,” he breathed. “And just like what you did to me, you’d throw that boyfriend of yours in just a snap, once you see him useless in your life.”

“Throw you away? Like it wasn’t you who delivered the divorce papers in my office —”

“Is he bothering you?” you felt a figure shadowing you from behind. That’s when you realized that it was Riki and it had only sinked into you that this was the first time you saw him in the ball — you didn’t seem to notice him or maybe, you were just too overwhelmed with everything that you failed to look for him.

And talking about right timing, he just happened to show up during your argument with your ex-husband. The scene made Heeseung laugh, “oh look, prince charming’s here.”

“Dude fuck off,” Riki barked and it only made Heeseung chuckle harder. 

“I’m older than you, have some respect, dude.” the older man ordered.

“I don’t respect you when clearly you’re bothering y/n.”

“Where are your manners kiddo? Did y/n teach you proper decorum before attending this ball?” your ex-husband taunted.

“Shut up.” 

“You fuck off dude, we’re having a conversation here and you’re interrupting it, acting like her boyfriend or something —”

“Heeseung, shut up,” you couldn’t help but to butt in, glaring at your ex-husband before giving the younger one a stare. “Riki, calm down please.”

“Can’t tame your boy toy y/n? Look at him barking at me, when I’m just talking to you.” but Heeseung didn't listen, and instead, he continued with his words.

“You’re insulting her, I could see it,” Riki defended, stepping in for you who was pushed behind his back.

“You’re too protective for someone who’s not even her boyfriend.”

“Heeseung, stop it.” you warned once again.

“Like you didn’t say to me earlier that he’s not your boyfriend,” he cornered before taking a sip of his wine. “Word of advice kid, from man to man, don’t live to your fantasies of y/n.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.” Riki angrily spoke.

Heeseung smirked before glancing at you. “Just saving you from the heartbreak, kid, she’s incapable you know? Her words, not mine, by the way.”

Riki’s forehead creased, “the fuck you mean?”

“Oh? She hasn’t told you, I guess she doesn’t trust you enough.”

“Shut up.” You gritted your teeth, glaring at your ex-husband who fell deaf to your warnings.

“Take it or leave it man, the rumors of her being a coldless monster is true —”

Heeseung wasn’t able to finish his sentence when Riki’s fist landed on his jaw, earning a commotion from the crowd. The older man laughed as he stumbled a few steps. Remaining on his balance, he only stared at the younger man whose fists were red.

“I guess someone forgot to tie a leash on their pet,” Heeseung mocked. 

“Take it back —”

“Riki that’s enough,” you told the younger, blocking him from taking another punch on your ex-husband. Heeseung didn’t move either, his wife was already holding his arms too. 

The crowd gathered on the four of you. Whispers and words began to spread meanwhile some had the nerve to take out their phone to take a picture. You couldn’t help but to heave out a sigh, leaving with no choice but to pull Riki away and leave the venue. 

-

The door of your penthouse closed in a loud slam, you dropped your bag on the couch before proceeding towards the kitchen. Riki was behind you, quiet yet pissed as all he could think of was that he wasn’t able to punch your ex-husband enough after insulting you.

You opened your fridge out of frustration, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging on it. Riki remained at a distance, staring at you who wore nothing but a disappointed expression.

“Noona —”

“You ruined the party Riki, you were careless,” you lectured. 

Riki didn’t say a word, he watched as you took another large chug on your water bottle before placing it down on the kitchen counter.

“This gala ball is important to me. It’s my image and reputation — I expect you to behave well, I put my trust in you —”

“You’re making it like I was acting like a fucking kid back there,” Riki defended

“Because you are,” you crossed your arms. “You let Heeseung’s words get into your mind —”

“He’s insulting you.”

“And I don’t care about what he said.” 

“I care, everything he said to you — it’s insulting not only for you, but for me too.” Riki pointed out and as much as you wanted to be flattered with his words, you remained quiet because deep down — Heeseung was right.

“He’s not insulting me Riki,” you stated. “Heeseung was just telling the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That I’m incapable.”

“You’re confusing me.”

The weight on your shoulders became heavy. You only stared at him as you leaned at the counter, looking for support. Your lips turned thin as the aching feeling on your heart started to grow.

“Do I really have to tell you about it?” you whispered.

You noticed how Riki’s forehead creased.

“What do you mean?”

“Riki, I am infertile.” you confessed. 

Silence took over for a whole minute. Riki stood there frozen as your confession replayed in his mind on a loop.

“What?” he asked, trying to process everything you just said.

“I can’t have kids Riki, my body’s couldn’t — I could never, not even second options could help me,” you told him, crossing your arms like what you just said was nothing heavy. “You think Heeseung and I are incompatible? We divorced because I couldn’t bear children.”

“And you let him get away with it?” Riki asked, almost offended.

“Rather than have him tied up in a childless marriage, what else could I do?” you shrugged. “There are things you’d do for love —”

“Love? Fuck, you still love him right? That’s why you let him insult you, step on you because you still love him.” he accused.

“And if I do? Will it change how you see me? Are you going to stop pursuing me now, knowing that my heart still beats for my ex-husband?”

“You’re fucking kidding me? You still love him despite insulting you? What am I then? You’re fooling around with me!?” Riki lashed out.

“I told you many times, that I am not interested in love anymore, and to answer your question, no, I don’t love Heeseung anymore,” you clarified.

“Then what’s stopping you from being with me?”

“I told you Riki many times, you’re too young for me. You’re a rookie in the art industry, you have a long way to go, I am not going to let your career be ruined by me.” you explained

“Ruined by you? If it means being with you, I don’t mind.”

“You’re fucking pathetic.”

“Damn right I am,” he looked at you, smiling like a madman he was. “And I don’t fucking care if you can’t have kids, that’s your body, it’s your choice to have kids. I just want you.”

You became quiet for a minute. Deja vu rushed and damn, it made your heart shrill in pain.

“You’d say that right now, but then there will come a time where you’d think of having a family, having your own children and blood, and I’m telling you right now, if that’s what you want, I can’t give you that.” you softly said yet your tone was pricked with bitterness.

But Riki reluctantly shook his head. “That’s not what I have in my mind right now, all I care about is you.”

“Of course you don’t,” you interjected immediately. “But time will tell, people change and the next thing you know, you’d want kids and I’d repeat myself for you. I can’t give you that.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why are you pushing me all of the sudden?”

“Because you reminded me so much of Heeseung,” you admitted. A cold statement that you hated so much as your ex-husband’s name slipped out of your lips. 

Riki’s eyes widened. Your clasp on your arms tightened, nails digging on your skin as you kept yourself composed.

“You are just the same as my ex-husband when we first met. He was a charmer, a flirt — a man of persuasion that god damn, I had fallen for him without me knowing.” you started and you hated how memories came crashing down like tsunami. Every moment with your ex-husband felt so right that you were assured that he’d be the one for you.

“I told him about my situation, I couldn’t bear his children and he was okay with it.” You confessed. “When we got married, suddenly, he wanted a family. I felt betrayed because I thought he was content with just the two of us.”

“I’m not like him,” Riki gritted his teeth. “It's insulting for me that you think that I am like your asshole of an ex-husband.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “You two are just so alike that it scares me to fall for your charm — but here I am and now I’m scared that if I let you in my life longer, there will still come a day where you’d betray me the same way he betrayed me.”

“You think lowly of me then.”

“I must be,” you admitted. “Because you’re young and free and persistent, but once you mature and decide for yourself, you’d realise that you could’ve done better.”

Riki stared at you. For a minute no one talked, only your eyes spoke for each other. Riki noticed it, the way your eyes softened out of piety and desperation. He understood what you meant. He was defeated by the fact that you think lowly of yourself just because of your past — yet, a part of him was hurt, because no matter how hard he tries, you couldn’t take him seriously. 

“When are you going to see me as your equal? Not some kid fooling around and charming his way to be your significant other? When are you going to realize that I am serious when it comes to you and I may have sounded pathetic and foolish through my words, but I am telling you, I like you from the very start — I may be in love with you right now. If that’s not enough for you, then what do you want me to do to prove my love for you?”

You remained quiet due to Riki’s confession. Your heart stopped as all you felt was how speechless you were hearing those words that came out of his lips.

You should’ve been happy hearing those words. It felt assuring despite the desperation on his tone. Riki was willing to fight for you, but all you could feel was deja vu. The same confessions, same sentiments four years ago — and now, you’re scared that it might happen all over again.

Your lips moved, because the longer you stay in whatever you two had, the more you’re going hold Riki back to a future that he deserves. 

“Nothing Riki,” you mumbled to him. “Nothing could ever make me look at you the way you want me to.”

“You’re just giving me reasons to walk away,” he pointed out.

“I am really giving you reasons,” you bitterly spoke. “I can’t love you no matter how much you try, I am a heartless monster, just like what the public portrays me to be.”

“Don’t say that —”

“I am telling you this as someone older than you,” you told him. “Just not me. You could never change me nor had me settle down. I am married to my company and love will never be my priority. Just give up now.”

“No.” Riki firmly stated. “I don’t want to let you go. I can prove to you that you can still love —”

“Just leave Riki.” you ordered. “Please.”

“You’re really decided?” he asked once again, almost inaudible.

“In the first place, I never had the intention of loving you,” you confessed. “You played with your own flames, Riki.”

Riki bitterly smiled, he glanced at you one last time before speaking, “just so you know, everything about us wasn’t a game for me.”

The door closed after a few seconds. You stood there frozen as you tried to process everything that just happened. A blink and two, you grabbed the water bottle and threw it in your trash can.

You returned to your bedroom, stripping off the gown all by yourself, you left it creased on the floor as you made your way towards your bathroom wherein you removed your makeup and took a cold shower to wash off tonight’s exhaustion.

You went to bed an hour later after finishing your nightly routine, covering yourself in your warm blanket, you couldn’t help but to curl into a fetal position as the silence deeply devoured you.

The first tear dropped not a few minutes ago, then came the broken and held-back sobs — not until it burst. You cried so loud that it echoed inside your room. You felt pathetic as you curled closer to your own skin, crying in your cold bed which felt huge for you, as the only thing you could think of was how lonely your life is.

-

The fight was all over the news but you didn’t bother acknowledging it.

Your ex-husband made a statement. Of course, along with the scripted words and sorry face as if he wasn’t the one who pushed Riki’s button. Meanwhile, Riki remained quiet on his own, which relieved you. You’re scared that the media might be harsher to him compared to Heeseung.

All you did was bury the news, especially when the ball was tied to your name and in the years of hosting the gala ball, this was the first time a fight occurred. What's funnier was that it was because of you.

Great. You should’ve removed Heeseung from your guest list and you should’ve pulled Riki away the moment Heeseung opened his mouth.

But then again, why are you the one who’s going to fix the mess those dumb guys started? You could only shake your head as you finished your statement. Stating that everything happened because of a small misunderstanding. Small misunderstanding my ass, if only you could say that your ex-husband was an asshole and Riki was immature for getting it inside his head, then you could’ve been having a peaceful post-gala ball week. 

Nonetheless, it didn’t even tip off your crown nor did it ruin your image for a bit. For the public, it’s even a more juicy detail; two men fighting over you, a love triangle in the making they say, which sounded more stupid than you’d imagine. 

You remained quiet for the past few days. Focused on other priorities and next month's issues. You kept your mind distracted with the hundreds of tasks and meetings, hoping it’ll drown away the loneliness you’ve been feeling.

But it doesn’t help going home to an empty penthouse — so huge and cold with you living alone, it only shows you how you may be everything, but couldn’t have everything. Days passed by and only did it cross your mind whether this is the fate of other female CEOs like you. Powerful, independent, and charismatic in public — yet, lonely deep inside.

“Sunoo you got to be honest with me,” you started.

You convince yourself that your loneliness wasn’t because of him. You had enough to accompany you — your family, your best friend, maybe you need time off from the office and just talk to them in hopes to fill your emptiness.

That’s why you ended up in a quiet bistro with your best friend, sharing plates of steak and red glass of wine.

“What is it chief?” Sunoo asked.

You became quiet for a moment, eyeing on your wine glass before saying, “Am I useless? Just because I can’t have kids.”

“Well, do you want to have kids?”

“I don’t actually. I was twenty-one when they told me about my condition, from there, I had accepted that I could never have kids,” you casually explained. “It’s just, I hated how no matter how powerful and reputable I am, it’s all useless because I couldn’t be a wife and mother — it's like that’s the standard of my womanhood.”

“Since when have you thought of that? That never crossed your mind,” Sunoo raised an eyebrow. “Unless, you’re thinking about settling in.”

You shake your head, “I don’t know, I thought I’d be satisfied with my job and company. I like how people respect me, I even like it when they’re scared of me, but still — I feel like it will never be enough for me.”

“Do you want to resign?” your best friend asked.

That made you chuckle as you took another sip. “Fuck no, I spent the last five years running this company, there’s no way I am giving this up.”

“Then where does this conversation lead us?”

“Nothing, just a random thought — blame it on the alcohol,” you merely chuckled. “I just thought about whether things would’ve been different if I wasn’t like this.”

“Like what? Cold? Heartless? Infertile?” Sunoo dramatically sighed before massaging his temples. “Y/n, don’t you ever think of having a change of heart just because of your past mistakes when it comes to guys. Do I really need to give you the pep talk about this?”

You only stare at him for a second before laughing, “if this pep talk is about an hour long, then I don’t need it.”

“Good, because I am not going to be that best friend of yours who wanted to see you getting hurt by those assholes.” Sunoo smiled and although his comforting words eased you, it didn’t help any of your worries at all.

Maybe this time, companionship isn’t what your heart is desiring.

“Sunoo, am I unlovable?” you asked and the question made your best friend stop.

“Why would you even think of that? Is this because of Riki?”

You shook your head as an answer. “No, it’s not just about him — it’s — nevermind, forget I said it.”

“Y/n, you deserve to be loved, and to be loved, they need to accept everything, I meant everything about you. You’re not unlovable because you’re lacking something.” Sunoo’s hands reached for yours, holding it lightly, your best friend gave you a fond smile which you found serene. “I know that someday, you’d find that person.”

“I thought of that same thing. Heeseung accepted me despite everything — then suddenly, he needed something I couldn’t give —”

“Y/n, Riki isn’t Heeseung, not all men are like Heeseung. I know that they may seem alike, but holding onto your ex-husband and your burden of not being able to have kids will be a hindrance for you to have another chance when it comes to love.”

“I’m just scared,” you admitted, and you hated how you’re suddenly vulnerable in front of Sunoo.

“Love is a risk chief,” Sunoo smiled. “Love is never an easy thing, and I just hope that if you meet him again, you’d open your heart instead of closing it.”

It was what you needed to hear. You nodded at Sunoo’s words as you quietly took a sip on your glass. Sunoo’s hands squeezed yours one last time before he shifted his attention to his own drink.

The rest of the night was filled with tranquil silence, your heart remained heavy with thought, but all you knew was that maybe this time was not for you.

-

Surely a month passed by would help you realize that you’d be contended with what you had, right?

Your name has slowly been out of the tabloids and articles. Thankfully, you pray for times like this. Every issue involving you had died down and although the past few weeks weren’t hell for you, you’re just glad that you’re not going to deal with any bullshit from gossipers and pot-stirrer websites.

It was Monday morning. You just parked your car in your usual spot when you hear a familiar ringtone. You quickly grabbed your phone and saw that it was Sunoo who’s calling you. 

“What is it? I’m in the building already —”

“Stop, don’t go here, go to Aphrodite Hall, Ms. Miyawaki wanted to have a personal meeting with you about the upcoming event with the Park trades,” your best friend informed you.

Your forehead creased, “wait, that was today? I could’ve swore that it’ll be on Thursday.”

“Adjustments! Her secretary informed Wonhee last night about it, and she reached you through your email but also informed me because she knows that you don’t open your emails on Sunday,” your best friend explained.

“Suddenly?”

“She’d be leaving for Milan later in the afternoon and won’t be back until Friday, that’s why it was best to talk to you before her flight.”

“Fuck, I hate Mondays,” you complained.

“Take care on the way there chief~” with that, your best friend hung up the call and you had no choice but to turn on your car’s engine and drive away from your company building.

Deja vu came crashing into you as you arrived at the said hall. Parking in the underground parking, you sat there for a minute as you thought about Riki. This was the first place where you two first met. A funny yet annoying encounter for you. You wondered how he has been now — he’s been on radio silence ever since that night.

But you had enough dwelling in the past, you have moved on with your life and you wished that he’d do the same too.

Entering the elevator, you pressed the closed button and as the elevator went up, your heart skipped faintly as your anxiety started to heighten up. 

The entrance of the hall was empty the moment you stepped outside the elevator. It was relatively quiet and oddly, you’d anticipated that your client would be welcoming you. But there were no people inside, not even their receptionist or guard — was Sunoo pranking you?

But the lights inside the main hall were open, you assumed that Ms. Miyawaki’s inside. You followed your instincts despite your nervous heart palpitating like it's on a race.

You pushed the glass door open and your jaw dropped on the floor. You were frozen from where you were standing at the sight of the painting in front of you.

The first thing you saw was you. Your painting — no, it wasn’t the nude painting you requested Riki. It was something else.

It was you during your visit to his first gallery launch, back shown but clearly, the outfit says that it was you because funny enough, you remember the outfit you wore that day. You stood there astonished as it had sinked into you that the gallery wasn’t that filled much with paintings, but was filled with all of you.

Your feet started to move. Looking at each painting one by one — some were portraits of you during your encounters with Riki while some are just portraits of you. Just you. As if the painter was painting you from his memory. 

You remember how Riki doesn’t like to paint portraits but you couldn’t believe how ethereal his paintings were, it didn’t sink into you that all of these paintings were too beautiful to have you as its subject. 

The moment you walked further into the room, that’s when you noticed a figure standing in front of a painting — your nude painting. You stopped — your mind went haywire and your heart stopped beating. You were frozen as you stared at the back of the man that you thought you were over now.

Riki was staring fondly at your painting. He had finished it all by himself and the result only left you appalled as you stared at the painting. What you’re seeing right now is his view every time you lay there on the couch. It’s soft — you looked relaxed and calm, a complete contrast to his other portraits of you. It shows vulnerability, and a sight that was only for him and you. 

You couldn’t help but to move, hands clutched on your purse tightly as you stood beside Riki. Your heart started to beat in a rapid manner. You ignored the way Riki glanced at you for a second before returning his stare at the painting. The two of you stood there in silence, not knowing how to address each other nor wanting to acknowledge the suffocating tension between the two of you.

“I thought about what you said,” Riki started, breaking the ice. “You’re right. I was blinded by your image and everything. I was desperate for you, and hope I get recognized by you.”

“I did everything, even if it means ruining my image for you, I didn’t care that you’re cold and would push me away — heck, I was even thrilled to play games with you because for once, you noticed me and I am not going to stop until you looked at me the same way.”

Riki shifted his stare at you at the same time you looked at him. You noticed it immediately, how his eyeglasses couldn’t hide the eyebags underneath his eyes, he had aged in less than a month and poor boy, he had grown thin as his cheekbones started to pop out.

“That’s not love Riki, that’s obsession.” you stated.

“You’re right. I was pathetically obsessed with the idea of you, and now, it felt wrong — about us back then, felt wrong.”

You only stared at him, and Riki only smiled bitterly.

“It hurt me when you pushed me away that night. I craved for you — for your presence, your touch — fuck, you drove me insane.” he took a deep exhale, lips thinning as his eyes remained on you. “I wanted to remember everything about you because I don’t want to forget about you.”

That's when it hit you. The gallery, the paintings where every encounter was painted. All those paintings of every inch of your body and face were on display. Raw, vulnerable, and imperfect. An act of devotion of Riki to you.

“I didn’t paint all of this to win you back. But you were my muse and you brought me out of my artist block, I painted all of this just because I want to.” he explained and you nodded.

“And how did it make you feel?”

“I feel good, light, and satisfied. I was happy, because I was painting the image of the woman I love.” Riki muttered. “I was painting it during my deepest sorrow but seeing it right now, I was satisfied — the paintings, that’s how I see you, and I hope that’s how you see yourself too.”

“It's beautiful, you made me too beautiful,” you whispered.

“Well, you’re beautiful.”

“Even when I am incapable?”

“Flawed, heartless, or cold. Regardless of that, you’re everything I’d love to be with — for the rest of my life.” he stated and you swore that his words made your heart leap out of joy..

“That’s too much.” You stared at him, trying to remain composed even though you’re on the edge of exploding due to your suppressed feelings for him. “I don’t want you to revolve your life around me Riki.”

“Too late.”

“Riki, I am serious.” you scolded.

“Right, right, I’ll listen.” he chuckled, and you only let out a deep sigh.

“You’re a good man Riki, a talented painter, you have a long way to go and —” you stared at him for a minute before your lips moved. “Are you sure about me?”

“The moment you walked into my gallery, I wanted to have you,” he confessed. “But the moment you told me everything about you, all I wanted was to love you, to show you that you’re still worth loving despite all the flaws you had.”

You didn’t answer him immediately. You waited for more, because something inside him was holding back. Riki was afraid — afraid that even if he prepared a speech to show his love to you — you’d still reject him anyway.

His mind went blank as you stared at you. Expressionless, yet there’s a faint glimpse on your eyes — patiently, waiting for his words.

And that gave him hope. 

“And you may look like the type of woman who doesn’t need a man but, just once, can you please open your heart to love again?” he managed to choke out a few words, Riki himself felt like it was a desperate plea but he couldn’t care less anymore. One month has passed, he’s not going to let you walk away especially when you walked inside his gallery first. 

“What good will I gain from loving you then?”

“Do you need to gain anything when it comes to love? Can it be just something that will give you security and comfort? Someone you can run to? A home? Safety? Because I hate to say this to you, but it must feel so lonely that you’re used to your solitude when you can have more than that.” he subjected which completely dazed you.

Your lips trembled. Heart shaking as your breath became unsteady. You looked at Riki as you could feel your eyes getting wet. 

“This is stupid, I shouldn’t have gone here,” you muttered to yourself, wiping the incoming tears harshly meanwhile Riki softly chuckled.

“You still look pretty even when you’re on the verge of crying.” Riki teased as his hands found their way to wipe away the tears. 

“Flattery doesn’t get you nowhere —”

“I know, I know,” Riki nods. “But I hope my love does, and I am asking you one last time; can you give me another chance?”

“Will I be assured this time Riki? I am giving you a chance to walk away again, think about your future. Think about having kids and —”

“All I can see is you, and I know you’re scared, but I am not going to let you go through the same thing ever again.” he swore to you, and you could nod.

“There’s no turning back here.” you told him. “It’ll be just the two of us — no kids, no tiny riki or tiny me running around. Just the two of us.”

“Sounds like a dream for me,” with that, his hands found the round of your cheeks, cupping it gently as he made you look up at him. “All I need are your words. Everything about us is your choice.”

“I’m already crying, what else could I say?” you whispered.

A teasing smirk formed on his lips. “No, I need to hear it from you.”

“Stubborn kid.”

“You know me well noona.”

“Fine.” you only rolled your eyes. “Yes Riki, I — unfortunately, have fallen for you and it would hurt me to not give you another chance.”

With that, Riki grinned. “Fuck yeah.”

“I can’t believe that’s your response to my confession,” you complained, slapping his arms as he laughed at your words. “If this is what my relationship with you looks like in the incoming years, I’d take back —”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence when Riki leaned down for a kiss. A deep, tender one that had you grasping for breath that moment you two separated.

Riki’s smile was wide, he softly gazed as he said. “No more take backs noona. You’re mine now.”

“I guess you won your game” You stared at him and from there, he only gave you a smile as another kiss was stolen from yours. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you close to his warmth wherein you feel yourself melting.

“Where’s my prize then?” he teased and you only scoffed in disbelief at how he managed to squeeze in another flirty jab to you.

Yet, you only pull him by his collar, locking your lips onto his once again while he leans down on you with much obligation, sharing a kiss full of love and yearning for each other. 

[ebitsujun]

WHEN DID YOU GET HOT, nishimura riki

warnings: idol!ni-ki x older-childhood friend-inexperienced-fem! reader. porn with plot, 11k, ni-ki’s irl family mentioned, usage of y/n and riki, reader know japanese and korean, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f.rec), dacryphillia, nipple play. p in v, unprotected sex (don’t!), missionary, cowgirl, overstimulation, mutual consent (do!), lots of love 🥳

a/n: this was a request from my dms! it took a lot longer, i’m sorry for that 🥺 i hope this was worth the wait!

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You grew up with the soundtrack of Nishimura Riki’s life playing in the background of your own.

Your families were close, his older sister your age was your best friend. That made Riki the unavoidable, scrawny shadow, always a few steps behind, his big eyes watching your every move with a devotion that was equal parts flattering and, frankly, a little annoying when you were fifteen and he was twelve.

You remember the summer you turned sixteen, when your focus was on learning to drive and the senior who worked at the record store. Riki, all limbs and awkward energy, had presented you with a clumsily wrapped birthday gift. It was a mixed CD, the tracklist handwritten in his earnest, blocky script.

“I noticed you like this kind of music,” he’d mumbled, his ears turning red.

You’d ruffled his hair, the way you always did. “Aww, thanks, kiddo. You’re sweet.”

You didn’t miss the way his face fell at the word “kiddo,” but you were sixteen, and the affections of a twelve-year-old boy were as meaningful as a passing cloud. You were kind, but you never took him seriously. How could you? He was the boy who still had Pokémon t-shirts and SHINee posters on his wall, who’d trip over his own feet trying to keep up with you and his sister.

Then life happened. Your family moved away. The friendship with his sister became one sustained through occasional texts and birthday posts on social media. You’d see the occasional post about Riki—he’d become Ni-ki, a trainee, then a member of ENHYPEN. It was abstract, a fact you knew but didn’t truly process. To you, he was frozen in time: the lanky kid with the hopeful smile.

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The reunion happened at his sister’s wedding.

You felt a little out of place, a ghost from a past life. The venue was buzzing, filled with people you barely recognized. You were sipping a glass of champagne, leaning against a pillar and scanning the crowd, when your eyes landed on him.

And your brain simply short circuited. The boy was gone. In his place stood a man. When did he get so hot?

He was taller, for one thing. Significantly so. The lanky frame had filled out with a solid, powerful musculature that was evident even through the elegant cut of his suit. His shoulders were broad, straining the dark fabric, and his posture was no longer a slouch but a confident, easy stance. His face had lost all its baby fat, revealing a sharp, defined jawline and a stronger nose. His hair was styled, but a dark lock fell over his forehead in a way that was artful, not messy.

He was laughing at something his group member, Sunoo, was saying, and the sound; deeper, richer than you remembered, carried across the room and vibrated right through you. This was not the kid you’d pat on the head. This was a man who commanded the space he occupied.

He must have felt your stare. His head turned, his laughter dying on his lips as his eyes found yours. For a long, suspended moment, the wedding crowd, the music, everything just faded into a blur. His gaze was the same; that same intense, dark focus, but the context was entirely new. It was no longer the admiring gaze of a child, but the arrested, appreciative stare of a man.

He excused himself from his group and started walking toward you. Your heart began to hammer against your ribs, a frantic, stupid rhythm. You gripped your champagne flute a little tighter, suddenly hyper aware of your own dress, your makeup, the way you were standing.

“Noona,” he said, stopping in front of you. The honorific, once a casual term for an older female, now felt loaded, intimate. His voice was a low baritone that you felt in your bones.

“Riki,” you managed, your own voice sounding breathy and strange. “You… you look…” Devastatingly handsome? Like a walking dream? “…All grown up.”

A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. It was a smile you’d never seen on him before; confident, a little bit dangerous. It completely transformed his face.

“It’s been so long,” he said, his eyes doing a slow, deliberate sweep from your eyes down to your lips, then back up. The appraisal was so blatant it stole the air from your lungs. “You look exactly how I remembered. Beautiful.”

The compliment landed with the force of a physical blow. He wasn’t a kid reciting a line; he was a man stating a fact. You felt a hot flush creep up your neck.

“Thank you,” you stammered. “You… your music is amazing. I hear it everywhere.” It was a lame, safe thing to say, and you cringed internally.

He chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Do you have a favorite song?”

You were trapped. You could name one, but you were terrified he’d ask you to name a lyric and your mind had gone completely blank, filled only with the startling reality of his presence.

Seeing your flustered state, his smile softened. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer.” He took a half step closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne; something clean and woody, with a hint of spice. It was nothing like the sugary adolescent scents of his youth. “Can I get you another drink?” he asked, his gaze dropping to your nearly empty glass.

The simple offer felt like the most sophisticated thing in the world. This wasn’t the boy fetching you a soda to earn a smile. This was a man, an idol, offering to take care of you.

As he led you toward the bar, his hand found the small of your back. It was a light, guiding touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight up your spine. It was possessive, assured.

You looked at his profile, at the sharp line of his jaw, and the last vestiges of the “kiddo” you once knew evaporated into thin air. The boy you’d never taken seriously was gone. And in his place stood a man you couldn’t possibly ignore. The past had collided with the present, and you were left reeling, realizing that the childhood adoration in his eyes had not vanished. It had simply matured, deepening into something far more potent, and you were no longer immune.

Your childhood in Okayama was painted in the warm, familiar hues of your own culture at home, and the vibrant, new colors of Japan outside. Your family’s import business had strong ties to Korea, which meant summers in Seoul and a household where your parents insisted you become fluent in Korean. You became a bridge between worlds, a fact that fascinated the Nishimura family next door, especially their middle child, Riki.

Even at twelve, Riki was already spellbound by K-pop. The moment he discovered you were fluent, his big, earnest eyes lit up with a new kind of determination.

“Noona, teach me?” he’d ask, clutching a notebook, already filled with clumsily written Hangul. “Please?”

It became your routine. You’d sit on the floor of his sister’s room, textbooks scattered around, and you’d drill him on phrases. “Annyeonghaseyo.” “Kamsahamnida.” In reality, the lessons were as much an excuse for him to be near you as they were about language. He’d watch your mouth form the words with an intensity that went beyond academic interest, his cheeks flushing when you caught him staring. You’d laugh and ruffle his hair. “Pay attention, Riki-kun!”

As the years passed, his Korean improved remarkably. He began insisting you only speak to him in Korean. “We both need to practice, noona,” he’d say, his accent softening, his sentences becoming more complex. It became your secret language, a private bubble in the noisy world of adolescence. You’d gossip about your classmates, complain about homework, and he’d tell you about his dreams of dancing on a big stage; all in the language of a country that felt like a shared, distant dream. You never, not for a second, imagined that the boy tripping over his own feet in his backyard would one day be Ni-ki of ENHYPEN. To you, he was just Riki, the sweet, persistent kid next door.

Now, standing at the bar in the wedding venue, that same language falls from his lips, but the voice is entirely new.

“Honestly, I didn’t know you would be here.” His Korean is flawless, the cadence natural and smooth, a far cry from the stilted sentences of his youth.

The sound of it, so intimate and familiar in this formal setting, sends a shiver through you. You answered in kind, the old habit returning effortlessly. “Your sister insisted I come. I even complained that she contacted me so late.”

He laughed, the sound deep and warm. “Of course. She was always obsessed with marriage. Remember? Even when we were in middle school, she only looked at wedding magazines.”

The memory hit you with a wave of nostalgia. “And I was always just studying.”

“And I was always just dancing,” he said, his gaze intensifying, holding yours, “Probably, no one at school saw me. I was always in the practice room.”

You remember that, too. The empty classrooms, the missed school festivals. He was a ghost in the hallways, his life happening in studios to a soundtrack only he could hear. You’d worried about him then. Now, you see where that single minded passion led.

Just then, a ripple of energy announced the arrival of his members. Jungwon and Sunoo approached, their curiosity evident.

“Ni-ki-yah, who’s this?” Jungwon asked, his eyes flickering to you with polite interest.

Ni-ki didn’t miss a beat. He straightened up, his posture shifting subtly into something more protective.

“This is Y/N,” he said, his voice laced with a pride that made your heart stutter. “We grew up next door to each other in Okayama.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened in recognition. “Ah! This is the noona!” He grins, looking between the two of you. “The one you practiced Korean with!” he said, bouncing on his feet a little. “He used to talk about you sometimes when we were trainees. When people asked how his Korean was so good already, he’d just say, ‘A noona I respect very much taught me.’”

The air left your lungs. He talked about you, to his members, during his rookie days, he’d used the word “respect.”

Ni-ki looked down, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, looking more like the boy you once knew than the global star he is. But when he lifted his gaze back to you, there was no boyish shyness left. There was only the unwavering certainty of a man who has carried a piece of you with him all this time.

The members, sensing the charged history, excused themselves with knowing smiles. You were left alone with him again, the sounds of the wedding reception fading once more.

“See?” he says, his voice a low, intimate murmur. “You were always a part of my story, noona. Even when you weren’t here.”

At that moment, the last wall crumbled. This wasn’t just a reunion. It was a convergence. The bridge you built between languages and cultures in a childhood bedroom had led you here, to this man who never forgot the girl who taught him more than just words.

The gentle hum of the reception was cut by the first chords of the processional. A hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes, along with a flurry of camera phones and professional lenses, turned toward the entrance. You instinctively took a step back, melting into the periphery as Ni-ki, with a last, lingering glance in your direction, moved forward with his members to stand near the platform.

This was his world now. The flash of cameras became a constant strobe, illuminating his profile as he watched his older sister walk down the aisle. You saw the soft, genuine smile on his face, the proud younger brother, but you also saw the practiced ease with which he held himself under the relentless gaze. You knew, with a strange, sinking feeling, that images of him at this wedding and by extension, a blurred figure of you in the background, would be dissected by millions online within the hour. The private boy from Okayama was now public property.

After the beautiful ceremony, as the reception kicked into full swing, you finally got a moment with the bride. Ni-ki’s sister, Konon, pulled you into a tight hug, her wedding dress rustling.

“I’m so glad you came!” she gushed, holding you at arm’s length. “Look at you! You look incredible.”

“Says the breathtaking bride,” you laughed, the familiar comfort of her presence easing some of the strangeness of the day.

As you were catching up, a younger voice chirped beside you. “Oi!”

You turned to see Ni-ki’s youngest sister, Misora, who you remembered as a giggling elementary schooler. Now, she was a stylish teenager, but the mischievous glint in her eyes was the same. “You’re so pretty!” she said, her voice sincere. “You look like a star.”

The compliment was sweet, but it came just as you felt a presence on your shoulder. Ni-ki had approached, drawn back into the family circle now that the formalities were over.

Misora, without missing a beat, grinned and poked her older brother sharply in the side. “Doesn’t she, Ni-chan?”

The gesture was so loaded with childhood familiarity and unspoken knowledge that your cheeks flamed. You looked from Misora’s knowing smirk to Konon’s subtle, amused smile, and the truth settled over you: they all knew. The entire Nishimura family had likely been aware of Riki’s childhood crush. It had probably been dinner table conversation. The realization was simultaneously embarrassing and incredibly endearing.

You braced for the awkward, flustered boy from your memories to resurface. But the man beside you simply placed a steadying hand on Misora’s head, giving her a gentle, brotherly shake. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t blush. A slow, confident smile played on his lips as his eyes met yours.

“She’s always been pretty,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, as if stating the sky was blue.

His nonchalance was more disarming than any stammered compliment could have been. He was completely aware of the effect he was having on you, and he was in control of it. You tried to grasp the persona of the cool, older ‘noona’ you used to be, to ruffle his hair and call him ‘kiddo’ to break the tension. But the words died in your throat. The dynamic had irrevocably shifted.

Later, as the party began to wind down, you found a quiet moment on a secluded balcony overlooking the garden. The cool night air was a relief against your warm skin. You were leaning against the railing, lost in thought, when the sliding door opened and closed behind you.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. You could feel him. He came to stand beside you, his arms resting on the railing, his shoulder just inches from yours. The sounds of the fading party were a distant murmur.

“Overwhelming, isn’t it?” he asked softly, back in the comforting cadence of Korean.

“A little,” you admitted, finally looking at him. The fairy lights from the garden cast soft shadows on his face. “It’s a lot to process. The wedding… and all of this.” You gestured vaguely, encompassing everything he had become.

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. “When I’m with them,” he said, nodding back toward the venue where his family and members were, “it feels a little like the old days. But it’s not, is it?”

“No,” you whispered. “It’s not.”

He turned fully to face you then, his body blocking out the rest of the world. The confident idol was gone, replaced by someone more earnest, more real.

“Noona,” he began, his voice low and intent. “That CD I gave you… for your sixteenth birthday. Have you ever listened to it?”

The question was so unexpected it took you a moment to place it. The clumsily wrapped CD from a lifetime ago. A pang of guilt shot through you. You had thanked him, you’d been kind, but you couldn’t honestly remember if you’d ever played it more than once.

Seeing the answer on your face, he gave a small, wistful smile. “It’s okay. I was just a kid.” He took a small step closer. “But I’m not that kid anymore. And I’m not asking you to see me as one.”

His gaze was unwavering, full of a question he’d been waiting years to ask.

“The song I put as track number one,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was about having a crush on an older girl who only saw you as a child.”

The air left your lungs. The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity. The mixed CD hadn’t just been a collection of songs he thought you’d like. It had been a confession, written in a language only he understood at the time. And you had missed it completely.

Before you could form a response, the sliding door opened again. Jungwon poked his head out. “Ni-ki-yah, they’re doing the final group photos. They need you.”

The moment shattered. Ni-ki held your gaze for a second longer, a promise hanging in the air between you. Then, the professional mask slid back into place. “I have to go,” he said.

He turned and followed Jungwon back inside, leaving you alone on the balcony with the echo of his words and the ghost of a childhood confession you were only now beginning to understand. The wedding was ending, but something new, something terrifyingly real, had just begun.

The grand send off for Konon and her new husband was a blur of laughter, tears, and tossed flower petals. You stood with the crowd, clapping and smiling as the car pulled away, carrying your childhood friend into her new life. A bittersweet feeling settled in your chest; happiness for her, but also the end of an era.

As the guests began to scatter, you found yourself momentarily alone, adjusting the scarf around your shoulders in the cool evening air. It was then that Mr. and Mrs. Nishimura found you, their faces warm and familiar, though lined with a few more years than you remembered.

“Y/N-chan,” Mrs. Nishimura said, her voice thick with emotion. She pulled you into a gentle hug that smelled of perfume and wedding cake. “Thank you for coming all this way. It meant so much to Konon. And to us.”

“It was a beautiful wedding,” you replied sincerely, returning her hug. “And she was a stunning bride.”

Your eyes drifted over her shoulder to where ENHYPEN was gathered, a tight knit group of young men in elegant suits, looking both out of place and perfectly at home. They were laughing about something, a bubble of youthful energy amidst the departing older relatives. Your gaze, as it so often did that day, found Ni-ki. He was listening to Heeseung, a soft smile on his face, but his posture was relaxed in a way you hadn't seen all day, now that the official duties were over.

Mr. Nishimura followed your gaze. A fond, slightly sad smile touched his lips. “We miss him,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble. “The house is too quiet without Riki’s music and dancing. We are proud, of course. But we miss our son.”

Your heart ached for them. You remembered the chaotic, loving noise of their home, contrasting to the silent, empty rooms they must live in now.

Mrs. Nishimura squeezed your arm. “We always loved having you over, Y/N-chan. You and Konon causing mischief, and you,” she looked at you with deep affection, “trying to teach our Riki Korean. You were all so cute together. You made our home feel so full.”

A wave of gratitude washed over you. “Thank you for saying that,” you said, your voice thick. “You have no idea how much your family meant to me. Moving to a new country as a girl… your home always felt like a sanctuary. You made me feel like I belonged here in Okayama.”

Mr. Nishimura nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course. We always saw you as one of our own daughters.” There was a beat of comfortable silence, filled with the chirping of evening crickets. Then, he looked directly at you, his gaze flicking to his son across the garden and then back to you.

“You know,” he said, his tone conversational yet loaded, “you would be very good for Riki.”

You froze. Your breath hitched audibly. He continued, undeterred by your sudden flush. “We know you. We know your heart. We know your family. In this life he leads now… full of strangers and cameras… to have someone from his real life, someone we trust completely…” He shrugged, as if the logic was undeniable. “It would be a comfort to us.”

You were utterly, completely flustered. Your mind raced, scrambling for a response. “I… Mr. Nishimura, that’s… he’s… a global star. And I’m just…”

“You are Y/N,” Mrs. Nishimura finished for you, her voice gentle but firm. “The girl he made a mixed CD for. The girl he practiced Korean with for hours just to impress. Some things are more important than being a star.”

Before you could form a coherent reply, a voice, laced with a mixture of curiosity and concern, cut through the tension.

“Everything okay over here?”

Ni-ki had approached, his members lingering a polite distance away, giving the family space but clearly waiting for him. His sharp eyes took in the scene: your deeply flushed cheeks, his mother’s knowing smile, his father’s satisfied expression.

“We were just telling Y/N-chan how wonderful it was to see her,” Mrs. Nishimura said smoothly, though her eyes twinkled with mischief.

Ni-ki’s gaze locked with yours, and you saw the question in them. He knew his parents. He could probably guess the direction their conversation had taken. A faint blush touched his own cheeks, but he held his composure.

“What did they say to you?” he asked quietly, stepping closer.

You looked up at him, the words of his father echoing in your mind. ‘You would be very good for Riki.’ The childhood crush, the shared language, the proud introduction to his members, the confession about the CD—it all coalesced into a single, terrifying, and exhilarating realization. You couldn’t tell him. Not here, with his team waiting. So you just gave him a small, shaky smile. “They just… reminded me of home.”

He searched your face for a long moment, as if trying to decipher a complex code. He seemed to understand that there was more, but he didn’t press.

The venue was emptying now, and as you offered your final congratulations, Mrs. Nishimura placed a hand on your arm, her grip surprisingly firm. Ni-ki glanced at the both of you.

"Y/N-chan, you cannot go to a hotel," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "The house is too quiet now. With Konon gone…" Her voice wavered slightly, and she glanced at her younger daughter, Misora, who was in the other corner of the room, looking brave with her older sister now away; seemed suddenly very small. "Please. Stay with us tonight. It would mean so much to have a familiar presence. It would feel like old times."

Your mind raced. Your meticulously booked hotel room, the quiet anonymity it offered; it felt like a necessary escape hatch from the emotional whirlwind of the day. But looking at their faces; the quiet sorrow in Mr. Nishimura's eyes, the raw hope in his wife's, the silent plea in Misora’s, your resolve crumbled. They weren't just being polite; they were clinging to a piece of the past, and you were that piece.

"I… of course," you heard yourself say, the words feeling both right and terrifying. "I'd be honored. Thank you for having me."

"Riki," his mother said, turning the same hopeful gaze on him. "You should come home tonight too. Just for a little while. Your room is just as you left it."

You saw the immediate, visceral longing that flashed across his face. It was there and gone in an instant, replaced by a weary professionalism. He shook his head, a gesture of genuine regret.

"I can't, mom. The manager hyung… we have an early flight for a schedule. They need us all together at the hotel." He gestured faintly towards the waiting vans, the unspoken rules of his new life forming an invisible wall between him and his family.

He looked at you then, and the complexity of emotions in his eyes stole your breath. There was gratitude that you would be there for his family, a deep, aching envy that you would be walking through the halls of his childhood home without him, and a profound sense of displacement. He was the son, the brother, but he was the one who couldn't come home.

His parents nodded, accepting the reality they had become accustomed to. But Ni-ki’s gaze remained locked with yours.

"You'll see Bisco for me?" he asked, his voice low, referring to the family dog he’d adored as a boy.

"Of course," you whispered.

"And… my room?" A faint, almost shy smile touched his lips. "Is it still a disaster?"

You managed a small smile back. "I'll do a full inspection."

He gave a short, quiet laugh, but his eyes were serious. He needed to do something. He couldn't just let you walk back into the most intimate space of his past while he was ushered into another sterile hotel room.

As his family began to gather their things, he stepped slightly away, pulling out his own phone. “I’ll call you,” he said. It wasn’t a question or a hope; it was a statement of fact. You looked at him, puzzled. He didn’t have your phone number, nor did he ask for it. He gave you a promising look, and walked away. You kept your eyes on Misora as she made her way to her parents and you.

A moment later, your own phone, tucked away in your clutch, buzzed softly. You discreetly pulled it out.

Unknown Number:

it’s riki. konon just gave me your number

A pause, then another message came through.

when you see my room… don’t laugh too much. and take a picture of bisco for me

i’ll call you tomorrow. don’t stay up too late with misora

You looked up from your phone to see him climbing into the vehicle. He didn't look back, but the message was his anchor, his way of inserting himself into the narrative of your evening at his home, ensuring that while his body was being driven away, a part of him was coming home with you.

The Nishimura house was a beautiful time capsule. Bisco, the family dog, white and gentle, had wagged his tail so hard his entire body wriggled when you petted him. Misora had dragged you to her room to show you her latest projects, the chatter a comforting, familiar sound. But the most poignant moment was when Mrs. Nishimura quietly opened the door to Ni-ki’s room.

It was exactly as he’d left it. A few faded SHINee posters were still tacked to the wall, alongside more sophisticated prints of dancers and athletes. A shelf held a collection of trophies from local dance competitions. The desk was neat, but you could imagine a younger Riki hunched over it, painstakingly writing Hangul in the notebook you’d helped him with. The air smelled faintly of dust and nostalgia. It felt sacred, and a profound sense of tenderness for the boy he was, and the man he’d become, washed over you.

You fell asleep in the quiet guest room, surrounded by the ghosts of a happy past. The ringing of your phone felt like it was tearing through the fabric of a deep dream. You fumbled for it in the dark, the screen blinding you.

Riki. Your heart leapt into your throat. You swiped to answer, your voice a sleep roughened croak. “Hello?”

“You’re still asleep.” His voice, low and amused, came down the line. There was no ‘good morning.’ He knew.

You tried to sit up, clearing your throat. “No, I’m… I’m awake.”

He chuckled, a soft, intimate sound in the quiet room. “Liar. I have a car. I’m outside. Get ready. I have until tonight.”

The suddenness of it left you dizzy. “What? Right now? Where are we going?”

“Anywhere we won’t be recognized. Just… be with me. Please, noona.”

The ‘noona’ did it. The honorific, once a barrier, now felt like a secret endearment. “Give me twenty minutes,” you whispered.

You moved in a frantic, quiet whirlwind. When you emerged, dressed and hastily put together, you found his parents in the kitchen. “I… I’m meeting Riki for the day,” you explained, feeling a blush creep up your neck.

Mr. and Mrs. Nishimura exchanged a single, profound, knowing glance. It was a look that held decades of shared understanding. Mrs. Nishimura simply smiled, a soft, hopeful thing. “Be careful,” she said, and you knew she didn’t mean just with traffic.

The black sedan was idling discreetly down the street. You slipped into the backseat, and there he was. He’d changed out of his suit into dark jeans, a black hoodie, and a baseball cap pulled low, but there was no hiding the sharp, handsome lines of his face. The car pulled away, and you were alone in the moving bubble of the backseat.

The day was a blur of hidden corners of Okayama; a private tea room in an old neighborhood, a drive along the less populated waterfront. And through it all, he teased you.

“Remember that guy, Kenji from down the street?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he stirred his matcha. “He asked you to the summer festival and you told him you had to reorganize your bookshelf by color.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “My parents would have never let me go!”

“That’s what you said about everything,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling. “You were so focused on being the perfect, studious daughter. Meanwhile, I was skipping class to practice in a studio that smelled like old wood.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, tell me the truth. With all that studying and no rebelling… you probably still don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

He had hit the bullseye with unnerving accuracy. You didn’t want to admit it, to lay that particular vulnerability at his feet. You had boyfriends of course, just not currently. But the truth was plain on your flustered face. He leaned back, looking unbearably pleased with himself. Fine. Two could play this game.

“Well,” you shot back, crossing your arms, “at least I never had a poster of a girl group on my ceiling that I kissed goodnight.”

It was a weak, childish retort, but it was all you had. He just laughed, a full, unreserved sound that made the driver’s shoulders jump slightly.

“That’s the best you can do?” he challenged, his eyes dancing. “You can’t tease me, noona. I’m flawless.”

But the teasing was a thin veil for the tension that was coiling tightly in the small space between you. Every laugh, every shared memory, every lingering glance added another layer. He looked at you across the small table, his gaze dropping to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and the heat in his look was unmistakable.

As the car wound through the city, he’d point out a place.

“See that alley? I filmed a music video there. It was raining and we had to do the same move twenty seven times. My muscles were screaming.” He said it with a wry smile, but you heard the undertone of exhaustion.

Later, as you walked along a nearly deserted pier, the wind whipping at your hair, the conversation drifted into deeper waters. The playful glint in his eyes faded, replaced by a weary honesty that made him look his age for the first time all day.

“It’s… a lot,” he confessed, his voice barely above the sound of the waves and the wind. He wasn’t looking at you, but out at the grey, churning water. “The schedules, the cameras, the eyes. Everyone has an opinion. You have to be perfect, all the time. It’s… stressful. I’m so tired, noona.”

The confession was a gift, a raw piece of the man behind the idol. You didn’t offer empty platitudes. You just listened, your silence a sanctuary for his words.

The topic, inevitably, turned to relationships. His smile was bitter now. “It’s impossible. Or it feels that way. Before anything even starts, there’s a contract, a clause, a ‘hyung’ telling you it’s a bad idea. Or the person only sees ENHYPEN’s Ni-ki, not me.” He shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. “So it’s mostly… nothing. Unserious things. Flings that don’t mean anything. And it just leaves you feeling… empty afterwards. More alone than before.”

Your heart ached for him. You understood the isolation in his words, the longing for something real amidst the glittering artifice. You wanted to offer comfort, to share something of your own, but your own history was a vast, empty landscape in comparison. You had no tales of heartbreak or fleeting romances to reciprocate with. Your struggles were academic, professional, familial; not the surreal loneliness of global fame.

He must have sensed your silence was different. He turned to you, his gaze searching. “What about you, noona? With all that focusing on your studies… there must have been someone. At least… a hookup? Something?”

The question hung in the salty air. He was expecting a story, a confession, something to balance the scales. All you could do was offer a sad, small smile and shake your head. “No, Riki. There wasn’t.”

The simplicity of your answer seemed to stun him. His teasing had been a guess; the confirmation was something else entirely. The ‘flawless’ idol who had just confessed his flings, was now looking at a woman whose life had been so different, so… pure, for lack of a better word. The curiosity in his eyes was no longer playful, but profound. He wasn’t pitying you; he was seeing you, truly seeing the weight of your own choices and circumstances, for the first time.

Before he could form another question, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, his expression hardening as he read the message. “It’s the manager. We have to go. I need to get to the airport.”

The ride back to the Nishimuras’ was silent, but it was a different silence from the morning. The tension was still there, a thick, live wire between you, but it was now layered with a newfound vulnerability and a deep, resonant understanding. He wasn’t just the handsome idol and you weren’t the flustered childhood friend. You were two people from the same past who had walked wildly different paths, each carrying their own unique loneliness, and in that, you were more alike than either of you had realized.

The car pulled up a block from the house. There was no grand farewell possible.

“I have to go,” he said, his voice thick with a frustration that had nothing to do with traffic.

“I know,” you whispered.

His hand found yours in the space between the seats. He didn’t lace his fingers through yours, just held it, a firm, warm pressure that seared itself into your skin. It was a promise. A plea. A goodbye.

“I’ll call you,” he said, the same words from the wedding, but now imbued with a desperate urgency.

Then he let go. You slipped out of the car without looking back, the door closing with a soft, final thud. You walked to the house, feeling the weight of his gaze until the car turned the corner and disappeared.

Inside, the quiet of the Nishimura home felt suffocating. You climbed the stairs and, without thinking, found yourself standing in the doorway of his room again. The posters, the trophies, the faint scent of him trapped in time. He was on his way to an airport, to a flight, to a stage, to a life of screaming fans. And you were here, in the shrine of his boyhood, holding the devastating knowledge that the man he had become was just as lonely as you were, and that for one fleeting day, you had been each other’s sanctuary. The space he left behind was no longer just in this room; it was in you.

The call came long after midnight, your time. You were already in your hotel room in Seoul, the city lights a sprawling, silent tapestry outside your window. His voice was laced with a different kind of exhaustion, the kind that came from the relentless machinery of fame.

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” he began, the connection crisp and clear, bridging the distance between your hotel and his dorm. “The moment I landed, it was hair, makeup, rehearsal, a meeting… I forgot how to think for a few hours.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered into the phone, curled on the bed. “I understand.”

And you did. The wedding, the day in Okayama had been a beautiful, stolen dream. This; the late night call, the fatigue in his voice, was his reality.

“Are you back home?” he asked.

“No,” you said, your heart thudding against your ribs. “I’m in Seoul. My company… They needed me for a project. I just landed a few hours ago.”

The silence on the other end was profound. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the calculations of schedules and risks.

“Where are you staying?” His voice was suddenly sharp, alert. You told him the district.

“There’s a park. Not far from you. It has a secluded garden, behind the main pavilion. No one goes there at this hour. Can you meet me? In thirty minutes?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

The park was a dark, sleeping beast. You found the garden he described, a small, hidden enclave of manicured bushes and a single, ancient tree, lit only by a sliver of moon and the distant orange glow of the city. The air was cold, and you pulled your coat tighter.

He emerged from the shadows like a phantom, dressed all in black, a mask pulled up over his nose and a beanie low over his brow. Only his eyes were visible, and they were fixed on you with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. He didn’t speak. He just walked towards you until he was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“This is it,” he said, his voice low and rough, gesturing vaguely at the secluded space around you. “This is what it takes. Hidden corners and the dead of night. This is why it’s impossible.”

You finally understood, not just intellectually, but viscerally. The secrecy wasn’t romantic; it was a cage. The need to hide a simple meeting felt like a violation.

“Riki…” you started, but words failed you.

That was all it took. The few inches between you vanished. His hands came up to cradle your face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the frantic energy coursing through him. He lowered his mask slowly and your eyes dropped to his plump lips. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, and then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t a gentle, exploratory kiss. It was a dam breaking. It was weeks of yearning, years of unspoken history, and a lifetime of loneliness pouring out from both of you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against the hard, unyielding planes of his body, and you melted into him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world. The kiss was desperate, deep, and tasting of a bittersweet truth you were both finally acknowledging.

And then, abruptly, he was the one who pulled away. He tore his mouth from yours, his breath coming in ragged, visible puffs in the cold air. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling with the effort of his control.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry. I… I can’t.”

“Why?” you breathed, your own heart hammering, your lips still tingling from his. And you hated yourself for asking him, as if you were naked before him and he rejected you. You felt like asking him the reason he stopped kissing you was like begging him to fuck you. Because it’s been so long since you were with someone, that even a kiss from a childhood friend felt like something deeper.

“Because if I don’t stop now,” he said, his voice raw with a pain that had nothing to do with physical desire, “I won’t be able to. I’ll want everything. And I’m so afraid, noona. I’m afraid of this life hurting you. Of the headlines, the rumors, the hate you’d get.” He opened his eyes, and the vulnerability in them was devastating. “And I’m afraid… I’m terrified that when you look at me like this, you still see that scrawny kid from Okayama. That you’re just caught up in the moment, in the fantasy of it all.”

His confession laid him bare. This wasn’t just about the idol and the fan. This was about the man and the woman, and the ghost of a boy who stood between them.

You reached up, your hand cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at you. The stubble under your palm was a stark reminder of the man he is, and his acne scars of the boy he was.

“Riki,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “The boy I knew was brave and stubborn and followed his dreams no matter what. The man I’m looking at right now is all of that, and so much more. I don’t see a fantasy, I see you. The real you; the one who’s tired, and stressed, and who feels empty because he wants something .” You took a shaky breath. “And I want you, not the idol; you.”

A shudder ran through him. The fear in his eyes didn’t vanish, but it was joined by a flicker of desperate, hopeful belief. “This is real for me,” you whispered into the small space between your lips. “Is it real for you?”

He didn’t answer with words. He let out a sound that was half sob, half sigh of relief, and captured your lips again. This kiss was different. It was slower, deeper, filled with a profound, aching tenderness that promised this was more than a stolen moment in a dark park. It was a beginning, fraught with difficulty and danger, but a beginning nonetheless. In the cold, hidden garden, with the world sleeping around you, you both silently agreed to fight for it.

The kiss left you both breathless, your foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air in the cold, dark garden. Getting courage from the raw confession and the feel of him, you took his hand and began to pull him gently, leading the way back toward the lights of the city, toward your hotel.

He stopped. His feet planted firmly, his hand holding yours but not moving. A hot wave of embarrassment and rejection washed over you again. You’d misread the moment. Of course, he couldn’t. He was an idol. This was too risky. You started to pull your hand away, your face burning.

But he tightened his grip. He tugged you back, not toward the hotel, but closer to him, until your bodies were aligned again. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he breathed, the words a hot promise against your skin. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy. But I’m not doing this with you in a hotel room.”

Your breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze unbearably soft and serious. “It shouldn’t happen in some hotel. It would be disrespectful for you. It should be somewhere safer, it should be special.”

He knew. He had pieced it together from your silence at the pier, from your lack of history, from the way you kissed him with a fervent, untrained passion. And instead of being deterred, he was treating that knowledge with a reverence that made your knees weak.

“Then where?” you whispered, the word barely audible.

A determined look crossed his face. He pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying over the screen with a practiced urgency. “We’re going to my dorm.” He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s the only place I can be sure we’re safe. The only chance we have.”

He was texting the members on his floor. You couldn’t see the words, but you could imagine the tone; firm, pleading, leaving no room for argument. Hyung, I need a huge favor. Can you all go to the other unit for a few hours? Don’t come back until I text you. It’s important.

The reality of his world crashed in again, but this time, it was working in your favor. He was creating a sanctuary for you, using the intricate rules of his life to shield yours.

The journey to the dorm was a blur of nervous tension. He led you through a maze of back entrances and private parking garages, his body a protective shield around you. When the elevator doors opened onto his floor, the silence was absolute. He keyed in a code, pushed the door open, and ushered you inside.

The dorm was surprisingly tidy, but lived-in. A gaming setup in one corner, jackets thrown over a chair, the faint, clean scent of men’s perfume and laundry detergent. And it was empty. Just the two of you.

His heart was hammering against his ribs. This was it. She was here, in his space. The girl from his childhood, the one he’d written off as an impossible dream, was standing in his dorm, looking at him with wide, trusting eyes. She was older, but in this, she was inexperienced.

The weight of that responsibility settled on him, not as a burden, but as the greatest honor of his life. He couldn’t rush this. He wouldn’t. With others, it had been about release, about scratching an itch. This was different. This was about connection. He wanted to worship her. He wanted to make her feel so good, so safe, so cherished that she would never regret giving this part of herself to him.

Her first time. The thought made him feel dizzy with a potent mix of desire, protectiveness, and a fierce, burning love. His own pleasure was secondary; her feeling the best she possibly could was everything.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” he asked, his voice softer now, the public persona completely shed. He moved to the kitchen, opening the fridge. “We have water, juice… I think Jay hyung bought some fruit.”

It was so domestic, so sweetly considerate, that it eased the last of your nerves. He wasn’t a predatory idol; he was Riki, the boy who used to share his snacks with you, making sure you were well fed.

“Water is fine,” you said, your voice a little shaky.

He poured two glasses and brought them over, sitting beside you on the couch, leaving a respectful few inches between you. He wasn’t pushing. He was letting you acclimate, letting the reality of your aloneness sink in.

“You okay?” he asked, his dark eyes searching your face.

You nodded, taking a sip of water. “It’s just… a lot.”

“I know,” he said, a gentle smile touching his lips. “For me, too.”

He reached out and took your free hand, lacing his fingers through yours. His hand was so much larger, nails short and taken care of, but his grip was gentle. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Ever. You know that, right?”

The assurance was your final undoing. The last barrier of fear and uncertainty crumbled. You looked at him; at the man who had fought through the chaos of his life to create this quiet, safe space for you, who was treating your inexperience not as a liability but as a treasure, and you knew, with every fiber of your being, that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You set your glass down on the table. Then, with a courage you didn’t know you possessed, you leaned forward and closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a kiss that was all the answer he needed.

This time, when the kiss deepened, there was no pulling away. There was only the slow, tender, and breathtaking journey from the couch to his room, a journey guided by whispered reassurances, reverent touches, and a love that had been years in the making.

The air in Ni-ki's room was thick with a new kind of silence, charged not just with desire, but with a profound, shared understanding.

You had been with others before; kisses that turned hungry in backseats, hands that wandered under clothes in dimly lit apartments. There had been moments of heat, of friction, of fumbling in the dark that always, always, ended with you putting on the brakes. A whispered "I'm not ready," a pulled away hand, a sudden, cold wave of self consciousness. They never made you feel safe enough to quiet the voice in your head that told you to be careful, to protect yourself.

But with Riki, it was different. He could feel it, too. He could feel the absence of that familiar tension in your body, the way you melted into his touch instead of bracing against it.

He didn't lunge. He didn't treat your presence in his bed as a foregone conclusion. He didn’t even fuck anyone in his bed beforez That was why he refused to go your hotel, because hotels meant something quick, it was about his urges and the need to release his energy after concerts.

After that first, soul searing kiss on the couch, he had simply stood, taken your hand, and led you to his room. Now, he stood before you, his gaze soft, his hands coming up to frame your face.

"Tell me what you like," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "And tell me what you don't. Your word is law here. Okay?"

It was the first anchor in the swirling sea of your nerves. Your word is law. You nodded, your throat too tight for words.

He smiled, that same boyish smile, but now it was layered with a man's intensity. He leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him. It was a kiss that tasted of patience. His hands slid from your face, down your neck, over your shoulders, mapping you through the fabric of your shirt. Every movement was deliberate, giving you time to feel, to process, to accept.

When his fingers found the hem of your shirt, he paused the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your lips.

"Can I?"

Another choice. Another anchor.

"Yes," you breathed.

He lifted the shirt over your head with a quiet reverence, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you in your simple bra. But he didn't immediately touch. He just looked, his gaze a physical caress. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, the words sounding like a prayer. "I've imagined this for so long."

He made you feel beautiful, not just desired. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt before you, his hands on your waist. He pressed a soft, open mouthed kiss to your stomach, just above the button of your jeans. You flinched, a gasp escaping you, and his hands immediately stilled.

"Is this okay?" he asked, looking up at you, his eyes full of concern.

"Y-yes," you stammered, your skin buzzing. "It's just... a lot."

He understood. He didn't push. Instead, he moved his hands to your calves and the back of your knees, his thumbs massaging the muscles in a way that was so unexpectedly intimate and soothing it made tears prick your eyes. He was taking care of you. He was dismantling your defenses not with force, but with tenderness. You put your hand on top of his head, fingers trailing down his hair. He was so different from the Riki you left, he grew up so well. And you could still see the younger boy in his face, the one that never left him.

He worked his way back up, his kisses and touches a slow, meticulous exploration. He unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down your legs, his palms skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. When he reached your underwear, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and looked up for one more silent question. You nodded, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

As the last barrier was removed, you expected a wave of shyness. You pressed your legs together and put your hands on your lap. But the way he looked at you; with pure, unadulterated awe, chased it away. He leaned in and pulled your legs apart slowly, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, so high up it made you jolt.

"You're shaking," he murmured against your skin.

"I'm nervous," you admitted, the confession torn from you. You slid your hand to his hair again, the way his lips moved on your skin made you impossibly wet that you needed something to hold onto. He lifted his head, his expression heartbreakingly sincere.

"Me too." He crawled up the bed until he was hovering over you, caging you in with his arms. "But we're nervous together. Yeah?"

He wasn't a practiced seducer; he was Riki, just as vulnerable in this moment as you were. You reached up and pulled him down into a kiss, pouring all your trust, all your longing, into it.

He took that trust and honored it with every touch. His hands were confident but never demanding. His hand dipped under you and unhooked your bra, peeling it off your skin and dropping it on the floor. Your hands immediately found his arms for emotional support, and he just looked at your fully bare form under him. He exhaled a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and raised them to yours.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” he whispered, he couldn’t raise his voice because he knew it would crack. It was as if he forgot everything he did, the hookups he had on all familiar hotel rooms, his own first, his inexperience. It was as if he was giving you his first and not the other way around.

You tugged on his hoodie, and he immediately obliged, pulling it over his head to throw it somewhere. His tensing muscles, his broad shoulders caging you in, and the way his abs dipped down to his pants. He saw you looking at him, and he smirked, the teasing look coming back to his face.

“You like what you see?” he said, low and deep. And you immediately clapped your hands on your face, which made your breasts squish together and the view immediately dropped to his guts. You could’ve seen how big and hard he was if he wasn't wearing his signature baggy pants.

He learned your body like it was a sacred text, finding the spots that made you arch off the mattress with a soft cry, and melt deeper into the sheets. His fingers attached to your nipple while you still covered your face, and the way his index and thumb pulled the peaks made you squeal. The look on his face was enough for you to clench into nothing, he was so dazed by you, by the plumpness you created by pushing your arms together, that he could come into his pants just by playing with your breasts.

He squeezed the mass of them, jiggled just to see them move. And when he dipped his head to one of them you held your breath. He licked a wide stripe, and then flicked your nipple with quick strokes. His plump lips latched onto it and sucked, teeth grazing it from time to time. And you moaned loud, not expecting any of it, grateful that there weren't any members around.

When he latched onto your other nipple, his hand slid down and down, his fingers finally, carefully, slipped between your folds, you were wet and aching for him, your body thrumming with a need you'd never felt before.

He stilled and looked up, his eyes searching yours. "You're sure?"

There were no more doubts. No voice of caution. There was only him, and the safe, loving world he had built for you in this room.

"I'm sure, Riki. Please."

He leaned back on his knees and pulled his zipper down, and got rid of his pants. His Chrome Hearts boxer was packing, he was poking through the black fabric and he hissed as he removed the last piece. His cock hit against his belly button, tip angry red just like his plump lips, and oh, he was big. You could see the reason behind his confidence.

He watched you watch him again, you didn’t even realize you’d licked your lips but he smiled upon seeing your reaction. He’d never thought you’d see him like this, the man that he wanted to become. And he was about to fuck you, he was about to give you your first orgasm from a dick and not by your own fingers. Hell, even imagining you fucking yourself with your delicate hands made him twitch onto his abs, precum already leaking from his tip.

“Are you okay?” he asked you again, and you nodded, pulling him closer from his nape for a kiss. He moaned into your lips as he aligned with your wet pussy, using your slickness as lube. Holding your legs open, he pushed in a bit and you moaned back, the blunt pressure was a lot, he was definitely thicker than your fingers. You tried to relax around him, and the moment he entered you was a revelation.

There was a sharp, fleeting sting, a tightness that made you gasp. He froze immediately, his body rigid with the effort of holding still.

"Breathe, noona," he coaxed, his voice thick with strain. You were so tight that he felt like he could cum in seconds. "Just breathe. I've got you."

You focused on his eyes, on the love and concern shining in them, and you breathed.

The discomfort faded, replaced by a feeling of fullness. Of completion. You felt stretched, filled, but in a way that felt utterly right. You were wrapped around him, and he was buried inside you, and the childhood crush, the years of separation, the teasing, the tension; it all coalesced into this single, perfect point of connection.

He began to move, a slow, deep, rocking rhythm that was less about passion and more about fusion. His eyes never left yours. He whispered to you in a mix of Korean and Japanese, a stream of praise and affection. "You feel so good... You're taking me so well…”

And hearing him reassure you like this made you cling to him harder. This was all he could wish for, he’d go back in time and proudly brag to his younger self about this. He smothered you with kisses, your neck was filled with his marks, he sucked and kissed and licked your skin that burned your every single cell on fire. “Riki…” you moaned and he twitched inside you.

“I love you... I've always loved you." he confessed. And you held him closer, moans spilled from your lips and a tear slid down your eyes down to your ears. He kissed your tears away, your chests pressed together as he molded into you.

“I love you Riki.” you said back and he kissed all of your face as he thrusted. And he attached to your lips, sucked your bottom lip slowly as you opened your mouth wider to let your tongues meet.

It wasn't a frantic race to a finish line. It was a shared journey. He watched your face, learning what you liked, adjusting his pace and angle until he found the spot that made you see stars. He was so attuned to you, so focused on your pleasure, that when your orgasm finally broke over you, it was with a force that left you sobbing his name, your nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure wracked your body.

“I’m coming, Riki!”

He’d refused to come earlier than you, so when you were coming down from your high, he pressed his hips to yours hard and buried himself in your core. With a guttural groan that was pure, unvarnished emotion, he followed you over the edge, his own release a shuddering, helpless surrender. He’d been holding for too long that he kept coming for a while, moaning endlessly as you jerked under him, leaking his cum.

For a long time, he just held himself above you, both of you breathing heavily, his forehead damp against yours. Then, he carefully rolled, pulling you with him so you were sprawled on top of him, your head on his chest, listening to the frantic, slowing beat of his heart.

His arms came around you, holding you close. He pressed a kiss to your hair.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice raspy.

You nodded against his chest, too overwhelmed for words. More than okay. With Riki, it had been different. Because with Riki, it wasn't just physical. It was the feeling of finally, after a lifetime of carefulness, coming home.

The world slowly pieced itself back together in the quiet dim of Ni-ki’s room. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and your bodies were slick and tangled in his sheets. A profound, humming silence settled between you, broken only by the ragged sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal. His arms were wrapped around you, one hand gently stroking your damp back.

You felt boneless, utterly spent, and yet… a low, persistent ember still glowed deep within you. You still pulsed around his cum in you, leaking and tickling your inner thighs, pooling on his bed. The initial, overwhelming shock of pleasure had passed, leaving in its wake a curious, aching hunger to feel that connection again, to explore the new language your bodies had just started to learn.

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on an elbow to look down at him. His hair was a mess, his lips were kiss swollen, and his eyes, heavy lidded and dark, held a look of such satiated awe that it made your heart clench.

Before he could ask if you were okay, you leaned down and kissed him. It was a slow, deep, purposeful kiss, different from the frantic ones before. You felt him stir against your thigh, a soft groan vibrating in his chest.

“Again?” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with surprise and desire.

“Again,” you confirmed, your own voice a husky whisper you barely recognized.

A slow, wondrous smile spread across his face. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

He moved with you, guiding you until you were straddling his hips. The new position made you feel powerful, in control, and incredibly exposed. His hands settled on your waist, his thumbs stroking your hip bones as he looked up at you with unwavering devotion.

“Your pace, noona,” he reminded you, his voice thick with promise. “Always your pace.”

You began to move, slowly at first, rediscovering the rhythm that had shattered you moments before. His hardening cock was in between your outer lips, his tip kept hitting your hard and aching clit, and you could feel yourself getting wetter and ready for another round. The sensation was even more intense this time, every nerve ending alight. As he hardened fully you got up, and he aligned himself with you again, and you slowly took him in, his white cum leaked down his cock and shaped a ring around him as you bottomed out, creamy and sticky.

You rode him, your head falling back, lost in the feeling of him filling you, the sight of his rapt expression beneath you. His hands moved you in different shapes, and every time he hit a different part of you that pulled moans out of both your mouths. His low purrs and growls made you clench harder and he moaned even louder. He watched you, the filthy scene before him, and he already knew nothing could beat this moment. He closed his eyes in pleasure when you squeezed him with a high, pornographic moan.

The muscles in your thighs, already trembling from the emotional and physical exertion of the night, began to protest. A slow burn turned into a shaky tremble, your rhythm faltering as your legs threatened to give out.

A soft, frustrated sound escaped you. Ni-ki’s eyes, which had been closed, snapped open. He saw the strain on your face, the way your body was beginning to quiver with exhaustion.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing balm.

He pulled you down to himself, and as you laid on his chest with your head in the crook of his neck, he held your hips firmly, taking over the rhythm. You kissed his neck and felt him shiver as if you weren’t doing the nastiest thing, and a small neck kiss was enough to unravel him. You held yourself up to be able to look at him, and he still held your hips in place. His eyes dropped to your breasts jiggling with your new position, and you scooted up, earning a loud moan from him.

He immediately took one nipple into his mouth. “Just feel, noona” he whispered, with his teeth still on your nipple as he moved, each deep, deliberate thrust hitting a spot that made you see stars. “Let me take care of you.”

This was different. This was him, no longer holding back, his own control fraying at the edges as he poured all his love, his longing, his protectiveness into every movement. You clung to him, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, and pulling his hair as you searched for something to hold onto; your cries muffled against his shoulder as a second, even more powerful orgasm ripped through you, leaving you gasping and shaking beneath him.

He followed you over the edge with a guttural cry of your name, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside you. His cock was coated in milky white cum, previous release sticking to his balls and your ass, slowing your pace with wet noises filling the room.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your shared, panting breaths. He rubbed your back, soothing your lower back with his warm palms. But he wasn’t finished. He gently withdrew, his eyes dark and impossibly soft. He kissed his way down your body as he laid you down, his hands soothing your trembling thighs.

“One more time,” he whispered, his breath hot against your reddened inner thighs. “Just for you.”

Before you could process his words, his mouth was on you, his tongue and fingers working in a gentle, insistent rhythm from your overstimulated body.

“Riki— what’re you doing?” you moaned as he pushed his cum inside you, the slickness making it easy to slide inside. Middle finger first, ring followed by, you were loose from the girth of his cock so taking his fingers was easier, but you were still so sore, so full of him that you would cry again and this time it’d be physical.

“You can do it, noona. Please.” He stuck his tongue out and flicked your clit, tasting his own cum and yours. He never did this with anyone, he was too compulsive for it. So he just wanted to do this, an instinct told him to and he obeyed. As he fingered you, rubbing a spot and pulling it out of you, you felt the tie in your belly tighter.

It was a different kind of release; deeper, wetter, a surrendering so complete you felt yourself let go, a warm gush of release soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. You couldn’t even tell him you were going to squirt, you were just doing it. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, every muscle seizing before going completely lax. You were utterly, completely ruined. He let you, fingers still fucking you senseless as you washed over him. His chest was wet, a small part of his chin, the bedsheets, but he didn’t stop until every last drop of you flushed out.

Ni-ki moved up your body, his expression one of pure, male satisfaction and overwhelming tenderness. He didn’t say a word. He simply gathered you into his arms, your damp, spent body molding against his. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your eyelids, then your lips. He never saw you like this before, and he’d never thought he would someday. Your orgasmic expressions, your fucked out state, every piece of you was so breathtakingly beautiful that he needed to calm himself down.

He slipped out of bed, returning moments later with a warm, damp cloth. He wanted to wash you up properly, but he made the members wait long enough. With a reverence that brought fresh tears to your eyes, he gently cleaned you, wiping away all your releases from your thighs and stomach. He was meticulous and gentle, his touch devoid of any sexual intent, focused only on your comfort.

He fetched a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and held it to your lips, helping you take small, slow sips. He pulled a clean, soft t-shirt, one of his, over your head and found a pair of his sweatpants for you to wear, bundling you up in the comforting scent of him. He carried you to the couch in his room and quickly changed the sheets, even the pillow cases. The fresh laundry detergent smell filled the room, getting rid of the sex smell.

He cleaned himself up quickly and carried you back to bed before slipping next to you, pulling the comforter over both of you. He drew you into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, his arms creating a safe, warm cocoon around you.

“Everything’s okay?” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with sleep and emotion.

“Mhm.” you mumbled, nuzzling closer, your body humming with a deep, soul level satisfaction. You were sore, exhausted, and emotionally raw, but you had never felt more cherished, more seen, or more loved in your entire life. In the quiet darkness of his dorm, with the world locked out, you weren’t a childhood crush or a fan. You were simply his. And he, with his unwavering care and fierce tenderness, was unquestionably yours.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☆彡 @lilidiors @sungheeke @kookiesnkim

let me know if you want to be added to my permanent taglist!

[shortonwon]

BREED ME : A CONTRACT ✦ ┈─ L.HS

i. PAIRING — stranger ! heeseung × afab ! reader

ii. GENRE — porn with plot, near future / dystopian au.

iii. SYNOPSIS — in a near-future society, your fertility has a deadline—and your government-assigned mate is a complete stranger. with one week to comply, you must live as a married couple, navigating intimacy, desire, and forbidden pleasure… all while pretending it’s just for the contract.

iv. WARNINGS — KINKTOBER SPECIAL , mdni, smut, impregnation implications, voyeurism, sleepy sex, drugs / fertility enhancement tablets, unprotected sex, creampie, playing house but forced to, shower sex, blowjob, oral (both male & female), dirty talk, power imbalance, teasing, breast play, nipple teasing, eating out, dubious consent, cockwarming, squirting, lmk if more.

v. WORD COUNT — 6.7K — OCTOBER 5TH

“So… we’re assigned mates? Your contract’s about to expire too?” Heeseung—the name he at least claimed was his—spoke up as he glanced between you and the bed. The bed was shoved awkwardly into the sterile lab room, with a pathetic vase of flowers on the nightstand. A fake attempt at making the lab look like a cozy home.

“I guess so…” you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck. Your eyes flicked to the glass wall, where machines beeped rhythmically like they were mocking you. Honestly—how the hell was this supposed to be romantic enough to fuck in?

The rule was bizarre, but in the year 3000’s, everyone got slapped with a fertility expiration date. And with humans dwindling while robots ran most of the world, the government made sure no one wasted their fertility. You had to breed before your “deadline,” and until then, live like a married couple. A shiny little “family unit.” Apparently that was how humanity would cling to survival amidst the hum of robots sweeping streets and making lattes.

And you, being the shy—or let’s be honest, lazy-ass you were, never bothered to step outside. Why would you, when your robo-assistant Zozo was perfectly capable of fetching groceries, yelling at delivery drones, or dealing with annoying neighbors? So when the government officer came knocking while you were sprawled on the couch debating which show to binge next, Zozo had opened the door and accepted the letter with zero hesitation. You tried to ignore it, even as your stomach dropped reading the fine print.

But ignoring the government is basically an Olympic-level mistake. A few hours later, you were dragged into this lab, now forced to play house with a stranger who was—surprise—the father of your potential baby. Like, how did you go from lazy naps and snack runs to this? From half-asleep binge-watching to congratulations, you’re in a breeding contract.

You sighed, side-eyeing Heeseung who was awkwardly fidgeting with the corner of the sterile blanket. He didn’t look much happier. At least that made two of you.

And, okay, sure—you’d seen robo-dogs on the streets going at it like they were programmed for porn, so it’s not like you were completely clueless about the act. But this wasn’t just sex. It was a performance. Roleplay. Pretending to be a couple. A married couple. And if you two didn’t produce results? The fine would be so massive your descendants would still be paying it off centuries later.

Talk about pressure.

⪩⪨

“Umm… so?” he speaks up as he steps into the shower, clearly waiting for you to follow. Well, this is awkward—an attempt at getting used to intimacy when neither of you have the faintest idea how to start.

“So?” you echo, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. But your eyes betray you, following the trail of water as it slides down his bare chest, glistening under the harsh bathroom light, then disappearing somewhere past his v-line and below. This is the first time you’ve ever been this close to a guy—like, this close—and you’re willing to bet it’s the same for him.

“You’re… showering in that?” he asks, voice hesitant, like he can’t tell if the question is rude or just dumb. The poor guy is clearly just as inexperienced as you.

You glance down at yourself and realize, oh right, you’re still fully clothed. Top and jeans. Jeans in the shower—how chic. “Umm… I forgot,” you mutter, laughing awkwardly before tugging your shirt over your head. Your plain black sports bra clings damp against your skin. His gaze lingers a little too long on your chest—long enough for you to wonder if he’s captivated, silently judging the size, or just zoning out like an idiot.

“Can you not look?” you mutter sharply.

“Uh—yeah, sure.” His voice cracks, embarrassed, and he whips around so fast to face the wall that water splashes up. You quickly peel off your jeans, now left standing in your bra and underwear, the steam curling around you both.

For a while, neither of you do anything but stand there, the water falling between your bodies while you try not to combust from sheer awkwardness. Yet you can’t help stealing glances at his back. It’s more toned than you expected, the kind of back you want to trace your fingers along without thinking. And then there’s the way the water darkens his hair, dripping down his shoulders.

You curse yourself for remembering that one accidental peek you’d taken when you first stepped in—the way his boxers clung to whatever he was hiding beneath. It’s… a lot. Too hot. Hot enough to almost make you forget this is government-mandated breeding prep and not… something else.

“Are you done?” he asks finally, still facing the wall like his life depends on it.

“Yeah, you can turn around now.” Your voice comes out a little weaker than intended. He turns, his expression neutral, and quietly reaches for the soap.

He scrubs himself with slow, methodical movements, completely ignoring your eyes burning holes into him—until he finally speaks. “If you keep staring like that,” he says, raising a brow without looking directly at you, “I can’t promise I’ll keep being so respectful. Wouldn’t really be fair, would it?”

You snap your gaze away so fast you nearly slip. “I just zoned out.”

“Mhm.” He hums, low and unconvinced, before continuing to lather up. He doesn’t hand you the soap, though—just keeps working it over himself like he hasn’t caught the hint at all.

“What do you do, Heeseung? For a living?” you ask quietly, already knowing how offensive that question can sound in today’s world, where robots basically rule everything.

“I… train robo dogs,” he mutters, almost shyly, as his hand works the soap over his stomach. When his fingers slip lower, your eyes flick down for a second before darting away in a rush of heat.

“Oh, that’s nice.” You reply too quickly, trying to sound casual when your face is burning. “I work at home… finding mistakes made by robos on popular websites.”

“So, basically unemployed?” he teases, finally loosening up enough to smirk at you. The smell of soap and the steam between you almost make the moment feel… normal. Domestic. Like you’re not two virgins being forced to learn how to fuck for the sake of humanity.

“Hey! Don’t say that!” you swat at his arm, laughing along even though you hate admitting he’s right. Like 96% of the population, you’re jobless. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked the question at all.

But then you feel it—his arm circling your waist and yanking you back until you’re flush against his chest. The way his breath ghosts over your neck sends a shiver down your spine, and the thick, unmistakable press of his cock through his wet boxers makes your pussy clench instinctively.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, “you don’t have to feel bad. It’s not your fault the robots are taking everything.”

You nod, but your body betrays you. Your head tips back against his shoulder, lips parting as a small gasp slips out. His soapy hand slides from your stomach to the underside of your bra, fingertips clumsy as they push under the wet fabric and rub over your breasts. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, his touches too curious, too experimental—like he’s trying to figure out what your nipples even are—but it has your cunt throbbing all the same.

“Heeseung…” you moan, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

“Just… cleaning you up,” he whispers, but the way his cock is rock hard and digging against your ass tells you otherwise.

“Please just—ahh—” your voice breaks into another moan as he shoves your bra up, not even bothering to remove it, letting your tits spill out for him to knead. The cold water pouring over you makes the contrast of his hands even more intense.

His palms squeeze your breasts like stress balls, thumbs brushing soap slick over your hardened nipples, and you swear you’ll melt right there. “H-Heeseung…” you whimper, a shaky moan tearing from your throat when his other hand slips lower, tugging your panties to the side. You’re embarrassingly wet already, your pussy aching for something, anything, even if it’s not the official “breeding time.”

He leans down, his lips brushing yours, and before you can think, he kisses you—soft, sloppy, uncertain, but desperate. His hand still tugs and pinches at your nipple, and you moan into his mouth, the sound muffled as your tongue brushes his.

“Do you want to… keep on practicing?” he asks against your lips, his voice low, unsteady, but hungry. The way you look up at him, breathless and wide-eyed, says everything your words can’t.

You moan instead, sliding your hand between your wet bodies until your palm cups the thick length straining against his boxers. The groan that rips out of him makes your pussy gush. If sex is really going to feel this good—if his cock filling you will make you feel half as powerful as this moment does—you curse yourself for wasting so many years hiding from it.

Now all you have is Heeseung. And the way his lips part, eyes shut tight as your hand rubs him, his grip on your waist faltering—fuck, you smirk against his mouth. Because you love knowing you have that kind of effect on him.

“Can I… touch you more?” you whisper, voice uncertain but desperate, like you’re asking for something forbidden even though that’s literally the point of this whole set-up. For a second you almost forget this is all arranged—just a breeding contract. A week-long roleplay to make sure humanity doesn’t go extinct.

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods, too breathless to say a word.

Your hand slips inside his soaked boxers, finally wrapping around his cock skin-to-skin. The moment you touch him properly, he groans—deep and guttural—his chest heaving as water streams down his face. He has never felt anything like it, and neither have you, but instinct is doing all the work. Your palm knows where to squeeze, how to move, even if no manual has ever explained how to handle cock.

It throbs heavy and hot in your grip, veins pulsing against your hand. Precum slicks your fingers even through the shower spray. His shaky hand reaches down and shoves his boxers off his hips, and your movements falter, because suddenly it isn’t just something hidden under fabric—it’s there, right in front of you.

You let your hand fall away just to look. His cock springs free, flushed pink at the tip, glistening with beads of precum that mix with the shower water. Thick, hard, longer than you expect, curved just slightly upward—it’s fucking beautiful. You glance up at him, but his eyes are squeezed shut, lost in sensation.

You don’t know what comes over you. Maybe curiosity. Maybe hunger. Maybe both. Your thumb brushes over the leaking slit, smearing precum over the swollen head. He shudders hard, muscles twitching under your touch. Then, with an impulsive grin, you bring your thumb to your lips and lick it clean.

“It’s salty…” you murmur, licking your lips slowly. The taste is raw, musky, addictive. You want more. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you sink to your knees under the spray, face tilted up to him as your tongue flicks experimentally at his tip.

His eyes snap open wide, panic and arousal clashing. He grabs his cock like he’s about to shield it from you. “N-No, no, don’t do that—” he stammers, his voice breaking.

“Why not?” you ask innocently, breath ghosting over his shaft as your lips hover close.

“Isn’t it… dirty?” he whispers, chewing his lip, like he can’t decide if he wants to pull you back or push you further.

You smirk up at him, hair plastered wet against your cheeks from the shower. “No. I like it. Can I have it back?”

His cock twitches visibly at your words. He groans low, like he’s fighting with himself, but gives in—grabbing your hand and wrapping it back around his length before letting go again, as if surrendering.

You lick your lips and kiss the swollen tip reverently. “This is so pretty, I swear,” you whisper, eyes wide as you stare at his flushed dick like it’s art.

“It’s not,” he mutters immediately, embarrassed, his teeth grit as his chest rises and falls like he’s just run a marathon.

Before he can defend his poor cock, you graze your teeth lightly over the head. His reaction is immediate: a strangled yelp that echoes against the tile. “NO TEETH, PLEASE! IT’S NOT FOOD—”

You giggle, lips brushing against the head of his cock. “You’re right… it’s not food. But it’s a snack.”

He groans so loud it shakes you, his knees buckling slightly. Your mouth wraps around him at last, hot and wet and clumsy, tongue swirling against the sensitive underside. The taste of his precum mixes with water, salty but not bad, almost intoxicating.

He sucks in a sharp breath, a moan spilling out of him as his hand instinctively buries in your wet hair. When you look up, his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted in awe. His cock twitches in your mouth as your tongue flicks over the treat again.

When his fingers tighten in your hair, you nearly whine at the sensation—because the look on his face is pure, overwhelmed pleasure. The sound of his low, desperate groan as he guides your head just slightly has your pussy clenching so hard you think your cunt will start dripping down your thighs.

It’s messy, hot, completely new for both of you. But with his cock heavy on your tongue, his voice breaking as he moans your name, and his eyes locked on you—fuck, it’s perfect.

You dive down to take him deeper, swallowing his length until it presses against your throat. The stretch makes your eyes water, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth as you bob your head faster, sucking greedily. The gag hits you, sharp and messy, but you don’t stop—if anything, the slight burn only drives you harder, your throat tightening around him. Heeseung’s breath stutters, his hips twitching helplessly as his cock pulses inside your mouth.

You don’t know what the sudden swell against your tongue means, only that it makes him groan brokenly, almost too loud under the hiss of the shower. You pull back with a wet pop, gasping, lips swollen and slick, confusion flickering across your face.

“What’s happenin—”

The question never finishes. Hot, sticky spurts shoot across your face, catching you off guard as you shut your eyes. Thick, white ropes cover your cheeks, your lips, dripping down your neck and chest before the shower water thins it, streams of cum and water sliding down your skin in a messy contrast.

You freeze, stunned, before blinking up at him through the droplets. Heeseung’s chest is heaving, his hand still tangled in your hair as if he lost control of himself completely. Relief is written all over him, his face flushed, but there’s shame too, creeping into his gaze as he realizes what he’s just done.

Your eyes drop to his cock again—still flushed, twitching, glistening under the spray, streaks of the same milky liquid clinging to it before the water washes it away. Your lips part in disbelief as you whisper, voice shaking, “That… that came from your cock?”

Heeseung swallows hard, too breathless to defend himself, and just gives a shaky nod.

Neither of you understand it—this raw, messy reaction, this proof of something more—but the hunger twisting in your chest is undeniable. And as the salty taste lingers on your tongue and your skin, you know one thing for certain.

You’re addicted.

⪩⪨

And the second day with him feels even stranger—stranger, but addicting. Both of you are already drowning in this whole thing about the fertility expiration date, the so-called breeding contract. You’re pretty sure the government officials would’ve happily stamped a certificate, binding you both together officially. It should feel wrong, clinical, but with how real everything’s gotten… it doesn’t.

“What are you making, wifey?” Heeseung’s voice breaks the silence as he walks out of the nightly shower, towel slung low on his hips, droplets sliding down his chest. The sight alone pulls you back to last night—the cock you’d touched, sucked, swallowed. The salty, musky taste of him still feels fresh on your tongue. Water cascading down his abs, the way his body shuddered under your mouth—“I asked what you were making, wifey.” He’s right beside you now, waving a hand in front of your dazed face.

“Fried rice… that’s all I can make.” You joke, but it’s the truth, your voice shaky as you snap back from your thoughts. Except he doesn’t look all that present either, his eyes heavy, his expression unreadable.

Then he’s behind you, close—too close. Heat radiates off his damp skin as you stir the rice, and you nearly drop the spatula when his hand cups your ass, firm and greedy. A gasp rips from you when his fingers slide between your thighs, brushing your slick folds, spreading the wetness you’d never dared touch yourself.

“Hee—” His name spills from your lips, cut into a moan when his finger glides up your slit, pressing right where it makes your knees weak. “Ahh…” Your head drops helplessly against his shoulder, his breath warm as he leans in, tongue flicking against the shell of your ear.

“Don’t you think…” his words vibrate low, sinful, “…we should at least enjoy ourselves a bit before ‘The Day’? Hm?”

Your body betrays you, pressing back against him, desperate. The spatula trembles in your hand, rice forgotten, brain fried worse than the pan. But then, just as you’re about to melt, he pulls away. His lips brush your ear, whispering smugly, “Focus on the fried rice. Can’t compromise on dinner, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t know when he got this bold—maybe last night broke something open in both of you. All you know is that you like it. Too much.

“Heeseung…” Your voice cracks on his name, shame mixing with hunger. “Can you… touch me again? It felt so good… we-we can enjoy all we want.” The words tumble out, raw and desperate, and you cringe at how needy you sound—yet you can’t stop yourself.

His smirk is audible in the way he breathes against your neck. “Of course. I owe you after yesterday, don’t I?” His lips press against your skin, just below your ear, and your moan betrays you instantly. His hands wander lower again, teasing, claiming, but every time you falter at stirring the rice, he pulls back, leaving you whining at the loss.

It’s a cruel game. A dangerous one. And you’re hooked.

“shh… if you want it, just keep working on our dinner, mm?” His voice dips low, his breath ghosting against your ear as one of his hands slides directly beneath your panties, cupping the soaked heat between your thighs. The other hand pushes your top upward until it bunches around your chest, and with a deft flick, your bra unclasps. You gasp, heart racing, realizing he learned the trick from last night’s shower.

“i-i understand.” you mumble, your words shaky, tears of embarrassment stinging your lashes as your body betrays you, moaning when his palm squeezes your bare breast. You clutch the spatula tighter, trying to keep stirring the rice, but your arms tremble as he plays with your body, shamelessly drawing out every sound you try to hide. The scent of garlic and spices mixes with the heady, unmistakable scent of your arousal, thick in the air. Heeseung inhales deeply behind you, lips curling into a grin.

“smells good… eating it after we enjoy would be even better, no?” His tone is casual, almost mocking, as if fingering you while you cook is the most normal thing in the world. Just as you suck in a breath to respond, his finger presses against your slick entrance, circling teasingly before slipping inside with a slow push. You choke on a gasp, hips twitching as the thick digit sinks into your tight heat, nudging against tender, gummy walls that hug him greedily.

A low sound leaves him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he feels your warmth around him. “Fuck… you’re so tight. Just my finger and you’re squeezing like this…” His words stir the heat pooling in your stomach. He moves it inside you, testing, curling upward slightly, brushing something that makes your knees buckle.

“Heeseung—” your breathy moan escapes without restraint.

“Shh, it’s okay…” His lips press at your temple, soft, almost tender, while his hand leaves your breast only to flick the stove off with a practiced motion. The rice sizzles one last time before silence falls, leaving only the sound of your shallow breaths and his finger plunging wetly into you.

Then suddenly, he pulls out. You whine at the emptiness, thighs quivering, but he doesn’t let you fall apart there. He turns you around, guiding you gently until your back is pressed against the counter. Your sweatpants are tugged down to your knees, messy and damp from the arousal staining them. Your breasts spill forward, nipples flushed and needy.

“Heeseung…” You say his name like a plea, chest heaving, shame and desire battling in your eyes.

Heeseung looks down at you, his boldness from moments ago flickering into something almost shy, almost boyish. His gaze lingers on your trembling thighs, the wetness dripping from your slit, before he raises his eyes back to yours. His voice is soft, hesitant, but laced with hunger.

“Let me… return yesterday’s favor.”

And without a word he sinks down to his knees, as if duty-bound to fulfill what being your breeding mate meant. The air leaves your lungs in a sharp gasp the moment his mouth latches onto your soaked folds, his tongue already tasting you, suckling at your core like he’s been starving for you.

“Oh—fuck,” you whimper, your head falling back as his mouth works between your legs, his tongue slipping and flicking against every sensitive part it can find. The wet, obscene slurping sounds echo in the kitchen, louder than the soft hum of the cooling stove. The way his tongue dives deeper and deeper, teasing you, even circling before trapping your swollen little bud between his lips.

“Ahhh—Hee—fuck—” your moan cracks as your knees threaten to buckle, and you grab the counter for balance, your free hand gripping his hair like a lifeline.

“Like it?” he murmurs against your cunt, lips brushing your clit, voice vibrating against your folds—sending shockwaves through your whole body.

“So much, so fucking much,” you pant out, tugging at his hair harder, grounding yourself against the overwhelming sensation of his tongue exploring places you never even thought were reachable.

“Mmhh—” he hums, sucking harder, his hands holding your thighs apart as if to cage you there, rubbing your lower stomach like he knows something’s building inside you. The pressure makes you dizzy, your muscles clenching, your core tightening uncontrollably.

“Wait—stop, I feel like I’m… gonna—piss,” you whimper, tugging at his hair to make him stop, but he only groans and pins you harder against the counter, tongue delving in even deeper.

The cry that rips out of you is helpless, raw, trembling, “HEESEUN—GHAHHHH!” as your body jerks violently, liquid spilling from your cunt, dribbling down your thighs, coating his tongue, his lips, his chin.

He doesn’t stop—he fucking drinks it in, swallowing, slurping like it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

When he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glisten with wetness, strands of your slick shining over his mouth. Your face burns with embarrassment, heart pounding.

“Heeseung…” your voice trembles, mortified.

“You did this,” he murmurs, smirking faintly, wiping nothing away—almost proud to wear you like this. “Why’re you getting so shy now?” His voice is low, teasing, but his own cheeks are flushed as if he’s losing control too.

He rises to his feet, closing the distance until his hands cradle your face, and before you can answer, his mouth claims yours.

The kiss is messy, deep, his tongue sliding against yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, the musky, salty-sweet flavor mingling with the heat of his mouth. Dirty. Intoxicating. The thought that you’re tongue-kissing the same mouth that was just devouring your pussy should disgust you—but instead it makes you moan, arching closer, needing more.

Your fingers grip his shoulders desperately, ready to climb him, ready for more, when he suddenly pulls back, panting. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark, burning, but flickering with restraint.

“I—We should eat dinner,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as though he’s choking back desire. “If we don’t stop now, I don’t think either of us will…”

His voice trails, his jaw tightening, and the way he looks at you—hungry, guilty, desperate—you know he’s right. Still, you can’t stop the way your body aches for more, already addicted.

You just nod, breathless, even as your lips tingle from his kiss, even as your thighs tremble from what he just made you feel.

⪩⪨

The days ahead pass in a haze of exhaustion. The tablets the helper-robos keep giving—supposedly to boost stamina and fertility before the expiration date—do nothing but drag you both down into constant drowsiness. You feel sluggish, heavy-limbed, and so does he.

“Hee…” you call out softly, voice almost drowned by the silence of the room as you lay curled on your side. The bed is warm, too warm, and the setup is so real, so home-like, that sometimes you forget you’re in nothing but a lab—a carefully constructed stage meant to look like a house, a controlled mating ground for humans.

“Mm?” he hums back, voice thick with sleep. His arm is already reaching around your waist, palm lazily tracing circles against your stomach. His touch is slow, unhurried, and even in your drained state, it makes you melt closer to him. The blanket shifts as he tugs it tighter around the two of you, cocooning you together.

“Don’t you feel tired…? I swear the tablets have something to do with this…” you murmur, eyes heavy as you press your forehead into his chest. He hums again, the sound low, reassuring, and kisses the top of your head. The simple gesture stirs something deep in your chest, not sexual—just a strange, foreign warmth you can’t name.

“I feel like that too… but maybe it’s not bad,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. “We get to rest before the big day.” His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against your hair, and the closeness makes your heart race even more.

“True…” you whisper back, though the thought only makes your stomach twist. The idea of him finally ending up bonded to you forever—sealed, unchangeable—sends your pulse spiraling.

“Do you regret it?” you ask quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt, gripping like you’re bracing for a blow. “Like… do you wish it was someone else?”

His chest rises beneath your cheek, and then he answers, soft but steady. “No. Definitely not.”

You exhale shakily, relief washing over you like warmth after a chill. He shifts, rocking you slightly in his hold, and the gentle sway lulls you further. Your eyes flutter shut despite yourself, exhaustion tugging hard.

“Good,” you mumble, your words slurring into a yawn. His chest rumbles with a stifled laugh—careful, quiet, as if he’s afraid to wake you. Soon his movements slow, stilling completely, and with you curled tightly against him, both of you sink into sleep almost instantly.

⪩⪨

The robo beeps as the government officers run the analysis of their relationship on a monitor. At least they’re decent enough not to watch them go at it—oral or otherwise. Honestly, the robots seem to have more humanity than the humans in charge.

“But their relationship doesn’t seem genuine according to this article on human connections in the 2720s,” the robot pipes up, printing out the dusty old document almost immediately. The words flash across the paper, outdated theories that make no sense when matched with the sounds the two of them have been making almost every other night since they were placed together. Noises that had gotten loud enough for the officials to drug them just to slow things down.

“We can’t rely on old articles. Not right now,” the officer mutters, shutting down the live camera feed that showed the humans inside the mock-home setup. His tone is clipped, tired, like he doesn’t want to deal with it.

The helper robo tilts his head, a mechanical sigh almost leaving him before he shakes it off. “Why bother helping when those bastards don’t even need it,” he grumbles, following the officer out of the room.

After all, tomorrow is the final day before their fertility expiration date. And the others have already prepared everything they’ll need.

⪩⪨

You yawn as you wake, stretching your arms above your head—only to find you can’t move. It takes you a moment to realize why. Heeseung’s arm is still looped around your waist. By the time he finally stirs and pulls back, sitting up, the air feels noticeably colder. Without thinking, he dives straight back under the covers, wrapping himself around you beneath the heavy blanket.

“Too cold, too cold,” he mutters through gritted teeth. His body trembles against yours, and instinctively, you shove your feet back under the blanket too after testing the icy air outside for just a second.

“Did the temperature suddenly drop?” you shiver, pressing closer to him for warmth. That’s when you feel it—his bulge, hard against your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Why are you hard?” The words slip out before you can stop them, awkward and quiet, as you try to shift just enough distance between you in case it sets him off.

“What do you mean, why?” Heeseung mumbles with a shrug, completely unbothered. “I get this every time I wake up.” Then, seeing the way you go silent, lost in thought, he adds quickly, “But don’t think too much. We don’t have to do anything if you’d rather wait until night.”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip before whispering, “N-no… I mean… a little practice before the actual process wouldn’t hurt, right?”

His eyes widen, shock flickering before his lips curl into a slow smile. The officials’ forced temperature drop is long forgotten as you push your panties down, sliding them off. Heeseung doesn’t waste a second—his boxers end up on the floor beside your panties, leaving nothing between you anymore.

Your upper bodies stayed hidden under the blanket, but your lower halves were already speaking a language of their own. You hooked one leg over his hip, opening yourself for him, and Heeseung’s hand immediately wrapped around his cock. The blanket muffled the sight, but you felt every second of it—the head nudging against your folds, still dry until he pressed harder. Wetness bloomed instantly, coating you in slick warmth as he rubbed himself against your slit.

A broken moan escaped you, and he swallowed it in a kiss. You barely noticed when he shifted lower, sliding the tip between your folds, teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves—the very same spot he’d played with that night while you’d been making fried rice. And then he pushed. Hard. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, but his mouth captured yours, muffling the sound, calming you down even as your body jolted.

He groaned against your lips. “God, so tight.” Your walls clung to him, greedy, swallowing inch after inch of his cock like they’d never let go. You trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the texture of his thick length, every ridge and vein dragging against you.

Your eyes rolled back as your body adjusted, the stretch almost unbearable. He stilled, hovering, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, voice low and careful, “Should I give more?” His lips brushed yours in a tender kiss, at odds with the way he filled you.

You squirmed helplessly beneath him, body caught between resistance and desperate want. It hurt—yes—but it felt so good you almost hated yourself for liking it this much.

“Ahhh—” you bury your face into his chest, shivering as he rubs your back, one hand sliding lower to part your ass cheeks. His coarse pubic hairs brush against yours, and you know you’re in heaven just from the friction, the closeness.

“Oh god…” you moan, a tear slipping down your cheek as he starts to move, nudging against your walls. “It’s too good… too good.”

“I know… shh…” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers graze your hard bud, flicking and rubbing your clit between your legs, and you shiver with every brush. He hits a spot inside you you didn’t even know existed, sending tremors up your spine.

Before you even notice, sleep drags you under again, pressed against his chest. The tablets are hitting harder than before, and he—already drained from the night—is dozing too, quietly, yet his hand remains wrapped around you, fingers caressing your hair. His cock pulses lazily inside you, still hard, a slow reminder of what you’ve shared.

Neither of you gets to cum. Not yet. The robots arrive, silently entering to re-decorate the room for the night, ignoring the way the two of you are tangled together like an actual married couple, lost in warmth, wetness, and the closeness only you two can share.

⪩⪨

When you wake up, it’s night. Heeseung is sprawled across the bed, completely naked, the blanket long gone from over your bodies. The dim lights and the faint scent of roses fill the room, creating a staged intimacy that screams final breeding night. Your stomach twists with heat and self-consciousness as your eyes take him in—every line of his muscles defined in the soft glow, the way his chest rises and falls slowly, the way his cock rests low and exposed, just waiting.

“Hee… wake up,” you whisper, rolling onto his side and nudging him gently. He doesn’t stir. Your hand slides lower, brushing against the softened length of his cock—and to your shock, it stiffens instantly in your palm. Your fingers wrap around him, rubbing along the slick shaft, feeling the heat, the pulse, the way he’s so alive beneath your touch.

Heeseung stirs, eyes half-open, still lost in the fog of sleep. Boldness courses through you, and you start stroking him thoroughly, biting your lip as your own audacity surprises you.

“S-stop…” he murmurs sleepily, voice rough, half-lidded eyes fixing on you. His hand pushes your palm away, but instead of letting go, he pins you gently to the bed. His cock presses against your stomach, tip glistening with precum, and you shiver from the warmth and pressure.

“How did we even fall asleep?” you murmur, shivering as he leans down and plants a teasing kiss on your neck. His mouth starts suckling, teeth grazing lightly over your skin, and a moan escapes you before you even register it.

“W-why does it feel soo good?” you breathe, voice trembling. His lips and tongue are consuming you, sending shivers down your spine, teasing you so exquisitely that your own body reacts without thought.

“Don’t ask questions. Just feel… we need to finish why we’re here, right? So we can go out and raise our baby,” he whispers against your neck, and your face melts into his hair, overwhelmed. You’re so lost in him that you don’t even notice when his tip presses and slides against your folds, gliding perfectly over your wet, slick skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist almost instinctively, every nerve in your body on fire. You don’t know where you learned this, but it feels right. This fertility expiration, this ridiculous breeding contract—it’s finally ending, and Heeseung is the only one who could make it feel like this.

“You really wanna raise the baby togeth—aghh!” A moan rips from your chest as he slips inside you effortlessly. Your body trembles at the stretch, chest heaving, eyes wide as you feel him fully—every inch of his thick, veiny cock filling you. God, it’s too good. How could something feel this right? You had no regrets about coming here, even if it had been forced.

When he moves, it’s like you’re falling straight into heaven. “Oh my… oh my god… ahhhh…” you gasp, gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself as every thrust presses him deeper, pushing all your limits of pleasure.

“Shh… gently… I’ll go gentle.” And he does. Heeseung starts slow, bottoming out fully, checking in with soft murmurs. But soon, the tempo builds, and he’s plunging deeper, too deep for your brain to catch up. Your body reacts before your mind, muscles clenching, and you can’t stop the first squirting eruption that floods against his pulsing cock.

Your eyes lock with his—burning with embarrassment—but he’s unfazed, so present, so attentive. God, what a man. And then he hits that same spot again, and your second gush coats him, your palm flying to your face, cheeks flaming. Minutes pass in a blur of trembling, slick, overwhelming pleasure. Your eyes roll back as you come hard, walls squeezing him like they never could before, every shudder wringing a guttural curse from his lips.

“Fuck… too tight…” he groans, cock pulsing violently inside you. Before either of you can process it, he erupts—hot, thick, sticky—filling you completely.

“I—” you start, but he pins you gently, eyes fluttering as his release surges. “J-just take all of my seeds…” His chest heaves on yours, some of it dribbling down your slit, proof of how much he’s given. It’s like he poured out weeks of stored need into you.

“Enough to make another human in the community?” he gasps, breathless, thumb brushing away a stray tear of pleasure from your cheek. His head rests against your chest, listening to your rapid heartbeat.

“Those tablets by robos better work,” you whisper, arm wrapping around his waist as you gently shift atop him. His cock still pulses inside you, leaking little drops, making you laugh and moan all at once. Every inch of you is slick, spent, alive—and you can’t imagine ever feeling this way with anyone else.

⪩⪨

“This one’s complete. Who’s the next pair for the human breeding contract?” the government officer asked, his voice flat but his eyes lingering on the glowing monitor. The feed showed the two of you tangled together in the aftermath—naked, bodies spent, still joined at the hips as though refusing separation even in sleep. For a moment, the officer simply stared, a flicker of discomfort crossing his otherwise stoic face before he looked back at the machine beside him.

The robot’s optical sensors whirred as it adjusted the angle, zooming in without hesitation on the mess between your thighs, where Heeseung’s cock remained buried inside you, a faint spill of his cum already leaking past your swollen folds. It held there for a beat, scanning, before its voice rang metallic and certain. “Based on the administered fertility tablets, probability of conception is at one hundred percent. The female has been successfully bred.”

The officer exhaled slowly, almost relieved, then leaned back in his chair. “Good. Another pair. Humanity lives another day.”

The robot didn’t stop processing. Its gaze shifted across its databanks, and a new name filtered onto the screen. “The next subject approaching fertility expiration: Park Sunghoon. Male. Age twenty-three. Behavioral report: reclusive. Rarely leaves residence.”

The officer raised a brow, a dry smirk tugging at his lips. “So, one of those ‘touch grass’ types?”

The robot made a noise that could almost be mistaken for amusement. The officer chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for his notes. “Guess he won’t have much of a choice soon. Get him paired. Humanity’s down to scraps—we can’t afford a single wasted seed.”

And with that, the two of them turned back to the monitors, logging another successful breeding while already preparing for the next. After all, humans were a rare species now—too fragile, too precious—and extinction was not an option.

© shortonwon—twenty twenty five. do not repost, translate or copy my work on any other platforms (including tumblr). THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING <3

[ririzparadise]

perm. taglist , @est3llaa @kristynaaah @baedreamverse @somuchdard @enhanoir @loldiorr

[elikajinnie]

P: Roommate!Jake X Fem!Reader (NSFW 18+)

Warnings: Slight Somnophilia, Dubcon, he kinda a creep, Implied Underwear Stealing, Masturbation, Obsession, Big Dick!Jake, Voyeurism?, Overstimulation, Oral Sex, Begging, Praise Kink, Manhandling, Mating Press?, Needy!Jake.

Synopsis: Jake is sweet, a little messy, and the kind of roommate everyone envies — easy to live with, easy to love. But when you start catching him outside your door at night, listening too closely, you realize the boy-next-door charm is only a mask. Jake’s been memorizing the sounds of you breaking, and now he wants to make them himself.

Wordcount: 7,8k

a/n: happy darktober gals :) first part of the Eternal Hunger release this month! this is kinda short, sorrry :( im too swamped at the moment... reblogs and commentary is appreciated!!!

You’d been bouncing between couches for weeks — crashing at Chaewon’s for a while, then Sunoo’s, and finally Ryujin’s tiny studio where you woke up with a stiff neck and the sinking guilt that you were overstaying your welcome. After moving out of your parents’ house, you thought you’d be fine, but reality hit harder than expected: a tight student budget, late-night shifts, and no affordable rentals that didn’t look like health hazards.

You weren’t picky. All you wanted was a working bathroom, a roommate who wasn’t a creep, and a parking spot within walking distance so you didn’t have to drag yourself home after late closing shifts. Just the bare necessities — four walls, a roof, and a little peace.

So when you stumbled across the ad — Roommate wanted. Previous tenant bailed. Cheap rent. Apartment furnished. Utilities split. — you didn’t hesitate. The pictures showed a surprisingly nice setup: a clean kitchen, a cozy living room with mismatched but comfortable-looking furniture, even a small balcony. It was more than you’d dared to hope for, and the guy who posted it seemed normal enough.

You sent your request that night, half-expecting to be ignored the way you had been by shady landlords and overpriced listings. Instead, the reply came almost instantly: Sure. Come by tomorrow. We’ll see if we’re a good fit.

And that’s how you ended up standing in front of the apartment building the next day, staring up at the tall gray structure with a mix of hope and nerves twisting in your stomach. You really wanted this to work — needed it to work — because right now you were crashing at Jongho’s place, and while he was kind enough to lend you his couch, the man woke up at dawn every single morning. His blaring alarm clock interfered heavily with your beauty sleep, and you were starting to feel it in your bones.

You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The ride up felt slower than usual, your heart ticking louder with each ding. This wasn’t just some casual visit, this was a roof over your head. Stability.

The hallway stretched long and quiet, lined with identical doors until you found the one he’d given you directions to. You smoothed your palms against your jeans, exhaled, and pressed the doorbell, nerves fluttering in your chest.

It didn’t take long. Footsteps approached, the lock clicked, and the door opened revealing, quite possibly, the cutest guy you’d ever seen in your life.

Soft brown hair fell into his eyes, his features boyish yet sharp in a way that felt unfairly attractive. He looked comfortable, relaxed, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and joggers. And when he smiled — a small, warm curve of his lips — it was the kind of smile that instantly lowered your guard.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice smooth and welcoming. “You must be the one who messaged me about the room?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” you nodded, offering a small smile.

“Well, come in.” He stepped aside, gesturing you in with a casual sweep of his arm. The moment you crossed the threshold, you were struck by how… normal everything looked. Not fancy, not run-down, just lived-in and cozy.

He guided you through the apartment, pointing things out as he went. The kitchen was clean, almost surprisingly so, and he mentioned the dishwasher like it was some rare treasure. You caught sight of the sleek black air fryer on the counter — one of those really nice, expensive ones — and couldn’t help but raise your brows a little. Even stranger, he had an entire pantry shelf dedicated solely to ramen. Cup noodles, packets, bowls — flavors you hadn’t even seen before.

Unique, you thought to yourself. Definitely unique.

The living room had a welcoming vibe, sunlight spilling in from a sliding door that opened to the small balcony. He led you down the short hallway to the empty bedroom. It was more spacious than you expected, with a decent closet and a large window that let in plenty of light. He leaned against the doorframe casually as you took it all in.

“There’s a laundry room downstairs that’s pretty cheap,” he added, “and utilities are split half and half. Wi-Fi’s already set up. Honestly, you just have to move your stuff in and you’re good to go.”

You nodded slowly, still looking around, already imagining your bed against one wall, maybe a desk by the window. It felt… good. Like somewhere you could actually breathe again.

“So,” his voice cut in gently, pulling your attention back to him, “tell me about you. What do you do? What kind of roommate would you say you are?” His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer than casual interest. “And just to be clear — you’d be able to make rent on time every month, right?”

It was the kind of question you expected — practical, necessary — but the way he watched you as he asked made your pulse quicken just slightly.

“Uh, well…” you started, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “I work part-time, and sometimes I pick up late shifts. I’m usually pretty busy, so I’m not home much during the day.”

Jake nodded slowly, though his eyes didn’t waver. “Mhm. And at night?” he asked.

“At night?” you repeated, blinking.

He tilted his head, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Just wondering if you’re more of a night owl or the type to be out cold by ten. Some people are light sleepers.”

“Oh. Um…” you cleared your throat, a little thrown by the specificity. “I guess I’m somewhere in the middle. Depends on the week.”

He hummed like your answer mattered more than it should. “And as a roommate? Messy? Quiet? Social?”

“I’d say I’m respectful,” you replied carefully. “I clean up after myself, and I keep to my space. I’m not picky, really. As long as we respect each other, I’m fine.”

Jake’s eyes softened at that, though his stare stayed fixed on you — direct, unblinking, like he was trying to memorize more than your words. “Respect,” he repeated quietly, as if rolling it around on his tongue. “That’s good.”

You gave a small laugh, though the air felt thicker now. “And yeah, I can cover rent. That won’t be a problem.”

“Perfect.” His smile widened, warm but still carrying that hint of something you couldn’t place. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Still, instead of sealing the deal right then, Jake added, “I’ll let you know later tonight or tomorrow morning if you’re accepted. I just want to make sure we’re the right fit, you know?” His tone was casual, easy, like he wasn’t in a hurry.

You nodded, trying not to let the small wave of nerves show. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for showing me around.”

He walked you back to the door, that same polite warmth in his expression, and you left with your stomach twisting in uncertainty. It wasn’t that he’d been unfriendly — far from it — but something about his gaze kept replaying in your head as you drove back to Jongho’s.

The next morning, your phone lit up with a message: You’re in. Can you move in tomorrow?

Relief washed over you so hard it nearly knocked you off your feet. Finally, stability. Finally, a place you could call your own. You barely even hesitated before replying yes.

Packing was easier than you expected — most of your things were already in bags and suitcases from couch-hopping the last few weeks. By the following afternoon, you were standing in the hallway of the fifth floor again, arms full of your belongings.

Jake greeted you at the door with that same boyish smile, rolling his sleeves up as he immediately reached to grab one of the heavier boxes from your arms. “Here, let me get that for you,” he said, carrying it into your new bedroom as though it weighed nothing.

Trip after trip, he helped without complaint, making small talk in between about how your day had been, what kind of food you liked, even recommending a nearby coffee shop. By the time the last box was set down in the corner of your room, your earlier worries had almost completely melted away.

Jake was sweet. Considerate. Easy to be around.

Time passed quickly after moving in. At first, everything felt normal — better than normal, even. Jake was funny, and surprisingly easy to talk to. He made coffee in the mornings, split chores fairly, and never complained when you came home late from shifts. For a while, it almost felt like you’d gotten lucky.

But then… little things began to happen.

One night, close to 2 a.m., you dragged yourself home after a late closing shift, exhausted to your bones. The apartment was dark when you unlocked the door, save for the faint glow of a single candle on the coffee table. Jake was sitting perfectly still on the couch, eyes fixed somewhere ahead of him, not even acknowledging the sound of you stepping inside. His face was blank, unreadable in the flickering light.

“...Jake?” you called softly, setting down your bag.

At the sound of your voice, he blinked, almost like he was snapping out of a trance. Then his entire demeanor shifted — his lips curled into that warm smile, and he greeted you with a cheery, “Hey! You’re back!” His tone was bright, almost puppy-like, as if nothing about the scene had been strange at all.

You laughed awkwardly, brushing it off. He was just zoning out… but something about the image stuck with you long after you’d gone to bed.

Another time, you were walking past his room when you froze. The door was wide open, and there he was — standing with your bra dangling from his hand.

“What the fuck, Jake?!” you screamed, your voice sharp and panicked. Heat flushed up your neck and ears, embarrassment mixing with anger as you stormed forward.

He looked up calmly, as if you’d caught him holding a sock instead of your underwear. “Relax,” he said smoothly, shrugging one shoulder. “It must have gotten mixed in with my clean laundry somehow.”

You snatched it back from him immediately, your pulse racing. “That’s impossible. I do my own laundry.”

“Must’ve happened when you left something in the dryer,” he countered easily, his tone infuriatingly casual. “It happens.”

You stomped off, muttering under your breath, but the humiliation burned deep in your chest. You didn’t realize until later, that bra had been missing from your drawer for weeks.

And then there were the nights.

When you’d be lying in bed, scrolling on your phone or just trying to unwind, you could swear you heard something right outside your door. Not footsteps, exactly. Just… presence. A shift in the air. Sometimes you’d pause, holding your breath, waiting for a creak or a sound — but it never came.

Once, your nerves got the better of you. You got up, swung the door open, and found the hallway completely empty. Jake was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of water, looking up at you with wide, clueless eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, tone innocent. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You hesitated before nodding, telling yourself you were imagining things. 

You wanted to believe that. 

You needed to believe that.

Of course, the thought of imagining things came to you more often than not when Jake showed you how sweet he could be. He was the kind of roommate people dreamed of having — always considerate, always ready with a smile.

He high-fived you every time you both managed to pay rent on time, turning what was usually a stressful adult chore into something lighthearted. He’d cook ramen for you when you were overwhelmed and curled up on the couch, sliding a steaming bowl in front of you with a soft grin like it was his way of saying, I’ve got you. Sometimes, he’d even show up with your favorite pastries, claiming he just “happened to pass by the bakery” before work.

And then there was that night. You’d spent hours getting ready to go out with your friends, only for them to bail at the last minute. You were sitting in your room sulking, when Jake leaned against your doorframe and said, “Well, you didn’t get dressed up for nothing, right? I’ll come with you.”

You’d expected it to be awkward — dragging your roommate to a club — but it wasn’t. Not with him. He stayed by your side the whole night, making you laugh, watching out for you when drunk strangers got too close, even pulling you onto the dance floor when he noticed you hesitating. You thoroughly enjoyed that night.

And yet…

Sometimes you caught him watching you a little too intently, like he wasn’t just listening to what you were saying but memorizing every word, every twitch of your lips, every flicker of your eyes. Sometimes he was too available, always showing up exactly when you needed him — like he already knew.

You’d tell yourself you were being paranoid. That Jake was just sweet, just thoughtful, just the kind of friend anyone would be lucky to have.

And sure, you found him attractive — who wouldn’t? Jake had that kind of warmth that drew people in, the easy smile, the soft laugh, the way his hair always seemed just a little messy like he’d rolled out of bed looking effortlessly good. You weren’t blind. You noticed.

But he always seemed… off limits.

You never saw him with another girl. He never mentioned dating, never slipped up with a name or a story that hinted at someone waiting for him. He didn’t flirt, not really — at least not in the obvious ways that would have made you second-guess his sweetness. To you, Jake was just Jake. The considerate roommate, the reliable friend.

It almost seemed like he only had you.

And maybe that thought should have raised alarms, but the way he carried himself — always friendly, always casual — kept you from reading into it too much. It was never lingering touches or dirty jokes, never lines crossed that you could point to and say, There. That was weird.

It was all so subtle. Just… too subtle.

So that’s why you ignored it. You ignored the staring, the uncanny timing, the little moments that made your stomach twist. You told yourself he was harmless, that you were overthinking, that you’d just gotten unlucky with past roommates and were seeing red flags where there weren’t any.

Because Jake was sweet. Jake was safe.

And you didn’t realize then that ignoring those tiny things would be the very reason you wouldn’t see him coming.

Cause the cracks came, whether you wanted to see them or not.

It was late one Thursday, the kind of night where the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the faint click of Jake’s keyboard in his room. You’d just finished showering, padding down the hall in an oversized T-shirt and shorts, when you felt it.

Eyes.

You glanced up, and there he was — standing in the doorway of his room, half-shadowed by the dim glow of his monitor. He wasn’t smiling this time. He wasn’t speaking. Just watching.

Your steps faltered, heart kicking up as you tugged your shirt a little lower. “Jake?”

He blinked once, slow, before his lips curved into that easy smile again, as if nothing had happened. “Hey. Sorry, zoned out.” His tone was warm, casual, the same boyish lilt you’d grown used to. He shifted in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, almost shy. “Wanna come in? I’m about to queue up a game with Ni-ki and Heeseung. Could use someone to cheer me on.”

You forced a polite smile, shaking your head. “I’m exhausted. Maybe another time.”

“No worries,” he said easily, that smile never wavering. “Get some rest.”

You retreated into your room, shutting the door softly behind you. The instant it clicked into place, you exhaled a long breath, tension easing out of your shoulders. 

What you didn’t know was that Jake hadn’t gone back to his chair, hadn’t slipped his headset on and lost himself in the chatter of his friends. Instead, he stood in the hallway, gaze fixed on your door. Silent. Patient. The pads of his feet carried him closer until he was right outside, head tilted, ear straining against the wood to catch the smallest sound.

Inside, you had no idea. You thought he was back in his room by now, headphones clamped over his ears, volume so high that even if you screamed his name, he wouldn’t hear you. That was always the one silver lining — when Jake gamed with Ni-ki and Heeseung, it was like he disappeared into another world for hours.

And that gave you the rarest gift of all: privacy.

It was the one con about living with Jake — you were always home at the same time. Always in each other’s space, brushing shoulders in the kitchen, knocking on the bathroom door, sharing every little corner of your lives. Alone time had become a luxury, something you had to snatch when you could.

Tonight was one of those golden chances.

With no hesitation, you moved to your closet, dragging out the box you kept tucked neatly at the back. Setting it on the bed, you flipped open the lid, anticipation buzzing through you. Finally. Time for yourself.

Your body sank into the soft mattress, the faint creak of the bedframe barely noticeable as you plopped down, sitting cross-legged for a moment. Your fingers sifted through the contents, brushing past soft fabrics and small trinkets until they landed on what you wanted—a sleek, discreet toy that made your heart skip with anticipation. A faint flush crept over your cheeks, heat crawling under your skin as you imagined finally relaxing, letting go of the tension that had built up in the constant orbit of Jake’s watchful eyes.

You stretched out across the mattress, the oversized T-shirt riding up slightly as you settled, your phone within reach on the bedside table. The room was quiet, the low hum of the apartment’s appliances a faint backdrop, and you let yourself melt into the moment, your fingers trailing down your body, teasing yourself with slow touches. The toy hummed softly as you activated it, the sensation sending a shiver through you, your breath hitching. Your eyes fluttered closed, your mind drifting, focusing on the pleasure.

Outside your door, Jake hadn’t moved. His ear pressed closer to the wood, his breath shallow and controlled, heart pounding as he caught every sound—every rustle of the sheets, every soft creak of the bed, every faint sigh and moan that slipped from your lips. His hands were still tucked into his pockets, but his fingers twitched, itching to reach out, to push the door open, to see you. 

Inside, you had no idea. You thought he was laughing with Ni-ki and Heeseung, his headset drowning out the world, his focus entirely on the game. That illusion was the only reason you let yourself go, your moans growing softer but more frequent, your body arching slightly as the toy worked its magic, your fingers guiding it with increasing confidence. The pleasure built slowly, a warm coil tightening in your core, and you let yourself sink into it, oblivious to the silent figure just outside your door. Your voice hitched, a quiet, “Oh,” slipping out as your hips shifted, the bed creaking faintly under your movements. The sound was subtle, but to Jake, it was everything.

He shifted almost imperceptibly, his body leaning closer, the pads of his fingers brushing the door as if he could will it to disappear. His breath caught, low and shaky, as another soft moan reached his ears, your voice unguarded in a way it never was when you knew he was near. He could hear the rhythm of your movements, the faint hum of the toy, the way your breath quickened, and it drove him wild, his mind racing with images of you—sprawled across the bed, flushed, lost in your own world. His smile widened, sweet but laced with something unhinged, as he pressed himself closer, straining to catch every sound, every whisper of your pleasure.

He didn’t move, didn’t dare interrupt. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. To barge in, to pin you to the bed, to replace whatever you were holding with his hands, his mouth, his body. But he knew he couldn’t. Not with this timing. Not when he still needed you to believe he was safe, harmless, sweet Jake.

So he stood there, trembling with restraint, and let his mind spiral.

How many nights had you done this without him? How many times had you touched yourself while he sat in the next room, oblivious? The thought made something bitter twist in his chest. Unacceptable. You were his roommate, his friend, his everything — so why should you ever need anyone or anything else when he was right here?

He imagined it too vividly: your face, lips parted, skin flushed. The way you’d look at him if he walked in now. Shocked. Maybe angry. Maybe embarrassed. But you wouldn’t push him away — not when he knew you better than anyone else did. Not when he could give you what no one else ever could.

Jake’s pulse thundered as his mind painted the future he craved. A future where you didn’t hide behind locked doors or stolen moments. A future where every sound you made belonged to him, every touch was his to give, every piece of you marked with his name.

Because Jake didn’t just want you.

He needed to own you. Entirely.

And he promised himself — from this moment on — you’d never have a night like this without him again.

The next few days felt… different.

Jake was still Jake — still smiling, still kind, still the roommate anyone else would kill to have — but something about the way he moved around you had shifted. His sweetness was sharper now, in a way that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

It started small.

You’d walk into the kitchen in the morning, bleary-eyed and yawning, only to find he’d already set out your favorite mug, coffee poured just the way you liked it, waiting for you on the counter. When you asked how he knew exactly when you’d wake up, he just grinned and said, “I hear you.”

At night, he lingered more. If you were on the couch watching something, he’d sit too close, knees brushing yours. If you excused yourself to your room, you’d sometimes catch him watching you leave, his eyes following you until you shut the door.

Then came the touch. Subtle, casual — at first. A hand brushing yours when he handed you something, his palm pressing to the small of your back as you squeezed past him in the kitchen, fingers ghosting over your wrist when he wanted your attention. None of it was enough to call him out, not really. But enough that your stomach twisted each time.

And then, things began to go missing.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. A shirt you swore you’d folded ended up nowhere in your drawers. You assumed it had gotten lost at the laundromat, maybe even left behind at one of your friends’ places.

But then it was a hoodie. Your favorite one, the one you always wore to bed. You tore through your closet, checked the laundry twice, even looked under your bed just in case. It was gone.

You tried to brush it off again — you were forgetful sometimes, maybe it was stuffed in a bag somewhere — but the unease lingered in your chest.

And then came the underwear.

You noticed when you were getting ready one morning, digging through your drawer only to find the pair you wanted missing. You checked again, pulling everything out, and the realization made your stomach sink. Shirts and hoodies could be misplaced. But underwear? That didn’t just vanish.

Your mind scrambled for answers. Had you dropped it somewhere? Had the washer eaten it up somehow? 

Paranoia began to seep into the edges of your days, dripping into everything. You started paying closer attention — to your room, your things, to Jake. And that’s when the little moments stacked up, one on top of the other, until they became impossible to ignore.

At times, you’d catch him right outside your door.

The first time, you opened it quickly on your way to the kitchen and nearly collided with him. He blinked, startled, then offered an easy smile as if nothing was wrong. “Was just gonna ask if you wanted takeout. I’m ordering.”

You nodded slowly, heart thumping, and let it go.

The second time, you cracked the door late at night, a prickling feeling crawling up your neck — and there he was again, standing too close. You froze, hand tightening on the knob, but he just tilted his head, holding up a random tennis ball. “Lost this earlier. Thought maybe it rolled near your door.”

His tone was casual, his smile soft. But his eyes… his eyes were too steady, too unflinching.

It happened again, and again. Little excuses ready on his tongue, neat explanations for why he was there. Why he was always there.

And every time, you told yourself you were imagining it. That it was just coincidence, that Jake wasn’t lurking, wasn’t listening. Because the alternative — the idea that your sweet, perfect roommate might actually be watching you — was too heavy to accept.

But Jake knew exactly what he was doing.

It was past midnight when he stumbled in, the apartment quiet and dim. He’d been out late — you never knew where, and he never told you — and his steps dragged as he headed down the hall. But then, as he passed your door, he heard it.

Soft. Addicting. The sounds he craved more than air itself.

For a second, his body froze, rigid in place, blood rushing hot through his veins. His eyes widened, breath catching — and then the sweetness that usually colored his obsession twisted into something darker.

You’d started without him.

After everything, after all the nights he’d stood outside your door, listening, waiting… you went and did it when he wasn’t even home? Without him there?

Betrayal burned in his chest like fire. His jaw locked tight, teeth grinding as his hands curled into fists at his sides. What kind of roommate — what kind of you — did that? Such a bad roommate. Selfish. Having fun without him. Didn’t you know how much he gave you? How much he watched, waited, loved?

The sounds only grew sweeter, and the fury tangled with his desire until he thought he might tear the door from its hinges. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to go in, to stop you, to remind you who you belonged to.

Not yet.

Much, much later, when he was sure you were asleep — your breathing steady and soft through the thin wood — he crouched down by the handle. The tool in his hand glinted faintly under the dim hallway light as he slipped it into the lock with practiced precision.

Click.

The sound was deafening to him, though the silence of the apartment swallowed it whole.

The door eased open.

Jake pushed it wide enough to slip inside, his shadow spilling across the floorboards and stretching long toward your bed. The room was bathed in pale moonlight seeping through the blinds, silver streaks painting everything in a hushed glow. His eyes immediately locked onto you.

There you were.

Lying on your back, top slipping low on one shoulder, the thin blanket tangled halfway down your body. Your lips were parted slightly in sleep, your chest rising and falling with each slow breath. You looked untouched. Unaware. Like something sacred left out in the open, unguarded, waiting.

Jake’s breath caught hard in his throat. His fingers gripped the doorframe until his knuckles whitened, every muscle in his body strung tight as wire. The storm in his head was deafening — want, need, obsession, adoration, fury — all colliding in a single, dizzying rush.

He stepped closer. One movement at a time. Feet silent on the floor.

Closer.

Every inch closed between you made his heart hammer faster, his pulse hot in his ears. He could smell the faint trace of your shampoo, see the way the moonlight kissed your skin, catch the soft twitch of your fingers as you shifted in your sleep.

Jake stopped at the edge of your bed, towering over you. He stared down at you like a starving man before a feast, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You looked so peaceful. So vulnerable.

But all Jake could think was how wrong it was.

Wrong that you were here, like this, without him beside you. Wrong that you’d touched yourself without him hearing it, without him guiding it, without him inside this room. Wrong that you thought you had moments he didn’t own.

His jaw clenched as he bent forward, one hand braced on the mattress. The sheets dipped slightly under his weight, though you only shifted, sighing softly in your sleep. The sound punched the air from his lungs.

He watched you closely, wide-eyed, holding his breath as if even the smallest exhale might shatter the fragile barrier between secrecy and exposure. But you didn’t stir beyond that. Your chest rose again, steady and slow.

His body ached with relief. And hunger.

From this angle, he could see everything — the curve of your jaw, the delicate lines of your collarbone peeking through where your top had slipped. You looked unreal, like something carved out of marble and left here for him to worship.

His fingers twitched against the mattress, trembling with restraint. He told himself not to, but the need was unbearable. He let his hand drift closer, barely brushing against the blanket near your hip. Even that featherlight contact sent a shiver racing down his spine.

Closer.

He dared to let the tip of his finger trail upward, grazing the edge of fabric where it pooled against your stomach. He didn’t push further — didn’t dare yet — but his breath shook as if that tiny, stolen touch was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever felt.

His chest ached with the weight of it — the sheer unfairness that you could lie here so peacefully, untouched, unaware, when he was drowning in you.

Your soft sigh, barely more than a whisper in the quiet of your room, sent a jolt through Jake’s entire body, his craving intensifying as you shifted slightly in your sleep. The thin blanket slipped further down your hip, exposing more of your skin. That small, unconscious movement—your lips parting, your body settling deeper into the mattress—was enough to unravel him. His breath hitched, his fingers trembling against the sheets, the storm in his head roaring louder—want, need, obsession, adoration, all crashing together in a dizzying rush. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore.

Jake leaned forward, every muscle taut with restraint as he lowered himself closer to you. His lips brushed your neck, featherlight at first, a careful kiss pressed against the delicate skin just below your ear. The warmth of you, the faint scent of you flooded his senses, and he groaned softly, the sound barely audible as he kissed down the curve of your neck, each touch reverent yet hungry. His lips lingered, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, tracing the lines of your exposed skin, moving lower to the soft swell of your chest where your top had slipped. You didn’t stir, your breathing steady, your body vulnerable and unaware under his gaze.

Lovely….

With careful precision, Jake reached for the straps of your top, his fingers trembling as they brushed the thin fabric. He watched your face intently, his gaze locked on your closed eyes, searching for any sign of waking as he slowly slipped the straps down your shoulders. The fabric slid away, inch by inch, revealing your breasts to him, making his breath catch hard in his throat. His hands hovered, shaking with restraint, as he took in the sight—your nipples, exposed and vulnerable, the way your chest rose and fell with each steady breath. 

You were perfect, untouched, a sacred offering laid out for him to worship, and the sight made his breath catch, his heart pounding with a craving that bordered on madness.

His hands shook as he finally let them descend, his fingers brushing ever so lightly over the soft skin of your breasts, the warmth of you sending a shiver through him. A soft, needy whine escaped his lips, barely audible, as he marveled at the silkiness under his touch, his palms gliding across the curves of your chest. His thumbs grazed your nipples, the contact light and you let out a small, unconscious sound—a faint whimper in your sleep that made his heart skip. You didn’t wake, your breathing still steady, and that emboldened him, his restraint fraying as he leaned closer, his lips hovering just above your skin.

Jake pressed a soft, tentative kiss to your breast, his lips trembling against the warmth, the taste of you intoxicating. You made small whines in your sleep, soft and breathy, your body shifting slightly, and each sound fueled his hunger, urging him to press closer. His lips lingered on your nipple, kissing softly before sucking lightly, his tongue darting out to trace the sensitive bud, drawing another faint whimper from you. 

Then, with a sudden movement, you kicked the blanket fully off in your sleep, the thin fabric sliding away, leaving you exposed, your legs slightly parted. Jake froze, his breath catching, and a dangerous grin spread across his face, slow and predatory. 

If that wasn’t an invitation, what was it? 

He slipped away from your side, moving with a grace as he crawled between your legs. His hands, trembling with barely restrained need, reached out to carefully spread your thighs wider, his touch featherlight to avoid waking you. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his gaze settled on your shorts, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, a barrier he couldn’t tolerate. His fingers hooked into the hem, his movements meticulous as he slid them down your legs, inch by inch, revealing you fully to him. The sight made his breath hitch, his eyes widening. 

Oh, how delectable you looked—glistening faintly, the subtle tracks of your earlier pleasure still evident, slick and untouched since you’d played with yourself. You hadn’t even cleaned yourself up, had you? Poor thing, you must have been so exhausted, collapsing into sleep without a thought.

Jake’s grin widened, a twisted sense of duty flickering in his mind. Well, he’d clean you up, wouldn’t he? After all, he was such a good roommate. His eyes flicked up to your sleeping face, your lips parted slightly, your breathing soft and steady, completely unaware.

Perfect…

With a hungry look, he leaned down, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed his lips to your pussy, his tongue darting out. The taste of you hit him like a drug, and he groaned softly, the sound barely audible, his eyes fluttering closed. Oh, fuck. He didn’t know what he’d done in a past life to deserve this, to taste you like this, but every worry, every thought in his head vanished, replaced by the overwhelming sweetness of you on his tongue.

“Fuck… so good,” he mumbled against your core, his lips brushing your sensitive skin as he licked again, slower, savoring every drop. His tongue moved with careful precision, tracing your folds, lapping up the remnants of your earlier release, his hands gently holding your thighs apart to keep you open for him. You stirred faintly in your sleep, a soft whimper escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake, your body still lost in the haze of exhaustion. Jake’s heart raced, his hunger deepening as he licked deeper, his tongue swirling around your clit, sucking gently, each movement a silent worship of the gift you’d unknowingly offered him. He was lost in you, his world narrowed to the taste, the feel, the scent of you.

Which was why he didn’t notice the subtle shift in your breathing, the faint hitch as you stirred.

It wasn’t until you gasped loudly, a sharp, startled sound, that he realized you were awake. Your body jerked, trying to inch away, your hands pushing weakly at his head as you scrambled backward on the mattress, the bunched-up top sliding more down. “Jake!” you shouted, your voice raw with shock and confusion, commanding him to explain himself as you fought to put distance between you. “What the hell are you doing?!” Your legs kicked, trying to close, but his grip on your thighs was unyielding, his fingers digging in harder as he growled, a sound of frustration. The sudden absence of you against his mouth, the source of his happiness ripped away, sent a surge of anger through him.

He crawled forward, relentless, his hands tightening on your thighs as he chased you, refusing to let you go. “Shh, I’m cleaning you up,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin, thick with a pussy-drunk haze as he dove back in, his tongue licking a broad stripe, desperate to reclaim the taste that had consumed him.

 “Jake, stop!” your voice trembling with panic, your hands pushing harder at his head, fingers tangling in his messy hair, but he was too far gone.

You tried to crawl away, the mattress creaking under your frantic movements, but he followed, his strength overpowering as he yanked you back, spreading you wider. “You were so tired, baby,” he murmured, his voice slurred, barely coherent.  “Didn’t even clean yourself up after playing, huh? I’m just helping you.” 

In your frantic struggle, you pushed too far, your body slipping off the edge of the bed. You fell with a thud, landing hard on your back on the cold floorboards, the impact punching the air from your lungs. Your legs remained tangled on the bed, dangling uselessly in the air, and Jake—undeterred, unphased—followed you. The ridiculousness of the situation hit you like a shock: you were upside down, your upper body sprawled on the floor, your hips and legs still propped up on the mattress, and Jake’s face buried between your thighs, his tongue lapping with even greater hunger as he pulled your lower body higher, lifting you effortlessly to give him better access. Your legs dangled over his shoulders, your body awkwardly suspended in the air. 

“What the fuck?” you gasped, your voice a mix of shock and exhaustion, your hands scrambling against the floor, fingers scraping the wood as you tried to push yourself up. The blood rushed to your head, making you dizzy, the sensation of his mouth overwhelming as it plunged deeper, his lips closing around your clit, sucking hard before kissing it softly, the contrast driving you to the edge. Your moans broke free, soft and broken, your eyes rolling back as your arms shook, struggling to hold yourself up against the floor. “Jake,” you begged, your voice trembling, unsure of what you were pleading for—release? Escape? Or more of the pleasure you hated yourself for feeling? 

Then, without warning, he pulled you up from the floor with startling strength, yanking you back onto the bed in one swift motion as he suddenly added his fingers, sliding two inside you, the cold metal of his rings brushing against your sensitive walls, sending a jolt through your core. “Fuck, Jake!” you cussed, your voice trembling as you arched your back, the icy bite of his rings contrasting with the warmth of your walls. He moaned with you, a deep sound muffled against you, his tongue never stopping as he thrust his fingers deeper, curling them just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur. 

“I’ve dreamed of this, you know—every fucking night since you moved in.” His fingers thrust faster, spreading you wider, the cold rings biting into your skin as he sucked harder on your clit. “Wanted you so bad, needed you. Sat outside your door, listening to every sound you made, every little moan when you touched yourself.” His confession spilled out, his tone thick. “Every time you played with this pretty pussy alone, I fucking craved you—wanted to be the one making you moan, making you cum.”

Your hips bucked against him, your body trembling, your mind a haze of conflicting emotions—fear, shame, and the unwanted ecstasy he forced upon you. The pleasure built uncontrollably, his mouth and fingers working in tandem, and you came hard, a loud, broken moan tearing from your throat as your body convulsed, your pussy spasming around his fingers, your thighs shaking violently. Tears streamed down your face, your hands tugging harder at his hair as the orgasm crashed through you, leaving you gasping, oversensitive, and spent.

His tongue slowed, lapping gently at your core, prolonging the aftershocks as you whimpered, your thighs shaking. The room fell quiet—too quiet—for what felt like an eternity, the silence heavy and unsettling as you came down from your high.

You blinked, your vision blurry, and looked down at Jake, a jolt of shock running through you. His face was still buried between your legs, his dark eyes locked on you with a fixation that was almost hypnotic, his lips glistening with your release. He was utterly consumed, unmoving, as if entranced by the sight of you. “Jake…” you stuttered, your voice weak and trembling, the sound snapping him out of his trance. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, wild and possessed, and before you could say more, he scrambled to sit up, his movements desperate. His hands fumbled with his pants and boxers, pulling them down just enough for his member to spring free, and you gasped, your heart lurching as you caught sight of its size.

You’d never seen anything like it—thick, long, and intimidating, the sheer size of him sending a wave of fear through you. You scrambled backward, crawling across the mattress, your hands shaking as you tried to put distance between you. “Jake… that’s not gonna fit,” you stuttered, holding up a hand as if it could shield you, your voice laced with panic. But the look on his face—wild, unhinged—told you it was useless. He looked like a man possessed, his hands already reaching for you, fingers twitching with need. “I’ll make it fit,” he said, his voice monotone, almost robotic, devoid of hesitation as he lunged forward, grabbing your hips with a bruising grip and yanking you back toward him.

“No! Jake, please, you’re too big!” you panicked, your voice breaking as you tried to pull away, but he was relentless, his hands spreading your legs wide, exposing you completely. He brought the tip of his cock to your entrance, groaning low in his throat at the heat of you, the slickness from your earlier release making it all too inviting. “You can take it, pretty,” he murmured, his voice softening into a twisted reassurance, his eyes locked on where you were about to be joined. “I know you can.”

With that, he pushed in, the thick head of his cock stretching you painfully, and you screamed, gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles whitened. The burn was intense, overwhelming, the stretch too much as he entered slowly, inch by agonizing inch. You needed to flee, to escape, but Jake pressed down, trapping you beneath him, his body heavy as he pushed your legs up toward your chest, folding you in half. Your mouth opened in a mute scream, your eyes rolling back as he kept entering, filling you in every possible way, the sensation so intense it felt like he was reaching your throat. He didn’t stop until he was fully buried inside you, his hips flush against yours, the fullness unbearable.

Your body trembled, your lower half numb except for the searing sensation of him filling you, the delicious stretch blending with the sting of pain, your mind reeling as you tried to process it all. Then, he started thrusting, slow at first, but growing rougher, more forceful, his hips slamming against you with increasing intensity, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.

His voice spilled out in a slurred, rambling torrent, words tumbling over each other as he lost himself in you. “Fuck, so perfect… my pretty little thing… made for me… so fucking tight…” You couldn’t focus on what he was saying, your ears ringing, the sound a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything but the rhythm of his thrusts—back and forth, back and forth, each one punching whines out of you, your body jerking with every deep movement. Drool ran down from your open mouth, wetting your hair and the sheets beneath you, your mind too overwhelmed to care, your body too consumed by the stretch, the burn, the sting as he filled you repeatedly.

You swore he was trying to bypass your cervix, his cock plunging so fucking deep it felt like it was reshaping you, claiming every inch of you from the inside out. Your eyes, blurry with tears, drifted down, and you froze at the sight—a bulge in your stomach, rising and falling with every thrust, a visible mark of how deeply he was buried inside you. The sight sent a fresh wave of panic through you, but it was drowned out by the pleasure, the delicious, unbearable stretch that consumed your senses. His thrusts grew rougher, faster, each one slamming into you, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the room, mingling with your choked whines and his incoherent ramblings. “Need you… fuck, always needed you… my perfect girl…” he mumbled, his voice slurred, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned closer, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you folded, open, his.

He leaned down, his lips crashing onto yours in a deep, devouring kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. His lips—stupidly big, perfectly soft—swallowed yours, his tongue plunging deep, tangling with yours in a messy, desperate dance, his moans vibrating against you as he licked into you, stealing your breath. This motherfucker, with his infuriatingly perfect lips, his messy hair falling just right, his big, deceptively cute eyes, and the biggest dick you’d ever felt, was unraveling you completely. 

He was going to be your downfall, and you hated how part of you already knew it.

He pulled back suddenly, his head throwing back as a loud, pathetic moan tore from his throat, high-pitched and desperate. “Fuck, fuck, thank you, thank you,” he rambled, his voice slurred with ecstasy as he came deep inside you, his cock pulsing, filling you with a warm, relentless rush of his cum. The sensation was overwhelming, painting your insides, marking you from within as his hips stuttered, pressing flush against you, ensuring every drop stayed buried.

Your eyes rolled back, your body trembling from the intensity, the stretch, the fullness. Your mind was fractured, your body spent, and as the exhaustion crashed over you, you agreed with yourself—Sim fucking Jake was your downfall. The world blurred, the world fading as your vision darkened, and you passed out.

a/n: this was actually pretty weak in the dark rom department..

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[itendtothinkalot]

professional yearner (jake sim edition)

summary: growing up, you had two heroes: jake and sunghoon. thick and thin, chaos and crayons, they were always there. so when your ex dumped you for "being so oddly close to your best friends” well… fair. but what he didn’t get is that you never needed him. you’ve always had jake sim and maybe that was the problem.

genre: fluff | best friends to lovers | jake's a professional yearner

characters: best friend!jake x f!reader

words: 13k??

warnings: kissing? making out? thats it!

The schoolyard was too hot. The kind of heat that made your socks stick to your ankles and your patience wear thin. It smelled vaguely like cheese sticks and someone’s forgotten gym shirt. And in the middle of it all—Jake Sim was crying.

Not the loud, hiccuping kind. No. Jake cried the way the sky threatened rain—quiet, heavy, trembling on the edge. His eyes were red, his mouth pressed into a thin, brave line, and his fingers clutched a half-crushed grape soda like it might hold him together.

Across from him stood Minhyuk Kang. Middle school tyrant. Bad haircut. Worse personality. He was smirking like he’d won something.

You weren’t having it.

Your backpack hit the ground as you stormed across the yard, fists curled tight. Your heart pounded in your ears. You didn’t even think—just moved, fueled by friendship and blind loyalty.

“Hey!” you shouted, voice cracking. “Pick on someone your own size, you—oversized… loser!”

Not your best. You were eleven. Your brain was still 60% Capri Sun.

Minhyuk blinked, unimpressed. Then shoved you. Hard.

You hit the pavement with a thud, landing on your butt. Your backpack burst open–papers, pencils, and one private doodle of a sparkly unicorn horse went flying across the asphalt.

Laughter erupted around you.

And then—

That sigh.

That tired, long-suffering sigh that said “I’m getting tired of this,” from a boy who was spiritually seventy-five years old.

Park Sunghoon.

He approached with his hoodie sleeves covering his hands and his cap tilted sideways, like he couldn’t be bothered but also like he was already deciding how to fix this. He stopped beside you and glanced at the chaos—Jake’s glassy eyes, your scraped knees, Minhyuk’s dumb smirk.

Without saying a word, he gave Minhyuk a look.

The kind of look that could curdle milk. Or send boys twice his size packing.

Minhyuk flinched. Then, like the coward he was, mumbled something about catching his bus and slinked away.

You blinked up at Sunghoon. Jake sniffed beside you.

And then—without coordination, without thinking—you and Jake both lunged forward and wrapped your arms around Sunghoon at the same time.

He froze. Sighed again. But he didn’t pull away.

“I’m gonna be stuck looking after you two for the rest of my life, aren’t I?” he muttered.

You grinned into his sleeve. “Yep.”

“Definitely,” Jake added, his voice a little wobbly but smiling now.

Sunghoon didn’t say he loved you.

He didn’t have to.

The cafeteria buzzed around you—noisy, fluorescent, filled with the sound of trays clattering and people trying too hard to sound casual. Jake was nursing a carton of strawberry milk, lazily spinning it between his fingers. Sunghoon sat across from him, trying and failing to look like he wasn’t deeply regretting his protein bar.

Jake leaned over dramatically, voice pitched just loud enough to reach Sunghoon but still just out of your range. “Look at her,” he whispered, grinning. “In love. Disgusting.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “I give it two minutes before she makes us throw up.”

You shot them a look over your shoulder and tossed a crumpled napkin in their direction. “Shut up. I’m talking.”

Jake put on a high-pitched falsetto immediately. “‘Hi baby. No, baby, you hang up first. No, you.’”

Sunghoon chimed in, completely deadpan. “‘Babymuffin. Babylove. Babyback ribs.’”

You bit back your laugh and turned away, pressing the phone closer to your ear, trying to keep your voice soft. “No, I’m not ignoring you. I’m with Jake and Sunghoon.”

There was a pause.

Then, flat and cold: “…Again?”

Your stomach dropped. Just a little.

“I told you I’d be with them today,” you said. “It’s the championship game.”

“You said you’d try to come to my gig,” came the reply, sharper now. “You promised. But of course you’d rather play cheerleader for those two.”

“It’s not like that,” you said, your voice tightening. “I told you weeks ago this was important. They’ve worked so hard for this—”

“Jesus. Do you even care about me?” he cut in. “Or am I just the guy you date when your real boyfriends are busy?”

Your hand clenched around your phone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always choosing them. Every time. Like I’m your backup plan—”

“They’re my best friends.” You snapped now, barely keeping your voice down. “You knew that from the beginning.”

And that was when you noticed: the table had gone silent. Jake wasn’t spinning his milk anymore. Sunghoon’s jaw was tight. Both of them were watching you.

“And you’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” your boyfriend hissed through the line. “But I guess that means nothing to you.”

You stared down at the table.

Then, softly, with every ounce of control you had left: “You should know that Sunghoon and Jake are–.”

Click.

The line went dead.

The phone hit the table with a muted thud.

You didn’t look up. Not right away. Your arms crossed, your nails digging into your sleeves. Your heart pounded too fast, too hard, and it wasn’t even from the words. It was from how familiar this had started to feel. Like you were always apologizing for choosing the people who never made you feel like a second choice.

Jake’s voice came low, tight. “What’d that idiot say this time?”

Gone was the teasing lilt, the sunshine tone. He looked like he was one bad sentence away from marching across campus and settling it the old-fashioned way. Sunghoon nudged him under the table but Jake didn’t look away from you.

You finally glanced up, eyes tired. Your voice came quiet. “It’s your championship day. Let’s not ruin it.”

Jake held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary. His jaw flexed.

But he nodded.

For now.

—

You kept your arms crossed, head low, your gaze fixed somewhere on the cracks in the pavement. Not in a sulking way. Not even angry. Just… heavy. The kind of quiet where the world felt muffled, like someone had turned the volume down on everything.

Jake didn’t say anything. Not at first.

He just walked beside you in silence—his steps matching yours like second nature. Every few moments, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushed your sleeve, but he didn’t try to fill the quiet with noise. Just stayed close. Present. Like always.

Then, after a beat, he gently bumped your shoulder with his.

You didn’t look up, not right away. But you felt it. That familiar nudge. Like he was reminding you: hey, still here.

A few more steps passed before his voice came, light but careful.

“How many fingers am I holding up behind my back?”

You stopped walking.

Your breath hitched, just a little.

God. That game.

It used to be your thing. A childhood ritual for every scraped knee, every bad grade, every time you wanted to cry but didn’t. Jake would hold his hand behind his back and make you guess. If you got it right, you’d get a prize—usually something ridiculous. A neon sticker. A broken crayon. One time, a scribbled picture of you with superpowers and him as the hulk.

You hadn’t played that game in years.

But the second he said it, a small appeared on your lips.

You glanced sideways.

“…Seriously?”

Jake smiled. The kind that barely lifted one corner of his mouth—the one that felt like a secret. Like it was just for you.

“C’mon,” he said, eyes glinting. “Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

You swallowed.

“Two,” you murmured.

Jake didn’t break eye contact. Just slowly turned and held out his hand behind his back, showing you—

Two fingers.

You let out the softest breath of a laugh. The kind that didn’t really sound like one. Just a shaky little puff of air. But it was enough to lighten your shoulders.

Jake grinned, triumphant. “Correct. Prize pending.”

You shook your head, a real smile threatening your lips now. “You still owe me for the time you cheated and held up zero.”

Jake’s eyes widened in mock horror. “That wasn’t cheating. That was high-level psychological warfare.”

“You made me do the chicken dance in front of my mom for a sticker.”

“You did it twice.”

“You said the first one lacked commitment.”

Jake was laughing now, soft and golden, and you couldn’t help it. You laughed too. Quiet. Cracked around the edges. But real.

The silence between you didn’t feel heavy anymore.

He tilted his head toward the lecture hall ahead. “Go grab a seat,” he said softly. “I’ll get you a coffee.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, already backing away. “Unless you’d rather have emotional support gummies.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was warm. “Coffee, please.”

Jake gave you a little salute—two fingers, same as before. “Coming right up, princess.”

You stood there for a beat too long, then finally made your way into the lecture hall, choosing a seat near the back. You slung your bag down beside you and reached into your pocket, fingers brushing something crinkly.

You frowned. Pulled it out.

Your favorite candy.

The exact brand. The exact flavor. Not something you’d had on you today.

Your breath caught.

Jake.

He must’ve slipped it into your pocket when he bumped your shoulder. Probably while you were distracted. Quiet. Thoughtful. Stupidly considerate.

You stared at the wrapper like it meant something. Like it said everything he couldn’t.

You tucked it into your bag gently, like it was something precious.

Outside, somewhere in a line too long for a Tuesday afternoon, Jake was probably ordering your coffee with extra sugar and exactly two pumps of vanilla.

Because of course he remembered.

Of course he always did.

And maybe you didn’t say it out loud.

But in that moment—you didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Because no matter what, you had Jake.

—-

The bleachers vibrated beneath your feet, alive with nervous energy. Late afternoon sunlight poured across the field in gold streaks, turning everything too bright, too cinematic. You stood at the railing beside Niki and Sunoo, fingers curled tight around the metal bar, heart pounding harder than the game announcer’s voice overhead.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Are you seriously ditching my gig for those two idiot friends of yours?Again? Really?You’re always doing this.You say I'm important, but it’s always them.You’re not dating them. You’re dating ME.

You rolled your eyes.

There was no use replying. You’d tried. He never got it.

Jake and Sunghoon weren’t just friends.

They were everything. They were your history. They were your present. They were scraped knees and matching science fair disasters. They were the reason your parents felt safe sending you to college. They were Sunday family dinners and sleepovers that never really ended.

They were home.

And okay—maybe your gaze drifted toward Jake a little more than it should’ve lately. Maybe it always had. Not in a way you noticed at the time. Not in a way that meant anything.

Just… in a way. As a friend, cf course. He was just…always sweet. What could you do?

Your eyes found him instantly.

Jake—number 10.

Sunlight caught the edges of his hair, wind tugging at the loose strands near his ears. His jersey clung to him, damp with sweat, legs quick and sure as he shouted across the field. His eyes were locked in, his whole body moving with this reckless kind of energy that made him hard to look away from.

Not that you were trying to look away.

You shook your head and scanned the field again, trying to find Sunghoon—but your gaze found Jake instead.

Again.

The crowd roared as the clock ticked down. 2–2. Final minute. The tension in the air buzzed through your chest like a live wire.

“I can’t watch,” Sunoo muttered beside you, peeking between his fingers. “He’s gonna pass out.”

“Shut up,” Niki hissed. “It’s getting good.”

Your eyes tracked Jake’s every step. He had the ball now—legs moving like water, flowing past defenders like they weren’t even there. Sunghoon flanked beside him, silent and steady, drawing players away.

Then Jake cut sharp to the left.

A beat.

A breath.

And then he kicked.

The ball soared.

Time stopped.

It flew past the goalie—clean, sure—and hit the net with a glorious, perfect thwack.

Silence.

And then chaos.

The stadium erupted. Teammates swarmed the field, screaming, leaping, colliding into Jake like a tidal wave of celebration. People were crying. Someone was waving a flag. You might’ve blacked out for a second.

But Jake—Jake didn’t stay buried in the huddle.

He pulled himself out.

Looked up.

And saw you.

And then, he ran.

Straight through the chaos, through teammates and coaches and cheering fans.

Right to you.

“PRINCESS, DID YOU SEE THAT?!” he yelled, already grinning like he couldn’t contain it.

You didn’t even think.

You ran.

You jumped into his arms—legs around his waist, arms around his neck—and he caught you like gravity didn’t exist between the two of you.

He spun you around, both of you laughing, breathless and weightless in the middle of a stadium filled with noise.

“That was insane, right?!” he said, still spinning, still grinning like a madman.

“You’re insane!” you yelled back. “That’s my best friend!!”

He held you tighter for a second.

You barely noticed how close you were. How steady his hands felt against your waist. How natural it felt to be in his arms.

You didn’t think too much about the way your laugh curled into something softer as he smiled at you. Or how your fingers lingered at the back of his neck just a moment too long.

You were just happy.

And Jake?

Jake was still looking at you like you’d hung the stars yourself.

But then you saw him.

At the edge of the crowd.

Your boyfriend.

He was standing stiffly, guitar slung over his back, eyes dark. He looked right at you. Then at Jake.

Then back at you.

And you saw it happen—saw the confirmation of every suspicion he’d ever thrown at you. Every insecure question. Every argument. Every pointed “you’re always with them.”

His jaw clenched.

And then he mouthed it.

Two words. Sharp. Final.

We’re done.

And he turned.

—-

The door slammed open behind you with enough force to shake the picture frames.

You didn’t check to see if Jake and Sunghoon were behind you. Of course they were. You could hear their footsteps trailing in, less hurried than yours but tinged with the same confused urgency. Like golden retrievers caught in a rainstorm—uncertain, blinking, too loyal to run.

“I cannot believe he dumped me!” you snapped, flinging your bag onto the floor like it had betrayed you. “He. Mr. Can't-Name-Three-Films-By-Studio-Ghibli. Mr. ‘I think astrology is fake but also I’m a Scorpio so that’s just how I am.’”

You kicked your shoes off, one of them narrowly missing the umbrella stand.

Jake ducked.

Sunghoon raised his eyebrows and wisely stayed quiet.

“I mean,” you huffed, voice going up a pitch as you spun toward them, “he plays the same three songs on guitar and called Christopher Nolan ‘overrated.’ And he—that man-child with a Spotify playlist called ‘sad vibez’ and no vowels—broke up with me?!”

Sunghoon winced. Jake looked like he was watching a house on fire and wondering if throwing himself into it would help.

You threw your hands up in disbelief. “I was going to dump him! I had a list! A literal note in my phone! And this man—this emo scarecrow of a boyfriend—had the audacity to beat me to it?!”

You stormed to the living room and collapsed onto the couch like it owed you reparations, arms flung over your face as you let out a long, frustrated groan.

“I can’t believe this. He said I was emotionally unavailable. Me! The girl who went to all his stupid open mic nights and pretended his lyrics weren’t just stolen posts from 2018 Twitter in stupid long verses.”

In the hallway, Jake leaned toward Sunghoon.

“Should we, like… say something?”

Sunghoon didn’t even look away from you. “Absolutely not.”

Jake frowned. “You’re the stable one. You talk to her.”

“You’re the one in love with her.”

Jake made a wounded sound in the back of his throat. “That’s not—I mean—I’m—”

“You literally made her tea last night and wrote her name on the mug in sharpie like a loser.”

Jake whispered, “It was a nice mug.”

You sat up abruptly, glaring at them like a storm cloud with a vendetta. “HEY. Tweedle Dee. Tweedle Dum. Shut the hell up. I’m having a justified crisis.”

They both stiffened like they’d been caught shoplifting.

You threw yourself back onto the couch again, dramatically draping your arm across your face.

Silence.

Then—

“She definitely just called us Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,” Jake whispered.

“You’re Dum,” Sunghoon replied flatly.

“At least I didn’t cry watching Tangled.”

“…You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“Then stop being Dum.”

You let out a guttural groan. “Can one of you just bring me ice cream or, like, a time machine so I can go back and tell myself to swipe left?”

Another pause.

Then quiet footsteps.

And a moment later, something cold landed in your lap.

Your favorite ice cream.

Jake didn’t say a word. Just sat on the floor in front of the couch, back leaning against it like it was the most natural thing in the world, head tilted slightly to look up at you.

He didn’t smile. Not fully. Just that soft, familiar curve of his lips that you’d seen a thousand times, always reserved for you. The kind that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t demand a response—just offered quiet presence.

Sunghoon dropped onto the floor beside him with a sigh, already scrolling through Netflix.

And you?

You breathed. For the first time all day, you breathed.

It didn’t erase the anger. Didn’t fix the betrayal. Didn’t un-stupid your ex.

But it made your chest ache a little less.

Because even in your most unhinged, spite-fueled, mascara-streaked moments—you still had this.

You had your boys.

—-

Your room was quiet, except for the low hum of the party a few buildings down—the bass thudding like a heartbeat through the floorboards, too far to join, too loud to ignore.

The fairy lights on your wall glowed soft and golden, casting little halos across your shelves, your pillows, the stack of unread books by your bed.

You sat cross-legged on your comforter, oversized hoodie bunched around your hands, hair damp from your post-meltdown shower. There was still a tightness in your chest, the kind that didn’t quite hurt, but hadn’t let you breathe fully in days.

Sunghoon stood behind you, a hairbrush in his hand.

“You sure you don’t wanna go?” he asked, gently easing the brush through the tangles near your crown.

You shrugged, slow and small. “And see him all over her? I’d rather chew glass.”

Her—being the bass player in your ex’s band. The one he swore was “just a friend” until he posted a ten-second Instagram story of himself shoving his tongue down her throat. Classy.

Honestly, you still didn’t know what you ever saw in that idiot.

Sunghoon sighed. You felt it more than you heard it—low and long, his breath ruffling a strand of your hair.

He didn’t say anything else. Just kept brushing, slow and steady, like he could detangle your hurt the way he was detangling the ends of your hair.

He always did this.

Ever since you were ten and crying after a costume mishap in the school play. He’d walked you home, sat you down, and—wordlessly—grabbed the brush from your desk. He’d been doing it ever since. Whenever your heart cracked, he patched it up strand by strand.

He even used your products now. Knew the exact amount of leave-in conditioner. Knew how to finger-detangle without tugging too hard. Knew when to talk—and more importantly, when not to.

You sat still, head tilted slightly forward, letting the rhythm lull you. The brush paused near the ends.

Then came the voice.

Quiet. Measured. A little softer than usual.

“He didn’t make you happy.”

You opened your mouth. But before anything could come out—

“Not once,” Sunghoon continued. “You bent so far backwards for him I was scared your spine would snap. And he never once met you halfway.”

You stared at your lap. Said nothing.

“I know it’s only been two days,” he said, letting out a little laugh, “but honestly? The air’s been easier to breathe without him around. Jake and I Fortnite danced to High School Musical in the living room earlier. Jake even tried to do a backflip.”

You snorted. Couldn’t help it.

Sunghoon grinned behind you. “Almost died. But I’ve never seen the boy look so free.”

You hummed, lips twitching faintly. “He wasn’t that emo.”

“He had stupid hair,” Sunghoon said flatly. “And he smelled like cigarettes and insecurity.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“He called The Wind Rises boring,” you muttered.

Sunghoon gasped, mock horror in his voice. “Criminal. Unforgivable.”

He gently brushed the last of your hair over your shoulder, like a finishing touch. Then crouched in front of you, eye-level now.

And when he spoke next, the teasing was gone.

“You are the actual sun,” he said softly. “And he made you feel like a flickering lightbulb. That’s not love. That’s dimming someone just to feel taller.”

Your eyes stung, just a little.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. He never did, when it came to you.

“I hated him from the beginning. Jake started calling him ‘the ashtray’ after the second time we all hung out. Not even behind his back. Just… said it.”

That made you laugh—truly laugh—for the first time in days. You shook your head. “You two are mean.”

“We’re honest,” Sunghoon corrected, getting to his feet. “And we love you. More than that guy ever could.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him.

And he didn’t say anything more.

Didn’t need to.

You let your head fall back against the headboard and sighed. “Okay. If you keep monologuing in my ear like this, I’m never gonna change.”

“Change?”

“You want me to go to this stupid frat party, don’t you?”

He smirked.

“Get out,” you said, pointing at the door. “Shoo. Go do your weird little victory dance with Jake.”

He walked backward, ruffling your hair on the way like a proud big brother. “She’s back,” he sing-songed, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Not if you keep talking.”

He opened the door with a dramatic bow. “I’ll tell Jake you caved.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered even after he was gone.

And yeah, your heart was still cracked.

But it felt a little less sharp now.

A little easier to carry.

And when you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your hair brushed smooth, cheeks still warm from laughter—

You didn’t look like a girl trying to forget.

You looked like someone learning how to feel light again.

—

As soon as Jake stepped through the door, he barely made it three steps before he was swallowed by chaos.

“JAKE! JAKE! JAKE!”

A rush of frat boys and soccer teammates surged toward him, loud and reckless, lifting him up like some war hero. His legs kicked midair as they carried him toward the heart of the party, chanting his name with increasing volume.

“JAKE! JAKE! MVP! MVP!”

Fairy lights spun above him, casting halos over sweat-damp foreheads. The bass pulsed through the floor, the air thick with beer and adrenaline and championship glory. Jake laughed, a little breathless, a little panicked.

“No—no, I’m good, I swear—”

Then… you saw him. Your ex. And her.

They were near the kitchen—your spot. The one you always waited at after his gigs. The one where he used to pull you into those tired, post-show hugs and whisper how glad he was you came. Now? He was there with her. Arm thrown over her shoulder like it belonged there. Like it hadn’t been around you last week. She was laughing like she’d earned it. Like she hadn’t been “just a friend” two seconds ago.

And the worst part? He looked fine. Smiling. Relaxed. Comfortable.

You weren’t sad. You didn’t miss him. But god, you were angry.

He moved on like you were an old t-shirt. Like you didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t just made you feel like you were the problem for weeks on end. Like he hadn’t convinced you to shrink for him—and then left anyway.

You stood there for one second. Just long enough to feel the burn in your chest. Long enough for your hands to curl into fists at your sides. Long enough for the blood in your veins to scream Really? Already?

Then you turned.

Fast.

Didn’t look back.

You didn’t know where you were going, only that the party felt too loud and too quiet all at once. People brushing past you, drinks in the air, music thumping. And still, all you could hear was your own pulse.

“SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!”

You blinked—and somehow, it was your voice leading the chant.

Your heels dug into the floor. Your lip gloss was smudged. There was probably mascara under your eyes. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to care.

Someone handed you a shot. You didn’t ask what it was. You downed it like medicine.

It burned. But that was the point.

You slammed the glass down on the nearest surface. “ANOTHER!” you shouted, voice cracking, spinning in place. “Let’s go! If I’m gonna be replaced, I might as well be unforgettable!”

Someone whooped. Someone clapped. Someone handed you another.

You tossed it back.

You weren’t spiraling. You were burning.

And the only thing worse than being dumped… Was being replaced this fast. Like you didn’t even leave a dent.

You were angry.

Angry that he got to be fine. Angry that she got to stand where you used to. Angry that your hands still shook while his were busy holding someone else.

And yeah, you’d moved on too. You didn’t want him back. Not for a second.

But it still felt like something had been stolen from you.

And you needed control. Any kind.

So when someone handed you another shot, you took it. And when someone said, “You okay?” you laughed so hard it echoed. Loud, sharp, cracked.

“Never better,” you said, the words tilting sideways like your balance.

And then he stumbled toward you.

Tall. Drunk. Slurring your name like he knew you. Like he mattered.

“Hey,” he grinned, “you’re the girl Jake never shuts up about, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, swaying. “In the locker room. He’s always like ‘she’s so funny, she does this scrunchy angry face when she’s mad,’ and like… he’s totally into you.”

Your stomach twisted—but your face didn’t budge.

“Cool,” you muttered. “Love being a conversation topic.”

“He thinks you’re amazing,” the guy said, nodding like he just solved world peace. “Hey—have you ever considered going bald?”

You stared. “Excuse me?”

He squinted. “I bet you’d look hot with a buzzcut. You have a strong jaw. That’s what matters, right?”

And maybe it was the alcohol. Or the smoke in the air. Or the ache in your ribs.

But you laughed. Loud. Too loud. And you grabbed his wrist.

“Got scissors?” you asked.

He blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”

“Bring them. Let’s find out.”

He stumbled into the kitchen drawer and came back, holding up a dull pair of kitchen scissors like a prize.

You snatched them, raised them in the air. “Thank you, brave soldier,” you said dramatically. “Now go lay down before you die of alcohol poisoning.”

And you turned, marching up the stairs like a woman with a mission and a pair of scissors she had no business holding.

Jake was mid-conversation when Jungwon ran up, breathless.

“Dude. DUDE. Your girl—she just went upstairs. With scissors. Talking about rebirth.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

“She said something about French bangs and reinvention and then took the stairs like a goddamn hurricane.”

Jake didn’t even think.

He ran.

Bolted through the crowd, shouldered past two people doing body shots, and took the stairs two at a time.

Because he knew you.

He knew that look. That chaos. That split-second decision to feel anything other than the helpless, boiling anger clawing through your chest.

He remembered it from middle school, when someone said your braces made you look like a robot and you tried to cut them out yourself with nail clippers. He remembered it last year, when your cat died and you bleached your bangs at 3AM.

Jake had always known your brand of chaos.

And he had always shown up before it got too far.

Now, he shoved open the bathroom door with zero hesitation.

“Don’t—”

The words died in his throat.

Because there you were.

Standing in the middle of someone else’s bathroom, scissors in hand, eyes glassy and smile way too proud.

“Jakey!” you beamed. “I did it!”

He froze.

There was a pile of hair on the counter. Your bangs—if you could call them that—sat uneven across your forehead. One was short. The other… shorter.

One eye was half covered. The other? Wide, glassy, wild.

Jake covered his mouth with both hands.

“Princess,” he whispered.

“Do I look like Tyra Banks?” you asked earnestly.

Jake blinked. Took a step forward. Then another.

And slowly—so gently—took the scissors from your hand.

His voice dropped to a hush. Steady. Calm. Familiar.

“Hey,” he said. “Let’s put these down, yeah?”

You pouted. “But I wasn’t done.”

He gave you a small smile. “You were perfect before you even started.”

Your lips parted.

His eyes searched yours, scanning every flicker of emotion you were trying to bury beneath alcohol and eyeliner and rebellion.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said. “You’re angry. I get it. I swear I get it. But cutting your bangs at a frat party is not justice.”

You blinked. The world tilted slightly.

“He moved on,” you whispered. “Like I was nothing. Like I was just a placeholder.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. His grip on the scissors hardened.

“You were never a placeholder,” he said, voice sharper now. “You were the whole damn story. He was just a footnote.”

Your eyes welled, but no tears fell. Not yet.

“You’re angry. And you have every right to be,” he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “But don’t punish yourself because he couldn’t see your worth.”

Your lip trembled.

“You think I’m punishing myself?” you asked.

Jake smiled softly. “Princess, look at your bangs.”

You let out a snort. A real one. Ugly and sharp and full of sudden breath.

“I look like an art student who lost a bet.”

Jake laughed. “You look like you could start a girl gang and lead a revolution.”

His voice dropped again. Gentle. Unshakable.

“But you still look like you. And you look perfect.”

You didn’t know what possessed you, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Like holding onto something solid in the middle of a storm.

Jake leaned down, resting his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to set yourself on fire to prove you're still burning,” he whispered. “You’re enough. Even when you’re mad. Even when you're messy. Even with gravity-defying bangs.”

Your breath hitched. The room stilled.

And finally, finally, your heart began to slow.

You closed your eyes.

And Jake just held you there.

Right in the middle of the chaos, in someone else's bathroom, with scissors on the counter and party noise below—

He held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’d always been the one who would.

—

The next morning came quicker than you wanted. Your head throbbed, your mouth tasted like the inside of a frat house, and your body ached in weird places. But none of that mattered.

Because the second you looked in the mirror— “AAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The scream tore through the apartment like a war siren.

Sunghoon shot upright in bed, blanket wrapped around his legs like a noose. “WHAT THE—?!”

Jake fell off the couch with a dramatic thud, landing in a heap of hoodie and boxers. “SHE’S DYING, SHE’S BEING KIDNAPPED, THE LOVE OF—”

Both boys sprinted down the hallway like the apartment was on fire.

They crashed into your room, out of breath, expecting blood or a ghost or at least an explosion.

Instead, they found you standing in front of the mirror, gripping your bangs in both hands like you could physically undo last night.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you wailed, your voice cracking halfway into a sob. “WHY DIDN’T ANYONE STOP ME?!”

Jake froze.

Sunghoon stared.

“I told you we should’ve hidden the mirror,” Sunghoon muttered.

“We have a bathroom,” Jake hissed back.

You whirled around dramatically, face streaked with tears, eyes wide and watery, holding up a sad tuft of hair like it was a smoking gun.

“I ruined my life!”

Jake opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Because, truthfully?

Your hair looked like it had been through a war. A bad one. Like a rodent got stuck halfway through building a nest and gave up. It was uneven in four different directions. The bangs… bent at angles. You defied geometry. Possibly physics.

Sure, you looked pretty. Beautiful. Perfect, even.

But that was only because Jake was in love with you.

And love had a way of turning disaster into art. Even when the art looked like a sewer rat.

Sunghoon sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll make pancakes.”

He turned and walked out without waiting for a response. Pancakes were your household’s official emergency protocol.

Jake stayed. Still in the doorway. Still barefoot and half-asleep, but trying really hard not to laugh and even harder not to love you more for looking like this and still somehow being the most you he’d ever seen.

You looked up at him with trembling lips, eyes full of absolute heartbreak.

“I look like I lost a fight with a Edward Scissorhands.”

Jake blinked. “C’mere.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You launched yourself at him like a flying koala, knocking him flat on his back. You landed in a tangled heap of limbs and cotton and regret, curled into his chest, face shoved against his hoodie.

“I’M UGLY!” you wailed.

Jake didn’t even flinch. He wrapped his arms around you, full-on bear-hug style, holding you like he was trying to glue your shattered pieces back together.

“No, you’re not,” he murmured.

You let out a sound that was half sob, half snort, and buried your face deeper into his chest.

“You’re not ugly,” he said again, voice quieter now. “You’re the cutest person I’ve ever seen with a rat’s nest on their forehead.”

You groaned. “I look like Coconut Head from Ned’s Declassified.”

Jake snorted. Actually snorted.

Which made you groan even louder and smack his chest half-heartedly.

“I’m never going outside again,” you mumbled.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “We’ll start a new civilization here. No mirrors. Unlimited pancakes. Sunghoon and I will scavenge for food outside, bring it back here to feed you and our rat children.”

You sniffed.

“I’ll knit you a beanie,” he added. “It’ll say ‘emotional damage’ in rhinestones.”

From the kitchen, Sunghoon shouted, “There’s only enough chocolate chips for one stack, so I’m taking nominations for who’s had the most public breakdowns in the past 24 hours.”

“I CUT MY OWN BANGS AT A FRAT PARTY!” you yelled into Jake’s hoodie.

“And we have our winner!” Sunghoon replied.

Jake chuckled beneath you, brushing a strand of hair gently out of your eyes—or at least tried to. One strand was… vertical.

You blinked up at him. “I want them gone.”

Jake smoothed his hand through the top of your hair. “Let me try to fix them?”

You squinted. “Can you?”

“No,” he admitted. “But if I mess it up, you’ll get to yell at me instead of yourself.”

You stared at him.

He gave you that stupid little grin—warm, patient, already yours.

You sighed. “Deal.”

Jake grinned wider, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Okay. Let me grab scissors, YouTube, and a whole lot of…uh…prayer.”

You smiled, soft and reluctant. But real.

Because even with tragic bangs, a hangover, and your dignity in shambles—

Jake made it all feel survivable.

Maybe even a little bit okay.

You were still in Jake’s lap, curled up like a broken barbie from a 6 year old with plastic scissors, when he sat up slowly, fingers brushing back your hair with more care than you thought anyone could ever use on someone so messily undone.

“Alright,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Let’s fix this rat’s nest.”

You sniffled, eyes puffy. “You mean my hair?”

Jake’s lips quirked. “Same thing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Say one more dumb thing and I’ll cry again.”

He grinned and stood, effortlessly lifting you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Jake—” you squeaked, clinging to him. “What are you doing?!”

“You’ve clearly lost your decision-making privileges. You’re emotionally unstable. And you keep sniffling like a baby bird,” he said matter-of-factly. “So, I’m airlifting you to your redemption arc.”

You buried your face into his hoodie. “You smell like detergent and protectiveness.”

“You smell like tequila and impulsive choices.”

He walked you into the bathroom and set you carefully onto the counter, warm hands steady at your waist as you adjusted your balance. The moment you were settled, he stepped between your knees without hesitation, reaching for the comb and scissors.

You blinked. Suddenly, the bathroom was a little too quiet. A little too warm. And Jake was a little too close.

“I’m gonna try to even these out,” he murmured, running his fingers gently through your bangs. “Try being the keyword.”

“I feel like this is where I die.”

“You look like a girl on the brink of a villain origin story.”

“Perfect,” you muttered. “Make me look dangerous.”\

As you sat still on the bathroom counter, knees lightly brushing his chest. Jake picked up the scissors again, his brows drawn tight in concentration.

He was taking it seriously. Too seriously. His tongue peeked out just slightly as he combed a section of your hair, eyes sharp, focused like he was performing life-saving surgery instead of fixing your tequila-fueled haircut.

You smiled—couldn’t help it. Because how was he still so cute, even now? Even while fixing the disaster you made of your bangs, looking like an overworked stylist with something to prove.

He tilted his head, snipped gently. Paused. Tilted again.

“Stop smiling,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on your hair.

“I’m not,” you said, definitely smiling.

“I can feel it.”

You laughed softly. “You’re just cute when you’re stressed.”

That made his hands falter. Just a little.

But he didn’t say anything. Just cleared his throat and kept going, slower now—more careful. Like he was stalling. Or maybe... savoring.

Jake leaned in just a little, brow furrowed in quiet concentration. “Hold still,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “What—”

“There’s a bit of hair on your face,” he murmured.

His hand came up gently, fingers brushing the side of your cheek as he tried to sweep away the tiny, stubborn strand that had clung to your skin. You froze.

Because Jake—without even thinking—tilted your chin up with one hand, and with the other, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered against your jaw, fingers grazing your cheek, and then staying there.

You froze.

Jake didn’t move either.

His hand remained cupped on your face. His thumb brushed your skin. And his eyes—God, his eyes were locked on yours like they were holding something he hadn’t meant to let show.

You could feel the shift in the air. Heavy. Quiet. Like the entire world was holding its breath, waiting.

His gaze flicked to your lips. Just for a second.

And then it flicked back.

But it was enough.

Your heart stuttered. Your knees curled inward, brushing his hips. He leaned in—slowly, almost unconsciously. You could feel his breath now. Feel the tension between you, burning like something fragile and explosive all at once.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

It was so close. One more inch. Half an inch. Less than that.

You could see the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked. The way his jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

His forehead almost touched yours.

And just when you thought he might do it—just when your lips parted like they were waiting—

“GET YOUR DAMN PANCAKES!” Sunghoon’s voice echoed through the apartment like an accidental earthquake.

You jolted.

Jake stepped back too fast, hands dropping like they’d been burned.

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding.

“Right,” you said, hopping off the counter like it wasn’t shaking beneath you. “Breakfast.”

“Let’s go,” Jake said, voice too casual, too quick.

Neither of you looked at each other as you walked out of the bathroom.

But your fingers were still tingling.

And Jake’s heart was still lodged somewhere in his throat.—

The three of you were seated around the kitchen table. You sat across from Jake. The air smelled like sugar, butter, and unbearable tension.

Normally by now, you and Jake would’ve been locked in a battle of sarcastic wits, tag-teaming insults about Sunghoon’s tragic playlists or the sociopathic way he peeled his oranges.

But this morning?

Silence.

Sunghoon was the only one talking.

And he noticed.

“…So I told her, yes, I do moisturize, actually, and no, you can’t just borrow my $60 toner like it’s a sample at Sephora,” he said, pausing only to cut a triangle of pancake. “Anyway. These are the fluffiest pancakes I’ve ever made. Probably because I put love into them and not repressed rage, for once.”

You nodded absently. Jake let out a weird little hum like he was underwater.

Sunghoon squinted at you both.

He continued, tone flattening: “Also, I’m quitting college to become a juice bar cult leader. I’ll sell turmeric shots and emotional detachment.”

Sunghoon blinked slowly.

“…Hello?”

Silence.

He dropped his fork dramatically. “Okay. What is going on?!”

You and Jake looked up at the same time, startled like toddlers caught stealing cookies.

“You’re both being weird,” Sunghoon said, stabbing his fork in the air like a courtroom prosecutor. “Aren’t you usually bickering by now? Or pelting me with toast? Or roasting my skincare routine?”

You blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Jake coughed. “Totally fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Sunghoon snapped. “You’re sitting there like someone died. Did the bang trauma finally kill your friendship? Was it the haircut? Did a ghost tell you to never speak again?”

Sunghoon turned to Jake. “And you. You haven’t insulted me once. Not even when I said I wanted to start a juice cult.”

Jake shoved pancake in his mouth. “I support your passions.”

Sunghoon froze.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Who are you two?!”

You and Jake exchanged a glance.

Sunghoon’s jaw dropped. “No. No. No—”

“What?” you said too quickly.

Jake sipped his coffee like it was spiked with sedatives.

Sunghoon pointed at both of you. “Something happened. I don’t know what. But if this is about some repressed ‘we accidentally almost kissed while trimming tragic bangs’ situation, I swear to god I will scream.”

You choked on your juice.

Jake muttered, “N–nothing happened.”

Sunghoon leaned back, crossing his arms like a dad about to issue consequences.

“Right,” he said. “And I’m emotionally stable.”

He stood suddenly and grabbed his coat off the hook by the door.

You looked up. “Where are you going?”

Jake jolted upright. “Wait—wait. What? Where ya goin’, man?” His voice cracked slightly.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “Out.”

Jake laughed nervously. “Nooo, don’t go. We’re having a good time. Bonding. Pancakes. Healing.”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile that definitely wasn’t panicked. “Stay. We can watch something. I won’t even make fun of you for picking a romcom from the 60s.”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes.

“…You two are being so weird right now.”

Jake blinked. “What? No.”

“Totally normal,” you said simultaneously.

The tension between you and Jake buzzed like a power line. Sunghoon stared. You and Jake sat a full cushion apart on the couch, but somehow it felt like you were breathing the same air.

After a pause, Sunghoon grabbed the doorknob.

“I’m gonna get some more eggs, we ran out of them.” he muttered, and slammed the door behind him.

Silence.

One beat.

Two.

Then you and Jake both shot up and retreated to your rooms at the exact same time, slamming your doors like a choreographed sitcom exit.

You paced around your room.

Back and forth. Arms crossed. Hair bouncing (the parts you hadn’t murdered). You could still feel the ghost of Jake’s hand on your jaw.

Yes. Okay. Sure. You almost kissed him in the bathroom. But let’s review.

You were vulnerable.

You just got dumped.

Your bangs looked like they were cut by a raccoon with ADHD.

It meant nothing.

…Right?

You stopped and groaned into your hands. “It was the vulnerability. I was emotionally compromised and Jake’s dumb face got too close.”

You paused.

“…Jake’s dumb, pretty face…”

—

Late in the afternoon, you wandered into the kitchen with a bowl of greens and the vague desire to do something normal. Something quiet. Something safe. Your fingers moved on autopilot as you chopped vegetables—lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers—something about the rhythm calming the noise in your head.

Until you heard it.

The shuffle of feet down the hallway. That familiar cadence. Soft, unhurried. Jake Sim.

You paused mid-slice.

Jake walked in a second later, completely unaware you were already there—ramen in one hand, phone in the other, texting with his usual boyish ease. The hoodie he wore was slightly rumpled. His hair still damp from a shower. He looked so effortlessly himself it made your chest ache.

He looked up.

And froze.

Your eyes met for one long, breathless second. Too long. Too much.

Then he spun around so fast he nearly dropped the ramen.

He stood in the doorway, awkwardly half-turned, clearly debating whether bolting would make things better or worse. The silence was loud.

After a beat, he cleared his throat and forced himself to turn back.

“Cool,” he said, voice pitched an octave too high. “Great. Dinner.”

He grabbed a pot from the cabinet like it was a lifeline. Filled it at the sink with determined focus, pretending not to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

You turned back to your chopping. Tried to focus.

But the air in the kitchen had shifted—thicker now. Heavier. Like all that nearly-spilled affection from the bathroom was still clinging to your sleeves.

You could feel him next to you. Could sense every inch of space he left between you. Could feel every inch he didn’t.

Then you both reached for the stove.

At the same time.

Your fingers brushed.

You both flinched.

“Sorry—” you mumbled.

“No—you—uh—go ahead—” he said quickly.

It should’ve been fine. It was a stove. It was cooking.

But it wasn’t.

Now you were standing shoulder to shoulder, the side of his arm barely grazing yours every few seconds, and it was like touching static. Every brush sent sparks to your spine.

His noodles boiled. Your chicken sizzled.

And still, neither of you moved.

Jake kept stealing glances—tiny, fleeting ones, like he couldn’t help it. Like he needed to make sure you were real. You weren’t looking at him, but you felt him looking. You felt it like a pulse.

Your heart wouldn’t stop tripping over itself.

This is nothing, you told yourself. It’s proximity. It’s leftover tension. You’re vulnerable, fresh off a breakup. You’re not—

You reached for the pan.

Too close.

Your fingers hit the hot edge. Hard.

“Shit—ow!” you gasped, jerking your hand back.

Jake turned like he’d been shot.

“What happened?!” His voice was sharp with panic as he lunged toward you. “Are you okay?!”

“I just—I touched the—” Your words tumbled over each other as you blinked at your hand, already stinging and red, the skin rising into a welt.

Jake didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed your wrist with both hands—gentle but urgent—and rushed you to the sink, flipping the faucet with his elbow. The cold water hit the burn and made you wince.

But you barely felt it.

Because all you could feel was Jake’s hands wrapped around yours. His thumb against your pulse. His breath too close. His panic louder than yours.

“You okay?” he asked again, eyes never leaving the burn. “Can you feel this? Are you dizzy? Why aren’t you saying anything—why are you—”

He stopped.

Because you were smiling.

Barely. Just the smallest curl at the corners of your mouth.

But it was there.

And so was he. Right there in front of you, looking like he was breaking apart from how badly he wanted to keep you safe. Like your pain physically hurt him.

No one had ever looked at you like that before.

And suddenly, everything shifted.

Because in that moment—burning finger, cold water, trembling hands—you knew.

You were falling for Jake.

And maybe you had been for a while.

The realization made your chest tighten. Made your throat close. You looked at him and your heart skipped like it knew this moment mattered.

Jake helped you sit on the counter, still holding your hand like it might disappear. He moved carefully—so carefully—as he opened the first aid kit, his lips pressed together in a worried line.

He dabbed ointment on the burn with a lightness that made your chest ache. His brows furrowed as he wrapped the bandage, his thumb stroking the back of your hand like a whisper.

“You never pay attention,” he muttered, voice tight with concern. “Always spacing out. Always in your head. It’s like you want me to have a heart attack.”

“You make me worry so much it’s insane,” he whispered. Like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like it spilled out before he could catch it.

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Not when your pulse was roaring in your ears and his touch made you feel like you might float out of your body.

Then you heard it—quiet, almost to himself.

“God, you’re the only person in the world who makes me feel like this.”

“Like what?” You mumbled.

“Like I’m going fucking insane.”

Jake’s eyes widened a second too late. Like he’d only just realized he said it out loud.

You stared at him.

“…Say that again,” you whispered.

“I didn’t—” he started, panicking. “I didn’t mean—”

You slid off the counter slowly. Your hand still throbbed—but your heart was louder. Too loud.

You looked at him. And in his eyes, you saw everything.

The longing. The panic. The thousand things he wasn’t saying.

And then—

“If you’re gonna keep having slow-burn movie moments in the kitchen, at least don’t do it in the kitchen.”

You both jumped.

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, a grocery bag in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other. His eyebrows were already in judgmental orbit.

Jake stammered, “We weren’t—!”

“You were,” Sunghoon said, breezing past. “You were doing the eye thing.”

“What eye thing?” you asked, flustered.

“The longing one. With the breathing and the tragic backlighting. The tragic yearning...it’s disgusting.”

—

The BBQ joint was already full when you walked in—heat rising from tabletop grills, laughter spilling over like steam, the air thick with the smell of sizzling meat and farewell speeches. You stood at the entrance for a second, bag slung over your shoulder, your heart thudding a little faster than necessary.

You weren’t even sure why you’d come.

Sunghoon had bailed last minute, claiming a “group project emergency,” and you could’ve easily ghosted too. But something had pulled you here—maybe the closure, maybe the company, maybe the quiet, ridiculous hope that things might feel normal again. That you might feel normal again.

Your eyes swept the room, searching for a familiar face.

And there he was.

Jake, halfway across the restaurant, hunched slightly in his chair as he laughed at something someone said. His hair was a little messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His denim jacket hung on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up as he reached for the grill tongs, utterly unaware that he’d just knocked the breath out of you.

You took a step forward. Small. Tentative. A part of you hoping—aching—that maybe he’d seen you already. He saved you a seat.

But then you froze.

Because a girl slid into the chair beside him.

She was pretty. Confident. One of those girls who didn’t need to try to draw attention. She leaned in with ease, like they already knew each other. She laughed, tossed her hair, said something that made Jake glance over and smile—polite, soft.

Not your smile.

Your feet stayed planted. Your throat tightened, jealousy wrapping around your chest like a rope. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t even know what it meant. But there it was.

That empty chair had never not been yours before.

And now, suddenly, it wasn’t.

You blinked hard and turned on your heel, moving so fast it felt like fleeing. You didn’t care where you sat—anywhere but there. Anywhere but near him and her.

Jay looked up from his grill station just in time to see you drop into the seat next to him with the force of someone trying to bury a feeling. His eyebrows lifted, chopsticks paused mid-turn.

“Woah,” he said, startled. “Dramatic entrance. Everything okay?”

You forced a smile that didn’t quite make it past your cheeks. “Peachy.”

Jay looked unconvinced.

You stared hard at the sizzling grill in front of you. The sound of meat crackling felt louder than the conversations around you. Too loud. Too sharp. But not sharp enough to cut through the coil of emotion in your chest.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Jake glance your way. Brief, unsure. You didn’t look back.

Instead, you reached for a piece of lettuce like it wronged you in a past life and stabbed your chopsticks through it.

Jay watched you for a moment, then cautiously leaned in. “Sooo... wanna tell me why you look like you’re about to wrestle that cabbage?”

You didn’t answer.

Because on the other side of the table, Jake was laughing again. Soft. Casual. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of kissing you in a bathroom two weeks ago. Like he didn’t used to look at you first when he walked into a room.

But today, he didn’t.

He looked at her.

Something sharp twisted in your gut. Something bitter.

Jealousy, maybe. Or disappointment.

Not that he was talking to someone else.

But that he let her sit there. That he gave away your spot like it never mattered.

Your jaw clenched. You shoved the lettuce into your mouth like it was responsible for your emotional spiral.

Jay winced in sympathy. “So… no comment?”

“None.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll just assume you’re possessed and move on.”

He turned back to the grill, wisely choosing not to push further. You didn’t notice, but your shoulders stayed tense. You didn’t speak. You didn’t breathe right. Your fingers picked apart a piece of grilled pork until it was unrecognizable.

Across the table, Jungwon raised his voice.

“Hey! Let’s talk about the class’s power couple!”

You looked up mid-chew. Wrong move.

“Jake and her, obviously!” he said, pointing at you both with a grin like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You nearly choked on your lettuce. “Yang Jungwon, I will throw this piece of meat in your face if you don’t–”

Jay coughed into his drink. “Here we go.”

Jungwon beamed. “What? You’re always together. It’s, like, a known thing.”

Someone else piped in. “It’s true. Jake’s always doing the sweetest things for her. Didn’t he bring you bubble tea for a whole week when you got your wisdom teeth out?” 

“And didn’t he carry your whole bag once when your wrist hurt?” 

“And hold your umbrella even though he was getting soaked?” Everyone at the table nodded, laughing. Agreeing. Smiling at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You flushed.

Jake stayed quiet.

Still across the table.

Still next to her.

And still not looking at you.

The realization hit slow and hard—like a wave you’d tried to outrun finally catching your heels.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone had always seen it.

Except you.

Until now.

Your throat felt dry. Your chest felt hollow. And your skewer? Obliterated. You stabbed through the last piece of beef with more aggression than necessary.

Jay leaned over and whispered, “You’re gonna set off the smoke alarm if you keep grilling that poor meat.”

You didn’t respond.

Because the chair he used to save for you wasn’t yours anymore.

And for the first time—you realized how much that seat had mattered.

You didn’t even realize how tightly your hands were gripping your chopsticks until your knuckles turned white. Your jaw ached from how long you’d been clenching it. Everyone at the table laughed at something you didn’t hear, and it felt like you were underwater—sound muffled, air thick, eyes locked on your untouched plate.

You hadn’t meant to care so much.

It was just a chair.

Just a seat at a dinner party.

But it was your seat. The one he always saved without asking. The one he used to pat with a grin like, "Reserved for royalty." The one where your jacket used to end up without thinking, your chopsticks already unwrapped by the time you sat down.

So seeing someone else sitting there—smiling like she belonged there—felt like stepping into a memory and realizing it didn’t remember you back.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

You weren’t together. Not really. Not even close.

But god, that seat had never been up for grabs before.

You slid into the open spot across the table like it didn’t burn, even though every movement felt like betrayal. Like you were betraying yourself by still hoping for something you couldn’t even name.

And then, he tapped your shoulder.

You stiffened immediately, already knowing it was him.

Jake.

The very air changed when he was around. Lighter, tighter, like it had more weight and less oxygen at the same time.

“Hey,” he said, voice easy. Too easy.

You didn’t look at him.

Tap.

“Princess.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened.

Because Princess used to be the softest thing in the world. A tease. A comfort. A reminder that he knew you, saw you, adored you in all the quiet ways he never said aloud.

But now?

It felt… different. Tainted.

It didn’t land the same when your chair was already taken. When he’d let someone else into the only space you thought was sacred.

So you didn’t turn.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t soften.

He hesitated—like he felt the shift, too.

“Hmph,” you crossed your arms like a child.

Jake’s voice dropped, lower this time. “Why are you mad at me?”

You still didn’t answer.

He let out a slow breath and walked around the table instead, crouching beside your chair like a boy trying to pick up something broken.

Your gaze stayed glued to your half-torn napkin.

“Is it… about the seat?” he asked, voice gentler now. Like maybe he already knew the answer. Like he knew exactly what that seat meant.

Your silence answered for you.

Jake swallowed hard.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he murmured. “She sat down before I even before I realized you were coming. I swear, I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” you cut in, quiet but sharp. “Replace me?”

Jake flinched.

You regretted it instantly. But not enough to take it back.

Because that seat—that tiny, stupid thing—meant something. And tonight, he let someone else take it like it didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “I should’ve waited for you. I should’ve saved it.”

Your hands tightened in your lap. “Forget it.”

“Princess,” he said again, softer now. Pleading. Like maybe if he said it right, it would mean the same thing it used to.

But it didn’t.

Not tonight.

You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

And he looked wrecked. Not in the dramatic, cinematic way. Just quietly ruined. Like he hadn’t realized how deep this cut would go. Like he was only just now understanding what he’d done.

You turned away before it could get worse.

Before your face could say too much.

Jake didn’t move.

Didn’t say another word.

Just sat there beside you like he would’ve done anything to rewind the night and start over.

But some things you couldn’t undo.

You were chewing in silence, half your brain stuck in a loop of spiraling thoughts and the other half… fully aware of Jake beside you. The way he kept glancing at you every few seconds. The way his leg bounced under the table like he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it.

You shifted in your seat.

He didn’t look at you, but he nudged your knee gently with his.

Then came his voice—soft, tentative, like he was knocking on a door he wasn’t sure he was allowed to open.

“I still owe you a prize.”

Your head turned.

Jake was already half smiling. That crooked, boyish smile that always cracked something open in your chest.

You blinked. “…What?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“…Two,” you whispered.

Jake turned, hand still hidden behind his back—and slowly revealed two fingers.

Your breath hitched. Just barely.

He smiled wider now, eyes lighting up like he’d been holding that hope in all night.

“Correct,” he said gently. “Which means…”

Jake stood up suddenly, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Wait here.”

You blinked again. “What? Where are you going—?”

He was already walking off, dodging servers and plates of steaming food. He made a beeline toward the front of the restaurant where the owner stood at the counter, scribbling on receipts.

From your seat, you watched him gesture animatedly. He pointed to a pen. Then to a napkin. The owner blinked, clearly confused, but handed him a small notepad and a black pen.

You watched Jake furrow his brows, crouching at a little side table and scribbling furiously, tongue poking out slightly as he focused. His shoulders hunched like he was working on something important. 

He returned a minute later, cheeks flushed with effort, pen still tucked behind his ear like an afterthought.

Without saying a word, he slid the paper toward you.

“Your prize,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes.

You looked down.

It was a drawing.

A bad drawing.

Stick figures, crooked lines, and a questionable attempt at your haircut—short, jagged bangs that stuck out at odd angles, cartoonishly captured in the most chaotic way possible. You almost laughed.

But then your eyes caught the words scribbled underneath:

‘Even with that haircut, you’re still the prettiest girl in the world.’

Your breath hitched.

You looked up.

Jake was pretending to sip water, very invested in the contents of his cup.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of the paper.

“…You’re such an idiot,” you whispered.

His gaze finally flicked to yours.

And even in the low lighting of the restaurant, you saw it.

The softness.

The hope.

The fear.

Like he didn’t know how you’d take it—but he meant every word anyway.

Your throat was suddenly too tight. 

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Because you were still holding the drawing. 

—

You slipped your bag over your shoulder, the strap digging slightly into your coat as you muttered a quick goodbye to Jay and Jungwon. They teased you on the way out—of course they did.

The air outside hit your face like a wall. Sharp. Cold. Honest.

You exhaled, breath clouding in the dark. The city lights blurred into little golden halos around you as you wrapped your scarf with clumsy fingers, your hands still shaky from the night. From everything.

And then—

“Wait—hey!”

You turned.

Jake.

He was jogging after you, his jacket flapping open behind him, cheeks flushed red from the heat inside meeting the cold outside. His hair was a little windblown. His eyes found yours like they always did—easily, like home.

You blinked, lips parting. “What are you—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he asked, breath puffing in the cold. He slowed beside you, steps syncing with yours before you even answered.

You paused, your fingers still tangled in your scarf.

“…Weren’t you still talking to her?” you asked softly. Softer than you meant to. Your voice barely carried.

The silence stretched between you.

Then, wordlessly, Jake reached for your scarf.

You froze.

“Here,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours. “You always do it too tight.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His hands moved gently, expertly—unraveling the mess you’d twisted, smoothing the soft fabric like he’d done it a hundred times. Like muscle memory.

His knuckles grazed your jaw as he tucked the ends in.

You held your breath.

And when you finally looked up, he was already watching you.

You, wrapped in the coat he gave you. In the scarf he’d fixed. In the silence he hadn’t tried to fill with anything other than quiet care.

“I’d rather be walking us home,” Jake said gently. Not a question. Not even a request.

And still—you let him.

The two of you walked slowly, the glow of streetlamps casting long shadows across the pavement. 

Jake was rambling beside you—something about Jungwon’s tragic karaoke and lettuce on a grill—but your mind was somewhere else entirely.

It was on him.

It was on every version of him.

On all the times he showed up when he didn’t have to. On all the gentle, quiet ways he loved you without asking for anything back.

On the umbrella he always tilted toward you.

On the bubble teas and playlists and dumb printed emoji sheets.

It hit you so hard you physically stopped walking.

Jake didn’t notice until he took two more steps and realized your footsteps had vanished.

“—and I swear, if he ever touches a mic again—wait, hey, you okay?”

He turned around.

You stood there, frozen in place, eyes wide and glassy like you were realizing something you couldn’t un-realize.

Jake’s face shifted instantly.

“W-What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping forward, concern flashing across his face. “Did I say something? Are you—”

You didn’t answer.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him—just like that. No hesitation.

You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, arms looping around his back like you needed to hold something steady. Like he was the only thing steady enough to hold.

Jake stilled.

Completely.

And then his arms came around you.

Slow. Firm. Certain.

You felt his hand press gently into your back, the other cupping the back of your neck like he was trying to piece you back together with touch alone.

Your voice cracked when it came out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His breath hitched. “Tell you what?”

“That you’ve been in love with me.”

Silence.

Jake went still again. His hand flexed slightly against your back.

You pulled back just enough to see him—your hands still clutching his coat, his eyes wide, mouth parted, heart in his throat.

“That would’ve made everything so much simpler,” you said, voice trembling. “Maybe I wouldn’t have dated that idiot. Maybe I would’ve chosen you. A long time ago.”

Jake looked stunned. His lips parted like he wanted to say something—but you didn’t let him.

“I thought you were just being nice,” you whispered. “I thought… you saw me, maybe, like a sister. I didn’t know…you–”

His brows drew together. Something deep and aching passed across his face.

“I’m sorry,” you went on. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it. You’ve always been there. Always. And I never looked at you the way I should’ve. Not until it was too late.”

Jake stared at you like you’d just knocked the air out of him.

And then.

He cupped your jaw with both hands.

Thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks. Fingers resting gently, reverently, like you were porcelain. His eyes were locked on yours, searching. Burning.

And then he leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t tentative.

It was everything he’d held in.

Years of friendship, of quiet pining, of every moment he almost let it slip and didn’t—it all spilled into that one kiss.

His lips found yours with a kind of desperate relief. Like coming home. Like breathing after drowning. Like maybe, finally, he didn’t have to hold it back anymore.

Your hands curled into the front of his coat. You tilted up into him, breath catching as he deepened the kiss—his hands sliding into your hair, one curling at the nape of your neck, the other still cupping your jaw like he couldn’t bear to let go.

His lips moved, with tenderness, with the kind of aching care that made your knees weak and your chest full to bursting.

When he finally pulled back—just barely—you were both breathless.

Your noses brushed.

His hands didn’t move.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still closed, as if he couldn’t look at you and survive it.

“You didn’t have to see it back then,” he whispered. “I loved you anyway. I always have.”

You closed your eyes.

And kissed him again.

Because you didn’t need to say it yet.

You were already saying it in every breath.

And Jake?

Jake held you like he’d waited his whole life to because well…he did.

Because maybe you hadn’t fallen first.

But you were falling harder now.

You barely made it halfway down the street before you stopped again—just to kiss him.

It started soft.

His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing lightly beneath your cheekbone as your lips pressed to his, slow and testing, like you were still trying to figure out how this all worked now. How it was real. His nose brushed yours. Your fingers curled in the collar of his coat, tugging him just a little closer.

You took three steps.

Then stopped again.

This time his hands slipped lower—one landing on your hip, the other skimming the small of your back as he leaned in again, mouth warm and insistent. His kiss deepened, lips parting against yours, breath catching in his throat as your fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, just a little.

“Jake,” you mumbled against his mouth, your nose nudging his cheek, “we’re literally in public.”

He didn’t move away.

Just smiled against your lips. “Not my fault you’re addictive.”

You rolled your eyes.

And then kissed him again.

Longer. Slower. Your body pressed into his chest as his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. He tasted like cinnamon gum and the cold air between you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before his lips found yours again, open and hungry now.

By the time you reached your building, the two of you were fully drunk on it—on each other.

He had you backed up gently against the brick wall by your door, your back hitting it with a soft thud. His hands braced either side of your head. Yours slid down his chest, fingers dragging across the buttons of his jacket before slipping underneath and fisting in his hoodie.

His forehead rested against yours, your noses brushing.

“I can't believe I get to do this now,” Jake whispered, breathless, lips still ghosting over yours. “Like this. With you.”

You smiled, whispering back against his mouth, “I should’ve kissed you years ago.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his mouth dipping lower, kissing along your jaw before finding your lips again. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to fall in love with you like this.”

Your arms curled around his neck. You were just about to pull him back in when—

“OH MY GOD. MY EYES!”

You both jerked away.

Jake turned first, one hand still protectively on your waist. You peeked around his shoulder, blinking through the haze of hormones and heat.

Sunghoon.

Standing frozen a few feet away, grocery bag in hand, jaw dropped so hard it could’ve cracked the sidewalk.

“SERIOUSLY?!” he shouted, voice breaking with disbelief. “MY ONE NIGHT OUT?! THIS IS WHAT I COME HOME TO? TONGUE WRESTLING? ON THE DOORSTEP?”

You immediately hid your face in Jake’s shoulder, laughing so hard you nearly collapsed.

Jake just grinned. “You’re just jealous you’re bitter, old, and single.”

“I LIVE HERE, YOU FERAL ANIMALS.”

You peeked up, cheeks burning, still giggling like a teenager. Jake reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers like he’d been doing it forever. His thumb traced slow circles on your skin.

Jake giggled, stepped in, slow and sure, until there was barely an inch between you. His hand let go of yours only to slide around your waist, pulling you in until your chest brushed his. His other hand found your jaw again, thumb grazing your cheekbone.

And then he kissed you. Again. Harder this time.

Behind you, Sunghoon made an actual gagging noise. “CUT IT OUT! This is why I prayed for your downfall, Jake.”

Jake just tugged you toward the elevator, still holding your hand.

—-

You barely made it into the apartment before Sunghoon yelled from his bedroom, voice muffled through the door:

“I’M NEVER WASHING YOUR LAUNDRY AGAIN.”

You and Jake burst into laughter, tripping over each other as you kicked off your shoes, still tangled in giggles and flushed skin and stolen kisses.

Jake followed you straight to your room, still holding your hand like it was his favorite thing in the world. His other hand? Firm on your waist. His mouth? Absolutely relentless.

The second the door clicked shut, he was on you again—his lips warm and insistent against your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. He kissed you like he couldn’t stop, like he didn’t want to stop, like he was mapping every inch of you with his mouth.

You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the wall as his hands framed your face and his mouth finally, finally met yours again—deeper this time, slower but more demanding, like he was memorizing you.

“Jake—” you gasped between kisses, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, “we have class at eight tomorrow.”

He didn’t even blink. Just leaned back in and kissed you again, his thumb brushing along the underside of your jaw as he tilted your face up to him. “I don’t care,” he whispered against your lips.

You barely had time to respond before his mouth crashed into yours again, open-mouthed, his hand sliding from your cheek down to your waist, gripping just tight enough to make your knees weak. Your fingers threaded into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer as your back hit the door, and you swore you felt the room spin slightly.

When you finally broke apart, panting, your lips felt swollen, kissed raw. Your heart was racing.

“So,” you murmured, dazed and breathless, “does this mean we’re… dating?”

Jake blinked, cheeks flushed, lips red. Then he grinned, cocky and breathless. “Are you asking me out?”

You rolled your eyes, still pinned between the wall and his body, smiling despite yourself. “It’s the least I could do, considering I didn’t realize you were in love with me for, like, a decade.”

Jake laughed—a low, husky sound that made your stomach flip. He leaned in again, brushing your lips with his, soft and slow this time. “You don’t owe me a single thing,” he whispered, one hand still at your waist, the other stroking your cheek like you were something fragile.

Then—just like that—he kissed you again. Harder. Messier.

He angled your chin just right and slotted your mouths together in a way that made you exhale a broken sound against his lips. His tongue teased against yours, slow and devastating, and when you whimpered into the kiss, he tightened his grip on your waist like he couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t just kissing anymore. It was kissing like gravity didn’t exist.

“Gosh,” he murmured against your lips, breath ragged, “I can’t stop. You’re like—” kiss “—a drug or something.” Kiss. “A really addictive one.”

You giggled mid-kiss, your hands sliding up into his hair. “You’re insane.”

And then SLAM.

Your bedroom door flew open like a jump scare.

Jake jumped away from you like you’d just been caught stealing a national treasure.

Before either of you could process what was happening, Sunghoon stormed into the room, dragging Jake into a headlock mid-sentence.

“WHAT THE—!” Jake shrieked.

You collapsed onto the wall, laughing so hard your knees buckled. Sunghoon grumbled something incoherent as he dragged a flailing Jake down the hallway like a sack of potatoes.

“I’m trying to sleep,” Sunghoon barked. “And instead I get moaning and giggling through my wall like I’m living in a romcom directed by Satan.”

Jake was breathless. “I wasn’t even going tor—”

“Yeah, yeah, pipe it, dumbass.”

Sunghoon slammed Jake down onto his bed and slammed the door behind him like it owed him peace.

You were still giggling in the hallway when Sunghoon’s door creaked open again. He stepped out looking 800 years tired, hoodie wrinkled and hair in chaos.

“And you!”

He pointed at you.

You stood straighter.

He stared. Then sighed.

“…Sleep well,” he muttered.

But just as he turned away, he mumbled under his breath: “God, you’re so happy it’s disgusting.”

And you were.

You were dizzy, breathless, borderline giddy.

Disgustingly happy.

And it felt perfect.

—

You laid in bed, the blanket tucked snugly beneath your chin, heart still racing from the absolute whirlwind that had been your night. Your lips were still tingling. Your cheeks ached from how much you’d smiled. Everything inside you buzzed, giddy and light, like you were a teenager with her first real crush.

Only this wasn’t a crush.

This was Jake.

You giggled into your pillow, kicking your feet beneath the covers, limbs wriggling like your body had no idea how to contain this much happiness.

Then—

Ping.

Your phone lit up beside you.

Jake 💙 i miss u already hehe

You let out an actual squeal, smacking your pillow with both hands, grinning like a complete lunatic.

God.

You’d never felt like this before. Not even with your ex. Not even close. This was warm. This was exciting. Safe. Stupid and lovely all at once.

This was Jake.

Still smiling, you typed back quickly, almost shy:

can u sneak back in?

You held your breath, eyes glued to the typing bubble.

But before it even disappeared—you heard it.

The quiet creak of a door unlocking.

You bolted upright.

Heart stuttering, you threw off your blanket and padded toward your bedroom door, cracking it open just enough to peek into the hallway.

And there he was.

Jake.

In pajama pants and a hoodie, hair tousled and fluffy, tiptoeing across the hallway like some cartoon burglar. His socked feet made no sound, but his face was full of mischief, lit up with a secret smile like this was the best part of his whole night.

He looked up and spotted you, then quickly pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shhh,” he whispered, a ridiculous grin tugging at his mouth.

You had to bite down on your knuckle to keep from laughing. He was impossible.

He reached your door in two quiet steps, gently pushing you backward into your room with both hands on your shoulders, like you were something delicate.

Just as he was about to step in—

SLAM.

Sunghoon’s door burst open like he was a horror movie jump-scare.

Jake froze.

You froze.

Both of you turned slowly, like kids caught red-handed raiding the snack cabinet.

Sunghoon stood in his doorway, hair sticking out in ten different directions, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, expression one hundred percent done with everything.

Jake opened his mouth, already guilty. “We—”

“Go. To. Sleep,” Sunghoon said flatly. His voice had the kind of force only a sleep-deprived man could deliver. “You absolute rabbits.”

You immediately clamped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter as Jake stepped back like a scolded puppy, both hands in the air.

“Okay okay! We’re sleeping!” he whisper-yelled as Sunghoon groaned, rubbed his temples, and slammed his door shut again.

The second it clicked closed, Jake leaned down toward your door and whispered with a grin:

“Tomorrow night, I’m climbing through your window.”

You giggled, heart racing again, and whispered back, “You better.”

And he did.

He really did. But he also got caught by Sunghoon. Again.

[heejamas]

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

⋆˙⟡ synopsis: jake didn’t want a roommate, and you weren’t exactly thrilled either. it was supposed to be temporary, simple, nothing personal. except living together made everything personal. every glance, every fight, every late night that ended closer than it should have. there’s no neat label for what happens between you two, no clean line where it starts or ends. it’s messy, it’s reckless, it’s addictive. and once it begins, neither of you really want it to stop.

→ pairing: roommate!jake x fem!reader … ﹒college au, smut (mdni!!), roommate to lovers, slowburn #playlist → stockholm syndrome - one direction | love like this - zayn | i don’t do drugs ft. ariana grande - doja cat | just my type - the vamps | 34+35 - ariana grande // word count: 30k

!! warnings: smut!! minors dni. oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), public teasing, dirty talk, praise and degradation, softdom!jake, bratty!reader, spanking, weed consumption, jealousy, roommates with benefits but not really

jake never really did the whole quiet college life thing. he wasn’t failing classes or anything (he actually pulled decent grades when he cared enough to try) but most of his energy went into parties, half-serious hookups, and making sure he was never tied down to anything for too long. his apartment was a revolving door of friends, girls, and takeout containers, and he liked it that way. no one stayed long enough to know his laundry schedule or notice he slept with the tv on. it was easy, low maintenance, exactly how he wanted it. at least until the housing office screwed him over and dropped you into his space.

the week before had been pretty standard for jake, which meant a lot of nothing. monday night he was at heeseung’s place, half watching a game and half playing fifa with sunghoon until three in the morning. tuesday was drinks with sunoo and niki at that bar near campus. wednesday he skipped his morning lecture, slept until noon, and then spent the rest of the day hanging around jungwon’s dorm because jay had ordered pizza and jake didn’t feel like cooking. thursday was another party (he couldn’t even remember whose) and friday he woke up with a headache and a random girl’s hoodie on his couch.

it was the kind of week he’d been having for most of his college life, just bouncing between his friends’ places and his own small one-bedroom apartment. the lease was almost up, and he’d already decided he wanted to move. not because he hated it, it was fine, but the walls were thin, the neighbors complained too much, and he wanted more space. he’d been looking for a bigger place, just for himself, no roommates, no shared fridge, no awkward small talk.

the plan was simple: find a one-bedroom close to campus, maybe a little more expensive, but worth it for the peace. but then the housing office screwed something up. the unit he’d signed for got pulled last minute because of some “maintenance issue,” and by the time they told him, everything else on his list was already taken. they offered him a spot in a two-bedroom to “hold him over until something opens up,” and he took it, assuming they’d find some random guy to fill the other room eventually.

they didn’t. instead, they gave the second key to you.

“a girl?” heeseung asked, glancing over like he wanted to make sure he heard it right.

“yep,” jake said, “and before you ask, no, i don’t know anything about her. could’ve been some random dude from campus, but no, they put me with a girl.”

“it’s not the end of the world, you know.”

“yeah, except it kind of is,” jake said. “what if she’s, like, one of those people who tells you to keep it down because she’s got an 8am? i don’t need that kind of energy in my space. my place is supposed to be… my place.”

“your mojo dojo casa house?” jake shot him a look while heeseung giggled. “look, maybe it’s good for you,” he continued. “maybe you’ll stop bringing home random girls every other night.”

jake smirked. “or maybe i’ll just have to get better at sneaking them in.”

heeseung shook his head. “do you even know her name?”

“uh… i think it’s y/n? never seen her around campus. at least, not that i remember.”

“you could ask jungwon,” heeseung said. “he knows everyone.”

“yeah,” jake muttered, already half-distracted. “guess i’ll text him later. just… hope she’s not an asshole.”

heeseung gave him a look. “pretty sure she’s hoping the same thing about you. and she is probably right.”

so the rest of that week, jake was milking every last second of living alone. he left dishes in the sink without guilt, blasted music at 2 a.m. and walked around in just a towel after showers. it was good, chaotic and messy, but his kind of good. in a few days, there’d be another person in his space, and even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he wasn’t sure how much of himself he’d have to hide.

by wednesday, he had a lecture he couldn’t skip. attendance was part of the grade, and he’d already missed two. the class was one of those electives that pretended to be chill but always devolved into debates that dragged on way too long. he was used to zoning out, tossing in a comment or two just to keep his participation points. that day, though, the professor brought up some case study about media ethics, and jake, half out of boredom, half for fun, threw in a take that was just controversial enough to get people talking. what he didn’t expect was someone immediately firing back.

“that’s a terrible point,” a voice cut through from somewhere to his left, sharp enough to pull his attention off the professor.

jake turned his head, eyebrows lifting. you were a few rows over, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed like you’d been waiting for him to slip up just so you could pounce. you didn’t look nervous, or even slightly unsure, more like you were daring him to keep going.

“no, it’s not,” jake said easily, because there was no way he was letting some random girl dismantle him in front of the whole class.

“it is,” you said, tone flat, almost bored. “you’re just defending it because you think sounding confident is the same thing as being right.”

he scoffed, leaning forward in his seat. “and you’re disagreeing because you think being loud makes you smarter.”

for half a second, your mouth twitched, like you were fighting the urge to smile, but instead you sat up straighter, eyes locking on him as you launched into a rapid fire breakdown of why his take didn’t hold up. it wasn’t just a counterpoint; it was methodical, and you didn’t give him a second to slip in until you were done. he waited for the last word to leave your mouth before firing back, picking apart your logic, throwing in examples just to push your buttons. you didn’t flinch. if anything, you seemed more energized by the challenge, cutting him off mid-sentence, shaking your head with this smug little tilt that made his jaw tighten. within minutes, the rest of the class wasn’t even pretending to follow along with the lecture — they were watching you and him volley arguments. the professor didn’t step in right away, probably curious to see who would outlast the other. when he finally did, there was the faintest smile on his face. “alright, i think we’ll stop here. thanks to jake and y/n, for the spirited contribution today.”

the name landed like a coin dropping in his head. y/n. so this was you. his new roommate. he sat back in his chair, eyes still on you as you looked away like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just gone toe-to-toe with him for fifteen straight minutes. for a moment, jake just sat there, letting it sink in. of all the people they could’ve stuck him with, it had to be you: sharp-tongued, unshakable, clearly not the type to let anything slide. he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or impressed. maybe both. he’d expected his new roommate to be some background character in his life — someone who paid their half of the rent and stayed out of his way. instead, he’d gotten someone who looked him dead in the eye and called him out without hesitation. and now he couldn’t stop wondering if you’d be like that all the time, or if it was just a class thing.

later that day, he found jungwon in the campus café, earbuds in. “yo,” jake said, walking up. “you know a girl named y/n?”

jungwon pulled out one earbud, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to place the name. “yeah, i know her. why?”

“she’s my new roommate,” jake said. “met her today in class. well— ‘met’ is generous. more like she tried to shame me in front of thirty people.”

jungwon’s mouth curled into a small smile. “yeah, that sounds like her.”

“great,” jake muttered. “anything else i should know? is she, like… intense all the time?”

jungwon shrugged. “depends. she’s smart, doesn’t take crap from anyone, so, if you’re expecting her to just let you do your thing without comment, good luck.”

jake sat on the chair beside him, letting that sink in. “awesome. love that for me.”

jungwon smirked. “maybe you will.”

jake didn’t know what jungwon meant by that, but he was annoyed anyway. he was already holding a grudge against you, and not just because you’d tried to embarrass him in class. it was the fact that you were about to invade his space. his space. his mojo dojo casa house. the one thing he’d been looking forward to keeping entirely his own. and he was almost sure you didn’t even know he was your roommate yet. maybe they’d just hand you a key and let you figure it out when you showed up at the door. honestly, part of him wanted to see your face when you realized you were going to be living with the guy you’d gone toe-to-toe with for fifteen minutes straight in class.

except he didn’t get to see it. instead, later that night, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

[you]: hey! this is y/n. i got your number from the housing office

[you]: i’m gonna be your new roommate

he stared at the screen for a second, frowning. the message was friendly, almost too friendly. not at all what he’d expected from someone who’d been ready to verbally fight him to death earlier that day. so he typed back:

[jake]: so i’m guessing you didn’t realize i’m the same jake from that elective class

your reply came fast:

[you]: cool

[you]: so saturday work for you to move in?

that was it. no sarcasm, no smug comment, no acknowledgment beyond the bare minimum. like you couldn’t care less. so jake typed back. 

[jake]: yeah

[you]: i was thinking around 8 a.m.

jake blinked.

[jake]: 8 am? seriously?

[you]: yeah that’s usually when people start moving otherwise it gets late and we won’t finish in time

he stared at your last message, already annoyed at how matter-of-fact it was. eight in the morning. on a saturday. clearly, you were going to be a problem. the way you just stated it, like there was no room for discussion, like you knew exactly what you were doing, it rubbed him the wrong way. he could already tell you thought you were smart and sharp, the type who always got the last word. still, he agreed to the time. whatever. it was just one early morning. he’d deal with it. except, on friday night, he found himself in a situation where dealing with it became unlikely.

niki texted first, asking if he wanted to go to a frat party at yeonjun’s. normally, jake could’ve said no, but if niki was going, sunghoon was going too. and if sunghoon was going, sunoo would end up there. if sunoo was going, jungwon would tag along. and if jungwon was going, jay wouldn’t miss it. and once jay was in, heeseung was coming too, which meant heeseung was bringing weed. and if heeseung was bringing weed, jake had no choice. so, yeah, he was going.

the night was exactly what he expected, and every time he thought about leaving, someone shoved another drink in his hand, or heeseung started laughing at something and somehow convinced him to stay another hour. by the time he got home, it was late. way too late for someone who’d promised to be functional by eight a.m. still, he felt pretty good about himself. he’d packed up most of his apartment earlier that week, stacked boxes into his car, even cleaned the kitchen. all that was left was to wake up on time, meet you, and help move. except he didn’t wake up on time. in fact, he didn’t wake up anywhere near eight.

he woke up at— well, “woke up” is generous. it was noon. the sun’s already rude through the blinds and his phone battery’s dying because he forgot to charge it. but when he grabbed his phone, the first thing he saw was the time, and then immediate, gut-level panic set in. he shot out of bed, tripping over the pile of clothes from last night, and threw on whatever was closest: sweats, shirt inside out, mismatched socks. somewhere between shoving his wallet into his pocket and finding his keys, he finally noticed the one missed call from you. and one single text.

[you]: where are you?

with no follow up, no all caps rage, no triple question marks. he had you pegged as the type to spam twenty messages and call until his phone caught fire, so the sheer chill of it threw him off. so he typed back, “sorry, woke up late” and all you did was leave it on read. weird. still, he loaded himself into his car, already stuffed with boxes, trash bags of clothes and drove to the new apartment.

when he got there, the front door was locked. which, okay, fair. except… he didn’t have a key yet. and judging by the silence and total lack of life inside, you weren’t home. he started texting, but nothing. sent a couple more, still nothing. called, rang out. now he was sitting in the driver’s seat, engine off, staring at his steering wheel like it was gonna give him the answers. that was it, he was homeless now. he was alone, in a parking lot, surrounded by his own boxed-up belongings, slowly spiraling because you were ghosting him before you’d even officially met.

after four hours of torture, of sending countless messages to different friends asking if they had a spare couch for him to crash on, you finally pulled into the parking lot. before you could even close the car’s door behind you, he was already out of his own car, walking fast toward you with this mix of relief and frustration written all over his face. “where the hell were you?” he asked, his voice somewhere between annoyed and breathless.

you just glanced at him, locking your car, throwing your bag over your shoulder, and said, “out.” no explanation, no detail, just a flat answer that somehow irritated him even more.

“out?” he repeated, following as you started toward the building. “i’ve been sitting here for hours. i thought you were gonna be here when i got here.” 

you shrugged, not even slowing your pace, and said, “i finished my move this morning, then i went to do my stuff. what do you want me to do, sit around all day waiting for you?”

he blinked, because as much as that annoyed him, he couldn’t exactly argue with the logic. “you could’ve at least answered your phone,” he tried again, his tone still sharp but quieter now. “you could’ve told me where you were.” you glanced at him like you couldn’t believe he was making this a big deal. 

“jake, you woke up late. that’s not my problem. i texted you once, called you once, you didn’t answer, so i went on with my day.” 

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, feeling this weird mix of embarrassment and irritation because you were right, he knew you were right, you didn’t owe him a play-by-play of your day, but still, he’d been stuck in the car for hours thinking you’d ghosted him or forgotten he was moving in. so you handed him the key without ceremony, and then you walked him through the apartment, pointing out the light switches and the laundry schedule for the building. it was clear you’d already settled in enough to claim your space, and when he asked about the rooms, you didn’t even try to sugarcoat it — because he hadn’t shown up on time, you’d gone ahead and picked yours, and obviously you’d taken the one with the ensuite. makes sense, he’d thought, even though in his head he was trying to figure out if there was a polite way to argue for it without sounding petty. there wasn’t. 

so he just nodded while you explained which cabinet in the hallway was his and which shelves in the fridge he could use, and he kept thinking about how he’d imagined this moment going differently, maybe a little more friendly, or a little less efficient. by the time you were done showing him around, he was still standing there with his bag in hand, realizing you’d already turned back to whatever you were doing before he got here, like the whole moving-in thing was just one more item on your to do list.

and it was weird, the first day. jake was still figuring out where to put his stuff, boxes half open in the living room, one duffel bag sitting on the couch. you were around, but not really. sometimes he’d hear you moving in the kitchen, sometimes a door closing. you kept yourself busy with other things, like tidying up shelves, rearranging stuff in the bathroom, but never really lingering around him. he’d try to make some small comment about anything or how heavy the box was, but you’d just hum or nod without looking up. not rude, just minimal.

around dinner time, he was sitting on the floor, pulling cables out of a box, when you passed by. he decided to try again. “so, uh... is it okay to smoke weed in here?”

you stopped mid-step. “what kind of weed?”

he blinked like he wasn’t sure if that was a trick question. “what kind?”

“yeah. what do you smoke?”

“uh, just some pressed weed i get from a friend.” the friend in question was heeseung.

you looked at him like he’d just admitted he eats microwave fish every day. “no. get hash or something that doesn’t stink up the whole place.”

he stared at you, half surprised you knew the difference, half offended you thought he could casually drop money on that. “you think i’ve got hash money?”

you didn’t bother answering. just kept walking down the hall like the conversation was over. he let it go for a while, partly because he was too tired to argue, partly because you clearly weren’t the type to back down on random rules like this. so later, after he’d unpacked most of his stuff and was starting to feel like maybe the apartment wasn’t a total maze, he found you in the kitchen. you were leaning against the counter, scrolling on your phone, looking way too relaxed for someone who’d just finished telling him his entire stash was trash. “so what if i wanna smoke?” he asked, like the thought had been simmering in the back of his head since you’d walked away.

you sighed. “fine.” you got your bag, pulled out a small pink hello kitty case, unzipped it, and handed him a vape pen. “here. so you don’t make the place smell like cheap weed.”

he took it carefully, holding it between his fingers like it might break. “you’re just giving me this?”

“yeah. consider it a gift. welcome to the apartment.” you didn’t wait for a reaction. you just turned and went straight to your room, shutting the door behind you. he stayed there for a while, standing in the middle of the kitchen with the pen in his hand, staring at it. he couldn’t tell if you were insanely generous, weirdly controlling, or both. all he knew was that he suddenly had a vape pen and absolutely no idea who the hell his new roommate actually was.

and as the first week passed, jake still had no idea who the hell you were. and it passed with a lot of unpacking, awkward silences, and jake slowly realizing that living with you was going to be a whole different kind of challenge. he spent most of his mornings moving boxes, setting up shelves, and trying to figure out which things actually belonged in the apartment and which were just random trash he’d been holding onto too long. you kept mostly to yourself, your own rhythm never really syncing with his. sometimes he’d hear the shower running, the clink of dishes, the sound of you tidying up, but you didn’t really say much. he tried to make conversation here and there, asking if you knew where the extra hangers were, joking about how one of the light bulbs kept flickering. but you’d just hum, nod, or give a short answer before disappearing back into your room. it frustrated him more than he expected, and yet he couldn’t deny that there was something compelling about how unbothered and self-contained you were.

by the end of the week, he’d made more progress with his stuff than he thought he would, but he was still adjusting to the fact that you were this constant, quiet presence that refused to be read. he didn’t know if it was intimidating or fascinating, or maybe both. whatever it was, it made him more aware of how he moved, how he spoke, and how quickly he could lose himself in trying to get your attention, even when you weren’t giving him much to work with. he couldn’t quite place it, but there was a pull there, subtle, like he was slowly cataloguing all the little details about you without meaning to.

“didn’t you say you didn’t want a roommate who’d constantly be in your business?” heeseung caught up with him on campus later that week, walking a few steps ahead before turning with a teasing grin.

jake shot him a look, half annoyed, half exasperated. “yeah, but dude, she’s way too quiet. i can’t tell if she’s judging me or just ignoring me.”

heeseung shook his head, smiling. “so you wanted someone quiet and now you’re mad because she actually is?”

jake ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, knowing full well how ridiculous he sounded. he had spent days complaining about the idea of a roommate, imagining someone annoying, loud, constantly in his space, and now here he was, griping about someone who literally did what he asked: kept to herself, stayed out of his way, didn’t force conversation or attention. and yet, it frustrated him more than he expected. 

there was this weird tension in his chest, part irritation, part curiosity, part… something else he couldn’t quite name. he hated admitting it, but he found himself noticing the smallest things about you, and it was confusing, because on one hand he wanted the space, the quiet, the low-maintenance roommate, and on the other hand, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you did not give a fuck. he was aware he was contradicting himself, and that made him feel unsettled. part of him wanted to shake himself out of it, to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to care this much, and part of him was quietly, stubbornly intrigued, wondering just how much of you he was going to notice before the week was over.

then, friday night, his phone buzzed. it was a message from minjeong, a girl he sometimes hooked up with, asking if she could come see the new apartment. he stared at the screen, a grin creeping onto his face. of course, no problem. before replying, he hesitated for a second, realizing he should probably check with you first, but the thought of minjeong seeing the place and giving him a little validation was too tempting. he typed a quick yes and hit send, already anticipating how you might react when he mentioned it. he wasn’t sure if you would care or just shrug it off, and part of him was curious to see which way it would go. it was a small test, really, to see where you stood in his world now, after a week of careful observation, silent judgments, and that inexplicable pull he couldn’t ignore.

so he walked out of his room ready to find you and give his very casual, very “oh by the way” announcement, only to be met with an empty apartment. no shoes by the door, no faint sound of your music bleeding through your bedroom walls. you hadn’t mentioned going anywhere — not that you had to, you weren’t friends — but still, it was weird. so jake pulled his phone out, thumb hovering for a second before typing:

[jake]: hey, just so u know, i invited someone over 

a beat later, your reply came in: 

[you]: ok 

just that. his brows knit, an odd twist forming in his chest. 

[jake]: where u at? 

he typed, almost without thinking. the answer was immediate and annoyingly vague: 

[you]: out

he stared at it, something about that one word sticking under his skin. you were out. out where? out with who? and why didn’t you care that he was bringing someone here? so now he’s pacing around the living room for a while. it’s not like he expected you to drop your location or anything, but something about it just sits wrong in his chest. and now he’s overthinking. where could you even be? and why is he suddenly caring this much? he tells himself it’s just curiosity. except he keeps checking his phone like you might send a follow-up.

and by the time minjeong shows up, he’s still in his own head about it. she walks in all confident, tosses her hair, does the whole slow smile thing she always does. “nice place,” she says, already looking him up and down like she’s rating him along with the apartment. he smirks back, plays along, but it’s half-automatic. she leans on the kitchen counter and asks if he missed her. he says “of course” because that’s what he’s supposed to say, but his eyes flick to his phone sitting on the coffee table, dark screen staring back at him.

they sit on the couch, she slides closer, her hand on his thigh, and he’s doing the whole flirty banter thing but it’s on autopilot. every time there’s a sound from the hallway, his head snaps toward the door. minjeong notices after the third time and laughs, “what, expecting someone else?” he shakes his head, “nah, just… thought i heard something.” she raises an eyebrow but lets it go, moving in again. he’s responsive, sure, but his brain keeps circling back to the same two questions: where the hell are you, and why does it bug him so much that you didn’t care about this?

eventually, she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her back, and they’re headed toward his room. he’s still glancing toward the door every few seconds like you’re going to walk in at any moment. when they get to the bed, his phone is still in his hand for a second before he remembers to toss it on the nightstand. she notices and smirks, “you waiting for a more exciting guest?” he laughs it off, pulling her down with him, but his ears are still half-tuned to any noise outside. it’s ridiculous, he knows it, but the whole thing feels a little off-balance, like part of him is still in the living room waiting for the front door to open.

and the front door didn’t open that night at all. unless you count when minjeong left. it was late, way past midnight, after they’d already done enough to wake up the entire building if anyone had been around to hear it. and that was the thing, no one was. or at least, you weren’t. and jake kept coming back to that, the quiet in the apartment that wasn’t just because minjeong was gone. you hadn’t come home. you hadn’t been home all night.

he sat on the couch for a bit after walking minjeong out, phone in his hand like he was expecting some kind of alert, something that would tell him where you were without having to actually ask. he scrolled aimlessly, checked the time, opened and closed your chat three times without typing anything. he told himself it wasn’t his business, you were an adult, you could do whatever you wanted. but the longer he sat there, the more he kept glancing at the door like maybe you’d just appear. so around three in the morning, after deciding he wasn’t gonna sleep unless he knew for sure, he finally gave in. he typed out something short:

[jake]: ur not coming back tonight? do u have ur key? i’m locking up 

it didn’t take long for your reply to come through: 

[you]: not sleeping at home 

[you]: i have my key 

short, no explanation as always, just enough to make him stare at the screen for a while. he locked the door like he said he would, but even then, he stayed in the living room a bit longer, phone face down on the coffee table, wondering why the hell it mattered so much. he told himself it was just because he liked knowing who was in the apartment at night. that was all. just basic roommate awareness. nothing else.

when he woke up the next morning, you were already home, the house smelled faintly of coffee. it was quiet, a lived-in silence. he could almost map your movements from his room. you’d been up for a while, moving like someone who didn’t feel the need to announce their presence. he padded into the kitchen barefoot, hair still sticking up from sleep, and found you leaning against the counter with a mug in hand. you were watching the coffee swirl lazily inside it, eyes still heavy but mind clearly elsewhere. for some reason, that annoyed him a little, how comfortable you seemed in your own head. “would be nice if you told someone when you’re sleeping out,” he said, tone casual, but not casual enough. “so no one gets worried.”

you looked up slowly, brows pulling together just a touch. it wasn’t defensive, more like you were trying to understand why he’d say something like that. “why would you be worried? it’s not your problem.”

he blinked at you, caught off guard by how flatly you said it. “it’s… common courtesy,” he said after a beat, shrugging like it was obvious. “worrying about where a woman is. world’s dangerous out there.”

you laughed. it wasn’t polite or restrained, and it was the first genuine sound like that he’d heard from you. light, unguarded, almost surprised at him. “wow. you’re quite the gentleman.” you took another sip of coffee, your mouth curling faintly at the rim of the mug. “did you at least invite the girl from last night to stay over?”

his brows lifted slightly. “how do you know there was a girl here?”

“you said you’d invited someone. i assumed.”

“could’ve been a friend.”

“was it?”

he hesitated. “…no.”

“and you didn’t let her sleep here? sent her home in the middle of the night? what a gentleman you are.” and the way you said it was easy, amused, not mocking exactly, but you knew it would get under his skin. and it did.

you brushed past him then, and you disappeared into your room. he stood there longer than he should have, eyes fixed on the doorway you’d gone through. something about the whole thing stuck in his chest: the way you’d turned his comment back on him, the ease with which you’d disarmed him, that little smile like you were in on a joke he hadn’t been told. and jake wasn’t entirely sure what the hell was going on with him. he didn’t like people poking around in his life, didn’t like having to explain himself, didn’t even like the idea of anyone thinking they could read him. and yet something about you was getting under his skin. it was irritating.

so he told himself it wasn’t that deep. just curiosity, right? he wanted to figure you out. that was it, nothing more. but still, when he realized you had that same morning class together — the one you’d already gone head-to-head in a couple weeks ago — he caught himself planning for it. the class started early, and usually he’d drag himself out of bed last minute, throwing on whatever shirt that didn’t smell and heading out without a word. this time was different, he set his alarm for an hour earlier, got up without hitting snooze, even made coffee before you could. it wasn’t about impressing you (he wouldn’t admit it even to himself if it was) it was about… timing. so by the time you emerged from your room, hair still a little mussed from sleep, jake was leaning casually against the counter, mug in hand, already dressed and ready to go. casual, like he hadn’t been waiting. like this was just how his mornings worked.

“you’re up early,” you said, almost suspicious.

“yeah. felt like it,” he replied, too quickly, then took a slow sip of coffee to make it seem effortless. but the truth was, he’d calculated this perfectly. if he left when you left, that meant you had to walk together. and if you walked together, maybe he’d get another piece of whatever puzzle you were. so you’re halfway through your coffee when you notice he’s still there. jake’s on the couch, legs stretched out, phone in hand, not even pretending he’s in a rush. you’re moving around the kitchen, rinsing the mug, tying your hair back, checking the time, and he’s just sitting there. you give him this look, a suspicious glance, like, shouldn’t you be gone by now? but he doesn’t move.

when you finally ask why he hasn’t left yet, he says he’s waiting. you keep getting ready, slipping on your jacket, and ask what for. he says for the time to go. you stop for a second, frown at him, then keep going. “we have class together,” he adds, like it’s a fact that explains everything. 

you shrug. “and?” he looks at you like the “and” is obvious. 

“and it’s easier if we go together.” you stare at him a little longer, just enough to make him shift in his seat, then go back to your routine without answering.

in his head he’s already decided it was a bad idea. not the worst one he’s ever had, but bad enough that he’s starting to think he should’ve just left first, slipped out before you were done, because now it’s getting weird. the kind of weird where you’re both in the same room but not really in the same moment. he’s slouched on the couch, not even pretending to do anything else, just letting his eyes follow you while you get your stuff. when you’re finally ready and moving toward the door, you stop halfway like you remembered something. he waits, thinking you forgot your phone, but you just stand there looking at him. “what?” he says, his voice almost casual but not quite. 

you blink at him, like you’re surprised he even had to ask, and then you say, “aren’t you coming with me?” and for a second he doesn’t know how to answer, because he wasn’t planning on it, and somehow you asking makes it feel like he should’ve been. you grab your bag, holding the door open just enough to make it obvious you’re waiting. he gets up slower than necessary, like maybe to prove a point, and follows you out into the hallway. you lock the door, check the handle once, then start walking without looking at him. he falls into step beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, posture easy like he’s just strolling instead of heading to an 8am lecture. 

and for a while it’s just the sound of your shoes on the pavement and his occasional sniff. the air’s still got that sharp morning chill, and you pull your jacket a little tighter. he glances at you sideways, like he’s got something to say but he’s holding it back until it’ll land the way he wants. “remember the last time we had this class together?” he finally says, the corners of his mouth lifting.

you don’t look at him. “no.”

“yeah you do,” he presses, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “we ended up arguing for, like, half the lecture. i don’t even remember what it was about.”

“then maybe it wasn’t important.”

he laughs under his breath. “probably not. but i remember you getting all serious about it. it was kinda—” he tilts his head at you, “—entertaining.”

you stop at the crosswalk, eyes fixed on the blinking red hand. “you only think that because you never have anything real to say.”

he looks at you shocked. “…what?”

“you heard me,” you say, and it’s not even mean, just matter-of-fact, and jake at this point this is how you always make your point.

the light changes, and you step forward before he can come up with a comeback. he walks next to you, but there’s a pause now, and he can feel it settle in his chest, strange. because you’re not wrong, but you’re also not someone who usually just says things like that. he’s half smiling, but inside he’s turning the comment over, wondering if you’ve always thought that or if you just decided it today. so by the time you’re halfway down the block, he decides to poke at it. “so… you think i talk just to hear my own voice?”

“no,” you say, not looking at him. “i think you talk because silence makes you uncomfortable.”

he lets out a low whistle. “wow. brutal.”

“also true.”

he kicks at a crack in the sidewalk. “and here i thought we were bonding on this nice morning walk.”

“we’re walking to class. that’s all.”

but you say it without any heat, and that messes with him more than if you’d snapped. he’s used to people either feeding into his teasing or shutting it down, but you do neither. you just keep going, like he’s background noise. and the whole time, he’s thinking about how he doesn’t actually know where you stand on… well, anything. he knows the shapes of your reactions, the expressions you make, the way you close off when you’re done with a conversation. but the why behind it? no clue. and for someone like him, who’s so used to reading people, that’s almost infuriating. almost. because if he’s honest, it’s also the most interesting part.

once you get to the class, you’re sitting two seats to the left of him. the class today is some big group discussion thing, and the professor has just announced the topic: social media and whether it’s made society better or worse. jake’s leaning back in his chair, tapping his pen against the desk, already plotting his moment. he doesn’t really care about the actual topic, he just wants to say something dumb enough to make you whip your head around in disbelief. he figures you’ll roll your eyes, maybe sigh loudly, maybe mutter something under your breath. that’s the payoff he’s after.

when his turn comes, he clears his throat, and with this fake casual tone goes, “i think social media’s the best thing to ever happen to humanity. like, if we didn’t have it, we’d still be living in caves or something.” he even throws in a little shrug, like, yeah, obviously. he’s waiting for you to bite. but you don’t. you don’t even look at him. instead, from across the room, some guy he vaguely recognizes — sunghan or sungchan, something like that — immediately jumps in. “that’s literally the dumbest take i’ve heard in weeks,” the guy says, and then launches into this rapid-fire list of points about misinformation, mental health crises, economic inequality, all tied back to the rise of social media. it’s brutal. sunghan/sungchan has stats, examples, quotes from studies. jake tries to cut in once or twice with a “yeah but—” or “that’s not really—” but he gets steamrolled every single time.

the professor looks mildly entertained but doesn’t intervene. the rest of the class is clearly enjoying the free show. by the time the guy is done, jake has been verbally drop-kicked into oblivion and is now just sitting there, staring at his notes like they might save him. that’s when he catches you trying so hard not to laugh. your head is tilted slightly down, your hand covering your mouth, but your shoulders are shaking just enough to give you away. he can see your eyes flick toward him for a split second before you look back at your screen. it’s not loud, it’s not mean, but you’re absolutely laughing at him, and somehow that’s worse than if you’d just called him an idiot to his face.

so when class ended, jake lingered by the door, pretending to check his phone but really waiting to see your reaction. he didn’t quite know why he cared at all, but he did it anyway. you were gathering your bag slowly, methodically, like you weren’t in a rush to leave. he caught your eye for a second, trying to gauge if you were mad or impressed or whatever it was he felt. “so… that guy kind of roasted you,” you said as you slung your bag over your shoulder, not even looking at him. your tone was flat, but there was something in it that made jake pause. probably because he never thought you could possibly initiate a conversation, but you did. 

“i was just… making a point,” he said, a little defensively, leaning against the wall. “i thought it would… shake things up.”

you glanced at him, brow slightly raised. “you mean irritate everyone in the room?”

“that’s… partially true,” he admitted, smirking. “but also, come on, he kind of came at me with like ten facts and three graphs and this is, frankly, your fault.”

you finally looked at him, eyes narrowing a fraction. “what? why?”

“erm, yeah,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you were the only person i wanted to see annoyed.” he paused, realizing he sounded ridiculous, but didn’t care enough to fix it.

you snorted softly, almost a laugh, and jake’s stomach did that weird flip. “you’re really trying to get my attention like that?"

jake blinked at you, caught off guard by how direct you were. he opened his mouth to say something clever, then closed it again, realizing anything he said would sound stupid. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to look casual, like he wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of every word you were saying. “uh… i mean, no, not really,” he said finally, shrugging in a way that was supposed to be nonchalant but probably came off awkward. “i was just… paying attention, that’s all.”

you just shook your head slightly, a faint smirk playing on your lips, and muttered, “sure, keep telling yourself that,” before turning and walking out of the room without another word. jake stayed where he was, frozen for a second, watching you move. he told himself he was just observing, making mental notes, like a perfectly normal, totally innocent thing to do. but the second he saw you from behind, the way your jacket shifted and the rhythm of your steps, he caught himself glancing lower than he probably should have. he immediately chastised himself internally, straightening up and trying to act casual, pretending he wasn’t noticing anything at all, but the truth was, his eyes had betrayed him, and now he couldn’t stop tracking you. he followed you with a mix of fascination and mild guilt, half annoyed at himself for reacting like that, half unable to look away of your ass. he was trying to convince himself it wasn’t a big deal, that he wasn’t being creepy, that it was just instinct or habit or some excuse he could believe. 

jake ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the tension that had built up since he’d watched you leave. heeseung caught up with him in the hallway, leaning casually against the railing, and immediately smirked. “dude… were you checking her ass?” when the fuck did heeseung get here?

jake blinked, caught off guard. “no, not like that, i—i just… it was unavoidable. she walked past me.” he tried to sound convincing, but the explanation sounded thin even to his own ears.

heeseung raised an eyebrow, that teasing grin still in place. “so you did check your roommate’s ass.”

“you’re making me sound like a creep,” jake protested, heat rising to his face despite his attempt at nonchalance.

“you are a little bit creepy, to be fair,” heeseung said flatly, shrugging.

jake groaned, spinning his hand through his hair again, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. and yeah, he knew he’d looked. he was painfully aware of it. he couldn’t deny that you were attractive: your build, your posture, the way you moved with this effortless, contained confidence. and then there were your eyes, sharp and perceptive, the kind that seemed to see everything, even if you said nothing. he was aware of all of it, aware that you had this pull on him he didn’t want to admit, aware that your quiet, self-contained presence made every glance he stole more intense than it should be.

heeseung laughed, shaking his head like he’d just figured out jake’s secret. “man, you’re doomed,” he said, nudging jake lightly. “you’re already halfway in over your head.” jake rolled his eyes, but inside he was already replaying the way you’d walked past, how the jacket shifted over your shoulders, the calm, almost indifferent way you moved. he’d caught himself staring, yeah, but he didn’t care to admit it, not to anyone. it was one more thing about you he couldn’t figure out, one more reason he was quietly, stubbornly fascinated, and even though he’d never say it aloud, part of him couldn’t wait to see what else about you would catch his attention.

and that first month after jake checked you out, went by in a weird blur. not weird in the sense that anything dramatic happened, but in the way where jake kept catching himself noticing things he swore he wouldn’t care about. you were quiet, which he expected and knew. what he didn’t expect was how the silence wasn’t awkward, but it was steady. you didn’t give much away, not about your life, not about your family, not even about basic stuff like what you did on weekends before moving in. you always had this wall up, and he couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just the way you were. still, every once in a while, out of nowhere, you’d drop a sarcastic comment that was so perfectly timed it threw him off. it wasn’t often, but when it happened, he caught himself laughing harder than he probably should’ve.

he tried to test the waters sometimes, inviting people over just to see if you’d react. girls, friends, whoever. and honestly, you didn’t. if anything, you were almost too chill about it. you’d disappear into your room, door closed, headphones probably on, and not make a sound. the first time it happened, he thought maybe you’d get annoyed, or passive aggressive, but you didn’t. you didn’t even seem to care. and that made him feel guilty in a way he couldn’t explain. like, you were being way too decent about it for him to even think about making noise on purpose. he considered it once, just to see if you’d snap, but then he imagined how shitty it would be if you did that to him, so he didn’t.

with his friends, you were a little different. sometimes you’d come out and say hi, mostly if jungwon was around, since you already knew him. you talked to him more than the others, and jake noticed that too. you weren’t rude to the rest, but you didn’t go out of your way to interact either. it wasn’t that you were antisocial, more that you just didn’t give out pieces of yourself easily. and that became the part jake couldn’t stop circling back to.

what threw him most was how the tension kept building, even when nothing was really happening. the more you stayed closed off, the more he wanted to know. it didn’t help that every time he called someone over, it felt emptier than it used to. he didn’t know when it shifted, but it did. before, having a girl over was automatic, easy. now, after a couple weeks, it just didn’t feel the same and he didn’t even know why. the excuse he told himself was that he was busy, but deep down he wondered if it was because of you. he hated that thought, so he shoved it down, but it lingered anyway.

some nights he caught himself with the dumbest thing in his head, thinking you were kind of a shadow holding him hostage. he’d laugh to himself, because obviously it wasn’t that deep, but then again, the words fit in a way he didn’t want to admit. he’d think about it when he was lying awake, about how he hadn’t wanted a roommate in the first place, and now that he had one, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he didn’t know about you. 

and then you told him you were having someone over. first time ever. no warning, no buildup, just said it casually like it wasn’t a big deal. but it was for him, at least. he tried not to make a face, though his brain immediately went into overdrive. someone over? who? what kind of someone? was this, like, a friend situation or more than that? he didn’t know if it was his place to even ask. you’d made it pretty clear from the beginning that there was space between you two, that you weren’t looking to blur lines. and since you never asked him anything about his own business, it felt wrong to pry into yours.

still, the curiosity was eating him alive. he asked the only question that came to his head: if you wanted him to leave. the second he said it, he regretted it, because there was nothing in the world he wanted less than leaving. but he said it anyway, tried to make it sound casual, then added if you wanted him locked in his room instead. you barely looked up from what you were doing. “do whatever you want,” you said, and that got him. it was nothing, just three words, but it stuck like a thorn.

later, when the knock came at the door, he was already in his room pretending to be busy, except he wasn’t. he was standing near the door with his phone in his hand, not even scrolling, just waiting. he opened it a crack when he heard your voice, enough to press his ear to the wood like some kind of loser. the voice that answered you was familiar: beomgyu. of course, it made perfect sense. he knew him from campus, mostly through heeseung, since the two of them were basically glued together in that haze of weed smoke. he wasn’t surprised you knew him too, and it also tracked. he remembered the vape pen you’d handed him the first day you moved in. he’d never actually seen you smoke in the apartment or even outside, but he had the sense you did. actually, jake never really saw you doing anything at all. so he listened in without shame. your voices were close, just muffled enough through the wood to make him lean harder. “you’re not alone?” beomgyu asked at some point.

“no,” you said. “jake’s here.”

there was a pause before beomgyu spoke again, casual, almost nosy: “you guys getting along?”

“it’s not like we interact that much,” you replied easily, like it wasn’t anything. “but i’d say yeah, it’s fine.” and he froze at that. not like we interact that much. it was true, technically. still, hearing it out loud made something twist in his stomach. it wasn’t an insult, not even close, but he stood there staring at the door like he’d just been punched. so he waited for more, but you and beomgyu moved on to something else he couldn’t quite catch. he didn’t realize until then how ridiculous he must’ve looked: half crouched, ear glued to the door, but he stayed there anyway.

eventually, you and beomgyu went to your room. the realization left him with this strange knot in his stomach. he couldn’t tell if it was jealousy or just curiosity, or maybe both at the same time. he hated that he couldn’t put a name to it. he tried to ignore it, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, but the longer he sat there, the worse it got. eventually he gave up and got out of his room. he told himself he just wanted water, and that if he happened to run into beomgyu on the way, it wouldn’t even be weird. as long as beomgyu had his clothes on, it would be fine. he padded out into the kitchen, pretending to be casual, but his ears were tuned to your room. that’s when he heard your laugh. not the polite little chuckle you gave, but a loud laugh, the kind that broke out without you trying to hold it back. and it was beomgyu who made you laugh like that. jake stood there with the fridge door open, not even grabbing anything, just frowning at the sound like it personally offended him.

and then there was the smell. faint at first, but it didn’t take long to confirm. weed. you and beomgyu were smoking inside your room. jake shut the fridge, leaned on the counter, and tried to process that. he could feel himself spiraling, pacing a little, walking back and forth because he couldn’t sit still. the laugh still echoed in his head, mixed with the smoke that somehow seeped into the hall. after a while, the sound died down. no more laughter, no more voices, just silence. that was worse than hearing you laugh. jake went back to his room and then left it again almost immediately, too restless. he didn’t know what to do with himself. he hated the idea that out of every guy you could have decided to let into your room, it was beomgyu.

the thing was, jake actually liked beomgyu before this. he thought he was funny in that stupid way that worked in groups. he wasn’t the kind of guy jake ever thought of as competition, because why would he? beomgyu was the type who got away with everything because no one could ever be mad at him for long. but now that jake knew you were close to him, suddenly all the little things he’d brushed off about beomgyu started to bother him. his jokes weren’t that clever, he laughed at his own comments too much, he had this way of talking like he knew everything, and it grated on jake’s nerves. and the fact that you, out of all people, thought he was worth laughing with made jake’s chest feel tight. 

and after a while, beomgyu left your room, you right behind him. jake was sitting on the couch with the tv on, some random show playing, though he hadn’t registered a single line of dialogue. he just wanted to be there, in plain sight, like some kind of silent reminder that this was still his apartment too. beomgyu walked out looking way too comfortable, way too casual for jake’s taste. he greeted jake like they were the best of friends, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. and sure, they weren’t strangers. they’d hung out a couple times, he was funny, easy to get along with. but right now jake didn’t care. he forced a smile, threw out a polite “hey man,” but his jaw was tight, and he knew his expression wasn’t fooling anyone.

you followed close behind, hair a little messy, eyes bright, clearly in a good mood. when beomgyu said goodbye, he leaned down and hugged you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “later, we’ll finish severance,” he said casually, like it was already an established ritual.

that one line stuck to jake’s ribs more than he wanted it to. severance. he didn’t even know you were watching that. now apparently you were watching it with beomgyu. his brain started filing through everything he knew about you, like he was trying to build some complete picture and somehow come out on top of it. he knew you had those hello kitty mugs in the kitchen, the kuromi dish towel, the snoopy blanket folded on your bed. so he knew you liked hello kitty and snoopy. he’d seen you drink coffee so watered down he almost called it tea. he’d heard you listening to old one direction songs, he knew you wore vanilla perfume, he knew you were friends with sakura and that once you’d worked on some project with jungwon, and that is how you got to know him. he knew all that. and now he had to add this new thing to the list, you were watching severance with beomgyu. and he didn’t know what you and beomgyu had, or if he even wanted to know. but it gnawed at him anyway, the idea that beomgyu had a piece of you he didn’t.

when beomgyu left, he said “see you, bro,” and jake nodded with the fakest polite smile, jaw tight. he wasn’t mad at beomgyu specifically, not really. but he was mad. he didn’t even know at what. maybe himself. maybe the fact that he didn’t know what the hell was going on in the room next to his.

when the door shut, you came back into the living room, and jake turned his head, voice low and even, like he was casually making conversation. “you were smoking?”

you froze for a second and then shrugged, reaching for something in the kitchen. “yeah. sorry if the smell bothered you.”

“didn’t bother me,” he said quickly. “i smoke all the time and you’ve never said anything.”

you looked back at him, eyebrows raised. “as long as you’re not smoking weed that stinks up the whole apartment, i don’t care.” you laughed a little, and jake felt the sound sit differently in his chest, lighter than before, like the tension had finally shifted. so he just tried to shoot his shot, because you were apparently in a good mood. and he hated that this probably had something to do with freaking beomgyu.

you busied yourself in the kitchen, pulling things out for a late snack, and jake found himself staring, debating if he should shut up or just ask. he leaned back, pretending casual. “so… you and beomgyu, then? i wouldn’t have guessed.”

the second the words left him, you burst out laughing. not a small laugh either, but a full, loud one that echoed through the place. you turned around, hand still holding whatever you’d grabbed from the fridge, and shook your head at him. “jake. beomgyu is my cousin!”

his brain short-circuited. he sat there, stone-faced, but inside he wanted to hit his head against the wall. hours. he’d spent hours stewing, imagining you making out with someone in the room next to his. all that, just for you to be hanging out with family. “oh,” he said finally, trying to keep it cool, but his voice cracked slightly at the end. he cleared his throat. “i—”

you were still laughing, wiping under your eye like you might tear up from how hard it hit you. “you thought—oh my god, you thought we were…?”

“i didn’t think anything,” he cut in, sharp, defensive. “just asked. chill.”

you grinned at him, knowing you’d hit a nerve. “yeah, sure. you didn’t think anything.”

jake pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking back to the tv, but all he could hear was your laugh ringing in the kitchen and the absolute humiliation settling in his stomach. maybe he was losing it. maybe he was reading way too much into things. maybe he just really, really hated not knowing anything about you so he was starting to make things up. so later that night he ended up doing the worst possible thing, which was talking to sunghoon and heeseung about it. and those two should not be trusted with advice, ever. they were sitting around in heeseung’s living room, controllers in hand, when jake let it slip, just needing to get it off his chest. “dude, if you wanna know more about her, it’s not that deep,” sunghoon said, not even looking up from the screen. “just… ask. or, i don’t know, pay attention.”

“yeah,” heeseung added, stretching. “you follow her on instagram, right? that’s step one.”

jake shook his head. “i don’t follow her.”

both of them turned to look at him like he’d confessed to a crime. “but you’ve stalked her, obviously,” sunghoon said.

“yeah,” jake admitted immediately. “of course i did. but she doesn’t have anything posted. she’s super low profile. it’s useless.”

they nodded like this was the biggest tragedy they’d ever heard, and then heeseung leaned in, annoyingly calm. “the only reason you’re going crazy about this is because you don’t know if she’s single.”

“that’s not it,” jake snapped back a little too quickly, a little too defensive. but it was kind of it. not all of it, but a piece. the truth was he’d been catching himself noticing you in ways he didn’t want to admit. at first it was just the obvious things, like your face, the way your hair always looked like you didn’t think about it too hard but it still landed perfectly. then it was smaller things, like the way you tilt your head when you’re listening to someone, or how your hands move when you’re talking, like your words can’t quite keep up. he didn’t want to be one of those guys who sits there cataloging every detail, but he couldn’t help it. he’d catch himself watching the way you crossed your legs, or the way you leaned forward when you laughed, and then immediately look away like he hadn’t been staring. it wasn’t even about being smooth or making a move, it was just the fact that you were magnetic in this casual, almost annoying way. and he hated that he noticed all of it, hated that every time you walked out of a room he was replaying little flashes of how you looked without meaning to.

so yeah, he wanted to know if you were single. he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but it just stuck in his head after the whole beomgyu thing. so later that week, he brought it up to jungwon in the most casual way he could manage, like it was just some random passing thought. he mentioned the whole situation, how he thought beomgyu was something else and how embarrassing it was to find out he wasn’t. jungwon listened, eyebrows slightly raised, and then cut straight to the point. “so you want to know if she’s single?”

jake nearly choked. “no, no, i mean, not really. i was just curious because i thought beomgyu was, you know, something. but i was wrong, so…” he trailed off, trying to look unbothered.

jungwon, who was sharper than he ever let on, tilted his head. “look, i don’t know either. she’s pretty closed off. but i don’t think so. never saw her with anyone.” so that was useless. jake got nothing out of it, except more confusion. but then he remembered something heeseung had said the night before, in one of those stupid conversations they always had. heeseung had said, if you want to know how a girl feels about you, just see how she reacts to your body. which was ridiculous advice, borderline dumb, and jake wasn’t going to actually be weird about it. but the thought stuck in his head anyway.

so on friday, he decided to test it. he walked out of the bathroom with only a towel around his hips, though he had underwear on underneath just in case of a worst case scenario. he slowed his pace on purpose, trying to look normal but also making sure he was giving enough time for it to register. you were on the couch, legs curled under you, your kindle in hand. you looked up the second he stepped out, and your eyes went wide. “what the fuck.”

he froze mid-step, doing his best to look surprised. “oh my god, sorry, i thought you weren’t home.”

you stared at him, unimpressed. “you literally saw me when you went into the bathroom.”

he pressed his lips together, pretending to think. “oh, did i? must’ve forgot.” he said it with that smug little edge to his voice, and then walked off to his room like nothing happened. but he noticed the way your cheeks went a little red. you didn’t choke on air or drop your kindle obviously, but it was a reaction, just this tiny shift, like your body betrayed you for a second. he saw your eyes flicker over his torso quickly before darting straight back down to your kindle, like you hadn’t seen a thing at all. like you weren’t even aware you’d done it. and jake, being jake, stood there for half a second longer than he should’ve, towel secured, trying not to smirk too obviously. because yeah, maybe heeseung’s advice was dumb. actually, no — heeseung’s advice was dumb. but for the first time, jake thought it might not have been completely useless. 

so after that day, he started testing it, but nothing obvious, nothing that would make you call him out. he’d come back from the gym and not bother putting on a hoodie, just a loose tank that clung a little too much, shoulders still damp. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to flex, just walked past you while you were on the couch and pretended not to notice when your eyes flicked up and then back down to your kindle or your phone. and he pretended even harder not to notice the way your ears went pink. sometimes he’d just hang around shirtless longer than necessary, instead of immediately throwing on a t-shirt. and maybe you didn’t say a word, maybe you didn’t even move, but he always caught the tiniest shifts, like the way you swallowed before answering him, the way you suddenly focused harder on whatever was in front of you.

one afternoon you were in the kitchen, standing at the counter making something to eat. he came up behind you to grab something from the cabinet, leaning just close enough to tower over your shoulder. you didn’t turn around, you didn’t step aside, but he noticed the way your shoulders tensed when his arm brushed past. he reached up, pulled down the box he needed, and that’s when he saw the tag sticking out from the back of your shirt. “your tag’s out,” he muttered, and before you could react he just pushed it back in with two fingers. but he felt the way goosebumps rose on your neck, the way your body stilled like you weren’t sure what to do with that touch. he didn’t say anything else, neither did you. he just stood there for a beat longer, holding the box, trying to act normal. but inside, he was wired. because you never said anything out loud, never gave him words to work with, but your body did. and he felt it, he felt it every single time.

and jake was convincing himself he was only doing it because you didn’t react badly. if the first time he’d tried something like that you had rolled your eyes, made a sharp comment, or told him to knock it off, he would’ve laughed it away and never tried again. that’s how it always went with you; if he pushed, you pushed back harder. you had a quick tongue and zero patience for his nonsense, and he’d seen you cut other people down in a heartbeat when they stepped out of line (him included). but with this, you let it happen. and that made him think, it was throwing him off because it didn’t fit the version of you he knew. you were sarcastic about everything, and if you weren’t shutting him down, then maybe he wasn’t crossing a line.

but then, over the next few weeks, he began to notice that it wasn’t just him anymore. or at least that’s what it felt like. little things turned into bigger ones, impossible to write off as accidents. like you’d bend down to grab something off the floor right in front of him, slow enough that his eyes didn’t have anywhere else to go. jake would clench his jaw, forcing himself to look away, but not before heat rushed straight to his ears (and pants). you’d sit on the arm of the couch instead of the empty cushion, your knee brushing his shoulder, your perfume sinking into his hoodie. one night you padded into the kitchen in just a tank top, stretching on your toes to reach the top shelf. jake had to press his palms against the counter behind him, knuckles whitening, because you didn’t ask for help, no, you just let him watch, every line of your body outlined under the dim light.

and jake thought maybe nothing was going on. maybe it was all in his head, even though it didn’t look like coincidence anymore. the way you brushed against him, the way your eyes lingered for just a second too long. it felt like you were teasing him back, in your own quiet, calculated way. and that awareness — knowing full well how fucked he was — made everything worse. because you see, you didn’t let people in. you kept yourself locked tight, doors closed, curtains drawn. he knew barely anything about you outside these four walls. you never volunteered details about your life, never invited him to tag along, never acted like you wanted to be friends. you weren’t close, not in the normal sense. you were just roommates, nothing else. but still… something was shifting. 

he remembered the first time he tested the waters when you walked past him in the hall and your perfume lingered long after you’d gone. he’d said it out loud, without thinking, a bold comment about how good you smelled. you froze, and you didn’t even say a proper thank you, you just mumbled something about liking vanilla, your voice a little too quick, a little too uneven. and then you disappeared into your room, shutting the door like nothing happened. but jake stood there for ten minutes after, heart hammering, because that reaction told him everything. 

and then came the touch. he’d been struggling with this stupid package, a cardboard box of instant ramen, taped shut like fort knox. he was grunting under his breath, fighting with the seal, when you stepped in. annoyed, you muttered something about him doing it wrong, and before he could argue, your hands were on him. your fingers wrapped around his wrists, guiding his movements until the box tore open with ease. you sighed, and for a moment, all he could focus on was how close you were. the heat of your body pressed into his arm, the faint brush of your hair against his jaw when you leaned in. and then you looked up at him. eyes wide, impossibly soft, lashes catching the kitchen light. there was that tiny smirk ghosting over your lips, playful, smug, like you knew exactly what you’d just done to him. “there you go,” you murmured, almost teasing, before slipping away, leaving him standing there with his pulse thundering in his ears.

after that, he couldn’t stop thinking. he went over it again and again, trying to decide if it meant anything or if he was just imagining things. he told himself it was probably nothing. just you being impatient. just him reading into it too much.

but the confirmation came later. he came home one night, the door clicked shut behind him. his shoes made a sharp sound against the floor as he walked inside. the apartment was still. no tv, no music, no movement. then he stopped, because there was a sound. faint and muffled. it came from the end of the hallway, where your door was closed. he stood still, listening. it came again. a short, broken sound. a soft whimper.

jake first thought he was imagining things. but when you did it again, he froze. this time he thought maybe you were hurt, maybe something was wrong. but the one after came too soft, too broken, too close to pleasure for him to mistake it. he checked the shoes at the door. only his and yours. no one else in the apartment. and there was no way you hadn’t heard him come in. jake knew how loud the door was. you always heard it, you always knew. and still, you were moaning in your room. that pushed it somewhere else entirely. if it was teasing, it was nothing like before. 

so he stomped back to his bedroom, jaw tight, every step heavier than the last. he felt like a freak for listening, for even standing there. his head kept repeating this is wrong, this is way past what i thought it was. but his body didn’t match, his pants told the truth. they were tight, uncomfortable. jake was hard. and that was the part that made him feel even worse. it wasn’t just that he’d overheard you; it was that the sound had hit him so fast he hadn’t even had time to deny it. it was automatic. one second he was frozen in the hallway, ears straining, the next his cock was pressing against the front of his jeans like his body had made the decision for him.

he sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing. what the fuck is wrong with me. she’s in there. she knows i’m home. she knows. the thought circled, sharp, louder than the blood rushing in his ears. he pressed his palm over the front of his pants like maybe the pressure would calm it down, but it only made him notice how hard he really was. he wanted to block it out, pretend he hadn’t heard anything. he wanted to tell himself you were just on the phone, or crying, or anything else that would make sense. but the sound was burned into his head already. too clear, too close. there was no mistaking it. and that was what fucked him up the most, that his body had answered to you before his brain could even think.

he leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs, palms pressed together so tight his knuckles turned white. he squeezed his eyes shut, like maybe if he just forced himself still, forced himself quiet, it would go away. the hardness, the heat, the ache curling low in his stomach. don’t. don’t be that guy. don’t even think about it. but he was already thinking about it. not even a picture, not even a scene, just the sound of you. broken and soft, leaking under your door, and now stuck in his head like it belonged to him. his cock pulsed against his zipper at the memory, like it knew exactly what it wanted. he unbuttoned his jeans, just to breathe. just to make the pressure stop, at least, that was what he told himself. but the second the fabric loosened, the relief hit so hard he nearly groaned. his cock pressed against the thin cotton of his boxers, straining, and his hand hovered there like a magnet.

his breath caught when another sound drifted from your room, faint, muffled, but loud enough, enough to knock the last bit of reason out of him. he doubled over, biting back a curse, his hand slipping under the waistband before he could even think about stopping. the heat of his own skin made him shudder. just the first brush of his palm had his hips jerking up, desperate, like he’d been holding back for hours and not minutes. his head dropped as his fist closed around himself, slow, testing. fuck, this is wrong, so fucking wrong, he thought. but his body didn’t care. it only cared about the sound of you in his head, replaying again and again, and the slick drag of his hand working him through it. his thighs tensed, breath coming out rough and uneven. every time he told himself stop, stop, stop, his wrist only moved faster, harder, chasing after the relief he knew was coming, the one he couldn’t hold back now even if he tried. his hand sped up, and he couldn’t keep quiet anymore, with small, choked sounds slipping from his throat, swallowed quickly into the dark of his room. his other hand gripped the edge of the mattress so tight his knuckles hurt, grounding himself against the pull in his body.

your sounds were all over him now. they weren’t even real anymore, not in this moment, just echoes, broken pieces his brain kept inventing, filling the silence with the way he thought you’d sound. higher, sweeter, sharper. he couldn’t shake it. he didn’t want to. “fuck…” he whispered, teeth sinking into his lip. his hips started lifting off the bed, chasing the glide of his fist, faster now, desperate. every stroke made his cock twitch, leaking into his palm, slicking his movements until he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. his abs tightened, legs spread wider, the knot low in his stomach pulling so tight it hurt. his mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong but his body begged more. he let his head fall back, throat bared, jaw clenched as his pace turned frantic. he was so close it scared him, his whole body straining, toes curling against the floor, veins standing out along his arm. then a low, guttural sound ripped out of him as he came, hot and messy over his hand, spilling across his stomach in heavy spurts. his body jolted with each pulse, hips jerking up uncontrollably until he had nothing left.

he collapsed back against the bed, chest rising and falling, his hand still sticky and trembling where it rested over himself. for a long moment, he just stared at the ceiling, shame burning behind his eyes, sweat cooling on his skin. what the fuck did i just do. and he spent a solid ten minutes just lying there on his bed, trying to convince himself that it made sense. he told himself he was just hard because he hadn’t had sex in a whole month, that was it, nothing more. it was perfectly normal. of course, he conveniently ignored the fact that the reason he hadn’t had sex for a month was entirely because of you, but no, that part didn’t factor in. he told himself he would only realize that connection in a few months, when he could actually think clearly.

the problem now was practical. he needed to get cleaned up. he needed to go to the bathroom. the thought of leaving his room in this state, cock still leaking, cum smeared across his stomach, was unbearable. the hallway was a risk, what if he ran into you? that was not happening. there was no way he could explain this, and he wasn’t ready to see your face right now. so he grabbed an old, stained shirt, the only thing he could find, and used it to wipe himself off the best he could. it was messy and gross, and he hated every second of it, but it was the only option until it was safe to move. he stayed in his room, waiting until it was late enough that he could assume you were either asleep or completely out of the house. only then did he finally step into the bathroom for a long, careful shower, making sure to clean every part of himself.

all the while, he kept thinking about what had just happened. he knew it was nasty, he knew it was a mess, but he also couldn’t shake the fact that you probably knew he had been there, probably knew he had heard everything, and that knowledge somehow made the situation even more intense. the idea that you had been aware, that you might have noticed, hung in his head, refusing to let him relax. he wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, wanted to convince himself that it was just a random, unfortunate incident, but the truth was stuck there, and now everything about being in the apartment, the quiet, the sounds, even the thought of you, carried a weight he wasn’t ready to deal with.

and in the next morning, jake didn’t expect to see you up this early. when he stepped out of his room, the smell of coffee hit him first, sharp and warm, filling the hallway and pulling him toward the kitchen. there you were, standing by the counter, wearing those stupid short pajama shorts. his blood rushed instantly, and he felt the familiar tension in his pants. he tried to take a deep breath, trying to remind himself to get a grip, telling himself you were doing absolutely nothing, that this was normal, mundane, everyday morning stuff. but the truth was, you had never worn that in front of him before, and the coincidence of it being now, after everything last night, made it impossible to ignore.

he watched you stretch, reaching for a cabinet, the shorts riding up slightly, the way your hair fell around your shoulders as you moved. his mind betrayed him immediately, going places it shouldn’t have. he pictured what you’d do if he bent you over the counter, if you’d make the prettiest sounds, whether you liked being praised or degraded more, if you— what? he had to force himself to stop before getting hard again, before thinking any further, because it was already too much and he couldn’t let it go any further in his head. the thoughts hit him so fast that he had to take a step back and shake his head, trying to stop himself before it got worse. he let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, and that’s when you noticed him. your eyes went wide, and you mumbled, almost under your breath, “oh my god… you scared me.”

“sorry,” he said quickly, voice a little rough, trying to sound casual. “good morning. uh… need to go to the bathroom.” without waiting for a response, he turned and stomped off, moving down the hall as if he owned none of the tension in his body, leaving you standing there in the kitchen with no clue what had just happened in his head.

he could still feel the heat from seeing you like that, the pressure in his pants not going away, the way his brain refused to let it drop. every step toward the bathroom was a fight against his own thoughts, and he kept telling himself over and over: it’s just coincidence. nothing happened. nothing’s happening. but deep down, he knew that wasn’t entirely true.

“bro, i don’t think i wanted to know that,” heeseung said flatly when he and jake met up after class later that week. they’d been walking out together, just talking about random shit, and jake had dropped everything on him like it was nothing. “i don’t fucking care about when you jack off or why you did it,” heeseung added, shaking his head, “but just leave me out of it, man.”

“i need to get this out of my chest, and it’s your fault it happened in the first place,” jake said, frustrated.

“my fault???” heeseung looked at him like he’d just grown a second head. “how the hell is this my fault?”

“you said that i needed to see how she reacted to my body,” jake shot back, way too fast. “so i tested it out, and she started teasing me back.”

heeseung stopped in his tracks and let out a laugh that was half disbelief, half amusement. “i can’t believe i was the butterfly effect to this.” they started walking again, but heeseung kept looking at him like he was ridiculous. “ok, look. if she’s doing it on purpose, if she’s teasing you back, then you have something to begin with. that’s not nothing. she’s not single, right?”

“yeah,” jake sighed, “i think that’s obvious. i would’ve known by now if she wasn’t.”

“so why don’t you just shoot your shot then?” heeseung asked simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

jake didn’t answer right away. he shoved his hands in his pockets, stared at the ground while they walked. he wanted to say something like, “yeah, maybe i should,” or laugh it off, but the words didn’t come. the truth was, he knew exactly why he wasn’t doing anything about it. he wasn’t stupid, he could tell there was tension there, maybe even mutual. but acting on it was a whole other thing. it wasn’t just about making a move, it was about what came after, and that thought scared the shit out of him.

yeah, he wanted you. he couldn’t stop thinking about you. every little thing you did stuck in his head way longer than it should. but then he imagined putting it all out there and being wrong, or worse, being right and not knowing what to do next. it was easier to keep it in his head, easier to let it build up until he was alone. heeseung’s words replayed in his mind even after they split ways. shoot your shot. it sounded simple. to jake, it wasn’t. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of rejection, or fear of what it would mean if you said yes. maybe both. either way, the answer was the same: he was too much of a pussy to do it.

so that week jake decided to do the most mature thing to do: hide. in his mind, the only way to deal with this was to make himself disappear. if he didn’t see you, he wouldn’t have to think about what had happened, and if he didn’t think about it, he wouldn’t have to deal with the way his body reacted every single time you walked into the room. so he avoided you. he knew the time you usually left the apartment in the morning, so suddenly he was waking up earlier just so he could sneak out before you. he knew you usually came back in the afternoon carrying way too many grocery bags for one person, so he started timing his trips to the gym right around then, making sure he wasn’t there when you struggled with the door. if you were in the kitchen, he was in his room. if you were in the living room, he was suddenly showering for the second time that day.

it wasn’t subtle, heeseung probably would’ve told him he was being obvious if he had seen it himself, but jake didn’t care. he didn’t trust himself enough to be around you casually. the worst part was that he couldn’t even look you in the eyes anymore. because if he did, there was this very real chance he’d remember how easy it was for his mind to run away with him, how easy it was to cross that line in his head. and yeah, maybe it sounded dramatic, but the truth was, jake was exhausted. he couldn’t deal with walking around half hard just because you existed near him. the hiding, in his mind, was damage control. it wasn’t him being a coward, it was him protecting himself. at least that’s what he kept telling himself when he ducked out of the apartment five minutes before you got home.

well, that was what he was trying to do before he got a random text from you.

[you]: hey

[you]: is everything alright?

jake immediately froze. you never reached out first, at least, not like this. usually it was him asking if you wanted takeout, or if you’d seen his charger, or if you could please stop leaving your shoes in the hallway before he tripped over them again. but you? starting the conversation? something was definitely off.

[jake]: yeah, why?

[you]: you left the apartment 5 times today already

[you]: do you need anything?

yeah, jake thought. i need you to stop being so fucking desirable all the time so i can concentrate on being a functional human being. but that wasn’t something he could say. and now, on top of everything else, there was the fact that you’d clearly noticed him doing laps in and out of the apartment like a maniac. the whole point of this plan was for you not to notice. so he figured the only way out was the classic jake strategy: an excuse.

[jake]: yeah heeseung went through a breakup so im just making sure he is not miserable so ill just go there everytime he texts smth depressing

the excuse rolled out faster than he could think it through. he just needed something that sounded believable enough. heeseung was safe territory, always the guy to blame when jake needed a reason for anything. if you asked questions, he could throw in a few vague details about ronnie, that girl heeseung’d mentioned ages ago. technically, it wasn’t even a total lie. ronnie had existed. jake could stretch the truth from there if he had to. but you didn’t ask. you just read the message, sat with it for a moment, and then typed back:

[you]: thats a bummer

nothing else. no digging, no casual oh, what happened? just those three words that landed in his chest heavier than they should have. and he felt this weird mixture of relief and panic. relief because you hadn’t pressed him on it, and panic because you’d noticed him enough to text in the first place. he had to admit that part of him almost wanted you to push. almost wanted you to call him out, make him explain himself, force him to say out loud the things he’d been dodging. but you didn’t, and maybe that was worse.

so later that week, niki had dragged jake into saying yes to another party. the way niki put it was, “you either come with me or you keep sulking around your room like a creep,” and honestly, jake couldn’t even argue. he was tired of hearing his own thoughts, tired of looping back to the same memory over and over again. so yeah, fine, a party at yeonjun’s house sounded better than being left alone with his brain. at least there’d be music and people he barely knew to keep him distracted.

and yeonjun’s parties weren’t your typical college movie kind of parties. they always looked like they weren’t supposed to be fun, but somehow were. it was messy but it had its charm, and jake, for the first time in a while, actually felt his shoulders loosen up. he started doing what he usually did at these things, standing with niki, making dumb comments about everyone around them, drinking just enough to not think too hard. and it worked. for a good while, it worked. the noise and the conversations around him felt like a cushion, keeping his thoughts away from you. it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse across the room that it all fell apart.

you were there. of course you were. you stood in the corner, not even trying, and still managing to make everyone else look like background characters. you were wearing this dress that was simple but unfairly perfect, paired with over-the-knee boots that jake knew he shouldn’t be noticing but he did anyway. your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, leaving your neck bare in a way that made him immediately uncomfortable with how much he was staring. and then there was some guy, leaning too close to you, talking about something jake couldn’t hear but didn’t need to. the sight of it landed in his chest harder than he expected. it wasn’t jealousy, or maybe it was, he couldn’t tell. it was more like a sharp reminder of why he’d been avoiding you in the first place. because if just looking at you from across the room was enough to make his chest tighten and his hands curl into fists, then he was in more trouble than he wanted to admit.

so he stood there, trying not to react, pretending to listen to whatever story niki was telling beside him. but his eyes kept dragging back to you, to the way you laughed at something the guy said, to how your body angled slightly toward him. and jake realized, in that exact moment, that no party was ever going to be enough to keep his mind off you. what should he do? it’s not like he had the kind of intimacy to just walk up and say something, so he just stared, completely giving himself away. heeseung noticed, of course he did, and followed jake’s eyes until he landed on you. he laughed, shaking his head. “she’s here?!” heeseung asked. 

“i thought i was imagining it,” jake said, almost under his breath. “but yeah, apparently she’s here.”

he kept telling himself to look away, to stop being obvious, but he didn’t. he was stuck there, stuck on the way your hand brushed the guy’s arm when you laughed, stuck on how unfair it was that someone else got to stand in front of you while he sat there pretending not to fall apart. and then you looked over, right at him. your smile dropped just a little, your eyes widened, and it was clear in your face that you weren’t expecting to catch him staring.

so the guy in front of you was still talking, and honestly he might as well have been reading a grocery list because you weren’t paying attention anymore. you nodded at whatever he was saying, but your eyes weren’t on him, they were on jake. and that was enough to make jake’s stomach flip because what the fuck were you doing here? he’d never seen you at one of these parties before, not once. and he would’ve noticed, of course he would’ve noticed. he kept staring, which he knew was weird, but it was either that or look away and pretend you weren’t there, and clearly he didn’t have the strength for that. you were looking right at him, and suddenly the room felt smaller. after a few beats of mutual staring, you let out a small polite smile, muttered something to the guy in front of you, and then walked straight toward him, and jake’s brain short-circuited. don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out, he kept repeating to himself, but his body wasn’t listening because all he could do was stand there like an idiot, face blank, while you got closer.

“hey,” you said, a little breathless, like you’d rushed it out before you could change your mind.

“hey,” jake replied, and his voice cracked just a little, which killed him instantly inside.

“i didn’t know you were coming,” you said.

“i didn’t know you were coming,” jake said back, immediately regretting just copying you word for word, but it was too late. you squinted at him for a second, like you were deciding whether to call him out on it, but instead he just said first, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you at parties before.”

“maybe you weren’t noticing before,” you shot back quickly, and jake felt that one in his chest. he wanted to respond but his brain was buffering, so the silence hung there until you turned to heeseung, who was standing right next to him. “heeseung, are you feeling better?” you asked softly, touching his shoulder with that concerned look on your face.

the problem was, heeseung had no idea what you were talking about. he blinked at you, confused. jake had completely forgotten he’d told you that heeseung was going through a breakup. he hadn’t exactly mentioned to heeseung that he said that. so now jake was trying to silently signal him, making weird eye contact and tiny nods, but that only made heeseung look more panicked. “uh… yeah, yeah, thank you for asking,” heeseung said finally, with a forced smile that looked more like he had no clue what was going on than confirming he was okay.

you nodded, satisfied with the answer, and jake was standing there next to him, internally screaming. so jake said it without thinking, “i didn’t see you leaving,” and as soon as the words left his mouth he already wanted to take them back. 

you didn’t even blink though, you just said, “i went to yunjin’s to get ready,” and he nodded like an idiot, and then of course, right on cue, niki and heeseung decided to wander off and leave the two of you there, which only made everything worse. jake felt the silence press down between you, and it wasn’t like he could suddenly think of something casual and clever to fill it with. he couldn’t, his brain was blank.

it was awkward, no way around it. he kept reminding himself you were his roommate, that was literally all this was supposed to be. you two shared an apartment, you ate the same snacks sometimes, you argued about whose turn it was to take out the trash. that’s what it was. normal. except, yeah, there was the tiny detail where he had jacked off to the sound of you moaning in your room and then couldn’t look you in the eye for two days straight. that was the part he left out of the roommate definition.

you reached over suddenly, grabbed the beer out of his hand, and took a sip. jake just stood there frozen, staring, trying not to think about your lips on the bottle, trying not to think about your throat moving when you swallowed. and when you looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, like you hadn’t just completely wrecked his self control in two seconds flat, he actually felt his body betray him. his brain started spiraling in every direction. if he let this go, if he just stood there, he’d be fine. he could laugh it off, make some comment about how you owed him a new drink, let the moment pass. but if he kept staring at your mouth like that, if he noticed the way you leaned your hip against the counter next to him, he was done for. his self restraint was already stretched thin, one more move from you and it was game over.

so he forced himself to say something, anything, even though it came out a little too fast. “you know you can’t just steal my drink like that, right?” he tried to sound casual, but you tilted the beer back into your mouth and handed it back to him like it was yours now, not his, and jake just stood there holding the wet rim of the bottle, looking at the way your lip gloss was now on the glass. and then you moved closer, enough that he felt your shoulder brushing his arm every now and then, and he swore you were doing it on purpose. you were smiling at something across the room, acting so casual, and he kept thinking maybe he was imagining it. but then you looked up at him with that expression, and your lips were parted like you were about to say something stupid, except you didn’t. you just held his gaze long enough that jake started to feel the heat crawling up his neck. he finally leaned in a little and said under his breath, “are you drunk?” it came out a little harsher than he meant, like he was scolding you, but he couldn’t help it.

“no,” you said, almost laughing at the question. “that was literally my first sip of alcohol tonight. from your bottle.” you looked smug about it too, like you knew exactly what kind of effect you were having on him.

jake blinked at you, trying to find something to do with his hands. he ended up holding the bottle a little too tight, staring at the floor, then at you again. “then what are you doing?” he asked, quieter now, like he was testing the waters.

“talking,” you said easily, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and you gave him this small grin that wasn’t helping. you nudged his shoulder with yours again, deliberately this time, and he knew it. he felt his patience thinning, like he was standing at the edge of something dangerous.

and then it slipped out before he could stop himself. “who was that guy?” his tone was sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. he hated the way he had watched you smile politely at some random dude five minutes ago.

you tilted your head at him, clearly amused at the question. “what guy?” you asked, even though you knew exactly who he was talking about.

“the one you were with when i saw you,” he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly as he tried not to look too obvious. 

you let out a soft laugh, not mean, just entertained, like you couldn’t believe he was actually asking. “oh. him. he’s no one,” you said simply, and the way you brushed it off so casually should’ve been reassuring, but it didn’t make him feel any better. and you didn’t give him the chance to respond either. instead, you leaned in just a little closer again, your voice dropping lower. “why? are you jealous?”

jake almost choked on air. he wasn’t prepared for you to throw that at him so directly. his jaw tightened as he tried to think of something to say that wasn’t a dead giveaway. he looked away, shook his head slightly, and managed a quiet, “no.” but the problem was that his ears were red, his hand was still too tight around the bottle, and he couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. and you definitely noticed, you always did. “just looked like you were… into the conversation.”

“you were staring at me,” you countered, not even hesitating.

“and what if i was?” he asked, testing the words out like they might bite back. that made you pause, which was rare, and jake noticed. it pressed on his chest in a way that didn’t feel casual at all. he could’ve laughed, shrugged, deflected like he always did, but instead he leaned in. not a lot, just enough for you to notice, and you did. 

you just looked at him, and you were close enough now that he caught the mix of your perfume and the faint smell of your shampoo. “then maybe i didn’t mind,” you said, quiet but steady.

jake’s jaw worked, and he had to glance away for half a second, his thumb tapping at the neck of the bottle. you leaned in too, closing that small gap. he turned back, met your eyes again, and his voice came out low, steady. “you shouldn’t tease me if you’re not serious.”

your head tilted a little, and you didn’t look away. “who said i’m not serious?”

that one hit him harder than he wanted to admit. he froze, his thoughts tangling up, but the silence between you wasn’t awkward this time. it was heavier, charged, and you didn’t back down. you stayed right there, waiting, like you wanted to see what he’d do. his grip on the bottle tightened and he finally said, “you know what you’re doing right now?”

“do i?” you asked, pretending you didn’t, but your tone gave you away.

and jake just stared at you for a moment too long, his chest tight, heat crawling under his skin. he couldn’t decide if you were messing with him or if this was actually happening, but either way, his restraint was hanging by a thread. jake finally swallowed, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe normally. he shifted his weight, stepping just a fraction closer without realizing it. “i’ve been… i don’t know, noticing things,” he said, voice low, careful. “things you do. stuff that makes me… i don’t know.”

you raised a brow, tilting your head like you were trying to read him, he clenched his fist around the bottle, but it did nothing to calm the heat in his body. “like what?” you said, voice low.

he exhaled sharply. “like… how you look at me sometimes.” he paused, searching your face, seeing no judgment, no obvious teasing. “and honestly, i think you’ve been… i don’t know… teasing me. on purpose.”

you didn’t flinch, you just leaned slightly, so close now that he could feel your presence, the faint warmth radiating from you. “oh really?” you murmured, voice calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, a challenge. “and what makes you think that?”

jake had to stop himself from stepping even closer, from crossing the invisible line that both of you were dancing around. “it’s not subtle, you know?” he said, low. “you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“do you think so?” you whispered, almost a challenge.

he blinked, heart thumping, trying to keep it together. and then he took the plunge, voice rougher than he wanted, trying to gather the courage to ask about the thing he had in his head for weeks now. “the other day… i heard you. you were—” he paused to think, and then continued. “moaning. you knew i was home, didn’t you?”

you held his gaze, calm, unflinching. “yeah,” you said softly. 

“so you did it on purpose?” he asked, the words out before he could stop himself. the heat in his chest was thick now, almost painful.

you smirked just a little, teasing but controlled. “did it work?”

“yeah. it worked,” he admitted, voice low. “and it’s not just that. it’s driving me insane.”

you leaned a little closer. “is that supposed to be a warning or a compliment?”

he swallowed, voice tightening. “both,” he said, letting the words hang between you. “i can’t stop thinking about what i’d do if i could do something about it.”

your eyes darkened slightly, unafraid, curious. “and what would that be?”

he stepped closer, close enough that his chest nearly brushed yours, lowering his voice until it was barely above a whisper near your ear. he could feel the tiny shivers running down your neck, the goosebumps rising under his words, and it made his pulse spike in a way he didn’t fully understand. “i’d have you pressed against the counter, hands on your waist, keeping you still… telling you exactly what you’re doing to me. i’d hear you, feel you, watch you react. i’d make you feel like this, just like you make me feel.”

your head tilted slightly, lips parting, your voice dropping low, soft, whiny even, “and would i like that?”

jake’s heart thudded, heat crawling under his skin. he had no idea where this sudden, bold courage came from, why he was standing this close, whispering things he had only imagined a hundred times before. the sound of your voice so small, so caught in the edge between curiosity and teasing, made him feel both terrified and unstoppable at the same time. he was aware of the sharp intake of your breath, the way your body subtly responded to his nearness, and it sent a jolt straight through him, making him realize just how much he wanted you in ways he’d never let himself admit out loud before. “fuck yes,” he admitted, almost hoarse. “i’d hear every little sound you make and i wouldn’t stop until you couldn’t think about anything else.”

you breathed out softly, close enough that he could feel it on his neck. “then maybe i should do it again,” you said, voice low, teasing, confident.

he felt his chest tighten, and the edge of control slipping further. “yeah,” he whispered back, stepping just a fraction closer, the air between you thick. “but you better be ready… because i’m not holding back next time.”

the two of you stood there, close, quiet but tense, words hanging, neither moving away, both testing boundaries, the space between you a trap neither wanted to leave. you stepped back finally, just enough to put some space between you, giving him a chance to breathe again, and smirked just a little. “let’s see about that then,” you said, turning and walking back toward the crowd, letting the music swallow you up. jake watched you go, every step of yours making it harder for him to think straight. he could feel the tightness in his pants, painfully aware of it, and he knew with full clarity that he wouldn’t survive the rest of the party without losing control or wanting to drag you into a quiet corner somewhere.

he sighed and looked over at heeseung, who was laughing at some dumb conversation across the room. jake waved him over, trying to keep his voice casual, even though it wasn’t. “hey… i’m gonna head out,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. 

heeseung raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. “this early?”

he didn’t explain further, and heeseung didn’t press. it was easier that way. jake grabbed his jacket, feeling every second of the walk through the apartment buzzing in his pants, a reminder that nothing had changed, nothing had slowed down. he left the house, the noise of the party fading behind him, and the quiet of the night hitting him immediately. he had gone to the party to stop thinking about you, to get out of his own head, and now he was heading home to do the exact same thing, except this time there’d be no music, no distractions, no crowd, just him and the chaos of his thoughts, and the lingering, infuriating memory of you.

when he got home, jake just stood in the middle of the apartment for a second, staring at nothing, trying to make sense of the mess in his head. he couldn’t figure out what was going on, couldn’t tell if he was coming or going. was this really happening? did he actually just… say all of that to you? the words he’d let slip, the way he’d leaned in, the low whisper, the way you hadn’t flinched but had leaned in just enough to let him feel. that part of his brain that usually kept him grounded was completely gone.

every time he closed his eyes he could see you again, the way you’d looked at him, that quiet, teasing confidence that made him question everything he thought he knew about boundaries. he tried to rationalize it, telling himself he was insane, that he was overreacting, that this was all just a weird, freaked out moment. but no matter what he told himself, the tightness in his pants, the heat in his chest, the way his mind kept drifting back to what he’d whispered, reminded him that rationalization wasn’t even in the room. he flopped onto the couch, arms stretched over his head, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing. part of him wanted to laugh at how completely screwed he was, part of him wanted to throw something, and the rest just wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this had ever happened. except he knew, with full certainty, that pretending wasn’t an option, not after tonight.

so jake had two options at this point: fuck you, or jack off. and obviously, he went with the second option, even though every nerve in his body was screaming for the first. the problem was, he couldn’t just do that. it wasn’t like you were some random girl he’d met at a party, or someone he could just call over without consequences. you were his roommate, the person he shared a space with every day, the one he had to see in the kitchen, on the couch, in the hallway. it was complicated, messy, and borderline ridiculous if he stopped to think about it, which he wasn’t.

so he did what he always did when he was desperate and desperate was now: he went to the bathroom, closed the door, and tried to focus on the one thing he could control. he leaned against the counter, hands moving on autopilot, mind filled with everything he couldn’t have and everything he wanted from you. he imagined every detail he’d memorized over the weeks, the way you moved, the way you sounded, the way you’d leaned in tonight, letting him whisper things he hadn’t even thought he’d have the courage to say out loud.

he kept telling himself this was a temporary solution, a coping mechanism, but the truth was, it was both comforting and torturous at the same time. each movement, each imagined response from you, was a reminder of what he was actually craving and why he couldn’t have it. not yet, maybe not ever. and when he finally stepped out of the bathroom, spent and flushed, he didn’t even try to get more water or check his phone, he just crawled into bed, muscles still tense, thoughts still tangled, finally letting himself collapse completely, knowing he’d wake up with the same tangled mess of desire, confusion, and frustration waiting for him the next morning.

and it did, because when he woke up the next morning, you weren’t home. and that alone would have been enough to throw him off, but then he checked his email and saw a message from the housing office. they’d found an apartment for him to live by himself. right. he remembered now, vaguely, that when he’d moved in, they’d said he’d have to wait and live with you until they found him a spot. he had gotten so tangled up in this mess with you, so wrapped up in every look, every word, every single move, that he had completely forgotten that part.

did he want to move out? he didn’t know. he wasn’t sure about anything right now. all he knew was that he needed to get a grip, a real one, because the way he thought about you all the time wasn’t just distracting, it wasn’t even remotely sane. he felt like his brain had been hijacked, running in circles that always led back to you. even when he tried to picture anything else, any normal part of his life, it always got twisted into thoughts of you leaning over the counter, your voice low, your eyes catching his without warning. like he was living some sort of stockholm syndrome at this point. 

and the apartment being empty for the first time in weeks didn’t calm him down. it just made the absence of you even louder. he felt like he was teetering on the edge of losing control entirely, and the only thing he could do was take a deep breath and remind himself that he had to get a motherfucking grip, because otherwise, he was never going to survive another day in his own head without completely losing it over you. he wanted to text you, ask where the hell you’d been, but he knew he shouldn’t. he didn’t know what to do with the knot in his chest, didn’t want to say the wrong thing or make it worse. 

it was saturday, so he did what he did best (better than lying, better than hiding, better than making up excuses): he grabbed a joint. he didn’t even bother going to heeseung’s this time. he was just going to do the thing he always did on saturdays when you weren’t a part of his life; smoke a joint, watch some dumb tv show, and pretend his brain was a harmless ball of static for a few hours. that was the plan. just him, the couch, and the faint high that would let him stop thinking about you for a while.

and then, of course, you came back. he was mid-laugh at some ridiculous scene on tv when he heard the door open. he glanced up, half expecting it to be empty hands, bags, nothing of consequence. and then he saw you. same clothes as the night before, casual but somehow, it hit him harder than it should have. your eyes caught his the second you stepped in, and he froze, trying not to read too much into the fact that you’d obviously slept somewhere else.

you paused in the doorway for just a second, like you noticed him noticing, and for a fraction of a second, he thought about asking if you were okay, where you had been, but the words didn’t come. instead, all he could do was sit there, high and stiff in a way he didn’t want to admit, trying to pretend the joint was helping him relax while secretly his chest was tightening. the air between you was a quiet tension, and just that brief meeting of your eyes said more than either of you spoke. he couldn’t tell if it was curiosity, annoyance, or something else entirely, and part of him wanted to lean forward, ask questions, touch, do anything to break the quiet, while another part of him was just terrified of what he might do if he let that part win.

“hey,” you said, closing the door behind you. the sound made him shift slightly, awareness snapping back to the room.

“hey,” he said back, voice low, leaning back on the couch with his arms behind his head, legs spread out in a way that screamed casual but didn’t fool anyone, especially not him. he was staring at you, trying to look effortless, but every part of him was alert, tracking you. “you didn’t sleep home last night,” he added, tone flat, pretending it was nothing.

you let out a small laugh, a sound that made him tense a little despite himself. “yeah, i thought i was going back home with you, but you disappeared.” his eyes went wide. he opened his mouth to say something, probably a defensive excuse, but before he could get any words out, you added, pulling at the hem of your dress like it was too short, “don’t worry though, i slept at yunjin’s. all of my stuff was there as well, so…”

he tried not to notice your bare thighs as you adjusted the dress, but it was impossible. his brain, already foggy from the joint earlier, immediately betrayed him. focus, jake, he told himself. just focus. he hummed something that might have sounded like okay, though he doubted you heard, and tried to put the thought of how you looked out of his head.

“i’m gonna take a shower,” you said, starting toward your bedroom. the movement was casual, natural, but it made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t control. he watched you walk away, the sound of your footsteps fading, and just sat there, legs still spread, pretending the weed made him calm while in reality he was more worked up than he’d been in days. his thoughts were messy. he replayed last night, your eyes meeting his, the way you hadn’t flinched, hadn’t pulled away. the way your voice had carried a teasing edge, subtle but enough to make him question everything about his self control. he exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, aware that the second you stepped out of sight, every rational thought was already collapsing. he was stuck in that limbo between wanting to reach for you and knowing he shouldn’t, between craving more of the teasing he hadn’t even fully understood and trying to convince himself he was fine. 

after a while that felt like hours, you stepped out of your bedroom, hair still damp, a big t-shirt hanging over your shoulders, and the tiniest shorts barely peeking out underneath it. jake tried to slow his breathing, pretending he wasn’t looking at you, though every instinct in his body was screaming otherwise. you moved toward the kitchen to do whatever you were doing, the casual way you carried yourself making him even more aware of every inch of you. he muttered from the living room, more to fill the silence than to communicate anything real. “i got an email from the housing office today,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“yeah?” you murmured back, barely glancing in his direction. “what did it say?” he asked, exhaling slowly before answering himself, like the words carried weight he wasn’t ready to face.

“they said they’ve found me a new place if i still wanted to move,” he finally said, voice quiet, almost like saying it out loud made it more real.

you walked back toward the living room, stopping a few feet from him, your eyes locking onto his. at this point, jake knew you, he knew your style of responses, knew it would probably be “ok,” or “cool,” or maybe just “let me know if you do.” that was your thing, leaving people guessing. but now, the look in your eyes was different, a little sharper, a little more present. “do you want to?” you asked, soft, but it cut through the space between you.

jake’s chest tightened. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to avoid reading too much into the moment, trying not to let himself drift the way he always did when you were near. “i don’t know… do you want me to move out?” he replied, careful.

“you can’t answer a question with another question,” you shot back, eyes not leaving his. the tension between you was tangible now.

“i don’t know, that is my answer,” he said, voice low, trying to keep casual but failing. he could feel the weight of you standing there, the subtle shift in your stance as if you were reading him, waiting for him to crack, to slip, to give away what he really wanted. and even as he said it, trying to make it sound harmless, he felt himself unravel a little, conscious of the heat creeping up, aware that he wasn’t just thinking about moving out anymore. he was thinking about you, the way you always had this effect on him, the way being near you could make him lose control while pretending he wasn’t already lost.

“i thought you did,” you moved slowly toward the couch where jake was sitting, the way you walked catching his attention immediately. his legs were still spread, casual, confident, and he was leaning back, joint in hand. when he exhaled, he set the joint aside and looked up at you, eyes locked, smirk playing on his lips like he was trying to make a joke out of something far from funny.

“yeah, you see… look what you’ve done to me,” he said, tone serious, but that smirk betrayed the chaos beneath it.

“what do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, innocent, but there was an edge to your voice that made him pause.

“you know what i mean,” he replied, voice lower now. his gaze was steady, unapologetic, like he was daring you to test him. you stayed there, barely moving, just watching him. jake’s eyes were fixed on yours, smirk fading into something heavier, more serious, like he was holding back a lot of things at once. 

and at this point, jake didn’t know that you were confused inside too. he had no idea that every time he did something small, like leaning over to grab something from the fridge, brushing past you in the kitchen, or even just looking at you too long when you were on the couch, he was setting off this whole chain reaction inside you. honestly, it freaked you out. sometimes you caught yourself staring when you didn’t mean to, or laughing at something that wasn’t funny just because he said it, and then you’d have to stop yourself, walk away, act cold, shut down a little, just to keep yourself from completely losing it. it wasn’t that you didn’t like him, it wasn’t even just that he was attractive (he was annoyingly so), it was more like your body and your brain were completely misbehaving around him. that tension had been building, quietly, for months, and it made it hard for you to just be casual, to just be normal. 

and now here he was, looking at you like this, voice serious, his eyes holding something you weren’t fully ready to confront. and part of you wanted to melt into him, wanted to say something, anything, that would admit everything, but another part of you freaked out. it was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. it made you feel alive and ridiculous all at once. and jake had no idea that the reason you sometimes seemed distant or cold was because of this exact thing. not because you didn’t like him, not because you weren’t curious, not because you were bored or uninterested, it was because every time he was around, the tension inside you was so intense that you had to protect yourself from completely losing control. sometimes you’d lock yourself in your room just to stop your mind from spiraling, sometimes you’d act indifferent in front of him, because you couldn’t handle the way your own body reacted. it wasn’t just teasing him, it was trying to survive yourself.

and now, standing there, barely moving, just watching him, feeling the weight of him, you realized exactly how messed up and complicated everything between you had gotten. your instincts screamed at you to do something, but instead, you shut down again. you turned, walked to the kitchen, moving like you’d done a hundred times before. jake’s eyes widened the moment he saw you retreat. he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t going to let this go without pressing, without getting something out of you, anything. so he followed, until you reached the counter, your hands splayed flat against it, looking down like you were trying to disappear. he stopped just behind you, close enough that you could feel him, close enough that your spine stiffened.

“are you gonna still pretend nothing is going on at all?” he asked, voice low and calm. the words hit somewhere inside you, and you felt it immediately, shivering slightly, even though he wasn’t touching you. you didn’t move, didn’t answer, just let the tension hang for a moment. he waited, letting the pause stretch, then asked again. “or are we going to talk things through?”

you tried to speak, voice small and hesitant. “i… i don’t know what you want me to say,” you whispered, and the act of saying it made your chest tighten even more. he shifted closer, and every fraction of an inch made your body react. your muscles tensed without permission, your mind spun with what you should do, what you could say, what you weren’t allowed to admit.

“you don’t have anything to say?” he asked, a little firmer this time, not moving away, letting you feel the presence of him looming just behind. his shadow fell over you without him touching, and you could feel the heat of him, the quiet authority in the way he stood. his body was fully towering behind yours now, your breath catching when you realized just how close he was.

you exhaled, low and shaky. “i… i don’t know,” you whispered again, words barely audible, but enough that he caught them. and even in that tiny confession, there was weight.

“funny, you were pretty bold last night,” he said, leaning in even closer. you couldn’t see it, but you knew he was grinning, could feel it in the weight of him behind you. his breath brushed the back of your neck and made your skin tighten. “why are you acting so shy now?” he asked again, and even though he hadn’t touched you yet, your body reacted like he already had. you were aware of every movement he made, the closeness, the subtle press of his torso behind you.

“i’m not shy,” you whispered, your voice just audible, betraying none of the heat building inside.

“no?” he said, tone sharper now, leaning closer without really moving, letting the space between you shrink even more. “then why don’t you tell me what you want, mhm?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

his body was fully behind you now, pressing into your back in a way that made your muscles tense automatically. his presence alone was enough to make your skin react, goosebumps rising along your arms and down your spine. you arched your back slightly without thinking, just from the sound of his voice, and his body was fully behind you now, and you could feel him, hard, obvious against your ass, and it made your chest tighten. he shifted slightly, pressing more insistently, and the bulge in his pants rubbed against you in a way that made your thighs clench without thinking. a low, rough fuck escaped him, almost a growl, and it twisted your stomach, made your core tighten in response.

“see,” he murmured, his mouth near your ear now, “this is what you do to me.” his hand brushed the counter near yours, fingers curling into the edge. then he pressed a little closer,  his body pushing into yours in a way that made you shift automatically. you felt the weight, the pressure of him against your back, the bulge pressing hard against your ass. your head tilted back slightly without thinking, and a small, strained whimper slipped out before you could stop it. “mhm? are you gonna tell me what you want now?” he asked, his voice steady in your ear. the sound, the proximity, the way he was so close, made your brain scramble.

“jake…” you whispered, voice trembling a little as your restraint started to slip.

“yeah?” he replied.

“what are you gonna do?” you asked.

he chuckled softly, leaning just a fraction closer so the tip of his nose brushed your hair. “oh, y/n, you can’t answer a question with another question,” he said, smirking, repeating the exact words you’d used on him earlier. there was a pause, just a beat, as he let the weight of it settle, his body still pressing against yours, still holding back more than he wanted to.

"i want you to do something..." you confessed, your voice almost breaking, low but desperate enough that he leaned closer to hear.

"like what?" he pushed, his tone steady but he moved his hands away from the counter to your hips, the grip on your hips wasn’t steady, holding you not so gently, fingers digging in just enough to keep you against him. you could feel how hard he was, the press of his bulge against you, and before you even realized, your hips started to move, unintentional, but enough to drag against him. his breath caught, almost a groan, and then he pulled you in tighter. "come on," he said, voice rougher this time, "tell me."

"anything, jake, please," you whispered, tilting your head back until the back of your head rested on his chest. you could feel how fast his heart was beating, his breath uneven above you.

his hands moved then, sliding slowly from your hips up to your stomach, hovering lower with each inch, testing how far he could go before you stopped him. your body reacted before you could think, leaning into his touch, chasing it. "tell me," he repeated, his lips brushing so close to your ear now that you shivered, "i need you to say it."

"fuck," you muttered, unable to form more than that, your voice messy with how badly you wanted it.

he chuckled against your skin at your reaction, low and knowing. "that all you got?"

you shook your head quickly, the restraint slipping out of you in pieces. "touch me already, jake, please."

this time, he didn’t hold back the groan that left him, deep and frustrated. "fuck… yeah, okay," he breathed, nodding slightly against your temple like he was finally giving in. his hands moved lower, deliberately slow, teasing you with every drag of his fingertips against your skin. one palm spread across your stomach, keeping you pressed to him, the other inching down, tracing the edge of your waistband like he wanted you to break first.

he let his fingers linger at the hem of your shorts, brushing just beneath the waistband, making you twitch. the other hand was already under your shirt, sliding up your stomach. when his palm reached higher, his thumb skimmed over your breasts until he realized. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath, squeezing a little harder, “you’re not even wearing a bra.” his voice carried a mix of surprise and satisfaction. “you wanted this, didn’t you?” he pushed, hand cupping your breast now, thumb dragging across your nipple slowly, making you whimper. you didn’t answer right away, but your breath told on you. he chuckled softly, enjoying the way you melted back against him.

“go on, tell me,” he pressed, his mouth right by your ear, “where do you want me to touch you, princess?” the name slipped out of him almost too naturally, and it made you shiver. the word clung to your skin, had your knees weakening, and he knew it.

“you know where, jake,” you whispered, voice breaking slightly, “please.”

his free hand slid down, inside your shorts now, the edge of your underwear dragging under his knuckles as he explored lower. he hummed against your ear, satisfied with how easy you gave in to him. “so needy,” he murmured, “tell me… what were you thinking about when you touched yourself for me, mhm?” his fingers flexed lower, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. you froze, shame and arousal mixing fast. “that day,” he kept going, relentless, “when you wanted me to hear you. what did you imagine, baby?”

his question left you dizzy, your head tilting back harder into his chest, your mouth opening but no sound coming out. his hand stilled, deliberately waiting. he wanted you to say it, to give him exactly what he asked for, and you knew he wouldn’t move until you did. “jake…” you muttered, your voice wrecked, your body already giving itself away even without the words.

“yeah?” he prompted, mouth brushing your ear, “don’t go shy on me now. tell me what you thought about.”

you swallowed hard, chest heaving against his hand, every nerve in your body screaming at you to give him what he wanted. his fingers were right there, waiting, unmoving, teasing you with the weight of his patience. “i was…” your voice cracked, almost a whimper, and he squeezed your breast harder, forcing you to spit it out. “i was imagining you touching me. like this.”

he hummed low in his throat, a cruel little sound that vibrated against your ear. “yeah? go on.” his hand slid lower, pressing down, reminding you where he could take this.

your thighs squeezed around his hand but you forced yourself to keep speaking. “i imagined… you putting your fingers inside me.”

he let out a quiet laugh, smug, hot against your skin. “fuck, that’s what you were thinking about? me—fucking you with my fingers while you moaned loud enough to let me know? you wanted me to hear, didn’t you?”

“jake—” your protest melted into a whimper when his fingers finally moved. he propped them under the thin fabric of your underwear, dragging slow circles right where you ached for him.

“so wet,” he muttered, almost in disbelief, “all this because of me? jesus, baby.” he didn’t even rush, dragging his fingers in lazy motions, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to drive you insane before giving you more. “this is what you were thinking about that day, huh?” he pressed, his voice sharp now, almost mocking. “lying there, knowing i was listening, spreading your legs and wishing it was me?”

your mouth fell open, a broken sound leaving your throat as he slipped two fingers between your folds. “fuck—” he hissed when he felt how you clenched around nothing, desperate. “you’re so ready for me. you don’t even need to be prepped, do you? just begging to be filled.” his fingers finally pushed inside, slow, deep, curling just right. you gasped, nails digging into his arm, and he groaned softly, enjoying how you reacted to every move.

“that’s it,” he whispered against your ear, thrusting his fingers in a steady rhythm, “take it. that’s what you wanted, right? me finger fucking you till you can’t even think straight?” your head fell back, a whimper catching in your throat, but he didn’t let up. “go on,” he ordered, curling his fingers again, dragging a broken moan out of you. “say that’s what you wanted me to do to you.”

“yes—” you breathed, desperate, “yes, jake, i need you.”

his smirk pressed into your skin, his pace picking up just a little. “good girl. finally telling me the truth.” every word out of his mouth was filth and command, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “you’re dripping all over my hand, baby. you hear that? fuck—” he drove his fingers deeper, curling hard, his palm grinding against your clit. “look at you,” he whispered, low and rough, “squirming for me. needy little thing.” your body trembled, your words dissolving into broken gasps, and he laughed again, cruel and soft. “don’t worry, princess. i’ll give you exactly what you were begging for.”

he started to move rougher, his fingers sliding in and out of you in a steady rhythm that kept building faster, deeper, harder. the way he pressed into you from behind, his hips flush to your ass so you could feel every bit of his hardness grinding against you, made your whole body tense. your back arched without thinking, desperate to take more, and your arms lifted, searching for something to grab onto, finally tangling in his hair, pulling at the back of his head just to ground yourself. he groaned at the tug, but didn’t slow down, curling his fingers inside you just right, the wet sounds between you filling the kitchen.

your moans grew louder, shameless, every sound spilling out only making him worse. “you make the prettiest sounds.” his lips brushed your jaw, his breath hot as his pace turned merciless, his fingers pumping into you with no pause, no relief. “fuck, look at you,” he said, grinding harder into your back while fucking you with his hand. 

you whimpered his name, and he chuckled darkly, his mouth right at your ear. “who would’ve thought, hm? sweet little you, letting me finger you like this.” your body jolted when he curled his fingers deeper, and your grip on his hair tightened, head falling back onto his shoulder. “yeah, that’s it,” he whispered, teeth grazing your skin. “you like that? you like when i fuck you like this?”

you moaned and nodded, and the thought hit you hard: jake was nothing like you expected. way filthier, rougher, better than anything you ever pictured, and it only turned you on more, made you want to give him everything. “fuck, i knew you’d be this good,” he growled, fingers moving even faster, slick and deep. “shit, y/n, you’re perfect.” his pace grew ruthless, relentless, every push making your body jolt against the counter. you could feel your limit building, pressure winding tighter and tighter in your stomach until it was almost unbearable. “do you want to cum for me?” he rasped against your ear, breath hot on your skin. you couldn’t form words, just a broken moan leaving your lips. “say it, baby, or i’ll stop.” his tone dropped, sharp, commanding, even as his fingers kept pounding into you, and your whole body burned at the thought of him actually pulling away.

“fuck—yeah, jake,” you gasped, your voice cracking. “please, let me cum.”

he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your shoulder as his lips brushed your skin. “aw, such a good girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping with filth. “asking for permission like that.” his pace didn’t slow, if anything, it grew harsher, fingers sliding in and out of you so fast the sound of your wetness filled the room, obscene and loud. his free hand gripped your waist, holding you right where he wanted you as he fucked you with his hand, grinding his cock into your ass with every thrust. “come on,” he urged, his voice rough. “cum on my fingers, baby, give it all to me.”

you cried out his name, trembling, your whole body arching against him. “fuck, your pussy’s clenching around my fingers, baby,” he groaned, his head dropping back for a second, overcome with how tight you felt. “so fucking tight—so desperate for me.”

the way he talked to you, the filth in his voice, the pressure of his cock grinding against you, it all crashed down at once, your body shuddering as you came undone on his hand. it was loud, messy, overwhelming, the kind of orgasm that left you gripping his hair like you might collapse if you let go. jake moaned with you, his fingers still moving deep inside to drag out every last wave. “fuck, that’s it,” he muttered, lips pressed to your neck. “fuck, i could do this to you forever.”

your body trembled against him, still clenching around his fingers, your moans breaking into soft whimpers as he finally slowed, dragging his soaked fingers out of you with a filthy sound. he hummed, bringing them up to his lips just to taste you, his tongue sliding slow over his knuckles before he smirked against your ear. “you taste even better than i imagined.”

he spun you around so fast you gasped, his grip on your hips rough, possessive, like he couldn’t stand another second of not having you face him. your back hit the counter and you stumbled, breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched, his pupils blown so wide it was like he’d lost all sense of restraint. you were flushed, trembling, your ruined underwear sticking uncomfortably between your thighs, but the only thing you could think about was him towering over you, the outline of his cock straining against his pants, pressing against your hip like it was begging for you.

“fuck, look at you,” he whispered, forehead brushing yours as his lips trailed hot kisses along your cheek, down your jaw, to the corner of your mouth, teasing, just out of reach. “ruined, all for me.” his voice broke on the last word, ragged with hunger. “please…” his voice cracked, and for a second you thought you were imagining the desperation in him. but then he said it again, firmer this time, his breath ghosting over your lips. “please, let me kiss you.”

your head tipped back a little, chest rising and falling in erratic waves, and his hand slid up your side to cup your neck, thumb dragging under your jaw. he was trembling, but not from hesitation, from restraint. “you don’t get it,” he muttered, almost like he was confessing something against his will. “you’ve got me fucking obsessed.” his nose brushed yours, lips still barely touching, his words vibrating against your mouth. “come on, please” he demanded, his grip on your neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you shiver. “say you want me to ruin you.”

you couldn’t even form the words, too breathless, too lost in the heat of him. but you nodded, desperate, clutching his shirt like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. he groaned, finally smashing his lips against yours, messy, hungry, teeth clashing, tongues desperate. it wasn’t gentle, it was need. pure, raw, suffocating need. his hand dragged back down, pawing at your waist, your hip, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first. he was everywhere, kissing you like a man starved, whispering against your lips between frantic breaths, “my girl. my perfect fucking girl.”

his arms tightened around you, hands firm on the curve of your thighs as he pulled you up with ease, making you gasp when your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. you could feel how strong he was, the way his grip claimed you, as if he’d never let go. his mouth didn’t leave yours, lips bruising, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while his chest vibrated with a low groan. by the time he settled onto the couch, dragging you down onto his lap, your pulse was a mess. your body fit perfectly against him, straddling his hips, every shift pressing you harder onto the thick bulge straining through his pants. you whined into his mouth, the friction intoxicating, every grind pulling a deeper sound from his chest.

“fuck,” he hissed, breaking the kiss just long enough to press his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still even as you tried to roll down on him again. “don’t do that. i can’t—” his words broke off into a groan, eyes fluttering shut as your heat pressed against him through the fabric.

you tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered, smug and breathless, “can’t what?” and then you rocked against him again, slower this time, deliberately teasing, watching his composure crack.

his eyes snapped open, dark and wrecked, a strained chuckle escaping him. “you think you’re funny?” his grip tightened, pulling your body flush against his, making you feel every inch of his arousal grinding back up into you.

you only grinned, licking your lips, whispering like a dare, “maybe.”

his answer came as a guttural sound in his chest, one hand flying up into your hair, tugging your head back just enough to expose your throat as he kissed it hard. “keep testing me, baby,” your breath hitched as his hand tangled tighter in your hair, guiding you down between his spread legs. his eyes burned into you, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with ragged hunger. he looked feral, undone, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of him like this, so desperate, but still in control, every move deliberate. “on your knees,” he rasped, voice dripping authority. “show me how good you can be.”

the tone made your stomach flip, heat rushing through your body. you sank down slowly, your knees pressing into the carpet, never breaking eye contact. his grip on your hair loosened just enough for him to cup your cheek with his other hand, thumb stroking across your swollen bottom lip. “fuck, look at you,” he groaned, leaning forward just enough to press another bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back. “my pretty girl, already wrecked for me. and i haven’t even fucked you yet.” his words made you whimper, thighs pressing together instinctively. he noticed, of course, chuckling low in his chest, the sound dark and mocking. “needy little thing. you’d do anything i tell you, wouldn’t you?” he asked, tilting your chin up with his thumb.

“yes,” you breathed, without hesitation. “anything.”

“good girl,” he smirked, his thumb pressing against your lips, slipping just enough inside for you to suck. you did, obediently, hollowing your cheeks around him, watching the way his head tipped back with a guttural moan. “shit, you’re gonna ruin me.” he let you go just as quickly, his hand moving to unbuckle his belt. the metallic clink filled the room, sharp, electric, making your pulse race. you licked your lips as he tugged his zipper down, freeing himself, his cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it almost hurt to look at, and you felt your mouth water instantly.

“is this what you wanted, hm?” he rasped, shoving his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free, flushed and heavy in his hand. he stroked himself slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on yours. “you grind on me like a desperate little slut, and now look at you—on your knees for it. go on, baby. show me how bad you need it.”

you didn’t hesitate. your lips parted as you leaned in, tongue dragging up from his base in a long, slow lick that had his jaw clenching. his hand shot into your hair, tightening until it stung, forcing your head down so his cock slid between your lips, thick and aching. “fuck,” he groaned, his hips jerking forward despite himself, the sound almost breaking into a laugh at how quickly he lost control. “that’s it. open wide. choke on it, just keep those pretty eyes on me while you do.”

you hummed around him, and the vibrations made his thighs flex under your hands, his breath catching in a sharp curse. his head tipped back for a moment, chest heaving, but then he forced his gaze down again, eyes dark and wild as they burned into you. “jesus fuck,” he groaned, hips rolling steady into your mouth now, using your lips, your throat. he tugged harshly at your hair, pulling you off him with a wet pop. strings of spit clung from your swollen lips to his tip, and he wiped at your chin with his thumb, only to push it past your lips and into your mouth. “that’s it, suck it,” he ordered, voice rough, thumb pressing down on your tongue while his cock throbbed inches from your face. “you’re so fucking messy for me. you like this, huh? like being my filthy girl?”

“yes, jake, god,” you admitted, your lips wrapped around his thumb, tongue swirling around it like you were starving for him.

“fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, fist tightening in your hair as his other hand guided his cock back to your mouth. “open up, baby. take it all.” he pushed deep, his length sliding against your throat until you gagged around him, his groan breaking out into something almost animalistic. “look at you choking on it… messy little slut. you were made for this cock, weren’t you? fuck—yeah, you were. my perfect fucktoy.”

your eyes watered, drool spilling down your chin, and he hissed, hips jerking forward. “god, i could cum just from this… but i need to ruin you first.” with a sharp tug, he pulled you off him again, breath ragged, his cock slick and twitching in his hand. he yanked you up like you weighed nothing. “turn around,” he ordered, voice low and wrecked.

you barely had time to obey before he hooked his fingers into your shorts, dragging them down along with your ruined underwear. the air hit your wetness and he groaned, a filthy, guttural sound. his hand spanked your ass, the sting making you gasp. he leaned in, pressing a teasing, sharp toothed kiss against your ass cheek, his nose brushing dangerously close between them, inhaling like he was drunk on your scent. “fuck, i need that ass,” he muttered against your skin, voice breaking with hunger. his tongue darted out, barely grazing you before he pulled back, spinning you to face him again, eyes black with lust.

“you have no idea what i’m about to do to you, baby.” he didn’t give you a second to settle while you sat on his lap again. he took your shirt off, and his mouth latched onto your nipple with a greedy, wet pressure, sucking and nibbling in a way that made your chest tighten and your hips press down harder against him. every movement, every grind you made sent a low groan vibrating from his chest, his hands holding your hips so firmly you felt every pulse of his desire. you moaned around his mouth, letting your body do the talking, grinding your core down even more deliberately, feeling him react against you. his free hand moved to spank your ass again, rough, making you jump against him. “behave,” he warned, voice low and jagged, “i’ll fuck you when i want to, got it?”

you nodded, breathless, and let your head fall back, exposing your neck and chest to him as he trailed messy kisses down from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, alternating pressure, teasing, making you writhe in his lap. his hands kneaded, pinched, gripped, every touch driving you wilder, and with every slick, deliberate movement of your hips on his cock, he groaned, muttering your name over and over. “please, jake, i need you to fuck me,” you finally said, voice trembling with urgency. 

he chuckled, low and rough. “oh god, you have no idea how much i wanted to hear that,” he admitted, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as his cock pressed against you, teasing your clit, just enough to make your stomach twist and your thighs shake. “fuck, let me grab a condom,” he said, already starting to move, before you paused him.

“no,” you said quickly, pulling him back just a little. “i want it raw, i’m on birth control.”

he groaned, a deep, guttural sound that made you shiver. “fuck… that is so hot,” he muttered, pressing himself against you harder, teasing the entrance slowly, deliberately, as if testing how much more he could make you beg before actually moving. he didn’t waste a second. his hands gripped your hips tighter, tilting you just right, teasing the tip of himself against your slick, already aching center. “you’re so dirty, i had no idea,” he groaned, low and rough, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “all that quiet, all that acting like you don’t care… was that all just a fucking act, huh?”

you gasped, tilting your head, feeling the hot pressure as he pressed in a little further, testing, stretching, making you shiver. “tell me,” he whispered, voice thick with need, “are you gonna be my fucking dirty slut now? gonna let me fuck you raw, make you mine?”

you nodded frantically, voice barely a whisper. “yes… please, jake, fuck me.”

“oh god, yes, fuck, i will” he groaned, slowly pushing inside, inch by inch, letting you adjust, letting you feel every stretch. the heat, the tightness, the slick press of him against you, it stole your breath. your forehead rested against his, breathing shaky, heart hammering, every nerve screaming with sensation.

“i… i can’t,” you whispered, voice shaky. “it’s too big jake,” and he groaned softly, holding you steady, letting you adjust to him.

“fuck, don’t say that,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “you can take it, baby. i know you can.” he shifted slightly, testing the space between you. you gasped, his cock pressed into you, hands gripping your hips, tilting you just right, rolling inside you with perfect precision. your breath hitched, heart racing, every nerve on edge as he stayed close, his cock inside you, his hands steadying your hips, his lips brushing the side of your neck. the tension was unbearable, every touch and shift making it impossible to think straight. “just… breathe,” he whispered, voice tight with need. “i’m right here, baby. i’ll go slow, okay?”

you nodded against him, trying to calm your racing thoughts while your body betrayed you, reacting to every little movement. he groaned low, hips shifting ever so slightly, testing, stretching, making your body writhe instinctively against him. “fuck—you feel so good,” he muttered, voice rough and urgent. “so tight, so wet… just for me.”

you let your hips move against him, grinding, matching his rhythm. “yes… jake… i’m yours,” you murmured, chest rising and falling, breath shaky, body pressed to his.

“yeah you are, aren’t you?” he groaned, a low, desperate sound, sliding his hands from your hips to grip your thighs, holding you steady as he began slow, deliberate thrusts. each one drove pleasure straight through you, a perfect, torturous rhythm. his lips brushed your jaw, neck, whispering filthy praise. “fuck… look at you… trembling all over for me… you’re mine, all mine, my perfect little slut.”

you moaned loudly, arching into him, hands tangling in his hair, body pressed flush against his chest. “jake— don’t stop… please…”

“fuck, don’t tell me to stop, baby,” he growled, shifting your hips with his hands, pressing harder, deeper. “you like this, huh?”

“yes… yes, please,” you gasped, voice breaking as each thrust had you teetering on the edge. your body shivered with anticipation, wet and slick, ready to snap, riding him more deliberate now.

he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your skin lightly, his thrusts relentless but perfectly measured, reading your reactions. “fuck, keep riding me, i’m gonna cum for you, keep going.” you arched back into him, breath coming in ragged gasps, hands clutching his shoulders as your thighs tightened around his waist. each roll of your hips sent his cock deeper, stretching you perfectly, and he groaned low in response, hands gripping your hips.

“you’re so fucking tight, baby…” he chuckled darkly, low and throaty, the sound vibrating straight through you. “i’m gonna fuckling blow a load inside you, keep fucking riding me, oh shit—” he bit lightly at your shoulder as he thrust faster, deeper, every motion precise, worshiping you with his touch. you lost it then, shuddering violently, voice breaking in a scream of his name, body convulsing around him, clutching him close as your release crashed over you in waves. he groaned, holding you, still thrusting, savoring every twitch, every cry, every gasp.

“oh shit, you came so good,” he murmured against your ear, hips still rolling, each movement carefully prolonging the exquisite overstimulation. “let me cum inside this fucking little pussy, please—”

you gasped, arching into him, voice trembling. “yes, god… please, jake… fill me…”

and then he did, groaning your name, every muscle taut as his release filled you, hot and overwhelming. he held you through it, rocking gently, letting you feel every drop, whispering filthy, desperate praise. “fuuuuck, what a good fucking pussy,” he muttered, still buried in you, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours. his hands never left your hips, keeping you flush against him as he slowly rode out the tremors of his own orgasm, groaning your name again and again. your vision blurred, your chest rising and falling, trembling against him, as he guided you through the aftermath. 

you clung to him, breathless and trembling, heart racing, he was still holding you close. “so fucking good…” he whispered one last time, lips brushing yours, still warm and soaked from the intensity of what just happened.

you’re still on him, chest pressed against his, both of you breathing like you ran a marathon. he’s sitting back a little now, hands lazily resting on your hips, still gripping just enough to remind you he’s there. you glance up at him, and he’s got that smirk, the one that’s supposed to be cocky but honestly, he looks wrecked too.

“so,” he says, voice low, teasing but tired, “that happened.”

“yeah,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath and failing spectacularly. “that happened.”

jake lets out a low chuckle and runs a hand through his hair. you bury your face in his chest, trying to hide, like somehow hiding there could make everything feel less intense. he tuts softly, holding you a little closer. “mhm, no. look at me,” he says, his tone firm but gentle. you lift your head reluctantly, cheeks still flushed. “no more hiding, okay?” he adds, and you nod, biting your lip, still feeling the heat and the leftover tension buzzing through your body. “you okay?” he asks, eyes scanning your face. 

you give a small, whiny “yeah,” nodding, and he chuckles lightly at the sound.

“did you… like it?” he asked next, and you notice the way he paused, the tiniest flicker of nervousness in his expression. he knew that was a cheesy, sure, post-sex ask, but he had to know. 

you smirk and giggle, letting yourself relax a little. “yeah, jake. i liked it.”

he exhales slowly, groaning as he slides back, freeing himself from your walls, and you can’t help but look at him, already missing how filled you were a minute ago. he’s wrecked, flushed, hair messy, and it makes you grin. “what you looking at?” he asks, smirk playing on his lips.

“nothing,” you reply, trying to play it cool, though your grin gives you away.

he leans in and presses a quick, small kiss to your lips, catching you off guard. you freeze for a second, then melt just a little into the moment. “so… wanna talk about it?” he asks, tilting his head, still holding you close. you blink at him, caught somewhere between embarrassed and amused, realizing that maybe the talking part is the part you’re not entirely ready for, but also, maybe, you don’t want to run from it this time. he squeezes your hip gently, as if prompting you to answer without forcing it. you take a deep breath, letting some of the tension slip away.

“do you wanna talk about it?” you asked, and he chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were actually asking him this. 

“you can’t answer a question with another question,” he said again voice low, amused but tired at the same time.

you laughed awkwardly, your nerves showing. “i just… i don’t know, jake,” you admitted, voice unsure, looking down for a second before meeting his eyes again.

“don’t know what?” he pressed, leaning in, making the space between you feel smaller.

“i don’t know how you feel about me,” you said, letting out a small breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. “so… i just can’t figure out exactly what i’m supposed to do with all of this.”

he blinked once, then laughed low, and it wasn’t like a normal laugh, more like he was trying to process what you just said and couldn’t decide if it was ridiculous, frustrating, or the most fascinating thing he’d heard all week. you watched him run a hand over his face, shaking his head slowly, the kind of shake that made it clear he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed, scared, or both. “okay…,” he muttered finally, half to himself, half to you, voice calm. “but i get it. i think i do.” he paused, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was enjoying that he had your full attention. “so… you want me to spell it out for you? really tell you what i feel?”

you hesitated, just a little, because you weren’t sure if you were ready to hear it, or if you were ready to admit you’d been hoping for it. you nodded anyway, slowly, watching his face, waiting. he leaned back a bit in his seat, just enough to look at you properly, like he was gathering his thoughts in real time, and you could tell he was about to unload.

“i’ve been crazy about you since the very beginning,” he said, voice a little rough, but completely honest. “back when you didn’t give me a single thing to go on, and i had no idea what you were thinking, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. i was obsessed with figuring you out, learning what made you tick. and the more i got to know you, the more fascinated i became. you’re… you’re insane, in the best way. every little thing about you made me want to know more.”

he paused, swallowing, like he was trying to get the words out without tripping over them. “then, when you started teasing me… when you started pushing and pulling, letting me get close but not giving me everything, i lost it. i thought about you all the time. every day. you, your voice, your smile, the way you look at me… i probably shouldn’t be saying this, but fuck it. i can’t stop thinking about it, and about you. and now, after… that,” he gestured vaguely at the mess of the room and the two of you, “i have no regrets. that was the best sex of my life, no contest.”

you let out a breathless laugh, and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly, like he still couldn’t believe he was admitting all of this. “so yeah… i’m fucked up about you. completely. and i don’t even care.”

you blinked, caught somewhere between stunned, amused, and something else you didn’t have a name for yet. you didn’t know if you should laugh, tease him back, or just sit there and take it all in. but seeing him like this, messy, honest, a little wrecked from what just happened, made it impossible to be anything but completely present with him. jake leaned back a little, still holding you, letting the confession hang in the air. “so… what about you?” he asked, voice quieter now, curious but still casual, like he was afraid of scaring you off but couldn’t not ask. “how do you feel about all this?”

you hesitated again, trying to pull words together, but they kept slipping away. “i’m not good at this,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you expected. “i’m not good at saying things out loud. but you… you get under my skin the same way i get under yours. i don’t know how to say it prettier than that, but it’s real.” you paused, looking at him, almost daring him to make you keep going. he didn’t. instead, he smiled, small but satisfied.

“good,” he said simply.

you blinked, then nodded. “good.”

nothing poetic, nothing rehearsed, just enough for both of you. he kissed you once, soft and short, then got up and tugged you along with him, muttering something about you needing a shower. you were too tired to argue, and honestly, he was right. the two of you had made a mess of the place, and of yourselves. he turned the water on and stepped in first, pulling you by the wrist like he was making sure you wouldn’t back out. it wasn’t some movie scene with steam and passion and soap slipping everywhere. it was domestic, borderline clumsy. he tried to hand you the shampoo bottle with too much force and almost dropped it, then squinted because he’d gotten water in his eyes. you laughed at him, and he pretended to be offended, but he didn’t actually care. he just liked that you were laughing.

you weren’t used to standing this close without tension thick in the air, without second-guessing what the other was thinking. now you were just there, getting clean together, and it felt strangely natural. it felt like the most normal thing in the world, like maybe this was how it was supposed to be all along. by the time you both stepped out and wrapped up in towels, the room smelled like cheap body wash, and the mirror was fogged over. jake glanced at you, hair dripping, and smirked like the whole situation was funny but also a little serious, like he couldn’t believe how quickly things had shifted between you. you didn’t say anything, and you didn’t need to. it was good, just good.

so the next couple of weeks were kind of ridiculous, mostly because you both pretended for about two days that things were the same, and then it became really obvious they weren’t. jake had this new way of looking at you that you kept catching in random moments, like when you were pouring cereal or folding laundry, and it wasn’t subtle at all. he was completely gone for you, and you could tell, but he didn’t even bother trying to hide it.

the first time after that night it happened again, it wasn’t planned. you’d just finished watching something dumb on tv, and he made some joke that had you shoving his shoulder, and the next thing you knew he had you pinned against the couch cushions, kissing you like he’d been holding back for hours. it was messy and fast and you didn’t even bother moving to the bedroom. later, when you were both out of breath and sprawled in opposite directions on the couch, he laughed and said he wasn’t sure he’d ever look at the living room the same way again. you rolled your eyes, but the truth was you couldn’t either. a couple nights after that, he came into your room under the excuse of “borrowing your charger.” he didn’t even bother plugging it in before he was pulling you onto his lap, muttering something about how you were all he thought about during the day. it was slower that time, more deliberate, and he kept touching your face, brushing your hair back, doing all these little things that made it feel different from before. it wasn’t just sex anymore, and you could both feel that shift, even if neither of you said it out loud.

the funniest part was how the domestic side of living together changed too. suddenly, showers weren’t just showers. one night he pulled you in with him, no warning, and spent more time kissing you against the wall than actually washing his hair. you had to kick him out halfway through because you were going to run out of hot water, and he left pouting, soap still in his hair. the next morning, he walked into the kitchen with wet curls and this smug look on his face like he’d invented showering together. he also started hovering more. if you were cooking, he was in the kitchen, stealing bites and pressing up behind you. if you were working on your laptop, he’d somehow find his way onto the couch next to you, stretching until his feet were basically in your lap. and the hot moments were woven into all of it, like they weren’t separate anymore. you’d be brushing your teeth and he’d come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and before you knew it you were pressed against the sink, muffling laughs into his shoulder.

what really gave him away, though, was how restless he got when you weren’t around. he’d pretend to be casual, but you caught him more than once waiting up just to see when you’d get home. sometimes he’d act like it was nothing, asking about your night, but other times he’d just pull you into his room without a word, kissing you until neither of you remembered what the question was. and two weeks in, it was clear jake was completely losing it over you. he didn’t care that you weren’t good with words or that you never gave long speeches about how you felt. he got what he wanted anyway, your attention, your touch, the way you’d grab his shirt first when things escalated. and in return, he gave you everything without holding back. every day, in some new way, he made it obvious. and you didn’t fight it, not really. if anything, you were just as gone as he was, even if you weren’t ready to spell it out.

later that month, he wasn’t even thinking when it happened. you had just walked out of your lecture, holding your bag against your shoulder, half distracted scrolling through your phone, and he was leaning against the wall across the hall, waiting for his own class. he saw you before you saw him, and without even a second thought he was already walking over. you looked up, a little surprised, and he just smiled, leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss against your mouth. it was just a short kiss, the kind you’d gotten used to at home when he was passing by you in the kitchen or when you sat next to him on the couch. but this time, it wasn’t in your living room. it was in the middle of the hallway with people walking by.

the moment it happened, you froze, not because you didn’t want it but because your brain immediately registered where you were. his too. you could feel the second he realized what he’d just done, because he leaned back fast, eyes flicking around like maybe no one saw. except of course people saw. people always saw. his friends were standing just a few feet away, watching everything with that look that said they didn’t need to say a single word. they’d known for weeks anyway. he’d been obvious as hell about it, smiling at his phone all the time, making up the worst excuses just to go home early, and acting different in a way that was so clear he wasn’t fooling anyone. your friends weren’t idiots either. you’d told them enough details already, and they’d connected the dots themselves.

the thing was, none of you had ever brought whatever this was out into the open before. at home it was easy. you were roommates, no one else around, and it didn’t feel like you needed to define it. but here, in front of everyone, a kiss, even a tiny one, meant something else. it meant people would start asking questions. it meant you’d have to talk about it. you laughed under your breath, more out of nerves than anything, and gave him a look that said really? here? and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn’t know how to explain himself. “sorry,” he muttered, but not in a way that sounded like he actually regretted it. more like he regretted the timing. you didn’t say anything, just shook your head, and the two of you walked out together, trying to act like nothing happened. but the hallway was still buzzing, and you could feel eyes on your back the whole time. his friends were definitely going to bring it up later, and your friends were already blowing up your phone. 

a few nights later, you were just sitting on the couch with him watching tv, when jake suddenly turned to you and said, “you know i never actually took you on a date.” it was random, no lead up, just dropped in the middle of whatever episode was playing. you looked at him and asked, “do you want to?” and he didn’t hesitate, just nodded immediately and said, “of course i do.” you laughed at how serious he looked, like he’d been planning that line in his head. then you told him how the two of you had skipped a few steps in this whole thing, and he laughed back, agreeing, saying it was the first time he’d ever lived with a girl before even kissing her. you reminded him he’d done a lot of things with you before kissing you, and that made him smirk. he leaned over, went right for you, and things got heated again in a way that left the rest of the night blurry. it wasn’t anything new for the two of you, but it made the next day stand out even more.

the next day, jake actually followed through. he kept it quiet until later, but you noticed how he was watching you get ready, leaning against the doorframe of your room with his arms crossed and that stupid grin he always got when he thought he was being subtle. you couldn’t put mascara on without him sneaking behind you and stealing a kiss on your cheek or the corner of your mouth. by the time you finally managed to get dressed and say you were ready, you already had to fix your lipstick because he wouldn’t keep his hands off you. he ended up taking you to this restaurant you didn’t even know he was aware of, the kind with dim lights and real cloth napkins, and it felt way more romantic than you were expecting. it was weird because until that moment, you had been convinced that whatever you had with jake was basically roommates who hooked up sometimes (all the times, to be exact). he’d never said anything that pointed in another direction. but sitting across from him, watching the way he leaned in when you talked, how he didn’t even look around the room once, just stayed focused on you the whole time, it hit you that maybe he was taking this seriously. maybe he’d been taking it seriously from the start and you were only just noticing.

that month just blurred into something you couldn’t really label, but anyone watching would’ve called it obvious. you woke up next to him more often than not, even though technically you had your own room. he made coffee for you when he was already in the kitchen, sometimes adding too much sugar on purpose just to watch you complain and drink it anyway. you sat on the couch with your legs across his lap while he absentmindedly rubbed your ankle during whatever show you two were pretending to pay attention to. he kissed you in the middle of conversations, in the middle of you yelling at him, in the middle of you doing literally nothing. the hot moments didn’t go away either. brushing teeth side by side sometimes ended with you pressed against the bathroom sink. “goodnight” kisses had a tendency to spiral until you were both late for whatever you had to wake up for the next day. there were lazy afternoons where he sat at the end of your bed, scrolling on his phone, and you tugged him back under the covers just to see how fast he’d cave. it all felt stupidly natural, like you’d been doing it forever, but also new enough that every time it happened you caught yourself smiling after.

so when sunghoon invited you both to a party, you didn’t really discuss it. you just went together like it was the default. you were getting ready in your room, digging through a pile of clothes while jake sat on your desk chair, spinning slowly and watching you with way too much interest. “i’m kind of excited for tonight,” he said out of nowhere.

you glanced at him in the mirror. “why?”

he leaned back casually, like it was nothing. “because i love showing people how pretty my girlfriend is.”

you froze mid-mascara stroke, nearly poking yourself in the eye, then turned around. “what did you just say?”

he blinked, all fake innocence. “what? i just said—”

“no, no, you said the g word,” you cut him off, pointing at him.

he tilted his head, playing dumb. “g word? what g word?”

“girlfriend,” you said, wide eyed.

he grinned. “oh, that. well, if you don’t like it, i can always call you my roommate instead. the r word.”

you burst out laughing. “roommate is not the same thing.”

“i don’t know, i think it’s got a nice ring to it.”

“shut up,” you said, still laughing. “i actually like the other one better, but if you’re gonna call me that, you should at least ask properly.”

his smirk got sharper. “a proper request, huh? i can do that. but if i do it now, we’re definitely gonna be late to sunghoon’s party.” and before you could respond, he was already standing, already crossing the room, already leaning down into you. whatever thought you had about finishing your eyeliner or getting out the door on time just dissolved, because apparently his version of a proper request involved making sure you completely forgot the party even existed for at least another half hour.

after that night, things just settled into something that felt permanent. he’d hold your bag while you tied your shoes, you’d grab his drink when you went to the kitchen, he’d keep his hand on your back when you walked through crowded places. you were in each other’s space constantly, but it never got heavy, it only got easier. jake realized it later, in this quiet way that hit him when he least expected it. like when he was brushing his teeth and you walked by in one of his shirts, humming some stupid song, and he caught himself smiling with toothpaste foam in his mouth. or when he stayed up too late on his laptop and you fell asleep against him on the couch, your head sliding down his shoulder, and he didn’t even move because he didn’t want to wake you. 

he had been stuck on you from the beginning, even when he didn’t want a roommate, even when he told himself it would just be temporary, even when he thought he’d keep a little distance. he couldn’t. every time he tried, you pulled him back without even noticing. it was just the truth: he couldn’t let go of you, even when he thought he wanted to.

one night, you were both stretched out on the couch, the tv running something neither of you were paying attention to, and you asked, almost offhand, if he ever ended up answering the housing office about switching apartments. he glanced over at you, chewing at the inside of his cheek like he always did when he was pretending to think about something serious, and then he smiled in that way that was a little smug but still soft.

“oh, baby, i’ll never leave you if you keep holding me this way.”

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ronnie's notes: idk i blacked out and wrote 30k of horny roommates fic for addie @jakesimfromstatefarm, don’t ask me how but here we are. she’s jake utted, she loves roommates to lovers, and i guess my brain went okay fine and gave in. this whole thing was actually inspired by stockholm syndrome by one direction (yes, i’m in my 1d phase again) and tbh i was lowkey scared it’d be too cliche at first but honestly i think it turned out to be one of the fics i’m proudest of, especially the smut lmao so yeah this fic is horny, has way too much pining, and accidentally got more feelings than i planned. but it’s also pure fun, and if addie doesn’t scream at me after reading this, i’m officially quitting. THANK UUUUUUU

heejama's masterlist // latest fic perma taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff @gh9sty @sonaki001

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[ellsblue]

ɴɪꜱʜɪᴍᴜʀᴀ ʀɪᴋɪ ꜰɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄꜱ ₊˚⊹

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[ikeukiss]

DARE ME TO

〔 𝒾 〕 Your best friend told you her brother was off limits years ago, and that should have been the end of it. But feelings, especially reciprocated ones, don't die, not when you're going to be in close proximity for a week.

𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧 𝓍 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 11.7K ⋮ 18+ ⋮ angst, fluff, smut, best friend's (younger) brother!jake, forbidden attraction au, college au, alcohol use, feat! heeseung, dry humping, clit play, body worship, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie ᯤ 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈: new emotion — the aces, do you think about me — lahar, boys like you — who is fancy, starving — hailee steinfeld, butterfly rain — tori templet, i'm not in love — emily james, dive — ed sheeran, ready set go — bnza, shooting star — muna, say it again —frances

⌗ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── Nobody ever really does female best friend's sibling and I wanted to for this because Jake is clearly my muse and I'm obsessed, so here we go! Bless all my friends who read the story before its release— @tinycatharsis, @lovetaroandtaemin @xylatox @xomakara @aeristudios @hannieoftheyear and @frenchkisstheabyss—because they kept me going to post it! I love you all so much, thank you. I hope you guys enjoy!

There are two things you are certain of in this life. Sim Jaemin, Jamie to those who know her best, will always be your dearest friend, and she is relentless in getting what she wants.

Jamie pushed herself to learn tennis all on her own at nine, simply because she found Serena Williams incredibly attractive wielding a racket like a sword. She decided in middle school to make you her best friend, even as she was an opinionated, bouncy thirteen-year-old that made you, a girl who still hid behind her lunchbox, feel intimidated to no end. She convinced her parents to take in the neighbor's dog at sixteen when the old couple decided to leave the beautiful pup behind. "Layla is too cute to just go to anyone!" The pout she threw, perfectly curved with the cupid's bow of an angel, made every single person in the family cave without another word. Jake needed little persuasion; her little brother was always fond of animals. Still is.

Then, she got older, and more reasonable demands came to the forefront.

"I don't want you ruining our friendship by liking my brother." When she said this on the verge of your first year of university, it was the furthest thing from your mind. Tuition paperwork, scholarship applications, and the freshman fifteen was all you could focus on back then. Even as you watched Jake, on the tail-end of junior year, swim a few laps in the family's pool.

"One, he's too young for me. Two, you're worth more than a crush, as if I had one." Your arguments convinced her because it was true. You did not like Sim Jaeyun. You would barely look his way if he didn't have familial ties he shared with your best friend, although he was always friendly and funny to you. Yet, that was the intention: a younger brother, annoying, yet well-behaved.

He crosses your mind now and then, some photos he shares with Jamie popping up on your feed when she goes to her parents for visits without you, leaving you behind in your shared dorm room to doomscroll and avoid the problems awaiting at home. She's beautiful, bright, magnanimous in personality.

It's no coincidence her brother shares the same level of allure.

Now, he lingers on your mind as your hands clench the steering wheel. You and Jamie always went home for spring break, tradition the strongest facet of the Sim family. As Jake is also on his way home for his first spring break since starting college, his soccer scholarship keeping him plenty busy, you wonder how the dynamic between all of you—three full-fledged adults—will change. You're not much older than each other. Two years separate you girls from the only boy in the Sim household, but Jamie has always been smaller than her brother; the youngest sprouted like a tree when he reached high school. You, you're just short because of the universe's sarcastic design.

"Are you even listening? I'm baring my soul here about Chungha and you're too busy lost in thought!" Jamie cries, throwing an arm over her eyes for a dramatic flare.

You chuckle. "I'm actually too busy driving the car, asshole," you note with a quirked eyebrow. "Anyway, I thought your broken heart was because of Seungcheol."

"That was two months ago! This is now! She was supposed to Facetime me last night about her plans for the break, but never did. She hates me now, it's official."

Just because Jamie is headstrong doesn't mean she's prone to being realistic.

You sigh. "Her phone probably died. And we left pretty early this morning. I bet she'll text you as soon as she gets up today."

She nods, whining but agreeing. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I'd have lost my head by now."

Laughing, you make another turn. The street the Sim family house resides on comes into clear view, birch trees and tulip bushes welcoming you like an old friend coming back from a long trip off to faraway lands. You breathe easy, already feeling more at home here than anywhere else, including your parent's place twenty minutes away.

You always tell them you're too busy to visit, even during the occasional weekend off from exams and term papers. It's too hard to watch them bicker and pick you apart like they've done since you were small. At Jamie's, with her parents and Jake, you don't feel like an outsider intruding with every eggshell you stumble upon. You're safe, content, fearless.

When you see her parents at the front door, ready to welcome you both with warm hugs, you're reminded of the peace they provide. There's no need to act formal, not anymore. Not when they've seen you through all of your formative years with more kindness than your own family has ever provided.

"There they are!" Jamie's dad, Yongjin, exclaims. He pulls Jamie into a bear hug as Jihyun, her mother, wraps her arms around you.

You drop your bags on the doorstep, embracing Jihyun fully. She smells like rosemary and plum, with hints of book pages. No other scent can replicate it. "Let me look at you," she says as she plants both hands on either side of your face. "Have you been eating? You look pale."

You nod, grinning. "Just wanted to wait until we got here to dig in. Besides, I know there's braised pork waiting for us on the counter."

Her face scrunches up as she smiles and pats your cheek. "Nothing gets past you, huh, ladybug? Let's go inside then! I know you girls are hungry."

Your old nickname used to drive you crazy. But you'll always hold a special place for it, especially when Jihyun says it with every ounce of love she possesses.

"Where's Jake, dad? Still on his way?" Jamie asks as she drops her bag in the hallway.

"He's in the pool. He actually got in last night. Practice was canceled last minute, so he came straight here." Yongjin coughs as he picks up both of your bags, heading upstairs to drop them off in your respective rooms. "Bring the rascal in for lunch, won't you?"

"Not before your daughter helps with setting out the plates!" Jihyun turns to Jamie with a smirk. Your best friend rolls her eyes but runs to the kitchen without a word of protest. Jamie may get what she wants, but she knows to follow a parental order like holy scripture.

Jihyun turns her smile on you. "Ladybug, go bring in Jake, please?"

You nod, walking toward the glass doors leading to the backyard area. You open one slowly, taking in the surrounding sunshine that bathes the pool in an ethereal glow. The spirit of the Sim house extends to every corner, including the water you've swum in a thousand times.

Before you can even call out to him, Jake's moving out of the pool and leaning down to grab his towel from the beach lounger. Once he sees you, his expression changes from intense focus to his usual softness. His shoulders slack like any pressure he was carrying disintegrates, his face contorting in the same way with a cheery grin and raised eyebrows. His wet hair swipes across his face like a mop, but you could recognize him anywhere. 

A pregnant pause sits between you both, and you’re unsure why. Maybe it’s because Jake looks different from the last time you saw him that week in August, before he left with the wrecked nerves of an incoming freshman. He was scrawny, not a muscle on him except for the ones he gained from soccer—which weren't that many because of his stature—with braces that carried him through his teenage years like a backpack. Now, he’s all white teeth and chiseled abs, body confidently glistening under the rays of sunlight. 

You’ve been the same appearance-wise for years, but Jake looks at you like you’ve gone through a metamorphosis only he can see. It makes your cheeks bloom a shade deeper than you're used to, but you try to brush the feeling off. It means nothing, can mean nothing.

“You’re early,” he says finally.

"Wanted to miss all the traffic," you reply, hands splayed out on your thighs. "I'd hug you, but…you know."

Jake takes that suggestion as a dare, lips pursing in a suggestive pout. He runs before you can take the hint, grabbing you between his biceps and immediately squeezing you against his wet skin as you squeal. "When has that ever stopped me, ladybug?"

Despite his soaked form and the small distance he puts between you both when he's satisfied he's greeted you properly, he's still radiating a warmth that cuts through the decorum you thought was still necessary to use with him more than anyone else in the family. It might be the reason he's so eager to thaw it out immediately. He can recognize in that instant your nerves from being away for so long are the cause.

But there's no reason to be formal. You're still the same girl who cried trying to save the insect you're lovingly nicknamed after during a thunderstorm. You've detested the bleak weather ever since, and sometimes the term of endearment too, and he knows that.

He knows so many things about you, more than you want to admit.

"C'mon kiddos, the food's getting cold!" Jake's dad calls from inside the house, and Jake immediately takes the cue to jog inside, leaving you standing there, slightly damp and confused.

He turns back at the archway of the glass doors, a smile framing his face. You turn just as he asks, "You coming?"

This break may be harder than you expected it to be.

You throw stones from the garden floor and across the lush field in front of you, tears streaming down your face as the sun blares above. It's too bright today for how terrible your heartbreak feels.

Almost 500 miles between two universities was enough for Taeyong to call it quits. As if a year of dating didn't matter in that instant when your ex had to come face to face with the unknown. You were willing to brave it, to see if your love could survive long-distance, but he obviously wasn't. "Be realistic," he said a few hours ago, feigning false pain.

You couldn't bear to stay in your own house, your parents' judgemental eyes staring you down in a way that made you keep all your anguish inside. A trip over the fence to the Sim house wasn't a tough feat when everything else felt insurmountable.

And there you are, sitting near Jamie's mother's prize roses and hating everything they represent. Love, passion, desire. It's all for show; none of it is true when the harsh realities come around the corner. Taeyong and your parents proved that.

Out of the blue, Jaeyun appears in soccer attire not meant for JV players. You hide your face from him in that second, trying to avoid the mirage of questions he'll throw at you if he sees your red-rimmed eyes. "Climbed over again, huh?" he asks, a joke you can't take interjected in his voice.

You nod, shoulders steeled and windpipe tight. "Didn't feel like staying home right now. Gonna tell me to go back?"

Jake raises his arms in defense. "No, I mean—I don't mind. Would've seen you later, anyway." He moves to sit next to you, crossing his legs in the dirt and splaying his arms behind his back.

"You're home late," you realize. The sunset brews under the clouds, seven o'clock a few minutes away.

Jake chuckles again, the sound light and unbelieving. "I was actually trying out for varsity," he confesses. "I got it."

You wipe your subsequent tears away, focusing on your friend and his achievement. He's always wanted to play with the bigger guys at school, and you won't let such success go understated. "That's amazing! Does Jamie know yet?"

He shakes his head, blushing suddenly. "You're the first person I've told."

"Wow," you say. "Sim Jaeyun, soccer prodigy, letting me be the first to know? I'm honored."

He knocks your shoulder with his own, saying nothing verbally. His smile says enough. "Gonna tell me what's bothering you now?"

You sigh, the sadness bubbling back up. "Taeyong dumped me. Said going to schools so far away from each other is too much to handle." You throw another rock, anger suddenly replacing the misery you walked into the garden with. "Fuck him."

"Yeah. He doesn't know a good thing when he has it." Jake says it like he's afraid it'll mean more than what it does on the surface, his voice low and tentative. Is it out of his depth to say something like that to you, his older sister's best friend? He doesn't know, but it felt right to say.

You laugh sadly and run your fingers through the grass. "I just gotta move forward. Spend the summer focused on me, you know?"

Jake nods and knocks his shoulder into yours once again. "Come on, let's take a dip in the pool. It always makes you feel better." He motions to the house behind him. "Go borrow one of Jamie's swimsuits, yeah?"

You grin at his suggestion. He always makes the worst times better somehow, a ray of sunshine that isn't blinding to the eye. It's welcoming and soothing, a salve on a day you thought was hopeless. "Sure."

As you head upstairs, Jake's mom smiling at you both as you run past the kitchen, you think about the way you can float with all of them rather than sink.

The memory washes over you as you stare at the same patch of grass from that day, reminiscent with a smile on your face, thankful nobody can see it under the cover of night.

"Earth to my best friend! There's tequila that's going to waste over here," Jamie says as she hands you another shot. She's careful to avoid dropping it into the pool thanks to the mirage of garden lights around your spot. The both of you sit on the edge with your toes in the water, teasing the idea of slipping in with the two boys already wading around in the water. "Chungha ghosted me and I need your unwavering support right now."

"It'll never go to waste on you, JJ," Heeseung, Jake's best friend, flirts with Jamie as he floats past you both. "And whoever that girl is is clearly a dipshit."

Lee Heeseung stayed local for his college experience, but he's always remained close to Jake and the Sim family in the same way you have, except he and Jake grew up together from primary school and on. And as far as Jamie goes, he'll be damned if he stops trying to get her to take a chance on him one day, despite every rejection she's delivered with a loving middle finger in his face.

Jamie kicks some water at him before downing another few ounces of liquor. "Thank you but if that's another covert shooting of your shot, no thanks, pal."

Heeseung scoffs playfully as you giggle. "Anyway, since we have an appropriate beverage for it…" he says just in time for Jake to swim over from his usual corner near the hot tub. "Let's play Never Have I Ever, shall we?"

You all roll your eyes, but you don't object. Anything to ramp up the chill session by the pool; your spring break is already too lackadaisical at this point.

"Never have I ever stolen candy from Jungwon's parents' convenience store."

All of you take the shots with ease. The poor kid always knew when you and Jamie were bagging an extra candy bar in your purse or pockets, but batting your eyelashes in his direction was enough for him to look the other way. "Boys," Jamie said once, "are too predictable."

Jake begins his turn with, "Never have I ever used my parent's car without them knowing," as he pours drinks for everyone, only for Jamie to sip hers in that instant.

She raises a hand to speak her mind, and you giggle into your shot, downing it in time before the liquid can trickle down your chin. "In my defense, Mom decided to change her mind at the last second. I just stuck to the original promise she made." She turns to you. "When did you hijack yours?"

"One time when I wanted to go to Taeyong's house. I was back the next morning before they could realize it was gone."

"Asshole," Jamie and Jake mutter simultaneously, to which Jamie poses the question to her brother, "What would you know about him besides his stats, dipshit? And you're the one who played on the same team as him, like a traitor."

"Not at the same time!" Jake yells, offended. "Besides, even if we did, I would've never passed the ball to that douchebag."

Heeseung chuckles. The sound holds some type of knowledge neither you nor Jamie are privy to, but Jake looks at his friend with a death stare. You want to dissect the interaction further, but you guys pass over questions and drinks quickly after that. The tequila blurs your inhibitions as you fall into more teasing banter and laughter. Finally, your trip is getting fun.

"Alright, my turn again," Heeseung says. He pours another set of shots before he declares, "Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this circle."

The posed statement sinks into your gut like a stone; any chance of excitement for the night is gone. Your buzz disappears as soon as the last word falls from Heeseung's lips.

He immediately gulps down his drink, smiling the whole time. "Oh shoot," he says with his devious smirk pointed in Jamie's direction. "Sorry, love."

"Still never gonna happen, pipsqueak," Jamie responds with a slur, the edges of her statement warbled by the alcohol.

What you don't expect is for Jake to take his shot at the same time you do. You both stare at each other over the rims of the tiny glasses. Your faces turn crimson, a mutual understanding passing by in a flash.

Never in your dreams did you expect Jake would also harbor a crush on you. It's been years for you, so long ago you forgot the shape of it until you were in his presence again. But the revelation he also held those emotions at some point makes the stone in your chest strengthen in size, the new information befuddling you.

When did it start? Was it around the same time as you? Does he still feel that way? You ruminate on the quick questions for only a second, knowing none of the answers matter. Jamie would've never allowed it anyway, and still wouldn't. And she's more important.

A pregnant pause lies between you and Jake, even as Heeseung sputters out a shocked laugh and Jamie drinks another shot just for fun.

"Oh damn," he says, "guess we're learning a lot about each other tonight, huh?"

"Shut up, Hee," Jake mutters. He slams the empty glass down near your thigh, and the sudden brush of his hand as he pulls back makes you tingle.

It's from the tequila, you tell yourself with bated breath. Nothing else, nothing at all.

"Yeah, shut up! 's a stupid game anyway," Jamie explains as she stands up. Her body buckles with the equilibrium change, and Jake immediately jumps from the pool to help her regain her balance. "I'm fine, Ikeu!"

That's the tell. She never uses her childhood nickname for Jake unless she's drunk. You smile to yourself and stand up as well, using the sobriety Jamie doesn't have now to help her brother.

Heeseung remains in the pool as you and Jake take Jamie upstairs to sleep it off, wading around again like a baby who hasn't upended all of their bathwater. Your best friend insists she's fine on the trek upstairs, but the way she leans into you both says otherwise.

Jake tucks the bedsheets to her chin, handling her as she thrashes around with a sequence of grumbles spilling from her lips. "Ikeu, let me go to sleep," Jamie mumbles. You laugh to yourself at the state of your best friend as she babbles nonsense. She'll be mopey and hungover tomorrow, but you'll handle that when it comes.

You close the door to her room behind you, shaking your head. "She's gonna act like a kicked puppy in the morning, I know it."

Jake laughs. "And yet she still insists she's not a lightweight. Or, at the very least, a mid-weight with how much of that bottle she drank."

You agree, nodding with a smile. Silence rushes in, the uncertainty of what to say next sitting between you both like a piece of glass you're terrified to break. Do you mention what happened just a few minutes ago in the pool, or let it go? And, more importantly, what does Jake want to do?

Jake coughs quietly, his cheeks flushed. "I should get back to Heeseung. Make sure his drunk ass doesn't drown."

You nod again, bashful. "Yeah. I gotta wash off all this chlorine, anyway."

As you both go to walk in separate directions, you heading to your room and Jake going back downstairs, your fingertips brush. It's the smallest movement, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but the spark that was ignited when he touched your thigh comes back, as all-consuming as it was then.

"See you tomorrow," Jake says over his shoulder, not turning back as he walks down the first few steps, but you can tell he's smiling. Somehow, you always know. You reply with your own acknowledgement, heart hammering as you open and close your door.

That night, you dream of his hand in yours, the liquid courage giving you the right amount of boldness to tell him you want to keep holding it for as long as you can.

"You think you'll make it out of the storm in one piece?" you ask into your phone, walking around the guest room as you listen to Jamie's frustration over the quick food run now halted by the terrible weather. The supermarket bustle muffles Jamie's voice, her words practically passing through a tin can.

"Pretty sure, but the damn car is parked too far. My parents want to wait until it settles down rather than walk into a tsunami, as if I still don't have a headache kicking my ass." You picture her rubbing her temples while she talks, exasperated but with nobody to blame but herself for last night's escapades. "Be glad you don't have to experience their terrible fruit and vegetable puns right now."

You chuckle, flicking at the dust on the windowpane. "You act as if I don't know them all by heart."

Jamie laughs too, probably nodding in the middle of the store aisle like you're right by her side. She sighs when her mother calls her away. "Mom's looking at the funny birthday cards, probably wants to show me one to give Dad next month. I gotta go."

"Alright, see you soon!"

Minutes or hours pass by in a blur, the house quiet save for the rain that patters on the rooftop above. In the instant you throw your phone on the bed after another session of endless scrolling, Jake comes into view, lingering by the doorframe. His down-turned eyes point at his feet while a pout covers the lower half of his face. When he's like this, his disposition is akin to a kid caught with cookie crumbs at the edge of his mouth. "Was that Jamie earlier?"

Was he listening? How long had he been waiting to talk to you?

"Yep," you confirm. "Still stuck in the storm. Hopefully it passes quickly." You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly chilly. The cold of the rain seeps into your skin like it knows you hate the frigid and unrelenting downpour. It plucks all your nerves to their highest frequencies. You think so, anyway.

It can't have anything to do with last night, or this moment being the first time you and Jake have talked since then. It's not like his admission changes anything between you, and your past emotions have no bearing on the present. Being awkward about it, despite your best intentions not to, solves nothing. Yet, you feel the prickle of your anxiety all the same.

Jake's eyes pinch at the corners. "Still freaked out by the weather?"

You shrug, hands clenching to your skin. "Yes and no."

Going back in your memory, you can barely recall the first time you experienced a thunderstorm as a kid outside of how it made you feel. Small, fragile, open to all the elements. It was bad enough life in your parent's home made you feel that way daily, but storms only amplified the insecurities.

That first time you experienced one in the Sim house, a ladybug glued to the glass doors downstairs as the outside world thrashed and rumbled, reminded you even the tiniest beings endure harsh conditions. And you did everything in your power that day to help ensure the creature's survival.

Maybe the nickname stuck because it fit you too well, and it hasn't gone away since for good reason.

Jake walks over, his face now tilted in your direction, and shucks his zip-up hoodie off to wrap around your shoulders. You start to speak, "You don't have to—"

"I want to," he replies, a scoff teetering on the edge in his voice. "Got a million more."

You nod, giving him a soft smile of gratitude. Stuffing your arms through the sleeves, you smell his scent on the fabric. It lingers like all the words you've stamped down. Bergamot and tangerine, with the faintest trace of sea salt.

"You're safe, ladybug." His words are so soft that the clap of thunder accompanying them almost drowns them out. But you think you could hear him even if the lightning came down right next to his face.

"I know," you say, knowing it's never been more true than right now. Yet, you feel something else resting underneath his words, an iceberg you can see past the top of. The sentence eases your mind, yet ramps up a different emotion entirely, one you haven't felt in a long time for him.

"Last night, I—"

"It's fine, Jaeyun," you insist. You shake off whatever he's about to say with a forced giggle. "We've changed. Sure, we both had little crushes on each other back then. It doesn't mean anything now."

"It doesn't?"

"I mean…why does it need to? It would be crazy, anyway. Like it could work now when it didn't then."

Jake's jaw ticks as he smiles, the action as artificial as your previous laugh. "Right. It would be crazy, wouldn't it? To think about you in that way still."

"Yeah, crazy." You don't realize he's stepped forward a few inches until you notice his body in sharper clarity. The long-sleeve Manchester United shirt with a tattered logo on the center, one of his favorites, and how it rises with every inhale and exhale. The shell necklace touching his collarbone, the one you made for him the summer before he started high school.

"So if I said I still feel the same way I did at sixteen—that it's hard not to every time I look at you—would that be crazy, too?"

Your brain becomes hollow, coherent thought and reasoning out of your reach.

The storm continues battering the house, but its strength compares little to the forces stirring in your heart. The desire to hold him close churns in your stomach like the strongest tornado known to man.

It's irrevocably wrong, so why does he still pull you in?

Jake reaches for you, hand pressing to the skin between your lower jaw and neck, and it feels too warm. It makes your body shiver, but he doesn't pull back. He just inches closer, so close his breath ghosts over your face.

His eyes speak with the pleas his mouth can't verbalize. Let me know if I should let you go now before I can't. Tell me to stop thinking about you, once and for all.

You don't stop him. Not when you take the last step to his lips, not when both of your eyes flutter closed, and not when you finally feel his mouth press to yours.

Jake tastes like cherry lip balm with traces of chlorine, a mixture that could not feel more perfect on your tongue. You want to drink it forever now that you've gotten a sip, both the act and sensation long overdue.

You move in sync. His hands find purchase on your hips as you wrap your hands around his neck, deepening the kiss. He grunts against your lips when your tongue presses to the seam of his mouth, and he lets you in eagerly. You've kissed many boys—and a handful of girls—in your life, but nothing compares to this, to Sim Jaeyun.

You're utterly fucked, the implications of your choice clear, but you don't care. It's too right to think of all the reasons it shouldn't be.

You both hear the front door below slam, the sound knocking you both away from each other like a bomb. Jake's eyes open, the irises lust-blown with a fire that mirrors the raging one in your stomach. You don't know what to say in time. The chance flickers by as the rest of the family makes it known they're back.

"Kiddos, we're home!" Jihyun calls from below. Jamie yells something about the traffic being a bitch, and both of her parents chide the profanity so loudly you and Jake chuckle discreetly.

His humor morphs back into raw vulnerability, and he kisses the spot between your eyebrows before whispering, "Meet me back here tonight, yeah? Wanna finish what we started."

You nod with a bitten lip, eager to know what he means as he exits the guest room and walks downstairs. Your heart is lurching, your palms are sweating, but you've never felt more giddy than this moment.

They should terrify you, all the consequences of your next moves that lay at your feet, but you're not scared at all. Not an ounce.

You tiptoe past Jamie's door, a smidge of regret glazing over your excitement about being alone with Jake again. Seven hours after he left you in the guest room, your need consumed you. It was all you thought about in that time flipping through magazines with Jamie and sitting next to her at dinnertime.

Your eyes couldn't help but pass over Jake's at the table when you caught him staring first. His parents were talking about cute memories of all of you, your middle school years specifically, yet your insides were on fire. You were a blaze of obscene proportions as he gazed at your figure.

Now, you're eager to see him, to have a repeat of the scene in the guest room, to know if there's more to the story that's currently unwritten.

Jake opens the door the second you raise your fist to knock on it. Your hand sits in mid-air as he stands there, a quiet smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you'd never show up."

He brings you in with a hand at your waist, and soon enough, he locks the door behind him to have both palms all over you. He tugs your lips between his teeth and kisses you like a starved man, the only salvation being your mouth and body.

Jake's an excellent kisser, holding the right amount of pressure with a level of tenderness in each touch that weakens your knees. He still smells like his lip balm, but there are traces of mouthwash this time, spearmint hitting your tongue as his muscle touches the roof of your mouth.

"I love how you taste," Jake says in between you like a confession. "I can't wait to have more of you."

You moan and squeeze his biceps between your fingers. "Nothing's stopping you, Jaeyun."

Jake tugs at your cotton shorts, wanting them off so much that he makes that want a reality. Your cotton underwear sticks to your legs, arousal drenching the insides of your thighs like another person hasn't turned you on this much solely from kissing. Maybe no one ever has, not like this. Maybe he's that good at this already, transforming you into a puddle for him alone.

Moving you to the edge of his bed, Jake makes the back of your knees knock into his comforter as he undoes his drawstring sweats and yanks his sweater up and over his head. You help him discard what you can, but you're too eager to reattach your lips to his. He can't blame you; he's caused the chasm that is your need, and he has to see it filled.

"You're beautiful, you know that right?" The question tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it, and Jake just runs his hand across your face lovingly and smiles.

"Let's not talk about who's the beautiful one here, yeah?"

He crawls atop of you, the only clothes left on both of you being his underwear and your undergarments, and it's anyone's guess if he'll take them off of you soon or will tease you to the very end. Jake sees the wet ruins of your panties and a cheshire-like grin spreads on his face. "I think I could make you come just like this with the way you're drenching my sheets, baby."

You quirk an eyebrow and rut your hips into his, your underwear brushing the outline of his pulsing cock. You can almost feel the spot that's damp on his own briefs through the fabric of your panties, positive he is also ready to be relieved of his own pent-up desires. "I could say the same to you, Jakey."

Jake grunts at the nickname, one only few people have ever used, and captures your mouth with his again. He rubs his core into yours with hard, languid strokes. Your wetness melds with the hardness of his bulge with each meeting of your hips. You run your nails down his back to prove how good it feels, even if it's just the two of you rutting against each other's clothes. It's carnal how hard and fast you both grind against each other. The two of you want nothing more than to come apart at each other's hands.

There's still the uncertainty there if it's too soon to take it to the last hurdle, with sex and your relationship, whatever that is, but that doesn't matter now. The need to have each other in any way you can drowns out the sound of your doubts and what tomorrow will bring. You can only focus on right now, the end of desire right on the horizon.

"I'm not gonna last much longer, sweetheart." Jake rubs his hands along your ribcage, fingers splayed under your breast. You grip him harder as he says the words, and he smirks as he pants. "Would you like that? Knowing you made me come untouched?"

"More than anything," you admit, his cock hitting your clit in just the right way that has you frothing at the mouth.

His tongue delves deeper into your mouth as he continues to thrust against you, precum smearing down the fabric of his underwear and making it his briefs as soaked as your panties. You're so close, the ridges of him rubbing the velvet walls of you through the materials of your underwear to make you see stars.

"That's it," he growls. "Come for me, baby. It's gonna feel so good."

Those words undo you in that second; the magic of them can't go understated. Your body shudders as you reach the peak and fall off of it in the same second. It's white hot and searing, and you let it take you down as you feel the orgasm seep into your toes.

"Come with me, Jaeyun, please?" you whisper when you have a hint of coherent thought left in you, yearning to see him unravel.

Just like his words crumbled you, yours break him. He whimpers a broken moan as he comes in his underwear, meeting his end with his massive load soaking through and dribbling down across his thighs. Your bodies' essences mix as you keep riding your highs out, and it feels too good to stop until you're too sensitive to continue.

You both sit there in a mess of sweat and cum, unsure how to address that you've both just done that together. It can't go back to the way things were before, the two of you always on a fault-line of teasing each other and living in half-measures around your emotions. How could you?

When he cleans up and lays down next to you, both of you clothed once again, you run your fingertips over the veins of his arm until you're at his shoulder blade. He watches you as your venture higher, and your face heats, suddenly bashful.

"I meant what I said earlier. You're so beautiful, it's incredibly distracting." You run your hand through the ends of Jake's sweaty hair.

"Is your form of pillow talk just compliments?" he jokes partially. "Because I could give you a dozen of those at any time."

"What's yours?" you ask, beaming at his admission.

"Besides doing that again?" You giggle at the reference until he cages you in his arms, his warmth bathing you in gold. "For starters, this."

You whisper about everything and nothing, Jake stopping occasionally to run his lips over the space of your forehead and the crown of your hair. You fall asleep that way in no time, pleased to be on the cusp of something beautiful beginning.

You don't expect to wake up to the sight of Jamie peering down at you, wide-eyed and lips in a firm line. During the night, Jake must have gone to use the bathroom and forgot to lock the door again, and you hadn't noticed.

The sight of her in front of you almost makes you forget you're still entangled with Jake like two vines, legs intertwined and your head nestled on his chest.

Jamie points to Jake's door with a trembling finger, deadly silent, before walking back out of his room.

"What the fuck?" are the first words out of Jamie's mouth. Her face grows darker in that instant, anger overtaking her. "What the actual fuck is the reason I found you up against him like that?"

"Jamie, you gotta relax, please."

"Oh, so I should relax after catching my best friend and little brother practically tonguing each other down?"

The way she emphasizes "little" could make you vomit. She acts like she witnessed you pressed up against the teenage version of him and not the adult he is now. You know she's overdramatic, but she can take it overboard too often; it's one of her fatal flaws to boot.

"Jamie, I swear it was nothing," you lie immediately. "We were just watching a movie after you passed out because we couldn't sleep, and then we must've fallen asleep together. That's all, okay?"

"You didn't do anything?" She looks over the clothes you walked into Jake's room wearing last night, not seeing anything she can speculate over, but still on edge from the scene she's just witnessed. "You swear?"

You nod without realizing. "I swear to God." Good thing you're not a religious person, or a higher power would most likely strike you down on the spot. But you'd do it again to spare Jamie of the fact you did more than your fair share of things with Jake last night.

She huffs, relieved but still agitated. "Okay. Well, just never let that happen again, please. I almost ran out of here ready to pluck my eyes from their sockets and bleach them."

You rub your arms protectively. "Would it be so bad if Jake and I did happen to like each other? See where—"

She puts a finger in between you, making a face like she will in fact vomit. "I was so ready to have Mom's hump-day pancakes and now I can't even think of drinking a glass of orange juice right now after hearing you even suggest that idea to me."

"Jamie, come on," you chide her.

"You come on! It would never work, Y/N. Be realistic!"

That's rich, you jest at her in your mind. "Why? Because he's related to you and I'm not?"

"That's the biggest reason, for sure, but you both are going to school hours away from each other and Jake is drowning in intramurals and labs half the time." She swats away her own words with manic hands. "Why are we even talking about this? It's not gonna happen ever!"

Your heart sinks, the stone that you held in your gut days ago back with a vengeance.

"Tell me you'll stop thinking about this, please."

You sigh and nod, keeping your arms crossed to guard yourself from the promise you've just made Jamie. Your best friend has clipped the beating wings of a promising future with Jake so unceremoniously, you're unsure what to do with that info now, or how you'll present the topic to Jake when he wakes up.

"You coming?" Jamie asks over her shoulder as she descends the staircase, and you're transported back to that first day you arrived at the house for the trip, Jake's mirrored words holding more hope than you realized back then. You follow behind as the seams of your heart rip the muscle in two, sadness seeping into your every pore with each step.

After you all clear your breakfasts from the table, Jamie's parents retreat to their room and Jamie takes her usual midday R&R nap. Jake steps behind you in the kitchen, the coast clear from prying eyes. Nobody's around to witness him cage you in by the sink, eager as he runs his hands up your sides. "You were gone this morning. Where'd you run off to?" he whispers into your ear, and you shiver from his proximity. You're both terrified and tantalized by what Jake does to your body by doing nothing substantial. Just the subtlest act unwinds you.

He makes it difficult to resist him, but you replay your discussion with Jamie from a few brief hours ago in your head. The act helps you solidify your promise in your heart like iron, no matter how much you want to melt into Jake's embrace and forget it all.

"We can't do this, Jaeyun."

"We're not doing anything…not yet."

The second Jake's lips brush your neck, you skitter away and drop your plate in the sink. If he keeps touching you, you'll crumble without another thought, so keeping him at an arm's length is the only option. "I mean it. Last night can't happen again."

"So what? It just meant nothing?" Jake laughs in disbelief, almost like he's waiting for the punchline of the joke you're making just to get a rise out of him.

You frown and bite the inside of your cheek. "I never said that."

"Then what are you saying right now?"

"I'm saying it won't work," you parrot Jamie's words to him, trying to find some objectivity there to stop feeling like you're chewing glass. "Where do you think we will go after this? Long-distance dating back and forth between two colleges? And that's if Jamie doesn't kill us before we get to that point."

"Is that what this is about?" Jake tries to step closer, but you back away in time. "Y/N, I'm not Taeyong. And you're more than just Jamie's best friend to me. I thought I proved that to you yesterday."

He did, in so many little ways that you barely see him like he's Jamie's little brother now. He's just Jake, solid and sweet and so within your reach right now. Yet you can't have him, the fallout from such a choice too catastrophic to verbalize.

"Jaeyun, we have to be realistic." The words feel like toxic waste on your tongue, the pain present under your skin but well-hidden behind your willpower. You can only pray he believes everything you've said up to this point, but a small part hopes he doesn't. That he'll see through it and brave the storm for the both of you.

Unfortunately, the former occurs as Jake's eyes go cold, his jaw sets into sharp lines and his hands go limp at his sides. "Realistic?"

"Yes."

He doesn't fight back or spew insults he's well within his rights to say to you. All he does is walk out of the kitchen with hard stomps. The silence is worse than any profane exclamation he could've thrown out, and that's when you know you've broken your own heart by breaking his.

Jake isn't yours, so why is it so torturous to watch him mingle with another girl, especially one he knows as well as he knows you?

Aria Song, a local veterinary technician and Jake's high school ex-girlfriend, haunts you like a phantom as she wades in the pool like she's always belonged there.

"Jaeyun, stop it!" You hear her squeal, and you want to dunk her head so deep in the water you forget she exists.

Layla tucks her head in your lap as you watch Jake and Aria through the glass doors. He's swimming around his ex-girlfriend's pool lounger like he has no cares in the world. She kicks water at him with her toned legs and a wide grin on her face.

She may be nice enough for Jake to have remained friendly with her since their high school days, but you've not liked her one bit since they broke up and neither has Jamie. But Aria's solid proof to Jamie that you're not chasing after her brother, and therefore she's content to relax by the pool outside and suffer through the younger folks giggling and splashing each other like they're teenagers again.

You couldn't, not without your heart cracking even more than it already has. You thought feigning a stomach bug and deciding to rot on the couch was the best second option, but it only meant you had a semi-adequate front-row seat to Jake's little show that's been going on all afternoon.

He glances at you now and then beyond the panes of glass like he knows you're judging. Like he wants you to be envious of Aria's position.

The worst part is that you are; you're sick with jealousy to the point it's creating bile in the back of your throat. The green monster inside of you rears its head with gnashing teeth and cruel thoughts, and you don't stop it from growing in size.

She's younger, prettier, not intricately tied to his older sister the way you are. It's so much easier for him to not bother with you, to pick a safer option that isn't riddled with roadblocks. And he's clear he's chosen from the way he fawns over his guest with intense eyes.

Layla nuzzles your side as you grimace, stopping you from attempting to burn a hole in the pool attendees' heads with your stare. "I'm being ridiculous aren't I, girly girl?"

You take the tilt of Layla's head as confirmation you're acting crazy. You're about to take your blanket and pillow back up to the guest room when Jake walks into the house, body sopping wet and creating tiny puddles on the tile.

"You're gonna have to mop up the floor," you say to break the ice, despite being irritated with him for consorting with a perceived enemy.

Jake only nods and moves to the kitchen without another look in your direction, grabbing two water bottles from the fridge and then slamming it shut.

Before he leaves, he walks over and presses one of the plastic bottles in your palm, fingertips brushing yours. "Hydration will help with the stomachache."

With that, he leaves out the back door. Now, you're more confused than annoyed. What does it mean, one minute unable to speak to you and then caring for your wellbeing the next? It's a cacophony of whiplash, for sure.

You hear a cough behind you that takes you out of your ruminations, and you see Jihyun smiling at you before entering the living room, rubbing behind Layla's ears. "Ladybug, you two are something else."

You shake your head and pop open the water to gulp down. When you've taken a hefty sip, you say, "We're nothing Mrs. Sim. We made that clear already."

"Please don't call me that, honey. Mrs. Sim is my mother-in-law and you know that."

You chuckle. "Like I said, it's nothing to worry about."

Jihyun raises her hands and shakes her head. "I didn't say you were anything…" She walks closer and sets a hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "But if you were, this family would be more than better off with you in it. Whether or not some of us see that right now, it's true."

Before you can ask her what she means, she saunters back towards her bedroom with Layla following in tow; your brain imprints her knowing grin to memory.

The Sims can be incredibly cryptic when they want to be.

Aria spends dinner with all of you, and Jake even invites Heeseung over to liven up the mood that you and Jamie sour by remaining quiet. You can't help it; Aria is too bold, too bright, too everything you can't give Jake right now.

You spend that night with the family stoic and deadpan, only conversing with everyone in small sentences. You barely say goodbye to Aria and Heeseung when they take their leave, nodding at her once and not again as she walks out. Jamie notices the tension in your body, but you don't want to talk. You don't give her the time to ask. You just walk into the guest room without another word and hide away, hoping to finish the rest of the trip with no more issues. Your best friend might call you a buzzkill, but it's better than going against her wishes.

Another hour rolls by, and when you're on the verge of sleeping, Jake barrels into your room without closing the door.

"Do you care at all?" Jake huffs out, chest rising and falling fast. He tries to remain quiet out of your fear he'll wake Jamie in the next room, but you can tell from the tone in his voice that he's breaking his own resolve.

You rise from your bed and quickly shut the door, confusion overtaking you. "What are—"

"I spent all of this morning ready to burn under the sun without SPF trying to prove a point because you wanted me to be realistic, and you said nothing. All day and since the second Aria came by, you've had this terrible pout on your face. What do you want from me?"

You know exactly what you want. Maybe it's better to let it out now and give Jake some clarity, even if it'll kill him on the inside like it's doing to you.

"I want you to be happy," you say, "but I realized pretty quickly I want that happiness to be with me." You raise your arms weakly, tears threatening to spill over. "But I can't. Jamie is too important, and she's made it perfectly clear she thinks this would be too weird for her."

"What do you think?" Jake steps forward, hair tickling your face from how close he is to your body. That charge between you reignites; the current that's kept you inextricably linked hums like a live wire once again. "What do you want?"

You sigh, taking a deep breath, unable to swallow another unspoken word. "I want you. Of course I want you."

Jake smirks softly and captures his hand in yours, fingers intertwining. "Then have me. Have me in whatever way you want, as long as I get to have you back."

The time between Jake's last words and now, the two of you in a tangle of clothes, feels like a lifetime. The previous time you were intimate like this is nothing compared to right now. Where that was frantic and fast-paced with undergarments stuck to sweaty, sexually charged skin, this is slow and reverent. Jake undresses you like he's afraid you'll take back what you said and did just an hour ago. As if you could ever.

There's no way you can change your mind now; his charms have unknotted all of your left brain's logic.

He kisses your neck and collarbones with tenderness. He leans down to kiss the tops of both of your naked breasts, and it's like he's striking the match that will burn you alive.

You want to savor the moment like he clearly is, but it's too much and not enough, two sides of the same coin. You arch into him on his bed, your legs intertwining with his. "Jaeyun, if you don't do something right now, I will combust."

Jake chuckles and sucks one of your nipples in his mouth the second after you command him, biting and teasing the bud with his teeth, and your body bows even harder off of his sheets. The pleasure builds like a wave, and he's barely done anything.

Hedonistically, he slides his fingers down to your aching clit. Essence gathers between his fingers as he runs his hand across your folds eagerly. "You're dripping," he mumbles, his lips resting a breath from yours. "So warm and wet."

You moan and ride his fingers, his figure-eights on your swollen bud building you up further.

"I want to make you come, more than anything," Jake starts before kissing your lips between every other word. "But I want to feel you around me when you do it."

His naked body slots against yours when he moves in closer. His biceps, thighs, cock, and fingertips cling to you like it's your own skin, but it's only a fraction of how close you want him to be.

You've spent so long hiding in the shadows and denying your feelings for him, and now that you have him, you need to cherish every millisecond of time before you're forced back into that corner of the world he didn't occupy.

You clench around nothing, your walls fluttering from the way Jake's tip slides against your clit agonizingly slow. He watches it all, how you writhe and beg with your body, and he adores it.

"So beautiful." The resounding breathless chuckle on his tongue could be as loud as a gunshot with the way it rings in your ears. "If I knew how pretty you'd look like this," he starts, "I'd have made you mine a long time ago."

You gasp as his thumb replaces the head of his cock on your clit, rubbing small but intentional circles there. "Do you want me to be?" you ask, dazed.

In that second between your question and his response, he slides the entirety of his cock into you until he bottoms out, pelvic bones meeting like hands in prayer. "What do you think?"

You want to pinch yourself in this moment, ensure yourself it's real as he moves. He holds the back of your neck with one hand as he leans down to press his lips to yours. His hips give a sharp thrust that has you moaning into his mouth. You find purchase on his naked skin, running your palms along the lines of his shoulder blades down to the smooth planes of his hips.

This can't be another dream, can it?

"You're perfect," you gasp as he thrusts again. "How are you real?"

Jake smiles down at you, mystified by the question being asked by you and not him. He takes one of your hands in his to press to his chest. You hear the frantic tempo of his heartbeat, the sound a messy drumbeat that makes your own heart clench. "Is that real enough?"

It was never supposed to be like this, you and him. But it's too beautiful for the most extravagant words, thoughts, or feelings to describe.

"More than enough," you say with a breathless giggle. You pull him down for another kiss, tangling your fingers in the ends of his hair.

It's holy how much he cherishes you and the experience of having you. He doesn't press too hard or take too much, giving as well as he gets it. When you bite down on his neck, leaving a mark that for sure will bruise soon, he runs his fingers along your burning clit, running lovingly tight circles there to prove he enjoys your possessive acts. When you tell him how good it feels, he moves faster and deeper, returning your praise with more pleasure.

"It feels so good, baby. You're like heaven around me," he swears. "Tell me how it is for you."

No coherent words come to mind, but you settle on, "So fucking good, Yunnie. More than that even." The words sound jumbled off of your tongue, and he smirks from how fucked you already are on his cock. But the smile isn't condescending or smug, just teasing in the most loving way.

He's safe and open and yours, and you can't fathom how you've become so lucky to receive the chance to be his in return.

You suck him in eagerly as you near your release, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the screams you can't release into the air. Not unless you want to wake up the entire house.

"I know you're close," Jake grunts. His hand comes up to the headboard for leverage as he slams into you harder, his other hand stroking your clit with more pressure. "Come around me, baby. Show me what it's like when you let go."

You show him with all your might when you shatter into the millions of pieces he's created of you with his passion. Your eyes scrunch shut as your mouth falls open, jaw slacking from the pleasure that overloads your entire being. Body limp and face buried in Jake's pecs, you think about all the times you've spent in secret, wanting and wishing for him, whether or not you knew it.

Now, you know too well the way he envelops your soul, and you never want to stop knowing him like this.

Jake comes undone soon after, warmth flooding your body with his release as he moans in your ear about how beautiful you are alongside a barrage of curses. "Holy shit, I'm still coming," he swears, another minute spent with his body thrusting up into yours to release what's left of his cum into you. You could spend forever here, you think, wrapped up in each other and this man who is now yours lost in ecstasy.

Jake finally pulls out when he's exhausted all of his energy, and beads of pearly white cum drip out of you from the separation. You don't clean it up, and neither does he. You're both too spent and satiated to care.

"Hi," you croak, head resting on Jake's shoulder when he gets comfortable in his bed and pulls the covers over you. You're tucked up to your chin, protected but still vulnerable in the aftermath of your orgasm.

Jake grins and tucks a stray sweaty hair from your face. "Hi to you too, beautiful."

When he continues to stroke your hair like it's the most precious thing he's ever touched, you think all the consequences in the world are worth this. You believe, without a doubt, that every price you'll pay for his affection is worthwhile.

"You and Jake."

Jamie says the three words like they don't belong in the same sentence. She sits on the dining chair across from you and Jake, both your hands interlocked in front of her like you're her parents sitting down to reprimand her. But it's the other way around, clearly.

Today, she probably expected to find you both making breakfast again, like it was a normal day through and through. Even when you told her you both needed to speak to her, she trotted over to the dining table like nothing was wrong. And nothing was wrong in your eyes, but you knew Jamie's opinion would change the second you told her the truth.

"Yes."

"Dating?"

"Yes." It feels so good to say. You bite back the smile that threatens to tug your lips up. You should feel guilty for betraying Jamie the way you have, going against her word so shamefully, but you can't. It's not a sin you've committed, or a traitorous act that can't be forgiven.

Jamie slaps her hands against her knees, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "So, the talk we had meant nothing, clearly."

"It did, J. I just—"

"Wait, what talk?" Jake squeezes your palm once, showing his concern that you didn't tell him about whatever Jamie is referencing.

"That day before breakfast. She found me the morning after she went grocery shopping with your parents…and I said I'd stay away from you because she asked me to."

"You never told me that," Jake responds sadly. The blush creeping up his neck shows how embarrassed he must be by his actions afterward. You don't blame him for a second of it, though. It all worked out, anyway.

Your best friend huffs, prepared to vomit. "Don't talk to her like you know her."

"I do, Jamie." His tone drops, the soothing aura he had for you replaced with irritated admonishment of his older sister. You can tell he's exasperated from her judgement already. You squeeze his palm back to ask him silently to loosen up, and he unclenches his jaw to prove he's listening to you. He always seems to know what to do to make sure he is.

It's not love yet, but you're so close, it hurts.

"Please stop acting like you're the only one who does," Jake says finally.

"Really? Did you hold her hand the first time she got her period? Or when her and that douche boyfriend in sophomore year broke up with her right before Valentine's Day? Oh, let's not forget how she stole me a pack of Plan B during our senior trip to Spain."

"Jamie!" you shout, face turning red. "What the fuck?"

Jake just laughs sadly. "You may think you have a leg up on me, and that could be true. I don't have the history you both do. But I've cared about her for so long, longer than you may think." He sighs and turns to look at you, a small smile shared between you both as he strokes your skin with his thumb. "If you have to hate me or us for the way we feel, so be it."

"Stop acting like you're the mature one here!" Jamie shrieks. "Do you not understand how fucked this is?"

"You're the only one who thinks that way," you cut in. "You're making it more of a big deal than it has to be when we're all grown adults."

The scrape of her chair and stomp of her feet towards the backyard's glass door signifies your betrayal in her eyes. And the slam of the door against its metal lining exemplifies her burning rage. She would've yelled if not for her parents sleeping soundly upstairs, you know it.

You follow quickly behind, letting go of Jake's hand to run out to the backyard and follow her, passing Layla on the way to the door. Jake knows not to follow, and you appreciate him all the more for it. The end of the conversation lies between you and Jamie now.

You find her sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, overlooking the backyard fence and facing away from the pool. You cautiously sit down next to her, and she doesn't bristle or immediately scoot away. She's just quiet, unsure, and somehow that feels worse than her exploding at you right now.

"You know I love you, right?" you begin with that question because it feels the most apt. If she truly knew what you were risking, she wouldn't take your feelings or her brother's in this way, like it's a game both of you are playing with blind eyes.

She nods, silent and staring down at the surrounding grass.

"I really like him, Jamie." Your voice, as well as your eyes, flood with tears. It cracks on the sounds her name creates, and that makes her own eyes well up too.

"I never said you didn't."

"But you act like it's some fling. It kills me to see you hurt, but I can't put how I feel on hold anymore and neither can he." The words are both a relief to your own pain and an ache in your chest. Jamie's never been unable to feel the way she does, and you've never stopped her from doing so. But it's never been about her.

"I just don't want to lose you if it ends badly," Jamie confesses. She finally turns her gaze on you, irises glassy and the white of her eyes becoming red. "I can't."

You laugh sadly and pull her in close, shocked she could think such a thing. It gives way to understanding the fears Jamie has that're hidden beneath all the bluster. "That's never gonna happen, J, I promise. And I wouldn't be doing this if I thought your brother wasn't worth it."

Those two words—your brother—cause her to fake a gag. "Did it really have to be him, though? He doesn't brush his teeth until after breakfast, you know this."

You both share a chuckle, heads knocking into each other's and knees touching like nothing has changed. 

In a way, it doesn’t have to. With the silence, you feel her anger ebb away, replaced with a resigned acceptance that she can't change this; it's too late, and she'll have to go with it even if she's against it.

But some things will never change. You're still best friends, and you’ll always have each other, despite being Jake’s significant other now and her being his sister. They’re not mutually exclusive, and that’s okay. Above all else, you’ll be the one person she can turn to forever, and vice versa. That's how it's always supposed to be and will be.

"Josh finally wised up, thank God. He'll be coming to the house in a few days to meet my folks, so you and my brother better be on your best behavior!" Jamie waggles a finger in your direction as she drives further down the road to the university. She doesn't look at you directly, but the instruction is clear, for you and your boyfriend to be nice to her new flavor of the week, and it makes it that much more hilarious.

"Aren't we always?" You wiggle your eyebrows despite her not seeing, and her finger becomes a full-fledged hand in your face. You giggle, taking that hand in yours. "How much longer?"

"Ten minutes, you freak. You act like the last time you saw him was a thousand years ago."

It's been a month and two days since you've been in the same space as Jake, but who's counting? You fell asleep on the phone together last night, so it wasn't as though you went without him for too long, but physical cohabitation was another thing entirely.

Happy didn't explain the emotion you felt when Jamie recommended picking Jake up from school on the way to her parent's, even if it added an hour and a half to the drive. She knew as well as you did how much you missed him. That didn't stop her from teasing you about it incessantly, though.

You shrug and put her hand back in her lap, not denying her exaggeration. Your heart thrums harder with every minute that counts down to your arrival.

Jake's dorm hall appears through the thicket of trees. Small pockets of students walk out of the building holding beach bags and other luggage to take to their cars. Finally, emerging from the sea of people, Jake appears. His mess of floppy hair you'd recognize anywhere, the locks almost falling to his shoulders. He dons a long-sleeved shirt that hides every beautiful line of the body you know so well by now, and you think he hasn't changed at all. Still beautiful, still yours.

You barely wait for the car to stop before you get out. Your feet carry you with the speed of a thousand strikes of lightning. Unbothered by the way your ankles and thighs burn as you run faster, all that matters is the smile that widens on your boyfriend's face when he sees you.

Jake catches you in his arms after you leap into them. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and squeeze his lower half. The Sim house used to be one of the few places you found solace, but it's just not true anymore. Now, it's in Jake too, his love the greatest peace you've ever known.

Jake plants kisses all over the crown of your head before meeting your lips, the taste of spearmint gum coating your tongue. You giggle mid-liplock, and Jake smiles brightly down at you. "Hi."

"Hi," you respond before pressing your mouth to his again.

"Okay, horndogs! We need to leave soon before all that braised pork goes to waste!" You both separate and turn to see Jamie with her arms crossed and a close-lipped smile on her face. She's not angry or put off by the sight before her, her best friend and little brother entangled like vines. If anything, the spark in her eyes is all for show, her happiness hidden under the surface, even with the added snarky commentary.

You used to think that there were two certainties in the world. But now, they're accompanied by another truth.

No matter how many trials and tribulations you go through, Jamie will always be your best friend. Your best friend often gets what she wants—although she couldn't stop you from falling for her brother. And you are head over heels for Sim Jaeyun, forever and always.

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@lovetaroandtaemin @filmnings @innocygnet @jaylaxies @xylatox @xomakara @gyubookeries @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @hannieoftheyear @frenchkisstheabyss @lovenha7 @wonberries @lyks02 @seokjinthescientist @icatpjs @kristynaaah @ikeuheartz @enhaslxt @jakeznii @heebear @immelissaaa @riqomi @universallyllamatimetravel @enhxlvr @jakesaverse @omglivss

© 𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗨𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌!

[gowjow]

I've Loved You For Almost As Long As I've Been Alive ──★ ˙

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader … ﹒ childhood friends to lovers au, loser! sunghoon and loser!reader, he falls first and harder, fluff﹒ w/c: 10k~ summary: you and sunghoon are attached at the hip after you beat up a kid in primary school for him. he's just very sweet and in love with you. he has eyes for nobody but you.

꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: does contain smut at the end so NSFW (18+), fingering, praising, very nervous and gentle sunghoon, bear hug method iykyk

꒰ ‎﹒ note: i am always down for the loser! sunghoon agenda please enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

In primary school, Sunghoon is the only kid in class with extremely thick glasses. It doesn’t help that he’s shy, so the kids tend to pick on him a little. Their favorite thing to call him is Bug Eyes. He doesn’t say much to defend himself. He just remains quiet and plays on his own most of the time. Y/N, on the other hand, is talkative and friendly. She considers herself friends with everyone in her class, including Sunghoon, even though he isn’t much of a talker.

During recess, she notices how Sunghoon remains by himself, playing on the swings alone. She always invites him to play tag with the rest of the kids, but he shakes his head.

One day, instead of playing tag with everyone else, Y/N sits on the swing next to Sunghoon. They swing in silence for a few minutes until she turns to him.

“Do you want to see something cool?” She asks him.

He looks over at her skeptically, but once he sees her big smile, he reluctantly nods. She cheers before getting up from her swing and grabbing his hand, pulling him to a rocky patch at the edge of the park. Sunghoon watches curiously as she starts flipping over the rocks and moving rotting leaves with a stick.

“Aha!” she exclaims, moving the leaves with her hands. “Look!”

He peeks over her shoulder to see a metallic green beetle scuttling along the dirt. He cringes away immediately with a small shriek. She looks up at him and giggles.

“Isn’t it cute?” she asks, picking up the beetle with her fingers.

“D-don’t touch it,” he stammers.

“Why not? My dad said they’re harmless,” she says, holding out the beetle towards him.

Sunghoon takes multiple steps back. He’s scared of the bug, but he’s also wondering if she’s doing all of this as a way to make fun of him. He’s “Bug Eyes” after all. She notices his discomfort and puts the beetle back underneath the leaves.

“You don’t like bugs?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, walking over to him. “I love bugs.”

He stares at her as if she’s lost her mind.

“I think they’re cute,” she says, “You don’t like any bugs?”

He shakes his head.

“Not even butterflies?”

He shakes his head again.

“What do you like then?”

“I like fish…” he says softly.

“Fish are cool. Do you have a favorite?” she asks.

Sunghoon nods and starts to quietly tell her about his favorite fish. It’s the first time Y/N has ever gotten him to talk to her for more than three sentences, and she’s excited. She keeps asking him about different fish, if he likes fishing, if he has any pet fish, and so on. Sunghoon slowly opens up and happily answers her questions.

“What’s your favorite bug?” he asks shyly.

This triggers a long spiel from Y/N about different types of bugs she likes. By this point, they’re back on the swings, and Sunghoon is gently swinging his feet and listening to her quietly with a bashful smile on his lips.

One day during P.E., when they’re both age 7, groups needed to be formed to play a game of dodgeball. As students were being picked one by one, Sunghoon stood there awkwardly knowing the teams would fight to NOT get him on their team.

“Bug Eyes is so uncoordinated.”

“Yeah, he’ll make us lose.”

“Hey, stop that!” Y/N storms over to the two boys that were making fun of Sunghoon.

Sunghoon stands quietly with his head slightly downcast. She has her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

“What? It’s true,” one of the boys says.

“Say you’re sorry,” she huffs.

“Or what?” the other boy challenges.

Sunghoon watches with horror as she picks up a dodgeball and hurls it at the boy’s face. The sound the ball makes as it slaps the boy’s cheek echoes through the gymnasium, making everyone fall silent and look over in their direction. The boy that got hit starts crying while his friend looks back at Y/N with fire in his eyes.

“Bug Girl is defending Bug Eyes. How fitting,” he snarls.

He picks up a dodgeball, rolling it in his hand.

“It’s a perfect match,” he says just before he hurls the ball at her.

She tenses and closes her eyes, waiting for the ball to hit her. She hears another slap of the ball against skin, but she doesn’t feel anything hit her. When she opens her eyes, she finds Sunghoon on the floor in front of her with his glasses broken and scattered on the ground.

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” she crouches down to look at Sunghoon. His face is red from where the ball hit him. He nods ever so slightly, his hand trembling as he cradles his face.

Y/N’s head snaps up to glare at the other boy. Before anyone could stop her, she hurls herself at him, knocking him down to the floor with a thud. She starts yanking at his hair as he begins to scream.

The fight is over quickly, the teacher pulling Y/N off the boy and sending them all to the principal’s office. She gets suspended from school for a week, and when she comes back she’s shunned by most of the kids in her class.

She’s swinging alone during recess when a timid Sunghoon comes up to her. His glasses are taped back together and his hands are clasped together in front of him.

“Do you want to see something cool?” he asks softly.

She nods, her eyes flickering down to his hands. He unclasps them to reveal a spotted black and white beetle. Her eyes sparkle with excitement.

“Oh my god. An ironclad beetle!” she exclaims.

As she gets closer, she notices his hands slightly shaking. She immediately takes the beetle from his hands and watches as he brings his arms back to his sides and wipes his hands on his pants.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” She asks as she watches the beetle crawl between her fingers.

“For making everyone hate you.”

“It’s okay. You’re cooler than all of them combined,” she smiles.

Sunghoon looks down at his shoes, a pink blush painting his cheeks.

From then on, they are practically inseparable.

His favorite thing to do with her is explore the pocket of woods behind his house. It’s the perfect place to play pretend. Some days they’re wizards making potions with dirt and leaves, other days they’re pirates looking for treasure. Sunghoon particularly likes digging in the creek to see what he can find. Y/N likes pretty rocks which leads to him compiling different rocks and bringing them to her to inspect.

One day, when they’re both age 8, he’s ankles deep in the creek while Y/N is climbing a nearby tree. He’s using a net to sift through the debris in the water when he finds a rock with many tiny ridges. When he looks closely at it, it looks like some sort of bug. His face immediately lights up.

“Y/N!” he exclaims, stumbling through the muddy creek bed to get ashore.

She’s halfway up the tree when she stops and looks down at him. He excitedly waits at the base of the tree trunk and holds up the rock for her to see.

“I think I found a fossil,” he says.

“No way!” She beams and climbs down as quickly as she can.

Sunghoon watches with a smile on his face as her eyes light up at the small fossil. Her finger traces over the ridges.

“It looks like a trilobite,” she says.

Sunghoon stares at her.

“Ancient pill bug,” she clarifies.

“Ohhh,” he nods. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she smiles. “You’re always finding all the cool stuff.”

“I can show you where I found it. Maybe we can find some more,” he says, grabbing her arm gently and pulling her towards the water.

They search for another hour, but they don’t find any more fossils. When Sunghoon is crouched down sifting through the rocks, Y/N comes up behind him and pushes him forward. Since the water isn’t too deep, only half of his body gets wet. He looks up at her in disbelief, and she’s laughing.

“Maybe if I bury you, you’ll turn into a fossil,” she says, grabbing a handful of mud and throwing it at his chest.

“Hey—” he’s cut off by another handful of mud hitting his shoulder. He stops talking and starts grabbing handfuls of mud and throwing them back at her, making her squeal and run away. They chase each other until they’re both covered in mud from head to toe, leaves and twigs stuck to their bodies from rolling around on the ground. They’re giggling messes.

There’s something about the way the leaves cling to her hair that make him stop in his tracks. The way her smile shines brighter with mud all over her face, and her little giggles as she bends down to grab more mud. Something stirs within him, but he doesn’t know what that feeling is exactly. He just can’t stop staring.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Y/N asks teasingly.

“Um…mud.”

“Yes, I know, stupid,” she laughs.

He’s glad that the mud on his face covers his blushing cheeks.

Y/N doesn’t realize she has feelings for Sunghoon until she’s 11 and he starts wearing contact lenses. Suddenly girls are talking about how cute he is and that they didn’t know he was so good looking without his glasses on. It starts to irritate Y/N overhearing the girls in her classes whisper and talk about him.

“Why’d you stop wearing your glasses?” She asks him. “You look better with glasses.”

Sunghoon frowns. “Are you saying I’m ugly?”

“No!” She immediately interjects. “I just think you should go back to wearing your glasses.”

“Why?”

She groans and paces around for a moment. She’s frustrated she can’t put her thoughts into words. She can’t put her thoughts in order at all. Sunghoon watches her grow even more restless.

“If it bothers you that much, I’ll start wearing my glasses again,” he says quietly.

“No. It’s okay,” she sighs, defeated. “It’s not the glasses that’s bothering me.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What’s bothering you then?”

Suddenly, Y/N gets shy, which hardly ever happens. Sunghoon’s eyes widen as he catches the tips of her ears turning pink along with the apples of her cheeks. His heart flutters at the sight.

“It’s just,” she pauses, collecting her thoughts. “It’s making me mad how people are suddenly interested in you just because you got rid of your glasses.”

He stares at her with a stunned expression on his face, which makes her keep going.

“You’ve always been an amazing person, and I’ve been with you since the beginning. All these other people don’t deserve you,” she grumbles.

Sunghoon’s heart is about to leap out of his chest at her words. He looks away bashfully, trying to hide the small smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly, “you’re the only person I want to be close with.”

Their eyes meet momentarily, both of their faces red with blush. She looks away, not being able to maintain eye contact with him. He smiles and looks down at his hands.

The next day he wears his glasses again.

One day, when they’re 13, Sunghoon’s family goes on their yearly weekend trip to a cabin, and he begs his parents to let Y/N come this time. During the trip, Sunghoon teaches Y/N how to fish.

“Ugh, I’m boredddd,” she groans.

They’re standing at the edge of the pier with their fishing lines cast out into the lake. They’ve been waiting for a total of 30 minutes so far.

“Fishing is all about patience,” he tells her.

“What if I went into the water and tried catching one with my hands?” She asks.

“You’ll scare the fish away,” Sunghoon clicks his tongue.

“But what if I stayed still and waited for the fish to jump and come to me. Like how the grizzlies do it.”

“They can only do that because the fish are swimming upstream. We’re at a lake,” Sunghoon points out.

She groans again. Her next complaint is cut short when something starts pulling at her fishing line. She practically screams.

“Sunghoon, what do I do?” She frantically grabs the fishing pole.

He chuckles and grabs her hand, placing it on the reel handle. He moves her hand clockwise, causing the fishing line to pull towards them.

A fish about the size of Y/N’s foot splashes up out of the water, dangling from the end of the hook. Sunghoon grabs the fish and holds it out for her to see. It wiggles in his grasp.

“Oh my god. It’s kind of cute,” she says. “Can I hold it?”

He places the fish in her hands, showing her how to hold it without dropping it. He grabs a bucket and fills it with some of the lake water.

“You can put it in there. We can eat it for dinner,” he says.

Y/N freezes. “Eat?”

Sunghoon looks up at her, slightly confused. What else were you supposed to do with a fish you just caught? He sees the tears welling up in her eyes and he immediately starts backtracking.

“Or you can release it back into the water,” he says.

She sniffles and nods. He watches as she bends down at the edge of the pier and lets the fish wiggle out of her grasp and slide back into the water.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay. We can eat something else,” he reassures her.

“I was talking to the fish,” she says.

Sunghoon chuckles softly and walks up to her crouched figure.

“Maybe fishing isn’t for you,” he starts, “did you want to go look for some cool bugs in the woods?”

She shakes her head. “You don’t like bugs.”

“That doesn’t mean I won't help you.”

“But I want to do something we both enjoy,” she murmurs.

He smiles and squats down next to her. She glances over at him with tearful eyes.

“There’s a waterfall not too far down the trail into the woods. Do you want to go see it together?” He asks softly.

She sniffles and nods again. “That sounds fun.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” he says, standing up straight and holding out his hand for her to take.

They often have sleepovers at each other’s houses on the weekends, but this particular sleepover when they’re 14 is different. They’re watching a movie in Sunghoon’s room like normal until Y/N turns to look at him. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Sunghoon?” she asks abruptly after seeing the two main characters in the movie share a kiss. 

Sunghoon practically chokes on the popcorn he’s eating. 

“W-why are you asking?” he coughs, trying to avoid eye contact.

Y/N sighs and leans back on the headboard of his bed.

“I keep hearing every girl in class talking about the boys they’ve been kissing. I’m just curious.”

He remains quiet for a second, not knowing where this is going.

“No. I haven’t,” he finally says.

“Thank god,” she sighs in relief. 

Sunghoon’s heart leaps in his chest, and suddenly all he’s thinking about is what it would be like to kiss her. His eyes flicker to her face for a brief moment, his face turning red. He quickly looks away. 

“W-what?” he stammers. 

She turns to look at him. She immediately notices how shy he’s gotten.

“I’m not the only loser that hasn’t kissed anyone yet,” she says. 

Sunghoon’s mouth falls open, and his head snaps over to look at her in disbelief. She smiles at him, making his face turn even redder. He frowns slightly, but his eyes flicker down to her curved lips. 

“Why does that make us losers?” he mumbles. 

“It doesn’t,” she says, “I just feel like I’m missing out.” 

Sunghoon furrows his eyebrows together. He didn’t understand the need to fit in with what most of the other kids at school were doing. He thought their idea of fun was boring. 

“So you want to kiss whoever just to say you’ve kissed someone?” he asks, his tone of voice growing slightly irritated. 

She shakes her head.

“No, I want to kiss someone I’m comfortable with.” 

Their eyes meet for a second, and Sunghoon’s throat dries up. He looks away again. 

“You’re the only person I’m comfortable enough with,” she starts, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can always wait for someone else to—“

“NO!” he practically screams. His cheeks turn pink when he startles her with his objection. “I-I mean…I can help you…i-if you want.” 

“Really?” She smiles. 

His eyes flicker to her mouth again, and he nods. 

“Are you sure?” She asks again. She scoots closer to him, making his heart race. 

He nods again. 

She leans forward slightly, her eyes glancing down at his lips. They’re slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. He stays completely still, letting her get closer and closer until there's no space between them anymore. He freezes when he feels her lips press against his. He closes his eyes and stops breathing for a second. The kiss is over before he can fully register what happened. 

He blinks at her, his emotions tangling in knots inside him. He’s absolutely terrified. How does this change their relationship? Does she like him too?

“Um…” he starts.

She’s watching the TV again, rewinding the movie to the part where the main leads are kissing again. 

“Do you want to try that?” She asks. 

Sunghoon glances over at the screen, watching as the characters move their lips against each other’s. He swears he saw a tongue peek through. 

His face is flushed when she turns to look at him. She watches him, waiting for his reply. 

“I’m sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable,” she says after he’s taking a little too long to give her an answer. “That stuff should be reserved for someone you like.” 

Sunghoon’s heart sinks to his stomach. She’s getting the wrong idea from his stunned silence, but it’s already too late. She turns back to watch the movie, skipping the makeout scene. 

For the next few weeks, Sunghoon tries multiple times to bring up the topic of kissing again, but he gets too flustered. He’s losing sleep because of it. He keeps replaying what happened in his head and groans at how he handled it. 

Things between them hadn’t necessarily changed since they kissed or at least it didn’t seem like it from the outside. On the inside, both of them were dealing with some very conflicting and heavy emotions. 

Sunghoon was under the impression that Y/N didn’t like him in a romantic way because she mentioned kissing as something to mark off a bucket list, not something she wanted to do with him because she had feelings for him. Y/N, on the other hand, was under the impression that Sunghoon didn’t like her in a romantic way because he refused to keep kissing, and that he only agreed to kiss her in the first place to help her as his friend. 

So what do they do? They act like it never happened, but it doesn’t stop their feelings for each other from consuming every fiber of their being. 

Then they hit puberty. Their physical and emotional changes alter their dynamic significantly. 

Sunghoon grows taller and his voice grows deeper. He stops wearing his glasses again, causing girls at school to chase after him. Y/N also grows taller, but not by much. Her body is changing and Sunghoon is definitely noticing, especially after one summer at the pool where he almost drowned after seeing her wear a bikini for the first time. 

Sunghoon is very attractive…just extremely beautiful. It has Y/N fighting for her life. She has to endure all these girls at school confessing to him and fawning over him. When a particularly pretty and popular girl shows interest in Sunghoon, it has Y/N losing her mind. She’s scared that eventually Sunghoon will date and forget about their friendship. She’s jealous. She wants him all to herself. 

She’s jealous for no reason, though, because Sunghoon does not give any girl the time of day. He’s polite, but he always declines their confessions or attempts to ask him out. Most of the time, he sees right through these girls’ intentions. They find him attractive, but they don’t like him for who he is. They compliment his looks and make assumptions about what he’s like, and when they ask him about himself and they find out he likes fishing and playing chess, they look at him with a blank stare. 

Meanwhile, Y/N gets no play. It’s not because she isn’t pretty. She just gives no attention to any guys. She has a habit of scowling at any man that looks her way. They just don’t compare to Sunghoon. He’s all she ever needs in a man, even if it’s just as friends.

Sunghoon grows a little too comfortable in the fact that Y/N doesn’t have any secret admirers, so when she starts ranting to him about a supposed stalker in her economics class, he has to remain calm. She describes how this guy is always staring at her, smiling at her, trying to talk to her. He comes up to her desk and asks why she’s always so quiet and what her hobbies are. Somehow this guy finds out that she likes bugs and tries to start a conversation with her about it.

“He’s just so creepy, Sunghoon,” she groans. “Whenever I walk into class, he’s already staring at me.” 

Sunghoon is clenching his fists at the mere thought of this random guy clearly having a crush on her. He wishes he had the class with her so he could glare at him, but all he can say is, “Yeah, he seems weird. You should ignore him.”

He teases her a lot more too. Maybe it’s puberty or maybe his feelings are just harder to contain, but looking at her pretty face makes him get cuteness aggression. He loves getting a reaction out of her. 

He loves to randomly come up to her and play fight with her. He throws playful punches at her arms and dodges her failed attempts to hit him back. He sometimes lets her hit him, but it just ends up with him tackling her playfully onto the couch or bed. 

“What happened to my sweet Sunghoon?” Y/N whines. “Now I just have a bully.” 

He smiles at her fondly, “You’re just fun to mess with.” 

“It’s only fun for you. I’m out here getting assaulted,” she continues pouting. 

His smile grows wider, and he extends his arms out in playful surrender. “Okay. Hit me then.”

She glances over at him quizzically. When she sees he’s being serious, her expression changes into something mischievous. Before Sunghoon could backtrack, she pulls his sweatpants down leaving him in his boxers.  

“What the—“ 

As he’s bending down and picking up his pants, she jumps on his back and puts him in a chokehold. 

“Y/N—“

“This is what you get,” she says playfully. 

He starts laughing and takes a few steps back until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed. He purposefully falls backwards, landing on top of her. Her arms slacken around his neck, allowing him to pull free and spin around to face her. He pins her arms down and smiles triumphantly. When he looks down at her, her cheeks are painted pink and her eyes are fixed somewhere to the side. That’s when he realizes the position they’re in and blushes. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, getting off of her and sitting down on the bed. 

“It’s okay,” she says, sitting up. “Sorry for pulling your pants down.”

“It’s okay. It was funny,” he replies. 

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asks, getting up to turn on the TV.

Girls eventually leave Sunghoon alone when it’s clear he only ever has eyes for Y/N. No one knows how they are able to stay just friends with the amount of tension between them. All of their classmates can see it except for Sunghoon and Y/N. God forbid they ever have a class together because they will be giggling and whispering in the back of the room the whole time. They always disappear during lunch hour to sneak onto the track field and lay in the grass. They walk home together after school every day, always going to each other’s places to hang out. 

You would think they’d get bored of each other eventually, but they’re always finding things to do together. They also love to do their own separate things in the same vicinity. Y/N would be working on her latest crafting project on her desk while Sunghoon is on her bed playing with a deck of cards trying to learn magic tricks. When Sunghoon wants to go fishing, Y/N will sit on a floaty and read. They’re comfortable with silence as long as they’re together. 

“Would you rather fight ten, kid sized Y/Ns at the same time or one, 10 foot tall, buff, Y/N?” Y/N asks Sunghoon as they’re sitting in her bed with face masks on during a sleepover.

“Oh god. They both sound terrifying,” he says with horror.

She hits his shoulder playfully, making him giggle. 

“Mm…” he thinks about it a little too seriously. “You were very feisty as a kid, so having to fight ten of you at the same time…I think I’ll take my chances with the buff Y/N. I feel if someone is that tall and buff, they will be slow. I just have to dodge.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.” 

“You got suspended for fighting that kid remember? You definitely gave off ankle biter—OW!” 

Y/N starts to yank at his hair, stopping him mid-insult. He grabs onto her wrist to try and get her fingers out of his hair. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry.”

She releases his hair, and he glares at her. 

“Now I’m questioning my decision. I’m scared what a buff Y/N would do in comparison to that,” he says, rubbing his scalp. 

She grins at him. He stares at her for a second, a smile growing on his lips too. 

Sunghoon and Y/N make the decision to attend the same university because they can’t bear the thought of being apart for 4 years. They decide to move in together, so they don’t have to deal with the school’s prison-like dorms. Off-campus student housing isn’t the best, but they make it work. 

Sunghoon is still scared of bugs, so Y/N always has to catch all the spiders and moths that make their way into their apartment and release them outside or else he will be yelling and throwing things. 

One time, as Sunghoon is about to go to sleep, he sees a cricket crawling on his pillow and he absolutely freaks out. He has to wake Y/N up to come catch and release it. 

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” he asks her.

“It was a cricket, not a cockroach, Sunghoon,” she groans, half asleep.

“But it touched my sheets, and I don’t want to stay awake for two more hours to wash them,” he whines slightly.

She keeps mumbling in her sleepy state and doesn’t protest any further as he follows her into her room and climbs into bed with her.

Sunghoon gets strangely more clingy once they start living together. He’s always tagging along when she goes to run errands. She needs to return a library book? He’s trailing behind her with his backpack saying he’s going to the library to study anyway. She’s going out to get a sweet drink? He’s tagging along claiming he’s never been to that coffee shop before and that he’s been wanting to try it out. Y/N doesn’t mind, though. His presence always makes things more comforting. 

They’re busier due to the amount of workload some of their classes have, so he’s constantly wanting her attention. Sometimes a simple, “do you want to go eat?”  will do the trick, but sometimes he has to resort to more drastic measures for her attention. 

He starts off by sighing loudly. If that doesn’t work, he starts poking her repeatedly on the shoulder or sides. If all else fails, he will hug her waist and push her onto the couch. 

“Why do you hate me?” He grumbles. 

“Who said I hate you?” She laughs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“You don’t want to go out to eat and you’re ignoring me. Just say you hate me,” he says. 

She playfully pulls at his ear. “Ok, babygirl, sorry for not giving you my undivided attention.” 

The tips of his ears turn red and he buries his face in her shoulder. She pats the back of his head. 

“Let’s go eat,” she says. 

“No. I don’t wanna eat anymore,” he mumbles. “I’m comfortable here.”

He definitely lets her get away with more things now too. She just has to bat her eyelashes and he will willingly be dragged around to do absolutely anything. He hates how she’s able to figure it out too. It’s like she knows the effect she has on him. 

“Sunghoonnnn,” she calls sweetly. 

Oh no. 

“Can you do my laundry? Pleaseeee,” she clings to his arm. 

“I don’t want to do your stinky laundry,” he groans, trying to pull away and not look at her face before he folds. 

“C’monnnn, don’t you love me? I wash your dishes when you leave them in the sink because I love you,” she says, placing her cheek against his arm. 

Oh, he’s a goner. His cheeks are bright red.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. 

One night, Sunghoon gets a call from Y/N at around one in the morning. 

“Sunghoon…” he hears her slurred mumbling from the other side of the phone, and he instantly knows she’s drunk. He can hear the loud music in the background.

“I thought you said you were going to a friendly get together?” he sighs into the phone. 

“I know…I lied,” she mumbles, “I’m sorryyyy. I didn’t want you to get worried.” 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Mhm,” she hums, “Can you pick me up?” 

“I’ll be there in a bit,” he tells her after getting her location. 

He finds her immediately. She’s outside the club, digging through the bushes. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Sunghoon asks, the worriedness he had dissipating at the sight of her. He chuckles slightly when her head pops up from the bushes, leaves stuck to her hair. 

“Sunghoonnn,” she whines, stumbling out of the bush towards him. 

He grabs her by the arms, making sure she doesn’t topple over. 

“I thought I heard a katydid. I can’t find it,” she frowns.

“You probably scared it away,” he says, picking the leaves from her hair. 

She pouts, ducking her head to let him run his fingers through her hair to flatten out the knots caused by the bush’s branches. “But I tried to be super stealthy.” 

“I know, Y/N. I know,” he says softly. 

He wraps his arm around her shoulder for stability as he starts to walk her back home. She leans her whole bodyweight against his side. She’s mumbling incoherently and dragging her feet sluggishly. By the time they make it through their front door, he’s practically carrying her inside. She clings to him like her life depends on it. 

“Sunghoonnn, you smell so nice,” she mumbles. Her eyes are closed as he drags her to her room and makes her sit down on the bed. 

“It’s the cologne you got me for my birthday last year,” he says as he bends down to take her shoes off. 

“Mmm,” she hums, “I have great taste.” 

She sways slightly even though her eyes are closed. Sunghoon goes into their shared bathroom and grabs her makeup removing wipes. She tries moving her head away from his touch as he begins to wipe her face with the towelette. 

“Nooo,” she whines, “I worked so hard on this makeup look.”

“I know, Y/N. It’s very pretty, but you can’t go to sleep with it on,” he says, gently grabbing her chin to hold her still as he continues to wipe it off. 

“Why not?”

“You’ll get your pillow dirty.” 

She groans but complies. She stops resisting and lets him finish. When he tries to get her to stand up and go wash her face in the bathroom, she whines again and flops backwards into her bed. Sunghoon sighs and gives up. He walks over to her dresser and pulls out a pair of pajamas, throwing them at her. 

“Change at least,” he says. 

Instead, she pulls up her covers and hides under them. 

“Y/N, stop being difficult,” he sighs, ripping the covers off her completely. 

“Why can’t you change me?” she whines.

“You know I can’t do that,” he says.

“Why not?”

“You need to change yourself.” 

“But what if I want you to change me?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Then I’m sleeping in this,” she gestures to her dress, her eyes still closed.

“Y/N…”

“Sunghoon…”

He sighs, “How about this? I can unzip your dress and you do the rest yourself.”

She thinks about it for a second before nodding. She sits back up, opening her eyes slightly. He helps her back to her feet, and she turns around, holding her hair out of the way as he unzips the back of her dress. He turns around and gives her some privacy as she changes into the pajamas. 

“Sunghoon, you’re so nice to me,” she starts sniffling. 

He turns around to find her sitting back down on her bed with tears in her eyes. He sighs and sits next to her. She immediately leans her head on his shoulder. 

“I hope you never get a girlfriend,” she mumbles. 

He pats her head gently, letting her talk herself out until she falls asleep. 

“I think I’ll die if you get a girlfriend. Promise me you won’t get one?” 

She lifts her head up from his shoulder to look at him with tear stained cheeks. His eyes soften at the sight of her. 

“Y/N, you should get some rest,” he says, gently trying to lay her down. 

She starts sobbing at how he evades the question. 

“You probably already have a secret girlfriend. That’s why you didn’t promise me, right?” She cries. 

Sunghoon sighs and grabs some tissues from the nightstand. He gently wipes the tears from her face. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Y/N,” he says. 

“Then why won’t you promise me?” She looks up at him with the most adorable pout, making his eyes flicker down to her lips. 

“Because I want a girlfriend eventually,” he says softly. 

She starts crying again, pulling the covers over her head so he can’t keep wiping her face clean. 

“Y/N…” he sighs. 

He tries to pull the covers off, but her grip is strong. 

“Go away, you traitor,” she hiccups. 

“Y/N, you’re drunk. You should get some sleep.” 

But she continues rambling. 

“I thought we were going to stay together forever,” she cries, “You’re the only man that exists to me. Every other man is boring and ugly compared to you. Do other girls exist to you? Do you find them pretty? Is that why you want to get a girlfriend?” 

Sunghoon’s heart races, but he tries to stay calm. He crouches down so he’s eye level to her on the bed. 

“No, other girls don’t exist to me either,” he says gently. 

She sniffles and peeks her head out from under the covers to look at him. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” she says. 

“Yes, it does,” he says, pulling the blanket lower so he can see her face fully. 

“If other girls don’t exist to you, who will be your girlfriend?” She asks. 

“Think about it.” 

She remains quiet for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. 

“I don’t know…” she mumbles eventually, making him sigh. 

He notices the way her eyelids droop, fighting to stay awake. He pats her head gently. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. You should sleep.”

She protests weakly, but he brings the covers up to her chin and tucks her in. Her eyes are closed again and her breathing even. He stares at her sleeping form for a moment before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Think about it,” he whispers before leaving her room. 

Sunghoon, in fact, does not tell her tomorrow. She completely forgets the conversation, and he gets cold feet. They fall back into their routine, but Sunghoon can’t stop thinking about what she told him. She wants to stay with him forever…

“Why are you blushing?” Y/N asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Oh…nothing,” he mumbles.

They’re at the library trying to study for midterms. It’s been three hours already, and it’s getting harder to focus. Sunghoon’s mind keeps drifting off. 

“So,” he starts, catching her attention. “After you graduate, what are you going to do?”

“Pick a city we want to live in, find jobs and move there. Preferably somewhere that has a lot of parks or outdoor recreation,” she says. It seems like she has it all planned out. 

“As in us together?” He asks. 

“Yeah. Obviously,” She looks at him, immediately noticing how flustered he’s getting. “Why? Do you not want to be together?” 

The wording she uses makes his heart want to leap out of his chest. 

“It’s not that. It’s just…” he pauses for a moment, debating whether or not he wants to ask this. “You don’t want to branch out on your own or anything? Live alone, be independent…get a boyfriend?” 

She makes a face. “Living alone as a girl is scary, I’m already independent, and I hate men. Except you of course.” 

Sunghoon remains silent. She makes him feel like he’s the center of her universe and it only makes him fall for her even more. 

“So we will be old and still living together?” He asks. 

She shrugs. “Why not? I can see us sitting on our porch, yelling at random kids to get off our lawn that we perfectly crafted to have a fish pond and flowers for pollinators.” 

She watches him as his face turns even redder. 

“You’d want to spend the rest of our lives together?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah. I mean I can’t see it without you.”

They stare at each other in silence. His eyes flicker down to her lips before looking away sheepishly. 

“As friends?” He asks.

It’s Y/N’s turn to blush, realizing how what she said may have come off. 

“If that’s what you want,” she says. “I’m okay with being just friends.”

His heart pounds in his chest, and he looks up at her. “Just?” 

She quickly realizes her slip up and hides her face behind her hands. 

“I meant…” her voice trembles slightly. 

“Y/N…” he smiles and gently pulls her arms to the side so he can see her clearly. “Quite frankly, if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, I don’t want to be just friends.” 

Her eyes flicker between his, her heart racing in a panic in her chest. 

“Y/N…” he says softly after seeing the panic in her eyes. “I’ve loved you for almost as long as I’ve been alive.” 

He gently cups her face with his hands. 

“And I will love you for the rest of it.”

Her breath comes out shaky as she continues to look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them. 

“I don’t want to be just friends,” she whispers finally. 

She watches as his eyes glance down at her lips then back up to her eyes. His thumbs trace her cheeks. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. 

She nods ever so slightly. His smile as he leans in makes her heart flutter. His lips are as soft and gentle as she remembers, and it makes her head spin. The kiss is short and sweet, and when he pulls away, he’s still running his thumbs across her cheeks. She blushes and tries to pull away from his touch. The smile on his lips only grows, and he leans in for another peck to her lips. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m just very happy right now.”

His hand runs through her hair and rests at the back of her neck. The cuteness of her flushed face makes him gently squeeze her cheeks with his other hand, swaying her head side to side every so slightly. 

“Is this what I’m gonna have to deal with for the rest of my life?” She chuckles.

“Unfortunately, yes. No take backs now,” he smiles, squeezing her cheeks again before placing another kiss on her pouty lips. 

The transition between friends to lovers is surprisingly difficult for Sunghoon and Y/N despite the years of tension. They fall into their routines and end up forgetting that they’re actually a couple now. 

They get shy when it comes to any form of intentional physical affection. They have always been somewhat affectionate towards each other but now there’s romantic intention behind it, and it makes them shy, especially Sunghoon.

Sunghoon has been dreaming about the day of them becoming a couple, but he’s scared of moving too fast and scaring her. This results in shy touches or Y/N having to initiate things. She teases him a lot about it.

They’re cuddling in bed, facing each other. His arm is loosely draped over her waist, and his eyes are closed as she traces his face with her fingers. There’s a small smile on his lips and a pink tint to his cheeks.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you this up close,” Y/N whispers. “You have a small mole under your eye.” 

He hums, and his eyelids flutter open to look at her. He remains silent as he watches her admire him, a warmth spreading through his chest. Her eyes lock with his for a brief moment. The look of pure adoration in his eyes makes her melt.

“It’s kind of surreal,” he whispers. “I’ve thought about this for years.” 

Y/N chuckles softly and brings her hand to cup the side of his head. Her thumb gently traces over his ear. 

“Oh, you want me bad,” she teases. 

Sunghoon bites his lip out of embarrassment and tries to look away. 

“I mean, yeah…” 

Y/N’s heart races in her chest, and a blush spreads to her cheeks and ears. 

Sunghoon loves to be babied, but in private or else it hurts his pride. 

After a long few days of final exams, he walks into their shared apartment. He drops his backpack on the floor by the door and shuffles to the couch where Y/N is sitting. He whines softly and lays on top of her. 

“Hold me,” he says. “Comfort me.”

She laughs as he wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her neck. She rubs his back comfortingly, and he instantly melts into her. She plays and runs her fingers through his hair. He hums happily. 

“Finals were that bad?” she asks after a while of silence.

“Mhm,” he hums against her neck. “It didn’t help that I was sitting next to this guy who does not know what deodorant is.” 

He buries his face deeper into her neck, inhaling deeply. 

“You smell so nice,” he mumbles. 

The feeling of her hands running up and down his back is so comforting to Sunghoon. He wants to be even closer, wants to fuse with her if ever possible. He’s already face deep in her neck, getting lost in the smell of her body wash. His hands start roaming her sides, and he starts planting kisses to her neck.

Once she realizes what he’s doing, she clicks her tongue and gently tugs at his ear, pulling him out of her neck. He looks at her with the saddest eyes.   

“Can I please just kiss my girlfriend?” he asks.

“Last time I let you do that you left my neck purple,” she glares at him.

He looks up at her with the smuggest grin on his face.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” He tries to act innocent, but the smug expression is still there.

She yanks at his ear again, and his grin turns into a pout. He buries his face back in her neck.

“Fine,” he grumbles and calms down. 

Y/N has a habit of teasing Sunghoon into getting boners, especially when he’s still hesitant about initiating anything with her out of fear of making her uncomfortable. Poor Sunghoon would be fighting for his life.  

A hand up his shirt and gently rubbing his belly? Hard. A playful bite on his bicep? Hard. A little tug on his hair as he lays his head in her lap? Hard. 

At first he’s so embarrassed about it and apologizes, but once he finds out she’s doing it on purpose, he starts to get a little more comfortable. 

He’s cooking one evening, and she comes up behind him in the kitchen and gives him a back hug. She presses her body against his back and purposely wraps her arms a little too low on his waist than normal. It really doesn’t take too long before his sweatpants tent up. 

“Whatcha making?” She asks innocently, but he knows what game she’s playing now.

“Just ramen.”

“Mm.”

He plays along with it for a bit, grabbing her hands and pulling them up higher around his torso, but they always find their way back down around his hips. He turns around which makes her stop hugging him, and she looks at him as if she’s doing nothing wrong. He shakes his head and grabs her by the waist and sits her on the counter.

“Stay,” he points at her, and a smile breaks out on her lips.

He knows damn well she isn’t gonna stay.

“I’m not a dog,” she grunts playfully, swinging her leg out to poke the side of his thigh with her foot.

“I’m cooking,” he says, swatting her leg away.

She scoots closer to him, still sitting on the counter. He gives her a side eye which only makes her scoot even closer. He stirs around the ramen then turns off the stove top. He grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her back to the place on the counter she was supposed to stay at. She groans and swings her legs slightly in protest. 

He cups both of his hands on her cheeks, making her go still. He looks at her briefly before pulling her face toward him and kissing her. It turns into a makeout session real quick, and she tries to wrap her legs around his waist. His hands grab her by the thighs and push them, holding them back.

“I said stay,” he whispers against the kiss, making her go crazy.

Even then he's too scared to take things too far. He presses his body a little closer to her, but other than that, he keeps things PG-13. 

She gets super frustrated. She tries to give him hints by running her hands all over his body. His breathing becomes shakier, but they have never actually gone all the way before, and he’s kind of scared.

His hands are still gripping her thighs away from him, and she’s getting more desperate. She can tell he’s clearly hard and enjoying this. She grabs his waist and pulls him flush against her so he’s nuzzled between her legs, and he short circuits. 

He stops kissing her and buries his face in her neck, his breath shaking and his hands on her thighs trembling slightly.

“Why are you hesitating?” She whispers softly. She runs her fingers through his hair soothingly. 

He stays silent for a while, his face still in her neck as he tries to calm down. 

“I’m nervous,” he whispers back.

“About what?” 

“I don’t want to mess things up.” 

She pulls back slightly, making him stop hiding and look at her. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes scan across her face. She smiles, trying to ease him a little. 

“How would you mess things up?” 

He shrugs. “A lot of ways. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He looks away shyly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and ruin everything.” 

He was clearly talking about more than just what was unfolding at the moment. She brings him into a comforting hug, resting her chin on his shoulder. 

“I’m scared you’ll think this was a mistake. I’ve loved you for so long…” he trails off.

“Do you not think I feel the same way?” She asks softly, her nose burying into his neck. “Every time you hesitate it makes me think you’re regretting this.” 

His breath hitches, and he pulls back slightly from the hug to look at her. 

“I love you, Sunghoon,” she says. “And I want you. All of you.” 

His heart practically beats out his chest, his cheeks turning a bright red. He swallows nervously. 

“I love you too…” he whispers, his eyes trained onto her face. 

“So…” she says, running her hand down his chest

His eyes follow her hand as it stops at his stomach. They’re both blushing messes at this point, ramen long forgotten as he grabs her hand and helps her off the kitchen counter. 

Their first time is definitely clumsy but cute. They’re both shy about taking their clothes off for the first time. It really solidifies their relationship switch from being friends for so long to actually being in a romantic relationship, which is both scary and exhilarating at the same time. 

They start slow, just making out and their hands roaming and exploring over their clothes. When her hands make their way up underneath his shirt he practically buckles. His breath hitches, and she can feel his stomach tighten under her fingers. 

She smiles against his lips before trying to pull his shirt up and off. This part was easy enough. She’s seen him without a shirt plenty of times, so he isn’t too flustered. As they continue kissing, she can feel his finger tips hesitantly slipping under her shirt and resting at her hips. He clearly wants to take her shirt off too and her cheeks turn red. 

Her heart pounds in her chest as she pulls back from the kiss and looks at him. He’s like a deer in headlights, frozen, thinking he did something wrong to make her stop and pull away. He notes how flustered she looks, and it brings him a little more confidence. 

He pulls her shirt up slightly then stops to look at her to see if she’s having second thoughts, but she raises her arms over her head and lets him take it off. His hands caress her bare sides, feeling the warmth of her skin. He shakily fumbles with the clasp of her bra. It takes him a bit until he’s able to get it off, but once he does, he can’t stop staring. He blushes and looks away when he catches himself staring. There’s so many thoughts going through his head. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

She sees the slight panic in his eyes and pulls him into another kiss. His thoughts are temporarily silenced. She presses her body against his, and the feeling of her bare chest against his makes him groan. His arms snake around her and his hands splay across her back, pulling her even closer. 

He’s lost in the moment, his hands roaming across her bare back and feeling her soft skin under his fingertips. He trails kisses down her jaw and neck, feeling her pulse quicken under his lips. Her hands tug at his hair, eliciting soft grunts out of him as he trails his lips down her shoulder. He presses closer, gently laying her backwards onto the bed. His hands trace up her sides and stomach, still somehow hesitating despite being face deep into her neck. 

She lets out an exasperated noise and grabs one of his wrists, leading his hand to her chest. He makes a choking sound against her neck and stops kissing for a second, his heavy breathing making the hairs on her skin stand up. 

“It’s okay. Touch me,” she whispers, a slight shakiness to her voice. 

She can’t suppress the soft moans that leave her lips as he begins to slowly knead her chest. His nose trails across her shoulder as he places kisses along her collarbone, her sweetly fresh scent filling his nose. His thumb circles around her nipple, playing and slightly pulling on it.   

Her breathy moans make him groan with pleasure, his hips involuntarily bucking against hers. His sweatpants are practically strained around him. 

“S-sorry,” he mutters, pulling his hips back slightly. 

Her hands are already at his waistband. His arms brace on the bed at either side of her head, his breath shaky as he looks down at her fumbling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. She pushes his sweatpants down his thighs, leaving him in his boxers where his arousal was even more apparent. She looks up to meet his eyes and he immediately looks away, red in the face. 

She reaches up and traces his ear, the tip bright red to match his face. Her touch lingers on his earlobe before tracing down the side of his neck. She can see his adam's apple bob as he swallows nervously. 

“Take mine off,” she whispers, trying to distract him from the embarrassment.

“Okay,” he whispers back. 

His eyes flicker down to her bottoms which are just some pajama shorts. His fingers trace the waistband.

“Both? Or…” 

It was her turn to turn beet red. He looks up at her and blushes seeing her blush. 

“Unless you don’t want to—“ he immediately backtracks. 

“All of it,” she cuts him off and looks away shyly, not wanting to see his face as he takes everything off and looks at her fully. 

His hands are shaking as he pulls her shorts and underwear off, but once she’s lying there fully bare in front of him his breath is taken away. His hands trail up her legs, gently caressing her skin. Once they reach her thighs, he slowly kneads them and pushes them apart to look at her. She closes her eyes as if trying to hide. He notices immediately and his hands come up to grab her waist as he leans forward and places soft kisses to her face. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

She shakes her head slightly, her eyes are open now but still not looking at him. 

“I’m a little embarrassed…” she mumbles.

He looks at her, his gaze softening as he cups her cheek in his hand and makes her face him. He brushes strands of hair out of her face. His fingertips trace her features, running across her eyebrow bone and down her nose bridge, across her cheekbones and down her jaw until they land on her bottom lip. 

“You’re so beautiful. You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he says softly. “But we can stop if you’re not comfortable.”

She looks at him as he traces her face, his eyes soft and so full of affection she wants to cry. Her bottom lip trembles slightly and he leans forward to place a tender kiss on them. 

“You’re so precious to me,” he whispers against her lips. 

Her arms wrap around him and into a hug, overwhelmed with emotion as he buries his face in her neck. 

“I love you,” she says. Her hands run down his back, making him shiver. “I trust you.” 

He hums contently into her neck but doesn’t make any moves to continue where he’d left off earlier. Instead, his hands roam her sides, caressing her curves as he gently sucks on her neck. Her grip tightens on his back, and she moves her head aside to expose more of her neck, soft whimpers leaving her lips. 

The sounds she makes are making him slightly lose control. His hips press against hers, and he groans into her neck at the slight friction. He hears her breath hitch too, her hands on his back trailing down to his waist to pull at his boxers. 

He pulls back from her neck to let her take them off. His eyes are fixed on her face, his cheeks flushed as he watches her gaze run down his body completely. He swallows nervously as her hands trail down his sides, stopping at his hips. His length immediately twitches at her simple touch. 

“Let’s…” he swallows again. “Let’s focus on you.” He mutters.

Her eyebrows furrow as she looks up at him. Her mouth opens to say something but he quickly leans forward and kisses her. Her hands stay at his hips, slightly gripping his thighs. He feels her hands inching downward, making his head spin. He pulls back to look at her, his face flushed. His hands gently pull hers off of him, and she’s about to protest again, but he brings them up to his lips and kisses them gently. 

“Let me focus on you, please,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I…if you touch me, I will probably…finish,” he looks away shyly. 

This gives Y/N such a rush. Any insecurity she has about her body is completely gone seeing how worked up he is. Her hand trails down his arm and grabs his wrist. She gently guides his hand between her legs. 

He says he doesn’t know what he’s doing. She guides him at first, showing him where to touch her. He’s a quick learner, though. He’s an observer. He knows he’s doing a good job by the sounds she makes and how her body responds to his touch, getting closer and wanting more. If he’s unsure, he just keeps his hand still, and her hips will move against it how she needs to. 

The palm of his hand grinds on her clit as he pumps his fingers into her, making her see stars. His face is back in the crook of her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin. He can feel her tightening around his fingers, and he groans in her neck as if it’s his dick and not his fingers. 

She tugs the hair on the back of his head, pulling him out from her neck to have him look at her. His eyes are glazed over. He is absolutely gone. She has to kiss him to snap him out of it, but it only works for a little while until he’s groaning and devouring her mouth. 

“Sunghoon,” she pants against his lips when he even gives her time to breathe.

He responds with a sound between a hum and a grunt, but he doesn’t stop. She grabs his wrist that’s still lazily fingering her, and he immediately freezes. He pulls back and looks at her with a guilty expression. He's about to apologize, but she releases his wrist and instead wraps her hand around his length. 

The facial expression he makes is so perfect, she almost thinks he finishes. She rubs the length of him along herself, coating it. He almost collapses on top of her, his breathing shaky and a raspy moan leaving his lips. She guides his tip to her entrance and his head falls forward, his hair covering his face.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Are you sure?” He’s breathing heavily now, his eyes trained on her face. 

She bites her lip and nods. His eyes flicker down to her lips as she bites them. He leans forward to kiss her again, but gently this time. 

He pushes himself deeper little by little, stopping for a bit whenever he sees her face scrunch up with discomfort. He continues to kiss her until he finally bottoms out. He stays still, letting her adjust as he buries his face in her neck again. His breathing is raggedy as he tries not to cum right then and there. She runs her hands down his back soothingly as if reassuring him it’s okay. He slowly rolls his hips, thrusting shallowly, not fully trusting himself to last long.

“God, you're beautiful,” he mumbles against her jaw. 

His hands are roaming up and down her body and kissing her lips. His thrusts slowly become deeper yet still gentle. Her warmth is driving him crazy. His arms wrap around her in a hug as he tries to control himself. He can feel her tighten around him, making him groan against her neck. Her fingers yank at his hair as her strangled moans brush against his ear. 

“I love you. Fuck…” he pants, “you feel so good.” 

He's mumbling praises into her neck as his thrusts become lazy and his hips are shuddering. That’s her undoing. He’s just so hot as he gets desperate and out of control. Her walls grip around him as she feels her orgasm, making him choke and bury himself fully into her. He groans and slightly collapses on top of her as her grip makes him finish. 

He stays still for a second but then starts to thrust again. Very slowly and gently, prolonging both of their orgasms. 

They’re both shaking by the end of it, bodies sweaty and heaving. She pulls him down on top of her, knowing he’s tired. He obliges, letting her wrap her arms around him. She likes the feeling of his body weight on top of her. She runs her hands down his back soothingly as both of their breathing slowly goes back to normal. 

“I love you,” he whispers into her neck.

“I love you too,” she says, patting his head. “You did so good.” 

He hums, his cheeks flushed. He wraps his arms around her and rolls onto his back, pulling her along with him. He smiles up at her, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. They stay in each other’s embrace for a long while. Her cheek is pressed against his chest, and he’s tracing lines onto her shoulder when her stomach growls.

“Do you think the ramen is still good?” she asks softly.

“Probably not,” he laughs. “I can make you another one, though.”  

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

[cutehoons02]

Closer To You

*pairing: frat boy Spiderman Jake x student Girl

*trope: she fell first, he fell harder

*synopsis: Jake Sim isn't just the sexy next-door neighbor, the captain of the varsity soccer team, and the older brother of your best friend. He’s also the guy who broke your heart at fifteen… and has enjoyed teasing you whenever he can ever since. Too bad that now you live in the same building, you attend the same course, you share the same project at the university and that every cheeky joke, every golden look to hold back every damn random touch makes your knees tremble. Jake has a secret though..one big one, one about cobwebs, nights in red overalls and mysterious bruises appearing out of nowhere and you have a problem: you're still in love with the guy you swear you hate.

*tags: fluffy, clingy Jake, he's obsessed with the protagonist, secret, at first the protagonist finds it annoying, they like each other but are afraid to admit it, Jake loves physical contact, kisses, masturbation (F.M) unprotected sex (don't horny ppl) vulnerability, Jake cries and also the protagonist, they are truly in love, presence of a scene where there is blood, cure, pet names (baby, wren) (jakey) double personalities, +18

You thought, deep down, that it would be a summer just like all the others: the kind that began with suitcases packed to the brim, ready to head to the airport and fly to the Sims’ beach house on the Gold Coast, the ocean breeze rushing in through the car windows, a smile plastered on your face as you drove along the Australian coastline to reach the Sims’ place just like every year. Every summer was like that, a kind of ritual that for over ten years had given you memories of endless, beautiful days, and every time you returned, it felt like coming home. The Gold Coast was a breath of fresh air compared to the hectic life back in Sydney. You and Mia, your best friend since your very first year of elementary school had grown up side by side: shared lunches in the cafeteria, losing your baby teeth almost in sync, school trips to see kangaroos or sailing out on boats, swapping those long, colorful sugary candies and the twisted strips you refused to share with anyone else. Sticky fingers full of sugar were always part of the deal. Then came middle school: longer afternoons, your first movie dates, your first nights out biking through Sydney neighborhoods, hamburgers eaten while watching the ocean waves, an endless stream of photos taken with Retrica only to be posted on Instagram with captions stolen from Tumblr. And then… boys. First crushes, whispered secrets under the stars about who was the cutest guy at school. And among all of them, there was one who never really left your mind: Jake Sim. Mia’s brother. The first time you saw him was at their house: chubby cheeks, crooked buck teeth, and a tacky haircut for a seven-year-old but there was already something about him that seemed to shine. From that moment on, Jake was always there, like an unwritten constant of the universe. He showed up in every photo from the beach or the amusement park, in every story Mia told you about how smart he was at school, how good he was at sports, how popular he was with friends, or how reckless he could be. And with the years came his reputation as a heartbreaker. Love letters slipped into his locker by girls, eyes following him during soccer matches as if the golden boy was destined to become team captain. What made you frown most was that he seemed to excel at everything, especially in science and math, as if a scientist or mathematician lived inside him. On top of that, he could play almost any instrument you put in his hands: from guitar (easy for him, though not for you!) to piano, even violin. Compliments seemed to follow him everywhere, along with stolen smiles and laughter.

Everyone wanted him, and you… Deep down, you weren’t any different. But he was your best friend’s brother, and you would never risk fighting with her over a boy. That was reason enough to hold yourself back. So you watched him from afar, saying nothing, just observing as he grew more handsome with each passing day and more unbearable, too and him? He seemed to know it. Maybe that’s why he tormented you from morning till night, with that infuriating way he had of hovering around you. He teased you, made fun of you, hid your phone, called you ridiculous nicknames in front of everyone (“shrimp,” “little girl”…). He was a serious threat to your sanity, and yet, beneath all that annoyance, there was attention. At least Jake noticed you, and for you… that was enough. Deep down, you knew you were nothing more than the loving little sister’s best friend to him—someone he would never look at differently. But maybe what you didn’t know was that Jake loved to tease you and demand your attention because, secretly, he had always liked you. He hid your bikini. He sprayed you with freezing water from the beach shower just when you were about to relax in the sun. He snatched the book out of your hands while you were reading, holding it hostage until you “gave him a smile.” He mocked everything: your heart-shaped sunglasses, your tinted lip balm, the fact that you wouldn’t dive into the water at night with the others.

The summer you turned fifteen, when Jake was seventeen, everything between you changed. You thought it was just adolescence one of those delicate phases every teenager goes through. You told yourself it was normal that he came home late at night, slammed doors, locked himself in his room without a word, stopped eating with you, hid behind his headphones, made endless calls with friends, or played online matches where he cursed under his breath. From the very beginning of that summer, Jake had grown grumpier, distant, disconnected from the world. And you, who had known him for more than ten years, had never seen him like that, especially not with you. Jake had always been lively, sarcastic, and loud, both on his own and with his friends. He was the type to talk to Layla, his golden retriever, in a cartoon voice, to sneak into the kitchen at midnight to make toast and bring it up to your room, to tease you about your obsession with braiding your hair, or about how you added ginger to your tea. He was the guy who stayed up until two a.m. watching documentaries about ancient Egypt especially mummies—and then couldn’t sleep, who brought comic books to the beach, who fell asleep in his pajamas in front of the TV before anyone else, who gave you his gray hoodie the night it started to rain while you were walking home alone, who told you stories about what he wanted to be “when he grew up.” But then that summer… he vanished. Not literally, he was still there, in the same house, the same rooms. But it was as if he’d been taken over by two different versions of himself:

Some days he was completely absent; other days he sat in the sun with you all as if nothing had happened, as if everything was still fine. And then… he disappeared again. It was as if Jake had created a loop to survive: cold and distant for days, then suddenly warm and friendly but you noticed the way he looked at you had changed. As if you were becoming something invisible, or maybe something dangerous, and you had started to lose your grip, what had you done wrong? Why wouldn’t he talk to you? Where had the boy gone who teased you about pouting, who pushed you into the pool just to laugh at your screams, who complained that you always stole the blanket on the couch? Where was the Jake who had made you fall for him before you even knew what love meant? The Jake who laughed until he coughed, who smeared shaving cream on his face like a mask just to make you laugh, who talked to his golden retriever as if she were a spoiled princess?

That evening, you saw him sitting high on a small dune, staring out at the ocean with Layla curled up beside him, as always. Layla seemed like the only one who truly understood him, maybe because she was faithful, silent, and asked no questions. You pulled his hoodie tighter around you and felt inside the front pocket the fizzy candy he loved to share with his friends and with you. With your heart beating harder each day for that boy, and with the hope of finding a fragment of the old Jake, you walked over and sat down beside him. The ocean breeze tangled your hair as you broke the candy in two. “I bet this one will cheer you up: it’s the new fruity mix edition, a little sour but fizzy on the tongue, just the way you like it…” You said with a smile. But he didn’t move, didn’t even look at you. You lowered your eyes—it was strange for Jake not to notice you. The silence was painfully awkward, especially for you, the more introverted of the two. Even Layla looked at you, as if to say she didn’t understand what was happening to the boy she was leaning against. Timidly, you brushed his arm with your fingers. Jake flinched, as if your touch had burned him, then stood up and towered over you. When he spoke, his voice was pure venom and you had never heard him speak to you that way before: “Stop acting like you mean something to me.” He looked at you as though you were the last person in the world he wanted to see, and your heart broke in silence. “You’re just my sister’s best friend, that’s all you are… God, you’re always there, always everywhere I turn at tutoring, in my house, at school, at every single one of my friends’ parties, every damn family dinner, and even at my games. It’s like you think you have the right to stick around me all the time.” His words cut through you like knives, making you feel so small and wrong that all you wanted was to run away and wake up from the nightmare. But Jake kept going: “You know what you are? An annoying shadow. You’re not special, you’re not interesting, and stop trying to get my attention because I don’t like you, Y/N. And stop looking at me like I’m something good, because I’m not.” You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. You watched him walk away, leaving you there with the candy still in your hand, melted, sticky, useless. The tears came slowly at first, then faster, streaming down your cheeks in silence. You never turned to look at him again, and you certainly didn’t chase after him to ask why he had said such cruel things. But deep inside, you swore that no boy would ever make you feel that way again… especially not Jake Sim.

The years went by, and even though you tried to erase that night, that dune, that candy, that sentence that still pricked at you like a needle under your skin, Jake Sim’s presence never disappeared. He never once apologized for those words that haunted you every time you wanted to hurt yourself reminding you how cruel he had been. Like a scar you stop touching but that never fades, his words never left your mind. You were sixteen when he graduated—top grades, fake smiles, surrounded by girls taking pictures with him, kissing his cheeks in gratitude, some of them knowing they would never see him again because they were leaving for other cities or even abroad. When he announced he would take a gap year to work as a volunteer on farms in the Australian outback, you almost laughed it seemed like a joke. You couldn’t imagine Jake… with cows and dust. But he did it. Or maybe he left home for a year just to figure himself out—not only fighting with who he was inside, but also with the poison he carried, the one that pushed him toward you while fear kept him away. While he was gone, you finished high school with Mia, and together you made the decision you had promised each other as kids: to live together during university in Sydney. Far from everything and everyone—or almost everyone. Because, of course, your loving but overprotective parents agreed to the plan… with one condition. “An apartment for the two of you is fine, since you’ve been friends for more than ten years,” your father said, “but it has to be in the same building as Jake’s. That way, if anything happens, he can step in.” At first, you thought it was a rational idea, the kind of mature decision responsible adults made. But for you, it was a nightmare. The building where Jake lived wasn’t very big not even tall. Just a four-story red-brick place near the metro, fifteen minutes from campus. And Jake didn’t live there alone. He shared it with all his closest friends.

- On the first floor: Jungwon and Sunoo. - On the second floor: Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon the 02 trio. - On the third floor: you and Mia the only girls in the building. - On the fourth floor: Heeseung and Riki.

As if that weren’t enough, you and Jake ended up in the same university building. Different majors, of course you had chosen Economics and Marketing, while he was studying Advanced Mathematics, with only about thirty people in each year. And by some cruel twist of fate, there was one class you had to share: Statistics. A nightmare of compulsory credits, twice a week. Too much for your heart to handle, seeing him so close. Because Jake Sim had become a full-time problem. His hair was perfectly fluffy, the kind of effortless mess that looked like it had been styled by a professional every morning, though it was just genetics. His eyes were warm and dark, but when they landed on you, they were dangerous capable of melting half the female population. He had that boy-next-door smile, always with a streak of cockiness hiding behind it. And his hands big, strong, veined, heavy with silver rings slammed against the desk every time he wrote. And you hated him. You hated him because he was beautiful. You hated him because he ignored you on some days and then looked at you as if he remembered how much he’d hurt you. You hated him because girls followed him everywhere. You hated him because he didn’t seem like the boy who had once broken you. This was the Jake Sim who had learned to love himself again. The Jake who had returned to being the boy you had once fallen for and you… You had sworn to yourself you would never fall again but every time you heard him laugh in the hallway, every time you saw him coming down the stairs in soccer shorts, a half-open water bottle in hand, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and that small tattoo in memory of Layla and your heart beat just like it did back then.

You were sitting exactly where you wanted to be that day in class: not close enough to the front to look like the perfect model student, but not so far in the back that it seemed like you didn’t care. You were right in no-man's land, otherwise known as “the unwanted socialization danger zone.”

Your laptop was open on Pinterest, your fingers tapping lightly on the keys just to fake productivity, while the course slides for Statistics I sat on the left side of the screen slides that already made your skin crawl. Because you, a Communication and Marketing student obsessed with branding, pH-balanced skincare, and the color palettes of Jacquemus’ latest campaigns, were forced to endure 120 minutes of logistic regression and standard deviation and thenalmost as if your body and mind had sensed it, you saw him walk into the lecture hall.

Jake: Wearing an oversized navy hoodie, baggy jeans that looked casually thrown on yet somehow fit like they were custom-made, and that damn smirk that screamed: “I just woke up, but I could emotionally destroy you in under two minutes.”

His hair was thick, fluffy, still slightly mussed from too many hours of sleep, and when he casually ran his fingers through it, you swallowed hard. In your head, you thought: No, no, no, Y/N. Don’t look. Ignore him. Pretend he doesn’t exist. So you dropped your gaze back to your laptop, opening a random file to look busy anything but looking at how unfairly handsome and infuriating Jake Sim was but then you heard the squeak of a chair being pulled out and felt a rush of warm, clean scent, sandalwood and citrus wash over you.

“Good morning, shrimp.”

The nickname he had used since you were kids slipped out of Jake’s mouth, and immediately, you remembered the very first time he said it. You must have been six, wearing a purple tracksuit with lime green pants (a hideous outfit) and your usual messy braids, missing baby teeth and all. From that day on, he never stopped calling you that. You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him. You wanted..no, needed to ignore him with every ounce of strength you had. But Jake Sim didn’t accept indifference, and you knew it. So, he did what he always did when he wanted your attention.

He tugged gently on one of your braids. You whipped around, lips pressed tight, eyes sparking like Thor on a bad day.

“If you pull one of my braids again, I swear I’ll stab a pencil in your eye.” He chuckled, and you hated yourself a little for the way something fluttered in your stomach at the sound of his laugh the sight of those perfect dimples etched into his golden skin as if designed by some obsessive artist.

“Fate, shrimp. It always keeps us together. What can we do?” he teased.

“Poor me. My sanity’s been at risk since I was little, thanks to you,” you muttered, jaw tight. He leaned back in his chair, stretching, running his hand through his hair again. His hoodie lifted just enough for you to catch a glimpse you didn’t mean to look at… or maybe you did. Sun-kissed skin, the color of honey from the end-of-summer tan… and just above his hipbone, a dark purple bruise. Small, fresh, but unmistakable. Your eyes lingered a second too long, and Jake noticed.

“What happened to you?” you asked as he slowly tugged his hoodie back down, then turned to look at you.

“So now the shrimp, my sister’s best friend, no less, cares about me?” he said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “No.” You sighed. “I was just asking a simple question, Jake. Did you get hurt playing soccer?” Jake shrugged slightly, tilting his head.

“Could be that… Or maybe… I saved a damsel in distress from a pack of psychos. Who knows?” His grin widened. You stared at him, unsettled. Jake wasn’t the type to throw out random nonsense. He didn’t tell meaningless lies, didn’t stage little acts. If he said something, there was usually a reason behind it and yet the words “damsel” and “pack of psychos” lodged themselves in your brain.

It sounded like a joke but something in your body shivered, as if it knew a truth your mind was trying to ignore and that’s when he came back to mind.

Spider-Man.

That bizarre guy who had been appearing in viral TikTok and Instagram videos for at least four years. Always masked, always stopping robberies, thefts, high-speed chases. Most of the time, saving kids or women. Sometimes leaping across rooftops. The shaky phone videos of him always went viral. Other times, he simply disappeared into buildings to avoid capture. Everyone had an opinion about him: some said he was insane, others believed he was a real superhero, and others thought he was just a very committed troll. The problem was this guy had powers nobody could explain.

Especially not your father: the head of Sydney’s police department. For him, Spider-Man was nothing but a pain in the ass. “Spider-Man” ruined everything: he arrived before the police, saved everyone, knocked out the criminals… and then vanished, leaving nothing but paperwork behind. Your dad hated him, called him “that idiot in pajamas.”

But you? You couldn’t stop following the updates. Watching the videos, reading the theories, listening to the interviews of people who’d seen him. And, honestly, a part of you admired him. Deep down, you wanted to know who was behind that mask. But Jake? Jake Sim? The team captain with golden hands and a cocky grin? Impossible. Jake wasn’t Spider-Man he was just… Jake and yet, your thoughts were cut short by the snap of fingers right in front of your face.

Jake was watching you, hand raised, his expression amused. “Caught you staring. Mesmerized by all this beauty, huh?” You scoffed. “I was just wondering how big one person’s ego could be. Yours beats everyone else’s.”

He laughed softly, those cursed dimples appearing again, and you regretted not having a pillow or better yet, your Statistics textbook to throw at his face.

And you thought: No, Jake Sim wasn’t Spider-Man. He didn’t have superpowers. He was just… my super problem. Jake had been sitting in the statistics lecture for over an hour, his leg bouncing restlessly against the floor, his eyes far more fixed on you than on the whiteboard. Statistics was torture on its own. But statistics with you sitting beside him with your scent, your loose hair, those soft little braids framing your face? That was divine punishment.

Jake had never been one to sit still. Even as a kid, he was the first to jump off cliffs, climb trees, and defy gravity on a skateboard. But ever since the bite had sunk into his blood? His body had become a weapon in constant alert. Every fiber of him was tight, every muscle ready to react and right next to him, you were his quiet obsession. You had been for years.

Sure, he’d always thought you were cute. But then you got your braces off. Your hair grew longer. Your curves started showing a little too much in fitted shirts or swimsuits. You stopped acting like a little girl and began, piece by piece, to grow into a woman and that’s when you became his undoing. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop wanting to know where you were, what you were doing. He glanced sideways at you like he always did when he thought you weren’t looking. He watched your hair fall over your shoulders, slightly wavy, two braids framing your face. The scent of chamomile and honey drifted to him, and with it… Something inside Jake stirred.

The spider. Or his alien side, as he called it...because let’s be real, not everyone got bitten by a damn spider at seventeen. That was the part of him always in motion, always on edge. The part that made him react before his brain even decided and it was that spider inside him that whispered thoughts he shouldn’t be having about you. How badly he wanted to run your braids through his fingers, tug them just to tease you. How badly he wanted to press his lips against your ear, to hear that small, shy sound you’d make. How badly he wanted to pull you onto his lap, your legs straddling him while he explained some random equation, just so he could murmur: “You need me, shrimp.”

And every time you bit your lip because you didn’t understand a graph, every time you flushed because he teased you, Jake felt less human and more animal and it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had to stay away from you. He’d decided that summer, at seventeen, when the bite had changed him. You had found him in the backyard, eyes glassy, staring into nothing. He regretted every word he’d said to you that night—he’d told you to leave, he’d hurt you. Then he heard you crying in Mia’s room, and he hated himself for every tear he’d caused but over the years… you had built a wall. And Jake hated himself even more, because you were further away than ever and yet, fate was a stubborn bastard.

Every time Jake tried to let you go, you came back, in the hallways, at parties, in class Always you and always too close for his liking.

The professor got up from the podium to say something, but Jake had been ignoring him for at least twenty minutes. Still, his ears caught the words that mattered most: "For the final project, pairs will be made of students sitting next to each other. You’ll work together from October to December, and I don’t want any pouting or complaints. You’re all grown and vaccinated, so I expect good work from everyone whether in groups or pairs."

There was a moment of silence in the classroom. Then Jake grinned that grin, the one that said, “This is my chance.” He immediately turned to you, leaning in slightly, like a predator approaching its favorite prey, and whispered in your ear:

"Perfect, shrimp. From today on… we’re study partners too." He looked straight into your eyes, waiting for your reaction. Your gaze was pure venom first aimed at the professor, then shifting to him. You sighed.

"What did I do in a past life to deserve this?"

Jake smiled, leaning back in his chair with his usual fake nonchalance but inside… the spider was celebrating. Now he had a legitimate reason to be close to you, to invade your space and you, even if you wouldn’t admit it weren’t immune. You could see him, feel him… and even if you tried to push him away, fate was always lurking around the corner, determined to keep you two together.

The top-floor apartment was buzzing with noise and music (Jay, Sunghoon, and Jake), all born in 2002, knew how to throw a party worthy of Sydney's student scene. The rooftop terrace glowed with warm lights, blasting 80s hits like "Cherry Cherry Lady " by Modern Talking, while the scent of burnt marshmallows added a cinematic touch to the night.

Overlooking the Parramatta River, the terrace offered a view of the moon shimmering on the water. You stepped outside with Mia, fingers playing with the hem of your black sequin skirt as the sea breeze tousled your hair, making your two side braids dance lightly over your bare shoulders. Your black boots gave you height, and your tight retro crop top hugged your figure almost too perfectly to be accidental. Jake noticed you instantly; you felt his gaze before you even saw him. His eyes slowly roamed up from your calves to your thighs, lingering a moment too long on your hips before meeting your eyes, as if he could read your mind.

The group of seven was gathered around a small rooftop fire pit, laughing as marshmallows melted in the flames. A few tipsy girls tried catching the boys’ attention, but Jake wasn’t interested his eyes were only on you. He leaned forward slightly, lazily parting his long legs, and gave a subtle nod first to his sister, then to you as if saying, “Come join us.”

You and Mia walked over, and Jake immediately wrapped his arms around his sister with the same affectionate, slightly possessive way he always had.

"Hey, little sis." He kissed her forehead, and you glanced at him sideways, torn between smiling at the sweet gesture and wanting to slap him for being so effortlessly charming when he was genuine like that.

"God, you're clingy. You need a girlfriend who’s as obsessed with physical touch as you are," Mia said, trying to pull away. But truthfully, neither of them was shy about affection; you still weren’t sure which of the two was more obsessed with it. Jake gave her a dramatic pout, and the group burst into laughter. You scanned the circle: Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Jungwon, Sunoo, Riki, and Jake the whole squad. Close friends, each with their personality, yet somehow they moved like one seamless unit.

Sunoo immediately made space for Mia beside him, and you bit the inside of your cheek; there were no spots left. Jay stood up and gave you a soft look. "You can take my seat, I’ll grab a chair from Niki and Heeseung’s place downstairs." You lifted a hand, stopping him.

"No. Don’t worry. I’m fine on the edge of the couch." Lie. It was hard, unstable, and awkward. You tried to settle behind Heeseung, who was leaning on the backrest, until he turned slightly and raised an eyebrow.

"If you want, you can sit on my lap. There's space, Y/n," he said, chuckling.

Silence. You watched Jake shoot him a death glare, and before you could even respond, Jake moved. Without a word, his large, warm hands grabbed your waist, fingers brushing the bare skin just under your shirt. The touch made you jolt; your eyes widened, and your mouth parted. In a single motion, he pulled you onto his lap, as if you weighed nothing. You landed sideways, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, your heart pounding like crazy.

"Jake?! Are you insane?" you whispered, cheeks burning as you adjusted yourself between his legs. He just shrugged and looked you dead in the eyes.

"You looked uncomfortable half-standing like that." Then he held you closer, like it was the most normal thing in the world as if you weren’t sitting in his lap.

His hands stayed in place. You could feel the heat of his skin under the denim, the slow but alert rise and fall of his chest and worse, you felt everyone was watching but no one said a word, not even Heeseung. Because in that moment, Jake was claiming you. With just one subtle move pulling you onto him, holding you tight, your body pressed into his, your scent driving him insane and deep inside him, the spider purred with satisfaction.

You sat still, perched between his legs, watching everyone laugh, drink, and roast marshmallows, feeling your cheeks flush. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, and your thighs pressed together as you felt his hand resting on your bare leg. You could feel his slender finger tracing small circles over you, and the coldness of his ring against your skin sent tiny shivers from your spine down to your toes. Jake noticed you couldn’t stop moving your leg, and after a few seconds, his hand stopped stroking you and rested on the edge of the couch, as if sensing your discomfort. He leaned close to your ear and murmured,

"Relax… stop moving your leg so much. Nothing’s going to happen." You swallowed and nodded, but inside, you had no idea how to act with him so close.

Then Jungwon’s voice broke the tension as he stood up and asked everyone, "How about we play spin the bottle?"

You instinctively rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this would lead: awkward moments, silly dares, kisses with strangers, and truths you didn’t want to reveal. Jake shifted slightly behind you, his body molding to yours as if you’d done this a thousand times before. When you slowly turned to look at him, you saw a small smirk on his face.

"Yeah, why not… let’s spice up the evening," he said, glancing at Jungwon.

"We’re not in high school anymore," Sunghoon said, looking around. You nodded and added,

"Exactly, Sunghoon’s right." But Mia, sitting next to you with a devilish grin, looked at Jungwon.

"I like Jungwon’s idea!"

You shot her a glare, and that’s when you realized Jake’s hand the one that had just lifted off your skin was back on your thigh, gripping lightly, as if he knew you were about to react, as if he wanted to keep you anchored to him, you looked down. His hand was big, warm, strong, with thick veins rising from his wrist along his forearm, spreading like roots around your leg. When you raised your eyes to him, Jake was smiling with that smirk that promised nothing good.

The bottle spun the classic empty Corona twirling quickly in the center of the circle, hissing along its glass axis, glittering under the warm terrace lights. Then… it stopped at a red-haired girl wearing a white tank top and overly glossy lips, someone you’d seen in Sociology class but had deliberately ignored. Jungwon asked,

"Truth or dare?"

The girl tilted her head, smiling, and Jungwon said,

"Kiss the guy you find the most attractive among the seven of us."

You widened your eyes as a murmur of approval spread through the circle. The girl stood and edged a little too close to Jake, but just before, she turned her head toward Heeseung, who slightly furrowed his brows. Then she rose with a half-smile, leaned toward him, and they shared a quick kiss neither innocent nor romantic, just… charged. Jake’s hands tightened slightly on your thigh. You couldn’t ignore how tense his body behind you seemed, as if every fiber of him was ready to react, as if he hated the idea that the bottle might eventually point to you.

The game had been spinning out of control for half an hour now. In a few turns, it had escalated from “innocent” games to “ridiculous” dares.

Sunoo had been forced to eat a marshmallow dipped in mayonnaise.

Jay and Heeseung had shared a kiss on the cheek, slow almost theatrical, with a hand on the face and someone had posted it on Ig

Jungwon had to declare his love to a girl who didn’t even know he existed.

The bottle spun as if guided by a mischievous spirit, and it hadn’t stopped on either you or Jake. It felt like fate was playing a cruel joke between you two. At first, you were even a little relieved… until Jay spun the bottle. He did it nonchalantly, sipping from the beer neck and giggling, and the bottle scratched along the wooden table before finally stopping, pointing straight at the tip of your black cowboy boot. Jay grinned slightly.

"Truth or dare?"

You swallowed, silently thanking him for not choosing "truth or kiss." Jay had known you forever; he was your friend, but he always had that look—“I’ll ruin you, but I still care!”

You couldn’t risk a truth tonight, not sitting on Jake like this, so you answered, "…Dare."

He scratched his chin theatrically, as if fishing through the depths of his mind, then looked you dead in the eyes with a wicked smirk: "I dare you to kiss the person you hate most or can’t stand in this room."

Boom. Jay had dropped a bomb. You heard murmurs around you, some laughter, some whispered Jake’s name before anyone even had to say it. Your stomach tightened of all the dares, he had chosen that one?

No explanation was needed: you “couldn’t stand” Jake or at least… that’s what you told everyone, what you tried to tell yourself every time you saw him. You slowly turned toward him. Jake was still, but his eyes were less bright than usual. Behind that barely-there smirk… there was something painful, because he wanted to be kissed by you—not for some stupid dare, but because you actually wanted to. Not because Jay had dared you to kiss the person you “hated most,” but because he was the guy you actually liked the most.

You looked at him and said, “I don’t even have to get up. The guy I’ve ‘hated’ for at least five years is sitting right here.”You pointed at him, and Jake smiled, relaxed. “Happy to serve the cause.”

Everyone burst out laughing, some girls shouting, “Kiss! Kiss!” while Sunghoon hid behind a cup so you wouldn’t see him laughing. You raised a hand toward Jake, your pinky finger extended right in front of his face. "No tongue, no hands in weird places, no surprises. Jake has to be… standard. Got it?"

Jake raised an eyebrow, making a dramatic face. "You seriously think I wouldn’t be respectful? Scricciolo, don’t you trust me at all?"

His tone was sweet and teasing, but in his eyes there was a mischievous glint. "I don’t trust you, Sim." You offered him your pinky, like a symbolic childish contract—your way of saying: swear.

He shook his head with a small smile, took your pinky in his, slid it slowly between his fingers, and then squeezed it gently while looking at you.

"I accept the pact, wren…" But his other hand the one that had been resting on your thigh the whole time moved slightly, and with the tips of his index and middle fingers… he made the horns. A small hidden gesture behind your back, a silent signal to anyone who noticed and yes, Heeseung and Jay saw it and tried not to burst out laughing, making it clear to everyone that Jake… was not going to respect your pact at all. And you still didn’t know it.

The moment your lips met Jake’s, it was like an explosion inside him. You had one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, and under your palm, you could feel his heart racing. The contact between your lips was initially cautious, delicate, almost tender, as if he were afraid you might disappear at any moment.

He tasted like beer and lime, and you… Like a slightly burnt marshmallow, a mix of both sweet and sensuous. Jake didn’t need to do anything more because that was the agreement, but for a fleeting moment, it felt eternal, and you wanted to feel him truly, to slide a little closer, to have a real kiss from the boy you’d liked forever. It seemed Jake read your mind, because the hand on your thigh tightened with more intention, and the one that had been lightly on your cheek moved with certainty behind your neck, guiding you closer. With that movement, his lips crashed onto yours, breaking the pact you’d sealed just moments before, ignoring everyone else because he simply wanted you all to himself.

His mouth opened slightly, his warm breath hitting you, and as his lips pressed against yours with more purpose, you didn’t pull away. On the contrary, you tugged lightly at his hoodie, as if to hold him there, silently asking for more. Jake, who had imagined this kiss a thousand times in his life, felt a dizzying thrill. The “spider” inside him, that instinctive, hungry, visceral part awakened. That alien beast he despised when it tried to control him in moments like this crept into his mind:

"Look how desperate she is for your touch, Jake. She wants you. Look at how she pulls you closer with those tiny trembling hands. Her eyes are closed because she’s afraid if she opens them, she’ll realize she’s completely undone, that she desires you with all her being, and we can give her everything. We could touch her, claim her, hold her, slide inside her."

Jake tried to keep himself in check, but your hand gripping his hoodie was the permission he didn’t dare to ask for. His hand slid from your neck, down your back, then between your hips, settling firmly in the space between your shirt and skirt.

You felt his warm skin against yours, and still, you didn’t move. The spider in him twitched with lust.

"See? She likes you, she wants you… Stop holding back. She loves the way you touch her, she loves being yours, and she’s not pulling away, so she feels safe with you—but you never listen to me. This girl’s wanted you for years, but you’re too stupid to realize it fully, so don’t let her slip away she’s yours."

Jake struggled with himself, but that hand on your skin and the way you returned the kiss without resistance gave him certainty: you were no longer just his best friend’s sister, no longer just the grumpy girl next door, you were his little obsession for five years, and sooner or later, he’d make you entirely his.

Your hands moved almost on their own, sliding across his chest and then around his neck, pulling him closer. Jake didn’t hesitate: he held you against his chest as if having you there were the most natural thing in the world. He tilted his head slightly, a mischievous smile forming, and gently bit your lower lip, making a subtle, almost involuntary moan escape your throat like a broken sigh. He chuckled, almost smugly, while his lips immediately returned to yours, hungrier than before. The kiss became a slow, intimate chase, tongues exploring with confidence, leaving no hesitation only hunger and desire. He kissed you like it was the only thing that mattered, your mouths parting only for seconds, yet even then it seemed you sought each other, as if your bodies were molding together. Jake’s tongue brushed yours lightly, slow and exploratory, while his hands caressed your bare back, where your shirt rose slightly with every movement. You hated how much you liked it, hated how much you wanted him and at that moment, someone coughed.

Two sharp, fake coughs behind you snapped your attention. You pulled away abruptly, lips swollen, heart hammering in your chest, and saw Jake with a shameless grin plastered across his face. Turning around, you were met with the most humiliating scene of your entire life.

All six boys were staring at you, shocked, amused, and astounded. In the middle of them, Mia your best friend and Jake’s sister, had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. When she saw your slightly embarrassed expression, she gave you a thumbs-up. You moved to slip away, but Jake held you firmly at the waist, his deep, brazen, slightly husky voice whispering in your ear:

"Don’t even think about running from me, wren, not after this."

You swallowed, short of breath, legs weak. Jay, of course, was the first to break the silence. He raised his hands and laughed:

“Well, guys… the ‘enemies-to-lovers of the year’ award goes to them. Maybe we should have forced them to kiss sooner!”

Heeseung followed with a sly grin and added:

“Looks like the enemies have finally become lovers. And thanks for this little movie scene, I missed seeing my best friend making out in front of everyone, Y/n!”

The others burst out laughing, and even Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Sunoo tried to cover their laughter with fake coughs, while you just wanted to disappear, teleport to your room, and scream into your pillow until your lungs emptied because that kiss had been the best of your life.

And now everyone had seen it. Meanwhile, Jake was watching you with serious eyes, a thousand questions running through his mind, but one in particular seemed almost written on his lips: “Why do you hate me?”

But maybe he already knew, and maybe… it was all his fault—the spider, the poison, the way he had lost control over himself… and over you. From that moment on, though, he would never let you slip away from his life again.

Ever since Jake had kissed you and not kept the agreement to give only a peck, he had become more intrusive in your life… and he had already been that way, but it seemed like fate was playing cruel tricks on you. Whenever you didn’t want to think about him—or especially about that kiss on the terrace that day, you couldn’t help but remember how his hands wrapped around your body, how his full lips fit perfectly with yours, how he was gentle yet sexy as he smiled between your lips. Part of you had to admit that you thought about it far too much, that your crush on him had never gone away, while another part of you was terrified at the idea of having something real with him, because you thought he saw you as just a game.

At that moment, you were nibbling on the tip of your pen, sitting in a corner of the library, trying to figure out some rather strange Statistics formulas. Your pout wrapped around your face, and Jake approached on tiptoe as usual. But when he saw that “I can’t take this anymore” pout and the pen between your lips, nervously bitten, he couldn’t hold back. He rested a finger right next to the wrong number on your exercise and whispered in a low, husky voice so close that you could feel his warm breath on your neck: “This is where you went wrong, wren. You need to be more careful when doing your exercises… or when you get lost in thoughts about me.” He said it with a shameless, provocative grin that grin that made you want to slap him… or kiss him again. Irritated, but with your heart already doing somersaults, you turned slightly and gave him a look over your glasses: “I was focused. It’s not my fault if math hates me, and I certainly wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular...not you.” Jake shrugged and sat down right next to you without asking permission, and you raised an eyebrow. “Who said you could sit here? The library is empty.” He made a fake pout and leaned even closer, his voice low and amused: “It’s a public space, right? I can sit wherever I want, and I want to sit… right here, next to you.” He said, pointing at you with a finger, and you sighed in exasperation, though your racing heartbeat betrayed you. Jake stretched, letting his hoodie ride up slightly, revealing a hint of abs and that classic V at his hips the same one you couldn’t stop staring at when he surfed or swam. Then he looked at you, his eyes slowly traveling down your body.

He noticed how your straight hair fell naturally over your shoulders, those two little braids you always wore drove him crazy, and your glasses… the glasses were a hit to his heart. They gave you that air of a good little nerd, brilliant at school, but in his dirtiest imagination, he knew very well how you behaved behind closed doors. He lowered his gaze and saw the Ralph Lauren sweater hugging your waist and chest so delicately that he had to clench his jaw to avoid commenting out loud. But the real torture came when his eyes landed on your slightly raised black skirt, revealing those soft, toned thighs he hadn’t been able to get out of his head for weeks. Above your knees… those white socks reaching halfway up your calves were the final blow. His inner spider flared like a live flame in his chest. He imagined you sitting on his lap like that evening, how beautiful you would look on him with just that skirt, how he’d slide his hands slowly under your sweater, caressing your warm skin up to your bra, how he’d place you on the library table with books scattered everywhere, your legs wrapped around his hips as you tugged his hair and moaned against his mouth. He licked his lower lip slightly, dangerously aroused. Unaware of the dark thoughts running through his mind, you continued sighing over the wrong numbers but Jake hadn’t looked at your exercises for a while, because in his mind, there was only you.

Jake pulled out his notebook with apparent calm, though inside he was a storm, forcing himself to focus on formulas, graphs, and variables. He was too good to pretend to struggle in science subjects, and within twenty minutes, he had completed all the drafts for the project. You, still stuck on the second step of the first exercise, looked up at the snap of his fingers in satisfaction, mouth slightly open in mock offense. "Not fair…" You groaned. "How did you finish that so fast? Are you even human?" Jake chuckled, pride barely hidden, and twirled a braid of yours between his fingers the same gesture he’d done for years, but now charged with a different meaning. "You should know I’m a math wizard. I used to tutor you and my sister when we were kids, remember?" You nodded, feeling a pang of awkward nostalgia, then returned to your paper, torn between pride and a desperate need for his help. Jake scooted closer, his chair scraping the nearly empty library floor, his leg brushing yours. Without a word, he took your pencil and pointed to the exact spot. "The step was right, but you swapped x and y," he murmured gently, pointing out the small mistake. "And it should’ve been negative, tiny one." You held your breath, watching his hands move with precision—veins along his forearm, elegant knuckles, the way he gripped the pencil like a scalpel. Then his eyes met yours. "Try the next one yourself and read carefully. This is a quadratic equation—pay attention." You inhaled deeply, focused, and after a few attempts, solved it. You glanced at him shyly. "Thanks," you whispered. Jake leaned in a little too close. "For you? Anything, tiny one." Your eyes drifted to his hands, cold rings glinting under the library lights. You bit your lower lip without realizing it, and Jake noticed. He leaned even closer, invading your personal space. His knee brushed yours, his fingers touched the edge of your notebook, and his scent. sandalwood, lime, something dangerously masculine enveloped you.

"You’re driving me crazy…" he murmured, low and husky near your ear. You couldn’t meet his eyes, cheeks burning. "W-what’s driving you crazy?" you stammered. Jake swallowed, jaw tight, then spoke deliberately, each word measured. "Years of not seeing you, not touching you like before, that wall you built after the summer you turned fifteen… your scent filling my chest, your pouts, your hands shaking as you write… your body…" He paused, voice dropping lower. "Your body seeking mine even when you pretend it doesn’t, and my body? My body is made for yours." Then his hand the same that held the pencil, slid slowly under your skirt, caressing your bare thigh. You shivered at the warmth against your skin, the small charms on his ring brushing sensitively against you. You felt trapped… yet unwilling to escape. Jake saw it in your eyes and, with a cocky smile, whispered, "Sit on me." You glanced around discreetly. It was 6:30 PM. The library was nearly empty, silent except for distant pages turning and a pen tapping, but in your corner, there was only you and him. Nervously, you bit your inner thigh, then, almost instinctively, climbed onto his lap. His legs were slightly apart, just enough to fit you perfectly. You tugged your skirt down as much as you could, futilely trying to cover yourself, while the tension between you grew inch by inch, palm by palm.

Jake didn’t flinch at the sensation of you sitting on him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He wrapped an arm around your waist the same gesture from that night on the terrace and with his other hand, he gently stroked one of your braids with an almost… tender care, as if he wanted to protect you. Then his eyes settled on yours.

He leaned in slowly and whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks burned, and it felt as though your skin had lost all filters, responding only to him. You didn’t know whether to look at him, trust him, run… or stay. His hand brushed against your cheek, warm and protective, his thumb tracing a circle under your eyes, his voice hitting precisely the right spots.

“You’re even cuter when you blush because of me.”

“That’s not true…” You murmured, half embarrassed, half smiling. Jake chuckled softly, his gaze drifting back to your lips.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, husky. “Ever since that night… I can’t think of anything else.” Your heart skipped, eyes widening with both fear and excitement. You didn’t want to be just another fling but the way he looked at you, the way he held you, the warmth of his body against yours… everything screamed he was no longer the boy who had hurt you at fifteen.

He had become a man, and maybe… maybe you were ready to rewrite that story. Without a word, you leaned in, and your lips found his. The kiss was silent, intimate, and slow a kiss that spoke louder than anything you could have said. Jake stiffened for a moment, surprised by your initiative, then melted completely when he tasted the familiar sweetness of your strawberry lip balm against his slightly chapped lips from training.

Your hands rose, trembling, wrapping around his neck. With a slightly deeper breath, you deepened the kiss, your tongue sliding against his with a mix of tenderness and desire. Jake sighed against your lips, a sigh not just of pleasure… but of relief: finally, the girl I’ve loved forever is kissing me.

A low groan escaped him as his hands slowly slid under your skirt, finding the warmth of your bare thigh. His fingers traced gentle circles, as if caressing his favorite new treasure, sending shivers up your spine. You gasped into the kiss, and when Jake felt it, he made it count.

“This is the effect you pretend you don’t have on me, tiny one,” he murmured.

The kiss continued, but now you weren’t just receiving, you were responding. He was your chaos in an otherwise slightly monotonous life. When your tongue brushed his lips, his inner storm exploded, shouting: She’s the one. Take her, keep her, make her yours. You found the courage to tease him a little, nibbling his perfect, full lower lip. Jake moaned.

“God, why do you do this to me, Y/N?” he groaned as you kissed like the library wasn’t there, like it was your private den of love.

Then… a sound. Everything stopped. A tic-tic, followed by a soft alarm from Jake’s phone. Something snapped in him, as if someone had pressed pause. He pulled away from your lips, breathing hard, jaw clenched.

“Not now… damn it,” he muttered, voice low. You stared at him, confused, heart racing, lips still swollen from his kiss.

“Jake…?” you whispered.

He stared at his phone as though life hung in the balance, hands on your hips, lifting you gently to your feet. Then he rose quickly, already half in motion.

“I have… I have to leave. Can you sort the stuff? Bring it home for me, please,” he said, gesturing helplessly.

You opened your mouth in disbelief. “Jake, where are you going?”

He just grabbed his soccer bag, adjusted his hoodie over his chest, turned sharply, and pressed a light kiss to your hair. Without meeting your eyes, he said, “See you, little one.”

And he ran out of the library, his shoes clattering on the pavement. You tried to follow him with your eyes through the window, but within seconds… he was gone, vanished between the buildings. You stayed behind, slightly dazed, whispering more to yourself than anyone else:

“What are you hiding, Jake Sim?”

You put away both your things and Jake’s, then headed to the taxi stand. The air was warm, the sky thick with golden light, clouds like gray cotton candy with hints of purple and orange. That evening, you were supposed to have dinner at your parents’ house, so you got into a taxi and asked the driver to take you to Paddington, a charming neighborhood in Sydney where you had grown up, full of low houses, artsy cafés, and tree-lined sidewalks.

A song by Enhypen, Fate, came on the radio, and when it ended, the young female announcer’s bright, confident voice filled the cab:

“Attention! Happening right now: a skyscraper in downtown Sydney has caught fire! The flames are visible for miles… and, unsurprisingly, guess who’s on the scene with the firefighters? That’s right—the one and only Spider-Man! Yes, Sydney’s Spider-Man has been spotted swinging between buildings and appears to be trying to reach the rooftop where many people are trapped. Stay tuned for updates!”

The taxi driver cleared his throat and looked at you through the rearview mirror.

“Ah, Spider-Man! I’d love to see him in person. But if you see him up close… well, it means you’re right in the middle of the chaos… and probably in danger.”

You gave a small, amused smile. “I’m curious to see him… but mostly, I want to know who’s under that mask.”

He glanced at you briefly, a sharp look in his eyes. “I bet it’s a young guy. You can tell by the build… agile, lean. As a human, it could be anyone… maybe even someone you know.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, a cold shiver sliding across your back. One person in particular came to mind: Jake.

The way he disappeared, his vague excuses, the unexplained bruises, the dark circles… he had been acting strange since he was seventeen. And Spider-Man had appeared five years ago. Coincidence? And those sudden disappearances, the days he vanished without a trace, then came back as if nothing had happened?

You shook your head, trying not to overthink it, paid the taxi, and got out. Walking up the driveway, you saw your mom at the door, arms open, holding you as if she’d been waiting all day for this moment.

“How’s my darling?” “All good… Is Dad home?” you asked, already knowing the answer. She lowered her eyes, saying nothing, and that gesture was enough. “He promised,” you murmured as you walked inside. “He promised he’d be here tonight.” Mom sighed and turned toward the kitchen. “There was a fire downtown. He had to make an urgent inspection.” “But he’s not a firefighter...he’s a sheriff,” you said aloud. She remained silent.

You collapsed onto the couch, turned on the TV, and sank into the cushions. The images spoke for themselves: a skyscraper in flames, a blackened sky, sirens, chaos. And then… Spider-Man.

The TV showed him swinging between two tall buildings, his webs cutting through the smoke. His movements were precise but frantic. He reached the rooftop, grabbed a trembling woman, comforted her, and brought her to safety. A man with a little girl clung to him; another leap, another dash, another life saved. Every motion was swift, fluid… and there was something about that body, the shoulders, the hips, the way he moved. It looked like Jake.

You closed your eyes, and for a moment you saw him: Jake, in red and blue, face covered, breathing hard. But the vision vanished when your mom brought dinner.

Your dad came home as the sky turned a deep velvet blue. You were sitting on the porch swing, mom beside you, holding two glass bowls of fresh fruit salad, juice dripping down your fingers, the spoons making soft clinking sounds against the glass.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, your mother stood up immediately and looked at him with a gaze that was half reproach, half relief. But he walked down the hallway with the weary air of someone carrying the weight of the world, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as if his mind was already somewhere else. Then he bent down to kiss your head, right where Jake had kissed you just a few hours before, and ruffled your hair slightly with his rough hand. “How was the inspection?” your mother asked, and he let himself sink into one of the wrought-iron chairs next to you, stretching his shoulders with a deep sigh.

“Good…” he said, then added with a hint of annoyance, “…too good. The legendary Spider-Man did all the dirty work, everything that should have been the police’s job, and especially the firefighters’!” You still had the spoon in your mouth and asked, “And you’re not happy about that, Dad?” You looked at him with an innocent expression, but your heart was racing inside, and he huffed. “Happy? No. People study for years, train, break their backs to serve the state… and then this kid shows up with his webs and saves everyone… everyone clapping like he’s some god come down to Earth.” You let out a small, amused laugh. “Are you jealous? Do you want superpowers too?” He gave you a look that wasn’t exactly angry but wasn’t light either. “I’m not jealous at all. But if that kid ever gets caught, they’ll experiment on him more than a lab rat. They’ll open his skull, his chest, isolate every fluid inside him… and what’s in there isn’t human.” A shiver ran up your spine, because that kid… he saved lives, threw himself into flames, thought of others before himself. In your mind, he had Jake’s smile, and you didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. “But if he doesn’t hurt anyone, then even the police shouldn’t hurt him.” Your voice was sterner than expected, and your father shook his head. “It’s all a facade, sweetie. He has poison in his veins, and maybe he doesn’t show it, but it’s there. His webs? We brought samples to the lab. You know what we found?” He looked you straight in the eyes. “They contain a very fine toxin, slow-releasing. It’s not lethal… but it can alter mental states, inject confusion, excite you through physical contact, and it almost becomes addictive. It’s like his own biology… manipulates him. That kid is a monster, Y/n.” You looked at your father, slightly frightened by his words, and you didn’t fully believe everything he was saying. But if Spider-Man were in front of you, you wouldn’t lock him up, you wouldn’t tear his mask off by force, you wouldn’t hand him over to anyone. You would let him into the house, clean his wounds, gently stroke him, and when he let himself collapse in your hands… You would tell him it was all okay. With you… He would be safe.

It had been a few days since you last saw Jake, and when you went up to the apartment to drop off your Statistics notes, you only found Sunghoon and Jay. They smiled at you a little awkwardly and thanked you, saying that Jake was sleeping. “You know, he had a tough training session yesterday because the championship starts soon, and he said he doesn’t want to be disturbed.” You nodded without asking any questions, not wanting to seem intrusive, but inside… a little worry had started gnawing at you. A kind of anxiety you couldn’t explain, that sixth sense only girls seem to have, was crawling under your skin. So today, you had texted him: “Are you in class today?”

But minutes passed, and while the professor closed the door and started talking about functions, standard deviations, and incomprehensible parabolas… you pouted a little, staring at your phone with no reply. Those two cursed hours of formulas and numbers without Jake beside you were unbearable and boring, so as soon as the professor said class was over, you were already on your feet, backpack in hand, ready to fly home. All you wanted was a hot bath and to crawl under the covers for some happy dreams. You caught the metro just in time, running with only a narrow margin, and as usual, the car was full. You managed to carve out a small corner near the doors, put on your headphones, and closed your eyes for a moment. But after just two stops… You felt a violent jolt and saw a small smoke bomb inside your car. The lights went out, then the emergency lights flickered on weakly, and you heard people asking, “What’s happening?” “Why have we stopped?

Then… a woman’s scream made everyone turn, and at the end of the car, there were three masked people, dressed in black with ski masks and knives in hand. One was banging the knife handle on the metal of the train, producing a sharp, terrifying sound, while another had a baseball bat behind his back. You swallowed hard because this was nothing like what you had expected after hours of studying. “Everybody shut up! Empty your bags, backpacks, phones, watches, and wallets. If you do exactly what we say, no one gets hurt!” You held your breath, feeling anxiety wrap around your body and mind as a woman in front of you started crying, a man tried to protest, and was shoved to the floor. One of the three came toward you, black eyes behind the mask watching you carefully, and you lowered your gaze to the ring on your finger. A simple white gold ring with a small daisy in the center—it had belonged to your grandmother while she was alive, and after she passed, your dad had given it to you. You slipped it off gently, hiding it in your palm, but the man suddenly turned and looked at you. “What’s that?” he said, eyeing your hand tucked behind your jeans. You stammered, “N-nothing… it’s just my university bag.” He stepped closer, and though he didn’t see the ring fall into your jeans pocket, he grabbed at your bag, yanking it. “Give me the bag!” he shouted, but you held onto it tightly because it contained your laptop, phone, portfolio with money, your glasses—both prescription and sunglasses. “I swear, I have nothing… I’m just a student,” you said, but the robber looked you up and down and raised his voice even more. “Spoiled little brat. All of you walking around with thousand-dollar phones, pretending to be poor, give it to me now, or you’ll regret it!” You didn’t let go of the bag, your hands trembling, and you replied, “I’m not spoiled. There’s only math notes and my laptop in here, what do you want with it?” But you didn’t even finish speaking before he yanked you and shoved you to the ground, your back hitting a subway seat. They grabbed your bag forcefully. You tried to get up, but he gave you a look and brandished a knife. You swallowed hard in fear. One of the robbers shouted at another to hurry, while passengers surrendered their phones, earrings, wallets… until you heard someone scream from the back of the car.

“SPIDER-MAN!” You heard the roar again, and the train jolted as the metal above your head vibrated, as if something or someone was running… or rather, crawling at incredible speed along the roof of the train. One of the robbers began shouting, panicking. “Shit, he’s here! He’s above us!” The emergency lights flickered, your heart pounding, and then an explosion of glass made everyone scream. But something fell into the car with the agility of a panther and the precision of lightning. Everyone heard the snap of webs. “Zzzzap!” And there, standing in the middle of everyone, as if facing a theater scene or a movie, in his black and red suit, chest heaving under the effort… Spider-Man was there, trying to save you and protect everyone from these three criminals.

“Were you waiting for me?” he said, his voice bold and almost cheerful. His voice was audacious, almost joyful, as if he weren’t facing three armed men but attending a party, and the entire train car held its breath. But you… you had your hands pressed to your chest, eyes fixed on him. The way he moved, the broad shoulders covered by that suit, the way his gaze even through the mask, seemed to pierce straight into your eyes, and in your mind there was only one name that could belong to him: Jake. The masked men tried to escape, pushing people aside to make a path toward the only unlocked door, but they hadn’t even taken two steps before Spider-Man’s voice filled the car. “You’re not leaving that quickly, my friends.” Spider-Man stretched out his arms, and from each wrist, with a precise and calculated snap, long webs shot out, intertwining in the air like white snakes. “Zzzzzip!” One by one, the robbers were immobilized by the webs, their arms bound to their bodies and their legs trapped thanks to the stiffening fluid of the webbing. One struggled, trying to shake off the webs; another fell with a thud, screaming that Spider-Man was a monster and that people should fear him, not a few robbers. One still didn’t surrender and lunged blindly at Spider-Man, a knife piercing slightly through the suit just under his ribs. You held your breath, seeing the cut in the suit, a tremor running through the boy in the center of the car, and a trace of blood showing on his body. But Spider-Man didn’t scream or falter instead, he immobilized him with a deadly grip, wrapping him in more webs that appeared in an instant and slammed him into the car.

And the knife? He broke it with two fingers as if he had done it hundreds of times. All the bags the robbers had stolen from the passengers fell to the floor: phones, wallets, bracelets, rings ordinary life’s belongings. Spider-Man turned toward you, raising an eyebrow under the mask. “It’s seriously kind of embarrassing to ‘rob’ the subway. You could’ve chosen a more upscale location, my friends!” Someone chuckled from relief, a man sank onto the floor, and a little girl stared at him wide-eyed before giving him a small wave. Spider-Man approached her gently, ruffling her hair, and said, “You’ve been a super brave princess.” Then he slammed the robbers’ backpacks down with a sharp movement and said loudly, “Take back your things. They’re not going anywhere they’re tied up like salami.” He helped an elderly woman to her feet. “All good, ma’am?” “Yes… thank you, you’re an angel,” the woman said, giving him a slight hug. He replied, “Don’t tell my mother, because if she knew I was Spider-Man, she wouldn’t let me be the guardian angel for all of you anymore!” You smiled even though your hands were still shaking. And when he turned to you… time seemed to stop. He looked at you for only a few seconds, and you wanted to step closer, to touch him and say, “Thank you, Spider-Man.” But a voice behind you broke the spell: “The police are here!”

Spider-Man leaned slightly toward the people and whispered, “It’s been a pleasure… as always.” Then he turned, broke a side window with a push, and jumped out. But before disappearing completely, he turned his face and whispered: “See you around, baby!” You widened your eyes at that “baby,” a shiver running down your spine like an electric wave because… that voice, that manner, that slightly cocky but also sweet tone...it was Jake’s. Your heart skipped a beat. Your gaze fell on his left side, where he held his hand… and there was blood. Not enough to kill him, but enough to tell you he was alive, that behind Spider-Man was a real person who felt pain, and perhaps all the emotions you felt too… He was human, but also something more. A few seconds later, the police stormed the car. Two officers cut the webs with the robbers’ knives and arrested them. One of them asked, “Should we take a sample of this webbing to the lab?” The other waved his hand, almost annoyed. “We’ve already got it. In my opinion, maybe it’s better not to dig too deep… as long as he keeps doing his work and we get to go home alive and not be in danger 24/7, that’s fine.” You heard every word, your stomach tightening, because they wanted to study Spider-Man as if he were an experiment. And your father’s words crept back into your mind: “He’s got poison inside.” But you… You knew that beneath that mask was a heart, perhaps wounded, perhaps lonely, and if one day he let you get close enough… you wouldn’t put him on trial. You would heal him, and love him.

When you got home, your father was desperate to see you. He had sent three messages and tried calling twice when he discovered you had been on that same subway to get home. In the end, you responded calmly, making it clear that nothing had happened and that you were safe.

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m with Mia and the others. No need to come; I’ll rest a bit and tomorrow will be like any other day,” you said over the phone. There was a pause before your father sighed.

“When they told me you were on that subway… you have no idea the chill that ran through me. I imagined the worst.”

You gripped the phone between your fingers and stared at the ceiling of your room. You were lying on your bed, with a slight ache in your back, but nothing serious. Once your father had made sure you were okay, the memory hammering in your chest was Spider-Man’s blood on his suit, his gaze fixed on you, and above all, the way he had said, “See you around, baby.”

And then you jumped up because there was one person you had to see: Jake Sim. You ran up the staircase separating your apartment from his and bit your lip nervously before ringing the doorbell. Once, then twice, five times it seemed no one was home. But you knew in your heart that Jake was there. You kept ringing until, after a while, the door opened, and Jake appeared. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just taken a shower, a white towel draped around his neck. You caught a glimpse of his bare chest and saw him flinch slightly, but when he saw you… hesmiled.

“Shrimp… what are you doing here?”

You tried to step inside, but he moved half a step, blocking you with his shoulder.

“Jake… let me in,” you said, your voice steady.

He gave a tight, half-smile. “I don’t think this is the best moment. I’m… shirtless, you know… I don’t want to scandalize you.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Are you serious? I’ve seen you at the pool, at the beach, and in the gym. Don’t play games with me.”

Jake bit his lip, then ran a hand through his hair a gesture he always made when he lied or felt uncomfortable. He stepped aside and let you in, but suddenly spun around and ran to his room. You didn’t wait. You slammed the door shut and followed him with purposeful steps, entering his room just in time to see him pulling on a large sweatshirt with nothing underneath. One glance was enough to realize: he was hiding something.

You moved closer. He stepped back, but with your small stature and determined stride, you caught up. His body pressed against the edge of the desk, hands gripping the surface, and you loomed over him not physically, but with your firmness and, most importantly, with your gaze.

“What are you hiding, Jake?” Your voice was low but firm, and you noticed he wasn’t looking at you. His cheeks had turned red not the usual blush of embarrassment… no, it was the redness of hesitation, almost a battle within him that seemed unwilling to end. He leaned both hands on the edge of the desk, looked down, and whispered, “I didn’t want to hurt you,” stammering. Your eyes widened, and you stepped closer to him. “What are you saying? Jake… I’ve trusted you since the first day we met, and I know you would never hurt me. Never.” You touched his cheek with a trembling hand, and he leaned into it gently, as if your touch were the only thing keeping him safe from the world. You saw his eyes close, his lips slightly parted, and his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Does anything hurt?” you asked, sensing his body stiffen. He stayed silent for a moment, then nodded. You stroked his soft cheek. “Can I lift your sweatshirt?” “Yes,” he muttered through gritted teeth. When you felt his consent, you lifted the hem of the sweatshirt, and inch by inch, his skin appeared. On the left side, right where that robber had stabbed Spider-Man with a knife, there was a deep but perfectly bandaged cut. You couldn’t understand one thing, it was clear he hadn’t gone to the hospital; who had helped him? You were afraid to ask. But it was obvious it hurt him, and the worst part? Purple bruises were climbing almost to his stomach, stretching under his ribs like a spreading shadow.

“From kicking,” you said softly, “you don’t get hurt like this.” Jake let out a faint laugh, then lowered his gaze. You watched him, one hand still on his side while your other caressed his face gently. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you whispered. But he shook his head, and you could see he wanted to pull away from you. “You don’t understand… You should stay away from me. I’m not just Jake…I’m something people chase, destroy, or idolize. Sometimes I’m a hero, but at the same time, I’m a criminal. It’s not just me… inside me… there’s also… something else… a part that…” You saw his eyes grow wetter, and honestly, you didn’t know what to do. “That isn’t human.” You took his face in your hands and, without hesitation, pressed your forehead against his. “So inside you, there’s both Jake and Spider-Man?” Your breath brushed his, and he whispered, “You found me out, shrimp.” He gently wrapped his arms around your waist, his fingers clutching your sweater, holding you close as if afraid you’d slip away from him. “Exactly,” he whispered. “Inside me is Jake the one you know, the one who laughs, makes mistakes, gets lost in your eyes but there’s also… that part. ‘Alien,’ so to speak. The part that can do things it shouldn’t, that saves people, but every time drifts further from itself. And…” His breath trembled as he buried his face in the hollow of your neck. “I’m not afraid of myself, but I’m afraid of that part. I’m afraid that one day it might grow too strong, take everything… even you.” His words tore through you—they were so simple, yet unique. You rested your head on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, and he shivered slightly. “I’m sorry for all of this,” he murmured against your skin. “For not telling you, for hiding everything, for putting you in danger… I’m sorry, shrimp,” he said, holding you tight. “Jake…” you began to tell him he didn’t need to apologize, but he lifted his head, and you saw his face streaked with tiny tears. “No, listen to me. I… I have to, because I know it’s not right. You didn’t choose this, and I… I’m dragging you into something bigger than myself.”

You slowly kissed the small tears in his eyes, and he murmured something unintelligible, whispering that he didn’t deserve you—but you didn’t care about what he said, until you heard another truth… perhaps the truth you’d wanted to hear all along. “I was an asshole that summer with you… because I was scared of myself.” His voice was rough, saturated with pain, as he looked at you intensely, his fingers moving gently against your cheek as if afraid you might vanish. “Before I was bitten by the spider… I wanted to ask you out. I wanted to do all those things normal boys did: take you to the arcade, buy you an ice cream, and see whose melted first—mine or yours.” He gave a melancholic smile while your gaze struggled to meet his. “I wanted to spend hours wrapped in each other’s arms talking on the dunes, I wanted to walk with your hand in mine to the sea, teach you to surf, make you laugh. I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend that summer… but before I found the courage, I got bitten.” He clenched his jaw and lowered his gaze. “The venom running through me was strong. Not just in the body… in the mind too. It knew you were my weakness, and so… I kept you away. I did everything to push you away because you could truly see me, and it would make me crumble in an instant.” He lifted his gaze again, his fingers trembling slightly as they continued to caress your face, tracing it as if mapping his home onto you.

You opened your mouth to speak, to reply, but no sound came out—just a tremble, then tears slid down your face like rain on a summer night. “Shrimp…” Jake whispered, leaning slightly toward you. “Don’t cry… please.” But you couldn’t stop, and you didn’t even know why; it was as if every word he had spoken had opened a dam you’d kept closed for far too long. Jake looked at you for a moment with an expression you’d never seen before: fragile. Then he leaned down slowly, saying nothing, and his lips pressed softly, warmly, precisely against your cheek, kissing every falling tear. One by one, each kiss was a way of saying “I’m sorry” without words, and every touch was a caress that gathered you in pieces. On the corners of your lips, under your eye, at the edge of your nose, on your chin, he kissed with the devotion of someone who knows he doesn’t deserve you… But can’t help loving you. “Please,” he whispered. “Stop…” You nodded, sobbing softly. He gave a faint, wry smile. You took his hand, holding it in yours as if it were the only anchor you had, and guided him gently toward the bed. “What are you doing?” he asked, surprised but not resisting. “I just want you to lean back…” You murmured, indicating the headboard with your eyes. Jake swallowed and sat slowly on the bed, letting himself rest against the dark wooden headboard. You sat beside him, your hips barely touching, and when he turned, he whispered: “Stay, please. Just this once… or forever, until you get tired of me.”

You moved closer, your hands brushing against his legs to gently part them as if asking for permission without words, and you sat between them. “Can… I take off your sweatshirt?” you asked in a trembling voice because he had put it back on, and Jake ran a hand through those same hairs that made you want to bury your fingers in them. He nodded. “Of course, you can do whatever you want.” You smiled with a shy little grin and slowly pulled down the zipper. “…You’re beautiful.” He rolled his eyes and sighed because he didn’t see himself as very handsome with all those bruises, but if you liked him, he liked himself too. “Lie down a bit,” you whispered as you nudged him lightly, and he asked, “What are you doing?” You could see he was a little nervous but also curious, but you didn’t answer; you bent down and started placing kisses on the first purple mark, another on his side, and then lightly on the place where the robber had hurt him, and you felt Jake flinch, but you didn’t stop, so you ran your tongue along his abs and started touching him while still leaving playful kisses on his golden skin. Jake was extremely shocked by your initiative, and his inner Spider stirred, thinking: “Go for it, Jake, make her yours in this moment of vulnerability.” But he shook his head no because you were more than a simple game, and he swallowed, clenching his jaw. “Wren…” The nickname slipped out while he looked at you, bent over him, with your mouth on his wounds, your tongue both soothing and igniting him, and he gently stroked your hair.

“Christ, Y/n, you have no idea what you’re waking up inside me,” he said with a sigh as light shivers ran over his skin while you rubbed slightly against him and kissed him. His fingers clenched in your hair, not to pull but to feel that you were there with him, and you giggled with your cheeks burning and slowly lifted yourself, and his eyes looked at you desirously for more. “Look how red you are, Scricciolo…” His hand slid down your back and pulled you closer, and you sat more comfortably straddling him, feeling your heart race as he caressed your skin, yet smiled softly with your foreheads touching. You fiddled with the drawstrings of his sweatpants and whispered, “Who else knows about your powers?” Jake bit his lip and then whispered back: “Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon… and Niki. Only them, and now you too.” You nodded slowly, letting your fingers brush against his side. “And Mia? Your sister?” Jake shook his head and looked at you carefully. “No, not yet. I’m seriously afraid of putting the people I love most in danger,” he said softly, and you caressed his cheek gently, and he let himself relax at your touch as if it were home. “I trust you… I know you won’t tell anyone,” he said, stroking your hair, and you replied, “I won’t tell anyone, Scout’s honor!” Jake chuckled and linked his pinky with yours, and neither of you made any “crossed fingers” behind your backs. He said: “Good for you… because when I go ask your dad for permission to be your boyfriend… I want to do it as Jake. Not as Spider-Man, a fugitive in Sydney.”

You rolled your eyes and said with a wry grin. "And who said I'd be okay with it if you asked my dad?" Jake looked at you with narrowed eyes, his hand slowly sliding up your thigh and leaning towards your ear. "No one… but your body's telling me a whole different story, baby." You huffed, your hands still fidgeting with those laces, and you looked at him with a crooked half-smile. "You're showing off too much, you know that?" Jake chuckled, leaning back a little more against the pillow behind him, his gaze glued to you as if you were about to explode in his hands. "I can afford it, little one. Look where you are," he said, pointing to where you were, a smile plastered on his face with that confidence that drove you crazy and made you want to throw pillows at you at the same time. Jake bit the inside of his thigh gently and swallowed, his Adam's apple visibly moving beneath the skin, and then he heard your voice give him an order. "…Lift your hips a little." His pupils dilated, but he didn't say anything, and he obeyed. He slowly raised his hips, and your small, trembling hands grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down, sliding them down his thighs. When he was down to his boxers, Jake grinned. You were there, in front of him, kneeling astride him, and a lock of hair had fallen in front of your eyes, which you tucked behind your ear with such a sweet gesture that he wanted to kiss your hands. He could see you: small, red-faced, and staring at his erection pressing hard against the fabric. "Is something wrong, little one?" You didn't look at him and just shook your head. "No… it's just…" You licked your lips at the sight of his V-line and his boxers. "Your V-line is… damn sexy, and that strip of hair… that starts from your belly button and… goes underneath… is the hottest thing I've ever seen." Jake's eyes widened for a moment, and then he laughed that low, chuckling laugh because he knew the effect it had on you. "I'm a little surprised… You're paying me a compliment." He leaned his head back against the headboard, his cheeks slightly rosy, and then turned to you. "…Want to see where that trail of hair leads, little one?" You looked up, and your yes was silent but unmistakable, so you lowered your hips a little, your knees slightly trembling, and then you touched his penis, still covered by his boxers. Your hand slid slowly along his entire length, feeling the heat, and Jake moaned at the sensation of your hands touching his length. You smiled slightly as your hand repeated that slow, careful motion, then took the initiative and looked at him with eyes filled with both desire and sweetness. "Lift your hips again." Jake couldn't wait, so he raised his hips with a shudder, and the spider inside him exploded.

"Show her everything you can give her, make her feel good, and make her adore you for who you are, because you think she's yours… but she's ours. Remember that, Jake." Jake obeyed, and with trembling fingers, you pulled down your boxers and bit your lip, your eyes widening for a moment before widening.

"Oh… my God…" you whispered without thinking. "Don't be afraid, it's just skin…touch it. I want you to get to know every part of me…even this one." He said, indicating his bulge, and you didn't say anything, just gave a small nod as your fingers returned to brush that taut, warm flesh, now completely exposed before you. Jake gasped and gritted his teeth because your touch was still timid but also real. "You can squeeze it a little, if you want…" he said in a husky voice, and you did so like a diligent student. Jake threw his head back against the pillow and put his fist in her mouth. “Fuck, so… you’re so small, shy, and cheeky all at the same time, you’re driving me crazy.”

In Jake’s chest, the spider hissed filthy words about how he wanted to sink into you, make you his, show you his spider nature so you would never forget him again. You leaned down, your soft lips brushing the rosy tip with a messy little kiss, and when Jake felt your mouth wrap around him, his eyes widened in shock. “Wait, what are you…?” But then he saw your tongue part slightly to take him in, your hands around his length, your flushed cheeks betraying that this wasn’t something you usually did. His body… his body trembled inside. “You don’t have to take it all, okay? Just… let me show you what it feels like when someone wants you. Breathe through your nose, take your time,” he murmured as he watched you lick and suck timidly, yet with the determination of a girl who knew exactly what she wanted. You nodded, sliding him slowly into your mouth, twisting your tongue, and he moaned.

“Fuck, wren… keep going,” he stammered, fingers sinking into your hair, guiding you gently further down. You followed his rhythm, feeling him move inside your mouth while his hoarse moans filled the room. “Tighter… God, yes, like that…” he whispered. You squeezed a little harder, grazing him with your teeth for a second. He pulled your hair tighter, groaning louder, then noticed your thighs clenching together on their own and chuckled. “You like driving me insane, huh? Look at me while you do it… Look how you’re destroying me, and at the same time enjoying it yourself,” he rasped, staring at you bent over him. “I’m close… fuck, I’m…baby, I should pull out. My body isn’t normal… the poison… It’s there too.” You looked up at him, tears of pleasure streaking your cheeks, and he moaned harder. “If you don’t stop… I’ll come in your mouth, Christ… please…” And then, like a wave crashing over him, he tensed beneath you, one hand gripping your hair, the other clutching the sheets, as he spilled into your mouth.

You felt the warmth of his release sliding across your tongue but it wasn’t what you expected. It was different, with an intense, almost electric taste: dark honey mixed with something metallic and burnt; sweet at first, then hot. Within his seed was a trace of venom, not harmful, but making your body throb even harder. Exhausted and trembling, Jake collapsed back on the bed, his length resting against his abs, stray drops of release marking his belly. He looked at you, stretched out his arms, and pulled you against him. “You were perfect, wren. Such a good girl… and now that you’ve tasted me, especially my poison you’ll never run away from me again,” he whispered, before kissing you once more.

Ever since you had discovered that Jake was Spider-Man, things between you had changed just a little, but not too much. You couldn’t keep pretending to hate him anymore: that childish game was useless now, because deep down you loved him. And him? He seemed so clingy, almost obsessed with you. In class, you always sat at the back, only because Jake needed to keep his hand on your thigh. It looked like a sweet gesture, but you knew it carried a hint of territoriality. He even did it while the professor explained neuroscience theories, and you desperately tried to take notes. His fingers traced softly over your bare skin under your skirt, and now and then he would glance at you and whisper things—sometimes naughty, sometimes tender—that made you blush to your ears. He loved seeing you like that: shy, yet completely lost for him. At his soccer games, you always wore his number 5 jersey, oversized on you but something that made you proud, because his name was printed on the back. Every time he scored, he searched for you in the stands and made a heart with his fingers. Your cheeks would always burn red, and he’d laugh like a kid, only to run to you at the end of the match, sweaty and breathless, lift you off the ground and kiss your forehead.

Evenings together were your favorite moments, especially in his room: dim lights, pillows everywhere, endless piles of Lego sets you two would never finish, and instant ramen that was somehow worse than either of your cooking skills combined. You’d sit on his lap, face resting in the crook of his neck, while he played online with his friends. “Jake…” you murmured, curling closer to him. “Just a sec, I’m winning,” he muttered, hands moving over the controller and even that, the way his fingers moved, turned you on. Everything about him drove you crazy. “I’m ignoring you,” you whispered, kissing behind his ear, then again, then a tiny playful bite at his neck. He dropped the joystick and shot you a look, but when he saw your pout, he sighed. “Okay, okay… I’ve been playing for two hours, I should probably give my girl the attention she deserves.” With that, he scooped you up effortlessly something that always made your heart race and tumbled onto the bed with you. He cuddled you, squeezed you, touched your legs, your back under your shirt, your stomach. Between touches, he whispered that he’d become addicted to feeling you. And yet… the ringtone of his phone always froze you inside. It was the call of duty. Sometimes it came at two in the morning while you slept wrapped in his arms; other times right in the middle of a kiss, or when his hand slipped under your pajamas to make you melt. Once, clinging to him, you whispered almost fearfully, “What if you don’t come back?” Jake kissed your forehead and drew you closer. “I’ll always come back, Y/N, because of you. Out there, I’m Spider-Man. But with you… I want to be Jake. Your Jake. The boy who fell in love with you the very first day he saw you, back when he was seven and didn’t even know what love was.” And you believed him. Because Jake was the only boy you had ever loved, and you knew it when he kissed your belly before falling asleep, when he woke you with a kiss at the curve of your neck, when he made you blush, when he walked into class at university with that puppy-like smile, carrying your favorite drink in one hand and his in the other.

That evening, you were in front of the mirror, looking at your hair perfectly styled in soft waves framing your face without the usual two little strands you normally left out. Your makeup was light: just a touch of gloss on your lips and a rosy lip liner that added a bit of color and fullness. The dress you had carefully chosen draped perfectly over your figure elegant but not too much, ideal for the dinner Jake had promised: a rooftop restaurant in Sydney with a breathtaking view of the city lights. Jake had, well, asked your parents for their “blessing” to take you out on a proper date as if you hadn’t been seeing each other for months or sleeping over at each other’s places.

On the bed, lying on her stomach, was Mia, your best friend and not an unimportant detail, Jake’s sister, watching you with a critical look. “You know you’re way too pretty for my brother, right?” she muttered, swinging her legs in the air, her head hanging down as she eyed you all dressed up to go out with him. You turned, laughing, and asked, “And what about you tonight?” She gave a mischievous smirk. “Well… if neither you nor he is around… I might invite some cute guys over, or maybe tease a certain someone,” she said, biting one nail with a little grin. You raised an eyebrow and shook your head. Mia was completely different from you; while you were a little shy, she was bold, drove boys crazy, and had a small crush or obsession on one of Jake’s friends. Not a teammate or study friend, but a friend who lived with Jake and seemed to lead a double life, like your boyfriend. Only this friend was more pragmatic and cheekier than Jake. “If Jake found out you liked one of his best friends…” “Oh, please!” she interrupted, shrugging. “Jake doesn’t control me like he used to, and it’s not my fault if I find a slightly grumpy guy… secretly obsessed with me… irresistible,” she said, scrolling through that boy’s Instagram profile, both annoying and thrilling her at the same time.

You shook your head, amused, and checked the time: 6:40 PM. Jake was supposed to be there ten minutes ago, but maybe he was just running late to get ready. It wouldn’t be the first time he took a few extra minutes to “look his best.” Minutes passed, and you tried calling him. The phone rang once… twice… three times, but no answer. You even tried the intercom at the apartment he shared with Jay and Sunghoon, but nobody answered. That’s when Mia, lying lazily on the bed, suddenly sat up.

“Wait… oh my god…” Mia suddenly said, sitting up, and you leaned closer, noticing the alarm on her face. On her screen, Twitter was showing a live stream: shaky footage of a downtown bank, flashing red and blue lights, confused shouting in the background. Your eyes immediately caught the word Spider-Man in the comments, and your blood ran cold.

“Some people in the comments… say there’s a robbery happening,” Mia murmured, scrolling quickly. You leaned in beside her, heart racing, because there was no need to say it out loud: you knew Jake wouldn’t make it to your date not because he didn’t want to, but because somewhere out there, he was saving lives. You stayed frozen, watching the live stream with Mia.

Mia sprang off the bed and opened her laptop. “We’ll see it better from here,” she said, fingers flying over the keyboard. As she pulled up the live feed, the bank filled the screen: blue and red lights flashing, people screaming in the background, journalists trying to get close. That’s when you saw him.

“Dad!” you exclaimed, recognizing him running among the police lines.

Mia’s eyes went wide as she pointed at the screen. “It’s him, right? Your dad?” You nodded, trying to smile, but it vanished immediately when an officer shouted through the crackling audio:

“There are four inside! Four robbers! One has taken a pregnant woman and her daughter hostage!” Your blood ran cold, and you felt Mia take a sharp breath next to you, placing her hand on your back. But deep down, it should have been you comforting her—her older brother was out there somewhere.

Suddenly, the shaky camera lifted, following a shadow moving incredibly fast. You saw an agile figure swinging between buildings, then hovering above the bank. Everyone’s faces turned upward to see Spider-Man. The chat exploded immediately from 4,000 viewers, it jumped to 80,000. That was the effect this superhero had, and the comments flooded in:

“IT’S HIMMMMM!”

“OMG SPIDEY IS HERE!!!”

“Go, web-slinger! 💥🕷️”

“Marry me, Spider-Man!!!”

“Guys, if Spider-Man saves these people, too, we need a statue in his honor!”

Mia smirked as she watched the boy swing through the webs. “Okay… I admit he’s super hot, but imagine if there are more of them out there.”

You spun to her, frowning. Jake had never mentioned “others” like him… but what if they existed?

If you knew it was your brother, you wouldn’t call him hot, trust me, you thought, watching Jake land on the bank rooftop. Spider-Man crouched gracefully, and a few officers glared at him, visibly annoyed.

“Don’t interfere!” one shouted through a megaphone. But Spider-Man’s voice cut through, firm and commanding: “How many people are inside? How many robbers?”

There was a brief silence, then two officers stepped forward, almost shouting at the same time: “Thirteen hostages! And four robbers! One of them is threatening a pregnant woman and her daughter!”

Spider-Man nodded quickly, decisively, and said, “Thank you.” Then, without another word, he disappeared into the shadows of the building. Your breath caught, anxiety gripping you, you hated this feeling now nowing Jake’s life could be at risk any second.

The whole world watched: from homes to every meter of street, even on digital billboards. Screens showed the hostages emerging three hours later, all alive some staggered, supported by police or paramedics, some silently crying, some running to relatives. Most faces were marked by terror: small cuts, hands still trembling while clinging to loved ones. You leapt from the couch as you saw your dad approaching the reporters.

“All hostages are safe. But…” he paused, looking at everyone, “one of the robbers was killed and in particular… by Spider-Man.”

Your eyes widened, hands flying to your mouth. “No…” You whispered, shaking your head in disbelief. Jake would never hurt anyone. Your father continued, voice steady, gaze tense. “One of our officers had already shot the suspect in the leg, but it didn’t stop him from pointing a knife at the young pregnant mother. Spider-Man, in an attempt to ‘be the hero,’ stopped him with his webs… until he strangled him.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Your stomach twisted. It’s not his fault… it can’t be his fault!

Next to you, Mia stayed silent, slightly shocked by your reaction. You sprang from the couch.

“I’m going out.”

“Wait, where…?”

You didn’t give her a chance to finish and grabbed your bag, rushing down the stairs to the subway. The trains were crowded, every screen, every voice, spoke only of it. “Did you see? Spider-Man saved them all!” “He did what had to be done. If he hadn’t stopped him, the woman would have died.” “An assassin is still an assassin, costume or not.”

You nearly covered your ears with your headphones, thinking no one was talking about Jake—no one was wondering how he was, if he had been caught… if he was hurt. Half an hour later, you arrived in front of the bank. The flashing lights were still on, barricades lined the area, and journalists jostled to get interviews. Through the crowd, you spotted your father. “Dad!” you shouted, running toward him. When he turned and saw you, he opened his arms, hugging you tight, momentarily washing away the chaos around you. “You okay?” he asked. “Yes… yes. And you?” you said, trying not to show your panic. “I’m fine, sweetheart.” He stroked your hair, trying to reassure you, but his gaze was tired, slightly grim. But you weren’t fully listening; your eyes were drawn past him, toward the blackened facade of the bank. There was no sign of him, no red-and-blue mask but then, something made your blood run cold.

You looked up, and atop a nearby skyscraper, a dark figure watched you. Wearing a sharp, pointed black mask and a black cape fluttering in the wind, this was not Spider-Man… not Jake. It was someone else. Another “hero”? Another vigilante? Your pupils narrowed as you noted the figure’s build: slightly taller than Jay, dark hair not long and when he turned, for a split second, you glimpsed a familiar face. It looked eerily like Jay but impossible. Could it be him? Maybe it was just the adrenaline making you read too much, worrying about Jake and whether your dad was okay. You looked down to catch your breath and clear your head. When you looked back up at the skyscraper, the figure was gone. A shiver ran down your spine.

Three days had passed…three long, exhausting days without Jake. The first night, you had rung the doorbell at the 02s’ apartment several times, but no one answered. Then you had tried calling them one by one: Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung… but it was as if they had vanished from the face of the earth. On the second day, only one message arrived, not to you, but to Mia from her brother: “Hey, me and the others are at Jay’s. (Boys’ stuff!) Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop worrying: you filled his chat with messages, missed calls, short voice notes that remained unchecked until the third day, when you finally stopped not out of pride, but sheer exhaustion. That evening, you sat on your bed, head resting against the pillow, eyes fixed outside the window where the Sydney skyline shimmered in distant, blurred lights, a world moving on while yours was frozen. In your headphones, Lisa’s “Dream” played, and for a moment, you let her voice soothe you… until you heard three knocks. You whipped around to the door, but it never opened. You ripped off your headphones, and when you turned again, a shiver ran down your spine. There he was: a dark silhouette, a tuft of fluffy black hair falling across his forehead, his face shadowed Jake. He wore a black Thrasher hoodie, sweatpants, and a light jacket. You opened the window, and he slipped in with a swift movement. You barely had time to speak before he came toward you and rested his forehead against your shoulder. You froze, unsure whether to feel anger at his silence, hurt at his absence, or sadness at seeing him like this. In the end, only a small gesture slipped out: your hand tracing gentle circles along his back, the other resting lightly on his.

“How are you, Jake?” you whispered, and he shook his head. You kept massaging his back as if trying to ease the weight he carried, until his voice broke the quiet. “I’m a monster.” Your breath caught in your throat. You stiffened, hands hovering midair at the rawness of his confession. “Don’t say that,” you said, hugging him tightly. “It’s the truth.” He pulled back slightly to look at you. “I… I’m ashamed of myself.” You grabbed his face with both hands, holding him even as he tried to pull away. “Look at me,” you said, trying to reason with him. His eyes, usually bright, were veiled with tears he refused to shed. His full, soft lips were chapped, as if he’d been biting them for days from anxiety. Faint dark circles marked his face, and the hands you held bore tiny cuts and bite marks—wounds he had inflicted on himself. Your heart broke. “It’s not your fault, Jake… that robber was already hurt. They had shot him. You… you only tried to save that woman.” He shook his head angrily. “I ended it. It was me. Your dad… your father was right. I’m a monster… I don’t deserve anything.” The silence hit like a punch. His words were so harsh, so cruel against himself, that deep down you hated the alien part that had bitten him because your Jake didn’t deserve this. You brought your face closer to his and said,

“Don’t you dare say you don’t deserve anything. You saved lives, Jake. If it weren’t for you, we’d be talking about a funeral or two. You’re not a monster… you’re…” Your voice cracked. “You’re the only one who never gives up, the only one brave enough to always help everyone, putting your life at risk before anyone else’s.” He closed his eyes, letting himself go for a moment. You felt his body tremble against yours, a small sob escaping his lips. The sound was brief, but it made your heart clench. Without thinking, guided by instinct, you rose on tiptoe and pressed your lips to his. Jake flinched for a moment, resisting, as if every fiber of his being wanted to protect you from himself. But then the most fragile and selfish part of him melted into your embrace, and the warmth of your kiss completely disarmed him.

Your soft, slightly glossy lips that tasted of strawberry the flavor he loved so much, made him collapse, and Jake let himself go, responding with a sweet kiss, charged with everything he had never dared to say to you. You entwined your fingers in his soft, black hair, and he mumbled something indistinct as his hands slid to your hips, pulling you close. His tongue brushed your lips, and the kiss shifted rhythm: from hesitant to intense, from shy to desperate. Jake completely lost himself in you, his warm breath enveloping you as he whispered between sighs: “I… need you.” The words hit you like an electric shock, your heart pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst from your chest. You answered with a stronger kiss, and as you continued, you both stumbled toward the bed. Jake couldn’t pull away from you, as if breathing were less important than feeling you there, close. He helped you sit on your bed, lips still pressed to yours, while his hands slid slowly under your hoodie. A sigh escaped you against his mouth, and in a low voice, you murmured: “I want you too, Jake.” He paused for a moment, holding your face in his hands. In his eyes, there was a whirlwind: fear, desire, and vulnerability you had never seen before. You realized that even though the spider had bitten him, there was more humanity in Jake than in many fully “human” people. “Are you sure? Are you ready to want… both Jake, the one you’ve known forever… and Spider-Man? With everything that entails?” You stroked his face with your thumbs, forcing him to meet your gaze. Your smile was gentle but firm. “I want all of you, Jake all the light and all the dark, the beautiful… and the parts you think you have to hide… I want you, forever.”

His fingers sank just at the edge of your panties with a slow, tension-filled gesture, enough to reveal you and drive you wild. He paused for a moment, amused, as he began teasing your clitoris through your panties with his slender hands.

“Already this wet?” His voice was a mix of amusement and desire, and seeing you so alive under his hands drove him crazy. “Tell me, little one… who’s the boy that makes your panties like this?”You swallowed, cheeks flaming, as he leaned over the bed to admire you better. “J-Jake…” He chuckled, a small smirk on his face. “Good girl… I love hearing you say my name. One day, you’ll even have a damn ring engraved with my name on the back.”

Then he added, with that cheeky arrogance that drove you crazy: “You should see yourself… lying here with your legs open and me in the middle… all for me.”

His fingers brushed you, and your legs wrapped around his waist to stay close to him. “Do you want my hands?” He leaned close to your ear and whispered. “Or my tongue?”

You blushed and looked away, whispering: “…tongue.” Jake smiled, satisfied, as his hands firmly gripped your hips. He slowly lowered himself between your thighs; his warm breath brushed your bare skin, making you shiver. He began kissing the insides of your thighs, alternating soft kisses with light bites that left small marks, while his fingers traced invisible circles on your taut skin.

“Jake… keep going… please…” Then, without warning, he attacked with his tongue, slow and deep; your body arched, and a muffled moan escaped your lips. “Oh… God… Jake!” He chuckled and continued tracing perfect circles with his tongue over your vaginal lips, increasingly precise, making every nerve in your body respond only to him. You felt the urge to grab his hair, and disjointed words escaped your lips between sighs and trembles.

“Don’t… stop… please… Jake… never stop…” Jake lifted his gaze slightly, an arrogant smirk on his lips. “Who’s the only one that can touch you like this?” “You… Jake… only you…” “Good girl.” He said, licking you and kissing you gently as if rewarding you. A small sigh escaped your lips as he moved his head slowly, almost cruelly, and began sucking your swollen clitoris, mixing sweetness with animalistic desire in every motion.

His fingers sank just at the edge of your panties with a slow, tension-filled gesture, enough to drive you crazy, and he moved them just enough to uncover you. He paused slightly as he began teasing your panties and lightly brushing your clitoris with his slender fingers.“Already this wet?” His voice was amused, and seeing you so alive under his hands drove him wild. “Tell me, little one… who’s the boy that makes your panties like this?”

You swallowed, cheeks burning, as he leaned over the bed to admire you. “J-Jake…” He chuckled, a small smirk on his face. “Good girl… I love hearing you say my name. One day, you’ll even have a damn ring with my name engraved on the back.” Then he added, as he began tracing the inside of your thighs with that typical boldness that drove you crazy: “You should see yourself… lying here in your bed with your legs open, me in the middle, and you… all for me.”

His fingers brushed against you, and your legs wrapped around his waist to keep you close. “Do you want my hands?” He leaned close to your ear and whispered. “Or my tongue?” You blushed, looking away, and whispered: “…tongue.”

The word escaped in a soft whisper, and Jake looked at you with a proud, satisfied smile as his hands settled firmly on your hips. He lowered himself between your thighs; his warm breath brushed your bare skin, making every fiber of your body tremble. He began kissing the insides of your thighs slowly, alternating soft kisses with light bites that left small marks, while his fingers traced invisible circles on your taut skin.

“Jake… keep going… please…” Then, without warning, he attacked with a slow, deep, wet stroke; your body arched at the sensation of his tongue on your wet center, and something between a moan and a held breath escaped your lips. “Oh… God… Jake!”

He chuckled, and with the tip of his tongue, he began drawing small, perfect circles—slight figure eights, slower and more precise each time—on your vaginal lips. Every nerve in your body seemed to respond only to him, as if it had always been programmed to be his. You grabbed his hair, and disjointed words escaped your lips between sighs and trembles.

“Don’t… stop… please… Jake… never stop…”

You said, sighing at the beautiful sensation of him bent over you, his hair tickling you pleasantly. He lifted his gaze slightly, an arrogant smirk forming on his lips. “Who’s the only one that can touch you like this?” He teased. “You… Jake… only you…” “Good girl.” He said, licking you and kissing you gently as if rewarding you a small sigh escaped your lips as he moved his head slowly, almost cruelly, and began sucking your swollen clitoris.

Jake let himself fall on top of you, elbows planted beside your body, his skin marked with small cuts and bruises. Instead of looking away, you leaned in slowly and placed gentle, lingering kisses along his jawline, down his collarbones, gliding to his chest and ribs. You felt his muscles quiver beneath your lips, as if every touch was a little drug that healed him from his inner pain, and you wanted so badly to show him that you wanted him completely too, caring for him as best as you could.

“You’re… unbearable,” he murmured with a growl, though his body trembled as you continued kissing him, clearly yielding. The “spider” inside him seemed to writhe, craving contact, and Jake clenched his jaw, as if to keep it in check.

“You sure?” he asked in a quiet voice, and you nodded, gripping his messy hair in your fingers. “I want you, Jake. Both your beautiful parts and the parts where you’re vulnerable, like before.” He paused, a serious look fixed on you. “Are you sure you’re ready to handle both the boy you love… and the monster I carry inside?”

His pants slid down quickly, the fabric falling somewhere unimportant in the room, leaving only his black Calvin Klein boxers clinging to his statuesque body, swollen to the point of seeming ready to burst. Your hands trembled as you slowly pulled them down, freeing him completely. There, before you, his cock was red, throbbing, alive, the mushroom tip already glistening with the sticky substance dripping in thin strands. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, slightly embarrassed, but also because you were the only one driving him crazy. You took his hot shaft in your hand and began stroking him slowly.

A deep growl escaped his throat, and he clenched his jaw at the sensation of your small hands around him. He sighed: “Don’t play with me… if you really want it, don’t dare tease me like that.” He leaned over you, lowering his torso until his mouth brushed yours for a soft kiss, while his cock began rubbing slowly between your swollen folds, soaking in your heat. Each stroke drew a moan from your chest, small shivers making you wrap your thighs around his hips. The tip rubbing against your entrance made you flinch, and you tugged his hair, gasping: “Don’t… don’t play anymore… I want you now. I want all of you… inside. I’ve been waiting too long.”

A flash of pleasure lit up his eyes, and he whispered: “Then grip me tight. I want to feel your nails in my skin when you moan from pleasure, little one!” He grabbed you by the hips and positioned you under him a little better. “Grab my shoulders or my biceps and don’t let go.”

And like an obedient student, you did, your hands pressing into his black hair. He pushed in slowly at first, but every inch of him made you moan, spreading you open with a rough yet dominant sweetness at the same time. “Like this… feel how I’m opening you? No one will ever take you like I do. You were born for this, for me, little one, from the very first moment I saw you.”

His shaft filled you completely, making you instinctively press your thighs against his broad hips. You could feel every vein pulsing inside of you. His “spider” wasn’t just in his mind: every time his cock throbbed inside you, it was a different kind of heat, almost poisonous, making you addicted.

“Are you okay, baby? Can I move?” You nodded with a trembling whisper: “Yes… but slowly… you’re too big…”

Those words made him groan louder, almost a growl that rolled from his chest. He pulled out just slightly, then pushed back in slowly but deeper each time, and every thrust made you moan. Broken moans echoed through your room as he filled you so completely it felt like there was no space left, yet you wanted him deeper. His skin glistened with sweat, muscles taut, veins on his arms pulsing as he held you steady. “God, feel how tightly you’re holding me… let me know you’re mine…”

When his thrusts started to get faster, less controlled, two bodies fitting perfectly together, you gasped and looked into his eyes, begging: “More… give me more, Jake… don’t stop… I want it all…” He leaned down over you, lightly biting your neck to drive you crazy, and started fucking you more intensely. He lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder, and in that angle, you could feel his full length against your stomach. When you lowered your eyes, you saw the shadow of his tip and sighed with pleasure as you drew him closer to you.

Jake smirked at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you so perfectly. “I need to come inside you, little one. You’ll let me, right?” he said, as he started fucking your G-spot. When he found it, little cries of pleasure echoed through the room, along with obscene sounds escaping from both of you.

You nodded and told him you wanted to come too, right there. He indulged you with a satisfied grin, and his skilled fingers immediately returned between your thighs, finding your swollen, trembling clit. His touches were slow but deliberate, guided only by the moans you gifted him. Every stroke was fire that took your breath away, and every time he touched you, your body shuddered. When you finally gave in, pleasure exploded inside you, and you screamed as you came, your legs clamping around his hips, feeling him sink even deeper into you as if he’d been waiting his entire life to claim you. After three more thrusts, Jake held you close by your hips, pushing his release deep inside you. The warmth of his cum, combined with the sensation of being filled both by him and by the “spider,” made you moan even louder.

When he pulled out, he put his shirt on you and stayed wrapped around you, as if he feared you might disappear at any moment. You stroked his slightly sweaty hair, and he buried his face in the hollow of your neck, planting small, delicate kisses, seeking comfort and security. “Are you still mad at me for disappearing for days?” he asked, hugging you even tighter. “No, I’m not mad at you. In fact, I haven’t been for a long time. I was just worried about you physically and mentally. I know you have your friends, but I also want to be part of your life.”

Jake nodded, and as he shifted slightly, he looked at you and gave a small smile that lit up his full lips, making you melt a little inside. "Promise me that if there’s another emergency, you’ll at least send a simple ‘I’m okay,’ so I can stay at peace."

With a sweet gesture, you offered him your pinky, and he chuckled, remembering that when you had kissed, he had crossed his fingers behind his back, and both Jay and Heeseung had seen it because he would never truly respect your “stamp kiss decision.” Jake intertwined his pinky with yours and gently swayed it. “You know, maybe out there Spider-Man needs a little break, and surely there are other good vigilantes in the city like him.”

Your eyes widened, and you said incredulously, “Wait… are you telling me that it’s not just you, but there are other guys with powers too? Like, for example, a guy with a sharp mask, a cape, and who looks like Batman?”

He slightly opened his mouth and brought a hand to his face. “God, that guy is only going to cause trouble with his stubbornness and his need to show off even when it’s not necessary!” Jake looked at you, slightly curious and with a hint of surprise. “Wait… you know about Batman?” You shrugged casually and then, with a sudden move, he pushed you to the side and started tickling you, laughing and saying, “I want to know what you know about Batman!”

You tried to defend yourself between bursts of laughter, attempting to push him away, but eventually, you said, still giggling softly, “I saw him… on the rooftop near the bank. He really looked like Batman… and… also someone we both know.” Jake paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled, looking at you intently. “And who do you think it could be?” he asked, his voice calm but curious.

You brought a finger to your lips thoughtfully. “Mmm… maybe someone who can silence half the female population with just a look, a guy with a black Lamborghini, and the person who loves teasing your sister the most.” Jake burst out laughing, shaking his head and commenting jokingly, “Ah, Spider-Man and Batman… they could really be a great duo!”

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[just-nc-tea]

nine and three quarters ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⭑.ᐟ Roommate to Lovers - Park Sunghoon Somehow, in the middle of your semester break, you ended up with a new roommate. Your landlord rented out the second room in your flat without telling you, and now you’re living with Sunghoon. At first, your paths barely cross – you’re buried in work, and he’s always at the rink. But slowly, he slips into your routine in ways you never expected. Then one night, everything shifts. A blurred memory, a moment of fear—and Sunghoon catching you before you can fall. Suddenly, it’s not awkward anymore. You start looking forward to him coming home. Maybe—just maybe—home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person.

ᝰ genre. Figure skater!Sunghoon, college sports, angst, hurt/comfort, really SLOW burn, fluff, suggestive .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, partying, consumption of alcohol, hospital visits, mentions of rape, mentions of date-rape-drugs, mentions of the police, panic attacks, eating disorder, overworking PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYTHING OR IF YOU FEEL LIKE I MISSREPRESENTED SOMETHING.ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ features. Mark, Johnny, Ten, Kun, Taeyong & Jungwoo from NCT, Woonyoung and Rei from IVE ᝰ word count. 31.6k .ᐟ₊ ⊹ --⟢ PART 2 --⟢ PART 3

series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ GET ADDED THE SERIES TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT 🏒 ⤷ GET ADDED MY PERMANENT TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT ✨

Hallucinating. You had to be hallucinating.  Maybe Sunoo was right. Maybe the sleep loss was catching up with you. You were starting to hallucinate. There was a hot guy flipping through the first pages of one of your fashion magazines. In your living room. Surrounded by moving boxes. 

You cleared your throat. “Hi?” He looked up from the magazine he was looking at and smiled at you. Oh god. “Hi I’m Sunghoon.”, he set the magazine down on your sofa table. “I’m your new roommate. I don’t know if Mr. Kang told you I am moving in today instead of the first. I had a more or less spontaneous change of plans.” He chuckled.  No. No Mr. Kang did not. He did in fact not tell you at all that you would be getting a roommate. You tried to smile at Sunghoon but it felt more like a grimace. “Hi. I am Y/N. Are you sure you are in the right apartment? I mean considering you probably got the keys from Mr. Kang, yes, but he didn’t tell me anything about a roommate? I know in Apartment 4B is a free room?” Sunghoon scrunched his eyebrows. “This is Apartment 4D, right? I definitely signed a contract for the smaller room in Apartment 4D.” “Oh.”, you just said and blinked at him. The smaller room in your apartment has technically been rented out for the last two years you have been living in this apartment but the girl that supposedly rented the room never came. When you asked Mr. Kang about it he said that as long as the rent was being paid he didn’t care if the other girl came or not and you were free to use the room until she did indeed show up. 

So that is what you did.  You transformed the small room into your studio. You pushed the bed to the side and used that, as well as the closet in the room, for all of your utensils. And you knew for a fact, that the desk and the floor were a cluttered mess at the moment. You handed in your last assignment just a few days ago after your professor thankfully extended your deadline by three weeks into the semester break after he made you start from scratch again.  “I–uhm–I didn't know you were moving in at all. I’ve been using the room as my studio. Just give me like an hour and I’ll move all of my stuff into my room.”, you said, already feeling a headache coming. You just wanted to peel your uniform off, eat something and sleep. And not deal with Mr. Kang not telling you Adonis 2.0 would be moving in today, or well, at all.  Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at your words, then glanced toward the hallway leading to his supposed new room. "You’ve been using it as a studio?" You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Yeah. I mean, it’s been empty since I moved in. Not technically empty? Someone rented it out but she never came and Mr. Kang said I could use the room if my supposed roommate wouldn’t want it? So I just… took over? I’ll be really fast so you can start putting all your stuff in there." Sunghoon’s lips quirked up in amusement, arms crossing over his broad chest. "So, I’m kicking you out of your studio?" You groaned internally. Yeah, yeah he was. "Technically, yes. But it’s not your fault. Mr Kang just – kind of forgot to tell me you were coming? At all? So I didn’t know I had to clean it out." 

He nodded, glancing back toward the hallway before looking at you again. "Well, if you need help moving your stuff, I don’t mind." You blinked. That was… unexpectedly nice. And also the absolute last thing you wanted. Some of your sketches and drawings were way too personal for him to even get a glimpse at them. "No, it’s fine. It’s mostly styrofoam, pens and sketches. It's fine." Sunghoon shrugged. "Alright. Just let me know if you change your mind." He moved toward the sofa, lifting a box and putting it onto the floor to flop down on the green fabric. He reached for the magazine again. “Are you a fashion student?” “Oh. No. I study architecture.”, you shook your head and made your way through the maze of boxes and furniture in your living room towards the hallway that separated your and now apparently Sunghoons room.  “Oh, that's cool. I am in PE.”, he grinned at you. You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temples. "Ah. That's nice. Just… make yourself at home while I clean I guess?." Sunghoon grinned. "Will do, roommate." The word made you wince. ──────────────────────── You stood in the doorway of your studio, well technically Sunghoon’s room, mentally preparing yourself for the hours of cleaning ahead. The small space was overflowing with architectural sketches, blueprint rolls, rulers, model pieces, and textbooks.

This was… embarrassing. You usually were a really organized person but with work and your deadline coming up, you just didn’t have the time and energy to clean behind you. You were pushing that to the next weekend after you got at least 10 hours of sleep instead of the five you got the last few days. You groaned quietly when you realized that those five hours might be even less during the next semester when you had to work in  the university instead of your flat since you had to give up your working space at home. Great. Just great.  You started cleaning, piling all of the cut-up styrofoam and paper into a trash bin, carrying your unused styrofoam into your room and getting a broom from the kitchen.  After around half an hour Sunghoon slightly knocked on the doorframe to his room, startling you from where you were sorting through your sketches and designs.  “Are you sure you don’t want any help?”, he asked, while he stepped into the room, doing his best to not step on anything.  You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling self-conscious with Sunghoon standing there, observing the chaos with a curious look. “No, it's fine…It’s not usually this bad,” you mumbled, tiredly smiling at him. Your head was aching a bit and you were hungry but you didn’t want to inconvenience him by making him wait until you ate something and napped. And you wanted to inconvenience him even less by making him help you clean a space that should have been clean. Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle. “Mhm. No worries. If it’s just your space that you use for a creative chaos I don’t have any problem with that.” You pressed your lips onto each other and tried to ignore the heat that was crawling up your neck. 

He hummed, stepping further into the room. "What's this?” He gestured to a half-finished architectural model on your desk, a sleek modernist building carefully cut out of foam board and assembled with tiny, precise details. You spend countless hours on it, just for your professor to ask if you could start over since he didn’t think it was the best you could do. You hesitated before replying. “It was supposed to be my final project. For my design class.” Sunghoon bent down slightly, inspecting it. “This is insane,” he murmured, his fingers hovering near the structure but not touching it. “It looks like something you’d see in an actual firm.” You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you just gave a small nod, focusing on rolling up your blueprints instead. Compliments always made you feel a little awkward. Then, unexpectedly, Sunghoon grabbed a stack of sketches and rulers and started organizing them neatly. Your head snapped up. “W-What are you doing?" “Helping,” he said simply, not looking up. “You’re going to take forever if you do this alone.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around a miniature model piece. Letting other people touch your things, especially your carefully crafted work, wasn’t something you were a hundred percent comfortable with.  But he was doing it carefully and slowly, making sure to not fold or bend anything. “…Okay,” you mumbled, focusing back on your sketches. Sunghoon smirked. “That sounded painful for you to say.” You refused to look at him as you continued sorting.

An hour and a half later, the room was clear. Well, mostly clear. Your things were now safely in your room, and Sunghoon’s moving boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, ready to be unpacked. You gave Sunghoon a kitchen tour and went over the house rules and you found yourself standing awkwardly in the living room when you were done. Sunghoon had started unpacking his boxes, while you weren’t entirely sure what to do with yourself.  You have been living alone for the past two years, and now suddenly, there was another person here. Another person who would sleep in the room next to yours, walk around the apartment, use the kitchen, and exist in your space. It wasn’t like you didn’t know this would happen eventually. Your scholarship technically covered a dorm with a roommate, but since no one had ever moved in, you’d gotten used to having the space to yourself. You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet. "Uhm… do you, uh, need anything else?" Sunghoon looked up from where he was stacking his books on the shelf. "Nope. I think I got it." "Okay, um good. Well, uhm, goodnight then." His lips curled slightly, amused at your awkwardness. "Goodnight, Y/N." ─────────────────────── When you woke up and made your way to the kitchen at 6:30 am the next day, feeling and probably also looking like you had just risen from the dead. Your hair was a mess, your eyes were half-closed, and your body was running purely on muscle memory as you reached for the door handle of the kitchen door. You took a deep breath. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. For a second, you thought you were hallucinating again or maybe still asleep. But when you rubbed your eyes and looked up, you realized something far worse than hallucination was happening. There was a half-naked man in your kitchen. Sunghoon stood by the counter, one hand resting on the coffee machine, the other rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his bare upper body was exposed to the warm air in the kitchen. Seoul was way too humid and warm even in the morning during the summer months. He turned, eyes still heavy with sleep, and blinked at you still standing in the doorway. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, he yawned again. "Morning." "Uh—" you cleared your throat, snapping your gaze away from his body. Ogling at your admittedly stupidly attractive new roommate was very inappropriate. "Morning." Your voice sounded way too high-pitched. Sunghoon didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he just poured himself a cup of coffee, completely unbothered. You walked to the fridge, pretending to not care that he was standing next to it and grabbed one of your containers with porridge inside.  By the time you turned back around, Sunghoon had disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, he re-emerged, now wearing a T-shirt. "Do you have any plans today?" he asked, casually leaning against the counter as he took a sip of his coffee. You glanced at him, still feeling a bit weird to have seen him half naked after knowing him for not even 24 hours. "Uh… yeah. I have work today." Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "You work?" "Yes?" You frowned. "I mean, my scholarship covers a lot, but I still have to pay for food, transportation, materials, and the rent. It adds up." "Hm," Sunghoon hummed, nodding. "What do you do?" "I work as an intern at an architecture studio." You grabbed a spoon and honey, setting it on the counter. "I mostly organize files, scan documents, and do small tasks for the senior architects. I also make coffee and refill the printer paper, which is apparently the most important job in the entire office." Sunghoon let out a small chuckle at that. "Sounds fun." You gave him a dry look. "It pays." Sunghoon leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking toward your food as you peeled off the lid of your porridge and took a small spoonful. He glanced back up. "I have training later." You blinked at him. "Training?" "Yeah." He took another sip of coffee. "The season ended, but I’m still training. I’m working to qualify for the Olympics."

You froze mid-bite. "The… Olympics?" "Yeah." Your spoon slowly lowered. "You’re an athlete?" Sunghoon gave you a confused look. "Did you not know that?" "No?" He tilted his head slightly. "You didn’t google me?" You stared at him. "Was I supposed to?"

Sunghoon let out a small breath of amusement, shaking his head. "I thought you might, considering how organized you are. I did google you. Y/N Y/L/N, architecture student at DA, graduated from Tongyeong High School with honors. Your parents have a restaurant." You stared at Sunghoon, your spoon hovering slightly above your container of porridge. “You…you found out quite a lot. Did that all come up when you just put in my name?” “Yeah.”, he nodded, taking another sip of his coffee, “Well the first thing I found was an article about you graduating as the only one with honours that year, and then it mentioned that your parents have a restaurant, so I just looked it up on Naver. Your parents got featured on KBS once!” “Oh.” You felt your entire body heat up. You knew the article he was talking about and the picture in said article. You saw your stiff smile, the way-too-tight graduation gown, the way your parents insisted on standing beside you, both of them beaming proudly, even though they weren’t supposed to be in the picture in your mind. A wave of secondhand embarrassment crashed over you. You swallowed hard. "You–You saw my high school graduation picture?"

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, setting his coffee cup down. "Yeah. You looked cute." Cute. "Oh my god," you muttered, pressing your cold spoon against your cheek, hoping it would somehow cool down the sudden heat spreading over your face. Sunghoon chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. You cleared your throat and tried to change the topic.  "What do you do? What sport?" "Ice skating," he answered simply. "You’re a figure skater?" Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "What else would I be?" "I don’t know–basketball?"

Your brothers loved basketball. After school, you ended up playing with them more days than not, mainly because your parents wanted you to get some fresh air and not only study in the living room of the small apartment the six of you shared above your parent’s restaurant. They couldn’t really give you the opportunity to be in a sports club, since the subscriptions would be quite expensive so throwing around Taeyongs worn and weathered baseball together with Mark and Jungwoo was the thing to do. Oftentimes other kids that were living in Tongyeong or some of the tourists would play with you.  Sunghoon gave you a deadpan look. "Do I look like a basketballer?" You ignored that. "You’re an Olympic-level skater?" "Hopefully," he said. "If I qualify." For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, you shook your head. "That’s really impressive." Sunghoon just shrugged, like it was no big deal. You took another bite of your porridge, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. You never did anything that made you special. Or something impressive. 

Sunghoon took another sip of his coffee, watching you. "You always eat that little?" You swallowed, a bit caught off guard. "I meal-prep my portions." He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "You sure that’s enough? This looks like it could keep me afloat for like an hour." You hesitated and just gave a tight smile. "I manage." Sunghoon just nodded slowly and stood up, putting his cup into the dishwasher. "Alright," he said, heading toward his room. "See you later." You watched him go. ──────────────────────── A few days later Sunghoon got back to the apartment pretty late. 

His body ached from hours of training. After practice, he had gone out for food with Jay and a couple of the other guys, something that had become routine over the years. Ice hockey players ate like they were fueling a small army, and even though Sunghoon wasn’t quite on their level, he had no problem keeping up, so he at least didn’t have to think about dinner today. He didn’t have the time to buy groceries and would have not wanted to eat a chicken breast today again and he would not touch your carefully labelled and stored food.  Kicking off his shoes, he stretched his arms over his head, sighing as he made his way into the living room. The apartment was quiet, and he couldn’t see light coming out from under your door. So he just assumed you weren’t home. Not that he really cared.

It was none of his business where you were. But he did notice that you did come home pretty late often. He barely saw you, even though the two of you live together. You were going into the bathroom while he was in the kitchen and vice versa in the morning. Aside from a few short greetings in the kitchen, you barely talked. He figured you were just shy or maybe just didn’t like talking to people in general. Not that he had a problem with that. He poured himself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as he looked at the pictures and postcards you had on the fridge. He took a step forward and carefully took a postcard showing the sea into his hands. He knew he probably shouldn't be doing that but he was curious. 

Hi Bug! Busan is as beautiful as ever. I wish you were here. I hope you're doing well in Seoul. Don't overwork yourself too much, okay? See you soon.- Love and miss you, Mark :) 

He didn’t know much about your personal life. Actually, scratch that. He didn’t know anything about your personal life. He had no idea what you did in your free time. Maybe you really did have a boyfriend. Mark definitely sounded like a boyfriend name? Your hometown was close to Busan after all. Maybe he went to Busan to study and you went to Seoul. But that wouldn’t explain where you were now, if Mark was in Busan.  He shook his head and took another sip of water. It was not his business to wonder where you were. You weren’t friends or anything, just two strangers sharing an apartment.  He exhaled. He should really get to know you a bit, or else this semester was going to get quite awkward.  When he was just about to go to the bathroom to get ready for bed the front door opened. Sunghoon’s fight or flight response immediately set in but when he saw your figure walking into the hallway he relaxed again.

His brows furrowed as he glanced at the time on his phone. 1:30 AM. You seemed exhausted and you were… wearing a uniform? A white dress shirt with your name stitched into it and black pants.  Sunghoon starred as you locked the door behind you, dropping your bag onto the floor before kicking off your shoes. You rubbed at your temple, eyes half-lidded from sheer exhaustion. The dim kitchen light cast soft shadows over your face, emphasizing the dark circles beneath your eyes. “Where were you?” The question slipped out before he could stop it. You flinched slightly like you hadn’t noticed him standing there. Your tired eyes flickered to his.

“I was at work,” you mumbled, walking past him to grab a glass from the cabinet. “Work?” Sunghoon repeated. “I thought you worked at the architecture studio?” "I do," you sighed, filling your glass with water. "This is my second job." His eyebrows rose. "You have two jobs?" You let out a small huff of laughter, but it was completely devoid of amusement. "Three, if you count my scholarship." Sunghoon blinked. Oh. He thought about that for a second. You had the same scholarship he had, didn’t you? Did you really need to work another job? He was aware that your parents probably couldn't stem you going to university. The pictures he saw of your parent’s restaurant weren’t horrible. The opposite actually. It had good reviews but still, it didn’t look like something that made much money compared to other jobs. He watched as you took slow sips of water. “That sounds like a lot.” You just nodded and repeated your answer from this morning. “I manage.” ──────────────────────── The next time you saw Sunghoon was a day later when he shuffled into the living room, still half asleep. You were sitting on the sofa reading a book from your big to-be-read pile that accumulated during the semester. His hair was standing up in every direction. He had red streaks on his face that came from sleeping on a wrinkly fabric. He let himself fall next to you on the sofa, lleaned back and closed his eyes again, grumbling a sleepy. “Good morning Y/N.”

"Good morning, Sunghoon," you said softly, turning your attention back to your book. He hummed in acknowledgement, still not opening his eyes. "Got any plans today?" "Not really," you murmured, tucking your feet under yourself. He opened one eye. “You don’t have work today?” "I have the morning shift in the cinema tomorrow, but that doesn’t start until ten, so technically, I could sleep in. The studio is closed on weekends." "Mm," he grunted. "At least two days of the week you don’t have to run out the door at seven.” You let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. It’s nice to sleep in." The conversation faded into silence. The living room was warm, the kind of thick, humid heat that made everything feel slower in the middle of summer. But with all the windows open, a soft breeze drifted through the apartment, making the living room curtains sway gently.

You shifted your focus back onto your book. The slow and soft breathing that came from Sunghoon made you think he fell asleep again. You had noticed over the course of the last week that Sunghoon wasn’t a morning person. He was always grumpy in the morning, but still polite and nice to you.  Just as you were finishing your chapter his voice suddenly broke the silence in the living room. "What are you reading?" You blinked, lowering the book slightly. He was still sprawled out on the couch, but his eyes were open now, watching you. "Uh," you turned the book over, showing him the cover. "It’s a novel I’ve been meaning to read for a while. Haven’t had time during the semester."

He nodded slowly. "You like reading?"

"I do." “My friend Jay’s girlfriend also really loves reading. She is super crazy. She reads like a book or two a week.”, he tilted his head slightly. „What is this one about?“

“Teenage summer love? Something along those lines. I am not that far in yet so I can’t really tell you more to be honest.“, you turned the book around in your hands and looked at the cover. „Teens? Aren’t you too old for that?“, Sunghoon hummed, shifting slightly so he was lying on his side, head propped up on one arm. “You are never too old or too young for love, Sunghoon.”, you answered, opening your book again. It was ironic. Really. You only knew love from books and TV shows. Those overly dramatic or romantic relationships between two overly attractive persons are written to always have a happy ending. In reality, love doesn’t end in happy ends. Or most of the time it didn’t, so you didn’t even want to try it out. Better not get to know something you could lose forever, right? The thought made you sign quietly. Sunghoon was quiet for a moment. "You open all the windows every morning." You looked up and blinked at him. "Yeah. The air feels stuffy otherwise." Sunghoon nodded. "You don’t open mine."

You hesitated. On the first day, you almost did. You almost opened the door opposite to yours in the hallway when you just woke up.  You liked to open the windows in the morning. When the air was still fresh and not too warm. "I don’t want to overstep." He exhaled a soft laugh. "Don’t worry. I‘ll just open it myself now. Then you can’t overstep anything." You smiled faintly. "Thank you." For a while, there was nothing but the occasional rustling of your pages and the sound of cars in the distance. Then Sunghoon spoke again. He didn’t seem like a person that talked a lot. But apparently, he had the desire to talk to you sometimes. He would come to your room or the kitchen when you were there and strike up conversations. It was nice. Sunghoon was nice. 

You did google him and asked Sunoo about Sunghoon when you were working the Wednesday shift in the cinema together. Wednesday was always slow. Not that you minded. That gave you plenty of time to talk to Sunoo or Jungwoon. Sunoo was surprised when you told him who just moved in. Apparently, Sunghoon was known across the sports and business faculties. He attended their parties together with his friends a lot. According to Sunoo, Sunghoon is really nice.  "Do you miss home?" The question caught you off guard. You looked at him again, only to find that he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling. You hesitated before answering. "Sometimes." Sunghoon nodded slowly. „It must be weird to move from such a small town to Seoul. I grew up in Suwon but I think I spend more time in Seoul than anywhere else. My childhood and teenage years took place in ice rinks in Seoul.“

You thought for a second. It was weird. The house you grew up in was always loud. Either your brothers or the guests downstairs in the restaurant were constantly talking or making noises and suddenly you were in this apartment, all alone and it was silent. You really disliked it. You spend quite a lot of time calling your friends or family members in the beginning until you adjust to the silence.  After you finished your first year Mark finished his mandatory military service and resumed studying and working in Seoul as well. It was still almost an hour-long bus ride to go to his dorm but it was better than 5 hours to Busan.  Taeyong went back to Tongyeong to help your parents. He loved the little restaurant and most importantly he loved the new doctor in Tongyeong. He and Johnny got together back in high school and have been together ever since. Johnny came back to your hometown to take over his father's doctor's office. You loved Johnny. He was fun. When you were younger he always brought you expensive presents and never said no if you asked for ice cream when you were out with him and Taeyong. Taeyong and Johnny were almost 7 years older than you so they were tasked with babysitting you when your parents needed someone to do so quite often. You missed all of them a lot. 

„Yeah. It’s weird. It’s so quiet and loud here at the same time. At home you rarely hear this many cars passing by but my family is quite loud so living alone is very quiet?“, you put in a bookmark to not lose your page. You assumed Sunghoon was in the mood to talk right now. „Really? Do you have siblings?“, he tilted his head slightly. His hair flopped down. You hummed and nodded. „3 brothers. All older.  7 years, 4 years and 3 years. What about you?“ „I have one sister. 5 years younger than me. And a dog. “, he chuckled. „Oh, that’s nice. I always wanted a pet. But my parents wouldn’t allow it. They were busy enough with 4 kids and a restaurant.“ "Your parents still run it?" Sunghoon asked. "Yeah," you answered quietly. He nodded. "Do you help out?" "Not really," you admitted. "My parents always told me to focus on my studies and made my brothers help them. I did help if they let me. I usually cleaned out flat though. I like the area I live in to be really clean and growing up my brothers weren’t the cleanest.“ Sunghoon hummed. „Yeah, I’ve noticed. I think that’s pretty nice. That you are such a clean person I mean. I love my old roommate but he left his shit everywhere and should be sued for noise complaints 24/7. That guy never shuts up.“ „Oh that sounds annoying.“, you kept your voice soft.  “It’s all right. Now I don't have to tell him to wash the dishes or to not scream at his internet friends in the middle of the night.”, he hummed and lifted himself from the sofa, “Do you want some breakfast? I was thinking about going for a run and getting something from the Creek. My friend’s girlfriend works there and I can get us free stuff?” “I uhm. I already ate. But thank you so much for offering.”, you smiled at him. “Sure, always.”, Sunghoon smiled at you.  ──────────────────────── Sunghoon wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as he stepped back into the apartment. It was still cold in the apartment. You must have closed the windows after he left. You never really used the AC in the mornings. You let the early morning breeze cool the place down and waited until it got too warm, until you couldn’t stand it anymore. He didn’t really get why, but he wasn’t home much in the afternoons, so it didn’t matter. He was actually quite glad about the warmth after he spent all day in the rink. It felt kind of nice.

His run had been good. He liked going on runs. It felt refreshing. It took his mind off of things for a while. But by the time he finished his run and he stepped into the Creek the sun had started blazing. After he spent way too much time talking to Jay, who was doing god what in the small campus cafe while his girlfriend was on shift, he stepped out and was hit by a wall of heat. The cool air in the apartment made him feel a bit less sticky.  He dropped the bag of food onto the kitchen counter, his eyes scanning the room. It was still quiet. His gaze flickered toward the living room. You were still lying on the sofa. Your legs were slightly bent and your arms were in awkward positions. One was sprawled across your face, blocking your face from the light coming in through the living room windows. The other one was resting loosely over your stomach. The book you had been reading was lying on the floor next to you, seemingly having slipped from your hand when you fell asleep. 

He quietly walked towards the sofa and reached down to pick the book up. Sunghoon slipped the bookmark that was still resting on the sofa table in between the pages and his fingers brushed over the creased cover before setting it on the table.  He knew the book. His sister read it last year and wouldn’t shut up about it. You must have enjoyed the book. You’ve read a big chunk of it already.  Sunghoon made his way back to the kitchen and cursed whatever architect designed your flat for deciding on building an open-style kitchen. The open-style kitchen was what sold him on the place, but now, with only a kitchen pass-through separating the two spaces, it also meant that if he used the coffee machine, it would definitely wake you up. He signed and grabbed the orange juice jug in the fridge instead. That was healthier anyway.  As he poured himself a glass, his eyes landed on the vase near the window.  The tulips inside were starting to wilt, slowly letting their heads hang down and a few white petals were laying on the window sill. Without thinking he got up, grabbed the vase and changed the water. Maybe that would keep them alive for a bit longer. 

Sunghoon set the vase back down, watching another petal slowly making its way down towards the window still. He would drop a few coins in the vase later. Wasn’t that supposed to help keep flowers fresh longer? Having fresh flowers around made the kitchen look more alive. The whole apartment actually. It was clean, something he appreciated, but it still felt lived-in. Your personal style was different from his. The walls were painted in a pale green and you hung pictures and paintings along the walls, antique-looking candle holders and books were lined on the white shelves. It reminded him of older European-style houses, those that he had only seen in movies or pictures. When he helped you clean his room last week, he tried not to look too closely at the sketches you were carrying. But the ones he did catch a glimpse of? Almost all of them were of European-style houses. Tall, elegant, full of intricate details. You must really like that style. Sunghoon chewed slowly and glanced at you again. In the seven days that he has been living here he hasn’t seen you this still? Usually, you were always moving, rushing almost. Even in the evening, when you shuffled into the kitchen before heading to bed, there was a quiet urgency to your movements. Like you were always on the clock. He knew he was privileged. He knew that his parents were making enough money for him not to worry, especially not when he and his sister both got scholarships. His sister still had two years of High School to go, but had been offered the scholarship already, just like he had been. But you did have a scholarship as well. And the rent wasn’t too high. So why were you working so much? It wasn’t his place to ask. But he was curious. After all, he hoped to befriend you at least a bit.

Just as he was finishing off the last of his food, he heard you stir. At first, it was just a sleepy shift, a small stretch of your legs. But then, your eyelids fluttered, and with a deep breath, you slowly pushed yourself up, blinking blearily at the room. “Morning.” Your gaze flickered to him, still half-asleep. “Morning,” you murmured back, your voice soft. He hesitated for a second before nodding toward the counter. “I got you something.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, then followed his gaze to the extra plate. You stared at it for a moment before looking back at him. “You didn’t have to.” “I know,” he said simply. “I got them for free so I thought I’d just bring you one.” You hummed again before flopping back onto the sofa, singing softly and stretching again. He watched you push yourself up from the couch and paddle over to the kitchen, yawning softly. You sank onto the stool across from him, glancing down at the pastry before picking it up. “Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said, your voice still quiet. He only shrugged, watching as you took a small bite.

The apartment was quiet for a moment, the sound of birds outside filtering in through the open windows. The heat of summer was already creeping in, but the slight morning breeze kept it bearable. Then, before he could stop himself, he spoke. “Would you mind it if I put on some music? I have a really nice summer morning playlist.” You shook your head. “No, go ahead.” Sunghoon hummed and searched for his morning R’n’B playlist. “So what do you do on your day off?” You shrugged. “Laundry. Grocery shopping. Sometimes I sleep in.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really making the most of your free time.” You let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t have much free time, so I have to use it well.” Sunghoon thought about that for a second. It made sense. He understood what it was like to have every second of your day planned out, to always have something you were supposed to be doing.

“How was your week?” he asked, surprising even himself. You swallowed the bite you just took and for a second the only noise in the kitchen was the soft music coming from the speaker on top of the fridge. “Busy. The office was hectic, and I had a lot of late shifts at the cinema. I didn’t really have much time for myself.”, you answered. He nodded. “Mine was busy too. Training’s been rough.” You tilted your head slightly. “Do you train every day?" “Yeah. Well, almost. I get a rest day here and there.” He stretched slightly. “But even on those, I still have to stay active.” You hummed, considering that. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s just… normal now.” You took another bite of your pastry, glancing at him. “You must really love it, then.” Sunghoon was quiet for a second. He did love it. Skating had been his entire life for as long as he could remember. It was just strange hearing someone say it like that. Then, he nodded. “Yeah. I do.” You smiled slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “That’s nice. I like to paint. On my days off I mean. I have to be creative for uni so much. But I love painting other stuff aside from houses as well.”

Sunghoons eyes immediately wandered towards the painting that hung in the kitchen. It was two pieces of kimchi, the cabbage split in half, sitting neatly on a plate on a striped fabric with some typography at the bottom of it.  He was never good at English and the letters were cursive and ornate so he had a hard time figuring out what it said. “Did you paint that one?”, he asked.  You were in the middle of drinking water, and for a second, he thought you might choke. But you quickly swallowed and cleared your throat. “Oh, uh, yeah,” you said, setting your glass down. “Last summer break. It’s oil, so it took an eternity to dry. But, uh, the sun helped." He tilted his head back toward the painting. “Oh wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “That’s so cool. Are the other ones yours too?” “Uh. Yeah.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and suddenly looked very interested in your glass of water. “I was feeling, um, really inspired last year. And my brother got me oil paints for my birthday.”

Sunghoon watched as you let out a small, breathy laugh, your fingers gripping the glass a little too tight.  “I’d never really had the chance to paint with oils before,” you continued, words coming out a little too fast, “since they’re super expensive. But, uh, money well spent, I guess?” He looked back at the paintings again, his gaze lingering for a moment. It was really well done. “You know,” he added, voice dropping a little in awe, “I don’t think I’d be able to do that. Like, paint something like this. It’s pretty... impressive.” You quickly looked away, like you didn’t know what to do with the compliment. And then, you laughed. A weird, nervous little laugh, as if he’d just told a joke instead of genuinely complimenting you.

“Oh, no, I mean–it’s just practice, really,” you blurted out, waving a hand in the air. “It’s not like–it’s not, like, some crazy talent or anything, it’s just… you do it enough, and it sort of, um, happens?” ​​Sunghoon blinked at you. He wasn’t sure why, but it was kind of funny watching you trip over your words like that. You looked like you wanted to disappear. “Still,” he said, amused now, “it’s really cool.” You made a weird, stiff nod, then immediately picked up your water again and took the smallest possible sip. Sunghoon bit back a smile. He wasn’t sure why you were acting so flustered, but it was… kind of entertaining.  ──────────────────────── You stepped into your apartment, shivering slightly at the cool air pressing against your skin. 

Sunghoon must have turned on the AC again. It was nearly 35 degrees outside, but inside, it was much colder. You never really liked using the AC too much. It used a lot of electricity and the temperature drop always left you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t have to wear long sleeves in summer. But Sunghoon didn’t seem to mind the cold. Given how much time he spent at the ice rink, you supposed he was used to it. His skin was pale compared to yours. As a child, you have always been a bit self-conscious about how dark your skin was compared to the ones of the actors or celebrities you saw on TV.  But most of the people around you had tan skin.  Living in the South meant you spent a lot of time in the sun after school or when playing with friends. You enjoyed being outside in the sun, letting the warm ray of sunshine hit your skin, having to eat ice cream quickly before it melted in your hands. What you really disliked was the constant smell of fish everywhere, but that was a given thing, considering one of the dishes Tongyeong is famous for is Chungmu gimbab. It is usually served with a baby octopus with spicy sauce (kolddugi muchim) and radish kimchi. Your mother made really yummy kolddugi muchim. Maybe you still had some in your freezer.

You placed your shoes neatly next to Sunghoons by the door and stepped further into the cool apartment. The sound of the television playing in the background hummed through the air. When you looked over, you saw Sunghoon sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes focused on the screen. You hesitated for a second, not really sure what to say if you should say anything at all. You didn’t want to disturb Sunghoon and make him miss something in his show. But before you could decide, Sunghoon reached for the remote and lowered the volume. His head turned toward you. “Hey.” You blinked, a little caught off guard. “Hi.” He sat up slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest. “How was work?” You paused by the fridge, fingers hovering over the handle. He asked the same thing yesterday, and the day before. You weren’t sure if he asked just to be polite or if he actually wanted to know. Either way, it was nice.

So, after a beat, you pulled the freezer open and started shuffling through the bags of frozen fruits or vegetables. “It was fine. Busier than usual.” Sunghoon tilted his head. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” you said, smiling when you found the container with kolddugi muchim that was at the bottom of the freezer. “It’s usually not that packed during summer shifts, but today was weirdly busy.” You took a sip before adding, “At least Sunoo was there. It was fun with him." Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgement, his gaze flicking back to the screen for a moment. “Who’s Sunoo?” You hesitated slightly before standing up from the crouching position you were in. “My friend and coworker, I guess. He works the counter with me.” Sunghoon nodded slowly. “You work with him a lot?” You frowned slightly at the question. “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason,” he said, shrugging. “Just wondering.” You didn’t know what to make of that, so you let it go, turning back to the counter to start defrosting your food. Your favourite pot was still in the dishwasher, it hadn’t been run today. There weren’t any new dishes in the sink either. You hesitated for a second. “Have you eaten lunch today?”, you asked, glancing over your shoulder. Sunghoon looked at you, almost like he was caught off guard by the question. “Uh… no. I was too lazy to cook, so I just had a protein shake.” You frowned slightly. A protein shake was not a meal. You shifted your weight, debating for a second before clearing your throat. “Do you… want some? I’m making kolddugi muchim and rice. It’s too much for just me anyway.” His eyes lit up a little, his usual neutral expression shifting. “Oh, for sure. That sounds way better than another shake.” You nodded, a little awkward as you turned back to the counter. 

Sunghoon stood up, stretching slightly. “Need help with anything?” You’ve gotten used to him wearing joggers and tank tops over the last week. That didn’t mean that seeing him in those didn’t make you feel like you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have seen.  “Um.” You thought for a second. “Could you go to the GS25 down the street and get some mu kimchi? Only if it’s no trouble. I can go too.” He waved you off, already grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. “Nah, I got it. I’ll be back in a sec.” The apartment fell silent again as the door shut behind Sunghoon. You stood still for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint dialogue from the drama still playing on TV. Then, shaking off the quiet, you turned back to the stove. The scent of simmering garlic and gochugaru filled the air, thick and warm. It clung to the fabric of your clothes and seeped into the walls of the small kitchen. 

You closed your eyes for a second. It smelled like home. Like summer afternoons in the restaurant, your mother’s voice drifting in from the kitchen. The ajummas asking you and Mark how your day was, praising you for being so well behaved. The sharp tang of kimchi mingling with the sweetness of caramelized fish sauce. The distant sound of seagulls outside, the heavy heat of the South pressing against the window screens. You exhaled, opening your eyes again. Swallowing the sudden ache, you focused on stirring the sauce for the kolddugi muchim, watching the deep red paste thicken over the heat. Cooking had always been something comforting, something familiar. You never saw yourself working in the restaurant after you finished high school but you missed living by the sea, close to your family. You were so happy when Mark moved to Seoul. Was it weird that you asked Sunghoon if he wanted food? Usually, if Mark was over for a weekend or just after he finished uni and work for the day it was a given that you cooked for him as well. Eating is supposed to be an activity to do with loved ones after all.  Before you could dwell on it too much, the door clicked open again.

Sunghoon stepped back inside, a small plastic bag in his hand. “Got it.” You turned, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. “That was fast.” He shrugged, placing the bag on the counter. “I have long legs.” You glanced inside, pulling out the package of mu kimchi. “Thanks.” “No problem,” he said, leaning against the counter. His eyes flicked to the stove. “It smells really good.” You didn’t know if he meant it or was just making conversation, but either way, you liked hearing that. “It’s my mom’s. She gives me containers of this stuff every time I visit home. Sometimes I have to eat kolddugi muchim for days after I’ve been home because it wouldn’t fit into the freezer.”, you chuckled thinking about it.  “Oh, I wouldn’t complain about eating kolddugi muchim for days. If it tastes as well as it smells I’ll gladly help you eat some of the kolddugi muchim you can’t fit into the freezer.”, Sunghoon grinned and reached up to grab two sets of plates and bowls from the cabinet. 

You just nodded and smiled at him while dropping the still slightly frozen baby octopus into your mom’s premade sauce. The sizzling of the pan was the only sound for a few moments.  “I’ll go and turn off the TV. I’ll be right back.”, Sunghoon said and disappeared into the living room. A few seconds later the music box he placed in the kitchen made a sound and Sunghoon’s playlist hummed through the speakers. You weren’t sure if he turned it on just to fill the silence or if he actually wanted to listen to music, but either way, you didn’t mind. By the time he returned from turning off the TV, you were both ready to eat. Sunghoon sat across from you, piling some of the baby octopus onto his plate. “So, are you allowed to sneak me free popcorn at the theatre?” You blinked at him, caught off guard, before letting out a small laugh. “No.”

“Not even a little?” he pressed, raising an eyebrow. “Nope.” You shook your head, scooping some rice onto your spoon. “If I got caught, I’d probably get scolded. We’re supposed to charge for everything.” Sunghoon sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Man, I thought I could use you for a continuous flow of premium popcorn.” “Yeah. Sadly that’s not possible.”, you smiled and scrunched your nose a bit. Sunghoon picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of the kolddugi muchim. You watched, suddenly unsure if you maybe had made a mistake with the sauce, or overcooked the octopus. But then, his brows lifted slightly, and he gave a small nod. “This is good.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Really?”

He hummed. “Yeah. I don’t eat baby octopus much, but this is nice.” A strange sense of relief settled in your chest. You took a small bite yourself, humming in delight when it did indeed taste good. Not as good as if your mom made it freshly but it was still yummy. You’d call our mom later to thank her for cooking for you.  By the time you were both finished eating, you felt exhausted. Standing and smiling at customers for hours was always exhausting, no matter which shift you had. You stood, grabbing your plate, but Sunghoon reached out before you could take his. “I got it.” You blinked. “You don’t have to–” He was already stacking the dishes. “You cooked. I’ll wash.” You hesitated, but after a second, you nodded. “Okay.” ──────────────────────── A few days later Sunghoon came home from the rink and was ready to just drop into his bed, maybe eat something if he still had eggs in the fridge. He signed when he opened the door to your apartment. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed it wasn’t silent, how it usually was.

Soft music played from the speaker in the kitchen, something mellow, with a steady rhythm. He frowned slightly, slipping off his shoes. You were usually  still at work or in your room when he got home. But now, as he stepped further inside, he saw you sitting at the kitchen table, completely absorbed in whatever you were doing. You were painting. Your brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in focus. The soft light of the kitchen lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm glow on your skin. Sunghoon found himself pausing, watching as you carefully dragged your brush across the canvas. “You’re painting?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the music. You flinched, clearly startled, before looking up at him. “Oh–yeah. They sent the interns home earlier today. I’ve been thinking about adding a second painting to the living room, if that’s fine with you.”

Sunghoon dropped his bag by the couch, stepping closer. “Yeah, sure. Go on Y/Nasso.” You hesitated for a moment before tilting your canvas slightly so he could see. It wasn’t finished yet. Soft, blended strokes created what looked like an ocean scene. The colours melted into each other, deep blues fading into lighter shades. “That’s really good,” Sunghoon said, his voice a little softer than usual. He wasn’t trying to flatter you. He genuinely thought it was impressive. You blushed a little, glancing down at the painting. “Thanks,” you murmured. “It’s the view from one of my favourite beaches in Tongyeong.” He pulled out a chair across from you, sitting down. “Do you still paint often?”

“Not really,” you admitted, dipping your brush into the water before reaching for a new colour. “I used to do it more. Back home.” He watched as you mixed a soft peachy hue, the movement of your hand precise, practised. “Why’d you stop?” You shrugged, not looking up. “I don’t know. Just got busy, I guess.” Sunghoon hummed in understanding, leaning back in his chair. He knew what that felt like, the way life could pull you away from things you enjoyed. “What made you start again?” For a moment, you didn’t answer. Then, finally, you sighed, glancing out the window. “I just… missed it. And I had some free time today so I thought I could use it by doing something I love.” Sunghoon nodded slowly, his gaze flickering back to your painting After a moment, he stood up, stretching. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your masterpiece.” You rolled your eyes but smiled slightly. “It’s not a masterpiece.” “Yet,” he said, smirking before heading toward the fridge. “Have you had dinner?”

You shook your head. “Not yet.” Sunghoon opened the fridge, rummaging through it. “Want me to make something? I was thinking of kimchi fried rice.”, he asked, half-expecting you to decline. You hesitated but then nodded. “Okay.” As he started pulling ingredients out, the quiet music continued playing, filling the space between you. He noticed that you replaced the flowers in the kitchen. The white tulips were gone and you changed the vase. The freesias you bought were arranged neatly in the window frame. His little sister was obsessed with flowers and made him learn the names of at least 30 different ones. They were pretty. Your voice startled him a bit when you started speaking. “How was your day today?” Sunghoon paused mid-chop, surprised. You usually didn’t really initiate conversations, so this was a first. “It was good,” he said, continuing to chop the vegetables. “Tiring, but good. My routine is a bit intense.” He turned toward you, his eyes catching yours for a moment. “How about you? How’s work been?”

You paused for a second, looking up from your canvas. “Not much happened today, so pretty chill actually,” you said, your voice light. “I am glad.”, he replied with a small nod. Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Have you ever been ice skating?” You blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Ice skating?" “Yeah,” he grinned.  You shook your head and focused back on the canvas in front of you. “No, I haven’t tried it yet. I was thinking about going last winter. But my friends and I didn’t really have time for it. And we don’t really get snow or ice at home.” Sunghoon leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he looked at you. “Wait so you have never seen snow?” You glanced up at him, a small, unsure smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been living here for 2 years now. I have seen snow in Seoul.”

“That’s insane,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What did you even do in the winter?”

You hesitated for a second, then quietly said, “Just… normal things? It wasn’t that different. We had the ocean instead of snow.”

Sunghoon huffed out a quiet laugh. “The ocean is great, but winter is so much better when you have snow.”

You gave a quiet laugh, your gaze dropping back to your painting. “Maybe. I don't like the cold tho.” 

“Nah, you’re just missing out.” He straightened up, turning back to the stove to check on the food. “Do you want to learn how to skate?”

“I am not sure I would be good at it," you said. 

“Well, good thing that I am very good at it. My friend Jake was able to teach his girlfriend how to skate so I am sure you could do it as well. It’s fun. You should definitely try.” 

You hummed noncommittally and started to clean up the table.

Sunghoon focused on finishing preparing the food. It was nothing fancy, just stir-fried vegetables, kimchi and rice with some grilled chicken, but it smelled good. He set a plate in front of you before grabbing his own and sitting across from you at the table.

 He made enough for the two of you, actually it was probably not enough for the both of you – or so he thought. But when you finished putting food onto your plate, he stared. His brows furrowed.

“…That’s all you’re eating?”

You looked up, blinking at him. “Yeah? Why?”

Sunghoon glanced between his plate and yours, then back again. His plate was nearly overflowing, while yours looked like what he considered a snack at best.

“That’s like, half of what I made for you,” he pointed out, still frowning.

You just shrugged. “I don’t eat a lot in one sitting.”

Sunghoon stared for another second before looking down at his own food. How were you even functioning on that?

He wasn’t exactly an expert on how much people should eat, but compared to his own portions – hell, even compared to what his sister or his mom ate – yours seemed ridiculously small.

His first instinct was to tell you to take more, but he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Instead, he picked up his chopsticks. He felt a bit weird about it but decided not to push.

The silence between you was comfortable, only broken by the occasional clinking of utensils against plates and the quiet music playing from the speaker.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. “You know,” he said casually, “you should come to one of my competitions sometime.”

Your eyes flicked up to him. “Your competitions?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back slightly. “They’re pretty cool.”

You took a sip of your water, considering. “Maybe,” you said finally.

Sunghoon smirked. “That’s not a no.”

You gave him a little smile. “I’ll think about it.”

That made him smile too.

All through the dinner his eyes kept drifting to your plate. He’d never really paid attention before, but now he was wondering – was this just a today thing, or was this normal for you He always assumed you ate a few snacks at the company or the theatre but if you were eating just this little portion, but maybe you really only ate the small pre-prepped lunch boxes, that were neatly stacked in the fridge.  ──────────────────────── Sunghoon had just finished mixing his protein shake when he heard keys jingle and the front door swung open.

He frowned, setting the shaker bottle down. You weren’t supposed to be home yet. It wasn’t even 4 p.m. Had your shift ended early? 

Still, he greeted you out of habit. “Hey, Y/N–”

But the person standing in the doorway was definitely not you.

Sunghoon froze. The guy in the doorway froze too.

For a long second, they just stared at each other, equally confused.

Sunghoon slowly lowered his shaker bottle. Who the hell–

“Uh…” the guy started, blinking a few times like he was trying to process the situation. Then, he pointed at Sunghoon. “You’re not Y/N.”

“No,” Sunghoon said flatly. “I’m not.”

The guy frowned, his head tilting slightly. “Then… who are you?”

Sunghoon crossed his arms. “I live here. Who are you?”

The guy’s face shifted as realization dawned on him. His confusion melted into something amused.

“Ohhh,” he said, dragging out the word. Then, he grinned and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. “I’m Mark. Nice to meet you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Wait.

Mark as in your boyfriend Mark?

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward the fridge before he could stop himself. The slightly curled postcard from Busan hung beside a few photos he had found himself staring at more than once in the past week and a half. Mark was in a lot of them. Always close to you, arms slung around your shoulders, laughing together.

Sunghoon quickly cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Sunghoon.”

Mark hummed, already toeing off his sneakers. “Is Y/N still at work?” He dropped his bag by the door and strolled toward the kitchen.

Sunghoon, still trying to wrap his head around what was happening, hesitated before answering. “Uh… yeah? She usually gets home around 4:30. Sometimes a bit earlier.”

Mark nodded, completely unfazed. “Alright, cool.”

Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water.

“How long have the two of you been together?”

Sunghoon nearly choked on air.

“What?” He spun around so fast that he nearly knocked over his protein shake.

Mark just shrugged, sipping his water like this was a completely normal conversation. “Y/N didn’t tell me she was seeing someone. Or, well… seeing someone seriously enough to let him move in with her.”

Sunghoon’s brain stalled. What. The. Hell.

“I hope it’s been at least half a year and you didn’t just sweet-talk her into letting you move in after, like, two months.” Mark narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Why–why would I be Y/N’s boyfriend?” Sunghoon blurted.

Isn’t Mark the boyfriend?! What was happening?

Mark gave him a look. “Dude,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You literally just said you live here.”

“Yeah, because I’m her roommate,” Sunghoon said, still trying to process this ridiculous conversation. “I pay rent and shit to be here.”

Mark blinked. “Wait. You’re her roommate?”

“Yes.” Sunghoon gestured vaguely at the apartment. “What else would I be?”

Mark tilted his head, considering. Then he shrugged. “I dunno, her boyfriend?”

Sunghoon let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. “Dude, I thought you were her boyfriend.”

Mark burst out laughing.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, looking genuinely amused. “Oh, nah.” He shook his head, still grinning. “I’m her brother.”

Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Brother.

Oh. Okay.

Now that he really looked, Mark did have similar features to you. 

Mark just grinned, clearly entertained by the situation. “Damn, you really thought Y/N was cheating on me?”

Sunghoon groaned, leaning against the counter. “Can we not phrase it like that?”

Mark cackled. “That’s wild.”

Before Sunghoon could recover from the secondhand embarrassment of his own assumption, the front door suddenly swung open again.

“Oh my god,” your voice rang through the apartment, full of surprise and excitement. “Mark?!”

Sunghoon turned his head just in time to see you practically launch yourself at your brother. Mark barely had time to put down his glass before you crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming! I thought you were still at home!” You grinned up at him, eyes shining.

Mark ruffled your hair like it. “I wanted to surprise you. Taeyong packed you a snack box from home. Mom and Johnny’s Mom added some stuff too. You know, since you can’t come home.”

Your face lit up. “No way.”

Mark smirked. “Way.”

Sunghoon, still leaning against the counter, just watched as you glowed with excitement over the snacks and goodies from home.

But before he could fully process how different you looked right now—so happy, so genuinely overjoyed—Mark turned to you with an easy grin.

“So…” He dragged out the word, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

Sunghoon felt the moment you went stiff in Mark’s arms.

Your expression twisted in confusion. “What?”

Mark jerked his thumb toward Sunghoon. “You didn’t tell me you were dating your roommate.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then, your entire face went red.

Sunghoon could feel the heat radiating off you from where he stood.

“What?” you repeated, blinking rapidly.

Mark just smirked, clearly enjoying this. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” He gestured toward Sunghoon, who was still standing there like an idiot.

Your eyes darted to Sunghoon like you were expecting him to say something but Sunghoon’s brain was still buffering.

Because all he could think about was how genuinely happy you had looked when you saw Mark.

He had never seen you like this.

So expressive. So open.

The way your face had lit up, the way your voice had lifted into something bright and completely unfiltered, it was cute. And, selfishly, Sunghoon wondered why.

Why did you always hold back a little around him? The small, bashful smiles, the careful responses. Was he that intimidating? He was trying so hard to get to know you, to be a good roommate that would turn into a friend. 

“We’re not dating.” Sunghoon finally managed, his voice a little more rushed than intended. “I’m just her roommate.”

You exhaled, pressing your hands to your very red cheeks. “Yes. He’s my roommate.”

Mark raised a brow, clearly not convinced.

“Right,” he said slowly, crossing his arms. “So you just let random guys move in with you now?”

“I didn’t—it’s not—” You groaned. “It’s a long story.”

Sunghoon, for some reason, felt the need to defend himself. “It’s not weird, okay? We barely even knew each other when I moved in.”

Mark snorted. “That makes it sound so much worse.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it. Okay, fair.

You groaned again, looking like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Mr. Kang is renting the second room to Sunghoon.”

“No way. Your studio?”, Mark asked and looked at Sunghoon as if he had personally had the intention to steal your studio from you. 

“Yeah. It’s all right though. I always knew he could rent it out to someone that will show up.”, you leaned against the counter next to Mark. 

Mark was still looking at Sunghoon, but his facial expression had changed from accusation to something that looked like interest.

“Anyway,” he said focusing back on you, “Do you wanna open the package? I am praying that Johnny put in some of those dope cookies from the bakery under his office. If he did, I am claiming one-half.”

At that, your face brightened again, and Sunghoon caught himself watching the shift in your expression again. 

The way your eyes widened, the slight bounce in your stance, the way you leaned in just a little closer to Mark.

Mark unzipped the bag and pulled out a medium-sized cardboard box, setting it on the counter with a slight thud.

Your hands were already on the tape, peeling it open. “You had four weeks to eat the cookies from ppangjib. You get one. Or maybe two."

Mark grinned. “Deal.”

Sunghoon, though still a little confused by the whole situation, couldn’t help but glance into the box as you pulled back the flaps. Inside were neatly packed bags of homemade snacks, a few small wrapped gifts, and a handwritten letter sitting on top.

You immediately grabbed the letter, unfolding it with the kind of excitement that was usually reserved for kids on Christmas morning.

While you skimmed it, Mark reached into the box and pulled out a small bag of yakgwa, grinning. “Oh, sick. Mom made you some yakgwa.”

“No way.” You grabbed the bag from him, grinning just as wide.

Sunghoon almost asked what was so special about it–but then he checked the time.

Shit.

He had to get to training.

With a sigh, he grabbed his shaker bottle and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I gotta head out,” he said, glancing between the two of you. “Enjoy your snacks.”

You looked up from the letter. “Oh–right! You have training tonight.”

He nodded, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Mark, already chewing on a piece of yakgwa, gave him a lazy salute. “Have fun, man.”

Sunghoon huffed a small laugh before turning toward the door.  ──────────────────────── On the second Saturday after Sunghoon moved in, a soft knock on your door startled you from where you were curled up in your bed reading. “Yeah?” you called out, glancing toward the door. Sunghoon’s head appeared in the gap, his figure half-hidden behind the doorframe. “Hey,” he began, “a few of my friends want to come over and check out the apartment. Is that fine with you? I know you’ve got work tomorrow, but I promise we’ll keep it down when you want to head to bed.” You shifted slightly in your bed, sitting up to get a better look at him. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he seemed a little sheepish like he wasn’t sure whether he was imposing. You smiled, the question barely making you think. “Oh, that's not a problem, Sunghoon. You live here too, after all. It’s not like I’m going to stop you from having friends over.” You stretched a little, trying to shake off the sleepiness in your limbs. “I don’t mind at all. I’m just reading anyway. Besides, it’s your apartment too.” He relaxed at your response, the tension in his posture easing as he gave a small, appreciative nod. “Thanks,” he said, looking genuinely relieved. “I’ll let them know we’ll keep it low-key.”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “No worries. You do you.” Then, as an afterthought, you added, “Just don’t be too loud around midnight. I haven’t really had parties here so I don’t know if our neighbours are cool with noise or not?” He chuckled again. “Yeah, I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at you. “You can come hang out later. If you want to.” You nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a small wave. “Ah. Uhm. Thanks. But I think I’m good. I’ll sleep soon anyway.”

Sunghoon grinned and gave a quick nod before closing the door behind him, leaving you in peace once again. You could hear him bustling around in the kitchen, probably making snacks or food for him and his friends. It was kind of weird. To have someone in your apartment this long that wasn’t Mark. But Sunghoon wasn’t the worst person to live with. He was a very clean person and living together with him these past weeks was really peaceful. You kinda liked having someone around in the evenings. Sometimes, especially during the summer break, you feel a bit lonely. Sure you met some of your friends in the studio or the cinema, but you were working there, not hanging out. So your small conversations were very nice. He was listening to a lot of music and he seemingly enjoyed having his room door open, so whenever you read or sketched in the kitchen or living room you listened to the music he was playing. ──────────────────────── At some point in the evening, your stomach started to growl. You cursed yourself for not having eaten more for lunch. You could hear laughing and music from the living room. Your stomach wouldn’t stop growling so you begrudgingly put your book away and stood up from your bed. 

You hesitated for a moment when you reached your door. You weren’t really dressed for guests, let alone Sunghoon’s friends. You were still in your cosy striped pyjamas, hair braided messily from your earlier nap, and you hadn’t even bothered to put on any makeup. Your stomach growled again, which made you sign and push your door open. The laughter grew louder, and you could hear them chatting away in the kitchen.

As soon as you entered, four pairs of eyes turned to look at you.

Before you could even consider retreating, one of them looked up. He was tall, with sharp eyes and an easygoing smile. “Oh, hey!” he said like he wasn’t about to make your night significantly worse. “You must be Y/N.”

“Oh, uh–hi,” you said, your voice coming out slightly too high. Your fingers tugged nervously at your shirt.

Sunghoon turned to you, looking far too amused for your liking. “This is Jay, Heeseung, and Jake,” he said, nodding toward each of them. “Guys, this is Y/N.”

Heeseung leaned back against the couch. “Dude, your apartment is so nice,” he said. “Did you decorate it?”

You blinked. “Uh–what?”

“The apartment,” Jake chimed in, grinning. “It looks really good. Feels like a Pinterest board. My girlfriend would love it.”

“Oh! Um–yeah, I did?” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, shifting awkwardly. “I mean, I just… put some things together. I like interior stuff, so…”

“Man, Sunghoon lucked out,” Jay said, shaking his head. “My first roommate had, like, one folding chair and a mattress on the floor.”

“Hey!?”, Heeseung said and turned to Jay, “I was your first roommate?”

“Yeah. And we have been living in our dorm for 3 years now. The only reason why you have more than your bed and a keyboard collection is because your girl made you buy a rug and some decoration.”, Jay deadpanned. “How did she phrase it again? She was glad you have a big dick and that she loves you but you but if she had to look at that keyboard corner again she would throw all of them away?”

Jake and Sunghoon snorted while Heeseung tried to defend himself: ”I bought those with her, okay, my room looks fine you stupid piece of shit.”

“See I am really happy to have Y/N as my roommate. She has rugs and decorations. And a normal amount of keyboards.”, Sunghoon grinned at you. 

The guys laughed again, and you forced out a nervous chuckle.

“Oh, the paintings? Those are yours, right?” Jay asked, nodding toward the kitchen. “They’re sick.”

You had already been flustered enough–first with the whole walking into a room full of good-looking strangers in your pyjamas situation, then with them complimenting your decorating, and now this.

Your paintings.

It was weird hearing people—people other than your brother or your friends—talk about them, at least the ones you had hung up here and at home. You weren’t used to it. It felt like they were looking at something too personal, like flipping through a journal you hadn’t meant to leave out.

“She’s really good,” Sunghoon said, leaning back in his chair like he was enjoying this way too much. “But she gets all shy when people talk about it.”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with betrayal. He just grinned.

“Did you paint all of them?” Jay asked, nodding toward the kitchen.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Mostly last summer.”

“Damn,” Jake said, shaking his head. “That’s sick. I can barely draw a stick figure.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “Thank you.”

Before you could recover, Sunghoon gestured toward the pizza box. “Are you hungry? We ordered way too much.”

“Oh–no, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I was just going to warm up something from the fridge.”

He just raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“I swear this is so much and we are all supposed to watch over our diets. You’d be doing a good thing by stealing a slice or two.”, Jake said before stealing a gummy bear from Jay.

“…Maybe just one slice,” you mumbled.

Jake’s smile widened. “Sure, take as many as you want.”

He slid a plate toward you, and you shuffled over, still feeling painfully awkward. You perched on the arm of the couch next to Sunghoon, back stiff.

“Y/N.”, Heeseung leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Are you coming to the beginning-of-the-semester party next Friday?”

You blinked. “The… what?”

Jay chuckled. “The semester opening party. Each semester one of the teams throws one, this semester it's the baseball players.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. You hadn’t even heard about it. You shifted slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I–um. I don’t really know. I usually work on Fridays, so…”

Jake tilted his head. “Yeah, Sunghoon did say you work a lot.”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated. You did work a lot. But it wasn’t like you didn’t have free time… you just never really did much with it.

Jake leaned in a little, his voice gentle. “If you don’t have work that night, you should come. It’s not, like, a crazy party or anything. Just fun. You can just hang out, meet some people.”

“You don’t even have to drink,” Jay added quickly. “I mean, most people do, but you don’t have to. There’s food. Music. It’s chill.”

You felt all their eyes on you, waiting for your answer. You shifted again, fingers curling around the edge of your plate.

“Oh. Um.” You wet your lips. “I’ll… think about it?”

Heeseung smiled, nodding. “That’s fair.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah, no pressure.” ──────────────────────── Except that, it was pressure. 

The hum of the popcorn machine filled the quiet lobby, the scent of butter lingering in the air. The morning shifts were always slow—just a few scattered customers, mostly older couples and parents wrangling excited kids. You handed a soda to a woman with two small boys, murmuring a polite “Enjoy your movie” as she thanked you and walked off.

Sunoo, who had been leaning against the counter snacking on popcorn, gave you a look. “Okay, spill.”

You frowned. “What?”

“You look weird.” He popped another kernel into his mouth. “A bit constipated. What are you thinking so deeply about? 

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “…It’s nothing.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”

You exhaled, already knowing you weren’t going to get away with it. “…Sunghoon’s friends came over last night.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Heeseung, Jay, and Jake?”

You blinked surprised. “…How did you know?”

At the same time, you weren’t really surprised. Sunoo had a way of knowing everything and everyone. He was the definition of a social butterfly.

He grinned. “They’re his closest friends. He’s always with them.” Then, he leaned in. “Tell me more.”

You sighed, wiping your hands on a napkin. “It wasn’t a big deal. They just came over to see the apartment and hang out. I ran into them when I went to the kitchen.”

“And?” Sunoo prompted, eyes gleaming with interest.

“And… they were nice,” you admitted. “They complimented the apartment and–” you hesitated, then added reluctantly, “my paintings.”

Sunoo gasped dramatically. “No. Way.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, calm down.”

“No, because you get all shy when people talk about your art. How did you survive that?”

“I almost didn’t.” You groaned, covering your face. “Sunghoon called me out for being awkward about it.”

Sunoo cackled. “That is kind of funny.”

You shot him a glare. “Not to me.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, waving a hand. “And then?”

You hesitated for a moment before saying, “They… invited me to a party next week.”

Sunoo froze.

His expression went from shocked to utterly gobsmacked in less than a second. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Wait like, the sports team party?”

“…I think?”

He gawked at you. “You think? Y/N, do you even realize how exclusive those are? The end and beginning of semester parties are mostly for the teams and their close friends.” He leaned in. “It’s at a different frat house each semester, but you have to know people to get in.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I guess… I know people now?”

Sunoo smacked your arm lightly. “Oh my god, this is huge.”

“It’s really not.”

“It is.” He placed a hand over his heart. “You have to take me with you.”

You groaned. “Sunoo–”

“Please.” His eyes widened. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We’d be insane not to go.”

You chewed on your lip. “I don’t know… I feel like I’d just be awkward.”

Sunoo softened slightly. “You might. But you might also have fun.”

You sighed.

“If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll leave with you,” he promised. “I swear.”

You hesitated before finally mumbling, “…I’ll think about it.”

Sunoo beamed. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Sunoo was not letting this go.

“You have to take me with you,” he said, gripping your wrist.

You groaned. “Sunoo.”

“Please.” His eyes widened dramatically. “Do you even understand what this means? This is like–like being invited to the Met Gala of frat parties.”

You gave him a look. “You are so dramatic.”

“Am I?” He scoffed. “Y/N, do you realize how hard it is to get into one of these? And you got invited. You!” He clutched his chest like he was about to faint.

You shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Sunoo’s jaw dropped. “Not that big of a deal? Y/N, if I had even breathed in the direction of these parties before, I would’ve been escorted out.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. If not even Sunoo had been invited to one of these parties they probably were a big thing. Johnny was always talking about how he enjoyed going to parties. You loved hearing his and Taeyongs stories every time they came home. They did romanticize uni life a bit in your opinion. Or maybe you were just doing something wrong. Maybe you could try going to that party.  

Sunoos face softened slightly. “Look,” he said, “I get it. Big parties aren’t your thing. And, yeah, it might be overwhelming at first. But, Y/N, you deserve to have fun.”

“I do have fun,” you muttered.

Sunoo gave you a knowing look. “Working and studying doesn’t count.”

You sighed.

“If you don’t like it, we’ll leave,” he promised. “I swear. I won’t ditch you. But at least try.”

You hesitated, staring at the counter, before finally mumbling, “…Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Sunoo grinned like he had already won. “That’s all I needed to hear.” ──────────────────────── It was way too early when you made your way through the market, near your apartment. Despite it being 7:30 am, the market was already bustling with life. It was never truly empty, and if it was then the stall owners made sure that it was at least as loud as it is with customers there. The air smelled like fresh produce and spice but the closer you got to the stand you needed to go the more the air smelled like flowers. 

You stopped in front of a stall called ‘Spring Flowers Right Next to You' and greeted the elderly lady behind the stall with a warm smile. You stopped by once a week to buy your flowers, so the Ajumma greeted you with an even warmer smile. She reminded you a lot of your own grandmother. 

"Good morning, Ajumma," you said, stepping closer.

"Ah, Y/N!", her hands were arranging some petals. "It’s so lovely to see you again, my child. Do you have any particular flowers in mind today?"

“Not really. I think I’ll just buy whatever speaks to me today.”, you answered, softly shaking your head.

You walked slowly, taking your time to browse through the vibrant bouquets and paused in front of the pink peonies. You’ve always loved peonies, but you really didn’t feel like having to carry them around all day, since a bouquet was quite big and your working space in the studio was quite small. Maybe you could give them to the lady at the front desk again. You continued to wander until you reached the chrysanthemums. The yellow ones were beautiful today. You reached out to gently touch one, admiring how full they were. They would go well with the new painting you had in mind for the kitchen. Maybe you could finish that before the flowers wilted.

You gathered a few of the flowers and walked back to the ajumma. She wiped her hands on her apron. "Yellow chrysanthemums today, Y/N? You usually stay with less vibrant colours.” You hummed when she started wrapping the flowers in some old newspaper. “Yeah. I thought I should try something new.”

Her face grew more serious, though still warm. “Yellow chrysanthemums can symbolize caution or a warning.”

You frowned slightly, taking in the flowers again.  "Really?" You chuckled lightly, not taking it too seriously. "They’re so pretty, though."

The Ajumma gave you a small smile, "If you feel like buying them, then maybe be careful. Something might happen, my love."

You stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to react. "Oh," you said slowly. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

With a polite thank you, you paid and made your way out, chrysanthemums in hand.

As you left the market, the sunlight began to feel warmer, the air thick with the early morning heat.  ──────────────────────── When you arrived home, Sunghoon was already there, his sneakers discarded by the door. He glanced up from his phone as you walked in, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth when he noticed the flowers in your hands.

“Oh hey you bought new flowers.”, he said smiling at you. "They look nice."

You smiled softly, setting them down on the counter. "Yeah, I thought they’d brighten things up a bit. I usually tend to go with softer colors or white but somehow the yellow spoke to me this morning."

He came over, inspecting them with a thoughtful expression. "I like how you always have flowers around here. It makes it feel more... cozy, I guess."

You nodded, while reaching for a new vase. “I like the way they make the place feel, too."

The freesias that were sitting in the window still were still blooming. You reached over the sink and grabbed the old flowers, putting them into the living room and exchanging them with the new chrysanthemums. 

Sunghoon stood there for a moment, watching you work. He then shifted his weight, looking at you with a hint of curiosity. "So, have you thought about the party this weekend?"

You paused, your fingers lightly grazing the flowers in the vase as you considered his question. "I’m still not sure," you admitted softly, glancing up at him. "I mean, it’s just... I don’t know."

Sunghoon tilted his head, his eyes soft but insistent. "It’s going to be fun. You’ve been working so hard lately. You deserve to get out and relax." He stepped closer, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "Think of it as roommate bonding time. I'd love to see you outside of the apartment too. You know, I’ve only seen you in PJs and your work outfits. I don’t even know if you have anything in your closet that's not suit pants or a gigantic washed out T-shirt."

You felt heat creep up your neck. He really hasn’t seen you in any normal outfits yet. You haven’t been spending your free time outside a lot, so you never wore anything aside from working uniforms and Pyjamas. You hesitated, feeling a bit nervous about the idea, but considering he and Sunoo both claimed you should spend more time outside of work and uni you probably should. You knew you should. You just sometimes, okay most of the times, felt a bit uncomfortable and too tired for social interactions, especially when you had to meet new people. 

But the thought of spending time with Sunghoon outside the apartment  felt a little exciting. He was quite nice and maybe you could turn from roommates to friends. You always thought you would struggle more when living in a shared apartment but Sunghoon somehow made it easy. You always feared you would feel uncomfortable outside of your room but you liked having Sunghoon`s presence around.

"Okay," you said, surprising yourself. "I’ll go."

Sunghoon's grin widened, clearly pleased. "That’s the spirit! I’ll make sure it’s a good time, I promise." ──────────────────────── By the time Sunghoon made it home, he was done. 

Completely exhausted. 

His entire body ached from training and his wrist was throbbing. If he wanted to keep up with his competition and impress the scouts for the Olympic team, his execution had to be perfect.

Perfect footwork. Perfect jumps. Perfect landings.

Too bad he’d wiped out twice today.

And landed on his wrist, both times. The neon pink tape Wonyoung put onto it helped slightly with the pain.

With a sigh, Sunghoon kicked off his sneakers and slung his bag onto the floor, barely mustering the energy to shuffle further inside.

The apartment smelled faintly of paint.

When he looked up, he found you sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table, surrounded by brushes and tubes of oil paint. You were wearing an oversized lab coat with a few colourful smudges on the fabric. Your hair was in that same slightly messy braid you always did, a few strands falling loose around your face.

Sunghoon felt a strange, fleeting sense of familiarity at the sight. His younger sister used to wear her hair like that all the time, and at some point, she had forced him to learn how to braid too. He would also come home to find her sitting in front of the TV studying or eating hunched over the table. 

Instead of heading straight to his room like he normally would after a brutal training session, he walked over to the couch and let himself collapse onto it with a groan.

You looked up. “Tough day?”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “You could say that.”

Your eyes flickered to his hands, and before he could stop you, you asked in a soft voice, “Did you fall?”

Sunghoon hesitated.

“Just a little.”

Your expression made it very clear you didn’t believe him.

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” he admitted, rubbing the sore spot on his wrist. “Coach keeps drilling me on this footwork section. It’s not even the hardest part of my program, but I swear I’m losing my mind.”

You hummed in understanding, but your attention was already back on your painting.

That was fine. Sunghoon didn’t need a response. He just needed to sit here and let his brain switch off. It was nice that you were out of your room again. Usually, he didn’t see that much of you but you seemed to feel a bit more comfortable around him now, so you were more in the shared rooms of the apartment. 

His eyes drifted back to the TV, catching sight of a painfully dramatic scene. The female lead was running in the rain, and the male lead was standing there, staring after her.

A few minutes passed before he finally asked, “What are you working on?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “It’s part of a series I’m doing.”

“Series?”

You nodded, hesitating a little before explaining, “I’ve been painting dishes from my childhood. Meals I grew up with, the ones that remind me of home.” You gestured toward your canvas. “This one is my mom’s kimchi jjigae. She used to make it whenever someone had a bad day.”

Sunghoon stared at the painting for a moment.

“That’s… really cool,” he found himself saying.

You blinked at him, clearly not expecting that either.

“Thanks,” you murmured, going back to your work.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the only sound coming from the TV.  ──────────────────────── You yawned while opening the door, stepping into the apartment and kicking off your shoes. Work had drained you, and the thought of going to a party tonight made you feel even more exhausted. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or just the lingering headache, but either way, you needed a break before even thinking about getting ready.

“Hey,” you mumbled, rubbing at your temples. “I think I’m gonna nap for an hour before we go. Is that okay? I could also just drink a cup of coffee if not.”

Sunghoon, who was lounging on the couch with his phone, looked up from the screen and nodded without hesitation. “Of course. Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t want to get there on time anyway.”

“Oh. Okay. When do you want to be there?”, you asked, a bit unsure as to when coming to a party was appropriate. 

“Around ten? Maybe eleven? Imma ask the others but probably around that time. You will even have time to get ready. Gotta impress the jocks, don’t we, Y/Ncasso?”, he smirked at you. 

“Oh. I wasn’t really planning on doing that?”, you said, shrugging and Sunghoon chuckled at that.

“Sure.” 

Without another word, you went straight to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you let out a long sigh. You tried to push aside the anxiety gnawing at your stomach. You hadn't been to many parties before, especially ones like this. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off.

About an hour later, you reluctantly pulled yourself out of bed. Your head was still heavy, the migraine a constant throb beneath your temples. You could feel your nerves creeping back up as you walked out of your room, rubbing your eyes.

“Hey, Sunghoon,” you said, standing in the bathroom doorway. Sunghoon was already getting ready, styling his hair in the mirror. You gave him a small smile, trying to push away the nervousness in your chest.

“I don’t wanna drink a lot tonight,” you said, your voice a little softer than you would have liked. "Is that okay?"

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face. “Why? Are you a lightweight?”

You rolled your eyes but felt the flush creeping up your neck. “I’m just asking. I don’t really drink much at all.”

He leaned against the sink, looking you up and down with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Y/N, you’re seriously asking if it’s cool to not drink a lot? What kind of question is that? It’s just a party. You’ll be fine.”

You bit your lip, still feeling a little uneasy about the whole idea of the party. “It’s just... I don’t know. I’ve not really been to many parties.”

Sunghoon’s face softened. “You don’t have to worry. It’s gonna be fun, alright? You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. We’re just hanging out. I’ll make sure you’re not left to fend for yourself and Sunoo will also be there. If you feel uncomfortable I’ll bring you home, I promise.”

The soft, almost protective tone he used made you relax a little, and your anxiety loosened just enough for you to take a deep breath. You nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

He laughed slightly and turned back to the mirror. “Always. Don’t stress, alright? It's just a party. There is going to be lots of drunk people and no one will notice if you don’t drink. They will be too busy getting drunk.”

You smiled, though it was still a little tight around the edges. Sunghoon caught your glance and, after a moment of silence, his expression softened into something more reassuring. 

“Come on, it’s going to be okay, yeah? We’ll get there, and we’ll just hang out. You’ll be alright, I promise.”

You gave a reluctant nod, grateful for his words. You stretched out, trying to shake off the drowsiness, and took a deep breath.

"Okay. I’m going to eat the rest of the kimchi jiggae from yesterday and then change." ──────────────────────── The moment you stepped into the house, the overwhelming mix of loud music, sweaty bodies, and flashing lights hit you all at once. The air smelled like alcohol, something vaguely fruity, and whatever cologne the guy who just stumbled past you had drenched himself in.

You were already regretting this.

Before you could fully process your surroundings, a loud voice called out: “Y/N!!!”

You barely had time to react before Jake launched himself at you, arms wrapping around you in an enthusiastic, borderline crushing hug.

You froze immediately. Your arms stayed stiff at your sides as Jake rocked you side to side, laughing and giggling.

“Oh my God,” he slurred. “I knew you’d come! I told Sunghoon you were gonna come!”

Your eyes darted around, searching for Sunghoon and you stared at him in a plea for help.

Sunghoon, being the absolutely useless person he was, was not helping. Instead, he stood a few steps away, arms crossed, watching you with a big, shit-eating grin.

You glared at him. He just smiled wider.

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand and gave Jake a few awkward pats on the back and he beamed. He finally pulled away just as Jay approached. Unlike Jake, he didn’t tackle you. He just gave you a half-hug, clapping your shoulder lightly. “Glad you came,” he said with an easygoing smile.

You managed a small nod, still recovering from the ambush hug. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

Before you could even take a breath, another person appeared, practically draping herself over Jay’s side.

“Baaaby,” she whined, stretching the word out dramatically. “I want more shots.”

Jake, who had just released you from his bear hug, perked up immediately. “Oh yes, shots!” he cheered, eyes shining.

Jay turned to the girl with a rather lovesick smile. “What do you want, baby?.”

“Vodka? Tequila? I don’t care.”, she shrugged. 

Sunghoon leaned down slightly so you could hear him over the music. “That’s Jay’s girlfriend,” he murmured, nodding towards the girl. “She and Jake together are, like, dumb and dumber when they’re drunk.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching as the two of them clung to each other, giggling over something completely unintelligible.

“They seem… enthusiastic,” you said hesitantly.

Sunghoon snorted. “They are. Jake’s girlfriend is probably off getting high somewhere, so later we just have to deal with dumb, dumber, and dumbest and whoever they rope into their mess.”

Oh. This really sounded like one of the parties Johnny used to tell you about. Somehow you felt a bit weird being surrounded by all of these strangers being drunk. Usually, you only drank with your friends at home or in a restaurant, so this was something completely new. You opened your mouth to respond to Sunghoon but were interrupted by cheers that echoed through the whole house, coming from different directions.

“Katy shot!” Jake bellowed.

“Katy shot!” Jay’s girlfriend echoed, nodding enthusiastically. You were glad Jay had her arm around her since she seemed a bit wonky on her legs.

Before you could even ask what was happening, a guy materialized out of thin air with a vodka bottle and a stack of shot cups, moving with the efficiency of someone who had clearly done this a thousand times before. The others were cheering on him and he was laughing like some kind of a lunatic. 

One by one, he poured shots and handed them out, barely even looking as he passed them around.

And then, before you could even protest, he shoved a shot glass into your hand, too.

You blinked down at the clear liquid.

“What,” you said flatly.

Sunghoon, standing next to you, huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s a thing for the hockey players,” he explained. “Every time a Katy Perry song plays, they take a shot.”

“…Why?”

He shrugged. “Tradition.”

You glanced back up at the others, who were all now holding their shots high in the air, looking at you expectantly.

“To Katy!” someone announced.

“To Katy!” the rest echoed.

You turned to Sunghoon again.

He leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear. “You don’t have to drink it, you know.”

You bit your lip. You had told him earlier that you didn’t want to drink much tonight. But… it was just one shot. And everyone was looking at you expectantly.

So, before you could overthink it, you raised your glass and knocked it back.

The vodka burned on the way down, and you barely had time to process it before the other girl cheered, Jake clapped you on the back, and Jay grinned.

Sunghoon just shook his head and took his shot. ──────────────────────── Sunghoon was leaning against the sofa, half-listening to Jay argue with Jake about their next beer pong shot. His own cup sat untouched beside him. He was pacing himself, knowing he had practice tomorrow and he did not intend to show up hung over. His coach was already on him for falling last week so he didn’t want to even try his luck and skate hungover. The music thumped through the house, bass vibrating beneath his feet, and the heat of too many bodies in a small space was starting to get to him.

He glanced over at you, watching as you hesitated before stepping closer.

“Sunoo is here,” you said, raising your voice slightly over the music. “I’m gonna go find him.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah, go ahead,” he said smiling at you.

As you disappeared into the crowd, he turned back to Jay and Jake, who were still discussing their game strategy. Sunghoon took a sip of his drink, sighing as he tuned them out. For a while, he let himself get caught up in the game. He played a round of beer pong, winning against Jake, who was way too drunk to aim properly, before getting pulled into a conversation with some of Jay’s friends. But even as he talked, he found his eyes drifting back to you.

You were with whom he assumed to be Sunoo, just as you said you’d be, laughing at something one of the baseball players said, that came in with Sunoo. Sunghoon recognized a few of them vaguely. He watched as one of them, a little taller than the rest, leaned in slightly while talking to you.

Sunghoon wasn’t sure why, but something about it made his jaw tighten as he saw you taking a slight step back, your smile reverting back to the small reserved ones you always had when you were uncomfortable or felt especially shy. He hasn’t seen that in quite a while now.

He shook the word feeling off, going back to his drink. You were fine. 

Then, a few minutes later, the guy stood up and made his way toward the kitchen.

He watched as the guy grabbed a couple of cups and a few bottles from the counter.

He handed out the cups and to Sunghoons surprise you also took one cup. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it, your fingers barely brushing against the cup.

You weren’t smiling as much anymore. You weren’t laughing like you had been with Sunoo. Your shoulders seemed a little stiffer now, your weight shifting slightly as if you were debating stepping back.

Sunghoon frowned, tapping his fingers against the rim of his cup.

You were uncomfortable. He could tell.

And suddenly, guilt crept up his spine.

You didn’t even want to come in the first place.

He had been the one to convince you. 

And now here you were, standing in the middle of a room full of people you barely knew, clutching a drink you probably didn’t even want.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, setting his cup down on the counter with a soft thud. He didn’t know if he was overthinking things, but he did tell you that if you felt uncomfortable he or his friends would help you out.

So casually he started making his way toward you. Sunghoon had barely taken a step toward you when a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Park,” a familiar voice drawled.

He turned to see Hyunjin, one of the more senior skaters. Despite the loud music and chaotic energy of the party, Hyunjin looked as relaxed as ever, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“Haven’t seen you drink much,” Hyunjin noted, tilting his own half-empty cup toward Sunghoon. “You’re really out here being responsible?”

Sunghoon snorted. “Some of us have practice tomorrow.”

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have told coach you are trying out for the Olympics. He’s already making you run that new program into the ground.”

Sunghoon hummed in agreement, but his attention was already elsewhere.

Across the room, you were still standing with that guy. Sunghoon didn’t know his name but he was talking to you with a bit too much interest, hands moving animatedly as he spoke.

You weren’t saying much. Sunghoon had come to know you well enough to recognize when you were just being polite. The way your shoulders stayed stiff, the way your fingers fidgeted slightly at your side. 

Sunghoon forced himself to look away. Maybe you were interested and just didn’t know how to react. Hell, he knew best how awkward you could be when you met new people. He was just overthinking things.

He shifted his weight, keeping one ear on whatever Hyunjin was saying while his eyes flickered back to you.

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of Sunghoon’s face. “Hello? Are you even listening?”

Sunghoon blinked, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, glancing at you once more. “Yeah. I am just a bit tired.”──────────────────────── The music thudded in your chest, vibrating through your bones. Your head was pounding, your vision blurry, and there was a weird, giddy sensation bubbling up in you like everything was too funny. You didn’t feel like yourself.

Your hand was still gripping your drink. You tried to concentrate on his words, but the pounding in your head was intensifying. It wasn’t unusual for you to get a migraine, especially with the noise and lights in a place like this. It felt like your mouth was moving without you even thinking about it when you were answering whatever question Injang just asked.

“So, what brings you here tonight?” He asked, leaning in slightly, his voice a little too loud to make it easy to follow.

You could feel his eyes on you, more intent than necessary. “Um... I came with Sunghoon? He’s my roommate.”

“Ah, cool. You two must be close,” he said, his grin widening. “How long have you known each other?”

You tried to concentrate on his words, but the pounding in your head was intensifying. “I—I don’t know, a few weeks?” you replied, your voice trailing off into a giggle.

He continued asking questions, and you tried your best to follow along, giving short, vague answers. Your thoughts felt slow, fuzzy, and your vision started to swim a little, but you chalked it up to the headache that was now making its presence known.

“Hey, Y/N, you sure you’re okay?” Injang’s voice broke through the fuzz. His proximity was suddenly too much, his words a little too loud, and yet it made you want to giggle like there was something funny about how he was looking at you, how close he was.

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the haze in your brain, but instead, the dizziness swirled, the world spinning around you.

“I... I’m fine, I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to reassure him, though you weren’t even sure you believed it. Your words were slurred, and you felt the giggles bubbling up, like a laugh track in your head, though there was nothing funny happening.

He kept leaning in, his hand brushing your arm, his smirk growing wider. You tried to focus on him, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure in your skull and the odd sense of lightness in your limbs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, leaning even closer, and you could feel his breath on your face. His voice sounded like it was echoing from far away. Your mouth felt dry, but you still wanted to laugh. It was all so weird.

“I... yeah,” you giggled softly, barely able to catch your breath. It was so hard to keep it together. “I’m just... I’m just a little tired, y’know? Need... water...” You tried to push past him, but your legs felt unsteady, as though they weren’t entirely yours. You could hardly keep your balance, and the noise became so much louder like it was vibrating inside your skull. You placed a hand on the wall for support, just trying to stay on your feet. The room was spinning, and you tried to focus, to remember where the kitchen was, but it felt like you had to move through molasses. Your vision blurred at the edges, but you focused on the thought of just getting some water, something to cool down the spinning in your head. You leaned against the wall to steady yourself, the world around you tilting sideways.

But before you could move, you felt his hand again. This time, it wasn’t just a touch; it was a grip, his fingers wrapping around your waist, pulling you back. You tried to tug away, but your body wasn’t listening.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out, alright? You don’t have to be so shy,” Injang’s voice was thick now, too close for comfort. His touch sent an uncomfortable shiver through you.

Everything felt wrong, but you were too tired to fight it. The giggles still threatened to slip from your mouth, but you pushed them down. You knew you needed to get away from him, but every part of you felt so heavy, and your movements weren’t your own. You were trapped in this slow, sluggish fog.

You tried to move away from him, but your body wasn’t responding the way it should, your feet dragging with each slow step. "Seriously, Y/N, you're cute when you're all quiet like this," he continued, stepping even closer until you could feel the heat of his body at your back. "I’m just worried about you. You sure you’re not feeling anything... weird?" 

You flinched, trying to pull away, but he kept his grip, his fingers brushing down to your waist in a way that made you feel exposed and uncomfortable. “Come on, don't be shy. It's just a party. We’re just having fun, right?” His voice was low and thick like it was supposed to be reassuring, but it just made your stomach twist in on itself. Everything felt off. This wasn’t right. Your thoughts were foggy, too confused to make sense of it, but you knew enough to feel uncomfortable. You barely registered that your feet were still dragging, moving you backwards towards the counter, away from him.

But before you could get any farther, you heard loud voices—like shouting—though it sounded muffled, distorted. Then, you heard Sunghoon's voice cut through the noise. “Get your hands off her. Now.” Your heart picked up speed, your pulse pounding in your ears. 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open, the words slipping out without you even meaning to speak them. You thought you heard a shuffle of footsteps, the sound of someone else stumbling, but your vision was swimming again, too blurred to catch the full picture. You vaguely made out Sunghoon moving closer, his shadow blocking out the light from the hallway. "Did I fucking stutter? I said, get off her," Sunghoon growled, the anger in his tone clear now. Injang didn’t let go immediately. You could hear him chuckling, but it was shaky and nervous, and you felt him try to touch your arm again. “I was just trying to... you know... be friendly.”

“Friendly?”, Sunghoon spat, “This is not friendly.”

The next thing you knew, there was a quick movement. But before you could do much else, your knees buckled. The sound of the voices and the music became distorted again like you were hearing it underwater. You tried to take a step forward, but your body didn’t listen to you, and in a blink, everything went black. ──────────────────────── The moment you collapsed, it was like time stopped. Your body crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll. Sunghoon barely managed to catch you in time, feeling the weight of your body press into him as you fell limp in his arms. His heart slammed in his chest. 

"Y/N?" he shook you gently, but you didn’t respond. Your head flopped back, your eyes closed, and your face was pale.

What the fuck was going on?

"Someone call 112!" Sunghoon yelled. He held you against him, trying to shake you awake, but you remained unresponsive. “Y/N? Y/N, wake up!”

The kitchen had gone eerily silent, the music and chatter fading into the background. The people around him were now all staring.

Sunoo had been standing at the edge of the room, just a few feet away when it all went down. 

"Oh my god," he gasped, as he rushed forward.

He knelt beside Sunghoon, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts. His eyes flickered between Sunghoon and you.

"What happened to her? What's wrong with her?" Sunoo’s voice was panicked. His gaze darted between your pale face and Sunghoon’s frantic movements. Sunghoon carefully laid you down on the floor and onto your side. He checked your pulse, your breathing and that if you threw up you wouldn’t choke on your vomit.

Sunghoon's mind raced as he tried to figure out what could have happened. You had been fine when you came here. You said your migraine had been getting worse after a while at the party you, but you wouldn’t faint from a headache. Not this quickly. Something else was going on.

He looked around the room, eyes searching for the guy who had been sticking so damn close to you earlier. His hands were shaking as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Call 112," he shouted at Sunoo, pushing through the growing panic. "Call 112, now!"

Sunghoon’s voice was firm despite the rising panic. “She’s been drugged,” he said through clenched teeth. "She didn't drink with me. And I didn’t see her take more than two sips of her drink afterwards.”

Sunoo’s eyes went wide with disbelief, his hands hovering over you like he was too scared to touch you. “What? No. No, this can’t be happening. I- she- she was fine just a few minutes ago.” His voice cracked, the fear and shock written all over his face. He carefully took your face into his hands. “Y/N, wake up. Wake up,” he muttered.

Sunghoon looked around the room again, his eyes searching for Injang. He had to be the one responsible.

He turned to Sunoo. “Stay with her,” he commanded. “Don’t leave her, alright? I’ll find that guy.”

Sunoo nodded, his face pale, his lips pressed into a tight line. Sunghoon pushed through the crowd, the noise and the panic rising as more people realized what was going on.

When he spotted Injang near the back of the living room, casually laughing with his friends as if nothing had happened, Sunghoon’s blood boiled. Without thinking, he rushed over, grabbing Injang by the collar and yanking him around to face him.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Sunghoon’s voice was low, tight with anger. "What did you give her?"

Injang, looking completely unfazed, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “What? I didn’t do anything to her,” he said, his voice laced with a mocking sweetness. “She’s just drunk, man. Chill out.”

Sunghoon’s grip tightened and he pulled him closer. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” he hissed. “I saw how you were with her. She’s not just drunk. You drugged her.”

Injang’s smirk only grew wider, and he shrugged nonchalantly. “You know, she’s a shy little thing, right? Pretty cute, too. I thought it’d be funny. Nothing too serious.” He leaned in a nasty gleam in his eyes. “It wasn’t like I wanted to rape her, dude. Just a little fun. You know, loosen her up a bit. She is just a lightweight I guess.”

Sunghoon felt his stomach twist in disgust. His vision blurred with anger. "You think this is funny?" he growled, stepping closer, his voice dangerously calm. "You think what you did is some sort of joke?"

Injang scoffed, clearly unfazed by Sunghoon's fury. "Relax, man. She’s just a little buzzed. Nothing serious happened." His tone was dismissive as if he was still trying to downplay the situation as some harmless prank.

Sunghoon's chest tightened with rage. "Nothing serious happened? She is unconscious!”

Injang's smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, shrugging nonchalantly. "Whatever, man. Don’t be so dramatic. It was just a little harmless fun–"

He was stammering, trying to back away from Sunghoon. 

“Sunghoon, stop!” Hyunjin’s voice reached him just in time before he could shove his fist into Injangs face.

Sunghoon turned to see Hyunjin standing behind him, holding his arms up in a way that was meant to stop him. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Hyunjin?” Sunghoon snapped, furious at him for getting in the way. “This shithead drugged Y/N.”

“Sunghoon, listen to me,” Hyunjin said, stepping closer. “If you hit him, it’s going to fuck up your chances for the Olympics. Let the police handle this. You have enough evidence that will get him into trouble.”

Sunghoon stared at Hyunjin, his hands trembling with the urge to knock Injang’s teeth out. His entire body was on fire, adrenaline pumping through his veins. But Hyunjin was right. As much as Sunghoon hated it, he was right.

He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around nothing as he reluctantly let go of Injang. “You’re lucky I’m listening to him,” Sunghoon muttered, his voice barely controlled.

Injang took a step back, his face pale and sweaty now.

The sound of sirens grew louder in the background, and Sunghoon pushed past Hyunjin to get back to you.

Sunoo was still kneeling beside you, looking helpless, his hands hovering over your body as if trying to figure out what he could do to help

Sunghoon crouched down next to you, watching as your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. ──────────────────────── Sunghoon sat in the back of the taxi, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind was still racing, his pulse hammering in his ears as the city lights blurred past the window. His body moved on autopilot as the taxi finally pulled up in front of the hospital. He couldn't get the image of you collapsing out of his head the way you crumpled to the floor, lifeless in his arms. He insisted on coming to the hospital but wanted Sunoo to be with you in the ambulance, just in case you woke up. The chances were low but he didn’t want you to be with him. You barely knew each other. Heeseung asked him if he should come along, Jake and Jay also tried but those two already drank too much to survive a car ride without throwing up. He declined Heeseungs offer, Sunoo would be there and Mark would also be there. Sunoo called him the second you had been securely lying in the ambulance.

He barely remembered paying the driver before rushing inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic and bright fluorescent lights making his head pound. He wasn’t as sober as he wished he would be. 

The waiting area was quiet except for the distant beeping of machines and the occasional murmur of nurses. It didn't take much of an effort to find Sunoo.

He was curled up in one of the plastic chairs, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. His shoulders were hunched, and when he looked up at Sunghoon, his eyes were bloodshot.

Sunghoon hesitated before stepping closer. "Any news?"

Sunoo shook his head, wiping at his face with his sleeve. His voice was hoarse. "She's stable, but she's not awake. They-they said it's GHB." His breath hitched slightly. "It's gonna take time for it to wear off."

Sunghoon felt his stomach twist. Before he could say anything else, the doors to the waiting room swung open, and Mark rushed in, looking like he had just thrown on the first clothes he could find. His hoodie was inside out, and his sweatpants were wrinkled like he had just rolled out of bed, which made sense, it was nearly 2 AM.

Mark's eyes immediately found Sunghoon's. "Where is she?"

Sunghoon gestured toward the hallway leading to the ICU. "They're still monitoring her."

Mark let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting heavily in the chair next to Sunoo.

Mark's voice was shaky when he asked, "What happened?"

Sunghoon took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before he spoke. "Y/N fainted. The doctors say she's stable now, but she's still unconscious. She's been drugged. They found GHB in her system."

Mark let out a soft, guttural sound of disbelief, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair as he processed the words. His face was a mask of shock, confusion, and rage all mixed together. "She was drugged?" Mark repeated, his voice cracking slightly. "Who the hell would do something like this?"

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, the memory of Injang's smug face flashing in his mind. "Some asshole at the party. I confronted him before the cops came. He acted like it was funny." His fists tightened.

Mark lifted his head, his face eerily blank. "What's his name?" 

Sunghoon hesitated. "Mark-"

"What's his name, Sunghoon?" Mark repeated, his voice sharper now.

Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. The police took him in."

Mark's expression was unreadable, but before he could press further a nurse came up to them.

"Mr. Lee?", she asked as she approached them.

"Yes.", Mark stood up immediately.

"Y/N is stable," she said gently. "We've been monitoring her closely, and her vitals are steady. She hasn't woken up yet, but we'll continue to keep a close eye on her. Lucky the dose she digested was small and she ate something before going to the party."

"Can we go in and see her?"

The nurse hesitated, then nodded. "You can, but please be as quiet as possible. She's still unconscious, and we don't want to overwhelm her."

They followed her down the hospital corridors, the sterile smell of disinfectant in the air.

The nurse carefully opened the door to your room. You were lying motionless in the bed, your face pale beneath the hospital sheets and an oxygen mask was resting gently over your nose. The soft beeping of the machines filled the room.

Mark seemed at a loss for words, as he walked to your bed and gently took your hand into his hand. “She is going to be alright, right?”, he whispered.

“Definitely.”, the nurse nodded, “She might be confused and shocked when she wakes up and may experience side effects of the antidote, but she will be alright.”

Mark slightly nodded his head and caressed your hand. "I grabbed a T-shirt and some joggers. I thought... I thought she might want something comfortable when she wakes up."

Sunghoon glanced over at the bag Mark had brought and hummed slightly. 

“That’s really nice of you. We handed her clothing to the police, so they can take it in for evidence collection.”, the nurse smiled at Mark. “You can stay in here for a while, just please don’t try to wake her up.”

The three men nodded and Sunghoon watched the woman leave the small room. Sunoo signed and pulled one chair closer to your bed. Mark sat down next to you on the bed while Sunghoon stayed at the end of your bed. He felt weird and guilty, for being here, for his friends asking you to come, for him to not pay more attention. 

There was a long silence before Sunoo sniffled.  "I don't know what happened, Mark. She was fine. We were just hanging out, talking to some of the baseball guys I know and then she….. she just collapsed. I shouldn’t have let her drink something we didn’t watch being made. But he brought everyone a cup."

Mark shook his head, he was still carefully holding your hand, petting its backside. "It's okay Sunoo, it's not your fault that this happened." 

Thick silence filled the room again. Sunoo occasionally reached out to adjust the blankets around you, his eyes never leaving your face. It was as if no one could speak of what was actually happening, so they stayed silent instead.

Sunghoon had never felt so helpless in his life. He kept glancing at you, watching the shallow rise and fall of your chest. Every time the beeping of the monitor shifted, his heart skipped a beat, thinking for a second that something had changed. He also couldn’t imagine being in Mark's position. If Yeji was laying here, pale and motionless –drugged– his whole world would end. 

Minutes turned to hours, and yet, nothing changed. The night dragged on, and the three of them sat, waiting, watching, doing nothing but hope. Neither of them left your side. The hospital staff came in and out, checking your vitals, assuring them that you would wake up, your body just needed time. There was nothing to do but wait. ──────────────────────── Darkness.

That was the first thing you registered. Heavy, suffocating darkness clung to you like a thick fog, making it impossible to think, impossible to move. Your body felt foreign—like it wasn’t yours at all. Your limbs felt sluggish and your head was pounding.

Then came the sound. Distant at first, like you were hearing everything from underwater. A rhythmic beeping. The faint hum of voices. Someone shifting beside you.

You tried to move, but your body refused to cooperate. Your fingers twitched slightly against the sheets and a noise escaped your lips.

The beeping grew louder. The voices became clearer.

“…think she’s waking up.”

A hand brushed against yours, hesitant and warm.

“Y/N?”

You forced your eyes open, but the brightness was overwhelming. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through your skull, and you let out a quiet whimper, squeezing them shut again.

“She needs a doctor—someone get a nurse!”, a voice said, more urgent this time.

Footsteps hurried away.

You tried again, forcing your lashes to flutter open. The light was still too much, but this time, your vision wasn’t completely useless. Shapes. Shadows. A blurry figure leaning over you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” someone murmured, their tone softer now.

You blinked a few times, and slowly, painfully, the world started to come into focus.

Sunoo.

His eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles beneath them like he hadn’t slept in days. His fingers were trembling against your hand.

Behind him, other figures began to materialize.

Mark? Sunghoon?

Your sluggish mind tried to piece things together, but it felt like you were missing something. Everything was hazy. The last thing you remembered was the party. The bright lights, the pounding music, the way your head had started to spin. And then… nothing. Just a void.

Your throat felt raw when you tried to speak. “Wha—?”

“Don’t talk yet,” Mark cut in quickly, leaning forward. His hair was messy, and he looked like he had been dragged out of bed. “You’re in the hospital.”

Hospital?

Your fingers twitched again, trying to push yourself up, but your body didn’t cooperate. Everything was too heavy.

You swallowed, forcing the words out. “What… happened?”

Sunoo squeezed your hand. His lips parted, but for a second, he hesitated, like he didn’t know how to say it.

Sunghoon was the one who finally answered. His voice was low, careful. “You were drugged.”

Drugged?

Your eyes darted between them, searching their faces for some kind of explanation, some kind of reassurance that this was a misunderstanding, that they were wrong.

But Mark’s jaw was clenched. Sunoo’s fingers were still shaking and Sunghoon’s face was unreadable.

A cold sensation washed over you, creeping up your spine.

Drugged.

Your stomach twisted violently.

A shuffle at the doorway made you turn your head slightly. A nurse had entered, a clipboard in hand,

“Y/N,” she said with a small smile, stepping closer to check the monitor beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You opened your mouth, but for a moment, no words came out. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know what you felt.

“…Heavy,” you managed weakly. “Tired.”

The nurse hummed in understanding. “That’s normal. The drug is still leaving your system, but your vitals are stable. Do you remember anything?”

Your mind scrambled for an answer, but there was nothing. Just fragments.

“I…” Your throat tightened. “Not really.”

She nodded, scribbling something onto the clipboard. “That’s expected. Your body reacted well to the fluids, and the tests showed a relatively low dose, but it’s still disorienting.” Her eyes softened slightly. "I will bring you something to drink and then we will have to draw a bit of blood to send to the lab again."

You just nodded and watched her leave the room.

Mark leaned forward, his hands clasped together. “You scared the hell out of us.” His voice cracked slightly. “I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Sunoo was silent, but his hand trembled against yours. When you turned to look at him, you saw that his bottom lip was pressed tightly together, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Then, quietly, almost too softly to hear, he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Your chest ached at the way his voice broke.

“I shouldn’t have convinced you to go,” he continued, his fingers tightening around yours. “You didn’t even want to. I–I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve been watching out for you. I should’ve–”

“Sunoo,” you cut him off, your voice was still hoarse and talking was uncomfortable. “No.”

He shook his head. “But–”

“No,” you said again, stronger this time. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Sunoo let out a sharp breath, looking down at your joined hands. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away hastily.

“If anything, I shouldn’t have just taken a drink from someone I didn’t know.” You tried to give him a small smile. “That was stupid of me.”

Mark tensed. “Don’t do that.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Blame yourself.” His voice was firm. “You shouldn’t have to watch your drink like a hawk just to be safe. This isn’t on you.”

At the foot of the bed, Sunghoon, who had been mostly silent, finally spoke up. “Mark’s right.” His hands were clasping the end of your bed. “If anyone’s at fault, it’s that bastard who did this to you. Not you. Not Sunoo.” He exhaled heavily. “I wish I could’ve hit that asshole.”

You blinked at him, a little surprised at the sudden shift in his tone. 

Mark exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna have to call Mom and Dad,” he murmured.

Your stomach dropped. He told your parents? Your mom must be worried sick right now. They never admitted it but your parents were always a lot more careful with you, compared to your brothers.

Mark must have seen the way your face fell because he quickly added, “You don’t have to do it right now. Just… at some point.”

You nodded numbly.

Sunghoon shifted slightly, the rings on his fingers clicking against the metal of the bed. “We already gave our statements to the police,” he told you. “But they’ll want to talk to you too.”

You swallowed hard. You didn’t even know what to tell them. Whatever happened at the party was gone. You could barely remember getting there, so what were you supposed to tell the police? 

Mark hesitated before speaking again. “The guy who did it… Injang. The police took him in.”

You tried to put a face to that name. Sunoo sniffled quietly beside you, his head bowed.

You squeezed his hand, again and tried to ignore the overwhelming wave of emotions that threatened to crash over you. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone right now.

Mark sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You should get some more sleep. I’ll wake you when the nurse returns,” he murmured.

You weren’t sure if you could sleep, not with your heart still hammering in your chest, but you nodded anyway. ──────────────────────── The rest of the day passed in a blur.

The hospital staff checked in on you frequently, making sure you were eating, and drinking, and that the drug was fully leaving your system. Your body still felt sluggish, like moving through water, and your head pounded in a dull, persistent ache. It really did feel like the worst hangover of your life, except this time, you hadn’t even earned it.

By the time the evening rolled around, you were discharged with strict instructions to rest, stay hydrated, and come back if anything felt off. Mark refused to let you go home alone.

So Mark, Sunghoon, who was weirdly invested in “Tomorrow” and you settled into the couch in your living room, the TV casting a soft glow across the dimly lit living room. Mark had insisted on watching the episodes you missed, hoping it would distract you, but honestly, you could barely focus.

Your whole body still felt off. Heavy. Sluggish. Every movement required double the effort. It felt like there was a fog over everything, making it impossible to think too hard or even process what had happened.

So you just… sat there. Curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in the blanket Mark had thrown over you the second you walked into the apartment. Your body felt hot and cold at the same time. The AC was still running so the apartment was not as uncomfortably hot as the air outside, but somehow the cold didn’t feel comfortable either. 

Mark and Sunghoon were having way too much fun making fun of the show.

“Why does he run like that?” Sunghoon snorted.

Mark shook his head dramatically. “Man’s fighting for his life, and you’re worried about his running form?”

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be scared if someone chased me like that.”

Mark let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh my god he is such an idiot. Look at him! He had one job, and now–yep. Yep. He’s dead.”

Sunghoon shook his head. “Deserved.”

Mark turned to you, expectantly. “Right, Y/N?”

You blinked slowly, trying to focus on their conversation. “Huh?”

Mark’s teasing expression faltered slightly. His eyes softened. “Never mind,” he said gently. “You tired?”

You nodded, barely holding back a yawn.

Mark reached for the remote, lowering the volume. “You should sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

You were about to agree, but when you tried to move, your entire body protested. Even sitting up felt like too much effort. You groaned softly, dropping your head back onto the couch. “I wanna continue watching. I’ll go to bed after the episode.”

Mark hummed in agreement and turned back to the TV.

Somewhere in the middle of the episode, your body gave in to exhaustion.

You woke up in the middle of the night. It took you a moment to realize you were curled into Mark’s side, your head resting against his chest. His arm was draped over you protectively, his slow, steady breathing the only sound in the quiet room. You adjusted slightly and closed your eyes again.  ──────────────────────── The apartment was quiet. 

Sunghoon stood in the kitchen, rolling his shoulders back as he stared at the half-chopped apple sitting on the cutting board in front of him. His eyes kept flicking toward the living room, where you were curled up on the couch, asleep. Again. 

Mark had left a few hours ago, only after making you swear you would be okay. He assured you and Sunghoon that he’d be back in seconds if he was needed.

Now, it was just the two of you. 

Sunghoon knew that you wouldn’t be on top of your game 24 hours after being drugged, but it was weird seeing you do nothing all day long. You called in sick at work for your shift in the cinema for today, so all you did today was try to rewatch the episode of “Tomorrow” Mark and Sunghoon watched with you yesterday. Or well watched without you. You fell asleep not even 30 minutes in. The same thing happened today. 

During lunch, you only ate a few spoonfuls of rice so you could eat your medications, painkillers and pills that suppressed the nausea. So now he was cutting up some fruit for you. He neatly arranged a banana, a few pieces of apple, mango and some grapes before setting the plate down on the coffee table. Maybe you felt like eating a bit when you woke up and the meds had kicked in.

When he came to the kitchen a few hours later he saw the plate of fruit standing next to the sink. Untouched.

Sunghoon frowned, stepping closer. He had expected at least a few pieces to be gone. Maybe you just weren’t hungry? Or still nauseous? There were a few crumbs on the kitchen counter and when he opened the dishwasher he emptied before he saw a plate. So you did eat something. Maybe you just didn’t feel like fruit? 

He placed the fruit in one of the containers he usually used for his lunch preps and wrote you a small note to eat some of the fruit when you woke up again. He had training in the morning and didn’t know when you would wake up, but wanted to make sure you ate something in the morning. The nurse told the men that you should eat a bit more. Not only because you were drugged, but because you were in the lower BMI regions and you had to pay attention that it wouldn’t get worse. Marks face fell when he heard that. He told Sunghoon to please keep an eye on your eating behaviour.  ──────────────────────── You jerked awake around midnight. 

You left your blinds open when you went to bed a few hours ago, not because you wanted to but because you simply forgot. 

You never forget to close your blinds. 

The light from the street lamps outside always made your sleep restless, so you closed the blinds. 

Everyday, after you finish your night routine. 

Today you barely had the energy to brush your teeth and wash your face before falling into bed. 

You blinked slowly and took a deep breath in. The air in your room felt stuffy and hot. When you slowly sat up the world was spinning for a second before you could stand up. Your stomach was growling and your throat felt dry so you slowly and carefully made your way into the kitchen. Maybe Sunghoon put some of the fruit he cut up for you into the fridge. You tried to eat some when you woke up from your nap earlier but just the thought of eating made you nauseous. The rice you ate for lunch was lying heavily in your stomach. 

The nurse said that the nausea was normal and would probably take a few days to subside. She advised you to stick to plain food, that was easy to digest, so you ate a piece of toast with butter for dinner, after you cut it into small bite-size pieces.  

You made your way into the kitchen, careful to be as quiet as possible, to not wake Sunghoon. When you opened the fridge you had to squeeze your eyes closed again. The light coming from it made a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your skull again. Similar to the one in the hospital when you first woke up. You closed the door again and leaned against the kitchen counter. 

On Friday, before you went to the party you planned on changing the water of your chrysanthemums, so the flowers were standing on the counter instead of the window sill. You reached for the vase to push it further back. Your fingers barely brushed against its smooth surface before it tipped over. It teetered for a split second, the world seeming to slow before it crashed onto the floor. The sound was deafening—glass shattering, water splashing, and the dull thud of the flowers hitting the tile. No. No. No.

It startled you and your heart started racing, pounding violently against your ribcage. The walls of the kitchen suddenly seemed to close in around you, and a heavy weight pressed down on your chest, making each breath feel laborious like there was not enough air to fill your lungs. You gasped, but the air felt thick, suffocating, and each breath was a struggle. Suddenly everything felt too much. The low humming of the fridge, the shouting from the streets, the light coming from the fridge. 

You looked down at the mess on the floor.

The kitchen started spinning slowly, the edges of your vision blurring as your head grew lighter with every passing second. The shards of what once was your favourite vase shimmered in and out of focus. Their jagged edges distorted before your eyes, and your stomach twisted into knots.

You crouched down and hovered your fingers over the sharp edges, but your body felt disconnected like you were trapped in a haze. Then, through the haze, you heard hurried footsteps.

“Y/N!” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the static in your ears, but it sounded far away, distorted like he was speaking through a tunnel.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" Sunghoon asked when you didn't respond.

You opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, that you just knocked over the vase, but the words got stuck in your throat. You could only stare at the mess in front of you, your fingers twitching as you tried to piece together the fragments of the vase.

Sunghoon kneeled down beside you. “Hey–hey! Stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” His voice was urgent but soft. He reached to stop you from touching the glass, but the moment his hand got too close, you flinched violently. You didn’t know why, but the thought of him, or anyone touching you, made your breathing come even faster. It came in rapid, choked gasps, your chest rising and falling too quickly.

"I can't—" You tried to tell him you couldn’t breathe, that something was happening, but you couldn’t push out more than those two words. Why couldn’t you breathe? What was going on?

Sunghoon cursed under his breath. “Y/N, you have to breathe,” he pleaded, but his voice barely reached you over the deafening static in your head. He didn’t reach out again, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you were thankful for that.

Then, suddenly, your body gave out. Your knees buckled, and the room tilted violently as you started to fall.

Before you hit the floor, Sunghoon caught you.

“Let’s sit down,” he said firmly, and without waiting for a response, he gently guided you to the floor, settling you against the cool tiles. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on his voice. But the moment you sat, your body betrayed you, and the weight of, what you assumed was panic crashed down even harder. 

You were having a panic attack. 

Each breath became a desperate gasp, your chest constricting painfully as you tried to pull air into your lungs. The shadows in the corners of the kitchen deepened, and the static in your ears rose to a deafening roar. It felt like you were drowning.

“Y/N!” Sunghoon’s voice was muffled and distant like he was speaking from underwater. 

He shifted closer, concern etched deeply in his features, but you couldn’t focus on his face. Desperation rose within you as you gripped your knees, your nails digging into your skin as if that might calm you, but it didn’t help. All you heard was the pounding of your heart, drowning out everything else.

“Y/N! Look at me! Just breathe!” He tried again, his voice steady and calm.

You gasped, your voice shaking, “I can’t... I can’t...”

Sobs clawed their way up your throat, but you swallowed them back down, your body trembling with effort.

His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, holding you up as your body shook uncontrollably. He didn’t let go—not even when you flinched again, your entire body tense as if expecting a blow. You didn’t understand why this was happening, why you were panicking, why the thought of Sunghoon touching you made it even worse.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, “Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. The air wouldn’t reach your lungs, no matter how hard you tried.

Sunghoon adjusted his hold, carefully guiding you to sit on the floor against the cabinets. He moved quickly but gently, his grip firm enough to keep you from collapsing completely. 

He grabbed your shaking hand and pressed it against his chest.

“Feel that?” His voice was very soft now. “That’s my heartbeat. Focus on it, okay?”

Your fingers twitched against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the rhythmic thump beneath your palm. It was strong, steady. You closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensation of his heartbeat and the warmth radiating from him.

“Inhale,” he instructed gently, his own breath deepening as he demonstrated. You could feel his chest expand beneath your hand, and you tried to mirror him, drawing in a shaky breath as you followed his lead.

“Hold it for a second... and exhale,” he guided you, releasing his breath slowly.

You tried. You really tried. Your breath stuttered, but you forced yourself to follow his lead, mirroring the slow, controlled rise and fall of his breathing.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hand covering yours. “Just keep doing that. Inhale... hold... exhale. You’re doing great...”

It took time. Minutes passed in a blur of shaky inhales and uneven exhales. Your body still trembled, but slowly the weight on your chest began to ease. The static in your mind started to fade and got replaced by the steady rhythm of Sunghoons breath, his heartbeat.

Sunghoon didn’t rush you. He didn’t let go. He just stayed there, guiding you through each breath.

Eventually, your breathing evened out. Your fingers relaxed against his chest, no longer curled into fists. The dizziness ebbed, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

“Just like that,” he whispered, offering you the faintest smile.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly. You didn’t understand what had just happened. Why had you had a panic attack over knocking over a vase? Yes, you liked it, but why hadn’t you been able to breathe just seconds ago? Why had Sunghoon had to catch you again?

You leaned against Sunghoon, your head resting on his shoulder, closing your eyes. Your body felt so heavy.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concern as he glanced down at you.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your eyes closed.

You barely had the strength to lift your head, let alone stand up. Every muscle in your body felt drained as if the panic attack had stolen the rest of your energy in the blink of an eye. 

Sunghoon glanced down at you, concern still evident on his face. "Y/N, should we call the hospital? Or at least Mark?" His voice was gentle.

You shook your head weakly, which took embarrassingly much effort. "No, I–I– don’t call Mark. I just need to rest. I’ll be fine."

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as he took in your condition. He didn’t argue, but the concern in his eyes remained. He nodded softly, looking around, as if trying to figure out what would help you.

"I don’t want to be alone," you muttered, barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The thought of being alone in your bed was unbearable. 

Sunghoon’s gaze softened. "Do you want me to stay with you?" 

You just nodded and looked up at him, your exhaustion and anxiety still clinging to you, making it hard to even form coherent thoughts. 

He gently placed his hand on your shoulder. "Yeah, I’ll stay with you. Let’s get you to bed first."

Sunghoon helped you up slowly, his arms steady around you as you leaned against him for support. Your legs felt wobbly like they might give out at any moment. Together, you made your way to your room.

Once inside, Sunghoon guided you to the bed, helping you lie down as carefully as he could. You curled up into the blankets. The weight of exhaustion hit you all at once, and all you wanted to do was close your eyes and escape into sleep.

Sunghoon climbed in beside you, his movements slow and gentle. He settled beside you, making sure to give you space but still close enough to offer comfort. You felt him move, his hand lightly brushing your hair as he began to softly caress it, a soothing motion that calmed you more than you expected.

"Just relax," he whispered, his voice soft as he ran his fingers through your hair. "I’m here. You’re safe."

With each gentle stroke of his hand, your breath steadied. You felt your body relax, the tension in your muscles easing, until you were almost asleep. Before you completely drifted off, you managed to whisper a quiet  "Thank you". ──────────────────────── The warmth against Sunghoon’s side was the first thing he registered when he stirred awake. The second thing was the damp stickiness of sweat clinging to his skin. You were still curled up against him, your body radiating heat beneath the covers, your breathing uneven. Even in sleep, you were restless.

His eyes flickered open, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. He blinked sluggishly, his mind still foggy with sleep. He needed a second to remember where he was.

He was in your bed.

His body stiffened slightly. You had a panic attack. A rather bad one he’d say. He wasn't particularly an expert but he had seen a fair share of people having panic attacks before. Afterall he was doing a sport on a level where it wasn't just a hobby anymore. Sometimes the pressure and stress are just too much and people crack.

His body tensed slightly as he thought of yesterday night. The sound of the vase shattering, the way he had bolted into the kitchen, heart hammering in his chest because, for a split second, he had thought someone had broken in. But then he had seen you. On the floor, hyperventilating, flinching away from him like he was a threat. The way you had nearly collapsed in his arms, too overwhelmed to even breathe properly.

You had been terrified last night. Completely overwhelmed. He hadn’t known what to do, so he just stayed. Let you rest, let you find comfort in his presence, because if that was what you needed, then fine. Sunghoon wasn’t great at emotions, but he could do this. He could be here.

After all, wasn’t it kind of his fault that you had been drugged in the first place?

A dull pang of guilt settled in his chest at the thought. If he had just been more careful if he had noticed sooner—if, if, if. It was too late to change anything, but it didn’t stop the thought from lingering.

Sunghoon swallowed, his jaw tightening. He glanced down at you, still tucked close against him. Even now, your brows were slightly furrowed, your fingers twitching every now and then like you were stuck in a restless dream. His grip on the blanket tightened slightly.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He had never been great at this, comforting someone emotionally. He could be there physically, he could hold you, keep you safe, but saying the right words? Making sure you actually felt better? He didn’t know if he was capable of that.

He sighed quietly, shifting slightly to ease the discomfort of his sweaty shirt clinging to his back. The movement must have disturbed you because, after a moment, he saw you stir, your breath hitching slightly as you blinked yourself awake.

Immediately, you tensed. He felt it—the way your body stiffened, the way your breathing changed

Slowly, you pulled away from him, avoiding his gaze as you sat up.

“Uh… morning,” you murmured, your voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

Sunghoon sat up too, studying you carefully. You looked exhausted, of course you did. After everything that had happened, it wasn’t like one night of sleep would magically fix it

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “Um… thanks. For last night. I–”, you hesitated, eyes darting to the covers. “I don’t know what happened. It was just a vase, I don’t know why I–”

You cut yourself off, shaking your head like you didn’t even know how to explain it.

Sunghoon frowned. You shouldn’t have to explain yourself right now, it wasn’t like you planned on having a panic attack.

“You okay?” he asked, instead.

You hesitated before nodding, but it wasn’t exactly convincing.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. He wanted to ask more. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to act like everything was fine, but he wasn’t sure how to say it without making things worse.

"You sure?” he pressed.

You swallowed. “I mean… I don’t know. I just feel… off.”

Yeah. That made sense.

Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, watching you carefully. You weren’t crying, but you still looked so lost in your own head, your eyes unfocused like you were somewhere else entirely.

He hated it.

Sunghoon exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. He had no idea how to comfort you emotionally, but he could at least make sure you weren’t alone.

“…Are you gonna be okay alone today?” he finally asked, watching your reaction closely.

You hesitated again, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “…I don’t know.”

Sunghoon nodded, already making a decision before you even had to say anything else.

“Come with me,” he said simply.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Huh?”

“To training. You can sit in the bleachers or whatever,” he shrugged, standing up to stretch. “You don’t have to be alone.”

You opened your mouth like you wanted to protest, but after a moment, you shut it again, your expression softening slightly.

“…Okay.”

Sunghoon gave a small nod before grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “Cool. Get ready, we’ll head out soon.”

As he walked toward the bathroom, he glanced back at you, still sitting on the bed, staring at your hands. ──────────────────────── You sat in the bleachers, wrapped in the thickest hoodie you could find, your arms resting on your lap as you watched the skaters glide effortlessly across the ice. The cold from the rink seeped into your bones, but you didn’t really mind. It was better than the midday heat outside. 

When you and Sunghoon arrived at the rink the air was hot and humid and you were glad to escape the weather for a few hours. You've been at the rink for a while now watching Sunghoon and his teammates skate through various choreographies. Alone, in pairs, alone again. His coach seemed to be quite strict, making them run through the same part multiple times.

You had never seen Sunghoon skate before. Not in person.

You had known he was good, obviously. He was literally training for the Olympics. But knowing something and seeing it with your own eyes were two very different things.

He moved across the ice like he was made for it, every motion smooth and deliberate, like gravity didn’t affect him the way it did everyone else. His long limbs should have made him look awkward, but instead, they made everything he did look even more refined—effortless.

It was mesmerizing.

And it wasn’t just him.

The other skaters–especially the female ones–floated across the rink with that same elegance, their bodies cutting through the ice with practised ease. They were beautiful and so graceful.

Your mind still felt slow, like it was moving through water. Everything around you felt a bit...distant. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Just… off. Like you were here, but not fully.

Having a full-blown panic attack in front of your hot roommate and asking him to more or less act like a gigant plushie in your bed, so you could sleep may contribute to that feeling. And the fact that it felt wrong to sit here. You should be in the office right now. It was Monday after all, but the hospital sent your doctor’s note to your workplace, excusing you until the weekend, so you could recover from the GHB properly. The doctors were quite worried when you left, that you might still be affected by the drug. Which, honestly, you were. So maybe it was good you didn't go to work, but at the same time would you have appreciated a bit of a distraction?

You pulled your knees up slightly, resting your chin against them as you watched Sunghoon land a jump perfectly, the ice slicing beneath his blade.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, just watching. But you were grateful that, at least for now, you didn’t have to do anything else.

At one point you felt bored so you pulled your sketchbook from your bag, flipping to an empty page as you settled back against the cool bleachers.

Your fingers gripped the pencil lightly, gliding it over the paper in slow, careful strokes. The ice skaters still moved gracefully across the rink, but now, instead of watching them with awe, you focused on capturing their movements with lines and shading.

Sunghoon was still the easiest to spot, his tall frame making him stand out among the others. You tried to sketch the way his body tilted ever so slightly before he leapt into the air. It was frustrating, trying to capture something so fluid, but it gave your mind something to focus on other than the lingering exhaustion weighing down your limbs.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, but eventually, a small shiver ran through you.

The cold had crept up on you gradually, settling in your fingers and arms before you even realized it. You rubbed your hands together, tucking them into the sleeves of your hoodie before glancing down at your phone. Sunghoon was still practising, but you didn’t want to sit in the rink any longer.

Y/N: Hey, I’m gonna go outside. It’s getting kinda cold.

You packed up your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you made your way out of the building. The warmth of the summer air hit you instantly, a stark contrast to the coolness of the rink. You let out a slow breath, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders as you stepped into the shade of a tree just outside the entrance.

You sank onto the grass, reopening your sketchbook.

Here, in the quiet, it was easier to draw.

Your pencil moved fluidly, shading in the folds of Sunghoon’s training jacket, the angle of his arms mid-spin. The longer you sketched, the more the world around you faded into the background.

You didn't even realize how much time went by when you heard footsteps approaching.

You straightened up, seeing Sunghoon walking toward you, his tall figure framed against the bright afternoon sky.

“You didn’t have to wait out here. You could have gone home,” he said with a small smile, though there was something in his eyes that made it seem like he was still concerned about you.

“It’s fine,” you replied quietly, standing up and stretching out your legs. “I didn’t feel like going back inside and here I could enjoy the sun a bit.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but you noticed his eyes flicker toward your sketchbook.

“Did you paint something?”

You glanced down at the book in your hands, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Just… some sketches of you and the other ice skaters..”

Sunghoon tilted his head, walking a little closer. “Can I see?”

You hesitated, but then you opened it to the page with a sketch of him. The lines were still rough, not nearly as clean or as elegant as his movements on the ice, but it was the best you could do.

He smiled slightly when he saw the drawing. “Is that me?”

“Yeah.” You closed the sketchbook quickly, feeling suddenly awkward. “You looked really...elegant? I don't know how to describe it but I wanted to capture that. I also painted your friends. The one with the long hair. She is really beautiful.”

"Wonyoung?", Sunghoon asked and flopped down onto the grass next to you. "She is really pretty. And really talented. If she doesn't get into the Olympics team I don't know who will."

You collected your pencils that you spread onto the hoodie you layed beside you. "Do you think you will get in?"

Sunghoon let out a humourless laugh. "I am doing my best, but I am not sure. Honestly, at the moment it feels like I am stuck somehow. No matter what I do it feels like I am getting worse instead of better."

"Oh.", you said softly, "Sometimes the universe just has different plans for us. You still have other cool opportunities but the Olympics, right? I imagine taking part in the Olympics is quite hard on your body and psyche?"

Sunghoon hummed. "Yeah. And if nothing works out I'll just coach or something. I don't know. My degree offers me so many various career paths. I am sure I'll find something I like."

You nodded, "Mine really doesn't. Oh well, it does, maybe not as many as yours but I kinda am planning in specialising in Architectural History and Classical Design, which won't get me far here in Korea, so I kind of have to think of going in a different direction."

"Why not go to Europe or the States? You like that kind of architecture, right?", Sunghoon asked.

You looked at him confused. How did he know that? "I-uhm- yeah, I do. But I would hate to live far from my parents and my brothers. Seoul is already too far. I want to go to Busan. To you know, live and build my life there."

"Oh really? I love Busan. It's very pretty. I've been there with my family once or twice.", Sunghoon said.

"It is.", you smiled at him.

Before you could say anything else, you were interrupted by a female voice: "Honnie?"

The girl with the long hair, Wonyoung?, was walking towards the tree you and Sunghoon were leaning against.

"I thought you left to go home?", she said and then turned to you. "Oh hi. You must be Y/N I am Wonyoung."

You cleared your throat and looked up at her. She was quite tall. "Ah yeah. Hi Wonyong."

"I heard what happened at the party on Friday," she said and shook her head. "I knew Injang is a Idiot but I would have never guessed that he would drug people for fun. Are you feeling better?"

You stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the question. Your fingers curled around the edges of your sketchbook, gripping it just a little too tightly.

“I…” You hesitated, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but what else were you supposed to say?

"I am glad." Wonyoung's expression softened as she looked at you.

“Yeah,” you murmured, shifting on your feet. “Me too.”

The conversation lapsed into silence for a moment. You felt awkward, unsure of what to say, but Wonyoung quickly changed the subject, turning to Sunghoon.

“Are you heading back to your place now?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Y/N and I were planning on cooking together tonight.”

Oh? Were you?

“Alright,” Wonyoung said. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She gave you a small wave before walking off, leaving you alone with Sunghoon.

You exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “She is nice.”

“She is,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, he glanced down at you. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you both headed toward the bus station. ──────────────────────── Sunghoon and you didn't really plan on cooking together. Sunghoon just had an oddly specific craving for dinner.

“I really want dakgalbi,” he said as you walked side by side toward the bus stop. “There’s this place I love, but you have to order for at least two people. So if you're up for it, I would order for the both of us?”

You blinked up at him. "I-sure. I would love to eat some dakgalbi."

Eating with Sunghoon was… nice.

You had fallen into an easy routine with him over the past few weeks. Sometimes one of you would cook a meal with two portions so you would eat together, but most of the time you both ate different meals, his playlist would softly play in the background and you would be talking about anything and everything. It had all started feeling strangely comfortable. You liked coming home to him being at home already. He preferred to lounge on the sofa in the living room, instead of his room and you enjoyed the natural lighting of the kitchen more than the artificial one in your room so the two of you were often in the same room, doing your own thing. 

The smell of spicy stir-fried chicken filled the apartment as you both settled on the floor, in front of the TV, the takeout container placed between you on the small sofa table. The heat from the dish rose in soft waves, making your mouth water despite the lingering unease in your stomach.

Sunghoon dug in immediately, scooping up a generous bite of chicken and rice, his playlist playing softly in the background. You took your first bite. It was delicious, and at first, you thought you’d be fine.

But a few bites in, your stomach twisted uncomfortably. The spice lingered longer than usual, settling in your gut, and you swallowed quickly, taking a sip of water to cool your mouth. You tried eating a little more, but by the time you reached your fourth bite, it was obvious that your stomach was not on board with this meal.

You set your chopsticks down and exhaled, hesitant to say anything. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful when Sunghoon had been so excited about it. He didn’t even let you pay your half.

After a few moments, Sunghoon glanced up and noticed you weren’t eating. His brows furrowed slightly. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, feeling a little guilty. “I think the spice is a bit much for my stomach.”

Sunghoon blinked, chopsticks pausing mid-air. For a second, he looked almost disappointed, but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared. Instead, his features softened, and he set his chopsticks down, eyeing the takeout container. It was nearly untouched on your side of the bowl.

“Do you want more rice?” he asked gently. “It might help settle your stomach.”

You looked at him, a little surprised by the offer. 

You nodded after a moment. “Yeah, sure.”

A small, almost satisfied smile crossed his face as he scooped some of his rice onto your plate. “Here. Eat at least this much, okay?”

You smiled back, warmth settling in your chest. It was such a simple thing, but it made you feel… cared for. It was like with your brothers, but different somehow. Your brothers kinda had to be nice to you, they were your brothers after all. But Sunghoon just was…nice and caring and watching out for you apparently. You knew he was feeling unbelievably guilty for what happened on Friday. 

It wasn’t his fault. 

Or his friends fault. 

Or Sunoos. 

Just yours. For stupidly accepting a drink from a stranger. It was stupid. Really. 

But nothing you could change. The police came to your hospital room and you gave your statement, it wasn't really helpful, since you couldn’t really remember anything at all that would help, but they assured you Injang would be punished.

You looked at the rice on your plate . “Thanks,” you murmured, picking up your chopsticks again.

Sunghoon nodded, going back to his own food.

The two of you continued eating, the quiet hum of his playlist filling the space. It was a comfortable kind of silence, the kind where you didn’t feel the need to fill it with words.

You liked this. Sitting here, sharing food, talking about whatever came to mind. ──────────────────────── The apartment was eerily quiet.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered tubes of paint, brushes of varying thicknesses, and a palette smeared with muted blues, soft greys, and hints of warm ochre. You dragged a brush lazily across the canvas. It was slowly coming to life—a cityscape bathed in hazy afternoon light.

Normally, your days were filled to the brim with tasks, deadlines, and obligations. There was always something to do, somewhere to be. But today? Today had been mind-numbingly empty. If Mark had gotten to know that you went to work he would have probably killed you, so would Junwoo and Taeyong. Johnny even asked if he should come to Seoul to give you a once over and when you declined told you to get rest and take care of your body as much as possible. 

So you were doing just that. 

Taking a rest. 

But taking rest somehow felt even more draining than working. You had to find something to do besides sleeping, that would keep you occupied, even though you somehow didn't feel like doing anything. The last three days you tried everything.

You cleaned the apartment, skimmed through a book, scrolled through your phone more than you cared to admit and you tried to start a new drama. Nothing stuck. The boredom pressed down on you until you gave in, grabbing your sketchbook and paints.

At least painting gave you something to focus on.

You've finished the painting of your mom’s kimchi jiggae you planned to hang next to the one of her kimchi that already hung in the kitchen and decided that you wanted to paint something different. So now you were painting the gamcheon village in Busan. Since talking to Sunghoon about wanting to move there you’ve watched a few Youtubers vlogs they filmed in Busan. It was such a beautiful city. 

The silence in the apartment stretched, only interrupted by the occasional distant sound of cars passing outside while you painted for hours on end.

It wasn’t until the familiar click of the front door opening that you realized how much time had passed.

"I'm back," Sunghoon’s voice rang through the apartment. You heard him toe off his shoes before stepping inside.

You turned to glance at him over your shoulder, taking in the slight dampness of his hair and the relaxed way he shrugged off his jacket. He must’ve gone out with his friends after training, just like he had mentioned in passing this morning.

His gaze flickered to you, then to the half-finished painting in front of you. His brows lifted slightly. “You’ve been painting all day?”

You nodded, stretching your stiff limbs. “There wasn’t much else to do.”

He hummed, walking over and peering at your work. “It looks good.”

You let out a small laugh. “You say that about everything I paint.”

“Because everything you paint looks good,” he replied easily before his eyes flickered toward the kitchen counter, where the plate you used for your breakfast was still standing next to the sink, waiting to be put into the dishwasher. His brows furrowed. “Did you eat?”

You opened your mouth to say yes but then hesitated.

Had you?

You tried to think back, but your mind came up blank. You remembered making tea in the morning. You remembered eating two pieces of toast with butter in the morning, before your stomach acted up again, so you made yourself tea. Tea was safe. You remembered sitting down to paint. And then… nothing.

“…I don’t think so,” you admitted, a little uncertain.

Sunghoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y/N.”

 “I just… forgot. I did eat breakfast?”, you said quickly. 

Since you’ve left the hospital a few days ago you had trouble sleeping and eating. Somehow your sleep was really restless and you still couldn’t really eat. You didn’t even know why. You were nauseous after eating, your stomach hurting, whatever you ate, so you just stuck to small portions of rice, soup or plain bread and drank a lot of tea, that was supposed to help your stomach.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What did you eat?”

You winced at his tone. “Some rice. And, um… a bit of bread.”

Sunghoon let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s it?”

You shifted under his gaze. “Food still makes my stomach feel weird.”

His expression softened slightly. “You can’t just not eat,” he muttered, already heading toward the kitchen.

You watched as he pulled out a pan and some ingredients, your stomach dropping.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Making food. Something you can and will eat. I swear I will call Mark and tell him you haven’t eaten. Painting is not an excuse to forget eating, Y/N.”

You nodded and just sat there, watching as he cracked eggs into the pan, adding rice and a few simple seasonings. The scent of warm, slightly buttery rice filled the air.

Within minutes, he placed two plates of egg-fried rice on the table, sitting down across from you. “Eat,” he said simply, nudging a fork toward you.

You picked up your spoon and took a small bite. It was plain and a bit bland. You took another bite, and Sunghoon seemed pleased, nodding slightly before starting on his own portion.

Then, like a switch flipped, he started talking.

“I almost faceplanted during practice today,” he said, shaking his head. “Lost my edge on a turn and nearly crashed into the barrier. Coach wasn’t impressed.”

You looked up, raising a brow. “But you didn’t fall?”

“I saved it at the last second,” he said proudly, then deflated a little. “Still got yelled at, though.”

You hid a smile behind another small bite of rice.

He continued talking, recounting random moments from his day—how the rink was more crowded than usual, how Rei had almost tripped over Wonyoung’s skates, how his friends dragged him out for food afterwards and wouldn’t stop teasing him about something dumb he said years ago.

You barely had to say anything, just nodding along, adding the occasional question or comment. But you didn’t mind.

You liked listening to him.

Before you knew it, you had eaten more than you thought you would. Almost half of your plate was gone. Sunghoon must have noticed because he gave you a small, satisfied smile. “See? Not that bad, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Yeah, yeah.”

Sunghoon just grinned, leaning back slightly. “Good. Gotta make sure you don’t starve while I’m around.”

You shook your head, but a small warmth settled in your chest.

Somehow, despite everything, Sunghoon made things feel a little easier. ──────────────────────── Exactly one week after the party Sunghoon came home late. Frustrated and annoyed and with his wrist taped again.  He saw the edge of his skate catch the ice, and before he could correct himself, he was already stumbling. His landing was off. Again. His frustration boiled over as he skated to a stop, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

He never struggled with this jump. It was muscle memory, something he had nailed a thousand, no a million times before. But today, it was like his body refused to cooperate. Every attempt ended in a mistake. Every spin felt just a little too slow. His footwork was sluggish. He had barely made it through his program without messing up half of it. And he had fallen. Four times. 

He wasn’t going to make the Olympic team. He knew it was pointless at this point. He knew he had to stop, before he would be one of the athletes stumbling under the pressure. 

Sunghoon had been trying to accept it, telling himself that there would be other competitions–Worlds, Grand Prix Finals, Four Continents. He had time. He could try again.

But knowing that didn’t make failure taste any less bitter.

By the time he got home, he was still frustrated and annoyed. His muscles ached, his mood was horrible, and all he wanted to do was shower and pass out.

You were curled up on the couch, holding a packet of crackers in one hand and your phone in the other. Your face lit up when you saw him.

“Hey,” you said, voice soft. “You wanna watch Tomorrow with me?”

Just like that, every ounce of frustration in his body melted.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. His mood was still heavy, but the tightness in his chest loosened just a little.

“Yeah,” he murmured, kicking off his shoes. “Sure.”

As he stepped further inside, his eyes flickered to the empty packaging of the crackers that way lying on the sofa table. It wasn’t much, but at least you were eating. 

The amount you ate in the last few days wasn’t enough for anyone older than ten months.

So he’d take what he could get. 

He sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough to see the flicker of relief in your expression.

You curled into the couch, your head resting against the armrest, the soft glow of the TV flickering across your face. Sunghoon barely paid attention to the drama, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You had always been on the quieter side, but lately, it was different. You barely spoke at all. You looked exhausted, all the time. You forgot to eat all the time. It was like someone stole your routine and suddenly you didn't know how to be alive anymore.

He knew, he just knew, that you probably hadn’t eaten much today.

It had been days now, and he had been paying attention. The way you only picked at your food, how your portions kept shrinking, how you hesitated when he asked if you had eaten. 

He understood, why you weren’t eating. But he couldn’t stop worrying. Not after what happened last week.

His jaw clenched as he thought back to the party and to last Sunday. Your body crumbling to the floor, your breathing ragged and uneven, the sheer panic in your eyes as you tried to gasp for air. That moment had scared the living shit out of him.

He had never felt that helpless before.

Sunghoon wasn’t great with emotions, but he knew guilt when he felt it. If he hadn’t convinced you to come to that party, you wouldn’t have been drugged. You wouldn’t have had a full-blown panic attack in front of him. You wouldn’t have been this drained, barely eating, barely sleeping.

Sunghoon saw you blink slower and slower. And then, you stilled completely.

You had fallen asleep.

For a moment, he just watched you, letting out a quiet sigh.

His fingers hovered over the remote before he lowered the volume, careful not to wake you. The drama kept playing, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore.

He wished he knew what to do.

Sunghoon had always been someone who fixed things with action—if his jumps were off, he trained harder; if he lost a competition, he worked until he won the next one. But this? He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t rewind time and undo what had happened. He couldn’t take away the fear, the exhaustion, the way you barely seemed present sometimes.

And that made him feel useless.

In the four weeks he has been living here he started liking you in a way that made him feel protective, that made his chest ache when he saw you struggling.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch.

Sunghoon had never been good at dealing with feelings. 

Not others, not his own. 

But he knew that if you weren’t feeling like shit right now he would really like this. 

Watching TV with you, being the person you quietly sought out when you didn’t want to be alone, quietly spending time with you.  ──────────────────────── University had started again a few days ago, and honestly, you were relieved.

It felt good to slip back into a rhythm, to have a schedule, to wake up knowing exactly where you needed to be and what you needed to do. Your mornings were filled with lectures, afternoons with group work, and in between, you had your friends back. After weeks of quiet, of spending most of your time alone or with Sunghoon, the campus felt alive again.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed this.

So when lunchtime rolled around, you were glad to finally sit down with Renjun, Jaemin, and Ningning, listening to them bicker.

“I swear, Professor Kim hates us,” Ningning groaned, aggressively stabbing at her rice. “Why else would she give us a group project with the deadline in less than 3 weeks?”

Jaemin snorted. “She’s just testing who’s gonna drop out first.”

Renjun sighed dramatically. “Well, it’s me. I’m dropping out. I’m packing my bags.”

“You say that every semester,” Jaemin pointed out.

“This time, I mean it.”

Ningning grinned. “What’s the plan, then? Becoming an unemployed artist?”

“Hey.” Renjun looked offended. “I could make it work. Maybe i am the next Picasso.”

Jaemin smirked. “Sure. I’d go more for Van Gogh. I think you would be sexy with only one ear.”

Renjun picked up a fry and threw it at him.

At some point during the lunch break, Renjun glanced at your tray.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Is that all you’re eating?”

Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t meant to eat so little—it just… happened. You hadn’t even realized how little you filled your tray with until now: a bit of rice, a few slices of meat and a yoghurt. It was food you knew you could eat without feeling uncomfortable later.

You forced a casual shrug. “I’m not that hungry.”

Ningning frowned. “Y/N, that’s, like… nothing.”

Jaemin studied you for a second before leaning forward. “You’re really not hungry?”

You hesitated, gripping your spoon a little tighter. “Not really.”

Ningning raised an eyebrow. “You sure? It’s not because the food here sucks?”

You forced out a chuckle. “I mean, that’s part of it.”

Renjun, though, wasn’t so easily convinced. His voice was softer when he spoke. “You’d tell us if something was wrong, right?”

You hesitated. Your fingers curled around the edge of your tray.

You hadn’t told them yet. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because saying it out loud would make it too real, or maybe because you just didn’t want to see the way they’d react, maybe because you were embarrassed that you made such a stupid mistake.

But now, with all three of them staring at you, waiting, you exhaled shakily.

“Something…did happen.” You swallowed, forcing the words out. “At a party. Someone put something in my drink.”

Silence.

Renjun’s face went blank. Jaemin sat up straighter. Ningning eyes widened, mouth parting slightly.

“What?” Renjun finally breathed.

You nodded, pushing your yoghurt around with your spoon. “Nothing… bad happened. But it could have. I am just not feeling super good.”

Jaemin looked like he was ready to murder someone. “Who the hell—”

“You know Injang?”

Ningning’s face twisted in disgust. “The baseball player?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It was him.”

A long pause stretched between you all. You didn’t want them to look at you like that, with pity and worry and barely contained anger, but you couldn’t blame them either. If one of them told you they were drugged you would be furious. 

Renjun ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Y/N… why didn’t you tell us?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really something to just tell someone?”, you shrugged.

“And you’ve been okay?” Ningning asked, voice softer now.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m getting there. My stomach is just super upset at everything I eat. It’s really annoying but it’s getting better.”

They didn’t look convinced. You weren’t convinced either. But at least you didn’t feel like vomiting. Jaemin slid his untouched banana toward you. “Eat this. Just a few bites. Bananas are easy to digest.”

You sighed, but peeled it anyway. And as you forced yourself to take a bite, you saw them all relax.  ──────────────────────── You saw the light filtering through the lecture hall windows, dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun as your professor droned on about neoclassical influences. Your hand moved across your sketchbook on its own, lines forming the skeleton of a Corinthian column without conscious thought. When your professor wrapped up his lecture you realized that yes you have painted a row of very beautiful looking Corinthian columns but you also didn’t pay attention to what the professor was saying. You signed and texted Jaemin to send you his notes of the class. His only response was a thumbs-up emoji. 

The walk home was long and the heat made it almost unbearable. It was September but summer was unwavering and the air was hot and humid. You adjusted your bag strap when it slipped off your shoulder, then frowned as your jeans sagged at the waist again. You hitched them up with one hand, mentally scolding yourself for buying them a size too big last month. The washing machine must have stretched them out. You made a note to check the care tags later. Maybe they needed a hotter wash.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Taeyong’s contact photo flashed on screen. A ridiculous selfie of him and Johnny making fish faces at the camera in your parents’ restaurant kitchen. A warm flicker sparked in your chest at the sight.

"Oppa," you answered, pressing the phone to your ear as you turned onto your street.

"Y/N!" Taeyong’s voice was sunshine wrapped in static. "Did you get the package Mom sent? There’s three kinds of kimchi and—"

"Johnny’s mom’s seaweed soup," you finished, smiling for the first time all day. "Yeah, it’s in the freezer." You hesitated before adding, "I had some yesterday." You had taken one bite before the nausea hit, which technically counted.

"How’s uni? You sound less dead than last week."

You kicked a pebble across the pavement. "It’s… actually good? My design professor finally approved my project concept." You didn’t mention it was your third submission. "It’s just annoying to haul all my models back and forth now that I don’t have the studio space at home."

A beat of silence. Then, carefully: "Sunghoon still says you can use the living room, right?"

"I don’t want to take over his space," you muttered, stepping around a crack in the sidewalk. "It’s his home too."

Taeyong sighed. "Y/N–"

"Anyway, the studio has extended hours now," you interrupted, watching your shoes scuff the pavement. One lace was fraying. "It’s fine."

Johnny’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Tell her to eat the soup, Taeyong. With rice. Actual rice, not just broth–"

"I’m eating!" you lied, too quickly. Your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly enough that Taeyong snorted.

"Liar," he said, but his voice was fond. "Just… take care of yourself, yeah? Or I’m driving up there."

You rolled your eyes but felt something tight in your chest loosen. "Yeah, yeah. Love you."

The call ended just as you reached the apartment. The key stuck in the lock and you jiggled it harder than necessary until the door gave way.

The living room was exactly as you’d left it this morning, except now Sunghoon’s skate bag sat by the couch, his jacket slung over the back. A sticky note on the coffee table caught your eye:

"Left japchae in fridge. Made by my mom, so it’s edible!"

You traced the blocky letters with your finger. He’d drawn a tiny smiley next to his name. You didn’t see Sunghoon often, since uni started. His and your schedule was so different, that the only time you saw him was late at night, when he came back from training, exhausted and frustrated. You were feeling so bad for him, he was training so hard, but if he was right he was training for nothing. Maybe he would be able to deliver a beautiful routine and he would be accepted into the Olympic team. You would be so happy for him. He would deserve it. 

Your models and supplies were still stacked neatly in the corner where you’d left them after Sunghoon moved in. 

You bit your lip. Maybe you could work out here tonight while he was at practice. You should really get started now that your project has been approved. 

As you bent to pick up your drafting supplies, your jeans slipped again, the waistband catching on your hip bones. You huffed, yanking them up. 

In the kitchen, you opened the fridge out of habit. The japchae sat front and centre in a glass container, noodles glistening under the fluorescent light. Your stomach twisted—not unpleasantly, just… strangely.

You shut the door without taking the food.

The wilting chrysanthemums on the windowsill caught your eye as you passed. Brown-edged petals curled inward like fists. You should change them. Tomorrow. Maybe.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty ♡ CONTINUE ON READING --⟢ PART 2 all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @firstclassjaylee @enhaprettystars @vantxx95 @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @jaylvrsworld @xylatox @bluxjun @sumzysworld @outroherrr @50-husbands @ikeumina @softchannie @sirens-dreams @schmocolateschmchip @delirioastral @dearestdreamies @deluluscenarios @urmomssneakylink @qlorin @elairah @addictedtohobi @doririsstuff (if anyone wanted to just be tagged for The truth untold pt. 2, i am very sorry. I kinda didn't give you a way to differentiate if you wanted to be tagged for the series or just his story! So just ignore this tag if I tagged you wrongly)

ᝰ an. A special mention and thanks to @xylatox for dealing with my rambling and more or less live reading all of this. Ily and your comments please feel all of my kisses!!! Part two is in the works and will be coming! I don't know when, but it`s coming! ₊ ⊹  

[zzzsunghoon]

DO OUR HEARTS STILL BEAT IN TWO?

ex!ni-ki x f!reader smut (18+ minors dni), college/university au, second chances wc 10.7k

blurb! you haven’t seen NISHIMURA RIKI since the messy breakup that tore you apart months ago. he couldn’t commit, couldn’t give what you needed, so you left, empty and heartbroken. then one night, at a house party, you spot him. your friends warned you. you swore you were done. but what happens when a game shoves you into a dark closet, alone together?

warnings! unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, argument, 7 minutes in heaven, making out, grinding, dry humping, oral sex (f), ni-ki rib tattoo, petnames (baby, good/filthy girl), exhibitionism, poor jake lol

a/n! i was listening to the song ‘12 to 12’ and somehow conjured up this plot, it doesn’t really follow the song's actual story, but it made me think of this scenario, so here we are hehe (≧◡≦). kinda got carried away LOL HOW'D THIS GET TO 10K WC... aaa this is my first time writing, hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, and does not reflect how the characters actually are irl, nor does it represent my views of them. side characters from other groups may not be accurately written. not proofread.

The bass is thumping through the walls of the house like a second heartbeat. Someone has spilled beer on the couch already, while someone else is screaming the lyrics to a song they don’t even know. Minju is clutching your hand, the two of you on the lookout for the rest of your friends, who seem to have already wandered off the second that some alcohol got into their systems. The warm and dim mood light that filled the space made it more difficult to find anyone. All bodies blending into one from a distance. Her grip on you is firm, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You kind of already have.

You’re physically here. In this house that has quickly become far too hot with the number of people shoved into it, the crowded living room you were in is surrounded by faces you don’t even recognize half of. Your mind however, is somewhere else. Stuck somewhere twenty minutes ago. Caught in the moment you bumped into him.

You had just arrived and were weaving your way through the crowd, barely missing the splatter of drinks being thrown around by swaying, half-drunk bodies. You were pulled away from Minju and the others the second that you stepped foot in the rented house, attempting to regroup with your friends while also making a short detour to the table with the punch.

‘Pure fuel’

You had absolutely no idea what was in it but at this point you didn’t really care, just wanting to let loose for a night.

Your friends had dragged you out of your dorm because you had been cooped up in there for nights on end, far too focused on studying and trying not to think too hard about a certain someone. You thought you may as well have a little fun now that you’re here.

After pushing past some strangers, the large glass punch bowl came into view and you immediately held onto the kitchen counter to steady yourself, the amount of people in this house was no joke. Without looking, you reached for a red solo cup, ready to get buzzed, when you felt the soft brush of fingers against yours. You jolt. Someone from behind you had reached out at the exact same time you did.

“Oh, sorry” You mumbled softly, pulling back to allow the stranger to go first.

But as the stranger moved to pour himself a drink, pressed up against your side, your body began to remember. A specific scent of strong cologne. A familiar warmth. Your heart instantly knew but your brain was still catching up. You turned.

Nishimura Riki.

Aside from his freshly bleached hair and broader shoulders. Damn he’s been working out. Everything else about him was still the same. The sharpness in his features. The calm arrogance in the way he carries himself. The way people stop and stare when he walks through a room, not because he wants them to, but because his presence demands it. The boy you once loved.

Your stomach folded inwards, hands tightened around the counter. You didn’t realize you were staring until he looked down at you.

Upon meeting your gaze his eyebrows raised ever so slightly, only noticeable to you, who was looking right back at him. He’s surprised, you can tell, not expecting to see you here. A flicker of emotion ran behind his eyes, something almost like hurt flashed, so fast you hardly register it before he quickly regained his composure.

You felt your cheeks heat up sligthly at being caught staring. He just finishes pouring his drink before smirking at you in that naturally flirty way he does, placing the ladle of the punch bowl down as he disappeared into the crowd. Gone, again. As if he was never there.

You swallowed hard, trying to bury the ache he reignited within you.

Which leads to now, you found him again, across the room with his friends. In between Heeseung and Jungwon, laughing at something that Sunghoon said across from them, but his eyes are focused on something else. Someone else.

You.

Every time you look up, his eyes are already on you. Watching. Before he turns away like it means nothing. Which is probably true, right?

“You okay?” Minju asks, pressing a cold drink into your hand. Her worried eyes flick toward the other end of the room like she already knows.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

You haven’t seen him in 6 months. Not since that night.

Screams were let out. Doors were slammed. Your voice cracked while tears spilled out as you told him it was over. You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t be the only one trying. He was always late. Always cold and distant. Always too much and not enough all at the same time.

Constant miscommunication, obsession, and jealousy. Too many nights spent crying alone in your room because Riki had a habit of flirting with anything that breathed. Even if he never acted on it, even if he always came back to you, it stung.

And he did come back. Every time. With those hands and that mouth and that damn voice like sin. Until you couldn’t breathe without him.

Until you felt so suffocated, you had to leave.

So why the hell is your heart doing backflips just because he looked at you?

“Don’t,” Minju warns softly, catching on to the reason for your spacing out. “You promised.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you murmur as your eyes flick back to her, sipping your drink. It was true, technically.

“Exactly,” she says. “You’re just standing here, waiting for him to come to you. Like you always did.”

You flinch, because she’s right; a little harsh, but right. Because part of you still wants him to. You hate it.

Yunjin and Intak are arguing over what music to put on next, and Keeho’s already found the secret liquor stash. Your friends are loud and chaotic, and usually you’d love that, egging them on, but tonight it all feels like background noise.

Because the room is pulsing with something else taking over your senses. Something low and slow and heavy. Something that tastes like nostalgia, heartbreak and the sickening sweetness of still wanting what once ruined you all at once.

Riki.

Your eyes meet again across the room, and this time he doesn’t look away.

He tilts his head slightly, gaze dragging down your body and back up with an unhurried arrogance that makes your skin burn. His lips part just enough to show the hint of a smirk before taking a sip of his drink. For a second, you remember how you two used to be.

His mouth on your neck. His hands gripping your thighs. The way he used to kiss you as if he was starving and you were all he needed to recover.

You tear your gaze away, swallowing hard.

No. Stop thinking about him.

But you can still feel him looking, as if his eyes naturally gravitate towards you.

You don’t approach him. You won’t.

Because the passion between you two was nuclear, but it scorched everything around it. He ruined you, and you let him. He doesn’t deserve to see how much you still want him.

But then the music changes.

That song comes on.

Your song.

The one that played when you first met, at a party similar to this one. The one he used to hum under his breath when he’d tug you into his lap and kiss you slow. The one that played when he said that he loved you for the first time, in between moans and tangled sheets.

You freeze, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice he does too.

Minju tenses beside you, sensing the shift in your mood. “We should go.”

Now, the room is spinning slower. Everyone around you has faded into a blur. Just you and him, breathing the same air, held hostage by the same memory. Two strangers who once shared a story.

Snapping out of it briefly, you glance toward where he was standing again, and he’s gone.

Your heart jumps into your throat. Until-

“Hey!” someone calls. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! Let’s go!”

You groan. “Oh, absolutely not-” What are we? High schoolers?

But surprisingly, small crowds begin piling into a circle in the next room over, pulling you along with them in the process. Jungwon’s dragging Riki out from wherever he disappeared to. Yunjin’s already pushing people together. The bottle spins, over and over again as laughter echoes. The closet door creaks open and closed each time a new coupled up pair is selected. Until suddenly, the sequence of players has rotated enough to end up with you.

“Your turn,” Minju whispers, eyes widening in warning, before mumbling, “Literally anyone else, please.” unsure if she's trying to calm your nerves or her own.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the bottle. You don’t even fully know how you ended up here, as if some uncontrollable wave had swept you into your spot on the floor. Chatter and laughter buzz around you like static as you brace yourself for whatever storm you’re about to get yourself in.

You glance at Riki. Just for a second.

Then you spin.

It’s the longest few seconds of your life. Since when do bottles spin so fucking slow? The bottle goes around in circles for far too long and not long enough at the same time. Your heart is pounding in your throat, a cold sweat creeping down your back, your eyes laser-focused on the bottle.

And finally, like some sick joke, it stops.

Landing dead center on none other than Nishimura Riki. Of-fucking-course it does. It’s like the universe could sense your lingering eyes the whole night and decided to punish you for even thinking about him.

The room erupts. A mixture of cheers, laughter, and gasps. You feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Riki doesn’t say a word. He just lifts his chin, jaw set, and holds out his hand. Waiting for your cue.

You don’t want to take it. You shouldn’t take it.

But you always were a little self-destructive, weren’t you?

Your hand slides into his with a slight tremble as you both stand from your spots on the floor.

He leads you into the closet, you hesitantly get in after him. The door shuts behind you both with a finality that sounds louder than it should. Engulfed in total darkness. Your skin buzzes as you and Riki stand in the tiny space. Your bodies face one another, but your eyes linger elsewhere.

Neither of you speak, suffocating in a mix of the silence and his strong cologne.

You have never wanted to fade out of existence more than right now.

Your breath catches in your throat before you can stop it. It’s impossible to ignore how small the space is. Narrow. Cramped. The heat of his body just inches away from yours.

You try to focus on the distant pulse of the music, the faint murmur of voices beyond the door, but your mind is clouded.

By him.

His quiet and controlled breathing ringing in your ears.

“Still wearing my perfume,” he suddenly says, breaking the silence, voice dipped in something dangerous.

You stiffen, looking down. “It’s not yours.”

“You used to steal it from my bathroom.”

Your fingers curl at your sides as you glance at him, brows furrowed in slight annoyance. “That was forever ago.”

“It was March.”

A pause. Heavy.

You swallow, voice smaller now. “Still not yours.”

“It smells good on you,” he says softly. “Still drives me insane.”

You press your back tighter against the wall, as if you can disappear into it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Start with that again.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he says, tone too casual. “Just… remembering.”

You hear the faint sound of him shifting, a shoe scuffing on the closet floor. His voice is closer now, by half a step. His body heat radiates toward you like gravity.

Your jaw tightens. “Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know exactly what.”

He hums. “You always said I was good at it.”

“Right.” You exclaim, “You’re a natural at it! Pretending nothing affects you, nothing touches you, like you’re-”

“Untouchable?” he finishes, amused. You can hear the small smirk on his face as he speaks. “You used to like that.”

“I used to like a lot of things about you,” you snap.

He laughs low and breathy, no bite. “Not anymore?”

You hesitate a moment too long.

He clocks it instantly.

“Thought so.”

You grit your teeth, fists beginning to clench at your sides. “You think you’re so charming.”

“Not really.” He moves again, the sound of his body brushing the wall opposite yours, inching closer. You swear you can feel his breath now. “I just remember how your legs used to shake when I kissed you.”

Your breath hitches.

Silence stretches between you like elastic. Something fragile and tense in the air.

You whisper, “You were such a goddamn liar.”

He pauses for a moment, words caught in his throat for a second.

“What did I lie about?”

Your head turns toward the sound of his voice in the dark. “You made me feel like I was the only thing you ever wanted, you told me I was, and then you started acting like I didn’t exist unless it was convenient for you. You were never there, Riki. Not when it mattered.”

There’s a shift. His armor cracks ever so subtly, but he doesn’t speak. You wait.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits quietly.

You blink.

“You were always too good,” he says, gaze shifting to the side. “Too good at loving me. It scared the shit out of me.”

There’s a long pause. The air between you turns heavy.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, looking back in your direction in the dark.

You let out a breathless laugh. “Well, mission failed.”

“I know.”

Silence returns once again, now changed. Thicker. Full of so much left unsaid that you can almost taste them. You press your palms against the wall behind you, an attempt at grounding yourself.

He’s not touching you, but the heat of his body from the close proximity makes it feel like he is. His presence, the smell of his cologne, the way his voice crawls under your skin and makes a home in your bloodstream, it’s killing you inside.

“I missed you Y/N.”

Your eyes widen, just a fraction, but you don’t answer. You physically can’t.

Your chest aches. Your stomach is in knots. Everything inside you is screaming, begging you to just stay still and ride this out. It’s only seven minutes. That’s it. It shouldn’t be this hard.

But in a moment of weakness, you whisper, “Do you still think about me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “More than I’d like to admit.”

You suck in a sharp breath, and then finally, the moment breaks.

He takes a step forward, and you feel it more than you see it. The energy in the closet shifts completely. Air crackling. Tension climbing.

You whisper, “Don’t.” but your voice isn’t convincing. It’s soft, weak.

“I won’t touch you,” he says, so close now that his voice rumbles through your chest. “Not unless you ask me to.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“You loved that about me.”

You hate how true that is.

He edges closer again, his breath hits your cheek. Your body jolts like it’s been electrified in response.

“I shouldn’t have come in here,” you manage to get out.

“Probably not.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I want to,” you whisper.

Suddenly, his fingers gently brush against yours, barely there. A ghost of contact, and yet it unravels something within you so fast it makes your head spin.

You grip the hem of your skirt, fists tight. “Riki…”

“Still love the way you say my name,” he murmurs.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Because I’ll forget why I left.”

Riki lets that sit before taking another step closer, until there’s no space left between you. His hand finds the wall beside your head, chest brushing lightly against yours, testing.

The darkness in the closet, his body pressed against yours, his breath against your neck as he leans down, it’s becoming all too much. You feel dizzy.

“You left,” he says softly. “But you didn’t stop loving me.”

Your breath catches at his words. His face inches closer, the soft air from his nose just brushing your own. His forehead presses against yours, the heat from the contact making you lightheaded. He’s so close.

Without another word, the gap closes. He kisses you, lips soft and filled with intent as they move against yours. Slow and deep.

Like nothing’s changed. Like he never stopped being yours.

And, god. You kiss him back.

Your back hits the wall with a quiet thud as his other hand lands gently on your hip. His lips still feel the same, your breathing is uneven, and the heat of him pressed to your skin burns like a bruise. The kiss, devastating and familiar, fizzes through every nerve in your body. Your brain quickly catches up to what you’re doing, and suddenly your hands are moving to shove against his chest, pushing him backwards.

“Stop,” you gasp. “Just stop.”

Riki stumbles back half a step, lips parted, chest heaving. You can’t see him properly in the dark, but you feel his presence, something radiating and suffocating, like smoke filling your lungs.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “You don’t get to do that.”

“You kissed me back.”

“Of course I did. That’s the problem.”

Silence took over the closet once again, the kind that made you want to evaporate out of thin air just to be able to escape the situation. Then he broke it, voice quiet yet sharp all at once. “You think I haven’t missed you every fucking day since?”

You inhale too quickly. “You didn’t act like it.”

“I was trying to let you go!” he snaps, a hint of desperation evident in the way he spoke. “Because I thought it’s what you needed.”

“What I needed was for you to try! For once.” Your voice cracks, low and bitter. “I needed you to choose me. Not just when it was easy. Not just when you were lonely.”

His breath shudders. “You were the only thing I ever wanted,” he whispers, your heart claws its way up your throat. “I just didn’t know how to keep you.”

You freeze. The world stills.

At this point you barely notice the music thumping beyond the closet anymore, just the sound of his voice, ragged and raw and painfully real.

You whisper, “Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

“I do mean them.”

And before you can properly think, before your lungs can work on taking your next breath, you find yourself leaning in just a little, and he’s kissing you again.

Harder this time.

Hungrier.

It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. It’s not even angry. It’s desperate. It crashes into you like a wave that’s been building for far too long, held back by dam after dam of unspoken words and trembling restraint.

He swallows your breath like it’s oxygen, like he needs you to be able to stay alive. Hands threading into your hair, tilting your chin just the way he always used to. His lips drag yours open, tongue sliding deep with a mastery that should be illegal, elliciting a small noise close to a whimper out of you. He kisses you like he remembered it all, which he did. Every sigh, every weak spot, every way you liked to be taken apart. You gasp into his mouth as his hand ghosts down your side, fingers skating the edge of your waist, not quite touching enough; teasing.

In this moment, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him. That isn’t Riki. The boy you once poured all of your heart into.

You’re too busy falling.

You feel his lips slowly drag to your jaw, kissing a hot path downwards, then trailing to your neck. You gasp softly, your head tipping back against the wall like instinct as warm, gentle licks are marked onto you in between kisses. His grip on your hips tightens with every movement of his mouth. His teeth graze your throat and the sound you make in response is obscene.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper breathless, like it’s something he doesn’t already know.

He pulls back just enough to speak, lips still brushing your skin.

“I’m only like this with you.”

Your body arches into his, heat blooming between you like fire on gasoline, you can feel his small smirk blooming against your neck. Your legs feel shaky, your fingertips tremble as they slide up his chest.

“You’re so full of shit,” you whisper, but your voice breaks, betrays you.

“I could ruin you,” he says lowly, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot. “But you already let me.”

You groan, a low and real groan, and it sounds like a secret. Like something you shouldn’t be doing with him, your ex boyfriend. Especially not here. You can feel the beginning of a heat blooming deep in between your thighs.

His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss once more, and this time it destroys you. His hand slips to the back of your thigh, tugging it up against his hip, pressing you flush against him. You can now feel him pressed against your core as he pushes you backwards into the closet wall, a growing hardness underneath his pants. He grinds into you slowly, as if testing the waters, and your knees buckle instantly.

His grip on you tightens, holding you steady. One arm now snaking around your waist as his tongue brushes against yours in a wet kiss.

You moan softly, right into his mouth.

“Shhh,” he breathes deep with a subtle tease in his tone, pulling away slightly. “You want them to hear?”

You freeze and melt all at once.

You’re in a closet. There are people literal feet away from you. Friends, yours and his. Laughing. Drinking. Unaware of what is going on between the two of you, or maybe not so much.

The risk makes your head spin.

“Riki…” you pant.

His lips don’t leave yours. “Say it again.”

You do, unintentionally whinier than the first.

He groans this time, and the sound vibrates into your mouth like a promise. His hips buck into yours.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he mutters, grinding into you slowly as his grip on you tightens, dangerously. “No idea how many nights I thought about this. About you.”

You clutch his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Your mouths break apart only to find each other again seconds later like gravity, thirst. His tongue slides roughly against yours in a kiss so hot and sinful that your whole body aches for more. He knows how to ruin you, to devour you slow, unraveling every thread, every barrier you put up trying to get over him, with the way his hands frame your hips, the way his fingers dig into your skin like he never forgot how you fit.

Your skirt rides up as his thigh slots between yours. Your breath hitches when you feel him press up, grinding again, his growing hard-on slotting perfectly against your clothed warmth. Your body jerks in response, whimpering into his mouth like you’re drunk on him.

You kind of are.

His mouth meets yours in a deep kiss again. It’s dangerous. You clutch at the back of his neck, fingers slowly dragging up into his hair, nails digging in as you tug hesitantly on his blond strands. He lets out a deep groan into your mouth, your hips aching in the best way as his grip tightens even more.

“I hate that you still feel like this,” you whisper, shaky.

He smirks against your lips. “You mean perfect?”

You shove him playfully. He grabs your wrist and presses your hand to his chest, right over his racing heart. He rests his forehead against yours, never breaking eye contact

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says, almost reverent. “Even when I was trying to.”

Your eyes sting.

You lean in, kissing him again, like you can’t spend more than two seconds without his lips moving against yours, in the intoxicating way they do.

It’s spiraling, fast.

Riki’s is on you leaving wet, desperate and consuming open mouthed kisses wherever he can. His tongue sliding deep into your mouth, like he can taste how wrecked you already are. His hands have stopped pretending to behave, one edging from your waist to your backside, pulling you against the thick line of his body, the other now tangled deep in your hair, tilting your head to kiss you harder. Deeper. As if he wants to fuse with you into one being, until your hearts beat as one. It had always driven you crazy how he’d take control in situations like this.

You’re panting against his lips, high on him and chasing his touch, just as desperate. He groans into your mouth and it vibrates straight through your chest, making you shiver. His hand slips lower, over your thigh, gripping it. Lifting, no, dragging your leg up high around his waist until your core is pressed hard against him. The only thing keeping his cock from rubbing right up against your heat being the thin layers of clothing between you.

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut at the friction.

“This is insane,” you breathe into the corner of his mouth.

He kisses you instead of answering. Open and hungry.

“Don’t care,” he growls, voice hoarse. “You feel too fucking good.”

His hips roll into you harder, and it shatters you. His bulge straining through his pants, fully hard now.

A gasp escapes your lips before you can catch it, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt like it’ll save you from drowning in him. One hand slowly finds its way under, feeling a hint of his bare and toned stomach against your fingertips. Your other hand finds his jaw, sharp and familiar, and pulls him even closer.

He smiles against your mouth, cocky and dangerous. He loves that you’re already coming undone, all over again. He loves the effect he has on you. How your body reacts so well to his.

His lips trail down your neck, slow and sinful, his hand pressing harder against your thigh you’re sure it’ll leave a bruise, keeping your legs open for him. You can feel him, hard, hot, pressed right where you’re aching, and it makes you dizzy.

“I missed this,” he murmurs, tongue sliding devastatingly slow against your skin making your head lean back against the closet wall. “Missed the way you sound.”

“I hate you,” you whisper, shivering as his hand slips beneath your skirt. Your hands traveling across his abs underneath his shirt. His teeth graze against the skin just under your ear and you shiver as you feel him suck hard, a mark sure to form.

“No, you don’t.” His fingers skim your inner thigh. “You just wish you did.”

He’s infuriating, and yet he’s right.

Your hands catch his face again, hands cupping his cheeks as you press your lips back on his, mouths crashing together with a breathless need that makes the whole world disappear. The kiss deepens, slick and frantic, teeth grazing lips, hands sliding further under clothing.

You can barely think.

You’re just noise and heat and hands. Moans muffled into mouths. Fingertips clutching skin. His hips grinding into yours with such need like it’s killing him right now not to be inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice strained, forehead pressed to yours as you both try to breathe. Hot breaths fanning against one another as you both try to navigate the daze you’re in. “You’re driving me fucking insane. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

“Same thing you’re doing to me,” you gasp.

Both of his hands wrap fully around your thigh and waist and drag you higher, lifting you slightly off the floor, so your weight is pressed hard between him and the wall, so he can rut up against you. So he can feel you. You yelp softly at the sudden change in position, your arms snaking their way around his neck. You are now being carried by him with ease, his body pressing yours against the wall. The reminder of his insane body strength drives you crazy.

The increased access and friction from this position has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You wanna let me take care of you?” he breathes with desperation, mouth dragging hotly against your cheek, leaving small licks and nips here and there. “Wanna feel me again?”

His words make you weak in the knees. If you weren’t being lifted up by him right now, you’re sure they would’ve buckled at that. “Yes!” you whisper, before you can think better.

He groans like the word alone undoes him, dragging you down once more against his clothed hard-on. “God, you’re so-”

But he’s cut off.

Knock knock.

“Time’s almost up!” a voice calls through the door, bright and oblivious.

You freeze. So does he. Both your heads now turned towards the closet door. You suddenly remember where you are, having gotten too caught up in each other.

The music is still blaring outside. People are still laughing, shouting. The real world is still moving on, and you’re here in the dark, shoved against a wall, on the edge of making every mistake you swore you’d never repeat.

You can hardly breathe.

Your chest is rising and falling too fast, and you try to steady yourself, arms tightening a little around Riki’s neck. You try to blink back the haze, but then he shifts, still pressed up between your legs, and your body reacts, eliciting a sudden sound.

A broken, breathy, desperate little whimper.

You slap your hand over your mouth like it’ll fix it. Like it’ll hide the fact that your entire body is still on fire. Burning for him.

Riki turns to you the second the noise leaves your lips and grins. Slow and feral.

“You’re so not done with me,” he murmurs just inches away from your lips, voice wrecked.

You look at him. Eyes wide, lips swollen, heat still building inside you like it never paused, just growing.

He leans in one last time, lips grazing your ear.

“Come home with me.”

You nod before you even register it, and before you know it, Riki is gently placing you back on the floor as his lips place an open mouthed kiss against your neck, and the door cracks open, just as you two break apart.

Light floods in. Your friends are nowhere in view yet.

Riki doesn’t give you a second to think. His hand wraps around yours, grip tight, possessive, and deadly all at once.

He pulls you out fast, guiding you through the bodies with ease, through the bass-heavy air, down the hallway.

No words. No explanations. No goodbyes.

You move past the living room, the kitchen, the crush of people. The moment the front door is within reach, Heeseung suddenly looks up from where he’s standing, seemingly taking a breather in one of the less crowded areas of the house. He’s leaning against the wall by the front door, red cup in hand, one brow raised like he saw this coming a mile away. At least he’s alone…

He whistles low and teasing.

You don’t dare look, blushing profusely. Riki doesn’t flinch. His hand stays locked around yours as he yanks the door open and you step out into the night.

The car ride is silent, but the air is anything but calm.

Your thigh is burning beneath his hand. His palm rests heavy over your skin, thumb stroking slow and possessive circles just above your knee. He doesn’t look at you once, but you can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. His jaw clenched, lip caught between his teeth, fingers tapping at the steering wheel, restless. The tension is a third presence in the car, thick and suffocating, like something is alive, pacing, waiting to explode.

You’re still breathing hard from what just happened in the closet. You haven’t come down from the high you felt, not even close. You don’t think you can come down from it without him.

The second the key turns in the lock of his shared dorm and the door creaks open, Riki is on you. Luckily his roommate, Jake, is still at the party.

Mouths colliding, wrecked and hungry.

Teeth, tongues, breathless gasps. You stumble backward into the dark room as you’re tasting each other, hands fumbling all over bodies. He slams the door shut behind you with a kick, it clicks. Then he grabs you, both hands firm on the backside of your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor like you weigh nothing for the second time that night.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms around his shoulders, and he pins you to the wall so hard the frames rattle.

“You don’t leave tonight,” he growls into your ear, breathing heavily, “not until I’ve ruined you all over again.”

You moan before you can stop it.

He kisses you like he’s trying to take your breath away. Like your mouth is the only thing he’ll ever need again. His hands slide up, under your skirt, along the backs of your thighs. He gives your ass a testing squeeze and you let out a whimper just muffled by a kiss, you can feel him smirking against your lips.

“God…” he groans.

Riki holds your hips to the thick press of him, his cock aching beneath his jeans, begging to be freed. He grinds down into you slow and deep between your legs. You cry out into his mouth, legs squeezing tighter together around his hips as he holds you.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head dropping to your shoulder. “I missed this. Missed how fucking loud you get for me.”

Your hips roll into his, chasing the friction, the tension that’s been building all night, for months, and he grunts, low and rough, dragging his teeth along your collarbone. By now you two are dry humping right by the front door of his dorm, and it’s absolutely filthy. The mixture of grunts and moans echo off the walls.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?”

You nod, eyebrows furrowed in quiet need. You’re clutching his shirt like you’ll fall without it. But he doesn’t give in, not fully. And you swear you’re about to cry with how fucking horny you are.

He grinds into you again, slow, the angle making his clothed buldge graze just right against your covered clit, your eyes rolling in pleasure. The friction is too much and yet still not enough.

Riki pulls his head back just enough to look at you, the eye contact making you dizzy.

“You think I’m just gonna fuck you against this wall?” he murmurs. “Let you come once and send you home?”

His smile is dangerous.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss just under your jaw, “I’m gonna take my time.” Another kiss, lower. “Make sure it lasts.” His hand slides beneath your top, palm splayed hot against your stomach. “Make sure you never forget what this feels like.”

You moan again, body arching into his touch, your fingers tugging his hair as he sucks bruises into your neck.

“Say you want it,” he whispers, teeth grazing your skin. “Say you want me to ruin you.”

“I want it,” you manage to get out, panting. “R-Riki, please…”

That’s all he needs. “Good girl.” He growls.

He holds onto you again, pulling you off the wall, and carries you towards his bedroom. The dorm is dark and quiet, roommate nowhere in sight. Not that you’d care if he was. You were too focused on wishing Riki was fucking you already.

You can barely breathe by the time he kicks his door shut.

He throws you onto the bed and climbs over you, mouth already back on yours. You meet him halfway, kissing back just as hungrily, your fingers dragging through his hair, nails scratching lightly down his clothed back, needing more.

It’s like you’re starving for each other. Like if you stop touching, you’ll stop breathing. At this point you think you actually might.

He kisses you deep, biting your lower lip, groaning when your hips lift to meet his. His body fits against you perfectly. You can feel every part of him hard and aching, pressed tight against you.

His hands explore you like he forgot nothing. He rediscovers every curve, every spot that makes you gasp. He memorized your body once, and now he’s reacquainting himself. Slowly. Thoroughly.

“Still so fucking perfect, baby” he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck. “Still mine.”

You don’t correct him. You can’t.

Because a part of you deep down wants to be his.

In the middle of your tongues brushing against each other amidst kisses, he grinds into you again, making you moan so loud you have to slap your hand over your mouth, he grins against your chest.

“Don’t be quiet now,” he says, breathless. “I wanna hear you.”

He presses harder. His hands toying with the hem of your top, dragging it upwards so slow that it physically hurts, just enough to reveal your belly button.

“Wanna hear every single sound you make when I fuck you open again.”

Your eyes roll back.

You dig your nails into his shoulder, his shirt already riding up from the constant movement, and he kisses you again. Sloppier this time, more tongue, more teeth.

It’s filthy yet beautiful.

You’re sure you’re absolutely soaked by this point, feeling the mess made in your panties seeping through.

Your body arches into him, grinding back and meeting his hard-on with growing eagerness. You claw at his shirt, yanking it upwards until he rips it off himself and tosses it across the room.

What you see takes your breath away.

His abs, glistening with sweat, are visibly more toned. An obvious sign of hitting the gym more frequently ever since your break up. Though most shocking of all, he has a tattoo.

A big one.

One that stretches from his upper rib just until where his jeans hung low on his hips. Big, dark and new. You almost moan at the sight. Holy shit…

He must’ve realized what caught your attention, after following your gaze he just grins and leans down to whisper seductively against your cheek, breath hot. “You like it?”

You shiver. “Fuck…” You reach for him like instinct, reflex almost. He presses a kiss on your cheek.

The way he’s looking at you now, like he’s starving, makes your mouth go dry. His eyes drag over your body like he’s trying to memorize the exact way you’re spread out on his bed: skirt pushed halfway up your thighs, panties just barely peeking out; lips, red and kiss-swollen; cheeks flushed; top pushed up revealing your stomach; your breath still catching in small, desperate gasps.

“You’re in my room now, baby. No one’s saving you.”

You don’t want to be saved.

You want him.

The look in his eyes, a mix of danger and the certainty, makes something deep inside you clench so hard you nearly let out a soft moan.

“You think I forgot how to touch you?” he murmurs, pressing his palm to your bare thigh again, slowly trailing upwards as he hovers above you. “Think I forgot what your body does when I kiss you here?”

His lips press to your jaw, soft at first, then wetter. Lower. Your pulse thunders.

His hands are moving like they have all night. He pushes your top up even more, inch by inch. Riki watches as the skin of your chest begins to appear like it’s some sacred thing. His fingers trace the edges of your ribs, your waist, the faint dip of your stomach. He finally removes your top, leaving you spread out in your bra. Every touch burns.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this again,” he whispers, and his lips drag just below your collarbone. “How many times I thought about your mouth. Your thighs. The way you sound when I make you fall apart, whether on my hands, my tongue,” he licks a stripe just under your ear. “or my cock.”

You’re gasping now, hands tangled in his hair as he sucks another bruise into your skin, marks that you’ll definitely have to hide tomorrow, right above your chest.

“And you,” he says, lifting his head again. “You came into that closet acting like you didn’t miss me. Like you could handle me being that close.”

He smirks, wicked and smug.

“But you couldn’t. Could you?”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. In any other situation you would be irritated, embarrassed by his words, but right now hearing him speak in such a teasing way just makes the heat between pooling between your thighs burn even hotter.

He leans down again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then your throat. He mouths down your chest, pausing just above your bra.

“You couldn’t even last two minutes before you were grinding on me again like you never left.”

“Riki-”

That name. His name, low and breathy from your lips, drives him insane. He groans, like it short-circuits his brain. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

His lips meet yours again, rushed, hot, possessive. He swallows the gasp you let out when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your skirt. Palming against your panties, heat seeping through against your clothed pussy.

Just resting there. Right where you want him. It’s maddening.

Your whole body pulses with need.

“You’re this wet already?” he mutters, breathless. “Fuck.”

You grind up with a whimper, cursing your panties in your mind for getting in the way of having his hands on your pussy again.

He pulls back.

“No,” he says, voice low and firm. “Let me take my time.”

His mouth returns to your stomach, your chest, dragging up further. His hand reaches behind your back and you arch just enough to allow him to unclasp your bra. He does so in one swift motion, your breasts now on full display.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He mumbles before quickly leaning down to trail kisses around one of your tits while he squeezes the other with his free hand.

“Fuck- Riki!” You moan out, when you feel his tongue flick against your nipple in between sucks. He alternates between your tits, making sure both of them get equal treatment. Your hand fists the sheets.

His mouth leaves your chest with a pop and you moan. Riki inches down slowly, painfully so, peeling your skirt off of you. All you can do is look down and watch.

He looks up at you from between your legs. His eyes are blown wide, dark with lust, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“I want you to remember every fucking second of this.”

You whimper, head tilting back, and he leans in, close to your most sensitive spot. He peppers kisses down your inner thighs, maintaining eye contact the whole time. You’re soaked.

He’s groaning, teeth gritted, like he’s holding himself back by a thread.

Then after leaving small kisses and bites just under the area where your thigh meets your underwear, his head perks up, and his thumb rubs small circles on your leg.

“Tell me you want it. Say it. Say you want me to ruin you.”

“I want it,” you breathe, choking on it. “Riki, please-”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

He moans. Actually moans. Like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

His hand finally moves. His fingers now dragging your soaked panties down and off of you before placing them gently aside. The cold air hits you and you shiver under his gaze, fully bare and spread out. All for him.

His head hovers just above your glistening pussy, strong hands holding your legs apart, placing them so that they go over his shoulders, giving him full access to your cunt.

“You want it now?” he says, you can feel his breath fanning over you. “Right here?”

God, he’s still such a tease.

You nod. Mouth parted and breathless, and he leans in.

Riki gives one long, slow lick up your slit, tongue flat and pressure hard, immediately making you arch with a soft moan. He holds on your legs with more force to keep you from squirming too much as he works kitten licks upon your aching pussy.

“I missed tasting you,” he pants in between licks. His tongue worked hard on your slit, his head now moving with small bobs which cause his nose to brush against your sensitive clit every single time. The feeling is overwhelming, moans escaping your lips while eats you out like he’s been starving.

Riki then starts pushing his tongue into your slick hole. “Ahh, oh my god!” You groan, your fingers tugging on his blond locks. The feeling makes him groan, creating a wave of vibration right against your pussy. Your eyes roll back in pleasure.

His tongue swipes up and down along your wet folds, making sure to explore every part of you. You twitch beneath him, a breathy moan resonates through the room before you can even stop it.

“Still so sensitive,” he murmurs against your skin. “Like your body never forgot me.”

You try to respond, to sass back, to say something, but then his mouth latches on you again, tongue flat and unrelenting.

Your head hits the pillow with a whimper.

“Fuck- Riki-”

That only makes him groan harder.

“I told you what that name does to me,” he growls, voice muffled between your thighs. “Say it again.”

“Riki!”

He sucks at your clit, hard, and your hips shoot off the bed.

He pins them down immediately, strong hands curling around your waist, holding you there like he owns every inch of you. Lapping at your soaking pussy.

And fuck, maybe he does.

No one else has ever made you feel like this. None of your past boyfriends; and none of your hook ups from after you broke up with Riki, desperately trying to get over him.

You barely even notice the sound of the front door opening from the main space of the dorm.

Not until you hear a faint laugh. A voice.

Jake.

Riki’s roommate.

Your eyes go wide. Riki doesn’t stop.

“Riki- Ah! Jake’s back-” you whisper, voice shaking as he fuck you open with his mouth.

He doesn’t stop.

In fact, he smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, lifting his head, lips and chin glistening. “I know.”

“Riki…”

He leans up, mouth ghosting over your ear.

“I want him to hear,” he whispers, teeth grazing your skin. “Want him to know who you belong to.”

The way he says it, low, confident, possessive, makes your entire body seize with heat.

And then he’s kissing you again. Hard, desperate. He makes you taste yourself, your own juices, as he works his tongue deep into your mouth, pushing against your own. The filthiness of the whole situation makes you lightheaded in the best way.

He grabs your wrist, lifts it over your head, and pins it there against the mattress. Then the other. He hovers above you with a dangerous look in his eye. His lips all swollen and his eyes dazed from eating you out. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, shiny with your slick, and makes you watch as he licks it all up. Eye contact never wavers. A chill runs through you.

“You’re not holding back tonight,” he says leaning down, breath hot against your neck. “Not anymore.”

“Riki please, fuck me already…” you whimper, squirming under him. Your need grows with every passing second. “Want your cock inside me please-”

Riki grins, his eyes darkening at the sight of you, horny underneath him. “Shh, good girls are patient.” he whispers, voice deep. You whine.

His lips meet yours. It’s messy. He’s undoing his jeans and your hands immediately reach out to join his to help him. Once unzipped and pulled down, he kicks them off, jeans falling to the ground as your thumbs dips beneath the waistband of his boxers. You look up at him for approval, chest heaving. He gives you a small nod, need evident in his expression. You pull the fabric down and his cock springs out. Long, hard, and twitching. Precum forming on his pink tip.

“Good girl,” He groans, “see what you do to me? Hm?”

You don’t respond, instead you reach out and wrap a hand around his sensitive cock, your thumb smearing the precum across his tip. Your touch sends his head tilting back with a drawn out moan as you stroke firm but slow.

“Fuck… baby, let me take care of it”

Finally, Riki grabs his length, stroking a few times, before he drags it across your wet folds. Your slick drips onto his cock with every drag. You feel his tip nudge against your clit a few times, making you jolt underneath him. After deciding it’s coated enough, he positions himself comfortably above you, lining his thick cock up against your aching hole, and slowly pushes in.

You gasp. Loud.

Riki watches your expression as he sinks into you. His hips lower against yours until his cock is fully wrapped around your warm, gummy walls. The intrusion makes your head spin, it’s too much. Too good. God, did you miss how he filled you up.

“Fuck!” you cry out, head thrown back as your eyebrows furrow. His hand finds it’s place at the curve where your hip meets your thigh, holding you for maximum leverage as he braces to begin thrusting, waiting for you to make that expression, the one that you always made when you had adjusted to his size and were ready. One he never forgot and had been hoping to see again.

“That’s it,” he groans, teeth gritted. “Let me fucking hear you. Let everyone hear you.”

He starts to move, slow at first, grinding deep with every thrust. It’s like he’s trying to etch the shape of you back into his memory. Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking and he sinks even deeper. His thrusts increase in speed by a fraction, eliciting soft moans out of you everytime his hips made contact with yours, cock buried deep within you.

“Oh my god- Riki!”

“You missed this?” he hisses. “You missed my cock, didn’t you? You’re so tight.” He readjusts his grip on your hip as he essentially drags you up and down on his length, helping him reach deeper into you. Your hands run down his bare chest, feeling the soft dips where his abs are, defined and displayed perfectly above you. Your fingers slow when they meet his large rib tattoo, moving over inked skin.

You nod, breathless.

“You missed the way I ruin you?”

His pace picks up and Riki growls. His calculated thrusts turning into something rougher. He pounds into you, the sound of skin on skin resonating through the room as his balls slam hard against your backside at the speed he’s fucking you dumb.

The headboard bumps the wall, rhythmic and obvious. A hand of his reaches down to grab one of your tits, which at this point were bouncing along with his movement, squeezing and twisting your nipple. “Ngh… fuck!” Every breath you take is mixed with a groan at how good he’s making you feel.

You attempt to bite your lip to muffle the sounds you’re releasing, concerned about how loud you’re getting alongside the knowledge that you two were no longer the only ones in the dorm. Riki notices and grabs your face, firm but not harsh.

“No,” he says, voice sharp. “Don’t do that. Let it out.”

You’re panting now, sobbing moans, your legs starting to shake. Your hands grip Riki’s back, trying to hold onto him as he continues to ram his cock into your wet pussy. Your nails lightly digging into the skin of his back.

“Let Jake hear you fall apart for me. F-Fuck… You couldn’t stay away from me, huh?” He angles his hips upwards, allowing him to fuck you open so much deeper. The new angle makes you see stars, you yelp out in pleasure.

“I love your noises, fuck… No one makes you feel the way I do, hm?”

You moan again, the loudest you think you’ve ever been. He lets out a groan in response, guttural, slamming into you harder. “Your pussy got so soaked for me baby, just from kissing too. Filthy girl.”

That nickname does something to you. You instinctively clench around him, he grunts. “Ah, don’t squeeze like that-”

It’s insane. The heat, the friction, the way he holds you down like you’re his to break.

“Louder, baby,” he grits. “Be good for me.”

Your whole body tightens, you’re now writhing beneath him, trembling.

Riki just watches everything. The way your face contorts with every thrust. The way your tits sway below him, chest rising and falling rapidly. The way his cock disappears within you with every drag.

You’re close.

He knows.

So he slows down.

You whimper. “No- please- don’t stop-”

“I said I’d take my time,” he growls, leaning down to leave kisses down your throat. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

“Riki!”

His mouth moves and he crashes his lips onto yours. Hot and wet, dragging his tongue over them before pulling back and whispering. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe. “I’ve always been yours.”

Riki lets out a shaky breath. His hands adjusting on your sides for maximum grip, holding you so tight you wonder if it’s beginning to bruise.

He looks into your eyes, expression filled with desire, and he drives into you with a new kind of urgency.

You scream.

Riki’s pace never falters even as your body begins to fall apart under him. He fucks you through it all, hard. His lips latch on your neck, voice in your ear, low and ragged and full of things he never used to say.

“I missed this. Missed you.” The filthy sounds of your skin slapping against one another echoed through the room that now smelled of pure sex. “You were always the only one, Y/N. F-fuck…”

“Ahh harder! Harder, Riki please-” You whine, embarrassingly loud but in this moment, you don’t really care.

“Look at me Y/N. Keep your eyes on me.” Riki pants, his thrusts strong but growing sloppy, a sign he too was getting close. He slams into you with hunger, cock piercing through you. “Wanna watch you when you come.”

The sound of the headboard slamming harshly against the wall rings out. You make sure to look up at Riki the whole time. With every shattering slam of his cock into your core, you hold onto him a little tighter. His back, biceps, whatever is in reach. His hand reaches down and starts to rub your clit frantically, in sync with his movements. The sensations quickly become overwhelming.

You can feel the coil winding tighter, threatening to snap at any second. “Oh my god- Fuck! Riki im gonna- Ah!”

“Come on my cock baby.”

He drives into you with such precision and force, his fingers working overtime on your swollen clit. Soon, you feel your release come over you, and you’re shaking in his arms, completely drenching the sheets beneath you. Your mouth opens in ecstasy with a scream of his name, “Riki!” and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He fucks you through it.

“Fuck baby, look at you” Riki admires your flushed state beneath him as his movements grow even sloppier than before. “I’m gonna fill you so good.”

Suddenly you feel his warm juices spilling into your fucked out pussy, his hips pressed up against you. He groans, long and drawn out, right by your ear. His head bows down into your shoulder as he rides out his high, thrusts slowing before stopping completely, cock milked dry.

You can feel his chest heaving atop your own, and before you can register it, you’re wrapping your arms around his warm body, pulling him closer. Both of you in a fucked out daze.

Riki pants, pressing a soft and slow kiss against your cheek, bodies still interlinked. “You’re unreal. I missed you so fucking much Y/N.” It comes out breathless, but his words ignite something warm in your chest. You know, deep down, that this isn’t just a one-night mistake. This is you, unraveling all over again.

For him, only him.

And maybe, you’re okay with it.

You lose track of how many times he makes you come.

Some with his fingers, others with his mouth.

Another when he has you on your knees on the bed, hands braced against the wall, his voice rasping filth in your ear as he rams into you from behind.

That one nearly ends you.

Because that’s the wall that connects his bedroom to his roommates’.

To Jake’s bedroom.

Of course, Riki was well aware of that fact, and he is absolutely insane.

He presses you hard against the wall, one hand’s long fingers curled firmly around your throat just enough to make your breath hitch, his other hand on your hips as he guided you back onto his length from behind.

“Think he can hear you?” he whispers against your ear, cock buried so deep it makes your vision blur. “The way you’re moaning for me?”

You gasp, clenching around him involuntarily. Your sounds are smaller than usual due to the nerve-wracking situation that was being fucked right up against Riki’s roomates’ wall. He would definitely hear if he wasn’t dead asleep or something similar. “Ngh- Riki!”

“Oh? She’s shy now?” he taunts, grinning against your shoulder that had now been plastered with bruises and bites. “You weren’t shy when I had my tongue in you twenty minutes ago.”

He thrusts again, deliberately. Deep and slow, drawing a long moan out of you that makes heat seep to your cheeks. The kind of thrust that makes your whole body jerk forward and thump lightly against the wall. You attempt to choke on your moans. Try to stifle them against your arm.

Riki did not like that. He rams into you harder.

“Tsk. None of that.”

You shake your head, whining. “I can’t- he’ll hear-”

He continues to wreck your fucked hole with precision. The knowledge that you two might be heard did turn you on, but the tinge of embarrassment was still there, hence you trying to silence yourself. A hard task when Riki is just too damn good at fucking you.

“I want him to hear, baby” He breathes lowly, voice wrecked. “Let him know that you missed me too.”

When you cry out; high and breathless and creaming on his cock once again, both your slicks mixing and dripping down your thighs and his balls; he smiles.

It goes on for hours.

Different positions, different angles, even different parts of the bed. Your legs shake with the effort of keeping up. You love it.

You can’t stop moaning, gasping his name like a lifeline. Like it’s the only word you know. Every time you think he’s finally done, he kisses you again before pushing your legs apart.

“Just one more,” he whispers. “You can do it. I haven’t ruined you enough yet.”

It’s not just about sex.

It’s about claiming. About making sure you never forget what it’s like to be his.

Now, you never want to forget.

By the time he finally presses you into the mattress for the last time, with a low and desperate groan, filling you up with his seed that seeps out the moment he pulls out, you’re gone.

Sweaty? Yes.

Fucked out in every way? Yes.

But are you smiling? God, yes.

You’re so high on him that you feel like you could float.

He disappears to the bathroom for a moment and comes back with a damp cloth, cleaning you up, his hands gentle around your swollen pussy, utmost care laced in how he navigates his hands. Your comfort is his priority. Riki brushes your hair off your forehead like he didn’t just completely destroy you for the past three hours.

Afterwards, you collapse on top of him. Both still naked, skin to skin, but neither of you minded. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.

He holds you, and doesn’t let go.

Soon, you’re overcome with sleep, lips swollen, legs sore, every inch of you aching; but in the best way possible.

You don’t know how long you were out for. Could be anywhere from ten minutes to two hours, but when you open your eyes slightly, it’s still dark, still quiet.

Riki is still awake, one arm propped up under his head on the pillow, the other still wrapped around you.

He hasn’t noticed you’ve woken up, fingers running through your hair, slow and thoughtful. You keep your breathing steady, trying to drift back to sleep, when he says something that you don’t expect.

“I’ll do anything to keep you like this.” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

His words are so raw that it splinters something inside you, the edge of hurt evident in the soft way he spoke.

You open your eyes discreetly, looking up at him. His brows are furrowed, jaw clenched as his hands mindlessly play with your hair, eyes on the ceiling.

You didn’t leave because you wanted to. You left because you had to. Because loving Riki felt like drowning.

But now? It was clear that he had changed.

You weren’t finding yourself falling once again because of the sex, though admittedly that was the best you’d ever been fucked, it was because of him.

How now his touch, no matter innocent or filthy, was always laced with absolute care.

How he now looked at you with a spark in his eye, like you meant the world to him.

How his words now came out more genuine and natural than they used to.

You two had fucked many times before, but this time was different, he was different.

You don’t respond. You don’t let him know that you had woken up. Instead, you simply wrap your arms around him just a little tighter, face buried a little deeper in the crook of his neck.

He tenses for a second, you feel it, before he relaxes against you, pulling you close.

The ache in your chest has never felt more like home.

You two wake intertwined the next morning, surprisingly early considering the time you had stayed up until, pressed all over one another.

After a slow morning of soft kisses in bed, you agreed to talk about where you stood after getting some nutrition in your systems.

So now, you’re sat on the kitchen counter, wearing one of Riki’s old hoodies as he attempted to put togehter a very healthy breakfast of pancakes. You watched his every move, he was trying so hard not to mess up after a failed flip led to pancake batter all over the floor just a few minutes prior. Lots of laughs were let out when that happened.

Then suddenly,

A slow clap.

You both freeze.

Jake’s leaning in the doorway of his bedroom, which led right into the kitchen area of the main space of the dorm. His arms crossed and expression blank, except for the shit-eating grin playing at his lips. Oh god…

“Well, well, well,” he drawls.

Riki groans under his breath.

You turn beet red.

“You two are disgusting.”

All you can do is smile apologetically.

THANK YOU FOR READING! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[heejamas]

717 AMORTENTIA

一緒 synopsis: in your final year at hogwarts, all you wanted was quiet. until a transfer student from durmstrang is placed in slytherin, paired with you in advanced potions, and starts asking the wrong questions. when students begin falling ill and secrets bubble beneath the castle’s surface, you find yourself tangled in a web of forbidden magic, deception, and a boy who was never supposed to care. he came to investigate you. he stayed to protect you. but in the shadows of the castle, even love comes with a price.

➤ pairing: slytherin! niki x gryffindor!fem!reader … hogwarts au, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers // ➤ ˙⟡ word count: 21k 一緒 warnings: mystery, suspense, angst, kidnapping, memory loss, use of dark magic, student endangerment

seventh year feels different. heavier. not because of exams or job interviews or the looming pressure of life beyond the castle, no, you’ve been quietly ready for that. it’s something else, something that lingers in the way the professors pause too long before dismissing class. in how the prefects have been more tense during patrol. how the rumors aren’t just silly now. they sound like warnings whispered too late.

you try not to think about it. instead, you bury yourself in what you’re best at: precision, control, repetition. potions.

professor hong still doesn’t smile when he praises your work, but his hand always lingers a beat longer than necessary on your essays. last week, he gave you a recipe you’d never seen before, said it was from "an old experimental archive, pre-regulation." you copied it into your journal, all neat margins and underlined ingredients, pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes tracked you as you worked. in class, jeonghan sits across the room. he’s brilliant, even you’d admit that, but messy. his notes are chaos, his technique too relaxed. he never brews the same potion twice the same way, and somehow, it always works. he doesn’t speak to you much. just watches sometimes, with a slight smirk like he’s waiting for you to slip up. you don’t.

and that’s why you’re the one professor hong pairs with on “independent research” tasks. why your name always shows up at the top of the board. why some people avoid sitting next to you in the common room, whispering things like “teacher’s favorite” or “dangerous clever.”

so when a new student shows up midweek — tall, quiet, dark uniform that doesn’t match any of yours — of course he notices you.

you catch him watching you during breakfast, eyes flicking from your hands to your schedule to your badge. you hear he’s from durmstrang, that he was transferred for “security reasons,” whatever that means. you know his name before he says it: niki. slytherin, naturally. but he doesn’t sit with the others. doesn’t talk much. doesn’t ask questions in class, but always seems to be listening too closely.

you remember the first time you saw him, that morning in the great hall, when the sky above the enchanted ceiling was still streaked with sunrise. the professors were already gathered, and the students were buzzing, loud with end-of-summer energy, still full of stories and luggage and half-eaten toast.

then the doors opened. and everything got quiet. he walked in like he belonged somewhere else. posture straight, uniform crisp, movements sharp, like he’d been trained for something that didn’t involve desks or parchment. you remember how people leaned toward each other immediately, whispering behind cupped hands. a transfer student wasn’t unheard of, but from durmstrang? in the seventh year? weird.

you remember how jake nudged you with his elbow. “watch, he’s gonna be the brooding type. bet you he’s a total prick.”

heeseung didn’t even look up from his cereal. “he’s either cursed or annoying. maybe both.”

you didn’t say anything. just watched as he walked toward the front, where mcgonagall stood waiting with the sorting hat. he didn’t flinch when it was lowered onto his head. didn’t even blink. the hall was dead silent.

“slytherin.”

it didn’t take long for the whispering to start again. the usual things: that durmstrang taught dark arts instead of defending against them. that he must’ve done something to get kicked out. that he wasn’t here for school at all.

“security reasons,” sunoo at the ravenclaw table said. “what does that even mean?”

“spying,” jungwon guessed.

you didn’t realize until later that he’d been looking at you when the hat announced his house. like he already knew your name. like he already had questions.

next week, you arrive early to advanced potions. you always do. professor hong prefers punctuality, and so do you — the quiet of the room before it fills, the heavy smell of crushed roots and something faintly metallic in the air, the chalkboard still blank and waiting. you always take your usual seat: third row from the front, left side, closest to the ventilation charm. the room is familiar. reliable. you’ve had four years of top marks and no interruptions here.

which is why the parchment pinned to the door stops you cold.

“term pairs: assigned by academic record.” your name, clear and centered and right beside it: rishimura niki.

you blink once. read it again. it doesn’t make sense. advanced potions is restricted. only students who passed the O.W.L. with distinction, only those who survived hong’s brutal summer assessment essay. niki hadn’t been here for any of that.

you step into the room, still holding the parchment in your hand. you don’t notice him at first, but of course he’s already there, sitting at your table, back straight, sleeves rolled precisely to the elbows. there’s not a single book or quill on the desk. just him, waiting.

“this seat’s taken,” you say automatically, not looking at him.

“i know.” his voice is low, steady. foreign, but not clumsy. like someone used to giving orders quietly.

you glance at him. doesn’t look smug. doesn’t even smile. he just tilts his head, motioning to the board where professor hong is writing ingredients with quick, sharp strokes. niki + y/n. pair #3.

you sit, slow. the table feels smaller than usual. “you’re not supposed to be in this class,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

“i am now.”

you pull your notebook out with a little more force than necessary. “right. well. don’t get in my way.”

“wasn’t planning to.”

you don’t reply. professor hong starts the lecture, something about variable temperature thresholds in guilt-detection serum, but you barely register it. you feel niki’s eyes on you before you even see him turn. watching your hands again, the way you slice the asphodel root, the way you measure without double-checking.

“you’re precise,” he says quietly.

“that’s why i’m in this class.”

“gryffindor, right?”

you pause. “…yeah.”

“doesn’t track.”

you look up, eyebrows lifted. “what doesn’t?”

“you brew like a slytherin. methodical. calculated. no hesitation.”

“you’re stereotyping.”

“i’m observing.”

you roll your eyes, harder than necessary. “what, do they teach you arrogance at durmstrang, or is it just in the water there?”

he doesn’t smile. not even a twitch. “just asking questions.”

“well, don’t. i’m not interested in making friends.”

“i’m not interested in pretending.” you glance sideways. he’s watching you, yes, but not in that distracted, half-bored way other people do. it’s too direct. too sharp. like he’s picking you apart already, looking for cracks. “so,” he says, too casually. “your parents—also in potions?”

your stomach tightens. “what?”

“just curious. it runs in families sometimes.”

“what, brewing talent?”

“obsession.”

you set your pestle down too hard. the sound makes professor hong pause mid-sentence. you give a tight smile and mutter an apology. niki doesn’t flinch. “what’s your point?” you hiss under your breath.

he shrugs. “just strange, that’s all. someone as good as you, flying under the radar. no publications. no mentorships. no talk.”

“because i’m seventeen. and i’m in school.”

“still.”

you snap your head toward him. “are you always this invasive, or is it just me?”

his gaze doesn’t drop. “just you.”

you open your mouth to say something else, to say something biting, but professor hong claps his hands. “pair work. guilt serum base. i expect accuracy, not creativity. results on my desk by end of class.”

you grip the edge of the desk, pulse jumping. you don’t like being questioned. you really don’t like being watched. and you definitely don’t like the way niki moves, like he’s already two steps ahead of everyone, and like you’re some kind of puzzle he’s just starting to solve.

“fine,” you mutter, pulling ingredients toward you. “but if you mess this up, i’m reporting it.”

“you won’t have to.”

you ignore the way his tone makes your spine twitch.

professor hong paces past your table just as you reach for the silver scales and start weighing the powdered valerian root. his presence is like static, quiet but charged, sharp eyes sweeping over your measurements, nodding once before moving on.

you glance at the board.

veritaserum (skeleton base)

– jobberknoll feather (crushed)

– valerian root

– gillywater infusion

– moonstone shards

– whisper of wand essence

brew with absolute precision. contamination leads to useless result. or explosion.

you slide the jar of moonstone toward niki without looking at him. “you do the infusion,” you say. “gillywater, slow simmer. three stirs clockwise, pause, one counter. don’t mess it up.”

“don’t worry,” he murmurs. “i’ve done this before.”

“sure you have,” you mutter back.

he moves like he’s used to silence. his hands are steady, controlled, like someone trained to follow orders without hesitation, or someone who never needed to be taught twice. he handles the gillywater like it’s nothing, which only annoys you more.

“what were you doing at durmstrang?” you ask, casually. too casually.

he doesn’t answer right away. “learning things hogwarts doesn’t teach.”

you arch a brow. “like what? interrogation tactics?”

a flicker of something in his eyes. amusement? surprise? “maybe,” he says. “you’d be good at it.”

you scoff. “you’re really bad at compliments.”

“i wasn’t trying to be nice.”

“figures.”

you tip the crushed feather into the bubbling potion with precision, watching the surface turn a faint iridescent blue. it’s supposed to do that. still, you double-check the notes. he leans slightly closer, just enough for you to feel it.

“you always this paranoid?” he says under his breath.

you glance up sharply. “you’re the one interrogating me.”

“because you’re the only other person in this room who could’ve brewed something like that,” he says, too low for anyone else to hear. he doesn’t nod toward anything. doesn’t explain. 

“maybe you should mind your business.”

“maybe your business is my business.”

the simmering sound of the potion nearly drowns out the last line. nearly. you feel heat rise to your face — not from embarrassment, but from anger. and something else. something you can’t name yet. tension, maybe. or recognition.

you glare at him. “you don’t know me.”

“not yet,” he says simply.

you stab the stirring rod into the cauldron and begin the final stir sequence. you don’t look at him again. but you feel his eyes on you the entire time.

the dungeon air sticks to your skin as class ends. like it’s not just the potion steam but something heavier sitting in your chest. you pack your things slower than usual, not out of care but because your hands are tight with something you can’t name. annoyance. unease. that stupid static in the back of your neck from being watched too long.

you hear him behind you. still silent. still calm. he doesn’t say anything about the potion, or the fact that you were the only pair to get it right. professor hong gives your table the usual low-voiced approval, a faint nod, the same he gives to every decent result, but the weight of it lands different this time. like even the professor is watching something neither of you can name.

you latch your kit closed with a sharp snap. niki doesn’t even flinch. just wipes his side of the table with slow, precise movements, like he’s done this in labs stricter than this one. maybe he has. maybe he’s lying about half of what he is. or maybe he just makes everything feel like a lie — that steady face, those quiet questions, the way he looks at you like you’re a book he already started reading and didn’t ask permission for.

his hands are already clean. the station spotless. but he doesn’t move. not until you’re out of sight.

and even then, he’s slow about it. pulling a folded slip of parchment from the inside of his robe, the ink already half-dry on the note he started writing halfway through the lesson. your name isn’t on it. not yet. but he’s thinking about it.

weeks pass like molasses.

at first, you try to ignore him. it’s not hard, you’ve perfected the art of quiet disapproval. you sit next to him in advanced potions without looking directly at him, keep your comments to a minimum, stir counter-clockwise when he stirs clockwise. you don’t ask questions, and he doesn’t offer answers. for a while, that feels like enough. distant, tense, but manageable.

but then he shows up at the slytherin quidditch tryouts.

you don’t mean to watch. you’re just walking past the pitch with jake and heeseung, both of them halfway through arguing about who’s going to get bumped from the gryffindor lineup this year, when you hear the usual roar of the crowd, but this time it sounds different. more focused. people are watching someone specific. and of course it’s him.

niki’s in full gear, dark green robes catching the wind like he was born in them, cutting through the sky like a hawk. he’s fast, too fast. and worse, he’s good. he moves like he’s been playing for years, with that kind of ease that makes it look effortless. you glance at heeseung and see it, the immediate shift in his jaw, the quiet twitch of annoyance. he won’t say it, but you know. the last thing any gryffindor wants is to admit a slytherin is better. especially one who just dropped out of the sky and stole the show.

“he's so full of himself,” heeseung mutters, biting down on the words. “he’s not even that good. just fast. and tall. and probably on some weird eastern european broom charm.”

you don’t say anything, but your stomach twists. not because heeseung’s wrong — niki is good. but because you already know how this’ll go. girls from ravenclaw and hufflepuff will start showing up at slytherin games “just to watch.” someone’ll start writing about him in the hogwarts gossip paper. and you’ll be stuck next to him twice a week while everyone else acts like he’s the most fascinating thing to ever walk through the castle doors.

by the end of that week, it starts happening. you run into him everywhere.

first, it’s the greenhouses. you’re there late after class, picking up a special order of wormwood for your independent study project. professor sprout isn’t even there, but she left a note that it’d be waiting on bench three. you reach for it, turn your head, and he’s just there, already holding the exact same herb.

“need this?” he asks, like he hasn’t just stolen it from under your nose.

you scowl. “do you follow people, or is this just bad luck?”

he shrugs. says nothing. hands it over. smirking.

then it’s the care of magical creatures hut. you signed up to help professor galen monitor the growth of some hybrid firecrabs, mostly for extra credit and also because you actually like the weird little bastards. it’s quiet, peaceful work — or at least it was, until niki shows up with a pair of dragonhide gloves and a perfect excuse: “professor asked for a second assistant.”

you try not to scream. you fail a little. he laughs once under his breath, and you consider tossing a bucket of feed at his head.

and then there’s the library. and the owlery. and the great hall. and the narrow stairwell near the astronomy tower where you definitely weren’t expecting anyone at that hour.

it’s not like he’s following you, not really. but every time you think you’ve finally gotten a moment to breathe, he appears. silent, observant, eyes flicking over your hands, your books, your schedule. never saying much. never far.

jake thinks it’s hilarious, he calls it fate. heeseung calls it weird. you call it a problem. and yet, the worst part isn’t that you keep seeing him, it’s that he keeps seeing you. like he’s waiting for something. like there’s a piece of you he’s still trying to find. and you don’t know what he’s looking for, but you hate that part of you keeps wondering what he’ll do when he finds it.

and then, there's the first game. it’s the kind of match people talk about for years. slytherin versus gryffindor always pulls a crowd, but this one feels heavier before it even starts. there’s a tension in the air, charged like a storm’s about to hit, and maybe it is. maybe it always is when houses like these meet under the sky.

niki plays chaser. no one saw it coming. people assumed he'd be a seeker, sleek and quiet and fast, but he’s not. he’s sharp and ruthless, cutting through the field with a kind of precision that doesn’t feel fair. every pass, every goal, every feint is calculated. he moves like he’s already seen the play ten seconds before it happens. jake barely has time to call out strategies. heeseung’s fast, but not fast enough. the score climbs. fast. and it’s a massacre.

even the commentators start hesitating around the third goal. then the fifth. then the ninth. by the time slytherin hits two-hundred and twenty to forty, gryffindor’s cheering section is silent. people stop pretending it’s just a bad game. you watch from the stands with your jaw locked, hands frozen on the red-and-gold scarf you shouldn’t have bothered wearing. the worst part isn’t that gryffindor’s losing. it’s who they’re losing to. it’s how.

niki doesn’t smile once. he just plays. and wins.

and the dormitory that night is a graveyard. someone opens a few bottles of butterbeer in half-hearted consolation. the room smells like defeat and cinnamon. no one says anything loud. jake’s sitting with his head in his hands. heeseung’s sprawled on the couch, eyes on the ceiling like maybe if he stares long enough, the score’ll change. you’re pacing. you’ve been pacing since you got back.

"he had to have been training for years," jake mutters. “like, professionally. i don’t think normal students play like that.”

"oh, now you realize that?" you snap.

he lifts his head, blinking. "...you’re pissed."

"you think?"

"you’re more pissed than anyone. and you’re not even on the team." you shoot him a look that could fry a mandrake. "wait," he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “is this because your crush crushed us?”

"excuse me?!" heeseung makes a noise like he’s trying not to laugh. “i do not have a crush on him.”

“sure,” jake says, nodding like that’s exactly what someone with a crush would say. “you just talk about how shady he is every time we see him. totally normal.” you don’t dignify it with a response. you grab your cloak and stomp toward the door. “where are you going?” jake calls after you.

“somewhere you’re not,” you mutter, slamming the portrait shut behind you.

the night is cold. the castle's quieter than it should be. most people are at the slytherin common room, which you hear is loud enough to rattle the pipes. you don't care. you head toward the viaduct path, it’s far, and mostly empty at this hour, overlooking the black lake. the wind cuts through your robes and makes your cheeks sting, but the air helps. it feels real and grounding.

you sit on the stone ledge, just out of reach of the torchlight. your hands are in your lap. you close your eyes for a second and try to breathe. you don’t know how long you sit there. long enough for your anger to dull into something quieter. something closer to confusion.

and that’s when you hear footsteps behind you. you don’t have to turn around, you already know who it is.

“you’re following me again,” you say without opening your eyes.

“you’re predictable,” niki answers, stepping into view, voice calm. like he didn’t just humiliate your house in front of half the school.

you open your eyes and look at him. he’s not in his quidditch robes anymore, but his hair’s still wind-blown, and there’s mud on his boots. he doesn’t look tired. he doesn’t look sorry.

“come to gloat?”

“no.” he pauses. “you weren’t at the party.”

you blink. “why would i be?”

he shrugs. “you’re everywhere else.”

you scoff and look away, fingers tightening in your lap. the wind blows hair into your face, but you don’t bother moving it. not with him standing there, watching like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

“why are you here?” you ask eventually, not bothering to sound friendly.

he leans against the ledge a few feet away, arms crossed. “too much in the common room. too loud.”

you glance at him. “bit dramatic, don’t you think? they’re celebrating you.”

he doesn’t answer right away. “i don’t like attention.”

you let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “right.”

his eyes flick over to you. “what?”

“you’re telling me,” you start, voice dry, “that the star transfer student from durmstrang, who just massacred gryffindor and has half the school drooling over him, doesn’t like attention?”

he shrugs again, but it’s more of a pause this time. less of a defense, more of a question mark. “i just figured you’d be at the party,” he says, softer.

you snort. “why? i hate parties.” he raises an eyebrow. you continue. “i go to maybe one if it’s in the gryffindor dorms. maybe ravenclaw if sunoo begs. but even then, it’s always the same thing. someone brings a sketchy bottle of something labeled ‘love potion’ or ‘euphoria draught’ or—god—forgets to dilute amortentia and suddenly i’m dragging someone to madam pomfrey again.”

he looks at you carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to decide something. “so you weren’t at that last ravenclaw party last year?” he asks.

“no.” you shake your head. “i had a paper due for hong’s class and heeseung caught a cold. why?”

he watches you for a second. long enough that you start to feel defensive. “there was a girl,” he says. “a ravenclaw. drank something. couldn’t remember anything for days.”

you blink, sitting up straighter. “you mean yeji?”

he nods. “that’s her.”

you look away, jaw clenched. “i knew her. not well, but… she sat near me in magical theory. always gave perfect answers. smart and cautious.” niki’s silent again, waiting. “she’s not the type to take a mystery potion just because someone said it’d make her feel good,” you continue. “she’d ask what was in it. make sure it was brewed properly. she wasn’t careless.”

“do you know what she took?”

you shake your head. “no. whatever it was… it wasn’t something i recognized. or i would’ve said something by now.” you pause. then your gaze snaps back to him. “why are you asking me this?” you say, sharper than before. “do you think i had something to do with it?”

niki meets your eyes, unreadable. “i think you know more about potions than anyone else here. and that makes you useful.”

you stand up slowly, heart beating harder. “useful?”

“not in a bad way.”

“you don’t even know me,” you say, and there’s an edge to your voice now that wasn’t there before. “you sit next to me in one class, and suddenly you think you can judge what kind of person i am? if i was someone who—who poisoned someone?”

he doesn’t answer. but he doesn’t look away, either. you step back, just once. the stone under your shoes is cold and solid, grounding.

“you can ask your little questions,” you mutter, voice low, “but don’t pretend you’re not doing it for a reason. and don’t pretend i’m not noticing.”

you start walking away before he can say anything else. but even as you leave the viaduct, the weight of his stare clings to your back. like he’s not done with you yet.

the following week is... confusing. because after that night, niki seems to vanish.

he’s still around, of course. you still see him in potions, where he sits next to you in silence, answering only when necessary, his eyes flicking toward your hands when you chop ingredients a little too fast. but he doesn’t hover in the same spaces anymore. he’s not suddenly behind you in the greenhouse when you’re picking murtlap, not crossing paths with you outside the care of magical creatures hut. if he was studying you before, now it feels like he’s keeping his distance on purpose.

but he’s not exactly alone. you start noticing him with sunghoon and jay — the slytherin beaters, loud and cocky and always surrounded by admirers. it’s hard not to see them, honestly, with their matching smug grins and perfectly polished brooms slung over their shoulders like fashion accessories. the three of them make an intimidating group, and niki fits in with a quiet ease that somehow makes it worse.

but what really makes your stomach twist is when you see him with jeonghan.

the first time is in the library. you’re at a corner table, flipping through advanced antidotal theory, and they pass by in the restricted section, speaking in hushed voices. jeonghan has that same unreadable look he always wears, like he’s two steps ahead and enjoying the view, and niki is just behind him, listening. not saying much. not needing to.

you try not to stare and you fail. because it’s not just once. you see them again two days later, walking out of the potions classroom long after class has ended. they don’t notice you around the corner, but you catch the end of the conversation. jeonghan laughing softly, niki saying something too low to hear. and something clicks, something uncomfortable.

niki is hanging around with the two best potion students in hogwarts: you and jeonghan. only he’s not talking to you anymore. and jeonghan… well. you’ve never trusted jeonghan.

your rivalry with him goes back years. you both excel in potionwork, but he’s manipulative. calculated. always finding loopholes, shortcuts, ways to twist instructions just enough to outshine you. professor hong praises both of you, but there's always that tension beneath the surface — the unspoken competition, the way you both rush to finish first or brew cleaner or get more points for your house. it’s not personal. but it’s never friendly.

so when you realize niki’s been spending time with him, choosing to spend time with him, it feels like a warning. and your mind won’t stop circling back to the rumors, the girl in ravenclaw, the potion no one could identify. it starts keeping you up at night. not in the dramatic, sleepless kind of way. more like you’re distracted. unfocused.

jake notices first.

“you haven’t insulted heeseung’s handwriting in days,” he says one afternoon in the common room, poking your arm with his quill. “are you sick?”

“shut up,” you mutter, flipping a page in your notes.

heeseung chimes in from across the table. “she’s just sulking because her mortal enemy replaced her.”

“excuse me?” you blink at him.

“niki,” he says simply, leaning back in his chair. “you’re obsessed.”

“i am not—”

“you’ve been zoning out since the game,” jake says. “don’t even deny it. you walked into the wrong classroom this morning. twice.”

“i had a lot on my mind.”

“yeah,” jake mutters. “specifically, one thing.”

you slam your book shut and stand up before either of them can say anything else. you don’t have time to explain what’s really bothering you, not to them. not yet. not when even you don’t fully understand what it is.

on the end of the week, professor hong had called you into his office at the end of double potions. most students had already filed out, voices trailing down the corridor, but he had looked up from his desk just as you were collecting your things and said, “miss y/l/n. a word.”

you’d hesitated, glanced once at sunoo, who gave you a curious look over his shoulder, but you stayed behind. it wasn’t unusual, professor hong had a habit of assigning you extra work, sometimes letting you help with his research, sometimes testing obscure theories through essays or unsupervised brewing experiments. you were used to it. used to the pressure. the quiet praise he offered only when absolutely necessary. you respected him — feared him a little, too, but mostly respected.

“you’re serious about pursuing mastery after hogwarts?” he’d asked you then, voice flat, as if the answer didn’t matter.

“yes,” you said immediately. “of course.”

he nodded once, turning the open pages of a leather-bound journal toward you. it was worn and scrawled in a cramped, spidery script — old, maybe even pre-hogwarts era. “this is a recipe for the draught of lucid recall,” he said. “a stabilizing agent for memory restoration, very rarely brewed these days due to one limiting factor.”

you leaned forward, reading the ingredients list. something flickered in your chest when your eyes caught on a line. glowing firevine from a duskwing nest.

“these plants grow from the residual magical energy left behind by duskwing shrike hatchlings,” he continued. “and duskwing shrikes, as you may know, nest exclusively on the western border of the forbidden forest. nocturnal creatures. extremely shy. the vines bloom only when the nest has been long abandoned. and only at night.” 

he closed the book with a soft snap and looked at you. “you want the experience, don’t you?” and you had nodded.

so now here you are, close to midnight, stepping past the boundary wards into the forest. you’d prepared carefully: protective charms on your boots, your wand lit just enough to catch your footing, your satchel laced tight across your chest. it isn’t your first time out here, but it’s the first time you’ve come alone. and the silence of it all — broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves, or the distant flutter of wings — feels different than it does during class or field assignments.

you move slowly, tracking the marks you’d memorized in hong’s notes. the duskwing nests are fragile, crater-like indentations of moss and twigs, and the vines curl through them like veins of molten light, gold and red and strangely pulsing. it takes you nearly half an hour, but you find one tucked into the roots of an old tree, exactly where he said it would be.

the firevine glows faintly under your wandlight. it’s warm when you pluck it. and you barely have time to admire it before you hear the voices. 

they come in like fog. low, urgent tones. two, maybe three. you freeze, instinct pulling your wand up, light gone in an instant. you drop low, heart hammering in your throat, breath caught somewhere just behind your teeth.

they’re not speaking english, not any language you recognize. but the tone is serious. focused. and whoever they are, they’re moving closer.

you slide behind a thick wall of brambles, the firevine clutched to your chest, breath shaky. you’re about to press a muffling charm to your mouth when you feel it. a hand. firm and fast, clamping over your lips.

you jolt, panic spiking white-hot in your veins, but you can’t scream. the hand is strong, and someone presses close behind you, other arm curling around your waist, holding you still. your wand is still in your grip, but you can’t raise it. not without stabbing blindly behind you. and then, you hear the whisper.

“don’t move,” a voice says, low against your ear.

you freeze. the hand loosens slightly, and the pressure around your waist fades just enough for you to breathe. you turn your head, only a little, just enough to see.

niki.

his eyes catch yours in the dark. unreadable, as always, but more focused than you’ve ever seen them. he’s got his wand out, too — already raised — his other hand still hovering near your shoulder, steadying you. he makes a motion with his fingers. quiet. then he turns back, gaze locked in the direction of the voices. and suddenly you realize, he knew they were coming. he wasn’t following you. he was already here.

you stay frozen there for a while, crouched low behind the thick underbrush, hidden under dark branches that rattle slightly with the wind. the voices are getting louder. closer. and niki hasn’t let go. his arm is still firm around your shoulders, fingers pressed against the curve of your arm, anchoring you in place. you feel his chest behind you, the slow rise and fall of it unnervingly calm. you’re trying to match it, to steady yourself, but your heart’s racing and your fingers are clenched so tightly around the firevine it’s starting to lose its warmth.

the men are near now. you hear the crunch of boots on forest floor, the drag of something heavy being pulled along the dirt. someone curses. another laughs. it sounds like there’s four of them, maybe five.

niki moves. he shifts just enough to slip his wand into his other hand and pull something from the inner lining of his cloak. it glimmers faintly in the dark, like silver water. before you can process what it is, he’s tossing it up and over you both. everything disappears. you blink. once, twice. the bushes around you remain, faint outlines in the dark, but your hands, your legs, niki’s arm — they’re gone.

a disillusionment charm wouldn’t do that. a concealment spell wouldn’t either. it’s a true invisibility cloak. a real one. old magic. rare magic.

you don’t say anything — can’t, not with the footsteps just meters away. but your breath catches. the fabric is soft where it touches your arms, heavy and cool and real. you tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing at the glint of the hem, and it clicks. this isn’t some hand-me-down replica. this is something ancient. expensive. possibly even enchanted. who the hell is he?

you feel the shift before you hear it, niki’s face turns slightly toward you, and for a moment, his forehead presses against yours. barely. just a touch. you’re both breathing shallow now, every inhale tight and quiet. his eyes are on yours. too close. too much.

you’re not sure how long it lasts. it feels like minutes, hours, your limbs locked in place, the sounds of the forest swallowed up by the murmuring of the men. but eventually, the voices start to fade, a few more bootsteps. a grunt. silence. they’re gone.

the stillness returns slowly, like the forest has to remember how to be quiet. niki doesn’t move at first, but then he carefully pulls the cloak off your heads, folding it down with one hand. you finally breathe fully, blinking as the shadows settle back around you.

then he speaks. “what were you doing here?” his tone isn’t curious. it’s sharp and suspicious.

you blink at him, still crouched. “excuse me?”

he stands now, brushing the dirt from his knees, his jaw tight. “it’s almost midnight. the forbidden forest. and you just happen to be walking around where a group of smugglers were about to meet?”

you stand too, anger rising instantly. “i wasn’t walking around, i was on assignment.” you dig into your satchel, still clutching the firevine, and pull out the folded parchment professor hong gave you. it’s damp around the edges, crinkled from your grip, but the seal is still visible. you thrust it at him. “here. read it.”

he doesn’t take it, just glances over quickly, then looks away.

“what were they doing here?” you demand, heart still racing. “who are they?”

niki pauses, eyes scanning the space where the men disappeared. “snatchers,” he says finally. “potion traffickers. illegal brew distribution, mostly. kidnapping, too. sometimes they use kids to run ingredients. sometimes they use… worse.”

you feel your stomach flip. “and you know that because…?” he doesn’t answer. you take a step closer. “niki.” still nothing. you laugh, bitter. “you think i’m suspicious? you’ve been lying about who you are since day one.” his jaw ticks, and you see the flicker of something in his eyes — guilt, maybe, or regret — but he still doesn’t explain. “what were you doing out here?” you ask, quieter now. “following them?”

he shrugs, but it’s stiff. rehearsed. “i just… heard something. figured it was worth checking.”

you don’t believe him. not for a second. you cross your arms. “you’ve been watching me since the first day of term. showing up in every class i’m in. now i find you with a cloak worth more than half the school, and you expect me to believe i’m the one with something to explain?”

you hate the way your voice cracks at the end. hate how shaken you still feel. hate how he’s looking at you like he knows something, something you don’t, something he’s not ready to say. 

niki runs a hand through his hair, breath heavy. “i wasn’t trying to—” he stops. you stare at him. waiting. “just… be careful,” he says finally. voice low. “you don’t know what kind of things people will do for potions like these.”

you stare at him for a moment, mouth parted like there’s more he could say, but he doesn't.  “fine,” you mutter, shouldering your satchel with more force than necessary. “if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, don’t. but don’t drag me into it.”

you turn on your heel and start walking, the firevine still pulsing faintly in your hand. the glow matches the simmer under your skin. you’re not even mad, not really, you’re just done. you just want to go back, hand the plant to professor hong, and forget you were ever crouched behind a bush with niki pressed against you under some ridiculously expensive cloak, waiting for smugglers to pass.

but you hear footsteps behind you. you don’t have to look. you already know. “you cannot be serious,” you throw over your shoulder.

“what?” niki says innocently, which is rich, coming from the boy who basically accused you of being in a criminal syndicate five minutes ago. “you’re going back to the castle. so am i.”

“no, you’re following me.”

“i’m escorting you,” he corrects, like he’s doing you a favor. “it’s dangerous out here.”

you shoot him a glare. “i just watched you pull a cloak out of nowhere and you were about to take on five potion smugglers with nothing but your wand and a death glare. i think i’m fine.”

“you didn’t see my real death glare,” he says, voice low and mock-serious. “that was my soft version. reserved for classmates i don’t suspect of dark deals in the forest.”

you whip around. “i swear to merlin, if you say one more word about that—”

he raises both hands, smiling. this is the first time you see him smiling. “okay, okay. i’ll behave.” you narrow your eyes at him and keep walking, faster this time. naturally, he keeps pace. “you know,” he starts again after exactly three seconds of silence, “it was kind of impressive. the way you stayed quiet. most people would’ve screamed when i covered their mouth.”

“yeah, well, i was too busy trying to figure out if you were about to murder me,” you snap.

“aw. you thought i was dangerous?”

you roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out. “i think you’re annoying.”

“close enough.”

you mutter something unrepeatable and pull your cloak tighter around you. the forest’s thinning now, you can see the edge of the path that leads back to the castle, the soft orange glow of the torches in the distance. it should feel like relief, but you’re still buzzing with frustration. he walks beside you like it’s nothing. hands in his pockets. humming, even. 

you stop again, turning to him. “do you enjoy this?”

“what, the trauma of being ambushed in a forest?” he deadpans.

“no,” you hiss, “this. following me. provoking me. acting like you’re not hiding fifty secrets behind that smug face.”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second, just a flicker, something shifts in his expression. not playful. not teasing. soft. but then it’s gone. “maybe,” he says, with the faintest shrug. “you’re cute when you’re mad.”

you groan, loud and exasperated. “i cannot stand you.”

“you don’t have to stand me,” he says. “just walk next to me until we get back.”

you’re already walking, again, because if you stand there one second longer you might actually hex him. you trudge the last stretch of path in silence, or your silence, anyway. niki keeps talking. nonsense, mostly. how the moon’s extra bright tonight. how one of the smugglers had awful footwear. how professor hong would probably give you extra credit for surviving a kidnapping attempt. you don’t dignify any of it with a response, which only makes him talk more.

you reach the courtyard. then the stairs. then the long corridor to the entrance of gryffindor tower. you stop at the portrait of the fat lady and turn to him.

“you can leave now.”

he tilts his head. “are you sure? what if there’s more traffickers hiding in the tapestry?”

“niki.”

“what if the portrait password changed and you’re locked out forever?”

you take a deep breath, glaring up at him. he’s smiling again. like he’s having the best night of his life. you hate that it almost makes you laugh. “goodnight,” you grit through your teeth.

“goodnight, y/n.”

you just turn and mutter the password, stepping through the door before you can think about what just happened, or the way your heart’s still pounding, for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with firevine or smugglers or the forbidden forest.

the next day, you don’t know if you should tell anyone what happened. you keep replaying it in your head — the firevine glowing in your hands, the crunch of boots too close for comfort, the weight of niki’s hand over your mouth, the quiet snap of his cloak as it unfurled over you both like a second skin. how close you were. how still you had to be. how natural it felt to trust him, for a heartbeat, when every part of your brain screamed that you shouldn’t.

you didn’t sleep. you barely said two words at breakfast. not even when heeseung tried to give you a hard time about falling asleep in your toast. not now, heeseung, you wanted to say. i might have accidentally gotten myself tangled in an underground potion smuggling conspiracy and i think niki’s hiding something and i was in the forest illegally and maybe i’m in over my head.

but instead you just stared at your scrambled eggs like they might give you answers.

the guilt sits wrong in your stomach, heavy and unshaped. it’s not just the fact that you snuck out, it’s that you didn’t tell anyone. you still haven’t. not even professor hong. not even jake or heeseung, and you tell them almost everything. the silence feels dangerous, but there’s something stopping you from breaking it. something in the way niki looked at you when he said you don’t know what people will do for potions like these. something in the way he followed you all the way back to your common room with that stupid smirk, like he knew you wouldn’t say anything.

and the worst part is that he was right. so you go to the library. you tell yourself it’s just research. you are a good student. you do care about learning. but you don’t go to the advanced potions aisle. you don’t head for herbology or magical fauna or any of your usual corners.

you go straight to the restricted back row where the musty, half-forgotten books on potion-related crimes live. black bindings. cracked gold titles. old wizard photos that flicker and fade. you comb through chapter after chapter — trafficking, smuggling rings, black market sellers, memory charm abuse, corruption. you take notes. 

and when you’re tired of digging through other people’s crimes, you go deeper. durmstrang student records, class archives, yearbooks. you bite your lip. you search for names. you search for his name.

you find them stacked in chronological order, old leather-bound volumes organized by year and specialization. you scan the spines until your fingers land on the right one — last year’s upper division, potions track. you pull it down, careful, and let the weight of it settle on the table. you flip through pages. names. faces. accolades. best in year. graduated early. expelled for dueling. there’s a few others you half-recognize. but no niki.

you go through it twice. then a third time. he’s not in it. not in any of them. your brows furrow. how?

maybe he was homeschooled. maybe he studied abroad and came back. maybe his name is spelled differently. maybe there’s a perfectly logical reason. maybe there isn’t.

you’re still staring at the open book in front of you when you feel it — a prickle at the back of your neck. that sense of being watched. of someone’s presence folding quietly into the space behind you. you lift your head slowly. and there he is. niki’s across the library. leaning against the far shelf, a book half-open in his hands but clearly forgotten. next to him, jeonghan.

you don’t even try to pretend it’s a coincidence anymore. of course he’s with jeonghan. of course they’re in the potions section, and not looking at anything on the shelf. jeonghan says something to him, too quiet for you to hear, and niki doesn’t answer. his eyes are locked on you.

you think about the firevine. the heat of his breath against your cheek. the way he pulled you close like he’d done it before. like he knew how to hide. how to survive. how to keep secrets so well it was second nature. he looks at you like he knows you’re keeping one now. you close the book softly. don’t break eye contact. and you think, not for the first time, that this might all be bigger than you realized.

you leave the library with your thoughts tangling into knots.

every step echoes with the weight of it — the missing yearbook photo, the too-perfect invisibility cloak, the way he looked at you like he knew you’d keep quiet. and you did. but it’s too much now. something isn’t right, and it’s bigger than a smirk in the library or a close call in the forest. you can’t carry it alone anymore.

so you write a note in quick, messy strokes. tell heeseung to meet you in front of hagrid’s cabin after his practice. say it’s important. don’t say why.

the sun’s already low when you get there, gold spilling across the edge of the forest and setting the fields in firelight. you sit on the stone ledge near the pumpkins, hands tucked under your legs, bouncing your foot like that’ll make him come faster. heeseung’s the only person you trust with this. he’s loud and annoying and says the wrong thing nine times out of ten, but he listens. he keeps secrets. he knows you. and right now, that feels like the only thing keeping you from unraveling.

he shows up with his broom slung over his shoulder, sweaty and windblown, still in his quidditch robes. “what’s up?” he says, slowing when he sees your face. “you look like you saw a dementor.”

you just gesture for him to follow. you walk in silence. through the edge of the grounds, around the old greenhouses, to a little hollow between the divination tower and the west wall, quiet, shaded, always empty. you used to come here with him during second year when you wanted to skip classes without getting caught.

you sit, so does he. and then you start talking. you tell him about the forest. the task professor hong gave you. the firevine. the men. the way niki grabbed you and covered your mouth, how he knew what was happening before you did. the invisibility cloak. the questions. the silence. the way he's always with jeonghan. heeseung doesn’t interrupt. not once.

and then you tell him about the library. the records. the way niki and jeonghan were together, not doing anything, just watching. you expect him to laugh. or roll his eyes. maybe call you dramatic. but he just frowns.

“okay,” he says slowly. “okay, that’s… a lot.” you exhale. it’s the first time you’ve said any of it out loud. it still feels insane. “but like,” he continues, “niki being in the forest — that’s not just weird, that’s sketchy as hell. and if he did know those guys… like, know who they were…”

you nod, tension tightening your jaw. “i think he’s here for a reason. i don’t think he’s just some transfer from durmstrang.”

heeseung rubs the back of his neck. “well, jeonghan’s always been the guy with potions at parties, right?”

you blink. “what?”

“i mean—yeah,” he shrugs. “he always has something. headache cures, hangover things, dumb little confidence draughts—whatever. people go to him if they wanna feel something. he’s like the unofficial supplier.”

you shake your head. “i’ve never seen him do that.”

heeseung raises an eyebrow. “yeah, because he never does it when you’re around.”

you pause. let that sink in. you think back to the parties you did go to, the ones heeseung dragged you to. the times jeonghan was just a quiet shadow in the corner. and the other times, when you left early, or didn’t go at all, when something did happen, someone did get sick, someone did say they took something they shouldn’t have.

“shit,” you whisper.

heeseung leans back, whistling low. “you think niki’s here for that? like, actually investigating?”

you don’t say anything for a moment. just stare at the grass between your shoes. “it makes sense,” you say eventually. “but… i don’t know who he is. or who sent him. or why he won’t just tell me.”

“maybe he can’t.” you look at him. “if he’s undercover or whatever,” he adds. “maybe it’s dangerous.”

you nod, slowly. but it still doesn’t explain everything. it doesn’t explain why he’s so reckless with you. why he watches you like you might be the one hiding something. why, despite all your instincts, part of you still wants to trust him.

and worse — why it feels like he already trusts you.

a month passes, quiet and strange.

niki doesn’t talk to you. doesn’t look at you. doesn’t sit near you in potions, doesn’t show up where you are unless he absolutely has to. it’s like that night in the forest never happened — like the muffled breath against your temple, the brush of his jacket against your arm under the invisibility cloak, the tension crackling in the silence — like all of it was just something you imagined.

and if he’s pretending it didn’t happen, you figure you might as well do the same.

professor hong starts giving you more work than usual, like he’s testing you for something. special assignments, obscure texts to translate, herb samples to categorize and label. it’s not exactly punishment, but it feels like a spotlight is always on you. your grades stay high, but your patience wears thin.

when december rolls in, hogwarts gets colder, quieter. thick snow covers the grounds, and the halls echo in a way they never do during the rest of the year. most seventh years stay. it’s your last winter here, after all. you’re not going home either. your parents sent a letter that said something about a trip, something about being proud, something about sending your present by owl. 

you like the castle better like this. emptier. you can breathe.

one afternoon, you head into hogsmeade with heeseung, jake, sunoo, and jungwon. it’s snowing, the kind that sticks to your eyelashes and stings your fingers if you forget your gloves. the five of you end up at the three broomsticks, and the butterbeer’s warm.

you sit around a small round table near the back, laughing over something jake said, watching your breath fog in the cold air that slips in through the cracks in the windows. everything feels momentarily normal.

until you see him. niki walks in with jay and sunghoon, a sweep of snow still in his hair. he looks taller in winter clothes, sharper somehow, the dark green of his scarf marking him clearly as slytherin. you don’t know what you expect, maybe that he’ll ignore you again, just like he has for weeks.

but he sees you. and he smiles. it’s small, barely there, a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth. and it throws you completely off. because that’s the first time he’s acknowledged you since the forest. no words, just a look. but it’s enough to make your heart beat a little off rhythm.

you glance around. jeonghan’s not with them. and somehow, that makes you more uneasy than his smile. you look away fast, pretending you didn’t see him. pretending it doesn’t matter. but the weight of his eyes doesn’t leave you for the rest of the night.

your mug is nearly empty, and so is sunoo’s, so you offer to get a new round. the others don’t protest. you push through the crowd toward the bar, cheeks still flushed, scarf tugged loose around your neck. the old barkeep grunts something unintelligible as you pass him the empty mugs.

and then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he’s there. niki.

he sidles up next to you, coat dusted with melting snow, hands shoved in his pockets. you can smell the firewood smoke on him. he doesn’t say anything at first. just stands beside you, eyes flicking toward the mugs, then toward your face. “why didn’t you go home for the break?” he asks, voice quiet, casual, like he hadn’t spent the last month acting like you didn’t exist.

you turn to him slowly, blinking once. your expression sharpens instantly. “you’ve been ignoring me for a month, and now you suddenly care?”

the words are colder than the wind outside. and you mean them to be. his jaw tightens just a little. he glances down, then back at you. “i was… busy.”

you let out a breath through your nose. “right.”

the mugs clink as the barkeep sets them down in front of you. you pick them up carefully, your fingers wrapping around the warm handles. niki watches you, but you don’t look at him again. you turn around and walk back to your table without another word, your shoulders stiff.

when you sit, sunoo instantly brightens. “yay, butterbeer delivery angel!” he beams, wrapping his hands around the mug.

jake notices your face first. “what was that?” he asks, tilting his head.

“what?” you say, too quickly.

jungwon raises an eyebrow. “niki. he was talking to you.”

you press your lips together and shrug. “it’s nothing.”

“seemed like not-nothing,” jake mumbles into his drink.

sunoo leans closer, chin propped on his hand, all teeth and glittering mischief. “honestly,” he says, “i still think you two would make a great couple.”

you roll your eyes and laugh. “you say that like we’re in a romance novel.”

“well,” sunoo says dramatically, twirling his mug, “you’re both always tense around each other. and smart. and annoying. it’s textbook chemistry.”

you’re about to retort when your eyes drift back across the pub, unbidden. niki is still at the bar with jay and sunghoon. his head is tipped slightly in jay’s direction, but he’s not paying attention to jay. he’s looking at you. and then, he smiles. crooked. like he heard. your breath catches for a second, and you whip your gaze back to your butterbeer. you don’t say anything else the rest of the night. but your heart won’t stop racing.

the three broomsticks was quieter now, the warmth of the fire lingering like a memory against the cold outside. snow tapped gently at the windows, and the room had thinned out to only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. most of your group had already trickled out — jake and heeseung left an hour ago, stumbling into the snow laughing, and now jungwon was tugging on his scarf as he stood beside sunoo.

“you sure you’re staying?” sunoo asked, peering at you with concern, already halfway bundled up.

you nodded, half-smiling. “just gonna get one more drink before heading back.”

sunoo hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. “okay. don’t freeze to death.”

“no promises.”

they left in a flutter of cloaks and bootfalls, and you turned back to the bar, waving the barkeep over again with a quiet thank you. your fingers curled around the warm ceramic of the mug just as it touched the counter.

but before you could lift it, a hand wrapped around your wrist. firm. your head snapped up. niki stood in front of you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. his grip wasn’t painful, but it was deliberate — insistent.

you blinked at him. “what the hell are you doing?”

he didn’t answer. his eyes flicked toward the drink, then toward the near-empty pub, then back to you. and without a word, he dropped a few galleons on the bar and pulled you with him, not harshly, but without giving you time to argue.

“niki—” you protested, stumbling slightly. “what are you doing? what’s going on?”

“come with me.”

“you could at least tell me where we’re going!”

“i’m protecting you.”

that shut you up. snow swirled around your boots as you stepped into the street. hogsmeade was blanketed in quiet, the kind that only existed this late, with windows glowing gold behind frost-lined panes and distant laughter fading into the hills. the sound of your footsteps echoed between buildings, fast and purposeful.

you kept pace beside him, heart thudding. “what do you mean, protecting me?” you hissed, teeth clenched. “from what? from a drink? are you serious right now?”

he didn’t answer. you realized, abruptly, where he was leading you. down the narrow alleyway past zonko’s, past the sweets shop, until you reached the worn wooden door of the hog’s head inn. a rusty sign swung gently above it, the boar’s head creaking in the wind.

“are you joking—” you started, but he was already opening the door, glancing once behind him to make sure you followed.

the air inside was thick with the scent of smoke and damp wool. it was mostly empty, just a couple old wizards huddled at the corner table, and aberforth himself behind the bar, polishing a glass with a rag that looked older than you. niki didn’t stop. he guided you past the bar, toward a narrow hallway, and into a small back room you’d never noticed before — cluttered with potion crates and ancient tomes, but strangely warm. like it had been prepared. like he knew he’d bring you here.

“okay,” you said, voice sharper now, heart in your throat. “you’re officially freaking me out. what was that at the pub? why did you stop me from drinking?”

he turned to face you, closing the door behind him with a soft click. and finally he spoke. “because someone tried to slip you something.”

before you could even fully register what he’d just said — someone tried to slip you something — the door creaked open. aberforth dumbledore stepped into the room, frowning deeply, his wand already drawn, though low at his side. he gave you a brief, assessing look before turning to niki.

“what’s going on?” his voice was low, gravelly. “thought you said it was quiet tonight.”

niki ran a hand through his hair, still tense. “it was. until someone tampered with her drink.”

aberforth’s eyes flicked toward you again, his expression darkening. “are you sure?”

niki nodded once. “i saw it happen. the glass was swapped while she was talking to the bartender. didn’t get a good look at who, they were wearing an invisibility cloak.”

“bloody hell.” aberforth muttered. “i’ll alert the others.”

you blinked. “the others?”

he was already stepping out of the room, muttering something under his breath, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality. you turned slowly to face niki, the words boiling up before you could stop them.

“what the hell was that?” your voice was sharp now, shaky but cutting. “what others? why are you talking to aberforth like you’re… i don’t know, colleagues or something?” niki exhaled slowly, but didn’t answer. you took a step closer. “niki. who tried to poison me? what were they trying to give me? how do you even know it was poison? what did you see that i didn’t?”

still, silence. 

“i didn’t see anything,” you snapped, “so how the hell did you? you were on the other side of the room! do you have eyes everywhere now? what else aren’t you telling me?” he shifted slightly, jaw clenched, like he was trying to hold himself back. but you weren’t done. not even close. his fingers twitched at his sides. your pulse was hammering in your ears. the walls suddenly felt too close. the air too thin. “niki,” you said again, slower this time. “what are you really doing here?”

he looked at you then. really looked. and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and sharp and tired. “i’m supposed to be investigating you.” you froze. he continued, almost like the words had slipped out of him before he could stop them. “that’s why i came here. that’s the mission. you were the assignment.”

you felt like the floor had cracked under you. “what?”

“you’re one of the best in potions,” he said, eyes on you like he hated himself for it. “high marks. known for healing spells. access to ingredients. always in the right place at the wrong time. and yeah—jeonghan’s on the list too. but you? you were supposed to be watched.”

you took a step back. “you think i—?”

“i don’t anymore,” he snapped, cutting you off, frustration blooming in his chest. “that’s what i’m trying to tell you. i’m not supposed to care if you get poisoned. i’m supposed to observe. report. stay distant. but i didn’t. i can’t. and now this—this whole thing is a mess.”

your heart was pounding. breath catching. it felt like the ground had tilted under you. “so what, you’ve been lying this whole time?” your voice cracked despite yourself.

niki ran both hands through his hair, stepping back like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “i wasn’t trying to lie,” he said, quieter now. “i didn’t expect… you.”

the words sat heavy between you. and for the first time, you weren’t sure what to say. the room felt impossibly still. you could hear the wind outside rattling against the windows of the hog’s head, the muffled creak of the old wood shifting with the cold. niki sat down heavily on the edge of an armchair across from you, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together like he needed something to hold onto. his eyes met yours, tired and serious.

“i’m not a student,” he said, voice quiet but clear. “i mean—not really. i never was. i studied at home. full magical education, but private. passed my NEWTs last year, started working right after.”

you blinked, confused. he continued before you could interrupt. “i’m an auror. officially registered with the ministry.” he gave a humorless laugh. “youngest in my department, actually. i got recruited before graduation. they’ve been pushing younger operatives—people who blend in easier.”

your stomach twisted, but you stayed silent. you didn’t want to interrupt. not yet.

“they gave me this assignment right after i finished training. a deep-cover placement at hogwarts. the orders were clear: pose as a transfer student, infiltrate the school, keep a low profile.” his voice lowered. “there were… incidents. small, at first. potions going missing from the restricted stores. unauthorized brewing in abandoned classrooms. students showing symptoms that didn’t match any known potion—memory loss, euphoria spikes, uncontrolled magical surges. something darker. something new.”

he paused, letting that sink in.

“the ministry believes someone’s been developing illegal potions inside hogwarts. not just using them—creating them. testing them. distributing them. and not alone.” he looked at you with something like regret. “someone with power. influence. someone who knows how to stay hidden. maybe a student, maybe someone higher. we don’t know. all we know is that these potions are dangerous. they’re not just mind-altering—they’re manipulative. there’ve been whispers that someone’s trying to build a network inside the school. create dependencies. control.”

you felt cold all over.

“they thought it could be you,” he said quietly. “your name was one of the first i got. your record is spotless—too spotless, they said. top of your class in potions, outstanding marks in magical creatures, connections across all houses. you have access, respect. and you keep your nose clean.” your jaw tensed. “but then i met you,” he went on, not looking away. “and i watched. and waited. i read every report, every interview. i watched how you talk to people. how you help them. how you cover for them when they mess up. i watched you hand out hangover draughts after parties, not because you were pushing potions, but because you didn’t want anyone to get hurt. i watched you go into that forest alone for an assignment you didn’t even question, just because a professor asked. i watched you risk everything to stay curious. and it didn’t take me long to realize you’re not the one we’re after.”

you were quiet for a long moment. the fireplace in the room crackled once, soft and low. niki leaned back, his shoulders dropping a little, like confessing all this had taken something out of him.

“but that’s the thing,” he said. “you might not be the one behind this—but someone knows how powerful you are. someone’s trying to get close to you. or use you. and that’s why everything changed.” his voice dropped again, barely a murmur. “now, my mission’s not just to find who’s doing this. it’s to make sure you don’t become the next name on a list of victims.”

you stared at him, heart in your throat. “you’re not just a student anymore, y/n,” he said. “you’re a target.”

and somehow, even though he’d just shattered every truth you thought you knew about him, you believed him. your breath had barely settled after niki's last words when the fire inside you surged forward—quick, defiant, furious.

"fine," you said, standing up abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. "then let me help you."

his gaze snapped to yours. "no."

"no?" you scoffed. "you just told me i’m a target. that someone is using me. that my life might be in danger—and you expect me to do what? sit quietly in the common room while you go off being a secret agent?"

he didn’t flinch. "yes."

"niki," you stepped closer, not bothering to hide your frustration. "i’m not just some kid you’re babysitting. i’m a seventh-year. i’ve brewed antidotes that saved people from the hospital wing. i know the signs of potion manipulation. i can help."

"you could also get killed," he snapped back, voice sharp but low.

"so could you!" your eyes narrowed. "what’s the difference?"

"the difference is that i signed up for this," he said, jaw clenched. "you didn’t."

"but i am in it now!" you insisted. "don’t you see that? someone already tried to poison me. i’m not just a bystander anymore." he looked away, jaw working, as if trying to wrestle down a hundred arguments. you softened slightly, voice dipping. "niki, if i’m the one they’re trying to manipulate—don’t you think i’m the one who might be able to see it from the inside?"

"i don’t want you anywhere near them," he muttered, almost to himself.

"who is it?" you asked quickly. "who do you think it is? is it jeonghan?" he didn’t answer. "what about a professor? is there someone on staff—"

"stop."

"why won’t you tell me—"

"because i’ve already said too much!" he barked, finally looking at you again. "you weren’t supposed to know any of this. the only reason i told you is because someone tried to kill you, and you were about to drink something that would've landed you in st. mungo’s for a month—or worse."

you felt your heart beating too hard, breath caught halfway in your chest. "so what?" you hissed. "you drop this huge secret on me, shake up my entire world, and then decide to shut me out again? i'm the one being hunted, niki. me. and you're just gonna keep holding everything back?"

he stood up too quickly, chair tipping slightly behind him. you were face to face now. close. too close. your words hung between you, heavy, and his silence was louder than anything else in the room. niki looked at you like you had just said something dangerous, like the words themselves were too heavy to hold. his jaw was tight, brows furrowed, and you could see the way his fists were clenched at his sides.

“that’s why i’m doing this,” he said, voice rough. “to keep you safe.”

you didn’t move. didn’t blink. “then let me help.”

he shook his head once, sharp. “no. you’re not—this isn’t your job.”

“but it’s my life,” you shot back, stepping forward. “it’s my name they’re using, my skills they’re exploiting, my drink they tried to poison. and you want me to just sit back and let you handle everything on your own?” he didn’t answer, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder for a second, then it was back on you. eyes dark, unreadable. “you think you can protect me?” you said, voice lowering, a challenge. “by ignoring me for a month? by pushing me away?”

he flinched slightly at that, and something in your chest twisted. he exhaled through his nose, sharp, like he’d been holding it in for too long. “i was getting too close,” he muttered.

you blinked. “what?”

his jaw flexed again. “i was getting too close. to you.”

your breath caught, and for a second the room felt smaller. warmer. too full of things unspoken. “so what?” you asked. “you run every time you care about someone?”

“i don’t care about anyone,” he said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

you took a slow step forward. he didn’t move. “that right?” you asked quietly, almost smug, gaze flicking down to his mouth for just a second. “could’ve fooled me.”

“you’re impossible,” he muttered.

“you like that.”

“no,” he said, but his voice cracked just enough to give himself away. “i don’t.”

you tilted your head. “you sure?”

he looked at you—really looked at you—and you could tell something in him was close to snapping. not in a dangerous way. in the way someone snaps when they’ve been denying themselves something for too long. he took a half step closer. “you’re not making this easy.”

“good,” you whispered. “i’m done being easy.”

his breath hitched. and just as his hand twitched like it might reach for you—

the door creaked open.

you both jumped back like you’d been caught red-handed, and aberforth stood there, arms crossed, a knowing look in his tired eyes.

“right,” he muttered, clearly unbothered by the tension he’d walked into. “i’ve got word.”

niki straightened immediately. “what kind of word?”

aberforth stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “ministry sent a message. they’ve confirmed another shipment of restricted potions coming in through knockturn alley. same magical signature as the ones popping up in school.” you could feel niki tense beside you. aberforth gave you a glance, then back to niki. “looks like you were right. and you’ve got more eyes on this now.”

niki nodded, sharp. “thanks.”

as soon as aberforth slipped out of the room, the door creaking softly behind him, silence settled like dust in the air. thick. tense. the quiet stretched between you and niki like a thread pulled taut. you stood still for a moment, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to feel. your hands were cold, and your heart was loud in your ears.

“this is too much,” you whispered, almost to yourself. the weight of it all—the secrets, the danger, the way his eyes had looked into yours—pressed down on you like a second skin. you stood up suddenly, the chair scraping against the floor. “i need to go.”

“you’re not going alone,” he said immediately, already moving to follow you.

you didn’t argue. maybe part of you wanted the company. maybe part of you was too tired to fight anymore.

the streets of hogsmeade were quiet, the snow falling in slow, lazy spirals from the sky. it was late enough that most windows were dark, the only sounds were the crunch of your boots on the snow and the soft whistle of wind through the trees. you walked in silence for a while, neither of you speaking, until niki finally broke it.

“you should go home for the holidays.”

you turned your head slightly, eyes narrowing at him. “the train already left.”

“i can get you there,” he said, a little too quickly. “i have… privileges. i can take you.”

you stopped walking. looked at him properly. “you want me to leave hogwarts?”

“i want you to be safe,” he said, voice low. “you’d be safer away from all of this. just for a while.”

you crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one side. “i’ll think about it… if you answer some of my questions.”

he hesitated. then nodded once. “fine.”

“what’s it like?” you asked. “being an auror.”

he exhaled, glancing away like he hadn’t expected that to be your first question. “it’s… hard. it’s not as glamorous as people think. most of the time it’s waiting. watching. pretending. and then sometimes it’s not pretending at all, it’s running for your life.”

you blinked. “sounds awful.”

“it is,” he said, giving a small, humorless laugh. “but someone has to do it.”

“and why me?” you asked, more serious now. “why was i the suspect?”

“because you’re too good at what you do for someone your age. and people like that… they’re either recruited or eliminated.”

you swallowed. “that’s comforting.”

niki looked at you then, the wind pulling at his dark hair. “but i know it’s not you. i knew weeks ago.”

“then why the hell did you disappear?” your voice came out sharper than you meant, and you hated that it cracked a little at the end.

he looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time he didn’t have an answer ready. “because i was starting to care too much.” you froze. “i couldn’t think straight,” he went on, voice lower now. “i was supposed to be watching you. that was my job. to track you. report everything you did. but you kept… surprising me. being kind. being smart. being reckless. and then, you were in the middle of everything, and i wasn’t just trying to solve a case anymore. i was trying to keep you alive.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. the wind brushed past again, cold and biting, but you barely felt it. he was looking at you like he meant every word. like saying it hurt and helped all at once.

you were still halfway down the path back to hogwarts when he stepped a little closer. just a breath. barely a shift. but enough. “so yeah,” he added, almost a whisper. “i want you to be safe. not just because it’s my job. but because it’s you.”

and you stood there in the snow, the night holding both of you quiet and still, and everything between you had never felt more dangerous.

you walk the rest of the way in silence. hogwarts rises ahead of you, quiet and glowing against the snowy sky, but you barely notice the cold anymore. not with him walking beside you like that, close, warm, like he’s not quite ready to let you go either. every few steps, your arms brush, and every time it happens, your heart jumps. when you reach the portrait, you stop. your throat is tight, your thoughts spinning, and everything that’s happened tonight is pressing heavy on your chest. you turn to him slowly, unsure of what to say, unsure if you even can say anything at all.

he looks at you carefully, like he's memorizing your face. his voice is soft when he speaks. “just… think about it, okay? going home. not for me, or the ministry. for you. it might help.”

you don’t answer, not really. just a small nod, barely a movement. you’re not even sure if you mean it. you’re not sure of anything right now.

he steps closer, slowly. and then, gently, almost like he’s afraid to do it, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. it’s barely a second, but it breaks you. because it’s soft, and real, and it says things he hasn’t let himself say out loud. it feels like a goodbye, or maybe a promise. maybe both. and you don’t move until he’s already walking away.

and when you step through the portrait hole, you feel like the weight of the whole night catches up with you all at once. your chest feels too tight, your eyes sting, and you barely make it to the fireplace before the tears start welling up in your eyes. you try to hold it back. you tell yourself to just go upstairs, sleep it off, pretend nothing happened. but your legs move before your brain can catch up. you don’t even know why—only that you need someone. someone safe.

you find yourself at the boys’ dorm, barely thinking, barely breathing. and when you push the door open, there he is. heeseung. sitting on his bed with a blanket around his shoulders, book in hand, looking up the second he hears you. “y/n?” he says, surprised. but not annoyed. never annoyed.

you don’t answer. you just walk straight to him, crawl onto the bed without a word, and curl into him like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. he doesn’t question it. his arms wrap around you immediately, warm and careful, like he knows something cracked open inside you and he’s the only one who can hold the pieces together. you bury your face in his chest and the first sob escapes before you can stop it.

heeseung holds you tighter. strokes your back softly. doesn’t say much, just quiet things like “hey, i’m here,” and “you’re okay,” and “i got you.”

and you believe him. 

you didn’t take the train back home. even after everything, even after niki offered to take you himself, you stayed. you don’t really know why. maybe it’s the lingering fear, or the fact that you don’t want to explain to your family why your hands have been shaking a little more than usual lately. maybe it’s just easier to stay where things are complicated, but familiar.

and niki… well. he doesn’t leave you alone.

he doesn’t say that he’s watching you. but he is. always. whether it’s walking ten steps behind you on your way to the library or showing up conveniently five minutes after you sit down to lunch in the great hall, he’s there. a constant shadow. it would be annoying if it weren’t so… obvious. obvious that he’s trying. that he’s still scared for you.

heeseung notices it too. he sticks by your side almost as much as niki does, always a warm presence at your shoulder. he drags you out of bed when you don’t want to move, makes you laugh when your mind won’t shut off, and even tries to teach you how to charm a snowball to chase jake around the courtyard, which ends in disaster, obviously, but it makes you both laugh until your stomach hurts.

the days blur together. you and heeseung drink hot chocolate in the gryffindor common room, wrapped in thick blankets while enchanted snow falls outside the windows. you sneak into the kitchens and convince the house-elves to let you make gingerbread, which ends in a near food-fight that leaves flour in your hair and heeseung swearing he’ll never let you near powdered sugar again. you take long walks around the lake, watch the frozen water shimmer under the pale winter sun, and exchange stupid stories from your first years at hogwarts that you’ve both heard a hundred times.

through it all, niki stays close. never quite a part of it, but always hovering. sometimes, he and heeseung have these quiet little standoffs, nothing dramatic, just long glances and curt nods like they’re silently agreeing to disagree about something you’re not allowed to hear. you ignore it. mostly.

and then, before you even realize it, it’s new year’s eve.

you’re all gathered on the astronomy tower, just the few students left behind. someone’s enchanted a radio to play old wizarding songs, and the air smells like cinnamon and frost. there’s hot cider in your hands, your cheeks are pink from the cold, and you feel like you’re floating just a little above everything. like things are okay. like you’re allowed to breathe.

you’re leaning against the railing, watching tiny specks of light from hogsmeade in the distance, when niki appears at your side. as usual, silently.

he doesn’t say anything for a while. just stands there, the sleeves of his dark cloak brushing your arm. but then, without looking at you, he asks quietly, “are you and heeseung… together?”

you blink. “what?”

he turns to look at you, his face unreadable. “you’re always with him.”

you furrow your brow. “he’s my best friend. we grew up together. he’s practically my brother.”

he nods slowly, but doesn’t say anything else. and that’s when it hits you. the tone of his voice. the way he asked. the way he won’t meet your eyes now. he’s jealous.

the realization stuns you for a second, so out of place in everything that’s been happening, it almost makes you laugh. but you don’t. because now you’re the one staring, watching the slight shift in his expression, the tightness in his jaw. the way his fingers curl at his side like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

you’re about to say something (tease him, maybe) but then he mutters something about needing a minute and disappears into the nearby hallway.

niki steps into the cramped bathroom off the astronomy tower, the door swinging shut behind him with a hollow click. the tiled walls are cold and unwelcoming, mirrors lining two sides of the small room. he flicks on the light and stares at his own reflection—the dark circles under his eyes, the suspicious crease between his brows, the way his lips form a hard line that he can’t seem to smooth out.

he splashes cold water on his face, breath catching as the droplets sting his skin. get it together, he tells himself. you’re here on a job. you’re an auror. but the echo of your reply still rings in his ears: he’s practically my brother. the memory stabs at him. jealousy? of heeseung? when he was supposed to be protecting you, keeping you safe from people who would use you… and he’d been worrying about whether you were spending too much time with someone else. the absurdity of it nearly makes him grimace. a professional? an agent? or just a boy who doesn’t know his own heart.

he straightens his collar, brushes his hair away from his face, and looks into the mirror again. he reminds himself that everything he’s done—lying about his identity, pulling you away from danger, keeping his distance for weeks—has been for your safety. not because he cared too much. he shakes his head, trying to clear the guilt and confusion. focus on the mission.

when he finally steps back into the hallway, the space feels emptier than before. he’s almost certain you were right here, leaning on the railing, breath misting in the cold. and niki knew something was wrong the moment he returned to the tower.

the spot where you had been sitting just minutes earlier still looked lived in: your coat slightly folded over the ledge, a half-finished cup of something warm left behind. but you weren’t there. not standing, not waiting, not hiding just out of sight with that amused look on your face. and the drink, whatever it was, wasn’t yours. not the kind of thing you ordered, not the kind of thing he trusted. something icy coiled in his gut. his fingers hovered above the rim of the cup, then pulled back. he didn’t like the smell. didn’t like the stillness in the air. 

at first, he tried to be logical. maybe you’d gone to meet sunoo or jake, maybe you got tired of waiting and decided to call it a night. maybe you were mad at him for the jealousy, the tension. maybe it was all just a misunderstanding.

but then the clock ticked past fifteen minutes, then twenty, and your name began to sound strange in his mouth. panic tickles at the edges of his chest. he moves swiftly along the corridor until he finds heeseung and jake outside the portrait frame, bundled in cloaks and looking half as comfortable without your presence.

“have you seen y/n?” niki asks, voice tight. “where did she go?”

“we saw her talking to you,” heeseung said slowly. “like, fifteen minutes ago. then nothing. why?”

niki’s mind races. you wouldn’t just wander off in the middle of the tower. not tonight, not with whatever he’d said to you. niki hesitated, the weight in his chest sharp and sudden. “someone tried to poison her,” he said flatly. “a few weeks ago. at the three broomsticks. i don’t know who. or why.”

heeseung’s eyes widened. “she came back that night crying. i thought it was because of you.”

niki blinked, thrown off. crying? because of him?

but there wasn’t time to unpack that. he pushes past them, retracing his steps along the icy parapets, calling your name softly into the night. the breeze carries his voice away, unanswered. he checks every alcove, every shadowed doorway, each balcony ledge that overlooks the courtyard. nothing.

he tore through the castle after that. every hallway, every floor. he sent word to professors under fake pretenses. he summoned maps, tried tracking spells, used enchanted mirrors. nothing. no sight of you. not a whisper of where you’d gone. you weren’t in the common room. you weren’t in the owlery. you weren’t with the nurse, or the librarian, or any of your usual hiding places. and no one had seen you leave. no one even saw you get up from that ledge.

niki finally leans against a wall near the great hall doors, head in his hands, mind spinning. you're supposed to be safe. i’m supposed to protect her. but right now, he’s failed. you're vanished into the night, and no one knows where you are. the cold pressurizes in his chest as he realizes how out of control everything has become, and how desperately, painfully, he needs to find you.

that first night, no one slept.

heeseung was the first one to run through the castle beside niki, breathless, calling your name through every corridor like it would echo back to them with an answer. jake and sunoo joined soon after, both pale and panicked, and jungwon practically tore the library apart with shaking hands and a cracked voice. it didn’t matter how many rooms they checked, how many secret passages they tried, how many portraits they begged for clues, but none of them could find you. not even a trace. you had vanished.

by sunrise, niki was at the headmistress's office. the weight of his badge—something he’d always carried with quiet pride—now felt like a curse. he revealed everything. the undercover mission. the threat of potion trafficking. the poisoning attempt. and now, your disappearance. the words came out raw and broken, like they didn’t belong to him anymore.

by the end of that day, the ministry was involved. by the second day, your name was on every professor’s lips. by the third, flyers were floating through the air in the great hall. by the fourth, the other aurors arrived.

and through it all, niki didn’t stop moving. he didn’t sleep. barely ate. he sat through interrogation after interrogation, trying to retrace your steps down to the minute. he fought with the head of security. he argued with the map-keepers. he wrote twelve different reports for the ministry. he went to the forest twice, alone, against orders, just in case.

because it wasn’t just a mission anymore. it hadn’t been for a long time. you were missing. and he was the one who should’ve protected you.

by the seventh day, he was called into a private office in the ministry’s underground headquarters. everything in him was vibrating with rage, with restlessness, with the hollow ache of not knowing. when choi soobin walked in in a sharp robe, calm face, senior auror energy radiating off him like controlled fire, niki barely looked up.

“you look like hell,” soobin said simply.

niki huffed a breath, almost laughed. “i feel worse.”

soobin sat across from him, silent for a moment. then he slid a file forward. thick, slightly worn, full of pages. “we’re making progress,” he said. “slow. but real.” niki didn’t answer. his jaw was clenched too tight. “you want to tell me what’s going on?” soobin asked. “not the case. not the mission. you.”

niki closed his eyes. “i was supposed to keep her safe,” he said, voice low. “that was the one thing i promised myself. and i let her slip away while i was busy arguing with my own feelings. i knew she was in danger. and i let her sit alone with a fucking drink.”

soobin didn’t interrupt.

“i stopped looking at her like a suspect weeks ago,” niki whispered. “i started—i don’t know. caring. too much. and now she’s gone. and i have no idea if she’s okay or if she’s—” he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

soobin let the silence settle before he spoke again. “we found something,” he said, more serious now. “a name, tied to the movement of illegal ingredients through knockturn alley. someone old money. old magic. yoon.”

niki looked up sharply. “jeonghan’s family?”

soobin nodded slowly. “we can’t prove anything yet. but the pattern’s there. shipments. contacts. and whoever took her—they didn’t take her at random. she was getting close. and she’s powerful.”

the fury that surged through niki’s veins was immediate. white-hot. suffocating. he stood up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “if they hurt her—”

“you’ll stay focused,” soobin interrupted calmly. “you want to find her? then keep your head. we’re going to bring her home, niki. but not if you lose yourself before we even get a lead.”

niki didn’t answer. because all he could see in his mind was your face—the way you smiled when you were teasing him, the crease between your brows when you were deep in thought, the look you gave him when you realized he was hiding something. he had memorized you. and he wouldn’t let this be the end.

niki had been watching jeonghan for weeks, long before you vanished.

at first, it had just been instinct. something sharp in the way jeonghan’s eyes shifted when he thought no one was looking. the way his tone changed depending on who was listening. the strange hesitations mid-sentence, the moments where he looked like he was about to say something and then didn’t. too controlled. too careful.

there was one day in particular, just before the winter break, when niki passed jeonghan in the hallway. the older boy was speaking to professor hong, the potions master. the conversation looked normal from afar. casual, even. but the second jeonghan turned to walk away, niki caught something in his expression. a flicker of something restrained and vacant. like someone who had been pressing on the same bruise too long.

it lingered with him. at first, he thought it might’ve been just house politics. pureblood pressure. the usual son-of-an-old-family expectations. but then the slip-ups started.

once, jeonghan had dropped a vial in class. it had shattered, hissing smoke into the air. and instead of reacting like a trained potioneer would, he flinched. visibly. like the sound of breaking glass meant danger. like he wasn’t used to handling potions at all. and that didn’t make sense. jeonghan was always top of his year in theory and practicals. but niki knew that look. the look of someone who was surviving something they couldn’t speak of.

then there were the disappearances. not major ones, not enough to alert the professors. just small gaps. study hours jeonghan missed. meals he skipped. days where no one saw him between classes, and he reappeared with excuses that felt a little too rehearsed. and every time niki tried to catch him alone, jeonghan either deflected or disappeared again.

still, it didn’t click. not until the week after your disappearance.

while combing through records in the ministry’s archives — mostly shipments, delivery logs, and restricted ingredient authorizations — niki came across an anomaly. three different orders of powdered root of asphodel, all signed off by the same person: professor hong. nothing illegal. not on the surface. but the quantities didn’t add up.

no professor needed that much unless they were brewing something… off-curriculum.

that’s when niki went deeper. he requested old reports. attendance records. student complaints. one name kept showing up at odd intervals: yoon jeonghan. nothing definitive. just traces. a detention here, a request for private tutoring there. all tied to professor hong.

what sealed it was a conversation he overheard in the restricted section of the library. he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he caught professor hong’s voice low and sharp behind a bookshelf. "you’ll do what i asked. no mistakes this time." silence.

then jeonghan’s voice, soft and monotone: "yes, sir."

it wasn’t the words. it was the delivery. too flat. too obedient.

the imperius curse.

it hit niki like ice down his spine. jeonghan was being controlled.

and professor hong — the quiet, highly respected, vaguely boring potions master — wasn’t just an accomplice. he was orchestrating everything. suddenly, it made sense. how the illegal potions were being smuggled. why none of the alarms ever triggered. how someone had slipped a hexed drink under niki’s nose. why you had been targeted in the first place.

you were powerful. too powerful. and you were curious. someone must have noticed how close you were getting to the truth, or how much professor hong feared what you’d uncover. niki had been so focused on you and jeonghan that he hadn't looked at the one person who’d been standing at the center of every circle: the professor no one questioned.

he sat with the realization for hours that night.

he didn’t report it immediately. not yet. not without proof. the ministry would need evidence. something solid. but the fury that twisted in his chest was hard to hold back. especially because he knew now, with horrifying clarity, that jeonghan wasn’t the villain. he was a victim. and worse: if hong had the power and precision to cast a long-term imperius on a student without detection, it meant this had been going on for a long time. maybe even before niki arrived.

and that meant you — the one person who had stumbled into this by accident, the one who’d been brave enough to question everything — were never supposed to be part of the game. and yet, now you were the most dangerous piece on the board.

but niki wasn’t going to let the game end without turning the table over completely. not this time. not with you still missing. not when he finally knew who had pulled the strings.

hong was careful. he always had been. too careful, even now. and sometimes, especially in the evenings, when niki was crouched in the dark corners of the dungeons using the invisibility cloak, the professor would pause, mid-step, and glance around. eyes narrowing. head tilting. like he could sense something… or someone.

niki’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs every time. he never moved. never breathed. not until the professor walked away.

but something else started happening too. jeonghan changed. at first, it was small. longer pauses before answering questions. forgetting his bag in class. moments where he’d stare off at nothing, blinking like he’d just remembered who he was. and then, more drastic shifts — confusion in the middle of conversations, outbursts in class, shaky hands. it was like the curse was slipping, losing its grip.

niki followed him too, from a distance. he didn’t approach. not yet. the boy was unraveling, and niki didn’t want to push him over the edge. not without knowing what secrets might fall out with him.

and then, one night, just before the second week of the new term, jeonghan vanished. no one knew where he went. no one even noticed, really. except niki. he knew the timing was too precise to be coincidence. something was happening.

he was halfway down the stairs to the dungeons, steps fast and silent under his cloak, headed toward hong’s office with the full intention of blowing this whole thing open, with or without permission, when someone grabbed his arm. heeseung.

“she’s back,” he said, panting slightly. “y/n. she’s in the gryffindor common room.”

niki froze. his blood ran cold. “what?”

“someone found her outside the castle. she looks— i don’t know— out of it. she’s not saying much.”

niki didn’t wait. he turned on his heel and bolted.

heeseung followed close behind, but all niki could hear was the ringing in his ears. this was impossible. you couldn’t have just… shown up. not like this. not without a trace. not without the world bending to make room for your return.

when he stepped into the common room, he saw you. you were sitting by the fire, wrapped in a thick blanket, your hair damp like you’d been caught in the snow. your eyes were tired. red. you looked up slowly when he entered. you. but not you.

niki felt it immediately. something was off.

your posture. your breathing. the way your fingers tapped against the fabric of the blanket — too rhythmic, too precise. your eyes flicked to him, but didn’t soften. didn’t change. didn’t widen the way they always did when you saw him, even when you were mad. and when you spoke, your voice was just a fraction too flat.

“niki,” you said softly. “you found me.”

he didn’t say anything. just walked closer, like he was under some spell himself. “do you… remember what happened?” he asked carefully.

you shook your head. “not much. i think i was lost. or taken. i’m not sure. it’s all blurry.”

“you remember the day at the three broomsticks?” he asked suddenly.

you hesitated. “yes.”

niki leaned forward, voice gentle. “what drink did i order for you?”

you blinked. “um… pumpkin juice?”

the silence that followed was sharp as broken glass. niki didn’t move. didn’t blink. he stared into your eyes like he was trying to see through them. and maybe he was. you had hated pumpkin juice. said it tasted like sugared mud. this wasn’t you.

“you’re not her,” he said quietly.

and for the first time, the thing pretending to be you looked afraid. just for a second. you froze. lips parted, eyes flicking around like searching for escape.

niki stood tall. “where is she?” no answer. his wand was in his hand in an instant. “where. is. she.”

the polyjuice was already starting to falter — niki could see it now. your features twitching at the edges, like they were being stretched too thin. the shimmer of magic unraveling under his stare. and soon enough, it wouldn’t be your face he was looking at anymore. it would be jeonghan’s.

the common room erupted in chaos. heeseung stepped back so fast he nearly tripped over the rug. sunoo gasped audibly, hand flying to his mouth. jake muttered something under his breath that sounded dangerously close to a curse. the fire cracked loud behind them, casting jagged shadows across the face that was no longer yours — that never had been.

in the flickering light, jeonghan's transformation completed. your features melted off like wax, reforming into his, pale and shaken, his skin damp with sweat, his limbs rigid, as though his body couldn’t keep up with what had just happened. he stared at all of them like a cornered animal, breath coming fast, eyes wide with something that wasn’t fear but something worse: total confusion.

“he’s under the imperius,” niki said quickly, stepping forward. “don’t touch him—”

but jeonghan’s hands had already started to tremble violently. his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor in front of the fire, gasping for air. like the spell was breaking piece by piece, like each second that passed was tearing apart the strings that had held him up for months.

niki crouched in front of him, lowered his wand gently, and without hesitation whispered the counter-curse.

liberare mentem.

a shimmer of silver burst around jeonghan’s head, thin like mist, curling upward before disappearing entirely. his eyes unfocused for a second. then, suddenly, they snapped to attention.

and he broke. “what— what did i do?” he whispered. “i didn’t know. i swear— i didn’t— where is— where’s y/n?”

“you’ve been controlled,” niki said, his voice steady, but his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his skull. “you weren’t yourself.”

“where is she?” jeonghan asked again, more desperately this time. he tried to sit up, but his body was shaking too much. “please—”

niki turned to jake. “get madam pomfrey. and professor mcgonagall. make sure someone watches him at all times, he’s still disoriented.”

“what are you gonna do?” jake asked, already halfway to the door.

niki stood up, eyes burning with the kind of fury that was too quiet to be anything but lethal. “end this.”

he didn’t run. he didn’t rush. but each step he took toward the dungeons was like gravity had shifted to pull him there. the corridor was colder than usual, like even the castle knew what was coming. portraits whispered as he passed, their painted eyes following him in silence.

when he reached the potion master’s office, he didn’t hesitate. the door was locked, of course, but a swift alohomora broke the spell. and just as he stepped inside, a flash of green light zoomed past his head, missing by mere inches.

professor hong was already standing at the far end of the room, wand raised, eyes hard. “you shouldn’t have come alone,” he sneered.

niki didn’t give him time for a second strike. “petrificus totalus!”

hong’s body stiffened instantly, limbs snapping to his sides like rope had been tied around them. he crashed to the ground, his face locked in a grimace, eyes still darting wildly.

niki didn’t flinch. instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small metallic coin etched with runes, a ministry-encoded auror flare. he pressed it hard between both hands and muttered a short, ancient phrase. it glowed crimson before disintegrating into dust, sending a silent signal across magical channels only the department of magical law enforcement could access.

reinforcements were coming. but niki didn’t wait.

he tore through the office, knocking over bookshelves, scanning every cabinet, ripping open floorboards. desperation clawed at his ribs, made his hands shake, made his breaths short. she had to be here. you had to be here.

and then he noticed a section of the stone floor that didn’t echo the same when his foot hit it. slightly hollow. a trick of old magic. he crouched, pried at the edge, and found a concealed latch beneath a false tile. the moment he yanked it open, cold air rushed up to meet him, damp and stale and too still.

a stone staircase spiraled down into blackness. his heart nearly gave out. wand gripped tightly, he descended fast but silent, each step feeling like a countdown.

and then, at the very bottom, the stairwell opened into a small, cold chamber, a dungeon with iron-barred walls and no windows. the air was freezing. and in the farthest corner, barely lit by the faint glow of his wand, he saw you.

curled in on yourself. knees to your chest. eyes half-open. breathing shallow.

“y/n,” he whispered, crossing the room in a flash. he dropped to his knees beside you, hands already reaching but not daring to touch.

you flinched slightly. but your gaze lifted. slowly. and locked on him. your voice came out barely a breath. “niki?”

“yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “yeah, it’s me. i’ve got you. i’ve got you now.”

and as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, the dungeon around you both finally felt like it could start to collapse, because the only thing that mattered was that you were alive.

and that he had found you.

the week after niki found you was a blur of adrenaline and exhaustion, of whispered reassurances in the infirmary and courtroom silence in the depths of the ministry. niki hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time — he didn’t want to. every time he left your side, it felt like a piece of him stayed behind, hovering over your still body, watching the slow, shallow rise and fall of your chest as madam pomfrey muttered healing charms with furrowed brows.

you didn’t remember much. not yet. only flashes. a room without light. the feeling of being watched. the sound of footsteps echoing above you. you remembered fear, but not the shape of it.

niki stayed beside you anyway. through the first night, when you only stirred twice, mumbling incoherently. through the second, when your eyes finally opened for more than a few seconds and you blinked up at him, confused, then whispered his name like it was the only thing you were sure of.

and he’d whispered back, "i’m here. you’re safe now." and your lips had curled into the faintest smile before sleep took you again.

when he had to leave, because duty pulled him back into the mess that had stolen you away, he did it reluctantly. always leaving word with jake or heeseung, who rotated shifts like clockwork. jake would sit by your bed and tell stories, some true, some wildly embellished, just to keep the room light. heeseung rarely said much, but he was always there, shoulder barely brushing yours as he read next to you, quiet and steady. sunoo would braid your hair with warm hands and soft humming, and jungwon brought small trinkets from the greenhouse — lavender sprigs, chamomile leaves, things he said would make you feel calmer.

but while you healed, niki fought.

he combed through every detail of the case. professor hong had orchestrated the entire scheme from inside hogwarts for years. under the guise of developing advanced curriculum for potion prodigies, he’d manipulated access to restricted ingredients, developed illegal variants of memory-altering draughts, and had them smuggled out through connections to the yoon family — most notably, jeonghan’s estranged uncle, a known trafficker.

jeonghan had been one of many students placed under the imperius curse to serve as pawns. hong had targeted him specifically because of his last name, knowing the ministry wouldn’t suspect anything with a yoon seemingly playing the part of a loyal student. but with the curse broken, jeonghan’s testimony became critical. niki sat with him more than once during debriefings, watching guilt twist through his face like it would never leave. he wasn’t just collateral damage, he’d been a tool, a mask, a weapon, and he couldn’t forgive himself for not knowing.

the ministry moved quickly once the truth unraveled. aurors raided hong’s personal storage units across wizarding britain, seizing thousands of galleons’ worth of contraband. students who had unknowingly taken part in trials — subtle mood swings, unexplained memory gaps, illnesses no healer could diagnose — were examined and treated. and at the end of that long, brutal week, hong was tried under full witness testimony and sent to azkaban for crimes against magical minors and potion trafficking of class-a restricted brews.

niki testified in full robes, standing tall and quiet, voice never wavering. he told them everything: what he saw, what he missed, how close it came to being too late. 

back at hogwarts, madam pomfrey began allowing short walks around the infirmary by day five. you were still weak, drained, quiet, but your strength was returning bit by bit. sometimes you reached out in your sleep and caught his sleeve like you were afraid he’d vanish again.

he never pulled away. the evening of the seventh day, he brought you a cup of honeywater and sat on the edge of your bed. the sun had set, painting the windows in gold and plum. you looked at him with clearer eyes, and for the first time, you asked: “was it really him? professor hong?”

niki nodded slowly. “we got him. he won’t hurt anyone again.”

you stared down at the cup, then up at him. your voice was barely a whisper. “thank you for finding me.”

he smiled softly, tiredly, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i never stopped looking.”

and for a moment, the whole world — the trials, the reports, the broken pieces of what had been done to you — faded into the background.

by the ninth day, you started remembering. not all at once, but like loose pages scattered by wind, settling slowly into your hands. fragmented flashes at first: music in your ears, the firelight, a voice laughing behind you. a cup being pressed into your palm. the scent — something sweet. unnaturally sweet. it smelled like amortentia. but not quite.

it hit you on the tenth morning, after your tea, when madam pomfrey left you alone to stretch your legs by the window. you remembered the warmth of the cup against your fingers that night, how your head went fuzzy a few minutes later, and how you smiled anyway, because nothing seemed wrong. you remembered walking, not entirely by your own will. your feet leading you somewhere while your thoughts floated miles behind, detached and weightless.

you remembered walking down the stairs. lower. lower. through a hidden passage behind a tapestry you didn’t know existed until your hand brushed it aside like you’d done it a hundred times. and then the stone door. the cold. the shadows.

by the time niki returned from a ministry meeting that afternoon, you were already sitting upright in bed, breath shallow, eyes wide with the weight of the memory.

"i remember," you said before he could even open his mouth.

he crossed the room in three strides, kneeling beside your bed like he’d been waiting his entire life to hear those words. “what do you remember?”

you told him everything. voice trembling, but steady.

the drink. the way your body responded without your mind’s consent. how you reached the door to the dungeon already forgetting why you were there. how every morning, the professor would appear in the doorway, soft-spoken, warm-eyed, placing another cup into your hands. how you drank it, over and over, because he told you it would help you focus.

and then the brewing began. you made potions. one after the other. your hands knew what to do, even if your mind felt like it was underwater. you stirred, you poured, you bottled. and in the haze, he said you were brilliant. gifted. necessary.

and you believed him. because the potion made you believe him.

“it wasn’t amortentia,” you said, rubbing at your arms like the chill from the dungeon still clung to your skin. “it smelled like it — but it was different. he labeled it ‘717 oblivira.’ not the real thing. it was… altered.”

niki’s face was carved from stone. “modified potion,” he murmured. “with mind control elements. twisted into a subjugation brew. that’s why it passed under the ministry’s radar — no known classification.”

you looked at him. really looked. “how long was i there?”

his jaw tensed. “almost a month.”

you nodded slowly, then said, “i want to testify.”

“y/n—”

“no,” you cut him off. “he used me. he violated my mind, my magic, my will. i need them to know what he did.”

niki didn’t argue. he just took your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

“i’ll be there the whole time.”

and he was. two days later, when you were strong enough to walk on your own again, the ministry arranged a private hearing inside hogwarts. they brought in a pensieve, and under niki’s watchful eye — and heeseung and jake standing just outside the doors in case you needed them — you gave your testimony.

you described the scent. the mental fog. the pain when you tried to fight it, the way it made your limbs sluggish and your thoughts disintegrate. you told them about the dungeon, the instructions left for you each day, the ingredients labeled with strange numbers, the shimmering flasks that you weren’t allowed to touch once completed.

you said his voice had changed after the first few days. less gentle. more demanding. and most of all, you told them that you never once chose to stay.

the pensieve captured your memories with chilling clarity. you saw yourself through its silver haze, eyes vacant, lips parted in a dazed smile, hands moving automatically over cauldrons as hong whispered to you from the doorway.

when it was over, no one spoke for a long time.

the chief auror, soobin, turned to niki. “this confirms it. hong used class-x mind alteration methods on a minor. he’ll face trial under full magical manipulation statutes.”

you exhaled shakily, the weight lifting just enough to breathe.

that night, niki walked you back to the gryffindor common room for the first time since you’d returned. the castle was quiet, blanketed in winter's hush, torches flickering low in their sconces. the red and gold of the portrait door glowed warm in the dark hallway, but your feet hesitated, heart skittering.

you looked up at him, eyes tired but soft. “thank you,” you said again, voice barely above a whisper.

he shook his head, gaze falling to yours. “don’t thank me.”

you hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “i’m… kind of scared to go in.”

his eyes sharpened, concerned. “why?”

“i know it’s stupid, but… it’s the first night back. sleeping alone feels—wrong. like my body remembers being locked up even if i don’t.” he didn’t say anything for a beat, but the muscles in his jaw tightened. he hated that. he hated that you had to say that. you bit your lip, then added, “can you come in with me?”

niki glanced at the portrait. “if anyone sees me—”

“they won’t. it’s late, gryffindors sleep like rocks.” you gave a soft, fleeting smile, like you were trying to make light of it. “plus, it’s me. i break curfew at least once a week. the fat lady’s used to it.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “alright. just for a bit.”

the common room was dim and empty, the fire reduced to soft coals, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and leftover christmas pine. your steps were slow on the stairs to your dorm, and he followed without a word.

inside, the curtains on your four-poster were drawn back. your things sat untouched, like time had paused in the room while the rest of the world spun on. you sat on the bed, pulling the covers back. niki stayed near the door, eyes flickering across the room like he was still scanning for danger.

you laid down, turning your head to look at him. “are you gonna just stand there and stare at me like a creep?”

he blinked, caught off guard. “i’ve gotten used to it. at the infirmary, i just sat there while you slept.”

you smiled, sleepy and fond. “well… we’re not at the infirmary anymore.”

he didn’t answer right away. then, slowly, he stepped closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, then eventually lying down beside you, tentative and careful. you turned to face him, noses just inches apart. your eyes searched his face, trying to read all the things he never said out loud.

“why do you care so much about me?” you whispered.

his expression twisted, like you’d pressed a bruise. “because i do,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “because i started to before i even realized what was happening.”

you didn’t say anything. just watched him. watched the way he blinked slowly, like each word tasted bitter, like it scraped on the way out. you could feel the tension thrumming between you, delicate and electric.

“i thought i was prepared for this,” he continued, eyes fixed somewhere just past you. “i thought i could stay detached. do my job. figure out the case. keep you safe. that was it. that was supposed to be it.” his voice cracked a little, and he shut his eyes for a second, swallowing hard. “but you… god, you made it impossible.”

your breath caught in your throat.

“you’re funny,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “and reckless. and smarter than anyone gives you credit for. you talk about books and potions like they’re life and death. you argue with professors just because you know you’re right. and you care so much—even when it hurts you.” his eyes opened again, meeting yours, soft and devastating. “you got under my skin so fast i didn’t even notice until it was too late.”

you blinked, trying to process the weight of his words, how they settled warm and aching in your chest.

“when you disappeared,” he said, voice lower now, barely above a whisper, “i couldn’t sleep. i couldn’t eat. i kept seeing you in the corner of my eye, hearing your voice in places you weren’t. i thought i was losing it.” he let out a shaky breath. “and when i found you—when you looked at me like you knew me, even after everything they’d done to you—something in me just…” he paused, looking down at his hands. “snapped. i think that’s when i realized. i think i was already in love with you.”

your heart thudded so hard it almost hurt.  you could feel it in your fingers, your toes, the tip of your nose. that unbearable, beautiful pressure of something blooming far too fast.

he looked back at you then, eyes full of something sharp and scared. “but it’s wrong,” he said again, softer now. “you’ve been through so much. i was supposed to be your guard. your shadow. i shouldn’t feel like this. i shouldn’t want to kiss you right now more than i’ve ever wanted anything.”

you reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing the back of his hand. his breath hitched.

“it’s not wrong,” you whispered. “not if i fell too.”

you watched his whole body still. like time folded in on itself, holding its breath. he didn’t move, not right away. his fingers flexed beneath yours, as if grounding himself in the fact that you were real, that this was real. his eyes searched yours like he was trying to find the catch, the twist, the moment when you’d laugh and say just kidding.

you didn’t. and in that quiet, heavy moment, you could feel something shift. you didn’t kiss, but his hand turned, palm to palm with yours. and his pinky hooked around yours, just barely. like a promise. you were still lying side by side, not touching apart from that small, fragile link. but everything else, every unsaid word, every feeling that had been burning slow and steady for weeks, was between you, humming like a heartbeat.

his pinky stayed hooked around yours for a long time. neither of you moved. neither of you spoke. the space between you was still and warm, filled with everything you hadn’t said, everything you didn’t need to say anymore.

his eyes kept flickering to yours like he was memorizing you. like he was still waiting for permission. and then, finally, you gave it.you leaned in slowly, like a tide rolling in. your forehead touched his first. and he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. his nose bumped yours gently. your hand slid up, fingers brushing his jaw, and he leaned into the touch like it undid him.

“can i?” he whispered. so soft you barely caught it.

you nodded. and that was all it took.

his lips met yours like a sigh. like he’d been aching to do it for lifetimes and was only just now being allowed. there was nothing rushed in it. nothing messy or desperate. just care. just warmth. just him.

he kissed you like he was trying to say thank you and i missed you and i’m sorry and i love you all at once. and maybe he didn’t say the words yet, but you felt them. every single one. you kissed him back with all the pieces of yourself that had been cracked and patched and held together these past few weeks. you kissed him back like maybe this was the one thing that could stitch them all whole again.

his hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. and you didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to break the moment, so you didn’t. you just let it happen. you let yourself fall.

when you pulled back, barely an inch, your noses still brushed. you opened your eyes and he was already looking at you. smiling. not the smirk he wore when he was trying to tease you. not the grin he gave when he was covering something up. a real smile. soft. reverent. safe.

he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering there like he wasn’t ready to let go. like he didn’t have to rush now that you were finally here. “you’re here,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper, like the words were fragile. like saying them too loud might break the spell. “you’re really here.” his eyes were wide, almost disbelieving, and they kept flicking between yours and your mouth like he was still trying to memorize you. like he didn’t quite trust that this wasn’t a dream. 

you nodded, blinking slowly, heart so full it almost hurt. “i’m here.”

something in him crumbled at that. the tension in his shoulders fell away, the worry in his eyes softened, and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the moment he met you. he pulled you close then, wrapping an arm around your waist, and you curled into him without hesitation. like gravity had decided for you. like maybe it had been pulling you toward this moment all along.

your face pressed against his chest, and his heartbeat was right there—steady and warm and human. your hand rested lightly against his ribs, feeling the rise and fall of each breath like proof. he’s here. i’m safe. he held you like he was trying to memorize the shape of you in his arms. like this was something he’d dreamt about but never thought he’d be allowed to keep.

and then, he leaned down again. slower this time. softer. his nose brushed yours, and your eyes fluttered shut. his hand cupped your jaw so gently, like you were something breakable. something sacred. his lips met yours again, but this time, slower. deeper. he kissed you like he wanted to stay in that moment forever. like he was pouring every piece of himself into it. everything he couldn’t say. everything he hadn’t dared to feel. every night he’d sat beside your bed in the infirmary and prayed you’d open your eyes.

and you kissed him back just as softly. your fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring yourself to him. his other hand found your waist and stayed there, grounding. reassuring. you’re real. you’re here. you’re his.

you didn’t rush. didn’t pull each other closer too fast. you just stayed there, lips brushing and pressing and brushing again, over and over, learning the shape of each other’s mouths like it was something sacred.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed touching. your breaths mingled in the space between you, short and quiet and warm. you opened your eyes and he was already looking at you. his thumb traced the curve of your cheek, then lower, along your jaw. his touch feather-light. his lips still pink from kissing you.

“this isn’t wrong,” he murmured, voice a little hoarse.

“no,” you breathed, “it’s not.”

he smiled then, small and full of something quiet and glowing. not hope. not relief. something deeper than that. something that felt like beginning.

he laid back beside you, still close, but no longer needing to hold on quite so tightly. you both just stared at each other in the dark. nothing else existed. just the shape of his smile, the softness in his eyes, the warmth where your fingers still linked loosely.

no more spells. no more secrets. just you and him. safe. together. finally.

and outside the window, snow was just beginning to fall. a quiet, glimmering blanket over the castle. like the world was tucking you in. like something had ended.

and something new was just beginning.

author's note: this has been sitting on my drafts for ages!!! i wrote this fic months ago, but hogwarts aus always had a grip on me and i knew i had to do it eventually. this was my first time writing something with niki as the main character and honestly i loved how it turned out!! so if you made it all the way here, thank you for reading, it means so much to me!! send me an owl if you liked it 🦉✨

my masterlist | latest fic

pem taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff @gh9sty 

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[liuhsng]

───〃⋆⭒˚.⋆ XO, WITH YOU MASTERLIST

⤷ nsfw content ahead, minors do not interact

seven boys. seven different love stories. seven moments when love decides to bloom. from the warmth of a surprise hug to the sweet confusion of stolen glances, these seven stories trace the exhilarating rush of falling in love—messy, uncertain, and utterly irresistible. this is where love finds you.

⤷ series taglist — open ! ⤷ permanent taglist — open ! ⤷ warnings — this series contains mature themes, smut (some), toxic dynamics, fluff and angst

⤷ a/n — this is my second series and it’s still ongoing! some parts are already under editing and proofreading, so please be patient with updates and revisions. i’m taking my time to make each love story feel just right <3 thank you for being here 🫶

✩ˎˊ˗ ride with caution ( lhs ! )

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

⤷ summary — lee heeseung has always been the kind of boy you were told to stay away from—reckless, with a trail of rumors that follow wherever he goes. they say he fights for fun, kisses without meaning, and never sticks around long enough to fall. you, on the other hand, have never had time for distractions. being one of decelis university’s most promising fashion majors, the spotlight’s already on you—you were supposed to avoid him. and you did. until a quiet offer of help changed everything. or, where the boy you never planned to look twice at ends up being the only one who sees right through you.

✩ˎˊ˗ sugar in the soil ( pjs ! )

⤷ part 1 | part 2

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ summary — your fascination with flowers was a quiet love you turned into your future. majoring in biology at decelis university, you often found yourself needing rare blooms, fresh clippings, or just the scent of something calming after long hours in the lab. that’s why the little flower shop down the street became your second home. the staff knew your name. mrs. park always had tea ready. until one afternoon, the usual calm was replaced with someone entirely unexpected—park jongseong, of all people. golden boy. heir to a business empire. the last person you'd expect to be arranging sunflowers behind the counter like he belonged there. or, where your love for flowers leads you to someone who's far more than just his reputation.

✩ˎˊ˗ under the same stars ( sjy ! )

⤷ coming soon

⤷ pairing — jake x fem!reader

⤷ summary — you’ve never been the type to chase the noise. deciding early on that parties, people, and popularity were things better left outside your apartment door, you built a quiet life in the middle of the chaos that was decelis university. but across thin walls and late nights, you start to notice the boy whose music seeps through your walls, whose laughter echoes from the next balcony over, whose shadow you’ve memorized under moonlight—sim jaeyun, the university’s golden physics major with a reputation that stretches far beyond the quiet hallway you share. you never wanted to be involved. but he smiles at you like you placed the stars he’s been trying to understand his whole life. or, where a shared silence between two strangers becomes something that feels a lot like home.

✩ˎˊ˗ breaking the ice ( psh ! )

⤷ coming soon

⤷ pairing — sunghoon x fem!reader

⤷ summary — everyone said you were made for this—communication arts at decelis university, a packed schedule of volunteer work, campus events, and friend groups that always had a place for you at the table. you were loud when it counted, soft when needed, and you got along with just about everyone. except him. park sunghoon has been in the same circle, same rooms, same moments for years. and yet—he’s never said more than a handful of words to you. a mystery you didn’t ask for but somehow can’t stop chasing. and now you’re set on finding out what it is about you that makes him look away every time. or, where the boy who never speaks finally does—just not in the way you expect.

✩ˎˊ˗ the moon in his sky ( ksn ! )

⤷ coming soon

⤷ pairing — sunoo x fem!reader

⤷ summary — you’ve always loved performing. as a music major at decelis university, stages felt like home, and the spotlight never burned—it glowed. you lived for the thrill of it all: the crowd, the rush, the applause. but there was someone who loved it even more. kim sunoo, your classmate. always smiling, always glowing. everyone adored him—how could they not? he was warmth in every hallway, laughter in every shared glance. you never got close. just simple greetings and soft goodbyes. until the day you found him in your favorite coffee shop, eyes red, smile nowhere in sight. or, where even the brightest sun needs a moon to light the dark—and maybe, unknowingly, that’s exactly who you were becoming.

✩ˎˊ˗ where we begin ( yjw ! )

⤷ coming soon

⤷ pairing — jungwon x fem!reader

⤷ summary — yang jungwon has always been the type of guy people admired from afar—disciplined, composed, and respected, both as the president of the taekwondo club and the head of the athletics organization. you, on the other hand, weren’t in it for the love of sports. you just needed the credentials, and maybe a clean-looking resume. you didn’t talk. didn’t look his way. didn’t think he even knew your name. or, where a position you didn’t even want leads to a boy you didn’t expect. and somehow, he ends up needing you just as much as you need him.

✩ˎˊ˗ everything in between ( nk ! )

⤷ coming soon

⤷ pairing — ni-ki x fem!reader

⤷ summary — being park jongseong’s cousin came with expectations—polished, poised, and impossible to beat. as a business major in decelis university, you had your goals lined up like stepping stones, top of your class, heir to your family’s legacy, admired by most. except one. nishimura riki has never once said more than a word to you. quiet glances across lecture halls. awkward nods at parties. conversations that always seem to pause the second you enter the room. he’s close with everyone else—your cousin, your friends—but with you? it’s like he forgets how to speak. or, where the boy who’s never said much to you might’ve just liked you all along—and it only takes one unexpected moment for everything to unravel.

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified @ateez-atiny380 @chemiru @eleftheriance @deluluscenarios @simp4simlee @baedreamverse @lala-loopsydoll ⤷ series taglist — @seungsoftly @aloveminsalade @merakicafee @isagistar @heeknow @blooqz @k1ttyjwon @dearestdreamies @sourkiki @mixxie2203 @wonuzu @12e45 @fancypeacepersona @omlhyck @starfallia @koizekomi @hommyy-tommy @laylasbunbunny @aggarwaldrishti @bestboileeknow @meeghangryfun @liliawritesss @starfire21 @seokjinthescientist @iicehoon @stayupdates

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[vitaminyu-deactivated20260325]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 ⟢

Sunghoon is a full-time fuckboy with a habit of never staying until the morning. You’re not into casual. Not into games. Not into the way he looks at you like you’re next. And yet, something about him sticks. Something behind the smirk, the flirting, the pretty face. You swore you'd never fall for a guy like him.

But then again…never say never.

✴︎ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: fuckboy!sunghoon x hook-up culture hater!reader

fluff, slow-ish burn but not really tbh, trust issues, sunghoon is a b-boy, reader likes photography and hates hook-ups, soft smut, weak in the knees, he looks at you like you’re worth everything, sensual intimacy... I am bad at this

✴︎ 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: themes of hookup culture, emotional vulnerability, light angst, reader struggles with trust/intimacy, smut (minors dni)

10.8k words

You’re sitting on a kitchen counter, legs swinging, drink in hand, detached from the mess of bodies around you. The music’s too loud, the lights too low, and the air smells like cheap beer and desperation. 

Small town house parties are always the same. 

Predictable. Repetitive. Pathetic.

You’re not drunk, not even tipsy. Just observant. Detached. Watching the night unravel around you. Trying to pass time until your friend’s done pretending this place has something new to offer. 

Then you notice him.

Park. Fucking. Sunghoon.

The local fuckboy with a reputation thicker than the scent of cologne trailing behind him. He’s all lazy smirks and sinful stares, the kind of boy who knows he’s wanted, and acts like the world owes him something for it.

Girls notice him. Of course they do. Their eyes flick to him like moths to an expensive flame.

His hair’s a little too perfect, that jacket too clean for a night like this. He makes eye contact with three of the girls on his way across the room. All of them smile. None of them hold his attention.

Until he sees you.

You sit on the counter like it’s the only place in the room that isn’t spinning. Not drinking to blur the night. Not trying to be seen. Just… occupying space.

You’re wearing black. Always black. Not because you’re trying to be edgy, but because it doesn’t stain, and it makes people assume you’re colder than you are. Which helps. People leave you alone when they can’t quite figure out if you’re worth the effort.

Your lip gloss is half-faded, and you’ve reapplied it twice with the tiny mirror in your phone, only because you like the way it catches the light when you talk. You’ve got that look in your eyes — one part bored, one part dangerous. Not in a loud way. Not in a “who’s that girl?” kind of way. More like background static. A presence. 

And Sunghoon is intrigued by that.

You’ve already said no to two guys. One of them slurred something about your legs, and the other asked if you were “waiting for someone.” You told him you were waiting for the earth to split open and swallow this whole place.

You weren’t joking.

Sunghoon looks at you like you’ve interrupted something inside him. Like he wasn’t planning to notice you, and now he can’t stop. He lingers near the edge of the kitchen for a moment, half-listening to whatever some girl’s saying, before peeling away like her voice just turned to a quiet hum.

He walks like someone who never rushes. Someone who knows the room bends for him whether he tries or not.

And now he’s right in front of you.

“Well, don’t you look comfortable,” he says, voice full of honey-laced mischief. “You always sit up there?” he asks, head tilted like he’s genuinely curious.

You sip your drink. “Only when I don’t feel like talking to people.”

He grins at that. “Too bad. I’m Sunghoon.”

You raise a brow. “I know who you are.”

“And yet,” he says smoothly, “you’re not impressed.”

“Not even a little.”

He leans in, mouth closer now, like he’s used to his smile doing half the work for him. “Then tell me what would impress you.”

You set your drink down and tilt your head, smiling sweetly. Almost sympathetically.

“If you’re talking to me just to get your dick sucked,” you say, “you should look somewhere else.”

His smirk falters for a beat, like he wasn’t expecting you to cut to the chase. You let the silence hang, watching the flicker of ego rearrange behind his eyes.

“There’s plenty of girls here who’d gladly drop to their knees for you,” you add, swinging one leg slowly back and forth. “You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Sunghoon recovers fast, smile curving back into place like he enjoys the challenge. 

“What if I want you on your knees?”

You don’t flinch. Don’t laugh. You just lean forward until your mouth is barely an inch from his ear. Your breath brushes his skin, and you swear you feel him tense.

“You’d have to deserve it first.” 

Then you pull back, like you didn’t just light a fire in him and hop off the counter, boots hitting the floor with a satisfying thud, and walk past him without a second glance. Just as your best friend rounds the corner from the hallway, fresh from the bathroom, eyes searching the crowd for you.

But he follows and you feel his presence before you hear his voice.

“Wait—” Sunghoon calls out, weaving through people until he’s at your side again. “Hey, at least give me your number.”

You glance up at him, a smirk tugging at your mouth despite yourself. Life is a little too boring for you these days, maybe toying with him a bit could make things more interesting. His expression is less cocky now. More curious. Like he doesn’t quite know what the hell just happened, but he wants to. 

To put it simply, he isn’t used to rejection.

You hand him your phone wordlessly. He types something in, presses ‘call’ so you’ll have his too, and gives it back with a grin that’s more genuine than you expected.

As you slide it into your back pocket and continue walking, your very drunk best friend nudges you with her elbow, brow raised.

“Who was that?” she asks.

You don’t look back.

“No one,” you say. “For now.”

Sunghoon watches the swing of your hair vanish between strangers and basslines, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he didn’t get what he wanted. At least not right away.

Which is… irritating.

Because he didn’t come here to get rejected.

He came to this party for the usual: a warm body, a messy kiss, something quick and meaningless to pass the time. That’s the game. That’s what people like him do. 

Approach. Flirt. Fuck. Never speak again.

But then there was you.

Sitting on the bar like a dare. Eyes glazed with disinterest. Lip gloss smudged. You didn’t look at him like he was something you wanted. And that should’ve been enough to make him walk away. He should’ve let it go. Find someone easier. Someone already halfway in love with the idea of him.

But no. You gave him nothing, and now he wants everything.

You weren’t supposed to say no. You weren’t supposed to smile like you saw straight through him. You weren’t supposed to hand him your number and then walk away uninterested, like it didn’t cost you a single breath.

Now he’s standing there with your number in his phone, your voice still in his ear, and all he can think about is how you didn’t laugh when he said he wanted you on your knees. You just leaned in and whispered something that flipped the entire room on its head.

You’d have to deserve it first.

Fuck.

He wishes he could just fuck you and forget it. Quick and easy. Something physical to burn through and leave behind. But you’re not that kind of flame.

You’re the slow kind.

The kind that leaves marks.

And the worst part? He likes it.

There’s a challenge in you he didn’t expect. A power in the way you don’t try to be wanted. You’re not throwing glances. You’re not performing. You’re just there, sharp and solid and untouchable. 

And now you’re stuck in his head.

So he does something he’s never had to do before: he texts you first.

You take your time getting ready.

Not because you’re nervous. Not because you care. But because if you’re going to waste your night on a fuckboy, you might as well look like the kind of girl a fuckboy loses sleep over.

Your room’s quiet, save for the occasional buzz of your phone…another text from Sunghoon, probably. He’s sent three since this morning. One said, “still on for tonight?” The second was a TikTok he clearly thought was funny enough to share (it wasn’t). The latest? A picture of his car parked in your driveway with the caption: “I’m outside. Try not to fall in love or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you gave yourself a headache. You know exactly what this is.

Park Sunghoon isn’t subtle. He didn’t text you because he wants to “get to know you.” He’s not suddenly into conversation or complicated girls who don’t melt at his smile and laugh at his jokes. He texted because you didn’t play the game. Because you made it clear he’d have to try if he wants you moaning his name.

And men love a challenge, don’t they? 

Especially if their ego is on the line.

That’s what makes this fun. He’s trying so hard for a mere one-night stand. And you? You haven’t even started properly toying with him.

You’re not going on this date because you’re interested. You’re going because you’re bored. Because toying with a man like Sunghoon, who’s used to girls bending over backwards for a one-word text and a half-hearted grin, sounds like a fun way to spend your Friday.

Let him think he’s winning, just long enough to keep him coming back. And when he’s invested enough to stop pretending it’s all casual, you’ll remind him that you never planned on giving him anything at all.

This is going to be fun.

By the time you open the door, you’re in your boots, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, and zero intention of pretending you’re excited. He stands up from leaning against his car like he’s in some teen drama, all smirks and practiced charm.

“Well, don't you look beautiful,” he says and hands you a bouquet of lilies.

You give him a once-over. “Thanks, the flowers are pretty.” 

He chuckles. “Figured it was the bare minimum.”

“How rare. A man aware of what that means.”

He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide in without a word. The flowers sit in your lap, an unexpected prop in whatever performance he’s trying to put on tonight. You don’t hate it. But you don’t fall for it either.

The car smells like a cologne sample someone rubbed on a credit card bill. Clean, expensive, trying too hard. He gets in on the driver’s side. Glances at you, then at the road. 

“You didn’t text back.”

“Didn't feel like it.”

A beat of silence. 

“You’re not like other girls, huh?”

You blink once. Then scoff, full-bodied and shameless, turning your head to stare at him like he’s just insulted your entire bloodline.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

He laughs, genuinely this time, even if a little nervous at your outburst. “Right. Okay. Got it.” 

The drive is quiet for a moment,  save for the playlist he queued up. Something chill. Something he probably played for every other girl he thought he had to vibe with. 

“You know,” he says eventually, “you never told me your name.”

“Didn’t think you needed it. You seemed more interested in what I’d look like in your backseat.” You shrug as the car pulls into the parking lot of some half-decent diner. Neon signs. Flickering lights. A place people go when they’re too tired to cook or too young to care about ambiance. He parks, cuts the engine, and looks over.

He sputters. “That’s not…okay, fair.”

You smile to yourself. This is already better than expected.

He steps out first, rushes to your side, and opens your door like he’s got something to prove. You raise an eyebrow as you get out. “Chivalry?” you murmur. “Cute.”

Inside, the diner hums with low conversation and clinking silverware. The waitress barely glances up as she hands you menus and leads you to a booth tucked in the back. There's dim lighting, cracked leather seats, and just enough privacy to pretend this is something more than it is.

Sunghoon slides into the seat across from you, stretches his legs like he owns the space between you, and rests his elbow on the edge of the table.

“You really don’t want to be here, do you?”

You look up from the menu. “Not particularly.”

He huffs out a laugh, leans back. “Then why’d you come?”

You tap a manicured nail against the tabletop. “I was bored.”

“Boredom,” he repeats. “Harsh.”

“Honest.” You don’t soften the blow. You don’t apologize. 

He flips the menu shut. “Alright then, honesty for honesty. You caught my attention that night. Like actually caught it. That doesn’t happen.”

You raise a brow. “How tragic for you.”

“Okay, damn.” He laughs. “You’re not gonna let me have one sincere moment?”

“Maybe. If it’s a good one.”

You sip your drink when it arrives. He does too. There’s a pause between you,  not awkward, just heavy with whatever this is turning into.

And then, because you feel like it, you lean back in your seat and finally say it. Low and slow. Like giving him your name is an offering, not a courtesy.

“It’s Y/N.”

His eyes flicker. “Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “Pretty.”

You hold his gaze. “Don’t ruin it.”

He smiles. But it’s not that cocky grin from the party. It’s quieter. More real. The kind of smile someone gives when they don’t know they’re doing it. And for just a moment, you feel it. That flicker in your chest. That tiny, traitorous skip in your pulse. You crush it immediately.

The plates hit the table with a muted clink. Greasy diner food. Something deep-fried. Something Sunghoon didn’t even look at the name of before ordering. You’re too busy watching the way the window beside you stains his skin in washed-out blue and buzzing pink, like a painting someone left out in the rain.

He picks up a fry. Spins it between his fingers like he's stalling.

"So," he says after a beat, “you don’t do small talk.”

“Only with people I’m trying to impress.” You say as you pop a cherry into your mouth from your drink. It crunches between your teeth.

“Alright. No small talk. Big talk, then.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing slowly.

“Big talk?”

“Yeah. Like… the kind that changes the mood, for better or worse.”

You snort softly. “Was there a mood?”

“Not yet,” he says, mouth twitching. “But I’m working on it.”

There’s a small pause. He breaks first. 

“I dance,” he says, eyes still on the table. “Breakdancing, mostly. I’m in a crew. We battle.” 

That catches you off guard. You glance at him. “Like… actual dance battles?”

“Yeah,” he nods, like this is the part where most people either tune out or mock him. “Underground stuff. There’s a warehouse in Hongdae that we use to host dance battles occasionally. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

You take another sip of your drink. Let the silence stretch before answering.

“That’s kind of sick.”

He meets your gaze, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nod. “You don’t seem like the type to care about anything enough to practice it.”

That earns you a laugh, a real one. Soft. Eyes crinkling.  “Okay, harsh. But fair,” he says, grinning, but then he sobers a little. “I’ve got a younger sister. She’s eight. I show her videos from the battles. She thinks I’m famous or something, it's super cute.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t expected softness from him. Not this kind. Not this early.

“What’s her name?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Yeji,” he says, voice quieter now. “She paints flowers on my sneakers when I’m not looking.”

You smile. And this time, it’s not calculated.

There’s a lull. Not awkward. Just… gentle. Like a breeze passing through the booth. The sound of silverware, of soft pop songs from the speakers above, of the world going on without noticing that something strange and delicate is blooming between two strangers under neon lights.

He nods at you, finally.

“Your turn.”

You raise a brow. “For what?”

“Big talk.”

You hesitate. Then wipe your hands on a napkin and lean back into the cracked leather.

“I’m starting college after summer ends,” you say. “Communications major. Media and stuff.”

He nods. “You excited?”

You stare at him. Then softly answer, “I’m terrified.”

He doesn't smile at that. Doesn’t laugh. Just let it sit there like he knows how heavy it is to admit something like that out loud. “Good,” he says eventually. “Means you give a shit.”

“I also do photography,” you say suddenly, like it slipped out by accident.

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

You nod, eyes tracing the condensation sliding down your glass. “Started when I was fifteen. Took my mom’s old camera one day and never really put it down.”

“What do you shoot?”

You hesitate. Then answer like it’s a secret. “People. Usually strangers and their movement. Or hands. I like hands… they tell you everything,” you say. “Nervous tics. Calluses. Scars.”

He nods, quiet for once. “That’s cool. I get that, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You get the hand thing?”

“I mean… I get watching movement. Reading people without them noticing. It's kind of the same with dancing,” he says, scratching the back of his neck like he’s just now realizing it. “When I’m battling, I don’t just move, I watch. How someone shifts their weight. How they breathe before a drop. Trying to predict their moves. It’s all there, even in their hands.”

You blink, a little surprised. Not by what he said, but by the fact that he said it at all. That he said it like it meant something. A small silence curls between you, not awkward, just heavy with mutual understanding. 

He gestures toward your drink with a flick of his fingers. “So do you just carry your camera everywhere like a spy? Or are you gonna show me one of these mysterious hand photos?”

You smirk. “It’s in my bag.”

You reach down and pull it out; it's nothing too fancy, just a camera that’s clearly lived a life. Paint on the strap. A sticker half-peeled off the bottom. Dings, dents, charms.

He whistles low, impressed. “This thing’s got stories.”

“So do the people in it,” you say. Then, without warning, you lift the camera and snap a picture of him mid-sip, his eyes wide with surprise, a little drip of water sliding down his chin.

“Hey!” he coughs, setting his glass down. “Rude,” he laughs, then points a dramatic finger at you. “I've got a crazy good idea, next battle you’re coming with me. I want you to photograph me spinning on my head, looking like a tornado.”

You arch a brow. “Big words for someone who just got caught mid-sip looking like a confused turtle.”

“I have layers,” he says, grinning. “Besides, I think it'd be cool. You… behind the lens. The crowd in motion. My crew on the dance floor. Just thinking about it makes me excited.”

You pause. Not because you don’t want to go. But because, somehow, in the middle of teasing and you trying to act nonchalant… that felt real. Like an invitation that meant something.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down at your camera. “That could be nice.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice quieter now. “You ever show your photos to anyone?” You shrug at that. “Sometimes. Online, mostly. But not really the ones that matter.”

His brow furrows. “Why not?”

“Because those are the ones that feel like me,” you say, barely above a whisper. “And people don’t always know what to do with that.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then he finally breaks the silence, “I’d get it. If you ever wanted to show me.”

You glance up, caught off-guard again. He’s not smirking this time. No teasing. Just looking at you like you’re not some game to figure out, but something already worth knowing. Is this all a scheme of his to get you naked? It doesn't feel like it is.

And you hate that your heart stumbles for it.

So you lift the camera again and snap another photo, catching him with his chin resting in one hand, eyes soft and steady.

“What now?” he asks.

You smile, just a little. “That one’s for me.”

The drive back is quiet in that way late-night rides sometimes are—comfortable, laced with half-thoughts and glances that last too long. The radio hums with something lo-fi and low-effort, the kind of music meant to fill the space without asking too many questions. City lights blur past in streaks, all neon pinks and golds, casting moving shadows across the interior of the car. Sunghoon drums his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. You pretend not to notice when he glances at you during red lights.

“So,” he says eventually, voice breaking the silence like it’s a bubble. “Was I... tolerable company tonight?”

You stretch in your seat, turning toward the window with a deliberately long sigh. “You didn’t talk with your mouth full. Or take a selfie mid-meal. So yeah, I’ve survived worse.”

He chuckles, low and genuine. “Wow. High praise.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you murmur. “That thing’s already struggling for space.”

He gives you a mock-wounded look before returning his focus to the road, a lopsided smile still tugging at his lips. Outside, the city starts to thin. Fewer cars. Quieter streets. The kind of quiet that almost feels private. And then there it is, your street, familiar and dim under the yellow haze of tired streetlamps.

He pulls into your driveway like he’s done it before. Like it’s already a routine. The engine cuts, leaving only the clicking of the cooling hood and your shallow breaths in the stillness. Neither of you moves for a second.

“Do I get a rating? Like out of ten?” he starts again, voice softer now.

You pretend to think. “Five. But I added points for the lilies.”

“Five?” he echoes, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “This is the worst review I’ve ever received.”

“You’ll survive.” You reach for the door handle. He beats you to it.

You watch, vaguely amused, as he jogs around the car and opens your door like this is prom night. You step out slowly, eyes still on him, one brow raised.

“Chivalry again?” you ask, dry.

He shrugs, hands in his pockets again. “Get used to it.”

The walk to your front step is a few feet, but feels longer with the weight of unsaid things trailing behind you. You reach the door, keys already in hand, but he lingers, half a step closer than necessary. He’s looking at you the way people do when they’re working up to something. You can feel it before he says anything. The almost electric silence of someone about to act on a maybe.

“So…” he starts, leaning in just slightly, his lips getting dangerously close to yours. Not cocky this time. Not performative. Just… hopeful. Curious. You let him get close, just enough to think he might get away with it. And then you tilt your head at the last second, barely dodging his lips, and instead whisper near his ear, voice velvet-smooth:

“Good night, Sunghoon.”

You step back before he can recover, watching the flicker of surprise flash across his face. His lips part slightly, brows lifting just a touch. He laughs. It’s not loud, but it’s full-bodied. Like he wasn’t expecting it, but he’s not mad about it either.

“I should’ve known,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really aren’t gonna make this easy, are you?” You smile, faint and dangerous. “What would be the fun in that?”

“You like messing with me.” He watches you for a beat, eyes trailing from your mouth to your gaze like he’s trying to memorize something he shouldn’t want this badly.

You turn the key in the lock, glancing at him over your shoulder. 

“You're figuring that out just now?”

A pause. His smirk deepens, sharp at the corners but softer underneath.

“See you at the dance battle then?”

You nod once, pulling the door open just enough to slip inside. “You better win,” you say, not even looking back. “I’ll be watching.” And then the door clicks shut, leaving him on your porch, hands in his pockets, smirking at the wood grain like he’s just been played and loved every second of it.

The smell hits first: concrete, sweat, smoke, and adrenaline. The floor’s already alive when you get there. There’s no “door.” Just a guy on the stairs who eyes your camera and gives you a nod when you flash the printed flyer. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. The music’s already doing enough of the talking.

The battle’s set in a cavernous underground parking garage, fluorescent lights flickering overhead like they’re on their last breath. Concrete walls are sprayed with layers of graffiti – colorful tags, sprawling murals, sharp symbols screaming of a thousand nights like this one. Every inch hums with grit and possibility, like the whole place is waiting to catch someone mid-air.

Inside, the crowd’s tight, hungry. Hoodies and snapbacks. Pretty girls in cargos and gold hoops. Crews clustered like wolfpacks around the taped-off cypher, all waiting for blood. The floor space is roughly duct-taped off, even though everyone knows the rules: no pushing in, no touching, and if you enter the circle, you better have something to show off.

Music pulses through the space, old-school breakbeats with heavy bass that thumps in your chest and seeps into your bones. The DJ’s scratching keeps everything tight, carving breaks sharp enough to slice through the tension.

A speaker thuds out a beat hard enough to shake your spine, and the crowd roars as two b-boys launch into a footwork exchange. Quick, sharp, controlled chaos. 6-steps, elbow freezes, and windmills turning to flares. One misstep and the circle eats you alive.

You stay on the edges, camera in hand. You’re not here to dance. 

You’re here to watch him.

Sunghoon.

You spot him across the room instantly. Black joggers, scuffed at the hem, catching on the gritty floor. White tee under an oversized hoodie that sways with him, a quiet shout of street style against the raw backdrop. A bandana tied around his wrist. His crew stands nearby, dapping each other up, heads nodding to the beat. He hasn’t seen you yet.

Good.

You lift your camera and frame the shot, his profile lit by the glow of cheap LED strip lights, backlit by movement. You click once. Then again. Candid.

The DJ cuts the track mid-beat, and a ripple moves through the crowd like lightning. A new challenger steps into the circle.

"Next up," someone calls, "Echo versus Icey." A scream erupts

That’s him. Icey.

You didn’t realize it at first, but break dancers usually go by nicknames. It’s just how the culture works. Everyone has these sharp, catchy handles that stick way better than their real names. Makes sense when you think about it. When you’re spinning, flipping, and throwing down moves that look like they belong in a comic book, your given name just doesn’t cut it.

Take Sunghoon, for example. It’s like a secret identity, a persona that’s bigger than life on the floor. You wonder what your nickname would be if you ever stepped in.

Sunghoon makes his way towards the dance floor, and the crowd tightens. 

You raise your camera again.

He doesn’t start big. Just a bounce. Head nod. A few toprock steps that look too casual to be serious — until he drops, spins into a windmill and snaps into a hollowback freeze so clean you hear people yelling from across the garage.

It’s flow. Pure flow. Controlled power. Every move connected, like his bones know where the music’s going before the DJ does. He battles like someone with something to prove, but nothing to lose. Like he doesn’t just want to win, he wants to be remembered.

And in the middle of a thread combo so tight it looks animated, he glances your way. Direct. Sharp. Then he finishes the set with an elbow freeze, legs up, chest forward, eyes still on you. 

You click the shutter. Again. And again.

After the round, crews slap hands, people whistle, and the music doesn’t stop. The battle goes on. But you move around the space, framing him between silhouettes, graffiti, limbs in motion. You don’t notice when he disappears from the cypher. But you do feel him appear behind you.

“You get my good side?”

The voice is lower now. Sweaty. Slightly out of breath. You don’t turn around immediately.

“I don’t know,” you reply, adjusting your lens. “You blur a lot when you spin.”

He leans over your shoulder slightly, not touching, but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him. “Let me see?”

You show him one photo. It’s mid-freeze, motion caught mid-breath, body held in defiance of gravity. But it’s not the move that makes it good, it’s the expression. Focused. Drenched in light and shadow. Alive.

Sunghoon whistles under his breath. “Damn.”

You glance at him sideways. “You impressed?”

He shrugs. “I mean... I look kind of hot.”

“You looked kind of unhinged. Like you were about to levitate.”

“Same thing,” he smirks. “On a serious note, it's really good. Like really, really good. I might even print it out.” That makes you blush a little. He continues, “My crew’s doing a block party tomorrow. Real open floor. Bring your camera. Could use someone with your eye.”

You raise a brow. “You just want free promo.” He grins wider. “Nah. I just like having you around.” You snort at that, “You’re lucky you’re good.”

He’s quiet for a second, “I meant it. You’ve got an eye. Come shoot us.”

You finally nod, and then you lift your camera again and say, “Smile.”

He flashes a peace sign, sticking his tongue out. You snap it.

Ugly. Dumb. A mess of a shot.

You love it instantly.

The battles go on, and you find yourself captivated.

Finally, Sunghoon’s name rings out over the speakers. First place. The crowd roars, but before the noise can swallow you whole, he’s already making his way toward you, weaving through the crowd with a grin that’s all kinds of dangerous and playful.

Before you can blink, he’s at your side and then, without warning, he scoops you up like you weigh nothing at all. Your laughter spills out, light and breathy, echoing against the concrete walls. His arms are strong and warm, steadying you as the world tilts a little in the best possible way.

“You’re heavy,” he teases, voice rough and low, but there’s something soft in the way he looks at you. You giggle again, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “Lucky you’ve got muscles.”

He holds you a moment longer, like he’s savoring the space between battle and celebration, then pulls back just enough to grin down at you.

“Give me a sec,” he says, eyes flickering to the side. “Gotta do something.”

You watch as he steps away, the grin fading into something more serious. Across the circle, the second-place dancer stands, chest heaving, sweat slicked over his skin, eyes glazed with exhaustion and worry.

Sunghoon approaches, calm but purposeful. Without hesitation, he presses the prize money into the other guy’s hand. “For your mom,” he says quietly. The man blinks, shock rooting him in place. His voice cracks as he tries to speak. “I… I can’t. This is your prize.”

Sunghoon shrugs, eyes steady, voice soft. “I heard she’s in the hospital. Needs it more.”

For a moment, the world stills. The man’s fingers close slowly over the cash, gratitude and disbelief mingling in his expression. “Thank you,” he breathes, voice thick with emotion. Sunghoon just nods and turns back toward you, a small, almost shy smile pulling at his lips.

You stand there, heart pounding, the camera forgotten in your hand, watching the quiet strength behind his gesture. When he reaches you again, you look up into his eyes and say, “That was… very kind of you.” 

Sunghoon’s gaze softens. “This whole thing is not just about winning. It’s about what you stand for.” You swallow at that, heart tightening with something you can’t quite name. The noise of the crowd fades, replaced by the steady thrum of your own breath and the sudden heat of his presence beside you.

He squeezes your hand gently, just for a second, before stepping back to the circle. The moment feels charged, like a secret passed between two people who don’t need to say more. You lift your camera slowly, capturing a shot of him looking out over the crowd, victorious. 

“Come on,” he says with a grin, voice teasing but warm. “Dance with me?”

You blink, caught off guard by the invitation, a spark of something electric igniting under your skin. The crowd’s roar fades again, this time replaced by the pulse of the beat you can still hear in your chest. Your fingers tighten around the camera, hesitant but curious.

“Dance with you?” you echo, voice a little breathless.

He nods, stepping closer, his eyes bright with challenge and something softer, a silent promise that this moment is just for the two of you.

The circle clears, or maybe it just feels that way. He offers his hand, steady and warm, and you take it, letting him pull you into the middle of the cypher. The music swells again, bass thumping through the concrete like a heartbeat.

You don’t know many moves, you’re not a dancer, but Sunghoon’s rhythm wraps around you, guiding, coaxing. His laughter is low and contagious, and soon you find yourself moving, swaying, caught in the simplicity of the moment.

For a few minutes, it’s just the two of you: the music, the flash of his grin, your breath mingling in the air between you. No prizes, no crowds, no expectations. Just this fragile, perfect thread of connection.

When the song ends, he pulls you close, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

“You got moves,” he says with a teasing smile. You laugh softly, heart still racing. “Only with the right partner.” He holds your gaze, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks quietly.

And in that moment, you want to say yes. You want to dive into this wild, reckless pull he’s got on you. But the voice inside your head won’t let you. If you go with him, if you have sex with him, it whispers, he’ll leave. Mission accomplished. Just like that, gone. And then what? You swallow hard, feeling the weight of that truth settle like a stone in your chest.

He was supposed to be just a fuckboy. Someone to toy with, to keep at arm’s length. To make him think he can get what he wants, and then shove him away. Nothing more. But every time he shows you a new side, softer, realer, it pulls you closer than you planned.

Still, you shake your head softly, trying to steady yourself. You’re scared. Scared that if you let him in, if you cross that line, he’ll disappear like smoke through your fingers, leaving you alone in the dark.

“I can’t,” you whisper, voice barely audible between the fading beats. “Not tonight.”

Sunghoon’s eyes search yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something like understanding there. Maybe even patience. You step back, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to convince your heart to listen to your head. Because some things, no matter how tempting, aren’t safe to chase, not yet.

Sunghoon looks at you, eyes steady and patient. “I get it,” he says softly, voice rough but sincere. “No pressure.”

He holds out his hand. “Want to get out of here? Go for a walk. Clear the noise?”

You hesitate only a second before slipping your hand into his. His fingers are warm, grounding. Outside, the street feels quieter, cooler. You walk side by side, the air crisp and different from the stale heat inside. The pavement is cracked, the streetlights flickering overhead. Sunghoon glances at you. “Sometimes I think this whole thing, the music, the battles, the crowds… It’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. But then other times... it feels like a cage I can’t break out of.”

You glance over, surprised at his honesty. “I get that. Sometimes the things we want the most feel like they trap us.” He nods slowly at that. “Walking in the streets at night is the only time I really feel free. The quiet gives me space to breathe. To just be.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, just a heartbeat, you let yourself look. Really look.

Sunghoon’s profile is lit by the amber glow of a streetlamp overhead, soft golden light brushing against the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the little crease between his brows he gets when he’s deep in thought. His hoodie’s pulled half-up, messy strands of hair brushing his forehead, damp from the heat of the battle. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s still catching his breath from dancing.

And for a second, framed by flickering neon and the gentle hush of the street, he looks unreal. Like something pulled from a dream. Or a memory you haven’t made yet.

There’s a pause, the city’s hum filling the silence. You take a breath, feeling the words bubbling up. “I don’t usually talk about this, but… I’ve had some bad experiences with guys.”

Sunghoon looks at you, curious but patient.

“Not like… abusive or anything,” you say quickly, “just a few bad one-night stands. Thought it’d be simple. No strings. But it turned messy. Most lied to me afterward. Made me feel cheap. Used. So I don’t do that anymore.” Sunghoon listens quietly, not rushing you. “After that, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone get close, not like that, not easily. It’s safer.” 

Sunghoon’s expression softens. “I do that,” he continues quietly. “I'm that guy. The one who says all the right things, gets close just enough to get what he wants, and then ghosts before morning. Sometimes I didn’t even wait for the sun to come up. I hate myself for it.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head at himself. “At first, it felt easy. Like I had control. Keep it light, no strings, no expectations. I told myself I was doing them a favor. Being clear, keeping it casual. But I wasn’t. Not really. Most of the time, I was just scared.”

You don’t speak, but your eyes are on him now, your feet matching his step.

“I didn’t want to connect,” he admits. “Didn’t want anyone to see the parts of me I didn’t like. So I made sure it was always temporary. Quick. Clean. Forgettable.”

He finally looks at you, and his gaze is raw in a way you’ve never seen before. “But the thing is… after a while, it stops feeling good. All that surface-level shit. The adrenaline wears off, and you start to realize you’re just… empty. Like you gave away pieces of yourself for nothing. Took pieces from others. And it hits you.”

He stops walking. You do too.

“I don’t want that anymore.”

The silence stretches between you. It’s not awkward, it’s heavy. Real.

“I don’t want to be that guy to you,” he says, softer now. “Even if that’s all I’ve ever been to other people. I don’t want you to feel cheap, or used, or scared to trust. I just… I like you. Not just how you look. I like how you laugh, or how you see things through your camera lens. I like who you are when you’re not trying to hide.”

Your throat tightens, and he must see it, because he steps just a little closer, enough to make you feel his warmth again.

“I don’t want to push you,” he adds. “If you say no, I’ll respect it. Every time. But I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to say yes. Not to sex. To something real. To us.”

You blink hard, suddenly aware of the way your heart is pounding.

“Damn,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “You’re really not helping my ‘fuckboy’ theory here.”

That earns a small laugh from him, quiet and a little rueful. “I’m trying to retire from the title.” You smile at that, even as your chest aches. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you say honestly.

“I’m not asking you to be,” he replies, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m just asking you to stay. Walk with me. Let me earn it.” 

And somehow, in that quiet pocket of night, beneath flickering city lights, with concrete beneath your feet and his hand brushing yours, it feels like maybe, just maybe… you could.

Your room is quiet, save for the soft hum of your laptop and the occasional creak of the old radiator. The city outside murmurs in distant sounds. Cars, the bark of a dog, laughter spilling from a street below, but up here, everything feels far away. Like the world paused somewhere between memory and longing.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, hoodie wrapped around your frame, the faint scent of smoke and sweat still clinging to your clothes from earlier. Your camera sits beside you, the memory card already slotted into your laptop. Folders open. Images load.

And there he is.

Sunghoon.

Captured frame by frame. Candid moments frozen in digital time. You scroll slowly, each photo tugging at something you can’t quite name. In one, he’s mid-spin, hair wild, body blurred in motion, untamed, electric. In another, he’s upside down in a freeze, perfectly still, perfectly impossible.

Then a close-up, taken when he wasn’t looking. His eyes half-lidded from exertion, lips parted, the edge of a smile caught like a secret only you were meant to see.

You stare at that one longer than you mean to.

He’s beautiful. Not in the polished, curated way people try to be. But in the way light hits him. Raw, unfiltered, honest. Like the city sculpted him from noise and rhythm and let him loose just to see what would happen.

Your fingers hesitate over the trackpad. He was supposed to be a game. A joke. A distraction from your own chaos. You were going to toy with him. Let him think he had a chance, and then walk away first. Clean. Simple. Safe.

But then he laughed with you. Pulled you into a dance you didn’t think you’d ever say yes to. Gave away his prize money without blinking. Told you the truth like it cost him something. And now here you are, knees curled to your chest, staring at pictures of a boy who was never supposed to matter.

You press a knuckle to your lips, trying to quiet the noise in your head. You can still hear his voice "I don’t want to be that guy to you." You remember the way he said it. Careful. Sincere. 

A little afraid.

What if he meant it? What if you let yourself believe that someone like him, who's made his share of mistakes, who’s been guarded and reckless and selfish, could actually want to be better... with you?

Your heart flips, traitorously.

But the fear rises again just as fast. You’ve let someone in before. Let them close, let them kiss you like they meant it, only to realize you were just a story they didn’t bother finishing. You’ve woken up in someone else’s sheets and felt like you left pieces of yourself behind that you couldn’t get back.

And Sunghoon… he’s dangerous in a different way. Not because he lies. But because he tells the truth too well. And truths can hurt more than lies when they fall apart.

Still…your eyes drift back to the photo, him grinning mid-freeze, looking like he belongs to the night and the light and nothing in between.

You save it in a new folder.

You name it Maybe.

On the other side of the town, Sunghoon can’t sleep.

He’s lying on his back in the dark, one arm slung over his eyes, hoodie still on, the city still humming somewhere outside his cracked window. His body’s tired, aching in the best ways from the battle, the dance, the high of it all, but his mind’s wired. Flickering like a dying streetlight. Loud with thoughts he doesn’t know how to silence.

You.

You, in the crowd with that camera, eyes sharp and curious, catching him like he was something worth framing. You, laughing against his chest, the sound so light it knocked the wind out of him. You, stepping back when he asked you to stay. Soft “I can’t” slicing through his chest sharper than he expected.

He gets it. God, he does. And that’s what hurts more.

Sunghoon shifts, pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers combing through his damp hair. The room smells like detergent and old incense. He’s surrounded by shadows, and still, your voice echoes in his head like you’re right beside him.

"Most lied to me afterward. Made me feel cheap. Used."

He swears under his breath. The guilt, sudden and sharp, creeps in like a draft under the door. He’s done it too. Been that guy. The kind who made girls feel wanted just long enough to get what he wanted. Told himself it was mutual. That it was fun. That no one got hurt if no one caught feelings.

Lies.

He thinks about one girl who used to play with the strings of his hoodie when they kissed. Another who left a poem in his notes app. Another whose number he still has, unread texts gathering dust. He thinks about how he never stayed. How he never meant to.

Because staying meant vulnerability. And vulnerability meant risk. Real connection always did. But with you… You scare him in a way he didn’t think possible. The way you see him, like you’re not impressed by the moves or the cocky smiles, like you’re waiting for him to drop the act, makes him feel both exposed and alive. Like he’s not performing anymore. Like maybe, just maybe, he could be himself.

He leans his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“I don’t want to be that guy to you,” he whispered earlier. He meant every word.

You don’t know how much it took to say that. How hard it is to unlearn being guarded. But he’s trying. He wants to try for you. He remembers the way you looked at him when you declined his offer. Not cold. Not distant. Just… scared. Like the walls you’ve built are the only thing keeping you upright. And he doesn’t want to knock them down. He wants to be patient enough to wait on the other side.

He gets up, walking to the window, hands shoved into his pockets. Down on the street, two bikes coast past under the dim glow of a streetlamp. Quiet. Brief. Free.

Sunghoon presses his forehead against the glass and exhales.

He doesn’t know what this is yet, not really. But he knows he wants it. Wants you. Not for one night. Not for the thrill. But for the way you looked at him after the battle. Like he was worth something beyond his pretty face.

He hopes you come to the block party tomorrow. He hopes you keep taking pictures.  He hopes you don’t give up on him before he gets the chance to prove he’s not who he used to be. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not thinking about who else he could be with, or what girl’s DMs he hasn’t opened yet. He’s just thinking about you.

Just you.

The smell of grilled skewers and burnt rubber hits first.

The block’s been taken over, tape strung between poles, speakers stacked like towers, lights strung from rooftops to trees like fireflies caught in wire. It’s dusk, the sky bruised purple and orange, and the music’s already thumping loud enough to make your ribcage vibrate.

You clutch your camera tighter as you step into the heart of it.

Crews are scattered in clusters, bouncing in place to the beat, trading handshakes and half-practiced footwork. Kids on scooters weave between legs. Someone’s spray painting the side of a truck. Girls are dancing on the curb, laughing with slushies in their hands, and the whole thing feels alive, wild and beautiful, and chaotic in the best way.

You scan the crowd for him.

You don't want to admit it, but your stomach's been tight ever since last night. Since the walk. Since the way he looked at you like he didn’t want to be the version of himself you'd imagined. Since you saw a version of himself he probably never showed anyone.

And now you’re here.

Because some part of you wants to believe that maybe people can change. That maybe this thing, whatever it is, deserves more than just a line drawn in fear.

You catch him before he sees you, again.

Sunghoon’s standing near the speakers, hoodie half-zipped, a New York Yankees cap on his head. He’s laughing at something a crew member said, head tilted back, gold chain catching the light. And for a moment, you don’t move. You just watch. Because framed by the pulsing streetlights and dusk falling in slow strokes across his cheekbones, he looks... devastating. Effortless. But not in a calculated way. Like the kind of person the city makes poems about. The kind of boy that breaks hearts and doesn’t mean to. And yours aches. Just a little.

Then his eyes find you.

Everything slows. His smile shifts, less wild now, more real. Something flickers in his expression, like he wasn’t sure if you’d come, like your presence just changed the whole weight of the evening.

He jogs toward you, weaving through the crowd. “You made it.”

You nod, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” he says, voice low, more relieved than cocky. “We’re warming up. Wanna shoot from the roof?”

Your brows lift. “There’s roof access?”

He grins, already leading the way. “There’s always roof access if you’re dumb enough.”

You follow him up a metal staircase that groans under your weight, past open windows spilling music and sweat and city air. When you hit the roof, the entire block unfurls below you, people spinning in the street, painted vans, cables humming with strung-up lights.

You lift your camera, framing it all.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You glance at him. “Yeah. Just... nervous.”

Sunghoon leans against the railing, watching the dancers. “Me too.”

You tilt your head. “You? Nervous?”

His lips twist into a wry smile. “About you.”

Silence sits between you. Thick, warm, honest.

“You scare me a little,” he admits. “You make me want to stop pretending.”

You lower the camera slowly.

“I think I’ve done a lot of pretending,” he continues, eyes on the street. “Pretending I don’t care. That no one else does either. That all this…” he gestures at the party, the dancing, the chaos “...is just noise.”

“But it’s not,” you say quietly. “No,” he breathes. “It’s not. And you, you're not. You see me. And I don’t think I’m used to that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. The camera is still in your hand, but your fingers aren’t steady anymore.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says. “I’ve hurt girls before. Not because I hated them. Just because I didn’t know how to stay. Didn’t want anyone to see the shit I was trying to outrun. But I don’t want to lie to you. Not even by omission. I’ve been a fuckboy. I’ve ghosted. Lied. Said things I didn’t mean just to feel wanted for a minute.”

You blink, surprised at the rawness.

“I didn’t expect this,” he says. “Didn’t expect you. And I don’t deserve your trust yet, I know that. But if you let me, I’ll earn it. Bit by bit. Even if you never say yes. I still want to be someone worth staying for.” 

You stare at him a long moment, wind tugging at your sleeves, music thudding up from below like a second heartbeat. And finally, you lift the camera.

Click.

Sunghoon blinks. “Did you just take a picture?”

You smile softly. “Yeah. Had to catch the moment.”

He exhales a laugh, but it’s soft around the edges. Hopeful. “Do I look tortured and tragic?”

You glance at the preview. “You look real.”

As those words leave your mouth, the music pulses louder and the block party really kicks off. People spill into the streets and alleys, laughter and shouting weaving through the warm night air. Lights strung between buildings cast a carnival glow, and the scent of grilled food and spilled drinks fills everything.

You find yourself pulled into the flow, the beat catching under your skin. Before you know it, Sunghoon’s hand is at your waist, guiding you. The song is slow, romantic. He pulls you close, fingers curling gently around your back, and you rest your hands lightly on his shoulders. Your bodies move in quiet rhythm, slow and effortless, as if the whole city paused just for this.

You smile, heart quickening. “I like this.”

He tilts your chin up, eyes searching yours in the soft light. “I like you.”

You lean in, the space between you shrinking until it vanishes. His lips meet yours softly at first, almost hesitant—like he’s testing the waters. Then the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more certain, as if he’s been holding back all this time, waiting for this moment. Your breath mingles, hearts racing in sync beneath the glow of the city lights. His hand cradles your cheek gently while the other rests at your waist, pulling you closer. Time seems to stretch and blur, the world around you fading until there’s only the warmth of his mouth and the steady thrum of your heart beating.

When you pull back just slightly, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.

“Stay with me,” he whispers.

You nod, feeling like maybe this time, you just might.

The two of you stand hand in hand on the rooftop, the warm glow of the block party spilling up in waves beneath you. From this height, the crowd looks like a moving sea of colors and lights, people laughing, dancing, shouting, living. The scent of grilled food drifts up, mixing with the faint coolness of the evening air. Sunghoon leans close, his voice low. “Crazy how something so chaotic can feel… kind of perfect, huh?”

You nod, eyes tracing the tangled web of string lights and pulsing speakers. “Yeah. Like the whole city is alive tonight.”

He shifts closer, hand brushing against yours. “Wish moments like this could last.”

“Maybe they can,” you say quietly.

He smiles, and the city feels a little less loud, a little more yours. The music shifts, the beat quickening. “Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging you down the stairs. The party swirls back to life around you. Laughter, shouting, the pulsing bass, people everywhere, lost in the moment.

He weaves through the crowd with ease, and soon you’re introduced to his crew. Ni-ki, with his sharp smile and easy confidence, Heeseung, calm and steady, and Jake, who’s already handing you a plate piled with grilled skewers.

“Food always tastes better at a party,” Jake says, winking.

You nibble your skewer as Sunghoon leans close. “Ready for round two?” You nod, eyes catching his under the string lights. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, pulling you close. This time the dance is lighter, freer. Laughs escaping you both as you spin, move, and find the rhythm together. The cool breeze tousles your hair, and when your eyes meet, the world feels still.

Then, as if drawn by some unspoken magnetism, your lips meet again. Longer, deeper, filled with all the moments you’ve been holding back. The city fades, the music dims, and all that exists is the two of you, tangled in the night.

The party eventually winds down. The music fades into a distant hum, and the crowd thins, laughter turning into quiet goodbyes. You and Sunghoon find yourselves back on the rooftop, wrapped in the calm after the storm.

He pulls you close, the city still glowing faintly beneath you. His voice is soft, almost vulnerable.  “I don’t want this night to end,” he admits, fingers tracing your jaw gently. “I just want to spend every second with you, all of it.”

You meet his gaze, heart fluttering in the quiet morning light.

“Then don’t let it end,” you whisper.

Without another word, he leads you to his car and drives both of you to his apartment. There's no one. Just the two of you. The streets are mostly empty now, painted in the amber hush of early morning, and neither of you says much. There’s something reverent about the silence. Something sacred.

His apartment is dimly lit, clean but lived-in. A hoodie draped over a chair, speakers stacked near the wall, a cracked mug on the counter. It smells like clean linen and something faintly earthy, like cedarwood and mint. Like him.

You stand by the window, looking out at the city, still catching your breath from everything the night had been. Sunghoon walks over slowly, stopping just behind you.

“Still okay?” he asks gently, not touching you yet.

You nod, but your arms stay folded across your chest. “I’m just…” you trail off. “Nervous.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, “Because of before?”

You glance up at him, and the look in your eyes is answer enough. He exhales slowly. “You don’t have to do anything, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “But… I want to. I just don’t want to feel like I did back then. Like I’m being discarded.”

Sunghoon gently reaches for your hand, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When you don’t, he interlaces his fingers with yours. “I’m not leaving,” he says. “And you’re not a maybe to me. Not a moment. Not something I’ll ever pretend didn’t happen.”

You meet his eyes. He’s watching you like you’re the only thing that matters. Like the party, the city, the rooftop kiss, none of it compared to now.

“I just want you,” he continues, his voice low, honest. “But only if you want me too. No pretending. No pressure.” Your chest tightens at his words, soft and full and aching all at once.

“I want you, too,” you say.

He leans in slowly, giving you time. When his lips touch yours, it’s careful. Tender. Like a promise sealed in warmth. The rest happens in slow motion. His touch is patient, never rushing, never demanding. It's exploring, learning, and worshipping in the smallest ways. Fingertips over ribs. Lips on your shoulder. Whispered words that you feel more than hear.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs

When he’s finally above you, the space between your bodies gone, he pauses.

“Still okay?”

You nod, breath trembling. “Yes.”

And this time, when he moves, it feels different than anything you’ve known before. Less like being claimed, more like being seen. More like a soft surrender than a loss. Like trust, like healing, like the beginning of something that scares you in the best possible way.

He kisses you again, his lips moving slowly, deliberately, tracing the path from your mouth to your collarbone. The air between you hums with quiet urgency, but he doesn’t rush. His hands, warm and steady, slide along your waist, fingers spreading to map the shape of your hips like he’s memorizing them by touch alone. He takes off your shirt and your bra as his mouth dips lower, breath grazing your chest as he lingers there, almost breathless.

When his lips close around your nipple, it’s not just desire, it’s devotion. He teases gently, tongue flicking in slow, measured circles, then draws it into his mouth with a low hum that vibrates straight through you. A small sound slips from your throat, and your back arches instinctively, pulling him closer. Your hands run along the muscles of his back, slipping under his shirt, and when he takes it off, your palms find his skin. Warm. Solid. Real.

You don't realize you're trembling until he kisses you again, slower this time, his hands stroking your sides in calming rhythms. It feels like he’s grounding you, anchoring you to something steady. Something safe. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, voice low and almost hoarse.

You nod. “Yes. I just…” The words tangle in your throat, soft with uncertainty. “I don’t want this to be a one-night thing.”

Sunghoon stills for a moment, then leans in and brushes his nose against yours. “It’s not,” he says. “It won’t be. I want all of you. Over and over again. Every day, in every light.”

And there’s something in the way he says it, not just lust but need, aching and honest, that makes your heart ache in return. He kisses you again, deeper now, more sure, and when his body presses against yours fully, you feel it. Not just the strength, the warmth, the barely restrained hunger, but more than that. The care. The weight of someone who’s choosing you with intention. With hope and love.

Clothes fall away slowly, piece by piece – his jeans pushed down, your panties hooked off with careful fingers. Every touch is unhurried, a question offered and answered with soft nods, with the way your bodies lean into each other like magnets finding their pull.

When he lowers himself between your legs, it’s with the kind of attention that steals the air from your lungs. His touch is patient and precise. Not performing, not taking, but offering. Learning what makes your breath catch, what makes your thighs tense, what makes your hands grip the sheets. He listens. Responds. Adjusts. And when your fingers clutch his and your body arches, he doesn’t stop, he stays with you, holding you through the waves until you’re gasping his name.

He comes back to you slowly, kissing your cheek, your shoulder, the hollow at your throat. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers again. “Every part of you. Every sound you make.”

You pull him into another kiss, messier this time, needier, your body flushed and open beneath him. And when he finally enters into you,  slowly and carefully, there’s a stillness that settles between you. A hush. Like the world has narrowed down to just this. Your breath in his mouth, the trembling of his hands as they cradle your face, the way your hips tilt to meet his like you’ve always known how.

He moves gently, each thrust a question, each gasp of yours an answer. There’s no distance now. No room for fear, no room for the walls you once guarded so carefully. Only skin. Heat. The shared rhythm of two people choosing to be seen.

You moan his name like it’s sacred. He moans yours like it’s a prayer.

Time bends. The world blurs. The build-up is slow and inevitable, like tides pulling you under. And when the high finally hits, it’s not sharp. It’s soft. Blooming. It ripples through your body like light, like warmth, and Sunghoon doesn’t let go. He stays with you, wrapped around you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin, even as his own body trembles above you.

After, neither of you speaks for a long moment. You lie tangled together, your heartbeat still racing, your skin dewy with sweat. His chest rises and falls against yours, his fingers tracing slow circles along your spine.

“You feeling okay?” he murmurs against your temple.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Better than okay.”

He pulls you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies, his warmth seeping into you like a slow-burning fire. His lips find yours again, soft yet urgent. Every kiss is a promise, every touch a confession. You let yourself fall into the moment completely, unguarded and safe. The outside world disappears, leaving only the steady rhythm of two hearts learning to beat as one.

“I want to be with you,” he whispers, voice rough with feeling. You smile, a warmth blooming inside that no words can quite capture. “I want that, too.”

And in that quiet, fragile space, the future feels wide open, waiting just for the two of you.

Yay, another fanfic! This one feels deeply personal to me, as I relate to Y/N a little too much here. I’m, surprisingly(?), a big hater of hookup culture. Oh, and I also dated a breakdancer, lol. Hope you liked it! If you want to get a feel for the dance battles, I highly recommend looking them up on YouTube. My favourite one is this one, because I've met Kriss myself many times, and even used to take his classes.