𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 . RIYUKI

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 . 늦게 피는 꽃은 있어도 피 지 않는 꽃은 없다 .ᐟ - ᝰ. ESTP .ᐟ - ᝰ. EVERY GIRL DESERVES TO HAVE AN EXPLORATION .ᐟ ᝰ. ‘06

[enhaflixer]

sjy - STRIKES OUT.

A SECRET PREGNANCY/FOUND FAMILY AU - FULL FIC

📌 Synopsis: Five years ago, Jake Sim walked away to chase his soccer dreams, never knowing he left more than just a broken heart behind. Now, he's back—unwittingly running a soccer clinic where his five-year-old daughter is signed up. The daughter he doesn’t know exists.

You tell yourself he won’t notice. You tell yourself he won’t put the pieces together.

Then she grins up at him, dimples flashing, and says: "We have the same last name! Maybe we're related!"

And just like that, your past collides with your present.

wc: 23.5K cw (18+ MDNI) : Secret child trope (yes, we’re here for the drama), Second-chance romance (aka two emotionally constipated people trying to figure it out), Athlete romance (if you like your men sweaty & angsty, this is for you), Unresolved tension & emotional pining, Co-parenting struggles & parental guilt (aka "I should have been there" in HD), A man getting absolutely wrecked by the realization he has a kid, "Why didn't you tell me?" followed by "I should have been there.", Father-daughter bonding that will ruin you (he missed five years and he's making up for every single second), A child who is so excited to meet her new favorite person (aka the man whose entire worldview is shattering in real-time), Unresolved feelings, lingering touches, and the "we were supposed to be forever" tension, Fighting in kitchens, whispering in hallways, standing too close but not touching, "I never stopped loving you" but neither of them can say it yet, Sparks still burning, even after five years apart, "I’m still angry, but I don’t know how to stop wanting you." Explicit sexual content.

-

"I'm making a list."

"Oh God, not this again," Tia's voice crackled through the speaker. "What is it this time? 'Top Ten Pizza Toppings Ranked by Emotional Stability'? 'Compelling Evidence That My Neighbor's Cat Is Plotting World Domination'?"

You snorted, balancing your phone between ear and shoulder as you scribbled on a notepad at the kitchen counter. The house was quiet for once—a rare moment of peace while Jade actually slept in after exhausting herself at soccer practice the night before.

"It's called 'Reasons Why Taking Jade to the Soccer Clinic is a Terrible Idea.' I'm already at number twelve."

"Only twelve? You're slipping. I remember the Great Ice Cream Debate of 2019 hit twenty-seven reasons why chocolate chip cookie dough is superior to mint chocolate chip."

"That's because you were wrong and I needed to be thorough."

"I stand by my controversial mint opinions," Tia said. Then her voice shifted. "Wait. Are you talking about the Jake Sim clinic? The Jake Sim? Your Jake?"

"He's not my Jake," you said automatically, though the words still stung five years later. You stared down at the list, tapping your pen against reason number four: His last name is literally on her registration form.

"Does he know?" Tia asked quietly. "About Jade?"

"Tia, Of course not," you sighed, glancing toward Jade's bedroom door, still safely closed. "We haven't spoken since he left. You know that."

"And you're actually considering taking her to this thing? Have you finally cracked? Do I need to stage an intervention? Because I've been practicing my concerned face in the mirror."

You circled reason number seven: Because YES, I am completely insane.

"Her teacher already told her about it. She's been talking about nothing else for days. You know how she gets about soccer." You drew a little soccer ball in the margin of your notepad. "If I suddenly say no, she'll be devastated."

"So make something up! Tell her you're sick. Tell her she's sick. Hell, tell her I'm sick and you need to come take care of Auntie Tia. I can be very convincing. Remember when I faked food poisoning to get us out of your ex-boss's wedding?"

"That's actually reason number nine," you admitted. "'Fake family emergency.'"

"See? This is why we're best friends. Same brain cell, just passing it back and forth since third grade."

You laughed despite yourself, getting up to refill your coffee. "But then what, Tia? Hide the fact that Jake is doing appearances all over the city this week? Keep her home from school so she doesn't hear about it from her friends? What about next time he comes back? She's obsessed with soccer. Our paths were bound to cross eventually."

There was a rustling sound on the other end, like Tia was sitting up in bed. "Okay, let's think worst-case scenario. You take her to this clinic. He sees her. Then what? You think he's just going to know she's his? Men are oblivious. My brother didn't notice when I dyed my hair purple for three weeks."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Have you seen my child lately? She's his clone. Same dimples. Same smile. Same way of running. She even does this thing with her hands when she's excited—" Your voice caught. "You've said it yourself a hundred times."

"Fine, so there's a resemblance. She could be a really dedicated fan who studied his goal celebrations on YouTube—"

"And her last name is Sim. It's on the registration form. There's going to be two hundred kids there, but how many five-year-old girls named Sim with his exact dimples and soccer style do you think he runs into?"

The silence on the other end confirmed your fears.

"I never should have given her his last name," you said quietly, adding it as reason number thirteen on your list.

"Hey, you were engaged. You were already using Sim yourself half the time. You thought he was coming back." Tia's voice softened. "You couldn't have known."

You closed your eyes, remembering those first few confusing months. The positive pregnancy test two weeks after Jake left. Your decision not to tell him while he was establishing himself with his new team—not wanting to be the reason he gave up his dream. Then the complication with your pregnancy that meant strict bed rest. By the time Jade was born, Jake was already becoming a household name in Europe, and the gulf between your worlds seemed impossible to bridge.

"Maybe I should just tell her we can't go," you said, staring at your list.

"After she's been talking about it for days? Good luck with that. You'll break her heart. And then I'll have to help you hide from a crying five-year-old, and honestly, my witness protection contact is on vacation this week."

You had already added that as reason number three: It would crush her if we don't go.

"I could come with you," Tia offered. "Moral support. Plus, I can create a diversion if necessary. I've always wanted to fake a medical emergency at a public event. I've been practicing my 'woman experiencing convenient fainting spell' face right after my 'concerned intervention' face."

Despite yourself, you smiled. "Thanks, but I think an ambulance might just draw more attention our way."

"You never let me have any fun," Tia pouted. "Fine, we'll go with Plan B. I have a blonde wig and three fake mustaches in my emergency kit."

"Absolutely not."

"Party pooper. So what are you going to do?"

Before you could answer, a bedroom door creaked open down the hall. A moment later, a small figure in soccer ball pajamas padded into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up in all directions, dimples already appearing despite being half-asleep.

"Mom? Who're you talking to?" Jade yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"It's Auntie Tia," you said, quickly flipping your notepad closed. "Want to say hi?"

Instantly, Jade was fully awake. She snatched the phone with surprising speed for someone who had been unconscious thirty seconds earlier.

"Auntie Tia! Guess what day it is! It's soccer clinic day! With a real pro player!" Jade jumped up and down, volume increasing with each word. "He plays in Europe! And he's going to teach us special moves!"

You watched your daughter's face light up, identical to the way Jake's used to when he talked about soccer. Same passion. Same uninhibited joy. Same ability to go from zero to one hundred in seconds flat.

"Uh-huh... uh-huh..." Jade nodded seriously into the phone. "Mom got me new cleats for today! They're blue! And they have special grippy things on the bottom!"

You could faintly hear Tia's animated responses. Your friend might be questioning your judgment, but she'd never let Jade down.

"I know! It's gonna be the best day ever!" Jade spun in an excited circle, nearly dropping the phone. "Auntie Tia wants to talk to you again," she said, thrusting the device back at you before racing off toward her room. "I gotta get ready!"

"She sounds thrilled," Tia said dryly when you put the phone back to your ear. "Ten bucks says she's wearing mismatched socks and her shirt inside out when she comes back."

"Yeah." You watched your daughter disappear around the corner, a tornado of energy and joy. "How am I supposed to take that away from her?"

"You're not," Tia sighed. "Which means you're going to the clinic, and I'm canceling my spa appointment to be on standby for emotional support ice cream and/or bail money."

You looked down at your list one more time before crumpling it into a ball.

"I guess I am."

"For what it's worth," Tia said, her voice serious now, "I think maybe it's time. Five years is a long time to keep a secret this big. And Jake deserves to know he has a daughter."

"I know," you admitted, the words barely audible. "That's the part that terrifies me."

From down the hall came the sounds of drawers being flung open and Jade's voice singing a made-up song about soccer balls.

"What if he hates me, Tia? For keeping her from him?"

"Then he's an idiot," Tia said firmly. "And I'll personally come over there and kick Europe's favorite striker right in his professionally-insured shins. You did what you thought was best at the time. That's all any of us can do."

You took a deep breath. "I better go help Hurricane Jade get ready before she tears her room apart."

"Call me the second anything happens," Tia ordered. "And I mean anything. If he so much as looks at you funny, I want details. And remember, the mustache offer stands."

"I will. The calling part, not the mustache part."

"And hey," Tia added before hanging up. "For what it's worth, I think Jade's lucky to have you as her mom. No matter what happens today."

You ended the call and stared at the crumpled list on your counter. With trembling fingers, you smoothed it out one more time and added a final line at the bottom:

Reason #14: Because it's time.

-

The community soccer field had been transformed into what could only be described as organized chaos. Hundreds of children in various neon-colored jerseys darted between exasperated parents, volunteer coaches with clipboards, and portable equipment stations. Massive banners featuring the logo of Jake's European team fluttered in the breeze, and a professional photography setup had been assembled near midfield.

You gripped Jade's tiny hand a little too tightly as you approached the registration table, your stomach performing Olympic-level gymnastics. Despite your best efforts to dress inconspicuously—baseball cap pulled low, oversized sunglasses, plain t-shirt—you felt like you were wearing a neon sign that flashed "HIDING A SECRET CHILD."

"Mom! Mom! You're squishing my hand!" Jade protested, trying to wriggle free. "I need that hand for high fives!"

"Sorry, sweetheart." You loosened your grip slightly, though every instinct screamed to hold on tighter. Just ahead, two women in matching polo shirts were checking in participants.

You'd spent the entire drive rehearsing what you'd say. Hi, yes, Jade Sim. No relation to Jake Sim. Just a bizarre coincidence. Like how there are probably lots of Smiths who aren't related to Will Smith. Or how all those Kardashians probably have no connection to each other...

"Next please!" called one of the registration volunteers, a perky blonde with a tournament-level cheerful smile.

You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak, but Jade lunged ahead of you.

"I'm Jade Sim and I'm here to play soccer!" she announced at a volume that made several nearby parents turn. Your daughter had never mastered the concept of an "indoor voice," even when outdoors.

The volunteer's smile didn't falter as she scanned her list. "Sim... Sim... ah, here you are. Jade Sim, age five." She checked something off and reached for a smaller clipboard. "And we have your waiver form... perfect. Here's your name tag, and you'll be in Group C with Coach Marcus."

Jade accepted the sticker name tag with reverence usually reserved for Olympic medals, then immediately slapped it onto her jersey slightly crooked.

"Will the famous player see my group?" Jade asked, bouncing on her toes.

The volunteer's smile somehow brightened even further. "Jake will be rotating through all the groups today. Everyone gets a chance to meet him." She looked up at you. "You can drop her with Group C over by the yellow cones, and parents can watch from the sidelines. We'll have a photo and autograph session at the end."

You nodded, unable to find your voice. This was really happening.

"Come on, Mom!" Jade tugged you toward the field, her excitement generating enough energy to power a small city. "I wanna be first in line!"

As you made your way across the field, you scanned the area for any sign of Jake. There was a small crowd gathered near a tent at the far end—probably where he was waiting. You let out a shaky breath. Maybe you could just drop Jade off, blend in with the other parents, and somehow avoid—

"Look Mom! I see him! I see him!" Jade shrieked, jumping up and down while pointing wildly.

And there he was.

Five years hadn't changed him as much as you'd expected. Same athletic build, same confident stride as he emerged from the tent surrounded by handlers and field staff. He wore his team's training kit, the number 10 emblazoned on his back—the same number that had been on the jersey he'd given you years ago, the one now hidden in the back of your closet.

Even from a distance, you could see his smile—that devastating combination of boyish charm and movie-star charisma that had magazines calling him "soccer's newest heartthrob." The same smile Jade had flashed at you this morning over breakfast.

"He's so cool!" Jade whispered in what she clearly thought was a whisper but was actually at normal human speaking volume. "I bet he can do a bazillion tricks!"

You swallowed hard. "I'm sure he can. Come on, let's find your group."

As you guided Jade toward the yellow cones, you pulled your cap lower and angled your body away from Jake's direction. Group C was already forming, about twenty children ranging from four to six years old, all vibrating with similar levels of excitement to Jade.

"Hi there!" A young man with curly hair and a whistle approached. "I'm Coach Marcus. Who do we have here?"

"Jade Sim!" your daughter announced before you could speak, thrusting out her hand for an aggressive handshake like you'd taught her. "I can kick with both feet!"

Coach Marcus's eyebrows lifted a fraction as he heard the last name, his eyes darting quickly to you, then back to Jade. "That's... impressive. Both feet, huh? Well, we'll definitely put that to the test today." He crouched down to Jade's level. "Any relation to our special guest?"

Your heart stopped.

"Who's the special guest?" Jade asked, genuinely confused.

Relief washed over you. Of course—you'd been so careful never to mention Jake's name around her, never to let her see his games on TV. She had no idea that she shared a last name with the soccer star she was so excited to meet.

"Jake Sim," Coach Marcus said, looking between you and Jade with obvious curiosity. "The professional player who's running the clinic today?"

Jade's eyes went comically wide. "We have the same last name? That is so cool! Mom! Did you hear that? I have the same name as a famous soccer player! Maybe we're related!"

Several nearby parents turned to look. A few were now staring with undisguised interest.

"It's a common name," you said quickly, your voice higher than normal. "Very common. In certain... regions."

Coach Marcus didn't look convinced but thankfully didn't pursue it. "Right! Well, parents can wait over by those bleachers. We'll get started with some basic drills, and Jake will make his way to our group in about twenty minutes."

"Can I stay with her?" you asked, desperate not to leave Jade. "She's never done one of these before, and she might get nervous—"

"I don't get nervous!" Jade proclaimed, already backing away from you toward the other kids. "I'm going to show him my special kick!"

Coach Marcus smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, we've got plenty of volunteers helping out. She'll be fine. Parents actually tend to be a bit distracting for the kids."

You had no choice. With a final reluctant wave to Jade, who was already introducing herself to every child in a five-foot radius, you retreated to the parent area.

The next fifteen minutes were torture. You sat rigid on the edge of the bleachers, alternating between watching Jade (who was currently demonstrating what appeared to be a dance move involving pretending to juggle invisible soccer balls) and nervously tracking Jake's progress through the groups.

He was currently with Group A, showing a technique for dribbling around cones. Even from a distance, you could see how natural he was with the kids—patient, encouraging, that infectious energy drawing them in. He high-fived a small boy who completed the drill, and the child looked like he might never wash that hand again.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Tia:

Has The Dimple Recognition Incident happened yet? Do I need to deploy the mustache?

Despite your anxiety, you smiled, typing back:

Not yet. He's working his way over. Jade just found out they have the same last name and announced it to everyone within earshot.

Three dots appeared immediately, then:

Of course she did. She's a mini nuclear reactor of chaos energy. Just like her dad.

The reminder made your stomach twist again.

You looked up just in time to see Jake finishing with Group B. Which meant he was heading to Group C next. To Jade.

Ten steps. He was ten steps away from discovering he had a daughter.

You couldn't breathe.

Jake jogged over to Group C, high-fiving Coach Marcus. Even from the distance, you could hear his laugh—that same warm sound that used to be the soundtrack to your happiest memories. The children immediately swarmed around him like excited puppies, and he knelt down to get on their level.

Jade, never one to wait her turn, pushed her way to the front of the group.

"Hi! I'm Jade Sim! We have the same last name! That's so cool! Can you show me how to do a bicycle kick? I've been practicing but I always fall on my butt!"

Time seemed to stop.

You watched as Jake's expression shifted from his standard friendly smile to puzzlement. He looked at Jade more closely, taking in her features. The dimples. The eyes. The way she couldn't stand still, shifting from foot to foot with excess energy.

"Sim?" he repeated, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet. "Your last name is Sim?"

"Yep!" Jade nodded vigorously. "Just like you! Mom says it's a common name, but I've never met another Sim before, so I think it's special!"

Jake seemed to forget the other children momentarily, his focus entirely on Jade now. "How old are you, Jade?"

"I'm five! Almost five and a half! My birthday is January 22nd!" She held up one hand, fingers splayed wide. "I've been playing soccer since I was three!"

January 22nd. Exactly five years and nine months after you and Jake had said goodbye at the airport.

You could see the math happening behind his eyes, the calendar flipping in his mind. The color drained from his face so quickly several nearby parents glanced at him in concern.

"And... what's your mom's name?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Before Jade could answer, Coach Marcus stepped in, clearly sensing something was off. "Hey, why don't we get started with some passing drills? Everyone line up behind the blue cone!"

The children scrambled to follow directions, but Jake remained frozen in place, his eyes now scanning the parent area. Searching.

You should have run. You should have hidden. You should have done anything except sit there like a deer in headlights.

His eyes found yours.

Recognition dawned instantly, followed by shock, confusion, and something else—something that made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

Five years evaporated in a second.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Jake stood slowly. All around him, children were lining up, coaches were arranging drills, parents were chatting—but between you and Jake, the world had gone silent.

Then Jade's voice cut through everything:

"That's my mom over there! Mom! Come meet Jake Sim! We have the same last name!"

Jake's gaze shifted from you to Jade, then back to you. And in that moment, you saw it happen—the connection being made, the pieces falling into place. His expression transformed into one of absolute shock.

He swayed slightly on his feet.

"Jake? You okay, man?" Coach Marcus asked, noticing how pale he'd become.

Jake's mouth opened and closed without sound. He looked at Jade again—really looked at her—taking in her dimples, her eyes, the way she bounced on her toes exactly like he did before a big match.

"She's..." he whispered, but couldn't finish the sentence.

Jade tugged on his jersey. "Are you going to teach us the special kick now? I've been practicing!"

Jake's knees buckled.

He tried to grab onto Coach Marcus for support, missed, and went down hard on the turf. Several children gasped. A whistle blew somewhere.

"We need a medic!" someone shouted.

You were on your feet in an instant, rushing across the field as a small crowd gathered around Jake's collapsed form. Jade stood over him, looking concerned but also a little excited by the drama.

"Mom!" she called when she saw you. "The famous soccer player fainted! Is he okay? Did I say something wrong?"

You pushed through the circle of onlookers to find Jake flat on his back, eyes closed. A staff member was fanning him while another called into a walkie-talkie for the on-site medical team.

"Give him some space!" Coach Marcus was saying, trying to herd the children back.

Jake's eyelids fluttered, then opened. His gaze immediately locked onto yours, standing above him.

"You..." he managed weakly. "She's... is she...?"

Before you could answer, medical staff arrived with a stretcher. Jake struggled to sit up, still staring at you and Jade.

"Sir, please stay down," a paramedic instructed. "You may have hit your head."

"I'm fine," Jake insisted, his voice stronger now as adrenaline kicked in. He couldn't take his eyes off Jade, who was watching the whole scene with fascination. "I just... I need to..."

He tried to stand again but swayed dangerously. Two staff members caught him by the arms.

"Let's get you to the medical tent," one said firmly.

As they began leading him away, Jake looked back over his shoulder at you, his expression a storm of emotions.

"Wait!" he called out. "I need to talk to—"

"You can talk after we make sure you're okay," the paramedic interrupted.

You stood frozen, Jade's hand in yours, as they escorted Jake toward the medical tent. All around you, parents and children were whispering, phones were out recording, and you knew this incident would be all over social media within minutes.

"Mom," Jade tugged at your hand. "Why did he faint? Is he sick?"

Your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Tia. You could almost hear her saying "I told you so" already.

"I think," you said quietly to Jade, "he was just very surprised about something."

"About what?" Jade asked, her face scrunched in confusion.

You looked toward the medical tent where Jake had disappeared, then down at your daughter—his daughter—with his dimples and his smile and his boundless energy.

"About you, sweetheart. About you."

-

The staff area behind the main tent was hardly private—just a cordoned-off section of the parking lot with a few folding tables and chairs—but at least there weren't two hundred people watching. The clinic had ended fifteen minutes ago, most families already dispersed to their cars, children clutching signed photographs and participation certificates.

You stood with Jade's hand firmly in yours, your heart hammering against your ribs. After Jake's collapse on the field, you'd nearly fled, grabbing Jade and making a run for your car. But a polite yet insistent man in an expensive suit had intercepted you, introducing himself as Jay Park, Jake's manager.

"Mr. Sim would like a moment of your time after the event," he'd said with practiced smoothness. "He was particularly impressed with your daughter's enthusiasm."

The look in his eyes told you he knew exactly who Jade was.

Now you waited, Jade bouncing on her toes beside you, completely oblivious to the life-altering moment that was about to unfold.

"Mom, did you see me score two goals?" she asked for the third time. "And the famous player said my kick was really good!"

"I saw, sweetheart," you managed, scanning the area nervously.

"But then he got sick and had to leave," Jade continued, her face scrunching with concern. "Is he feeling better now? Coach Marcus said sometimes grown-ups get too hot and need to rest."

Before you could answer, movement caught your eye. Jake was approaching, still in his training kit but with a team jacket thrown over it. Beside him walked Jay, whose expression wavered between professional detachment and barely contained curiosity as he glanced between Jake and Jade.

Five years evaporated in an instant. Jake looked both exactly the same and completely different—still the man you'd known, but with something harder in his eyes, something that spoke of stadiums and spotlights and a life lived very far from yours.

Jade noticed them at the same moment you did. "Look! It's him! He's better!" She tugged at your hand. "Can I go say hi? Please, please, please?"

You couldn't find your voice. Jake was close enough now that you could see the storm of emotions on his face as he looked at Jade—wonder, confusion, hurt, and something that might have been joy fighting through the shock.

As they reached you, Jay leaned in toward Jake, his voice low but not quite low enough to miss.

"Jade and Jake. Her name's literally yours with one letter different. How original."

Jake shot him a warning look before turning his attention fully to you and Jade.

"I'll be right over there if you need anything," Jay said, not specifying which of you he was addressing, before walking toward the main tent with a final curious glance at Jade.

And then it was just the three of you.

"Hi again!" Jade broke the silence, her natural exuberance undimmed by the tension crackling between the adults. "I'm really glad you're not sick anymore! Mom says sometimes people faint when they get a big surprise. Did you get a surprise?"

Jake's eyes darted to you, then back to Jade. He crouched down to her level, a movement so natural it made your chest ache.

"I did get a surprise," he said softly. His voice—that voice you'd tried so hard to forget—sounded thick with emotion. "A really big one."

"Was it a good surprise or a bad surprise?" Jade asked, head tilted with curiosity.

Jake's smile was immediate, genuine despite the circumstances. "It was a good surprise. The best surprise I've ever had, actually."

Jade beamed at him, dimples appearing in the exact same places as his. "I like surprises too! Especially birthday surprises. My birthday is in January and I'm going to be six!"

"January 22nd," Jake said automatically, then glanced up at you. "You mentioned that earlier."

You nodded silently, feeling like you might be sick.

"How did you know that?" Jade asked, eyes wide. "Are you psychic? My friend Emma says she's psychic but she can never guess what card I'm holding."

Jake looked at a loss for how to answer, his confident demeanor faltering. He glanced at you again, a silent question in his eyes.

"Jade, baby," you finally found your voice. "Why don't you go check out the snack table over there? I think they have cookies left."

"Cookies?" Jade's priorities immediately shifted. "Can I have two?"

"Just one for now," you said. "And stay where I can see you, okay?"

"Okay!" She started to race off, then stopped and turned back to Jake. "Thank you for teaching us cool soccer moves today! I'm going to practice every day until I can bend the ball just like you showed us!"

Jake looked like he might break apart right there. "You're welcome, Jade. And... you were really good out there. You're a natural."

She glowed at the praise before darting toward the snack table, already calling out to one of the volunteers about the promised cookies.

"Five years," Jake said quietly, once she was out of earshot. He stood to his full height, facing you directly for the first time. "Five years."

"Jake—"

"She's mine." It wasn't a question. "She's my daughter."

You nodded, your throat tight. "Yes."

"And you didn't think that was something I deserved to know?"

The hurt in his voice was worse than if he'd shouted. You'd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in your head, prepared dozens of explanations, justifications. But now, faced with the reality of Jake standing before you, devastated by the secret you'd kept, all your carefully planned words abandoned you.

"I was going to tell you," you finally managed. "In the beginning. But you had just signed with the team in Europe. It was everything you'd ever wanted—"

"Not everything," he cut in. "Not by a long shot."

You pressed on. "I found out I was pregnant two weeks after you left. The long-distance thing was already so hard. We were already fighting about whether I would eventually join you or you would come back. I didn't want to add this pressure."

"So you decided not to tell me I was going to be a father? That was your solution?" The quiet control in his voice was slipping. "Did you think I wouldn't want to know?"

"I was going to tell you after you got settled," you continued, the words coming faster now. "But then there were complications with the pregnancy. The doctor put me on bed rest. I was scared, Jake. And you were so far away, already becoming this huge star, and I just... I didn't want to be the reason you gave everything up."

"That wasn't your decision to make." The muscle in his jaw ticked. "It should have been our decision. Together."

"I know that now," you admitted. "But by the time Jade was born, months had passed. You were all over the sports news, dating celebrities, living this life that seemed a universe away from midnight feedings and diaper changes. I convinced myself it was too late."

Jake ran both hands through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "So what was your plan? Never tell me? Let her grow up not knowing who her father is? What happens when she's older and sees me on TV? Or finds articles about me online?"

"I don't know," you confessed. "I've been figuring it out as I go. I never expected... this." You gestured vaguely at the soccer field. "When her school announced this clinic, I almost kept her home. But she was so excited, and I thought... what are the chances you'd even notice her among hundreds of kids?"

"Pretty good, apparently, when she has my face and my last name," Jake said with a mirthless laugh. "Why does she have my last name if you were never going to tell me about her?"

You looked away. "We were engaged, Jake. I was already using Sim half the time. And I guess... I wanted her to have that connection to you, even if she didn't know it."

Jake fell silent, his gaze drifting to where Jade was happily munching on a cookie, chatting with animated hand gestures to the volunteer. His expression softened instantly, the anger temporarily giving way to wonder.

"She's incredible," he said quietly.

"She is," you agreed. "She's smart and funny and kind. And she's obsessed with soccer, which I swear has nothing to do with me. That's all you. It's in her DNA or something."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The way she moves on the field... even untrained, she has instincts."

"She practices every day in our backyard. Drives the neighbors crazy."

The moment of connection flickered between you, then faded as reality reasserted itself.

"What happens now?" Jake asked, his voice lower. "Because I need you to understand something. I'm not walking away. Not again. Not from her."

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means I'm her father, and I want to be part of her life."

"You live in Europe, Jake. Your life is press conferences and training sessions and traveling for matches. How exactly do you see this working?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Together. Like we should have five years ago."

Before you could respond, a small blur of energy crashed into Jake's legs.

"The cookies are so good!" Jade announced, beaming up at him. "Do you want one? I saved half for you because Mom says sharing is caring."

Jake looked momentarily stunned by the casual physical contact, by this child—his child—offering him a slightly mangled cookie with the same open-hearted generosity he remembered from you.

"I'd love one," he said, crouching down again to accept the offering. "Thank you, Jade."

"You're welcome!" She watched intently as he took a bite. "Good, right?"

"The best cookie I've ever had," he said seriously.

Jade nodded, satisfied with his assessment. "Mom, can we show Jake my trophy? The one I got at mini-league last month? I scored three goals in one game!"

Jake's eyes shot to you, another piece of his daughter's life he'd missed falling into place.

"Jade, honey," you began carefully. "Mr. Sim probably has to get going. He's very busy and—"

"Actually," Jake interrupted, "I'd really like to see that trophy sometime."

Jade's entire face lit up. "You could come over to our house! We have a soccer goal in the backyard and everything! Mom could make her special pasta! She only makes it for very important occasions."

The hopeful look on Jake's face was almost as hard to resist as Jade's. You felt cornered, events spiraling beyond your control.

"Maybe someday," you said vaguely.

"How about tomorrow?" Jake suggested, his eyes never leaving yours, challenge evident in them.

"Yes!" Jade bounced with excitement. "Tomorrow! Please, Mom? Please?"

You looked between them—the identical hopeful expressions, the same dimples, the same way of leaning forward slightly when anticipating something.

This was it. The moment your carefully constructed world collapsed. The moment your daughter's life changed forever. The moment you had to face the consequences of a decision made five years ago.

"Okay," you finally said. "Tomorrow."

Jake's expression was unreadable—a complex mix of triumph, hurt, anticipation, and lingering anger. "I'll bring dessert," he said simply.

Jade cheered, already firing questions at Jake about his favorite foods, favorite colors, whether he liked movies about talking animals. He answered each one with a patience and focus that belied the emotional tsunami he must be experiencing.

Over Jade's head, his eyes met yours—intense, determined, and filled with a silent promise that tomorrow would only be the beginning.

The fairy tale you'd told yourself—that you could keep Jade's paternity secret forever, that your paths would never cross with Jake's again—had crumbled in the space of a single afternoon.

Tomorrow, Jake Sim would walk back into your life.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

-

By the time the doorbell rang at 6:02 PM, you'd changed your outfit four times, cleaned the entire house twice, and nearly canceled the whole thing approximately seventeen times. Only the memory of Jade's excitement—she'd spent the morning making a welcome sign decorated with wobbly soccer balls—had stopped you from texting Jake with some hastily constructed emergency.

"He's HERE!" Jade shouted from the living room, where she'd been perched by the window for the last forty-five minutes. She raced to the door, skidding across the hardwood in her socks, her special occasion dress (chosen after trying on her entire wardrobe) fluttering behind her.

"Wait, Jade—" But she was already yanking the door open, your warnings about stranger danger apparently forgotten in her excitement.

"Hi Jake!" she beamed, bouncing on her toes. "You're right on time! Mom said you'd be here at six and it's six! I've been waiting forever!"

You rounded the corner from the kitchen to find Jake standing in your doorway, looking simultaneously at ease and completely out of place. He'd traded his athletic gear for dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt, but even dressed casually, there was something about him that screamed 'professional athlete.' Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the watch that probably cost more than your car.

"I brought dessert," he said, holding up a bakery box. His eyes found yours over Jade's head, and the careful neutrality in his expression told you he was still processing everything. Still upset.

"And flowers!" Jade pointed out, noticing the bouquet in his other hand. "Are those for Mom? They're so pretty!"

"They are." Jake handed the bouquet to you with a formality that made your chest ache. Gone was the man who used to bring you wildflowers picked from the side of the road, who once filled your apartment with paper flowers he'd made himself when he was broke and couldn't afford real ones. "Thank you for having me over."

The subtext was clear: Thank you for finally allowing me into my daughter's life.

"Come in," you managed, stepping aside. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Jake, do you want to see my room?" Jade grabbed his hand without hesitation. "I have a whole wall of soccer stuff! And my trophy! And my cleats collection! And—"

"Jade," you interrupted gently. "Let's give Jake a minute to get settled first."

"It's okay," Jake said, his eyes softening as he looked at Jade. "I'd love to see your room."

"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist in victory, then tugged Jake down the hallway. "It's this way! The one with the stars on the door! Mom painted them for me because stars are my second favorite thing after soccer!"

You watched them go, Jake's tall frame following your daughter's bouncing form, and felt a wave of emotion so complex you couldn't even name it. Setting the flowers aside—you'd find a vase later—you retreated to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations and gather your thoughts.

Through the walls, you could hear Jade's excited chatter and Jake's deeper responses, though you couldn't make out the words. Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen. Just as you were about to call them for dinner, they reappeared in the kitchen doorway.

Jake's expression had changed. There was still a tightness around his eyes, but something else had softened. He was holding a small framed photo—the one from Jade's nightstand of her third birthday, blowing out candles on a soccer ball cake, her face lit with delight.

"Jade was just showing me her... everything," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "She's got quite the medal collection already."

"Mini league championships," you explained, busying yourself with the pasta. "Her team won last season."

"I showed him my scrapbook too!" Jade announced, climbing onto her usual chair at the kitchen table. "The one with all my important memories!"

Your stomach dropped. The scrapbook had photos from every stage of Jade's life—the hospital, her first steps, first day of preschool—all the moments Jake had missed.

"It was very impressive," Jake said, setting the photo down on the counter. His eyes never left yours. "Very thorough."

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Jade remained blissfully oblivious, swinging her legs and arranging her silverware just so.

"Dinner's ready," you announced, grateful for the distraction. "Jade, can you get the water pitcher from the fridge?"

The meal itself was painfully awkward, saved only by Jade's non-stop commentary. She told Jake about her teacher, her best friend Emma, how she wanted to be a professional soccer player and a veterinarian and maybe an astronaut. Jake listened attentively, asking questions, smiling at her jokes, even as you felt his attention split between Jade's stories and the questions he clearly wanted to ask you.

"—and that's why I'm not allowed to bring frogs in the house anymore," Jade concluded one particularly animated story that you'd only half-heard. "Right, Mom?"

"Right, honey," you confirmed automatically, though you'd missed most of the context.

"Speaking of rules," Jake said, seizing the opening, "I'd love to know more about Jade's routine. What time does she usually go to bed? What's her favorite subject in school? Is she allergic to anything? Does she have any medical conditions I should know about?"

The rapid-fire questions had an edge to them, reminding you that this pleasant dinner was just the surface. Underneath lay five years of absence he was determined to make up for in a single evening.

"I go to bed at eight on school nights and eight-thirty on weekends!" Jade answered before you could speak. "And my favorite subject is P.E., obviously. But I also like art because we get to use glitter sometimes."

"Any allergies?" Jake pressed, looking at you now.

"No allergies," you said quietly. "She had some respiratory issues as a baby—croup that turned into pneumonia when she was about eighteen months. She was hospitalized for three days. But she's been healthy since then."

Something flashed across Jake's face—pain, anger, maybe both. Another crisis he hadn't been there for.

"I was really sick," Jade confirmed solemnly. "Mom slept in the hospital with me and everything. But I don't remember it because I was too little."

"I see." Jake took a careful sip of water.

"I'll put together a file for you," you offered, trying to defuse the tension. "Medical records, school reports, everything."

"That would be... helpful," he acknowledged, though his tone suggested it was the bare minimum.

The conversation shifted to safer topics through the rest of dinner, though you caught Jake studying Jade's mannerisms with an intensity that suggested he was cataloguing every detail, making up for lost time. The way she talked with her hands when excited—just like him. The way she tilted her head when considering a question—also like him. The dimple that appeared on only one cheek when she gave a half-smile—unmistakably his.

After dinner, Jade insisted on showing Jake her soccer skills in the backyard. You watched from the kitchen window as she demonstrated her "special move," a surprisingly coordinated series of dribbles ending with a shot on the small goal set up against the fence. Jake crouched beside her, making subtle adjustments to her form, and you could see Jade soaking up every word like a sponge.

They were so alike it was almost painful to watch.

When they came back inside, you had dessert set out—the chocolate cake Jake had brought, sliced and plated.

"Jade, after dessert it's bath time," you reminded her.

"But Jake just got here!" she protested. "Can't I stay up extra late? It's a special occasion!"

"Actually," Jake interjected, "I was hoping I could talk to your mom alone for a bit after you go to bed."

The way he said it made your pulse quicken. The temporary truce established during dinner was about to end.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" Jade asked, looking up at Jake with chocolate-smeared cheeks and hopeful eyes. "You could teach me more soccer moves! And meet my stuffed animals! You only met half of them!"

Jake glanced at you, a challenge in his eyes. "That depends on what your mom and I discuss tonight."

"Please, Mom?" Jade turned those same hopeful eyes on you. "Can Jake come back tomorrow? And the next day? And the next day?"

"We'll see, sweetheart," you said, avoiding both their gazes. "Let's finish dessert first."

An hour later, after Jade's bath, two bedtime stories (one read by Jake at Jade's insistence), and finally getting her to sleep (complicated by the excitement of having a visitor), you returned to the living room to find Jake standing by your bookshelf, examining the framed photos.

"She's finally asleep," you said, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"Answers," Jake replied without turning around. "I want answers."

You sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "Ask whatever you want to know."

Now he did turn, fixing you with a stare that pinned you in place. "Why didn't you tell me? The real reason. Not what you think I want to hear, not what you've told yourself. The truth."

You took a deep breath. "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of everything. Of telling you and having you resent us for complicating your new life. Of telling you and having you give up your dream to come back. Of raising a child with someone living on another continent. Of what would happen to Jade if we tried and failed at making it work."

Jake crossed his arms. "So you decided the best solution was to just cut me out entirely? Not even give me the chance?"

"I told myself I was waiting for the right time," you admitted. "But the longer I waited, the harder it became to imagine how that conversation would go. Weeks turned into months, months into years. And then..."

"And then what? Five years passed and you thought, 'Well, too late now'?"

"It wasn't like that," you protested, though part of you knew he wasn't entirely wrong. "Every birthday, every milestone, I thought about telling you. I almost did, countless times."

"But you didn't." His voice was flat. "Instead, you named her after me, gave her my last name, and kept her a secret. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To discover you have a five-year-old daughter who knows every Disney movie by heart but doesn't know who her father is?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears threatening. "I know that doesn't fix anything, but I am."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "She has a whole life I know nothing about. First words, first steps, first day of school—all of it, gone. I can never get that back."

"I know," you said, your voice small. "And that's on me."

He paced across the living room, energy radiating off him in waves. "What have you told her about me? About her father?"

"Not much," you admitted. "That her dad is a soccer player who lives far away. That he's not part of our lives. She started asking more questions recently, but I've... deflected."

"So when were you planning to tell her the truth? When she's ten? Fifteen? When she googles me one day and puts it together herself?"

The question hit you like a physical blow because you had never had a good answer for it, even in your own mind. "I don't know," you confessed. "I should have had a plan, but I didn't. I just kept pushing it off."

Jake stopped pacing and fixed you with a stare. "Well, time's up. Because I want to be in her life—fully, completely in her life. I want joint custody."

Your heart dropped. "Jake, you live in Europe. Your schedule is insane. How would that even work?"

"I'll figure it out," he said, with the same determination that had taken him from local soccer star to international phenomenon. "My contract has a clause about family emergencies. I can get time now, and when the season's over in three months, I'll have more flexibility."

"And then what? She shuttles back and forth between continents? That's not stability, Jake."

"And growing up without her father is?" he countered. "I missed five years. I won't miss any more."

"I'm not saying you can't be in her life," you clarified. "I'm saying we need to be realistic about what that looks like."

"Realistic," he repeated, the word sharp with disdain. "Was it 'realistic' when you decided not to tell me I had a daughter?"

You had no good answer for that.

"I want everything," Jake continued, his voice calmer but no less intense. "School records, medical history, photos, videos—everything from the last five years. I want to know her favorite foods, her fears, what makes her laugh, what comforts her when she's upset. I want to know what she was like as a baby, as a toddler, every stage I missed."

"Okay," you agreed quietly. "You can have all of that."

"And I want to tell her I'm her father. Soon. Not some vague 'someday' that never comes."

This made your chest tighten with anxiety. "Jake, we need to be careful about that. She's five. This is a lot for her to process."

"And whose fault is that?" The words hung in the air between you, sharp with accusation.

"Mine," you acknowledged. "But that doesn't change the fact that we need to handle this carefully for her sake."

Jake was silent for a long moment, conflict playing across his features. Finally, he let out a long breath. "Fine. We'll talk to a child psychologist, get professional advice on how to tell her. But it happens within the next month. I won't be a stranger to my own daughter any longer than necessary."

You nodded, relieved at this small concession. "That's fair."

"And in the meantime, I want to see her regularly. Every day while I'm in town, and we'll figure out video calls when I go back. I want to be at her games, her school events, everything I can possibly make."

"Of course," you said. "She'd love that."

Jake's expression softened marginally. "She's amazing," he said, almost to himself. "When she was showing me her room, the way she explained everything with such... enthusiasm. She's got this incredible energy."

"Gets that from you," you said without thinking. "She's been like that since she could crawl. Always moving, always excited about something."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The soccer obsession too?"

"One hundred percent you. I swear I never pushed it. She picked up a ball when she was two and that was it. Love at first kick."

For a moment, the tension between you eased, replaced by the shared wonder of the person you'd created together. Then reality reasserted itself.

"I'm still angry," Jake said quietly. "I don't know if or when that will change."

"I understand," you said, meaning it. "You have every right to be."

He checked his watch. "It's getting late. I should go. But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, like I promised Jade."

"Okay."

Jake moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing. I haven't told my parents yet. About Jade."

Your stomach dropped. Jake's parents had loved you once. You'd been planning a life together, marriage, family. How would they react to knowing you'd kept their grandchild from them for five years?

"When are you going to tell them?" you asked.

"Soon. They're flying in next week. I wanted to meet Jade first, to..." he trailed off, then finished, "to see for myself."

The implication stung, though you couldn't blame him. Of course he'd needed to confirm for himself that Jade was his.

"They'll want to meet her," he continued. "They have a right to know their granddaughter."

"Of course," you agreed, though the prospect filled you with dread.

Jake opened the door, then looked back at you one last time. "For what it's worth, you've done an amazing job with her. She's... perfect."

Before you could respond, he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

You sank back onto the couch, emotional exhaustion washing over you in waves. Through the half-open door of Jade's bedroom, you could see her sleeping peacefully, unaware that her world had just fundamentally changed.

Tomorrow, Jake would be back. He would continue piecing together the life of his daughter. And sooner than you'd ever planned, Jade would learn the truth: that the professional soccer player she'd been so excited to meet was her father.

The carefully constructed life you'd built was falling apart.

Or perhaps, a small voice in your mind suggested, it was finally coming together the way it should have been all along.

-

"Higher! You have to kick it higher!" Jade called from the backyard, hands on her hips in a pose of exaggerated exasperation that made her look startlingly like a miniature coach.

Jake laughed, adjusting his technique to send the soccer ball sailing high into the air. "Like this?"

"Perfect!" Jade's face lit up as she positioned herself beneath the descending ball, calculating its trajectory with surprising precision for a five-year-old.

You watched from the kitchen window, coffee mug clutched between your hands, as Jade attempted to trap the ball with her chest like she'd seen professional players do. Instead, it bounced off her head and rolled away, sending her into peals of laughter.

The day had started early—too early, with Jade bouncing into your room at 6:15 AM asking if it was "Jake time yet." When he'd arrived promptly at ten, she'd practically dragged him through the house to show him her new soccer cleats, her collection of medals ("Some of them are just for participating but these three are for winning"), and the scrapbook of soccer cards she'd been collecting.

Jake had brought a gift—a professional-grade junior soccer ball with the logo of his European team—which had immediately cemented his status as Jade's new favorite person.

"Mom!" Jade's voice pulled you from your thoughts as she raced toward the back door, Jake following at a more measured pace. "Jake says I have natural talent! That's a real thing that real coaches say!"

"Is that so?" you asked, unable to hold back a smile at her enthusiasm.

"It is," Jake confirmed, ducking slightly to enter through the back door. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his hair was charmingly disheveled from chasing after Jade for the past hour. "She has great instincts. Her spatial awareness is excellent for her age."

"I have special awareness," Jade repeated proudly, though clearly not understanding what it meant.

"Spatial," Jake corrected gently.

"That's what I said! Special!" Jade zipped past you to the refrigerator. "I need a juice box because athletes need to stay hydrated. Jake told me that's very important. Do you want one too, Jake? We have apple and grape and the gross one with vegetables that Mom thinks I don't know about."

Jake caught your eye over Jade's head, amusement dancing in his expression. "I'll take apple, thanks."

You'd expected today to be awkward, tense—a continuation of last night's emotional confrontation. Instead, Jade's presence had created a buffer, her boundless energy requiring both adults to focus on her rather than the complicated emotions between them.

"I was thinking we could all go to the park after lunch," you suggested, pulling sandwich ingredients from the refrigerator. "They have a bigger field there."

"Can we get ice cream after?" Jade asked immediately, strategic as always.

"We'll see," you answered automatically.

"That means yes," Jade stage-whispered to Jake. "It always means yes."

Jake's laugh was genuine, unguarded in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade was his daughter. "Good to know your negotiation tactics."

"What's nego... that word you said?"

"Negotiation. It means figuring out how to get what you want."

Jade nodded solemnly. "I'm very good at that. Mom says I should be a lawyer because I never stop arguing."

"I can see that," Jake said, accepting the juice box Jade thrust into his hands. "You make a strong case for ice cream."

"What's your favorite flavor?" Jade asked, climbing onto her chair at the kitchen table. "Mine's chocolate with the rainbow sprinkles. Sometimes I get it in a cone but that's messier."

Jake shook his head with a small smile. "I don't really eat ice cream much anymore. Sweet things aren't really my thing these days."

Jade looked absolutely horrified, as if he'd just admitted to not believing in gravity. "You don't like ice cream? But everybody likes ice cream!"

"My nutritionist has me on a pretty strict diet," Jake explained, clearly amused by her reaction. "Professional athletes have to be careful about what they eat."

"That sounds terrible," Jade declared with the dramatic conviction only a five-year-old could muster. "When I'm a professional athlete, I'm still going to eat ice cream. And cake. And cookies."

"That's exactly what your mom used to say about diets," Jake said before he could catch himself, glancing at you with sudden uncertainty.

But Jade just nodded enthusiastically. "Mom's really smart about desserts. We have the same taste buds."

You busied yourself making sandwiches, aware of Jake's eyes on you but not ready to meet his gaze. The ease with which he and Jade interacted was both heartwarming and painful—a glimpse of what should have been all along.

"Peanut butter and banana for Jade," you announced, setting a plate in front of her. "Turkey and cheese for the adults."

"Did you cut it in triangles?" Jade asked suspiciously, examining her sandwich.

"Would I dare serve it any other way?" You mock-gasped, hand over your heart.

Jade giggled. "You forgot once."

"And I'll never live it down, apparently," you said to Jake with an eye roll.

"Triangles taste better," Jade explained to Jake with the conviction of someone stating an irrefutable scientific fact. "Rectangles are just wrong."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jake said solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Lunch passed with Jade dominating the conversation, jumping from topic to topic with the frenetic energy that characterized everything she did. She told Jake about her best friend Emma, her teacher Ms. Rivera, the class pet frog she wasn't allowed to bring home ("Mom has a no amphibians rule, which is so unfair"), and her upcoming soccer tournament.

"Will you come to my game?" she asked Jake suddenly, mid-bite. "It's next Saturday. I'm number ten, just like your jersey! Mom got me that number special."

Your eyes met Jake's across the table, a silent exchange passing between you. That number hadn't been a coincidence, and you both knew it.

"I'd love to come to your game," Jake said, his voice warm but with an undertone only you would recognize—the weight of a father being invited to his daughter's game for the first time.

"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist victoriously. "You can meet my coach and my team and show them some of your special moves!"

"We'll see about that," you interjected gently. "Jake might want to just watch."

Jade looked scandalized. "But he's famous! Everyone will think it's so cool if he shows us stuff!"

"Let's talk about that later," you suggested, seeing Jake's expression grow more complex. Neither of you had discussed how to handle his public presence in relation to Jade—not to mention the questions that would inevitably arise if Europe's star striker started showing up at a five-year-old's soccer games.

After lunch, you all headed to the park as planned. Jade insisted on bringing her new soccer ball, clutching it to her chest the entire car ride while peppering Jake with questions from the back seat.

"Do you know how to do a rainbow kick? Can you teach me? How many goals have you scored? Have you ever broken a bone? My friend Tyler broke his arm falling out of a tree but I would never fall out of a tree because I'm a good climber, right Mom?"

You caught Jake's eye as he turned slightly in the passenger seat, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She never stops, you mouthed silently.

Just like me, he mouthed back, and something warm unfurled in your chest at the easy acknowledgment of the traits Jade had inherited from him.

At the park, Jade immediately dragged Jake to the open field, demanding he show her "professional tricks." A few other children gravitated toward them, drawn by Jade's enthusiasm and Jake's obvious skill as he demonstrated simple footwork patterns.

You settled on a nearby bench, allowing yourself a moment to simply observe. Jake was patient, breaking down movements into steps Jade could follow, praising her efforts even when she stumbled. When she finally managed a basic step-over move, his genuine pride matched her excitement.

"Mom! Did you see that? I did it just like Jake!"

"I saw, sweetheart! That was amazing!"

As the afternoon progressed, more children joined their impromptu clinic. Jake seemed in his element, guiding each child with the same attention he gave Jade. You noticed a few parents doing double-takes as they recognized him, whispering to each other and discreetly taking photos with their phones.

Eventually, Jade ran over to you, cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness. "This is the best day ever! Jake knows everything about soccer! And he likes all the same things I like! He even does the victory dance the same way I do! Watch!"

She demonstrated an elaborate celebratory move involving a spin and fist pump that was, indeed, eerily similar to Jake's signature goal celebration.

"That's amazing, honey."

"I didn't even show it to him, Mom! He just does it the same! Isn't that cool?"

"Very cool," you agreed, smoothing back her sweaty hair. "Are you ready for that ice cream now?"

"Yes! Jake, we're getting ice cream!" she called over her shoulder. 

Jake joined you, slightly out of breath but looking more relaxed than you'd seen him since his return. "Ice cream sounds perfect."

"Can I go on the swings first?" Jade asked, already edging toward the playground. "Just for five minutes?"

"Okay, but only five," you agreed, knowing full well it would be at least fifteen minutes before you'd successfully extract her.

As Jade raced off, you and Jake were left alone for the first time that day.

"She's incredible," he said, eyes following her across the playground. "I know I keep saying that, but..."

"She is," you agreed. "And she's completely taken with you."

Jake sat beside you on the bench, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful space between you.

"Thank you for today," he said quietly. "For letting me spend time with her."

"Of course. She's your—" You stopped, glancing around to make sure no little ears could overhear. "She's your daughter. You have every right to know her."

Jake's expression softened. "I was prepared to be angry today. To keep fighting about the past." He watched Jade swinging higher and higher, fearless as always. "But it's hard to stay angry when she's so... full of life."

"She has that effect on people," you said with a small smile. "It's impossible to be in a bad mood around Hurricane Jade."

"Wonder where she gets that from," Jake said, a hint of his old teasing tone returning.

"Oh, that's all you. The energy, the charm, the inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds—pure Sim genetics."

He laughed, and for a moment it was almost like before—before Europe, before the breakup, before five years of silence and secrets.

"I meant what I said earlier, about her having natural talent," Jake said, shifting the conversation back to safer territory. "With the right coaching, she could go far."

"I've tried to encourage it," you admitted. "Signed her up for every age-appropriate program I could find. But there's only so much I know about proper technique."

"I could help with that," Jake offered cautiously. "If you're okay with it."

"I'd like that," you said softly. "She would too, obviously."

A comfortable silence settled between you, both watching Jade as she abandoned the swings for the climbing structure.

"About last night," Jake began.

"I have all the photos and videos organized," you said quickly. "After Jade goes to bed, I can show you everything. Her first steps, first words, birthdays—all of it."

Jake studied your face for a moment before nodding. "I'd like that."

"MOM! JAKE! WATCH THIS!" Jade shouted from the top of the playground, preparing to slide down a pole firefighter-style.

You both instinctively tensed, ready to rush forward if needed, but she executed the move with practiced ease, landing triumphantly at the bottom.

"Your heart stops a dozen times a day with her," you murmured.

"I can see that," Jake said with a mixture of pride and newfound parental concern.

"Ice cream time?" Jade called, already running toward you.

"Ice cream time," you confirmed, standing from the bench.

"Can I get sprinkles and chocolate sauce?" Jade asked, slipping her small hand into Jake's automatically, as if she'd been doing it her whole life.

You saw Jake freeze for just a moment, staring down at their joined hands with an expression of wonder, before he gently squeezed her fingers in response.

"I think this counts as a special occasion," he said, looking to you for confirmation.

"A very special occasion," you agreed, your voice catching slightly as you watched your daughter walking hand-in-hand with her father for the first time.

Jade looked up at Jake with pure adoration. "I've had so much fun with you today! You're really good at everything I like to do. Mom says I'm picky about people, but I think you're the best."

"Well, that's quite a compliment," Jake said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think you're pretty great too."

"Can you come over again tomorrow? And the next day? And maybe forever?"

"Jade," you cautioned gently, seeing Jake's expression.

"I'll definitely come back tomorrow," Jake promised. "We still have a lot of soccer moves to practice."

"And then Mom can show you my baby pictures!" Jade said brightly. "I was super cute."

"Still are," Jake said, swinging their joined hands playfully.

As you walked behind them toward the ice cream stand, you watched Jake bend down to listen intently to whatever world-changing observation Jade was now sharing. Their matching profiles, the same animated way of speaking, the identical dimples when they smiled—it was like seeing double across a generation.

These were the moments you'd imagined in your quietest thoughts over the years, the ones you'd convinced yourself would never happen. Now that they were unfolding before your eyes, you found yourself fighting back unexpected tears.

Whatever happened between you and Jake, however complicated your own relationship might be, today had made one thing clear: Jade had found her father. And despite everything, he was already proving to be exactly what she needed.

The rest would have to be figured out one day at a time.

-

"Higher! Throw it higher!"

Jade's delighted squeals had faded an hour ago, replaced by the peaceful quiet of evening as you sat on your living room floor surrounded by photo albums, memory boxes, and a laptop open to years of digital archives. After a full day of Jake and Jade's energetic bonding, she'd finally crashed, falling asleep mid-sentence during her second bedtime story.

Now, in the hushed stillness, Jake sat across from you, cross-legged on the carpet, holding Jade's first pair of soccer cleats—tiny pink things she'd insisted on wearing everywhere, even to bed.

"She was two and a half when she got these," you explained, sorting through a box of keepsakes. "Saw them at the store and had an absolute meltdown until I bought them. They were two sizes too big."

Jake turned the miniature cleats over in his hands, his expression softening in a way it hadn't when discussing the more difficult aspects of your past. "She was walking by then. Running?"

"Running, jumping, climbing everything in sight. She was an early walker—ten months. Never crawled much." You hesitated before adding, "Just like you."

His eyes met yours, a flash of something—surprise, connection, hurt that he hadn't known this parallel—before returning to the cleats.

"I found it," you said, pulling out an external hard drive. "All the videos. I had everything digitized last year."

You connected it to your laptop, acutely aware of Jake moving closer, his shoulder nearly touching yours as he positioned himself to see the screen. The faint scent of his cologne—different from what he'd worn five years ago, but with the same underlying notes—stirred memories you'd tried hard to suppress.

"I organized it chronologically," you said, opening the earliest folder. "These are from the hospital."

Jake leaned forward, his breath catching as the first image filled the screen: a newborn Jade, red-faced and wrinkled, wrapped in a pink blanket.

"She was so small," he whispered.

"Six pounds, four ounces. Smaller than the doctors expected." You clicked to the next image. "Twenty hours of labor, and then she just... arrived. Changed everything in an instant."

Jake was silent, eyes fixed on the screen as you cycled through those first photos—Jade sleeping, Jade crying, Jade with eyes barely open. You in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant. Every image seemed to hit him like a physical blow.

"I wasn't there," he said quietly.

The accusation from before was gone, replaced by simple grief. You didn't know what to say, so you kept clicking through photos.

"Did you... was anyone with you? During the birth?"

"Tia," you answered. "She held my hand through the whole thing. Called me every name in the book when I refused the epidural at first."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Sounds like Tia."

You opened the video folder, hesitating over the first one. "This is her first day home. I was a mess, hadn't slept in days. It's not exactly America's Funniest Home Videos material."

"I want to see it," Jake said. "All of it."

You pressed play. The video showed your apartment—your old place, before you'd moved to the house—with baby items scattered everywhere. The camera shakily focused on a bassinet where Jade slept, then panned to you curled up on the couch, half-asleep yourself.

Tia's voice came from behind the camera: "And here we have the natural habitat of the New Mom, surrounded by burp cloths and takeout containers. Note the attractive milk stains on her shirt and the distinctive dark circles under her eyes."

In the video, you flipped off the camera without opening your eyes. "I will murder you in your sleep if you don't let me nap while she's napping."

"Just documenting the miracle of motherhood for posterity," Tia's voice singsonged. The camera moved back to Jade, who was beginning to squirm. "Uh oh, the tiny dictator awakens. Your public demands an audience, Your Majesty."

Present-day you cringed, reaching to skip ahead, but Jake gently caught your wrist. "Don't. I want to see."

On screen, you dragged yourself off the couch, hair a mess, wearing what were clearly Jake's old sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. You scooped up Jade, who immediately quieted against your chest.

"She knows her mama," Tia's voice said softly.

Video-you looked directly at the camera, eyes tired but determined. "We're figuring it out, aren't we, little one? Just you and me."

Jake's hand was still on your wrist, his touch burning against your skin. You felt him inhale sharply at your words in the video, felt the subtle tension through his shoulders.

"I should have been there," he said again, but the anger from before had transformed into something more complex—regret, loss, a quiet ache.

"You didn't know," you said softly, no longer defending yourself but simply stating a fact.

He let go of your wrist, his fingers lingering just a moment too long, sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. You clicked through more videos: Jade's first real smile, her first laugh, her determined attempts to roll over. Jake watched them all with fierce concentration, as if trying to absorb every moment he'd missed. He asked questions about each milestone—when, where, how—creating a mental timeline of his daughter's life.

"Wait—go back," he said suddenly when you clicked past a video thumbnail. "Was that...?"

You returned to the previous screen. "Ah. Her first birthday."

Jake pointed to the image. "Is that my jersey?"

Your cheeks warmed. The thumbnail clearly showed Jade sitting in a high chair, cake smeared across her face, wearing a tiny replica of Jake's national team jersey.

"She was going through a phase where she'd only wear red," you explained weakly. "It was the only red thing I could find in her size."

Jake gave you a look that said he didn't believe you for a second. "You kept track of my career."

It wasn't a question. You sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it.

"Yes. I followed your games when I could. Jade was too young to understand, but... I thought someday she should know what her father accomplished." You hesitated. "After you made the national team, I bought the jersey. She loved it—wouldn't take it off for days."

Something shifted in Jake's expression—a softening around the eyes, the faintest hint of the smile that used to make your heart race. Before he could respond, you quickly pressed play on the video.

Your living room filled with the sounds of "Happy Birthday" being sung off-key, followed by Jade smashing both hands into her birthday cake with wild abandon. The camera panned to show a small gathering—Tia, your parents, a couple of friends—but focused primarily on Jade, who was now wearing more cake than she'd eaten.

Jake leaned forward, transfixed by the sight of his daughter's joy. When the video ended, he didn't immediately speak, just stared at the frozen final frame of Jade grinning with chocolate-covered dimples.

"She looks exactly like you," you said without thinking.

"She has your eyes," he countered quietly. "Your laugh, too."

The observation surprised you. "You think so? Everyone always says she's your mini-me."

"There's a lot of you in her." Jake turned slightly, studying your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "The way she tilts her head when she's considering something seriously. The little crease between her eyebrows when she concentrates. That's all you."

You hadn't expected him to notice such details about you, let alone remember them after five years. The fact that he had been paying such close attention—not just to Jade, but to you—stirred something you'd long tried to suppress.

"I have more videos," you said, breaking the moment before it became too charged. "Her first steps are somewhere in here."

As you scrolled through folders, Jake reached for one of the photo albums on the floor. "What's this one?"

"Preschool years," you said, recognizing the cover. "Ages two to four."

He opened it carefully, turning pages with a gentleness that contrasted with his athletic build. Each new image seemed to fascinate him—Jade at the beach, Jade finger-painting, Jade dressed as a lion for Halloween.

"She's fearless," he observed, pausing on a photo of three-year-old Jade at the top of a playground structure clearly designed for older children.

"Terrifyingly so," you agreed. "I've gotten more gray hairs from her daredevil stunts than from anything else in my life."

Jake's finger traced the outline of Jade's face in the photo. "I used to drive my mom crazy climbing trees. The higher, the better."

"She does the same thing! Last summer, I found her three branches up in the neighbor's oak tree. Nearly had a heart attack."

He laughed, a genuine sound that caught you both by surprise. For a moment, the weight of the past five years seemed to lift slightly. Your eyes met, and for a heartbeat, you were back in your old apartment, planning weekend hikes and arguing over movie choices—before contracts and continents and complications.

"Here it is," you said, finding the video you'd been searching for. "First steps, thirteen months old."

Jake shifted closer as the video began playing. On screen, a wobbly Jade stood holding onto the edge of the coffee table, determination written across her tiny face.

Your voice came from behind the camera: "Come on, sweetheart. Come to Mama."

Jade looked directly at the camera, grinned her already mischievous grin, and took one tentative step away from the table. Then another. Three shaky steps before plopping down on her diaper-padded bottom.

"You did it!" your voice exclaimed as the camera shook with excitement. "Oh my god, you did it!"

The video captured you setting down the camera (showing a sideways view of the living room) and rushing to scoop up Jade, spinning her around as she giggled uncontrollably.

"We have to call Auntie Tia," your voice said. "She's not going to believe—" You stopped abruptly, and even in the awkwardly angled footage, your expression was clear: for a brief moment, you'd forgotten you couldn't share this milestone with Jake.

Present-day Jake noticed it too. His eyes shifted from the screen to your face, questioning.

"I almost called you," you admitted quietly. "So many times. Especially for the big moments."

"Why didn't you?" There was no accusation in his voice now, just a genuine need to understand.

You stared at the laptop screen, where the video had ended on a frame of you holding Jade close. "At first, it was all the reasons I told you before. Then... time passed, and it got harder to imagine how that conversation would go. 'Hi, remember me? Surprise, you have a one-year-old.'" You shook your head. "And then you became this massive star, and the gap between our worlds just seemed... unbridgeable."

Jake was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was different—less the angry man demanding answers, more the person you'd once known better than anyone.

"I would have come back. If I'd known."

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you," you said softly. "You would have given up everything you'd worked for. I couldn't do that to you."

"It wasn't your choice to make," he said, but the harsh edge from before was gone.

"No, it wasn't," you acknowledged. "And I can't change that now, no matter how much I wish I could."

Jake closed the photo album, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I've missed so much."

"You're here now," you offered. "And Jade already adores you."

"She doesn't even know who I really am to her."

"She will. Soon." You hesitated, then added, "For what it's worth, I think she's sensed something was missing. The last few months, she's been asking more questions about her father. It's like she knew something was about to change."

Jake's expression shifted as he processed this. "Kids are more perceptive than we give them credit for."

You nodded, thinking of how Jade had instantly connected with Jake, how natural they seemed together despite having just met.

A comfortable silence fell between you as Jake reached for another photo album, this one more recent. As he opened it, something slipped from between the pages—a small ultrasound image, creased from being handled many times.

Jake picked it up, staring at the grainy black and white image of Jade before she was Jade—just a tiny bean-shaped blob with the promise of a future.

"This was the first picture of her," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Twelve weeks."

Jake ran his thumb over the image. "I should have been there."

"I know."

"No, I mean—" He looked up, meeting your eyes directly. "I should have been there regardless. I shouldn't have left in the first place, pregnancy or not."

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy with implications.

"Jake—"

"I made a choice five years ago," he continued, his voice steady but vulnerable in a way you hadn't heard since the night before he left. "And even before I knew about Jade, I've questioned that choice more times than I can count."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "You never said anything."

"What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, I know we broke up and haven't spoken in years, but I think I made a mistake'?" He shook his head. "You'd moved on. At least, I thought you had."

"I had a child to raise," you said carefully. "That doesn't mean I moved on."

The air between you felt charged, years of unspoken words and feelings suddenly pressing close. Jake's eyes held yours, searching for something that made your breath catch.

"I used to check your social media," he admitted, looking away. "Not in a stalker way, just... I wanted to make sure you were okay. When I didn't see any posts about dating or... anyone new, I assumed you were just private about it."

"There wasn't anyone to be private about," you said quietly. "Between work and Jade, there wasn't time. At least, that's what I told myself."

Jake's eyes returned to yours, a question in them. "And the real reason?"

The honesty of the moment demanded truth in return. "No one compared. To what we had."

The space between you seemed to shrink, the ultrasound photo still held in Jake's hand—tangible evidence of everything that had been lost and found.

He reached out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. A gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest hurt.

"I've missed you," he said simply. "Not just as Jade's mother. As you."

The words unlocked something you'd kept carefully guarded. You leaned forward slightly, drawn by a gravity that had never fully released its hold on you.

Jake's gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might close the remaining distance between you. Instead, he drew back, though his eyes betrayed how much it cost him to do so.

"We should take this slow," he said, voice rough. "There's a lot we need to figure out first."

"I know," you said, both disappointed and relieved. "Jade comes first."

Jake nodded, though his eyes still held yours with an intensity that made your skin warm. "We need to get the father thing right before we complicate it with... anything else."

"Anything else," you repeated, the phrase heavy with possibility.

He smiled then, a real smile that reached his eyes and made him look more like the Jake you'd fallen in love with years ago.

"I should go," he said, setting the ultrasound photo carefully back in the album. "It's getting late, and I promised Jade I'd come watch her practice tomorrow."

"Of course," you said, standing up as he did.

At the door, he paused, his hand on the knob. "Thank you for tonight. For sharing all of that with me."

"It's only the beginning," you said. "There's a lot more to show you."

"I'm counting on it," he replied, his voice low with a promise that wasn't just about baby photos.

After he left, you stood in the hallway, heart racing with the realization that whatever had been between you and Jake might not be as buried in the past as you'd thought.

It would be complicated. There were a thousand reasons to be cautious.

But for the first time in five years, there was also hope.Chapter Seven: Soccer Practice

"And that's why the inside of your foot is better for passing," Jake explained patiently, kneeling beside Jade on the sidelines of the community soccer field. "It gives you more control."

"But power shots are with your laces, right?" Jade asked, examining her cleats as if they might hold the secrets of professional soccer.

"Right," Jake confirmed with a smile. "Laces for power, inside for accuracy."

You watched from the bleachers, pretending to focus on your phone while actually stealing glances at father and daughter. Jake had arrived at your house exactly as promised—fifteen minutes before Jade's practice—dressed casually in jeans and a plain t-shirt that somehow still managed to hint at the athletic build beneath.

The way your heart had jumped when you opened the door was concerning. Last night's almost-moment had shifted something between you, created an awareness that buzzed like electricity whenever you made eye contact.

"Jake!" Coach Russell called from the center of the field. "Would you mind demonstrating that passing drill we talked about?"

You tensed slightly. Jake had been recognized immediately upon arrival—of course he had, he was almost a household name in soccer circles—but so far he'd been treated with surprising normalcy by the coaching staff. You suspected they were professionals enough to contain their excitement for the sake of the children.

"Sure thing," Jake called back, giving Jade's shoulder a quick squeeze before jogging onto the field.

Several parents around you whispered excitedly, phones emerging from pockets and purses.

"That's really Jake Sim, right?" asked a mom to your left, leaning closer with conspiratorial eagerness. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it, but my husband is going to freak when I tell him."

"Um, yes," you confirmed, unsure how much to say. You and Jake hadn't discussed how to handle public interactions yet.

"Is he..." the woman hesitated, clearly fishing, "...scouting the team or something?"

Before you could form a response, another parent jumped in. "He's here with the Sim girl." He nodded toward Jade, who was watching Jake with undisguised adoration as he demonstrated proper passing technique to the team. "Same last name. Must be related."

Your stomach tightened. Of course people would make the connection. You should have prepared for this.

"I heard he's her uncle," a third parent contributed helpfully.

You nearly choked on your coffee.

"He's a... family friend," you managed, the half-truth feeling strange on your tongue. You'd been careful never to lie to Jade about Jake being her father, just... selective with details. But these were strangers, and you weren't ready for the inevitable questions that would follow the truth.

Thankfully, the parents seemed satisfied with this explanation and returned their attention to the field, where Jake was now lining up the children for passing practice. Jade bounced on her toes at the front of the line, practically vibrating with excitement.

"My daughter says Jade talks about him non-stop," the first mom said, eyes still on the field. "Since the clinic on Saturday, it's all been 'Jake showed me this' and 'Jake can do that.'"

You smiled despite your nerves. "She's pretty taken with him."

"I can see why," the woman said with a laugh. "If I were twenty years younger and single..." She trailed off, fanning herself dramatically.

You felt a strange flash of something that felt suspiciously like possessiveness.

On the field, Jake was crouching next to Jade, adjusting her stance with gentle hands as she prepared to demonstrate the drill. He said something that made her giggle, then stepped back as she perfectly executed the pass, earning cheers from her teammates.

The pure joy on both their faces made your chest ache.

For so long, you'd carried the weight of your decision alone, convinced you were protecting both Jake and Jade. Now, seeing them together, you wondered how much your fear had cost them both.

"He's great with kids," the mom beside you observed. "Does he have any of his own?"

The question hit like a physical blow. "I... I'm not sure," you stammered, the lie bitter on your tongue.

You were saved from further conversation by the coach blowing his whistle, signaling a water break. Jade immediately raced over, Jake following at a more measured pace.

"Mom! Did you see? I did the pass perfectly! Jake showed me how to position my foot and everything!"

"I saw, honey," you said, handing her a water bottle. "You looked like a pro out there."

Jade beamed, gulping down water with the same intensity she applied to everything.

"She's a quick learner," Jake said, approaching the bleachers. He kept a careful distance, but his eyes held the same intimate awareness that had charged the air between you last night. "Coach Russell says she's one of his most promising players."

"Is that why he asked her to demonstrate?" you asked. "I thought he was just being nice because..."

You trailed off, conscious of curious parents within earshot.

"Because I'm here?" Jake finished, lowering his voice. "No, he told me he'd already pegged her as a natural. Said she has better instincts than most kids twice her age."

Pride washed over you, along with the bittersweet realization that Jake was finally getting to experience these parental moments—the simple joy of hearing someone else praise your child.

"Jake! Are you going to stay for the whole practice?" Jade asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Coach says we're doing shooting drills next!"

"I wouldn't miss it," Jake promised.

"And then can we get ice cream again? You didn't get any yesterday because you said sweet things aren't your thing, but maybe today you could try just a little bit?"

Jake laughed, that full, unguarded sound that had been so rare in recent days. "We'll see what your mom says."

"Mom always says yes to ice cream," Jade stated confidently.

"That's not true," you protested, though all evidence was certainly against you.

Jade gave you a skeptical look that was pure Jake, down to the slightly raised eyebrow.

"Two minutes, everyone!" Coach Russell called. "Back to positions!"

"Gotta go!" Jade handed back her water bottle and raced off, nearly colliding with two teammates in her enthusiasm.

Jake took a step toward the bleachers, then hesitated, as if unsure whether he should join you or return to the sidelines. The moment stretched, charged with all the things left unspoken between you.

"You can sit," you said finally, patting the space beside you. "If you want."

He climbed up and settled next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful inch of space between you. Neither of you spoke for a moment, watching as the children lined up for shooting practice, Jade bouncing impatiently in the middle of the queue.

"About last night—" you both started simultaneously, then stopped.

Jake gestured for you to continue.

You took a deep breath. "I just... wanted to say that I appreciate how you are with her. How quickly you've adjusted to all of this."

It wasn't what you'd been planning to say at all. You'd meant to address the almost-kiss, the charged moment that had fundamentally shifted something between you. But the words wouldn't come.

"She makes it easy," Jake said, his eyes following Jade as she moved up in line. "She's so open. So accepting."

"She gets that from you," you said softly. "I was always the cautious one, remember?"

Jake's lips curved into a half-smile. "Is that how you remember it? Because I recall someone climbing onto the roof of my apartment building at midnight because they wanted to see the meteor shower from the 'perfect angle.'"

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks. "That was different. Astronomy requires commitment."

"Uh-huh." His smile widened, eyes still on the field but clearly seeing a different time, a different you. "What about the time you decided we should go cliff diving even though neither of us had ever done it before?"

"You didn't have to follow me," you pointed out, falling easily into the familiar rhythm of your old banter.

"Yes, I did." His voice turned serious, though the smile remained. "Always."

The simple word hung between you, heavy with meaning.

Before you could respond, a cheer went up from the field. Jade had just sent the ball sailing past the junior goalkeeper, then immediately launched into a celebration that was eerily similar to Jake's signature move.

"She watches your games," you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. "I saved them—the important ones. She doesn't know... who you are to her, but she's seen you play. I thought she should know what her father can do."

Jake turned to you, surprise and something softer in his expression. "Thank you," he said simply. "For that."

The moment stretched between you, fragile and significant.

"Mom! Jake! Did you see that?" Jade shouted from the field, breaking the spell. "I scored!"

"We saw!" you both called back in unison, then exchanged a quick smile at the synchronicity.

As practice continued, you found yourself relaxing into Jake's presence beside you. The conversation shifted to safer topics—Jade's school, her friends, her other activities—but beneath it ran a current of shared history and newly acknowledged feelings that neither of you seemed ready to fully address.

When practice ended, Jade ran to you both, sweaty and triumphant.

"Coach says I did really good today!" she announced, dropping her water bottle in her excitement. "Can we go for ice cream now? Please?"

Jake bent to retrieve the bottle, his shoulder brushing yours as he straightened. "I think you've earned it," he said, looking to you for confirmation. "If it's okay with your mom."

"Ice cream sounds perfect," you agreed, hyperaware of how close he stood, how domestic this moment felt—the three of you, a family for anyone watching.

And people were watching. Several parents were openly staring now, clearly trying to puzzle out the exact nature of your relationship to the famous soccer player who had spent the last hour focused exclusively on your daughter.

"Can Jake come back to our house after?" Jade asked, grabbing both your hand and Jake's without hesitation. "I want to show him my new library books. They're about space!"

The easy way she connected you physically, standing between you like a bridge, made your heart stumble.

"I'd like that," Jake said, his eyes meeting yours over Jade's head. "If your mom doesn't mind."

There was a question in his gaze, one that went beyond library books and ice cream.

"I don't mind," you said quietly, answering both the spoken and unspoken.

As the three of you walked toward the parking lot, Jade swinging your joined hands and chattering about which ice cream flavor best represented each planet in the solar system, you couldn't help but notice how right it felt.

How, despite five years of separation and secrets, you, Jake, and Jade had somehow fallen into the family rhythm that might have been yours all along.

It terrified you.

It exhilarated you.

And you weren't sure which feeling scared you more.

-

"Is she finally asleep?" Jake asked as you returned to the living room, wineglass in hand.

After ice cream and an enthusiastic tour of Jade's library books, your daughter had lobbied hard for Jake to stay for dinner. One homemade pasta later, he'd somehow been roped into bedtime story duty—a task he'd approached with the same focused determination he brought to professional matches.

"Three stories, two glasses of water, and one lengthy debate about why the moon doesn't fall out of the sky later—yes, she's out," you confirmed, sinking onto the couch beside him. "I'm pretty sure she was just trying to keep you here as long as possible."

"I don't mind," Jake said, accepting the glass of wine you offered. The soft lamplight caught the angles of his face, softening the features that had graced so many magazine covers. "Today was... good."

"It was."

A comfortable silence fell between you, punctuated only by the distant sound of crickets through the open window. The evening was unseasonably warm, and you'd kept the windows open to catch the spring breeze. Jake had discarded his jacket hours ago, his sleeves now rolled up to reveal forearms that spoke of years of athletic conditioning.

You took a careful sip of wine, hyperaware of his presence just inches away on the couch. Something had been building between you all day—a tension that simmered beneath every glance, every accidental touch.

"I should probably head out soon," Jake said, though he made no move to leave. "I've got a team call early tomorrow."

"Right," you nodded. "The charity match. How long until you have to..."

"Go back?" He finished your thought. "Ten days. Then the European tour picks up again."

The knowledge settled like a weight between you. Ten days before he returned to his other life—the stadiums, the fans, the world that had taken him away five years ago.

"Jade's going to miss you," you said, staring into your wine.

"Just Jade?"

You looked up to find him watching you, his expression open in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade's existence. The guarded anger had faded, replaced by something warm and familiar that made your heart skip.

"I think I might miss you too," you admitted quietly. "Which is probably a terrible idea."

Jake set his glass down, turning to face you more fully. "Why is that?"

"Because you're leaving in ten days. Because we have a five-year-old who's already getting attached to you. Because we haven't figured out what any of this means yet." You gestured vaguely between you. "Take your pick."

"What if I said I've been thinking about this—about us—since last night? Actually, if I'm being honest, longer than that."

Your pulse quickened. "Jake..."

"I know it's complicated," he continued, his voice low and earnest. "I know we have a lot to figure out. But I can't stop thinking about what you said—that no one compared. Because it's been the same for me."

The confession hung in the air between you, impossible to take back.

"You dated," you pointed out weakly. "I saw the tabloids."

A rueful smile crossed his lips. "Dating isn't the same as connecting. Trust me, Jay tried his best to set me up with everyone from models to athletes. Nothing stuck."

"Why not?"

His eyes met yours, dark and intent. "Because none of them were you."

The simplicity of the statement stole your breath.

"That's not fair," you whispered. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?" Jake shifted closer, the distance between you shrinking to mere inches. "It's the truth."

"Because we're supposed to be focusing on Jade. On being co-parents. On not complicating things further."

"And how's that working out for you?" he asked, his voice gentle but knowing.

You couldn't answer, caught in the gravity of his gaze. The truth was, from the moment he'd walked back into your life, all your careful boundaries had begun crumbling. Every smile, every shared look over Jade's head, every brush of fingers had been dismantling the walls you'd built around your heart.

"I haven't stopped thinking about last night," Jake said, his voice dropping lower. "About what almost happened."

Your eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips. "We agreed to take it slow."

"We did," he acknowledged. "And we should. But slow doesn't mean not at all."

He reached out, fingers trailing lightly along your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The simple touch ignited something that had been dormant for five years.

"Tell me to stop," Jake murmured, leaning closer. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll back off. We'll focus solely on Jade. Nothing more."

You should say it. You should establish clear boundaries, keep things simple, protect yourself from the inevitable pain when he returned to his life across the ocean.

Instead, you found yourself leaning toward him, drawn by a pull that had never truly released its hold.

"I can't," you whispered. "I've tried, but I can't."

His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip in a gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest tight. "Then don't try."

The first brush of his lips against yours was tentative, questioning. A heartbeat passed where you both hesitated on the precipice of something that couldn't be undone. Then, with a soft sound that might have been surrender, you leaned in, closing the final distance.

Five years evaporated in an instant.

His lips were as you remembered—firm, confident—but there was an edge of desperation that hadn't been there before. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, then his neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. He groaned softly, deepening the kiss as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

You'd forgotten how perfectly you fit together, how easily your body remembered his. The kiss intensified, years of separation and longing transforming into a physical need that threatened to consume you both. His hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair as he angled your head to deepen the connection.

"I've missed you," he breathed against your lips. "So much."

The words broke something open inside you—a dam of emotion you'd held back for Jade's sake, for your own protection. You responded by pressing closer, trying to convey through touch what you couldn't yet put into words.

Jake's hands were everywhere, relearning the curves and planes of your body with reverent attention. When his fingers skimmed the bare skin at your waist where your shirt had ridden up, you shivered, heat pooling low in your abdomen.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, pausing despite the obvious desire in his eyes.

You nodded, beyond words, and pulled him back to you. The kiss turned hungrier, more urgent. His body shifted, guiding you backward until you were half-lying on the couch, his weight a delicious pressure above you. The feeling of being surrounded by him—his scent, his warmth, his strength—was intoxicating.

His lips left yours to trace a path along your jaw, down the column of your throat. You arched into him, a soft gasp escaping when he found that sensitive spot just below your ear that he'd always known. He still remembered. After all this time, he still knew exactly how to unravel you.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, palms flat against the warm skin of his back. You could feel the new topography of his body—harder, more defined than before, testament to years of professional training. Yet underneath the changes was the same Jake, the man whose heartbeat you'd once fallen asleep to countless nights.

"You're even more beautiful," he whispered against your skin. "How is that possible?"

Before you could respond, a distant thump from down the hall froze you both. You listened, hearts racing for a different reason now, until the house settled back into silence. No patter of small feet, no curious voice calling out.

Jake pressed his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily. "That was..."

"Close," you finished, reality crashing back in. "Too close."

Reluctantly, he shifted his weight, helping you sit up though his hand remained intertwined with yours. The loss of contact left you feeling oddly bereft, your body still humming with unfulfilled desire.

"I should probably go," Jake said, though his eyes told a different story.

"Probably," you agreed, equally unconvincing.

Neither of you moved, caught in the aftermath of what had just happened and what had almost followed.

"This complicates things," you finally said, stating the obvious.

Jake's thumb traced circles on the inside of your wrist, sending renewed shivers up your arm. "I think things were already complicated. We're just admitting it now."

You couldn't argue with that. From the moment he'd locked eyes with you across that soccer field, something inevitable had been set in motion.

"What happens now?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just the remainder of the evening.

"Now," Jake said, raising your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles, "I'm going to leave before I lose the willpower to do so. But not because I want to."

The restraint in his eyes, the obvious tension in his body, sent another wave of heat through you. The knowledge that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him was both thrilling and terrifying.

"And tomorrow?" you pressed.

"Tomorrow I pick up Jade for the park like we planned. We keep building this—whatever this is—one day at a time." His eyes held yours, serious now. "I meant what I said about taking it slow, about doing this right. Jade comes first."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding despite the frustration still thrumming through your veins. "Jade comes first."

He stood, reluctantly releasing your hand. You followed him to the door, hyperaware of every movement, every glance. At the threshold, he turned back to you, his expression a mix of desire and something deeper, more profound.

"For the record," he said quietly, "I've never regretted anything more than walking away from you five years ago. And I don't intend to make the same mistake twice."

He forced himself to step back, putting a responsible distance between you.

"Goodnight," he said, the word carrying far more weight than its two syllables should allow.

"Goodnight," you echoed, leaning against the doorframe as he turned to leave.

He made it halfway down the front walk before stopping abruptly. You watched, confused, as he spun around and marched back to you with sudden determination. Before you could ask what he was doing, he leaned in quickly and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his expression was different—lighter, almost boyish, a glimpse of the Jake who existed before world tours and professional pressures. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, looking strangely pleased with himself.

"I forgot something," he said, his voice carrying a playful quality you hadn't heard in years.

"What was that?" you asked, unable to keep the smile from your own voice.

He shrugged, walking backward toward his car while maintaining eye contact. "Just making sure you don't forget about me before tomorrow."

The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet, so contrary to his usual composed demeanor, that you found yourself laughing—a genuine, surprised sound that seemed to delight him. In that moment, he wasn't international soccer star Jake Sim, but just Jake, the boy who used to leave silly notes in your textbooks and race you to the corner store for ice cream.

"As if that were possible," you called after him, feeling a rush of something light and warm in your chest.

He flashed you one more smile before getting into his car, and you remained in the doorway until his taillights disappeared down the street. Only then did you close the door, pressing your back against it, fingers touching your cheek where the innocent kiss still seemed to tingle.

The gesture had shifted something—added a dimension to the complicated tangle of desire, regret, and hope between you. Somehow, that simple kiss on the cheek felt more intimate than the passionate ones you'd shared earlier, a reminder of the many facets of the man you'd once known so well.

Ten days until he returned to Europe.

Ten days to figure out if what you'd just rekindled was strong enough to withstand the distance that had broken you before.

Ten days to decide if you were brave enough to risk your heart a second time.

-

"Dr. Winters thinks we should be straightforward but gentle," you explained, pacing the length of your kitchen. "No elaborate metaphors or complicated explanations."

Jake nodded, his fingers drumming nervously against the countertop. "Simple truth. I can do that."

A week had passed since that night on your couch—a week of soccer practices, ice cream trips, bedtime stories, and carefully controlled moments between you and Jake after Jade fell asleep. The tension between you had only grown, tempered by the mutual understanding that Jade's well-being came first.

Yesterday, you'd both met with Dr. Winters, a child psychologist who specialized in family transitions. She'd been reassuring, explaining that five was actually a good age for this revelation—young enough that Jade would adapt quickly, old enough to understand the basics of what it meant.

"She already adores you," you said, stopping your pacing to look at Jake. "That's half the battle."

"But what if knowing changes things?" Jake's concern was evident, the confidence he showed on the soccer field nowhere to be found. "What if she's angry we didn't tell her sooner?"

You crossed the kitchen to stand before him, surprised to find yourself in the position of reassuring Jake rather than the other way around. "She's five, not fifteen. And Dr. Winters said children this age are remarkably adaptable."

Jake took a deep breath, reaching for your hand. "I just don't want to mess this up."

"You won't," you said softly, squeezing his fingers. "We won't."

The sound of cartoons from the living room suddenly ceased. Jade had been given special permission for morning TV while the adults "talked about boring grown-up stuff" in the kitchen.

"Mom? Jake? Are you done with your meeting yet?" Jade called. "The show ended and I'm starving!"

You exchanged one final look with Jake—equal parts determination and terror—before calling back, "We're done, honey. Come on in. We want to talk to you about something."

Jade appeared in the doorway, still in her pajamas despite it being nearly noon. You'd deliberately kept the morning relaxed, following Dr. Winters' advice to have the conversation during a calm, unhurried time.

"Are we having pancakes?" she asked hopefully, climbing onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Because it's Sunday, and Sunday is sometimes pancake day."

"We can have pancakes," you agreed, taking the seat across from her while Jake settled beside you. "But first, we wanted to talk to you about something important."

Jade's expression immediately turned serious, her eyes darting between you and Jake with unexpected perception. "Is it about why Jake comes over all the time now?"

You blinked, surprised by her intuition. "Actually, yes. It is."

"I knew it," Jade said, nodding sagely. "Emma says when grown-ups have special friends, they spend lots of time together. Is Jake your special friend, Mom?"

Jake coughed, clearly trying not to laugh despite the gravity of the moment. You felt your cheeks flush.

"Jake is special to both of us," you said carefully, "but not exactly in the way Emma means."

"Jade," Jake began, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it. "Do you remember asking your mom about your dad? About where he was?"

Jade's eyes widened slightly, her full attention shifting to Jake. "Yeah. Mom said he's a soccer player who lives really far away. That's why he can't visit."

Jake glanced at you, a silent confirmation passing between you before he continued. "I've been living far away, in Europe. Playing soccer professionally."

Jade stared at him, her brow furrowed in concentration as her quick mind worked through the implications. The moment stretched, unbearably tense, until—

"Are you my dad?" she asked directly, her voice small but steady.

Jake's breath caught audibly. "Yes, Jade. I am."

For a heartbeat, Jade was perfectly still—an unusual state for her perpetually moving body. Then her eyes began to shine with tears. "Really? For real and true?"

"Really," Jake confirmed, his own eyes glistening. "For real and true."

"But... but why didn't you visit me before?" The question held curiosity rather than accusation, and it broke your heart nonetheless.

"Because I didn't know about you," Jake explained simply, just as you'd rehearsed. "When your mom found out she was going to have you, I had already moved to Europe to play soccer. She didn't tell me about you until we met at the soccer clinic."

Jade turned to you, her expression confused. "Why didn't you tell him about me, Mom?"

You'd prepared for this question, knew it was coming, but it still felt like a knife to the heart. "I thought I was doing the right thing," you said carefully. "Your dad had just started his big career, and I didn't want to make things harder for him. But I was wrong not to tell him, and I'm very sorry for that. To both of you."

Jade considered this with the serious contemplation of a judge weighing evidence. "So when you saw me at the soccer clinic," she said, turning back to Jake, "that's why you fainted? Because you were surprised that I was your daughter?"

"That's exactly why," Jake admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Finding out I had such an amazing daughter was the biggest surprise of my life."

Jade's face suddenly lit up with realization. "That's why we have the same last name! And the same dimples! And do the same victory dance! Emma says she looks like her dad too. She has his nose."

The mood in the room shifted, the tension giving way to something lighter as Jade began connecting dots with infectious enthusiasm.

"And that's why I'm so good at soccer!" she continued, practically vibrating in her seat. "Because you're good at soccer too! It's in my DNA! Mrs. Rivera taught us about DNA—it's the stuff inside you that makes you who you are!"

"That's right," Jake said, relief evident in his voice. "You got your soccer skills from me. But you got your brains from your mom."

Jade beamed at this, then suddenly her expression turned serious again. "Are you going to live with us now? Because Emma's dad lives in a different house. He comes on weekends and Wednesdays."

You and Jake exchanged glances. This part you'd deliberately left flexible, knowing that Jade's reaction would guide your next steps.

"I have to go back to Europe in a few days for work," Jake explained gently. "But I'll be coming back to visit as often as I can. And we can video call every day if you want."

"And when my soccer season ends in a few months," he continued, his eyes meeting yours briefly, "we'll figure out a more permanent arrangement. But no matter where I live, I'll always be your dad."

Jade seemed to process this, her legs swinging rhythmically under the chair. "But you'll come to my soccer games when you're here? And my school play? I'm going to be a star in the sky. I only have three lines but they're very important lines."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Jake promised, and you could see the emotion he was struggling to contain.

Jade slid off her chair suddenly, coming around the table to stand in front of Jake. With the directness of a child who hadn't yet learned social hesitation, she asked, "Can I hug you now? Since you're my dad?"

Jake's composure finally broke. "Yes," he said, voice thick. "I would really like that."

Jade threw her arms around his neck with the same wholehearted enthusiasm she brought to everything. Jake's arms wrapped carefully around her small frame, and over Jade's shoulder, his eyes met yours, filled with wonder and gratitude.

You felt tears streaming down your own cheeks as you watched your daughter and her father embrace for the first time—at least, the first time with both of them knowing what they were to each other.

After a long moment, Jade pulled back, studying Jake's face with new interest. "I think I'll call you Dad now, not Jake. Is that okay?"

"That's more than okay," Jake managed, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Jade's ear—the same gesture he'd used with you so many times.

"And can we still have pancakes?" Jade asked, switching gears with the fluid adaptability of childhood. "Because I'm stillstarving. Maybe Dad can help make them? I bet he makes good pancakes."

"I make excellent pancakes," Jake confirmed, the new title bringing a fresh sheen of tears to his eyes. "It's another thing you inherited from me."

"Along with your inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds," you added, wiping away your own tears.

Jade grinned, looking between you with a satisfaction that suggested, in her five-year-old mind, things were exactly as they should be. "This is the best day. I got a dad and I'm getting pancakes!"

As the three of you moved around the kitchen, falling into a surprisingly natural rhythm of pancake preparation, you caught Jake's eye over Jade's head. The gratitude in his expression mirrored your own feeling of relief—relief that amidst all the complications of your adult relationship, this most important revelation had gone better than either of you had dared to hope.

There were still countless details to figure out—custody arrangements, Jake's travel schedule, what would happen after his season ended, and not least, the undefined something that had been rekindling between you. But for now, watching Jake teach Jade the "perfect pancake flip" while she giggled uncontrollably, it was enough to know that your daughter finally had her father.

And maybe, just maybe, you had found your way back to each other too.

-

The last golden light of evening stretched across your backyard, casting long shadows as Jade chased fireflies in her pajamas, giggling each time one of the glowing insects landed briefly in her cupped hands.

"Five more minutes, then bedtime!" you called, though you were reluctant to end this perfect moment. Jake's departure for Europe loomed tomorrow morning, casting a bittersweet shadow over what had been an extraordinary week.

Since telling Jade the truth, everything had shifted. She'd taken to calling Jake "Dad" with the natural ease of a child who'd simply been waiting for permission to use the title. Her friends at school had been informed with five-year-old directness ("My dad is back from Europe and he's REALLY good at soccer!"), and Coach Russell had gently handled the sudden flurry of interest from other parents when Jake attended her final practice before leaving.

Now you sat beside Jake on the back porch steps, your shoulders touching as you watched your daughter—your shared creation—dart across the lawn with boundless energy despite the late hour.

"She's never going to sleep tonight," you murmured, sipping from a glass of wine.

"It's a special occasion," Jake replied, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy. "Last night before..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Tomorrow morning, he'd board a plane back to his team, his contract, his other life.

The past three days had been a whirlwind of lawyers and paperwork—establishing formal acknowledgment of paternity, setting up emergency travel provisions, discussing international custody considerations. All of it driven by Jake's determination to have everything properly in place before he left.

In private moments after Jade was asleep, you'd found yourselves drawn together with increasing intensity, as if trying to store up enough connection to last through the coming separation. But you'd been careful to keep things from progressing too far, both acutely aware of Jade just down the hall, both hesitant to define exactly what was happening between you.

"Have you told her what time your flight leaves?" you asked, watching Jade attempt to do a cartwheel she'd been practicing all week.

"I told her I'd be gone when she wakes up," Jake said. "I thought that might be easier. No drawn-out goodbyes at the airport."

You nodded, remembering how hard airport goodbyes could be. Five years ago, you'd stood at a similar departure gate, forcing a smile as Jake headed toward his new life, neither of you knowing you carried the beginning of another life inside you.

"She made you something," you said, reaching for a folded paper on the step beside you. "She wanted me to give it to you after she went to bed. For the plane."

Jake accepted the slightly crumpled drawing, unfolding it carefully. In Jade's distinctive artistic style—which meant lots of color and minimal adherence to proportion—she'd drawn three figures holding hands: a small one in the middle with pigtails, and two larger ones on either side. "ME," "DAD," and "MOM" were labeled with painstaking capital letters, and across the top, "MY FAMILY" had been written with evident pride.

"She worked on it all afternoon," you said softly. "I think she wanted you to have something to take with you."

Jake stared at the drawing, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "I'm going to miss so much being there instead of here."

The weight of that statement hung between you. Three months until his season ended. Three months of video calls, of Jade asking when Dad was coming back, of navigating a relationship across continents.

"We'll make it work," you said, though the exact shape of that "work" remained undefined.

"Mom! Dad! Look how many I caught!" Jade called, running toward you with cupped hands. She opened them carefully to reveal a single firefly crawling across her palm.

"That's a good one," Jake said, his voice impressively steady despite the emotion you'd seen in his eyes moments before. "But it's probably time to let him go home to his family now."

Jade nodded solemnly, walking a few steps away to release the insect. "Bye, Mr. Firefly!" she called as it flew away, then turned back to you both. "Is it bedtime?"

"I think so, sweetheart," you confirmed.

Usually, this would trigger negotiations for more time, more stories, more anything to delay the inevitable. But tonight, Jade simply nodded again. "Okay. But Dad has to read the bedtime story."

"Deal," Jake agreed, standing and offering his hands to both you and Jade, pulling you up from the steps.

Bedtime routine passed in a blur of toothbrushing, pajama straightening, and the promised story—which became three stories, each with different voices that Jake performed with theatrical commitment, drawing delighted giggles from Jade.

When the final story ended, Jade looked up at Jake from her pillow, suddenly serious. "You won't forget about me when you're in Europe, right?"

"That would be impossible," Jake said firmly, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I've spent five years not knowing about you, and I'm not missing another minute that I can help. I'll call every day I can, and before you know it, I'll be back."

"Promise?" Jade asked, holding up her pinky finger.

"Promise," Jake confirmed, linking his pinky with hers. "Dad promises."

Satisfied, Jade reached for the stuffed soccer ball that had become her favorite bedtime companion. "G'night, Mom. G'night, Dad."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," you both answered in near-perfect unison, a synchronicity that was becoming increasingly common.

Jake lingered a moment longer by her bedside, seeming to memorize every detail of her face before reluctantly following you out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar as Jade preferred.

In the hallway, the weight of his impending departure descended fully. Tomorrow he would be gone, and the precarious balance you'd found over the past week would need to be recalibrated across time zones and international borders.

"Drink?" you offered, hoping to postpone the inevitable goodnight that would follow.

"Please," Jake nodded, following you to the kitchen.

You poured two glasses of wine in silence, hyperaware of the ticking clock, of moments slipping away. When you handed him his glass, your fingers brushed, and the simple contact sent a now-familiar current up your arm.

"I've been thinking," Jake said abruptly, staring into his wine rather than meeting your eyes.

"That sounds dangerous," you attempted to joke, earning a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"These past ten days..." he began, then paused, seeming to reconsider his words. "When I came back, I was angry. Hurt. I couldn't understand how you'd kept Jade from me all these years."

You nodded, accepting the pain you'd caused. "I know."

"But now," he continued, finally looking up at you, "I understand better. Not completely—I still wish you'd told me—but I understand you were trying to protect something you thought was important. My career. My dream."

"I was wrong," you said softly. "I should have let you decide."

"Yes," Jake agreed. "But I also made choices that brought us here. I left. I chose a contract overseas over what we had. I put distance between us that made it harder for you to reach out when you found out about Jade."

The honesty of his words caught you off guard. In all your guilt about keeping Jade secret, you'd rarely considered how Jake's initial departure had shaped everything that followed.

"So where does that leave us?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just this conversation.

Jake set down his glass, closing the distance between you with deliberate steps. "That's what I've been thinking about. What happens after tonight."

Your heart quickened. "And?"

"I don't want to leave you again," he said simply. "Either of you."

"You have to," you reminded him gently. "Your contract—"

"I know I have to go back tomorrow," he clarified. "But I don't want it to be like last time. A goodbye that turns into five years of silence and separate lives."

He took your hands in his, his touch warm and steady. "I want you both to come to Europe. Not tomorrow—I know that's impossible. But soon. When the school year ends. For the summer, at least."

Your breath caught. This wasn't what you'd expected. "Jake—"

"Just hear me out," he pressed. "Jade could see where I live, where I play. You both could experience that part of my world. And I'd look for opportunities closer to home for next season. There are teams that have been interested."

"You'd consider leaving your European team?" The magnitude of what he was suggesting stunned you. "But you've worked so hard to get there."

Jake's expression softened. "Five years ago, playing in Europe was all I ever wanted. Now..." he glanced toward Jade's bedroom, "now my priorities have changed."

The implications of his words hung between you, heavy with possibility.

"And us?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are we in this scenario?"

Jake's hands tightened slightly around yours. "I think you know how I feel about you. How I've always felt, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise."

"Say it anyway," you urged, needing to hear the words.

"I love you," he said without hesitation. "I never stopped. Not when I left for Europe, not during five years apart, and certainly not now, seeing you as Jade's mother—seeing how amazing you are with her, how you've built this life."

Tears filled your eyes, the simple truth of his words unlocking everything you'd held back. "I love you too. I tried not to, tried to move on, but..."

"But no one compared," Jake finished, echoing your words from days earlier, his smile reaching his eyes this time.

"No one compared," you confirmed.

He released your hands only to frame your face gently between his palms. "So, what do you say? Will you and Jade come to Europe this summer? Give us a chance to figure out what our family looks like going forward?"

The question was enormous, encompassing practical concerns about Jade's schooling, your work, living arrangements—a thousand logistical details you'd need to consider. But underneath all that was a simpler choice: forward together, or back to separate lives?

"Yes," you heard yourself say, the certainty of it surprising even you. "We'll come."

The joy that transformed Jake's face was worth any uncertainty the future might hold. He pulled you close, his kiss conveying everything words couldn't—relief, gratitude, love, promise.

When you finally separated, both slightly breathless, Jake pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll call every day until you get there. And I've already told Jay to start looking at teams back here for next season."

"You were that confident I'd say yes?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jake laughed softly. "Not confident. Hopeful."

A small noise from the hallway made you both turn. Jade stood in her doorway, stuffed soccer ball clutched to her chest, looking sheepish at being caught out of bed.

"I had a question," she said, though her sly expression suggested eavesdropping had been at least partly intentional.

"What's your question, sweetheart?" you asked, stepping back from Jake slightly, though his arm remained around your waist.

"Are we really going to where Dad lives? In Europe?" Her eyes were wide with excitement that told you she'd heard more than just that part of the conversation.

Jake looked to you, clearly unsure whether to confirm what she'd overheard. You nodded slightly, and he crouched down to Jade's level.

"Would you like that?" he asked carefully. "To come visit me in Europe this summer? To see where I play soccer?"

"Will I get to see a REAL game? With a REAL stadium?" Jade was practically vibrating with excitement now.

"Several games," Jake promised. "And maybe you could even help me practice sometimes."

"YES!" Jade pumped her fist in victory. "Can we go tomorrow?"

You laughed, moving to join them. "Not tomorrow, honey. Dad has to go back first, and we have some things to figure out here. But soon, after school ends."

"How many days is that?" Jade demanded.

"Forty-three," Jake answered promptly, earning surprised looks from both you and Jade. "I counted."

The simple admission—that he'd been counting the days until he could potentially see you both again—made your heart swell.

"That's a LOT of days," Jade observed with a dramatic sigh.

"We'll count them together," you promised. "And Dad will call us every day."

"And then we'll be a real family? All together?" Jade asked, her perceptiveness once again catching you off guard.

You and Jake exchanged a look over her head—a look full of promise, determination, and shared understanding of all that had been lost and found.

"We're already a real family," Jake said softly. "We're just figuring out the details."

Jade considered this, then nodded with the solemn acceptance only a child could manage. "Okay. But can I sleep in your room tonight?" she asked, turning to you. "Since Dad's leaving tomorrow?"

You recognized the request for what it was—not just a child's desire to delay bedtime, but a need for closeness on this night of transition. "Just for tonight," you agreed.

Later, as Jade slept peacefully between you in your bed, Jake's hand found yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining above your daughter's sleeping form.

"Forty-three days," he whispered.

"Forty-three days," you confirmed.

Tomorrow would bring separation, challenges, logistics to navigate. But for the first time in five years, you weren't facing the future alone. The family that had begun by accident, been divided by circumstance, and reunited by chance now had a direction—forward, together.

Whatever form that took, it would be enough.

It would be everything.

-

Epilogue: Three Years Later

"But WHY can't I have a baby brother RIGHT NOW?"

Jade's question echoed through the kitchen with the dramatic flair of an eight-year-old who had recently discovered the power of logical debate. She stood with hands on her hips, soccer uniform still grass-stained from her Saturday morning game, her expression a perfect mirror of Jake's determination.

"Because that's not how it works, sweetheart," you explained, exchanging an amused glance with Jake across the kitchen island. "Even if we decided to have another baby, it takes time."

"Emma's mom had a baby and she said it took NINE WHOLE MONTHS. That's FOREVER!" Jade flopped dramatically onto a chair. "I'll be practically a TEENAGER by then."

Jake choked back a laugh, disguising it as a cough when Jade shot him a suspicious look. Three years of fatherhood had taught him that showing amusement during one of her serious discussions was a tactical error.

"Nine months isn't quite that long," he said, maintaining an impressively straight face. "But your mom's right. These things take time and planning."

Jade narrowed her eyes, a look that had become increasingly effective as she grew older. "Are you guys planning it? Because I heard you talking in your room last night."

Now it was your turn to choke slightly. You and Jake had indeed been discussing the possibility, late at night, after assuming Jade was sound asleep. Apparently, her soccer-enhanced hearing had other ideas.

"It's something we've been thinking about," you admitted carefully. "But it's a big decision."

"I think you should decide YES," Jade stated with the absolute confidence only children possess. "I'd be an AMAZING big sister. I already know how to change diapers from when we babysit Emma's brother."

"You held the wipes once," Jake pointed out.

"That's an IMPORTANT job!" Jade protested. "And I could teach a baby all about soccer and stars and dinosaurs."

"All essential life skills," you agreed, unable to keep from smiling.

The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell, followed by the sound of the front door opening.

"Where's my favorite soccer superstar?" Tia's voice called from the entryway.

"AUNTIE TIA!" Jade abandoned the sibling discussion instantly, racing toward the sound. "I scored TWO GOALS today!"

"Is that all? I thought we were working on a hat trick," Tia teased as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Jade already attached to her side like a barnacle.

"Coach said my second goal was good enough to count as TWO," Jade explained seriously.

"Ah, well, if Coach said so." Tia winked at you and Jake. "Speaking of coaches, I believe I was promised brunch with famous people in exchange for helping with yesterday's team pizza party. Twenty second-graders hopped up on cheese and soda is not something I do for free, you know."

"Reservations at Westfield in twenty minutes," Jake confirmed. "Though I dispute the 'famous' part."

Tia snorted. "Your face is literally on a billboard downtown right now."

"It's for a charity event," Jake protested, the same way he'd been downplaying his celebrity status for three years now. The transfer to the stateside team had somehow only increased his profile, especially after leading them to the championship in his second season.

"Dad, can I wear my medal to brunch?" Jade asked, already halfway to her room.

"Of course," Jake called after her. "But grab a clean shirt first!"

When Jade disappeared down the hall, Tia raised an eyebrow at both of you. "So... baby brother discussions? Is there something you two want to share?"

You shook your head. "Just Jade lobbying for a sibling. Though I think she'd be equally happy with a puppy at this point."

"Don't let her hear you make that comparison," Jake warned. "We'll end up with both."

"Considering how she has you wrapped around her finger? I'd say that's inevitable," Tia said, helping herself to coffee. "Remember when she convinced you a trampoline was an essential training tool for soccer footwork?"

"It improved her agility," Jake defended, though his smile acknowledged the weakness of his position.

"Face it, Sim. You're a pushover where that child is concerned."

"Like you're any better," you pointed out. "Who bought her professional-grade astronomical telescope for Christmas?"

"That was educational!" Tia protested.

The comfortable banter flowed naturally, a rhythm established through years of Sunday brunches and family dinners. Tia had remained Jade's favorite aunt and your closest confidante, seamlessly incorporating Jake into her circle of merciless teasing and unwavering support.

Jade reappeared wearing a clean shirt, her medal from the recent junior tournament proudly displayed on her chest, and a soccer ball tucked under her arm just in case an impromptu game broke out during brunch.

"Ready!" she announced. "Can we take the CONVERTIBLE?"

Jake glanced out the window at the perfect blue sky. "I think that can be arranged." The sports car—his one concession to professional athlete stereotypes—was reserved for special occasions and particularly good weather.

As you collected your things, Jade sidled up to Tia with the exaggerated casualness of a child with an agenda. "Auntie Tia, did you know that babies take NINE MONTHS to come? That's almost a YEAR. I could have a baby brother or sister for next Christmas if Mom and Dad would HURRY UP."

Tia's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline as she looked between you and Jake. "Is that so? Well, maybe your parents are waiting for the right time."

"NOW is the right time," Jade insisted. "I'm already EIGHT. Soon I'll be too old to teach them important things."

"What important things are those?" Jake asked, unable to resist.

Jade rolled her eyes with the supreme exasperation only a pre-tween could muster. "How to do a RAINBOW KICK, obviously. And how to win at Monopoly, and which dinosaurs could beat other dinosaurs in a fight."

"All crucial life skills," you agreed solemnly, catching Jake's eye over her head.

The silent communication between you had only grown stronger over the years—the ability to have entire conversations with just a look, a small nod, a smile. This particular exchange carried the weight of late-night discussions, of quiet hopes, of "maybe it's time" whispered in the darkness.

At the restaurant, seated at your regular table on the patio, Jade regaled Tia with a play-by-play of her morning's soccer triumph while simultaneously stealing Jake's french fries. The spring sunshine caught the wedding rings on your and Jake's left hands—simple, matching bands that you'd exchanged in a small ceremony two years ago, with Jade proudly serving as both flower girl and "best daughter."

The path to this moment hadn't always been smooth. Jake's travel schedule, though less demanding than his European days, still required adjustments. Your careers had needed careful balancing, boundaries had been drawn and redrawn, and you'd both had to learn to parent together after years of you doing it alone. There had been arguments about discipline (Jake was indeed the softer touch), disagreements about schools, and the occasional clash about handling Jake's public profile.

But through it all, the foundation remained solid. The family that had formed in those first chaotic weeks had only grown stronger, more certain of its shape.

"Dad," Jade said suddenly, turning her focus from Tia to Jake, "do you want another kid? Mom said you guys have to BOTH want it."

Jake nearly choked on his water at the direct question. He caught your eye, seeking permission or guidance, but you simply raised an eyebrow, curious yourself about his unfiltered response.

"I do," he said finally, his voice softer than usual. "I think about it a lot, actually."

"See, Mom?" Jade turned to you triumphantly. "Dad wants one TOO."

"It's not quite that simple, Jade," you began, but Jake's hand reached for yours across the table.

"Maybe it is," he said quietly. "Maybe we're overthinking it."

A current passed between you—three years of building a life together, of watching Jade grow, of creating something stable and beautiful from what had once been broken.

"Maybe we are," you admitted, a slow smile spreading across your face.

"So it's DECIDED!" Jade declared, pumping her fist in a celebration move inherited directly from Jake. "I'm getting a sibling!"

"Hold on there, soccer star," Tia laughed. "These things take time, remember?"

"Well, they should start RIGHT AWAY then!" Jade insisted with impeccable eight-year-old logic. "Can we go home after brunch so they can get started?"

Tia burst out laughing as both you and Jake turned interesting shades of red.

"I think," Jake said carefully, finding his composure first, "that your mom and I will need to have some grown-up conversations about this."

"More conversations?" Jade sighed dramatically. "Grown-ups talk WAY too much."

"Sometimes talking is important," you explained, squeezing Jake's hand. "But I promise we won't talk forever."

Jake's eyes met yours, warm with promise and possibility. So much had changed since that day at the soccer clinic—since the moment he'd looked at Jade and seen himself reflected back. The anger and hurt of those first days had long since transformed into something you couldn't have imagined then: a partnership deeper than before, tempered by separation and stronger for having been tested.

"So if you have a baby," Jade said, her mind already racing ahead as usual, "can I name it? Because I have some REALLY good dinosaur names picked out."

"Absolutely not," you and Jake responded in perfect unison, then broke into laughter at your synchronicity.

Some things never changed. Some things never would.

Later that night, after Jade had finally surrendered to sleep (following three bedtime stories and one "very important" discussion about what makes a good big sister), you found Jake on the back porch, gazing up at the stars that had become a shared fascination between him and Jade.

"She's persistent," you said, settling beside him on the porch swing. "Wonder where she gets that from."

Jake smiled, drawing you closer. "No idea. Must be from your side."

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the gentle rhythm of the swing matching your synchronized breaths.

"Did you mean what you said at brunch?" you finally asked. "About wanting another child?"

"I did," Jake said, his arm tightening around you. "I missed everything with Jade—the pregnancy, the birth, those first years. The idea of experiencing all that with you this time..." He trailed off, emotion making his voice rough. "But only if you want it too."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, thinking of the past three years—the challenges, the joy, the family you'd built together. "I do want it," you said softly. "I've been thinking about it more lately. Seeing you with Jade, how natural you are as a father... I keep imagining you with a baby."

Jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "So we're really considering this?"

"I think we're past considering," you admitted with a smile. "I think we're deciding."

Jake shifted to face you, his expression a mix of hope and certainty that reminded you of the night he'd asked you and Jade to come to Europe, the moment everything had changed. "Then let's decide," he said simply. "Let's expand our team."

You laughed at the soccer metaphor, so perfectly Jake. "Does this mean I should stop taking my birth control?"

His answer was a kiss that held the promise of the future you were choosing together—a family that had begun with a secret and a soccer clinic, with mistakes and courage, with finding each other again across years and continents.

"I love you," Jake murmured against your lips. "More than I did three years ago, more than I did yesterday."

"I love you too," you whispered back. "Always have. Always will."

Inside the house, your daughter slept peacefully, dreaming perhaps of soccer glory or dinosaur battles or the sibling she'd soon begin waiting impatiently for. And on the porch, wrapped in starlight and each other, you and Jake made the decision to grow the family that had fought so hard to find its way together.

Nine months might be forever in eight-year-old time.

But in the grand scheme of your lives together, it was just the beginning of a new chapter.

fin.

taglist: @ziiao @beariegyu @somuchdard @annybah @zzhengyu @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @coconutx-o @elairah @naurwayyyyy @seonhoon @niki-tty @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @bloomiize @zoemeltigloos @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @lonelylandofan @jae-n0 @heeknow @jkslvsnella @arusio @zukki33 @lamin143 @dearestdreamies @m1kkso @viagumi @lovingvoidgoatee @jayhoonvroom @vixensss @iboughtnjz @fancypeacepersona @tinyelfperson @enhaloveeee @cloud-lyy @cutehoons02 @annovaz @skzenhalove @heeseunggotrizz @hehahatah @jaykehoonist

[cosmiho]

MY LOVE WILL NEVER DIE ౨ৎ 𝐄𝐎𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍

SYNOPSIS :: Your father finally caves and lets Seonghyeon sleep over, complete with a very long list of rules. There's just one problem: your boyfriend has never met a rule he couldn't, and wouldn’t, break.

W.C :: 5.1k

CONTAINS :: 80s!seonghyeon, established relationship, sleepover, overbearing/strict father, sneaking around/rule breaking, fluff, cliché, dancing, skinship, kissing

PLAYLIST :: My love will never die - The Channels, Earl Lewis; Alone - Heart; Time (clock of the heart) - Culture Club; Open arms - Journey; Making love out of nothing at all - Air Supply; Alone with you - The Outfield

It had taken weeks of convincing for your father to finally agree to this.

Not because he didn’t know Seonghyeon. In fact, that actually was the problem.

Unfortunately, your father knew Seonghyeon very well.

He knew about the late-night drives, the missed curfews, the sound of a car engine idling outside your house fifteen minutes after you were supposed to be home. He knew Seonghyeon smiled his way through trouble instead of avoiding it, and somehow always managed to drag you directly into the middle of whatever terrible idea he’d had.

By the third time Seonghyeon had shown up at your house past midnight, and the second time your father had caught him trying to quietly drop you off only to nearly reverse into the mailbox, any chance of him being viewed as a respectable influence had disappeared completely.

So when you’d first brought up the idea of a sleepover your father had looked at you like you were insane.

"No," he'd said.

Then no again.

Then absolutely not.

Then not in this house, not while I'm breathing, not over my dead body, and did you think he was born yesterday?

You'd persisted anyway. You'd brought it up at dinner, pushing peas around your plate while your mother hid a smile behind her wine glass. You'd caught your father in the hallway before bed, in the kitchen over his morning coffee, in the garage while he swore at something under the hood of his car. You'd asked so many times that your brother had started mimicking you: "Dad, can Seonghyeon sleep over?" in a high-pitched whiny voice that made you want to throw a pillow at his head.

You even attempted dramatically insisting that everyone else’s parents allowed it, which only earned you a long look and a “I’m not everyone else’s parents.”

All of these attempts earned you nothing but your father's disapproving gaze and, consequently, the slow squashing of your heart. Every time you brought it up, he'd fix you with that look that said don't push your luck, and you'd feel your hopes deflate a little more.

Eventually, you'd recruited your mother.

Your father had always been weak when it came to her. It was something only years of love could really create—that quiet power she held over him, the way he'd soften around the edges whenever she asked for something. He'd deny you for weeks, but she could undo all his resolve with a single look across the dinner table.

Maybe you and Seonghyeon would be like that when you were older.

Not that you ever thought about that, obviously. That would be crazy. You were only seventeen. You definitely hadn’t ever dreamed what it would be like to have your own house with Seonghyeon. Not at all.

But your mother was your secret weapon and over the following days she slowly wore him down.

"He's a good student," she'd mention the next night, stirring her coffee. "I saw his report card. You saw it too, didn't you?"

Your father would grunt.

“They’re good kids.”

Another grunt.

“You used to sneak out too, you know.”

That usually got a longer silence.

And every single time, you’d watch your father try very hard not to look affected while your mother hid a tiny smile behind her coffee cup.

It took nearly three weeks.

Three weeks of promises. Three weeks of “we’ll stay apart.” Three weeks of “the door will stay open.” Three weeks of your father looking personally exhausted by the entire situation.

But eventually, somehow, he caved. Not happily or gracefully, but he did.

The conditions came immediately after.

“Guest room,” your father had said firmly, pointing directly at Seonghyeon from across the living room. “Down the hall.”

Seonghyeon had been sitting on the couch so stiffly it was almost painful to watch, hands flat on his knees, posture straight like he was interviewing for a scholarship instead of asking to sleep over at his girlfriend’s house.

“Yes, sir.”

“Not her room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not near her room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And absolutely no funny business upstairs.”

At that, you’d nearly choked trying not to laugh while Seonghyeon nodded with suspicious seriousness.

“No funny business,” he repeated solemnly, like he was signing a legal contract.

Your father narrowed his eyes immediately, clearly unconvinced by how agreeable he sounded.

The worst part was that Seonghyeon looked entirely too amused underneath it, like he was enjoying this.

Your mother had stepped in before your father could change his mind completely, patting Seonghyeon lightly on the shoulder as she stood.

“He likes you,” she’d whispered kindly once your father disappeared into the kitchen.

Seonghyeon had glanced toward the doorway your father had vanished through before looking back at her. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is,” your mother insisted. “He would have killed you by now if he didn’t.”

“That’s comforting.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

You’d had to look away because you were already starting to laugh.

Even now, hours later, lying awake in bed, you could still picture the expression Seonghyeon had worn all through dinner afterward: trying and failing to hide his smile every single time your father repeated one of the rules.

Which was exactly why sleep felt impossible now.

The house had been quiet for almost an hour.

The movie downstairs had ended. Your father had fallen asleep in his armchair halfway through it, your mother eventually nudging him awake while Seonghyeon tried very hard not to laugh. Everyone had gone upstairs after that, lights shutting off one by one until the whole house settled into silence.

And Seonghyeon was right down the hall.

Not far enough away to ignore.

You rolled onto your side again with a sigh, tugging the blankets higher before immediately kicking them back down again.

It was ridiculous, you saw him almost every day and yet somehow knowing he was only a few rooms away made you feel restless in a way you couldn’t fix.

The worst part was that the two of you had actually behaved all evening. Mostly.

You’d sat together on opposite ends of the couch at first, which was your father’s idea obviously, but little by little Seonghyeon had started inching closer whenever nobody was paying attention.

A shift of his knee against yours under the blanket. His shoulder brushing yours when he leaned over for popcorn. His hand lingering just slightly too long when he reached into your bowl instead of his own. Tiny, barely noticeable things.

Except your father noticed everything. Every single time your knees touched, you could practically feel your father narrowing his eyes from across the room without even looking away from the television.

At one point, Seonghyeon had leaned over to whisper something in your ear during the movie, and your father had immediately gone: “What was that?”

“Nothing,” both of you answered at the exact same time.

Which honestly only made it worse.

By the time everyone finally headed upstairs, you’d barely even gotten a proper goodnight. Just a quick glance, a small grin from him halfway down the hall, and a quiet: “Sleep well.”

Like that was actually possible now.

With a quiet sigh, you sat up in bed, throwing your blankets aside and pushing your hair back from your face as you stared toward your bedroom door.

This was ridiculous. You weren’t twelve. He was literally just a few doors away. You’d survived entire weekends without seeing him before. So why did knowing he was in your house suddenly make sleep impossible?

You flopped back dramatically for half a second, staring at the ceiling again. Then you immediately sat back up.

Just for a minute. That was all.

You’d go down the hall, see him, complain that you couldn’t sleep, maybe make fun of the guest room your father had stuck him in, and then come right back upstairs before anyone noticed.

Easy.

You slipped carefully out of bed, the floor cool against your feet as you crossed the room. The whole house had that deep, late-night stillness to it now, where every tiny sound suddenly felt dangerous.

The hallway outside your room was dark, lit only faintly by the pale moonlight spilling through the window at the far end. Shadows stretched long across the floorboards, the old house creaking softly around you as if it were settling deeper into sleep.

You reached for your doorknob slowly, trying not to make noise.

The hinges gave the faintest creak as you pulled it open—

—and froze instantly.

Seonghyeon was already standing right outside your room. For a second your brain genuinely stopped working.

He looked equally caught off guard, though far less guilty about it. One hand was half-raised like he’d been about to knock, his hair slightly messy from sleep or from running his hands through it too many times.

You just stared at each other silently in the dark hallway. Then his eyes flicked over your face once, and the corner of his mouth pulled upward slowly. “You too?” He whispered.

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“You’re supposed to be down the hall.”

“And you’re supposed to be asleep.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again because unfortunately, it really wasn’t. He looked far too pleased about that realisation.

You tried crossing your arms, aiming for annoyed, but it lost some effect considering you were standing there in oversized sleep clothes staring at him in the middle of the night.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the guest room,” you whispered again, quieter this time.

“And you weren’t supposed to open the door.”

His voice stayed calm and low, but there was amusement tucked into every word. You rolled your eyes automatically, though your heartbeat had already started picking up.

He noticed, even in the darkness, how you were unable to meet his gaze for a moment.

Of course he noticed. Despite the impression you gave about not getting nervous around him, small parts of yourself that only he noticed ratted you out to him every single time. He’d known you long enough to tell.

Seonghyeon took a small step closer, enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with laundry detergent from the sweatshirt he’d changed into earlier. “You couldn’t sleep either?” He asked.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe.”

“Mm,” he murmured, clearly not believing you for a second.

Then, before you could think too hard about it, his hand slid around your waist naturally, easily, like it belonged there. The movement pulled you closer in one smooth motion and your breath caught before you could stop it.

He leaned down slightly, giving you barely enough time to realise what he was doing before his mouth met yours.

Soft at first, careful enough that you almost thought he was trying to behave.

Though that lasted about three seconds because the second you kissed him back, his grip tightened slightly at your waist, and you felt him smile against your mouth like he’d just proven himself right about something.

Your fingers curled instinctively into the front of his sweatshirt, bunching the fabric lightly, and you melted into him, making a small sound against his mouth, a sigh of relief. He chuckled slightly. You could feel it, the small gust of air that escaped him, and you wanted to stay here forever.

But then you remembered where you were, how your parents' bedroom was at the end of the hall that now felt increasingly small and dangerous

You pulled back and his mouth chased yours, his eyes still closed, his lips still parted. He leaned in for another kiss until you put your hand on his chest, pushing him back gently.

His eyes opened and he blinked, confused. His lips were pink, slightly swollen, he was looking at you like you'd just taken something vital away from him, a frown forming on his face. “Why?” He whispered, sounding genuinely betrayed by the interruption.

You stared at him incredulously before pointing toward your parents’ bedroom farther down the hall. “We cannot get caught,” you mouthed carefully.

He glanced once in that direction, then looked back at you completely unbothered. “They’re asleep.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“And I was right last time.”

“You almost got hit with a shoe.”

“That wasn’t that serious.”

You gaped at him quietly. “My dad threatened to kill you.”

“Yeah,” he whispered thoughtfully. “But he says that every time he sees me now.”

Which was, annoyingly, true.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You like me.” The smugness in his whisper made you roll your eyes again, even though the warmth climbing into your face completely ruined the effect.

Unfortunately, he noticed that too. His expression softened instantly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Before he could lean down again, you grabbed his wrist suddenly. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as you tugged him backward down the hallway. “Wait—where are we going?”

“Shh,” you whispered immediately. You started guiding him carefully toward the stairs, both of you moving slowly to avoid the loud spots in the floorboards.

The old house creaked anyway. Every single noise made you freeze for half a second before continuing. At one point, the stair beneath Seonghyeon’s foot let out an especially loud groan, and you whipped around so fast you nearly ran into him, only to find his shoulders were already shaking silently with laughter.

“This isn’t funny,” you mouthed.

“It kind of is.”

You glared at him while trying not to laugh yourself.

By the time the two of you finally reached the bottom of the stairs, the house had gone still again.

Moonlight spilled through the living room windows in pale strips, turning everything soft silver-blue. The furniture looked different at night somehow: quieter, softer around the edges. Even the air felt still.

For a second, neither of you said anything. You could hear the faint ticking of the clock in the kitchen alongside the hum of the refrigerator somewhere down the hall.

Seonghyeon glanced around slowly before looking back at you, hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Now what?” He whispered.

You shrugged, trying to act like dragging him downstairs in the middle of the night had been a completely normal decision. “I don’t know,” you said quietly. “You’re the one lurking outside my bedroom.”

A small grin tugged at his mouth immediately. “I was being romantic.”

“You were standing in the dark outside my door.”

“Romantically.”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. He wandered away before you could answer, moving toward the vinyl cabinet beneath the stereo system in the corner of the room. Immediately, suspicion hit you. “Oh, don’t touch those.”

Too late.

Seonghyeon crouched in front of the cabinet anyway, flipping through your father’s records with the kind of confidence people only had when they absolutely should not be touching something. “You own, like, fifty sad old man albums,” he murmured.

“My dad likes music.”

“Your dad likes depression.”

You rolled your eyes, moving closer as he continued flipping through them one by one.

“What even is this?” He whispered, holding up a record sleeve covered in dramatic black-and-white photography.

You glanced at it. “I don’t know.”

“That guy looks miserable.”

“He’s probably singing about heartbreak.”

“Yeah, well. He should cheer up.”

You laughed quietly through your nose, quickly covering your mouth when the sound echoed slightly too loud in the room. Seonghyeon looked very pleased with himself for causing it.

He kept searching until one particular record made him pause. Slowly, he pulled it free from the shelf.

“My Love Will Never Die,” he read under his breath.

You immediately groaned. “Oh my god.”

“What?” He asked, already grinning.

“You cannot be serious.”

He turned the sleeve over in his hands dramatically. “This is perfect.”

“It’s ancient.”

“Barely.”

“It literally belonged to my parents before I was born.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Classic.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself while he carefully slid the vinyl from its sleeve. For all his usual recklessness, he handled it surprisingly gently.

“That thing’s older than both of us,” you whispered.

He glanced up at you while setting it onto the player. “Still works better than your dad’s rules.”

“You are obsessed with annoying him.”

“He makes it easy.”

A soft crackle filled the room as the needle settled. Eventually the music started low and warm, instantly making the whole room feel slower.

‘I know, I know I love you (love you)

And I really love you so, need you (love you)’

Something about it changed the atmosphere immediately. The teasing quieted a little and the darkness around you suddenly felt softer instead of sneaky.

Seonghyeon stood there for a second listening before turning toward you again and holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

‘And I'll never let you go, honey (love you)

My love for you will never die, ooh, ooh’

You stared at him immediately. “Absolutely not.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Why not?”

“Because this is embarrassing.”

“It’s literally just dancing.”

“In my living room. At like one in the morning.”

“Exactly,” he whispered. “Makes it better.”

You crossed your arms. “No.”

“You dragged me downstairs.”

“That does not mean I owe you a dance.”

“You’re hurting my feelings.”

“You don’t have feelings.”

“Wow.”

You tried to stay serious, but his smile was already ruining it. Especially because he looked completely unashamed standing there holding his hand out like some dramatic movie character. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Still waiting.”

You let out a quiet sigh, already losing the argument.

‘So, come on over (love you)

I want you to hold my hand, tell me (love you)’

Before you could properly refuse again, he stepped closer and took your hand himself. Your stomach flipped stupidly fast at the contact. “You’re so annoying,” you whispered.

“You’re still dating me,” he murmured, pulling you gently toward him anyway.

One of his hands settled naturally against your waist whilst the other stayed wrapped loosely around yours, and just like that something softened. The teasing faded a little around the edges.

You could feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, could feel his thumb moving absently against your side while the music drifted quietly through the dark room.

Neither of you were really dancing properly. Just swaying slowly in place, being close enough that your slippers kept brushing against his socks every few seconds.

The floor creaked once beneath your feet and both of you froze instantly before trying not to laugh.

“Oh my god,” you whispered through a grin. “We’re actually going to get caught.”

“We’re fine.”

“That’s exactly what you said before my dad almost killed you.”

“He didn’t almost kill me.”

“He threw a shoe at your head.”

“And missed.”

You laughed quietly again, shaking your head as he smiled down at you.

‘That I'm your lover man, darling (love you)

My love for you will never die (ooh)’

For a little while, neither of you said anything after that. The music played softly around you while moonlight stretched across the floorboards. Somewhere outside, a car passed faintly in the distance before everything settled quiet again.

Seonghyeon looked down at you after a minute, his expression softer now, less teasing. “This song’s ridiculously old,” he murmured.

You glanced up at him. “You’re literally dancing to it.”

“Yeah,” he said easily. His hand shifted slightly at your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Because you’re here.”

And somehow that was worse than his usual flirting, because he said it so simply like it wasn’t even a line to win you over, it was just the truth embedded so deeply into his soul he couldn’t help but share.

Your eyes dropped away from his immediately, warmth rushing into your face as you tried very hard to focus on literally anything else besides the way he was looking at you.

Which only made him smile a little more. You hated when he did that: looking at you like that afterward, all quiet and unfairly sincere, like he knew exactly what it did to you.

You glanced down at the front of his sweatshirt instead, fingers curling lightly into the fabric near his shoulder. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you muttered.

“Like what?”

“You know what.”

A small pause passed between you before he spoke again, quieter now: “You get shy.”

Your head snapped back up immediately. “I do not.”

“You do,” he whispered, smiling a little wider now. “Right now.”

“I’m literally looking at you.”

“Yeah, after avoiding eye contact for like thirty seconds.”

“It was not thirty seconds.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head slightly. “Felt long.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he was still holding you close in the middle of your dark living room while some ancient love song played softly behind him.

“This is why my dad doesn’t trust you,” you informed him.

“He didn’t trust me before this.”

“That’s true.”

“See?”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh again.

‘Love's so necessary (wow)

That's why I just gotta be your man, oh, come on’

The record crackled softly between verses, the sound warm and familiar in the quiet house. Seonghyeon swayed lazily with the music, more interested in watching you than actually dancing properly.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “your mom definitely knew we were gonna sneak downstairs.”

You looked up immediately. “No, she didn’t.”

“She definitely did.”

“She wouldn’t allow that.”

“She likes me.”

You snorted. “She tolerates you.”

“She offered me more dessert at dinner.”

“She felt bad for you because my dad kept threatening your life.”

“Still counts.”

You rolled your eyes, but he only grinned.

‘Oh, girl (love you)

I want you to hold me tightly, kiss me, baby (love you)’

The song kept playing low through the speakers while the two of you moved slowly across the living room in uneven little circles. Every now and then the floor creaked beneath your feet, and both of you would instinctively freeze before dissolving into muffled laughter when nobody came downstairs.

At some point, his hand slipped lower against your waist, settling against your hip.

“So this is your definition of ‘no funny business?’” You whispered.

His eyebrows lifted innocently. “We’re dancing.”

“You are absolutely pushing it.”

“Your dad specifically said no funny business upstairs.”

You stared at him and he stared back completely serious for about two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, trying not to laugh too loudly. “You’re horrible.”

“Still won you over though, huh.”

You groaned quietly, dropping your forehead briefly against his shoulder as he laughed softly under his breath, the sound warm and sleepy.

The living room smelled faintly like dust and laundry detergent and your father’s aftershave lingering in the furniture. Outside, wind brushed softly against the trees near the window, and somewhere far off, a car drove past on the main road. Everything felt suspended somehow, as though the whole world had gone quiet around the two of you.

Your eyes drifted half-shut for a second before you felt Seonghyeon shift slightly.

“You tired?” He whispered, his lips just grazing your hair as you hummed in response.

“A little.”

“You should sleep.”

“You first.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You yawned like six times during the movie.”

“That was acting.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him incredulously, your eyebrows drawing together. “Why would you fake being tired?”

He shrugged lightly. “Wanted your mom to think I was innocent.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You are actually unbelievable.”

“Worked, though.”

“No it didn’t.”

“She called me sweet.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know you.”

He grinned. “You do.”

Unfortunately.

That stupid warm feeling hit your chest again. You looked away before he could notice it this time, but his hand squeezed lightly at your waist like maybe he already had.

‘And make me know how much you love me (love you)

My love for you will never die (ooh)’

The record neared its end, music softening under the crackle of vinyl, though neither of you moved to stop it.

Seonghyeon rested his chin lightly against the top of your head for a second, voice quieter when he spoke again. “You know your dad’s gonna blame me if we get caught down here.”

“He blames you for everything already.”

“Fair.”

“You breathed too loud at dinner and he looked ready to fight you.”

“I was nervous.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “You were nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“You? Nervous?”

He looked down at you like the answer was obvious. “Your dad scares me.”

You burst into quiet laughter immediately. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He threatened me with a garden tool last month.”

“That was one time.”

“It was a rake.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

You giggled slightly, forehead dropping against Seonghyeon’s shoulder for a second.

Upstairs, your father’s eyes opened immediately. He laid there for half a second, listening. Another faint laugh drifted up from downstairs and your father sat upright. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Beside him, your mother groaned softly, hands rising to rub her eyes. “What now?”

“They’re awake.”

He was already throwing the blankets off when your mother sat up and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”

“They’re downstairs.”

“So?”

“So?” He repeated in disbelief. “It’s one in the morning.”

Your mother squinted at him sleepily. “And?”

“And he’s down there with her.”

“You allowed him over.”

“That is suddenly feeling like a mistake.” Another muffled sound floated upstairs completely incoherent; for all he knew Seonghyeon could be plotting sneaking you out again. Your father pointed toward the floor. “You hear that?”

“I hear two teenagers.”

“I hear bad decisions.”

Your mother snorted softly, letting go of his wrist and lowering herself back onto the mattress. “You used to climb through my bedroom window.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Your mother smiled a little, already pulling the blankets back up. “Leave them alone. Let them have this.”

Your father stared at the bedroom door for another long second, clearly still considering marching downstairs anyway. Then he sighed heavily and dropped back onto the mattress. “If he breaks my record player, he’s dead.”

“Sure, honey.”

Your father grumbled something under his breath before dragging a pillow over the side of his head dramatically. “I don’t want to hear it,” he muttered.

Your mother laughed quietly beside him, reaching over to switch the lamp off again while downstairs, completely oblivious, the static kept playing softly through the house, the two of you in your own world.

"This is nice," Seonghyeon finally spoke again, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Mm."

"We should do this more often. It’s much easier sneaking downstairs than climbing through your window."

"You're going to get us killed."

"Worth it."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. The streetlight caught the side of his face, illuminating the soft curve of his smile and the way his eyes were half-closed like he was already half-asleep. You reached up and brushed his hair back from his forehead. It fell right back, the way it always did.

"Come on," you whispered. "We should actually go to bed. Before he comes down here with a baseball bat."

He groaned but let you step back. His hand lingered on your waist for a moment longer, then dropped to his side. You walked together to the stairs, your bare feet silent on the cold floor, his heavier behind you. At the top of the stairs, you stopped, turning back to face him.

"Goodnight," you whispered.

"Goodnight."

Neither of you moved.

"You first," he said, a soft smile resting on his face.

"No, you."

He smiled—that slow, lazy smile that always made your stomach flip. His eyes softened in the dim light, crinkling at the corners, and for a moment, he just looked at you like he was trying to memorise the shape of your face. As though he wanted to remember this exact second.

Then he leaned in.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, gentle but sure. His thumb brushed against your temple and you felt your eyes flutter closed before his lips even touched your skin.

When they did, it was soft. Softer than you expected. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and they pressed against your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He stayed there longer than he needed to, just breathing you in, and his breath warmm against your hairline. You could feel the faint tremor in his fingers where they rested against your scalp, could feel the way his chest rose and fell with a slow, steady breath, like he was trying to steady himself.

Your own hands had found the fabric of his t-shirt at some point, your fingers curled into the soft cotton, holding on without meaning to. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant even. His lips brushed your skin one last time before he straightened, and his hand slid from your hair to your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. His eyes were dark in the dim light, soft, and he looked at you as though you were something precious.

"Goodnight," he whispered. His voice was low, rough, barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Then he let go. His hand dropped to his side and he took a step back, then another, his bare feet silent on the carpet. The hallway was dark, but you could see the outline of him: the slope of his shoulders, the mess of his hair, the way he kept his eyes on yours even as he moved away.

He reached the guest room doorway and paused. His hand rested on the frame. He looked back at you one last time, and something warm and unspoken passed between you.

Then, eventually, he stepped inside, and he was gone.

You walked to your room, climbed into your own bed, and pulled the blanket up to your chin, still feeling the warmth of his hands in your hair. The house was silent again, the needle of the vinyl player resting in the final groove, evidence of the events of what had just happened right under your father’s nose.

You closed your eyes and, for the first time all night, felt sleep pulling at the edges of your mind.

In the master bedroom, your father lay on his back with his arm over his eyes, pretending not to have heard the faint creak of the stairs twenty minutes ago. Beside him, your mother smiled into her pillow and said nothing.

The house settled. The night stretched on. And somewhere in the dark, two hearts beat in time, separated by only a hallway and a door that did little to contain the love you had for the boy on the other side.

[paarksunghoon]

grocery store receipts (sunghoon)

SUMMARY: your hot neighbor seems to have everything you don’t: charm, confidence, and a sense of direction in life. you’ve managed to keep to yourself in the time you’ve lived across from his apartment but the holiday season brings brings out unresolved feelings, and you find that the best present of all has always been standing right in front of you.

WORD COUNT: 31.5K.

PLAYLIST: I ended up making one for this fic

NOTES: consider this a love letter to sunghoon. this story had three plots before it became what it is right now. I’m not somebody who generally enjoys the holidays but wish I could be, so this is a bit of a diary entry, of sorts. (me to me: it’s really not that serious.)

and thanks to @moonstruck-muses for being the best person I know…I love who I am when I’m with you and I’m so grateful that you ended up tagging along to oomf’s house all those months ago. kinda hilarious that I knew you’d be a jake girl before you did, but I think that sums up the kind of friendship we have. 🩷

WARNINGS: fluff & angst, mentions of poor childhoods and bad parental relationships, a whole lot of Christmas talk, smut in the form of: dry humping, oral (f. receiving), missionary, sunghoon’s kinda obsessed with her chest, multiple orgasms, fingering. unprotected sex, creampie, and typos, probably.

MASTERLIST

****

“Did you bring the sweater?”

Jake holds up a large white paper bag and pulls out the fabric, pushing the decorative detail in your direction. “Boom. You’ll win the ugly sweater competition, no doubt.”

“It’s not a contest.” You take the bag from him and Jake beams at you with that boyish smile he has when he gets excited about something. You feel a bit soft that he’s excited for you. “But thank you for letting me borrow it.” 

Heeseung grabs the sweater and holds it up in front of him. “This…is something else. Why do you have it in the first place?”

“It’s got a disco dance floor with breakdancing gingerbread men,” Jake deadpans. “It’s snowing inside the club. Why wouldn’t I buy it?”

Jay laughs. “He saw it at a thrift store last Christmas and bought it on a whim. I don’t think he’s worn it, so it’s good that you’re taking it off his hands.”

“I still want it back even if I have nowhere to wear it to.” 

You bump Jake’s hip. “You could always wear it to run errands.” 

He makes a face. “I’m not that crazy.” 

Heeseung folds the sweater and puts it back in the bag before handing it off to you for safekeeping when all four of you walk deeper into the bar. It’s cold outside. It’s the kind of weather that has you layered up in a scarf and a large peacoat that shields you from the chilly bite of the air. Summer has long passed and spring isn’t for another few months, and the joy you feel from the temperature dropping echoes within the warm bar you find yourself in. The juxtaposition of snowy air met with a warm furnace feels comforting in all of the right ways.

You offer to get a table and hum in appreciation with Jay and Jake volunteer to split the first round. They know your order on a weekday evening—whiskey sour—because you don’t like to go overboard when you have to wake up early the next morning. Heeseung slides into the booth beside you and nudges your shoulder.

“Are you still interested in the Marketing Lead position? I heard Kang Eunji’s transferring to the Tokyo office and that the company is looking to hire internally.”

“Now how would you know that, Lee Heeseung?” He shrugs with an uptick to the corner of his mouth.

“I have my ways.”

“Did you, by any chance, flirt with our floor’s secretary to get this information?” 

Heeseung’s cheeks reddens. “It’s not my fault that she’s into me, okay?! I’ve turned her down plenty of times because I don’t do workplace relationships, but I’ll make an exception if that means helping my best friend get promoted.”

“Poor girl. She probably thinks you’re stringing her along.” Heeseung rolls his eyes.

“I’m doing nothing of that sort. I just smiled at her, complimented her dress, and asked if the rumors about Eunji leaving were true.” 

“You walk through life getting everything you want handed to you, huh?” Heeseung smiles innocently but the two of you end up sharing a laugh. 

“I’m serious, though. I don’t know how much I can help since everybody in the office knows we’re close. They’ll definitely think I bias you over other candidates.”

“Don’t you?” 

“Well yeah, but let’s consider there are a few other people whose words matter more than mine.” 

“That is awfully nice of you. I’m a little concerned that you might have something up your sleeve but I appreciate you.” 

He laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have a good Christmas.” The boyish smile he wears makes you feel tender but you push against him anyway.

“You’re a little scary when you’re nice to me.” 

“What? I can’t be nice to the girl who spilled hot coffee down my shirt the first time we met?”

You mumble. “I’m clumsy.”

“Are we talking about you being an absolute klutz?” Jay puts your drink in front of you. “If so, do you remember the time we were playing tennis in my backyard and you tripped over grass?”

“Okay, okay! I get it. I have terrible coordination and fine motor skills.” You hide your smile behind the glass and thank them for the drink before Jake speaks up.

“You’ll have to send me a picture of you in the sweater. I want to put it up in my fridge, or something. What’s it for anyway?”

“The company Heeseung and I work at hosts spirit month every holiday season,” you explain. “Every Friday is casual dress day, but starting in the first week of November, there’s a holiday theme and I think it’s fun to dress up.”

“I’m surprised at how many people do it,” Heeseung chimes in.

“I’m sure we can find one day that works for you.”

“I’ll only consider dressing up if you can make it look tasteful.”

“Please just dress up once,” you beg. “You can wait until it gets close to Christmas. Besides, you’d look good in some of the categories.”

“What are the themes?” Jay asks.

“Next week is Winter Wonderland and the week after that is Red Day. I’m pretty sure there’s a Pajama Day somewhere.”

“Well, I might show up to the office in sweats.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I wish my job did something fun.” Jake pouts behind his beer. “I’m in a lab all day so even if I wore something festive, it’s covered by a white coat.”

Jay laughs. “You act like being able to wear a white coat is a bad thing.”

“It is when you can’t see break dancing gingerbread men.”  

“Have you guys started Christmas shopping?” Heeseung stares at the drink in his hand as if a lightbulb hangs over his head. “All this holiday talk made me realize I haven’t started thinking about what to get my friends and family. I have absolutely no idea what to get you guys.”

“You could get me a free week at your client’s fancy hotel.” Heeseung looks at Jay and deadpans, whereas the younger boy laughs.

“I’d get myself a weekend vacation before I give it to you.” He sighs. “It would be fun if all four of us could go on a vacation away from Seoul, though. No worries, no work, and no responsibilities.”

“The lab’s slowing down and I’ve made a list of people I need to give gifts to.” Jake pulls his phone out and shows everybody the note on his phone, aptly titled ‘CHRISTMAS PRESENTS FOR THE HOMIES.’ You try to see what he’s put beside your name but he pulls his phone away faster than you can read.

Jay looks at you. “I’ll bet you've been prepared since summer.”

“I’m only put together when it comes to the holidays, Jay.”

“Does that mean you have most of your gifts wrapped?” 

You nod proudly. “You know me too well.”

“I want to know what you got me.” 

“Nope, no guessing.”

“I don’t think you can beat last year’s gift for him,” Jake snickers. “Poor Jay almost had a heart attack when you were able to get his guitar signed by Hisashi Tonomura since you worked with him for a campaign.” 

“That was tricky because I didn’t know how to ask for your guitar without tipping you off.”

“I knew you wanting to learn how to play was a bullshit excuse,” Jay says with a laugh. “But looking back at it now, that really was a great gift.” 

Heeseung raises his eyebrows at you suggestively. “Are you getting anything for your cute next door neighbor?” You aren’t tipsy by any means, but the mere mention of the hot guy who lives across the hall from your apartment makes your cheeks feel warm. The guys laugh when you look away from them and you hear their laughter ringing in your ears as you try to maintain your shyness.

“No, Heeseung. It would be weird of me to get a gift for someone I barely know.”

“Maybe you should!” Jake nudges your knee with the tip of his shoe. “You guys could fall in love for all anybody knows.” 

You smile weakly. “I’m too scared to talk to him. He’s so…hot.” 

Jay snorts. “So you tell us.” 

Your neighbor, who you and the guys have dubbed ‘The Stranger,’ moved into your building nearly a year ago. In that time, you haven’t mustered up the courage to say anything to him. You keep it at awkward eye contact when you see him leaving or arriving at the same time and begin daydreaming the minute you lock your door behind you. His dark hair, striking brown eyes, and pouty lips is enough to make him the subject of your waking thoughts. 

Your friends seem to overestimate your confidence and encourage you to talk to The Stranger, but your resolve crumbles every time you make eye contact with him. Surely a man like that belongs only in fairy tale books or those cliché romance novels middle-aged women seem to like so much. He’s always impeccably dressed with fitted clothing and a clean face that never seems to have blemishes. He must be well off because you recognize name brands adorning his chiseled body.

His demeanor intimidates you too. The Stranger always stands with his chin parallel to the floor and walks with his shoulder held back as if invisible books were stacked on top of his head. The way he carries himself makes you think he’s confident and it intimidates you because you’re anything but. The Stranger is always polite, acknowledging you if he happens to see you around your shared hallway, but he remains aloof with barely a glance before disappearing. He is every bit tall, dark, and handsome, and you’re a little too unsure of yourself to ever make the first move. 

Heeseung, your closest friend since you moved to Seoul, always tells you there’s nothing to fear and that rejection isn’t the end of the world. You try to take his advice but Heeseung is the type of person who never has never had to worry about rejection because people are lining up the doors for him. He’s got a charming personality that almost certainly helped secure his promotion at the company you two work. He’s also got enough charisma and good looks to hook women in. Heeseung doesn’t have to lift a finger to get anybody to pay attention to him. Besides, you’d rather live in this yearning stage of your life than face the awkwardness of seeing him after he rejects you. 

(“If he rejects you,” you hear Heeseung’s voice say in the back of your mind.)

It’s the same for Jay and Jake, too. They’re both incredibly handsome and know their way around people, even if they’re a bit shy at times. Jake especially, who has a clear accent in the way he speaks, can easily make friends with anybody at the mere mention of the way he speaks. Jay attracts people left and right because of his chiseled jawline and the fact that he’s musically gifted, and people stay because he’s incredibly compassionate and attentive.

You love your friends because they’re wonderful people who always seem to know how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking before you can tell them. But you’re a little bit envious that the world seems to work out for them without doing too much. You find that your experiences have the opposite outcome and you’ve had your fair share of rejection stories across every aspect of your life. All of your insecurities have been with you from childhood until now, and trying to be the bigger person is becoming harder every single day. It’s probably what keeps you from doing anything but approach the attractive man that lives across from you. The Stranger is simply somebody too beautiful and you aren’t sure if you’re worthy enough to be somebody he can look at. 

“He’s hot and single.” Heeseung puts his hand on his chin. “Doesn’t seem like a problem to me.” 

“We don’t know that he’s single.”

“I wish I knew what he looked like.” Jake pouts at his beer. “Who doesn’t have an Instagram or social media?” 

“You’re one to talk. You barely post on Instagram and every picture you have is outdated. I’m pretty sure the only person who cares enough is Jay.” 

The aforementioned speaks next. “Has he ever brought girls home before?” 

You shrug. “I don’t think so?” 

“There you have it. He’s single, hot, and you should make a move on him! You never know what’ll happen.” 

“Can we drop it?” you ask, starting to feel a bit restless where you sit. “It’ll happen if it’s meant to happen.” Jake sits back and tries to hide his sulk, although you know he only wants the best for you so you try not to feel annoyed. 

“Are any of you going home for the holidays?” Jay asks to break the silence. 

“Probably not,” Heeseung replies. “My family wanted to go somewhere tropical and spending time in the heat doesn’t sound too good to me. I’ll probably see them when they get back and make a weekend out of it.” 

“Same here.” Jake finishes off the rest of his beer. “My brother’s coming from Brisbane and my parents are spending it back home, but we agreed to meet up next year since they visited Seoul a few months back. You?”

“Staying here because my extended family will be here for a week or so. I’ve got some family obligations but they told me to take it easy now that I’m living on my own.” 

“Sounds like you guys will be bothering each other even more now, huh?”

Jay laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. What about you? Are you going back home this year?” 

You look down at your hands. “I don’t know yet. My mom keeps asking if she should expect me to come home but I’ve put off making that decision for a long time. It’s just hard, you know? After dealing with my dad and everything that went down a few years ago…I don’t know if I’m ready to go back.” 

Her voice lingers in the back of your head the more you think about it. You don’t talk to her often and leave phone calls with her around two to three times a week. She sends you Instagram reels she thinks are funny and you do your best to laugh at them too. But the reality is that talking to her about the holidays reminds you of everything you’re running away from. 

It’s been four years since you moved for a fresh start after university. Seoul used to be so big and enticing compared to the small fishing town you hail from. The streets smell like delicious savory and sweet goods instead of the raw stench of live bait and wet creatures. The lights that illuminate the night sky due to the gargantuan billboards make you feel like this city never truly sleeps because the next adventure is at arm’s length. It’s what you’ve craved for so long and now that you have it, going back to your neighborhood is starting to make you feel guilty for achieving one of your dreams and leaving everything behind. 

Your friends seem to know what’s running through your head. You’ve been this way every winter since they met you. Heeseung gently nudges your arm with his elbow to pull you out of your thoughts. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? We’ll be here for you.”

“I know. I just feel guilty for not going back home since I moved. It’s a two hour train ride but I can’t bring myself to buy the ticket. It’s so hard to be in a place that brings you bad memories.”

“We’ll keep you company this Christmas,” Jake promises. “We aren’t going anywhere so there’s no reason for you to be alone.” 

“Thanks, guys. I’m sorry that I brought the mood down.” 

“What else is drinking at bars for if not to lament about the sad shit?” Jake smiles when that pulls a laugh out of you. 

“Yeah, you’re right. But if I’m hungover at work tomorrow, it’s your fault.”

***

Despite a difficult conversation that sparked haunting nostalgic memories to resurface at once, you managed to keep your drinking to a minimum and stopped yourself after a single cocktail. Heeseung dropped you off and promised to be back to carpool to work tomorrow, and the last thing you thought about before sleeping was The Stranger. 

Your under eye bags aren’t as groggy as they are when you’d drink the night away, but they still feel heavy underneath you. Moisturizer and concealer can only do so much to get rid of the dark circles on your face so you make do and send a silent prayer that you’ll look decent for the entire day. Jake’s ugly sweater hangs perfectly against your dresser and you do your best to style around the atrocious design, but it makes you smile to see such a ridiculous piece of clothing on your body. It reminds you that the holidays are beginning and you try to think about all of the festivities in the area instead of the looming doom of going back to your hometown during this time of year. You take a quick picture of yourself and send it in the group chat, thanking Jake for the impeccably horrible sweater. Once your work bag is packed, Heeseung tells you he’s parked outside of your apartment building. 

You step outside and lock your door only to be greeted by The Stranger.

He blinks when he takes note of the dancing gingerbread men and cocks his head trying to make sense of him. The Stranger, on the other hand, is wearing a fitted longsleeve shirt that nearly molds around the muscles of his arm and baggy pants that somehow make him seem taller than you recall. His hands are adorned with silver jewelry and his shoes look like they might be as expensive as your monthly rent. You’re starting to feel the juxtaposition of your outfit compared to his when he looks at you and the design of the fabric feels heavy on your shoulders.

“That is an ugly sweater.” The Stranger widens his eyes and the tips of his ears turn a shade of pink when his words finally register. “I just mean that your sweater is…interesting.” 

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s alright. This sweater is really ugly.” 

“Any particular reason as to why you’re wearing it, then?” 

“Today’s a holiday spirit day at work,” you explain to him. “Every Friday has a different theme and today just so happens to be Ugly Sweater Day.”

“I hope you get a consolation prize because, wow…that truly is an atrocious piece of clothing.”

The two of you start to make your way towards the elevator, and stand in awkward silence as you wait for it to reach your floor. You see him stealing glances at the design and feel your neck warming up, and start to wish you could take it off. The thought of this outfit being The Stranger's first impression of you makes you feel humiliated, but Heeseung is waiting for you outside and Jake didn’t give it to you just for it to hang in your closet. 

The chime alerts you to the doors opening and The Stranger allows you to get in first. You're about to press the button for the lobby when he beats you to it. You settle into an uncomfortable silence, resisting the urge to itch your palms and shift awkwardly to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Everything about him screams opulence, from the way he stands to the way his cologne smells. You aren’t sure that you can name the notes in the scent, but it smells extremely expensive. Even the way he stands makes you feel like you should fix your posture. 

“I’m Sunghoon,” says The Stranger. His deep voice echoes in the elevator and your throat feels dry as you tell him your name. “I’ll remember that for when we inevitably run into each other.” 

The lobby is fairly empty but you can see the hustle and bustle of city life when you look past the glass walls. Heeseung is sitting in his car, scrolling on his phone when Sunghoon opens the door for you and lets you walk out in front of him. You feel him looking at you and turn around one last time. He takes one more look at the sweater and nods. 

“Well, uh, have a good spirit day at work.”

“T-Thanks!” 

You don’t wait for his reaction and turn around to walk towards Heeseung’s car that you noticed has been recently washed. He unlocks the doors when he hears you tugging on the handles and looks at the sweater before bursting out into laughter.

“Jesus, that sweater is so fucking ugly.” 

“Thanks.” 

When you don’t put your seatbelt on, Heeseung turns to see that you’re looking outside of the window. He darts his eyes to see if he can catch a glimpse of your line of sight but comes up empty. You look fresh for this hour of the morning and Heeseung wonders if the smile on your face is because of the upcoming spirit day. 

“What are you looking at?”

You whip your head to your friend, who looks at you quizzically. “You will not believe who I talked to this morning.” 

“Who? Santa?” Heeseung looks at the photo you sent in the group chat earlier. “Nice selfie, by the way. You look like an elf.”

You swat his shoulder. “No, dummy.”

“Then who did you meet?” 

“My neighbor.” Heeseung’s jaw drops and you swat his shoulder again. He winces, but you can’t find it in yourself to care too much and buckle yourself to his passenger seat. “We gotta get to work. Drive and I’ll tell you.”

He grips the wheel and starts the fifteen minute journey. “Did you finally introduce yourself to him?” 

“Not quite. We walked out of our apartments at the same time. He said, and I quote, ‘That is an ugly sweater.’”

“I don’t know whether to be happy or sorry for you.”

“I feel stupid because of all the days I had to run into him, it had to be today.” Heeseung’s seat warmers make it all that more enticing to sulk. You tug at the hem and inspect the design, feeling somewhat regretful that you chose to participate in today’s spirit day. “I told him a little bit about why I’m wearing it and he seemed to think it was funny.” 

“Does he smell good?” You flick Heeseung’s arm, who laughs in the driver’s seat.

“Shut up. But yeah, he really does.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Sunghoon.” Your mouth curves into a smile. 

“Sunghoon. Nice name. Sounds fancy.” 

“I guess so. He does wear a lot of name brands and high luxury fashion.”

“His name definitely suits him, then.” 

To nobody’s surprise, you have the best ugly sweater throughout the office. More people participated than you and Heeseung had originally guessed and the holiday-themed snacks your division manager provided was enough to boost office morale. The weather outside is getting darker earlier and you even feel a bit restless after sitting in your office for a while. 

Heeseung watches you from behind your frosted doors as he talks to the floor secretary to order files and copies of his projects, and the sight of you in that horrendous sweater with a smile on your face makes him smile too. You’ve looked like that the entire day, from picking you up and throughout lunch, and Heeseung wonders if could ever convince you to make a move on your neighbor since you talk about him so much. He doesn’t know how much longer he can listen to your fantasies while being extremely shy to strike a conversation with him. 

He turns to the group chat he has with Jay and Jake. You’re notably absent from this text thread (as told by the name of the group chat) and they use it to discuss anything deemed ‘guy stuff’ (most infamously when you text “TAKE THIS ELSEWHERE” when they start getting too boyish for your taste).

The Gentlemen’s Club 

heeseung: GUYS. She met her neighbor this morning

heeseung: His name is Sunghoon and he saw her with Jake’s ugly sweater

heeseung: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

jake: IS HE CUTE

heeseung: I think so. She was blushing the entire car ride here and could barely say anything until we parked 

jake: fuck yea. i trust her taste in men because she thinks byeon wooseok and kim jaeyoung are hot. they’re gonna fall in love guys 

jay: If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Jake had one too many cups of coffee  

jake: well yes BUT u know me and you know i think they’ll have a meet cute

heeseung: Technically they already had one. Although I don’t if I’d call it a meet cute since he called your sweater ugly to her face

jake: whatever. you know what I mean. we should find out what he looks like 

jay: And how are we gonna do that?   

jake: idk maybe throw a little get together this weekend

heeseung: That’s a little soon, no? 

jake: next weekend then. 

jake: I can host at my place. tell her to bring whoever she wants. I need an excuse for a housewarming anyway 

jay: You moved in three months ago tho??

jake: it’s time to have one now!!!! I’ll text the group chat with all of us 

Heeseung switches to the group chat with you in it. 

The Family Unit:

jake: housewarming. my place. next saturday. 6pm. bring food 

jay: If you’re throwing the party, why do we need to bring the food

jake: because I am hosting god knows how many people and I cannot afford all of that 

heeseung: We can figure this out later 

you: Jaeyun, didn’t you move in three months ago ???

jay: THAT’S WHAT I SAID.

jake: we can have an official party now!!!!. bring whoever you want as long as they’re cool

you: Say less!!! I’m there. I’ll bring dessert

jake: 🤤

jay: Can I leave this group chat?

It’s painfully boring for the rest of the day as you all tie up loose ends before 6 PM hits, but you power through it and let your assistant go home for the day. With the weekend looming near after sending a few more emails, you swear you can feel the tension exiting your body. Heeseung knocks on your door and steps inside as you send one last message to a client. 

“You should invite Sunghoon.” 

“To what?” you ask him, temporarily clouded by end-of-week work stress.

“To Jake’s housewarming, dude. It’s the perfect excuse to talk to him again.” You sit back in your chair and look at him as he sits in front of you. 

“I don’t think I have the guts to do that.”

“It’s easy. Knock on his door and tell him there’s gonna be free food and drinks next weekend.”

You scoff. “Easy for you to say. You’re like a magnet. People are drawn to you because you have no problem socializing with people you don’t know.”

“You and I are friends, aren’t we? I must be doing something right.”

“Meeting at work four years ago hardly counts as socializing. It was forced proximity.” Heeseung puts his hand over his heart and pretends to cry.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I like being friends with you and you aren’t as awkward as you think you are. I think Sunghoon, or anyone for that matter, would feel that way too. You just need to put yourself out there.”

You slump back in your desk chair. “I know…It’s hard to push myself to get to know someone, though. It’s like there’s an invisible line I can’t seem to cross and it gets worse when I talk to people I find attractive. He’s like, really hot.”

“You talk to me every day and do just fine.” Expertly, he dodges when you throw a pen at him and laughs when you grunt in dissatisfaction. “What are you so scared of?”

“I don’t know. Looking like an idiot, for one. He’s so beautiful and I don’t feel worthy of him.”

“He’s a man, first of all,” Heeseung deadpans, “so he’s already beneath you.”

“Wow, so you do listen to my I-hate-men rants.”

“Yeah, because I care about you and men suck.”

“You and the guys especially when you won’t leave my apartment.” 

“But your apartment is so cozy.” You threaten to throw another pen and smile when he flinches. 

“I’m afraid of making things awkward if he doesn’t want to get to know me like that. We’ve acknowledged that we’re neighbors and all, but what if I ask him to come to Jake’s party, he says no, and thinks I’m a weirdo and a creep for asking him that after one conversation?”

“Then he’s a weirdo for being creeped out. Anyone who gets offended by being invited somewhere is weird. You’re a nice person trying to do a nice thing. There’s nothing wrong with making friends.”

Heeseung is right, like he typically always is, and you ponder on his words. Since the first time you saw Sunghoon, you’ve treated him as some fictitious crush that exists only within your head and muse over the small interactions and indulge yourself when thinking about him. Romance seems far fewer in between and you choose to stick to television shows and books that make your heart flutter instead of going on multiple dates just to find out the two of you aren’t compatible. 

It feels like an endless cycle of hopelessness at times. You’ll watch your friends fall in love and try to empathize with that kind of unfiltered joy that comes with knowing somebody loves you just as much as you love them, but you fall flat when the reality weighs in. You don’t think you’ve ever fallen in love or have felt anything remotely close to falling for someone so deeply that you lose yourself in it. It’s probably a good thing, but the yearning doesn’t seem to end even though you know it’s for the best. 

Pinning all of the qualities you’d want in a boyfriend on the stranger next door seemed like a safe bet because you never thought about the possibility of getting to know him. Sunghoon is someone who is as quiet as a mouse, never making too much noise when he’s in his apartment. He’s a model tenant who always pays his bills on time and never causes a disturbance to the building. Facing the reality that is perceiving him as anything but what your imagination conjured up makes you a little uneasy. You admire from afar but the idea of a hot guy looking in your direction makes you feel somewhat unworthy of their attention. 

“I’ll think about it,” is all you offer. Heeseung seems to be pleased at your answer and doesn’t pry any further. “Are you done with work?”

“Yup. I decided everything else could wait until Monday and sent my assistant home.” 

“Look at us being good managers.”

“We’re everything we said we would ve and then some.” Heeseung grabs your pea coat from the closet and helps you put it on when you round the corner of your desk one sleeve at a time. “Do you remember Song Bitna?”

“How could I ever forget,” you scoff, retrieving your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “She used to make us run laps and get upset that our work wasn’t completed.”

“She made me go on more personal errands than anything work related. It’s a wonder how I managed to get promoted.”

You push the door to your office open and say goodnight to your remaining coworkers. “There’s a reason why we’re here and she isn’t. It’s good to know we aren’t shitty bosses.”

“I hope so. Sometimes I get in my own head and wonder if I’m managing everything correctly. I want my assistant to learn from me, you know?” Heeseung allows you to step into the elevator before walking in after you. 

“Yeah, but you’re good at everything you do. You should have more faith in yourself.” He nudges your shoulder with his own.

“You should take your own advice.” You bite your lip and look down at the floor. “You’ve got a week. Think about it, okay?”

“I will.” 

“I was serious about the promotion as well. I’ll put in a good word but you should consider talking to the division lead.”

Classic Heeseung. He looks out for you in more ways than one. 

***

The weekend flies by too quickly for your liking and you find yourself at your desk on a Wednesday afternoon with a cup of tea sitting between your hands to warm up your palms. The building’s central heater stopped working a few hours into the workday, leaving you and many other office workers disgruntled and cold. You shut all of your windows and paced around your office to keep your blood circulating throughout your body. The morning was fairly productive until the heating went out and you've spent the last hour replying to emails with cold fingers, pushing any and all thoughts of Sunghoon out of your mind. 

You haven’t seen him since last Friday. Sunghoon doesn’t seem to have a routine that he sticks to–one that you can identify, anyway–because you didn’t run into him for the past three days. You waited anxiously by the elevator to see if he would come barreling down the hallway and ask you to hold the door for him, but each day was met with empty silence before stepping into Heeseung’s car. 

True to your word, you spent Saturday trying to convince yourself to ask if he’d be interested in coming with you to Jake’s housewarming party. You’d wane from decision to decision, telling yourself there’s nothing inherently wrong with asking somebody if they want to hang out, but the irrational side of your brain convinced you that it would be weird to open up that kind of dialogue with a stranger. You don’t know anything about him and he doesn’t know the first thing about you. But that’s what getting to know someone consists of, doesn’t it? 

Before you knew it, Sunday came around and it was starting to get dark outside your window. The urge to curl up into your blankets and spend the rest of the evening watching Netflix was too tempting. The more you watched your TV, the more you stared at your front door. It would take a minute, maybe two at the most, to ask Sunghoon if he’d like to come with you to Jake’s. The worst thing he could do is decline your invitation. He seemed nice enough on Friday when he saw you wearing the ugly sweater and you suppose he’d be nice about letting you down gently. But even so, rejection stings. 

Your feet carried you outside of your apartment door to knock on his. You waited with your heartbeat loud in your ears but heard nothing from the other end of the door. When you peeked down at the small gap below you, there weren’t any shadows or anything indicating that Sunghoon was home. Still, you knocked once more for good measure and waited thirty seconds to see if he would open the door. Even though the most logical explanation is that your neighbor wasn’t home, heat crept up your neck and splashed onto your cheeks as you quickly made your way back inside of your apartment. With the twist of the lock behind you, your couch and TV brought some much needed comfort and distraction from feeling embarrassed. 

Heeseung hadn’t asked you about Sunghoon on Monday or Tuesday, but seemed to remember when Jake sent a reminder earlier this morning. He swung by your office as the temperature dipped and you updated him on what transpired over the weekend with a defeated sigh. Ever the optimist, Heeseung told you to try again tonight since you might have a better chance at catching Sunghoon during a weeknight. 

The day goes by slower than you’d like and when Heeseung drops you off at your apartment, you make a dash for your sanctuary and rid yourself of the day’s grime by spending a long time underneath the hot shower. Work is simultaneously ramping up and slowing down as everyone is trying to complete projects before winter recess and you feel all of the tension leave your body once the hot water soothes over your shoulder blades. It’s still relatively early in the evening when your hair is half dry and you’ve just finished eating dinner. The entire time you wash your dirty dishes, your mind can’t help but wander towards Sunghoon and what Heeseung said earlier about trying to ask him again. Surely he’s in his apartment at this hour on a Wednesday evening. 

You decide to bite the bullet. After grabbing the cardigan that rests on the back of your couch, you put it on and decide against changing into your shoes since you’ll be stepping out for just a few minutes. Sunghoon’s door stares back at you as you close your own behind you and this time, you can hear the soft sounds of R&B behind it. 

This makes your heart rate pick up speed because the real possibility that you’ll be face to face with Sunghoon becomes too real for you to handle. You could barely utter complete sentences to him last week. What makes you think you could do it now? The same scenarios of rejection and humiliation ruminate in your mind the longer you stand outside. You contemplate going back inside but the thought of telling Heeseung you chickened out and seeing a potentially disappointed expression on his face makes you knock on Sunghoon’s door. 

Unlike the last time, you hear the sound of slippers shuffling against a hardwood floor. The lights are on from what you can tell underneath the gap of the door and you start to panic when you see a shadowy figure blocking that light. You assume Sunghoon must be looking through the peephole and resist the urge to fix your hair in case it looks horrible. The door opens momentarily.

“Hey. What’s up?” Sunghoon wears a pair of dark green sweatpants and a large graphic t-shirt that makes him look like the stereotypical boy next door. You look up at him and gulp.  

“Sorry to bother you,” you apologize, suddenly feeling a lump growing in the back of your throat. 

“You’re not bothering me,” Sunghoon says it with a smile. He opens the door wider. “Do you want to come inside?” You don’t really want to because you’re afraid you might trip and fall on your way inside, but you take up his offer anyway.

“Sure.” It comes out as a squeak.

His apartment is tidy and well kept with artwork adorning the walls in his living room. It’s more spacious than your own and his furniture makes the room look bigger than it probably is, with couches against the wall and a large TV in front of it. There are photographs hung in silver frames and pictures of people you don’t recognize, along with shelves of knick knacks and other small statues you assume are artwork he’s acquired over time. Sunghoon’s living room gives you the impression that he’s somebody who cares about taking care of himself and his space. He sees that you’re particularly drawn to the photo gallery on his wall and you feel him standing next to you.

“I took most of these pictures.” 

“Are you a photographer?”

“Not professionally, no. Photography is a hobby of mine.” 

“You’re really good.” 

“Thank you.” Sunghoon looks at you before averting his gaze back to the photo wall. “My mom gave me my first camera when I was eleven and I took it with me everywhere I went. Are you a photographer too?” 

You shake your head. “Oh no, I don’t have an artistic eye like you do. But I appreciate good photos when I see them, or so I’d like to think.” Sunghoon smiles at that.

“I’m glad you think my photographs are worthy of praise. This is the first photo I ever took.” He points to an image of a young girl in the center of the photo gallery, whose short arms are reaching for the camera. She wears an infectious smile on her face that reveals a dimple on the side of her cheek. 

“Wow, you were really good even back then. Who is she, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“That’s my younger sister,” Sunghoon says with a fond smile. “I got this camera on my birthday and she wanted to see it after my dad helped me set it up. I think this might be my favorite photo I’ve ever taken.” 

“It’s a great shot.” You compliment Sunghoon sincerely and turn your head to look at him. He clears his throat. 

“What is it that you came here for?” 

“Oh, right!” Sheepishly balancing on both of your feet, you clasp your hands behind your back and lick your lips. “I, um, well…One of my best friends is hosting a housewarming party at his apartment, and I wanted to know if you’d like to come with me.” 

Sunghoon points at himself. “Me?” You nod. “I didn’t think we were that close.” You try not to let him see how embarrassed you are. 

“Sorry, it’s probably weird that I asked you even though we barely know each other, right?” It seems as though your brain cannot stop you from speaking, a habit you have every time you begin to feel nervous. You start to back away towards his front door. “It’s just that, well, we’ve been neighbors for almost a year and I thought to myself, why not make new friends? My friend told me to invite anybody I wanted to and we have a lot of the same friends, so I knew they’d be there too.” You wince at the sound of your voice. “Anyway, I’m sorry for bothering you and for asking.” 

Sunghoon shakes his head and grabs the doorknob before you can. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m honored that you invited me, actually. Living by yourself gets kind of lonely at times. It’s nice to go somewhere that isn’t home for a few hours. I’m a bit of an introvert and would like to make more friends.” 

“You don’t seem like an introvert to me,” you blurt out before slapping your palm over your mouth. “I mean, you’re doing just fine with me.”

He smiles at you. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

“My friend’s a great host and loves meeting new people. You’ll make at least one friend by the time you leave. Even if you don’t, there’s gonna be food there, so you’ll have a free meal out of it.” 

“Should I bring anything?” 

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“I feel like I shouldn’t come there empty handed if it’s a housewarming.” 

“I’m making peppermint brownies,” you tell him. “I’ll say it’s from both of us.” 

Sunghoon seems to be satisfied with your answer. “When’s the party?” 

“This Saturday at six. We could, uh, go together? If you want to, that is.” 

“It makes sense to go together. Do you drive? I can drive us if you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t drive.” Your cheeks feel warm at your admission and you don’t know why your inability to operate a car makes you feel a bit bashful. Sunghoon doesn’t seem to mind, though. 

“Okay, I’ll drive us. Where does your friend live?”

“Not too far. He’s about twenty minutes from us.” 

“I’ll knock on your door around 5:30,” Sunghoon says with a single nod. He reaches around you to open his door for you. 

“Sounds good!” Sunghoon smiles and waves before saying goodnight. You watch him as the door closes and rush back into your apartment with your heart hammering in your chest as you sit on your couch and text Heeseung about everything that just transpired. When he asks if you asked for Sunghoon’s number, you slouch. You didn’t think about that and now you’re too embarrassed to back and ask for it. 

Three days pass by quicker than you anticipated and your plate of peppermint brownies sits covered in tin foil on your kitchen counter as you wait for Sunghoon to knock on your door. You spent the entirety of the day worrying about the sweet treat and giving yourself enough time to get ready. Perhaps it’s a bit worrisome that you spent a good chunk of time standing in front of your closet to pick an outfit for tonight, but you want to make a good first impression on Sunghoon without the ugly sweater or pajamas you wore when you invited him to Jake’s party. 

You settle with flattering jeans and a nice top with an oversized leather jacket and find yourself wondering what kind of lipstick you should put on. It feels silly to worry about these things for a person who likely wouldn’t notice that type of effort, so you settle with something that compliments your skin tone but isn’t too over the top for a casual hang out. It’s just before 5:30 when you hear your doorbell ring and your heart rate perks up at the thought of Sunghoon waiting for you. 

“Hey,” you say to Sunghoon pathetically.. Sunghoon’s wearing a light grey quarter zip sweater with a few buttons hanging loose and black trousers. You avoid gawking at him from the threshold of your doorway, but it’s hard not to. 

“Long time no see,” he jokes. “Are you ready to head to the party?” His questions bring your eyes back to his face and you smile at him awkwardly. 

“Can you hold this for a second?” You hand Sunghoon the bag with Jake’s ugly sweater. “Let me get the brownies.” You barely register that Sunghoon’s holding a bag of his own until you walk back with the dessert, successfully locking your door without dropping your keys. “What's in the bag?” 

Sunghoon looks at you sheepishly. “I went out and bought some wine because I’d feel bad taking credit for your brownies when I didn’t help make them. There’s some soju in there too because I started to overthink and wondered if any of your friends drank wine.” 

You beam at Sunghoon. How thoughtful of him. “Wine and soju are perfect. The guys will probably drink that up before you get the chance to introduce yourself and I’ll happily drink the wine. My friend Jay might, too.” 

“I’m excited to meet your friends,” Sunghoon says as the two of you walk side by side towards the elevator. He presses the button and lets you walk inside the contraption first. “It’s been a while since I got the chance to meet new people.”

“If they make you uncomfortable or anything, let me know and we can leave.” 

Sunghoon laughs. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. If you like them, then so do I.”

“That doesn’t seem very introverted of you.” He smiles at you and shrugs.

“I’m trying to get out of my shell.” Sunghoon lets you step out of the elevator and guides you to his car. “I keep to myself most of the time but I have my moments. It’s easy to get lost in a city as busy as Seoul but sometimes it gets a bit lonely.” 

He unlocks the door and puts the sweater in the backseat, along with the brownie tray on the floor for extra stability. You watch him open the passenger door for you and smile as you climb inside. Even the interior of his car is orderly and pristine. Sunghoon has you typing in Jake’s address before the two of you hit the road. 

Sunghoon drives like an expert, weaving between lanes without causing collisions or disturbance to the traffic. He uses his turn signals, which you appreciate, and doesn’t get too angry when people cut him off unnecessarily. He looks a bit too good from where you’re sitting with his jawline looking sharper than the edge of a knife with the glow from headlights shining across his face. It’s a bit unfair how beautiful Sunghoon looks from where you are and you’re having a hard time believing someone as handsome as him is talking to someone as awkward as you. 

“Are you from Seoul?” you ask him in the midst of the silence. His music hums in the background and pairs well with the smooth sound of his car’s engine. 

“No, I’m not.” Sunghoon spares you a glance. “I’m from a small suburb just outside of Busan.”

“Do you miss it?” His smile falters and you almost regret asking.

“Sometimes, but I think I’ve found my footing here. I love the city life and I like that everything is so different and loud. There are a million ways to live your life and nobody expects you to follow a certain path.” 

“Yeah, I agree with that. I’m from a small fishing town a few hours away from here where everyone comes from a long line of farmers and fisherman. It’s hard to carry that burden and expectation when fishing is the last thing you want to do with your life.” 

“People have a crazy way of making you feel indebted, don’t you think?”

You nod. “Agreed. Sometimes I feel guilty for enjoying my time in Seoul. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, theoretically. Everyone back home used to tell me about the amount of bills I’d have to pay and how dangerous big cities are, but I’ve found a home here that I never felt back in my neighborhood. It’s like nobody knows who I am and I find comfort in that.” 

“I feel the same way. I can be whoever I want to be without people telling me it’s wrong. I don’t have to live my life by another person’s expectation and there are so many different things I could be doing with myself. How long have you been in Seoul? Have you visited your hometown at all?” 

“I’ve been here for eight years, if we count my university days, but I’ve been living here full time for four years. I went back home for a few months after graduating before getting the job I have now.” You play with your fingers as you speak, the feeling of guilt bubbling to the surface. “As for going home, well, I’ve been back but it’s hard to find the time with my job.”

“I understand that. I haven’t been home in a while either. I don’t really want to go back either.” You want to ask him why but don’t. 

“Does your younger sister still live there?” 

“She’s still back home and lives with our parents while he’s finishing up university in Busan, actually.” 

“Oh, that’s cool! It’s nice of your parents to let her stay at home while she studies.” Sunghoon smiles in a way you can’t decipher. 

“Yeah, really nice.” 

Sunghoon parks right in front of Jake’s apartment just when you’re starting to regret bringing up his family. You risk looking over at him and an apology sits on your tongue because it seems like a sore subject for him based on the short response, but Sunghoon exits the car and grabs the alcohol and the bag that contains the ugly sweater. You carry the brownies and feel a bit self conscious when you feel him walking behind you. Your shoes feel heavy around your feet and despite having been over to Jake’s apartment more times than you can count on both hands, you second guess every step you take on the way to his front door. 

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Sunghoon tells you after a beat of silence as you approach Jake's front door. You want to say something, but the door opening interferes with your thoughts. 

“Hey, you made it!” Jake ushers the two of you inside and by force of habit, you take off your shoes and out on the designated slippers you purposely left here when he first moved in. “Did you bring the sweater?” 

“The fact that you want to keep that ugly thing concerns me.” Heeseung gives you a hug and grabs the brownies from your hands as you struggle to take your coat off. “I’ll put this in the kitchen.” 

“Sunghoon has the sweater.” When you’re settled, you grab the paper bag and hand it to Jake. The warmth of his apartment feels comforting until you remember that your neighbor is a complete stranger in a new environment. You turn around to see him balancing awkwardly with a bag of alcohol behind his back. “Everyone, this is Sunghoon. Sunghoon, this is…everyone.” 

“Hey,” he says awkwardly, bringing his hand up to wave at your friends who’ve all gathered around to see the newcomer. Heeseung comes back after he’s put the dessert in the kitchen. The bottles in Sunghoon’s hands ring against one another, which makes Jake’s ears perk up. 

“Did you bring something?” 

“Wine and soju. She told me not to bring anything but I didn’t want to show up empty handed.” 

“I told him we could bring brownies together.” Jake makes a face at you and grabs the bag of alcohol from Sunghoon’s hands, pulling him further into the apartment. 

“Thank you, Sunghoon.” He turns back to you. “The thought that you could’ve deprived us of alcohol is insane, actually.” 

You purse your lips and fold your arms in front of your chest. “He could’ve brought everyone ear muffs, for all you know. What are you gonna do with them if your big ass ears can barely handle your headphones?” 

“Ignore them,” Heeseung says to Sunghoon as he approaches the two of you. “They fight like siblings. I’m Heeseung.” 

Sunghoon laughs. “I’m starting to think you guys are either really close or secretly hate each other.” 

“I hate Jake and love everybody else.” Jake bumps your hip and smiles at you, and you find that you can’t keep up that faux attitude for very long. He pulls you into a hug before properly introducing himself to Sunghoon and walks to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine and store the rest in his refrigerator. 

“Do you want a drink or some food? We have a little pot luck going on.”

“I could use a drink.”

Heeseung beckons Sunghoon towards the kitchen while Jay steps beside you, and your neighbor turns back to look at you before disappearing around the corner. “See? It’s not so scary once you take the first step.” 

“Your face was chiseled by God. You of all people don’t have to worry about rejection.”

Jay laughs at that. “Still, though. You’ve been talking about Sunghoon for so long that I was getting worried he might’ve been a figment of your imagination.” 

“I might be delusional, but I’m not crazy.”

“We all have our ways to cope.” You bump your shoulder with his. “You should know we’re all rooting for you and Sunghoon.” 

“Oh my God, it’s not like I pictured myself marrying him!” You whisper-yell loud enough for him to hear through gritted teeth and smack his bicep. “I just think he’s cute. The thought of being rejected by him scares the shit out of me.”

“He’s just a guy?” 

“A beautiful, charming guy.”

“Again, just a guy.” 

It’s his turn to make you laugh. “You always keep me grounded, Jongseong.” 

“Who else will? But anyway, you should also know that Jake decided to host this housewarming party because Heeseung told us you ran into him on your way to work.” 

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or weirded out by that.” 

“It’s Jake we’re talking about. He has his ways of showing it, but he’s a sentimental guy.” 

“I guess I should thank him if tonight goes well.”

“Don’t stress about anything too much.” Jay starts to walk towards the kitchen and beckons for you to follow him. “Let’s get you a drink.”

You spot Sunghoon first, who leans against Jake’s counter while he looks at all of the food your friends brought (Chick-Fil-A catering, because he’s been craving it and Heeseung offered to pay for half of it). There’s an impressive selection of alcohol beside the large platter of breaded chicken, and macaroni and cheese that smells like it’s just been pulled out of the oven. Sunghoon seems entertained enough with Jake fixing him a plate and opening a bottle of beer for him. You stand beside Jay and feel a bit silly worrying over whether or not your guest feels comfortable with your group of friends, but he seems to be doing okay because he isn’t searching for you. 

“How do you guys know each other?” 

“This one spilled coffee on me when we first met.” Heeseung laughs at the memory and the tips of his ears turn a deep shade of red. He’s talkative when he has enough alcohol in his system and the nostalgia makes you curl into yourself as Jay hands you a bottle of beer. Everyone looks at you when Heeseung points in your direction. 

“She’s really fucking clumsy.”

“Thanks for the commentary, Jake,” you say sarcastically. 

“We work together at a marketing agency and started around the same time,” Heeseung explains further. “She just moved to the city and we clicked on our first day.” 

“I met the other two through Heeseung, actually.” Sunghoon looks between Jay and Jake when you gesture, who each seem like they’ve also started drinking before you arrived. 

“We’re friends from college and we all decided to stay around the area after graduating.” Jay pours himself a glass of wine and you can see Sunghoon beginning to perk up when he notices. You find that kind of cute. 

“Heeseung’s the reason we’re all friends.” Jake pats his friend on the back. “It’s funny though because we actually all met her at his housewarming all those years ago too.” 

“Huh,” says Sunghoon. “What a coincidence. Sounds like you guys have a thing for housewarming parties.” 

“I’ll take up any excuse to host. It’s how we get her to come out of her shell.” Your cheeks warm up but you aren’t sure if it’s because of the alcohol or because everyone’s looking at you again. 

“She’s a bit of an introvert, but she’s really fun when you get to know her. Sorta like a diamond in the rough type of thing.” 

“Okay, wow! We don’t have to talk about me.” 

Jake points at a grocery store receipt on his refrigerator and grins. “This is the first time she bought groceries for me when I moved in a few months ago. She’s a bit sentimental and put this on when she came over for the first time. It’s nice, though.” 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. Sunghoon smiles at you and those fairytale-like butterflies in the pit of your stomach feel like they’re flying in a metal cage. 

“I like that you’re sentimental. You’re a little like me. I decided to come to this party because somebody else gave me the choice to be social.” 

“Yeah.” You’re a bit breathless and you’re sure Jay’s grinning beside you. “I get a bit intimidated when I do something different or meet new people.”

“Who doesn’t?” You suppose he’s right. 

“She’s incredible with gifts, too. Last year, she got me a signed guitar by my favorite musician because they worked on a campaign together.” Jay takes out his phone to show Sunghoon a photo of the autographed instrument. 

“So thoughtful,” Sunghoon says absentmindedly. It throws your heart in a loop.

“There is so much more to talk about beyond me,” you say, embarrassed that your friends are doting on you in front of Sunghoon. The attention is a bit too much and you grab another beer on your way out of the kitchen, choosing not to look back at the four boys who all laugh at your exit. 

The entire night goes smoother than you could’ve ever hoped for. Your friends leave the weird, overbearing protectiveness in the kitchen when you walk out of it and talk to Sunghoon like he’s their friend too. It still makes you a bit shy when they actively support you in this crush because you aren’t used to this level of care and trust in people. Affection makes you a bit uncomfortable and you wish it didn’t.

Sunghoon seems like he’s enjoying himself as well. You can tell he’s a little buzzed but stopped drinking halfway through the night to sober up by the time he has to drive. Even in your inebriated state, you appreciate his sense of responsibility. He’s rolled the sleeves of his quarter zip up and you try your best not to drool over his toned arms every time he moves his hands when he talks. Sunghoon looks so effortlessly cool when with your friends and it’s almost as if he’s known the three of them for as long as you’ve known them to the point where you’re questioning if he’s truly an introvert or not. 

It’s this level of comfort that keeps you in Seoul. Surrounding yourself with people who support you unconditionally feels like a reward after spending your childhood wishing for the friends you have now. It feels like everybody has a place in your life because you’ve done the work to keep people who love you for who you are rather than somebody they assume you to be. It’s nice to let go of the high walls you’ve built around yourself for protection. 

Eventually, half of the alcohol is gone and so has all of the food. Jake’s had a bit of influence over your drunken state because as he puts it, he’s the host and needs to make sure everybody is having a good time. You’re not one to blame him though, since you’ve been accepting every shot and drink he’s put in your hand. Jay’s the one who prevents Jake from giving you anything more when he sees the way you’re swaying in your spot on the floor where all of you have formed a circle. 

Jake returns from the kitchen after throwing away empty bottles. “Damn, so all of us are staying here for the holidays?”

“I haven’t decided if I’m staying or not, if that counts for anything. My parents are going to be in London but there’s a month and a half until Christmas, so I have some time to decide.” 

“Sunghoon, you’ve got to be crazy rich if you can afford to fly to Europe at the last minute.” You’re about to scold your friend but Sunghoon just laughs. 

“I suppose I’m a bit privileged like that. I’ve spent every holiday season back home and wanted to try something different this year.”

“What does Christmas in your hometown look like?” 

“Really cold. Almost as cold as Seoul when the snow begins to fall. We take Christmas seriously since we’re primarily known as a holiday destination for people who like that kind of stuff. A lot of our publicity revolves around the holidays, so my city is a little bit like a winter wonderland. At least, that’s what they want you to believe.” 

“Sounds like the perfect place for you,” Heeseung says as he nods over at you. 

“Why’s that?” 

“She loves Christmas. She can’t get enough of it and does everything holiday-related as soon as summer ends.” 

“Do you like Christmas that much?” Sunghoon asks you with apprehension in his tone.

“You don’t?” 

Sunghoon shrugs at your small outburst. “Our whole thing is about Christmas and holiday festivities. It gets a little old when you’re surrounded by it all the time” 

“Sounds like a dream.” He smiles at you. 

“I’m sure you’d like it there. My parents love the holidays and go all out every year. It’s a bit corny but they’re wholesome people and I know they love their country as much as anyone else.”

“She always knows what’s going on around town if it has anything to do with the holidays,” Jake tells him. 

“Oh, really?”

“Did you know there’s gonna be a Christmas market right next to Yonsei? They’re gonna be selling a bunch of baked goods and decorative stuff. I heard their food trucks are really good.” 

Jay chimes in. “We should go next weekend.” Jake elbows his ribcage. “Actually, you two should go together.” 

“Us?” Sunghoon points between him and yourself. 

“Yeah, why not?” Jake shrugs like it’s the most obvious answer. “She’s a huge fan of the holidays and you’ve never experienced it here. Why not see what Christmas in Seoul looks like?” 

“I’m not big on those kinds of things.” Your heart plummets and you don’t really know why. You put a smile on your face anyway. 

“You don’t have to do anything, Sunghoon. I don’t mind doing these things alone and you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” 

There is an indescribable look on Sunghoon’s face when you finish speaking and the living room is completely silent. He peeks at you through his long eyelashes and it feels as if he’s inspecting you from where he sits. Neither of your friends say anything either and you’re one second from awkwardly laughing when you realize nobody’s saying anything until Sunghoon speaks up again. 

“I’ll go with you.” 

“You really don’t have to.” 

He cocks his head to the side. “It sounds like you’re really excited about it. I might be tired of Christmas but maybe you can change my mind.” 

His words fly right over your head and Heeseung can see it in the way you beam at the mention of Sunghoon’s proposal. Even he hears the absurdity of it all when he looks at Sunghoon, who doesn’t spare anybody else a glance. You try to contain your excitement and keep smiling to a minimum, but you feel your cheeks harden anyway and Sunghoon smiles right back at you. 

“We could go tomorrow!” 

“You’ve had quite a bit to drink,” Heeseung reminds you. “Maybe next weekend?” 

“You, of all people, should know that I don’t get hangovers. I'm too excited just thinking about it.”

“We can go tomorrow if you’re not too tired. I can check in with you when I wake up. How does 10 AM sound?” 

You sigh, content. “Perfect.” 

When the conversation starts to die down naturally, everybody seems to be under the impression that it’s time to go. You say goodbye to your friends and thank Jake for hosting the party, choosing not to tell him what Jay had revealed to you earlier. Sunghoon seems like he had a great time because as you’re putting your shoes on, you see him exchanging numbers with everybody else. Sunghoon carries the empty tray that was once filled with dessert and tells Jake to keep the rest of the alcohol, no doubt solidifying him as someone he’d want to keep around. The drive back to your apartment feels too long for your liking and your body feels heavy when the two of you arrive at your respective doors. 

“Thanks for driving. I promise I don’t usually get this drunk.” You hiccup. “Well, okay, that’s a lie. I only get this drunk when I’m with this specific group of friends.” 

“It’s fine. It’s nice to let go every once in a while.” 

You look up at him. “Did you have fun?” 

“I did,” he says with a single, firm nod. “Your friends are really funny. I was kind of worried about it on the way here because I tend to be really quiet when I meet new people for the first time, but it felt like we knew each other already.” 

“They knew about you.”

“Did they?” 

“Mhm.” You hiccup again. “I told them about my new neighbor a while ago and thought you looked cool, but I’m a little awkward, you know? I don’t really know how to talk to people without someone else acting as a buffer.” 

“Could've fooled me. You did just fine.” 

“That’s because you saw me in Jake’s ugly fucking sweater.” You make a face at the memory, cheeks heating up at the look on Sunghoon’s face when his eyes roamed from the fabric to your face. “You called me ugly.” 

Sunghoon laughs. “I called the sweater ugly. Not you.” 

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” Your question catches Sunghoon off guard, but you’re already fishing for your apartment keys when he looks at you. 

“No, I don’t.” You don’t seem to be paying attention to him as you successfully jam your keys into the lock on the second try. He sees a peek inside when you open the door and watches you stumble inside before latching onto the doorknob to balance yourself. 

“Thanks for coming with me, Sunghoon. I’m really glad you had fun. I think my friends like you a lot.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. They’re a little protective over me and like to make sure any guy I hang out with is cool. You know how it is.” Sunghoon holds the door open for you while you take your shoes off and throw your purse somewhere on your couch before turning around to look at him. 

“I mean it, though. Thanks for coming and dealing with me and my friends. We’re a little bit of a handful.” 

He smiles and shakes his head. “Not in the way you think. It’s nice that you have people in your life that you can be yourself around and it seems like they love you just as much as you love them.” 

“I really love my friends. But don’t tell them I said that.” Sunghoon pretends to zip his mouth shut. 

“Your secret's safe with me.” You look at him with an unreadable expression, but it gets replaced with a tired smile. 

“Sleep well, okay? My friends are your friends.” 

“You’re so generous,” he says with a laugh. You take a step forward but retract when the sober part of your brain reminds you that the two of you aren’t likely close enough to give each other a hug goodbye. 

“...Do you still want to come to the Christmas market with me tomorrow?” 

“I’ll give you one chance to convince me that the holidays are fun, but only if you wake up without a hangover.” He laughs when you give him a mock salute.

“I don’t get hangovers, remember?” You tap the side of your head with your pointer finger. Sunghoon smiles down at you before pulling his phone from the back of his pocket. 

“I should probably get your number too.” 

“Oh.” He hands it to you and your fingers suddenly feel numb. You manage to type your number and try to think of something cute and quirky to put as your contact, ultimately settling with your name followed by the ‘:)’ symbol. It’s casual but you think it makes you stand out from generic contact names, as Sunghoon seems like the kind of guy who keeps everything straight to business. 

“I’ll text you so you have my number too.” You pull out your phone when you see him typing. 

Unknown: It’s Sunghoon! :) 

You feel like a creep trying to bite back a smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Don’t push yourself if you wake up too tired but promise me you’ll try to get some sleep tonight.” 

“I promise. Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

***

You aren’t sure whether you’re pleased or not when you wake up at eight o’clock on the dot with no chance of falling back asleep in sight. You turn to see that your phone is fully charged and force yourself to  leave your warm, comfortable bed to prepare yourself for the day. You don’t respond to the text Sunghoon sent last night and don’t know if he’s going to keep up his end of the bargain and go with you to the Christmas market, but you decide to get ready in the event that he was serious about it. 

Your friends text you too, both in the group chat and separately. Heeseung, as always, is telling you not to overthink anything and enjoy spending time with your neighbor crush. He tries to be as encouraging as he can but can’t help slipping in a few jokes here and there about how fast you’re growing up (even though you’re only a few months younger than he is). Jay sends you words of encouragement too, but he keeps it straight to the point and tells you to buy him something that you think he’d like if you stumble across anything. Jake, on the other hand, makes far too many inappropriate jokes that you have no choice but to laugh. You feel something akin to a high school crush getting ready for a first date even though this isn’t technically a date. 

You’ve managed to pull yourself together and see that the time is half past nine when you check the clock. Sunghoon hasn’t texted you at all today so you take the liberty to let him know you’re awake and hope you don’t come off as pushy or overly eager. But he responds in kind and tells you he’s getting ready and will be knocking on your door soon. 

True to his word, Sunghoon stands at your doorstep when it’s 10 AM.

“You look so cozy,” he says. 

Never mind that you’re swearing something you deemed cute and casual that pairs well with the low temperature outside along with the snowfall from last night. Sunghoon steps out looking like a model himself with his tailored trousers, a graphic shirt, and a denim jean jacket. He looks like the epitome of every girl’s fantasy of the boy next door once again.

“You look really good.” You say it before you can catch yourself and he laughs. 

“You think so?” Your eyes snap up at him as you frantically close your door behind you and lock it.  

“Will you be warm enough in that?” 

“I’ll be fine, but I appreciate your concern.” You frown when he starts to lead you towards the elevator. 

“If you say so.” You see a small silver camera peeking out of his pockets. “What’s that?” 

He pulls it out for you to see. “It’s a Z155 film camera. I got it before moving to Seoul and wanted to learn how to photograph with this type of camera. Cool, right?” 

Your worries dissipate the more you walk through your neighborhood and onto the outdoor market you’ve had bookmarked for weeks. Perhaps it’s the warm coffee amidst the chilly winter that excited you, or the handmade decorations that seem far too inexpensive for what they’re worth, but your face lights up when you walk through the aisles. There are too many vendors for you to look at and the overwhelming feeling perks up in your chest when you see different people trying to attract customers. But you’d argue that’s one of your favorite parts; hearing people talk about why they love the holidays so much brings you a sense of joy and fulfillment you don’t feel elsewhere. Sunghoon is a good sport about it too despite being a bit apprehensive at first. He graciously paid for your coffee and breakfast consisting of a warm butter croissant. It melts on your tongue and you regret not buying a second one.

People always ask you why you love the holidays so much and you tell them it’s because there’s no greater joy than being surrounded by your loved ones into the new year. You’ve always been a fan of winter despite the sun setting earlier than it does in the summer. Doing winter-related things in the appropriate season makes you happy, especially if you manage to drag one of your friends along for the ride. You draw the line at caroling, though. That’s taking it a bit too far. 

But the real reason is that Christmastime and the beginning of snowfall always marks a vicious cycle of wishing you could be anywhere but the present. Your childhood was riddled with uncertainties and walking on eggshells around your family and friends, and your household often felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. You were too afraid of making a mistake and chose to retreat within yourself, operating under the assumption that pleasing everybody else was how to protect yourself and your feelings. 

Prior to moving to Seoul, the start of the cold season was a reminder that your life wasn’t as picture perfect as you liked to imagine it was. No amount of television shows or fictitious scenarios running through your head before falling asleep would ever negate the neglect and absent feeling of joy in your heart as autumn turned into winter. You used to bide your time by hoping the months would roll past you until the springtime arrived. It always felt humiliating to hear your friends tell you about their vacations and all of the presents they received that year when the most your family could do was keep the lights on. That emptiness in the depths of your heart felt like it was void of feeling anything at all, and the holidays served as a reminder that things wouldn’t get better. 

It’s no surprise when Sunghoon turns to you as you both walk through the aisles of jewelry and artwork vendors when he asks you why you love Christmas so much. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to give the rehearsed spiel you reserve for people who don’t know you very well, and instead give him a half-truth.  

“This time of year is hard for some people and I used to feel like the world would stop spinning if I didn’t try to be at least a little happy when I moved to Seoul a few years ago. I was all alone for the first time in my entire life and barely knew anybody, and had to come up with my own way of cheering myself up since I spent it alone. I did a bunch of things by myself, like going to holiday markets or ice skating. I didn’t mind the solitude that much.” 

“Were you friends with Heeseung and the guys at that time?” 

“Barely. Heeseung and I were only coworkers back then but we sat across from each other every day to be friendly. But I didn’t know him as well as I do now and had a few roommates who went back home for a couple of weeks. It was pretty lonely and I hated feeling like I was stuck when I was the one who wanted to move to the big city.” 

“I think I understand. Christmas is a reminder of overcoming hardship for your first time living by yourself.” 

You nod, a bit relieved that he understands you a little bit. “Kind of, yeah. I didn’t grow up in the happiest household and wanted to do something good for myself since I left my hometown. It feels like a shame if I don’t at least try.” 

“I think that’s the most profound thing anybody has ever said to me.” 

“I sound like one of those generic books with corny quotes.” 

“Can’t be corny if it’s true.” 

You smile at him. “I’ve become a lot better about being positive and optimistic since getting to know the guys, too. Hanging out with them during my second year in Seoul made me realize I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was, and even when they all went home to visit their families, I didn’t feel like the world was collapsing around me when I was alone for a few days. It felt nice to trust people and realize that people cared about me the way I wanted them to.”

“They sound like really great friends.”

“They are. I don’t know what I’d do without them, if I’m being totally honest. I think my mom was worried about me for the first year of me living here because I barely talked about meeting anybody. She used to complain that I always talked about work and that I stayed in too much on the weekends. I used to think she was just berating me but I get it now.”

“Sounds like she wanted you to get out and have fun.” 

“Yeah. I guess my mom was trying to tell me to get a life without directly telling me. She loves it when I send her pictures of myself outside of my apartment and I fill her in on things I’ve been up to that don't have to do with my career. She’s proud of me in that sense but always reminds me that there’s more to life than my job.”

“You have a great mom, from what I can tell. She has your best interest at heart and I think it’s sweet of her to care about you so much. What about your dad? Do you talk to him at all?” 

You look to the ground. “No. He passed away four years ago.” 

“Oh.” Sunghoon nods silently and tucks his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry.” 

“There’s no need to be. It happened a long time ago.” 

Sunghoon nods from your peripheral vision. “Do you see your mom often? Does she visit you in Seoul?” 

You shake your head. “She works at a fish dock and can’t take a lot of time off.” 

“I see. Do you visit her, then?” 

You’re acutely aware of Sunghoon walking beside you but his footsteps fall deaf to your ears when you think about your mother and picture her throwing nets of fish into baskets to sell to merchants in the same afternoon. She wakes up hours before the sun rises to greet fishermen by the docks as soon as daylight breaks and leaves when the space is clean and the fish is sold. You picture her in rubber overalls and boots, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail with a mask covering the lower half of her face to avoid the scent of the fish even though she tells you she’s used to it by now. 

It was hard to deal with her waning hours in your childhood and you often yearned for her presence when you awoke to see no trace of her in your household. You had a knack for differentiating the difference in gait between her and your father, and hearing the heavier steps of his footsteps always made you disappointed. Feeling his presence outside of your bedroom door felt like it was a prison sentence.

In a town that seldom encourages any lifestyle aside from fishing and farming, you always find a bit of solace in creative writing clubs and the school musicals as a way to excuse yourself from the small town life. You’d picture yourself underneath a single spotlight, standing center stage where everybody in the audience regarded you as someone who’d make it far beyond the borders of the isolated town. You imagine them roaring in applause when you took your final bow with your mother sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

But life and finances were immediate priorities to keep the roof over your heads and the table full of food. The electricity bill was renewed solely by your mother’s efforts to keep the three of you afloat whereas your father could barely keep a job for longer than a few months before the inevitable discussion of his unemployment. You recall hearing hushed conversations that always escalated to loud arguments just outside of your bedroom door and shoved headphones into your ears to drown out the sound of an unhappy marriage. 

His absence was deafening and there were moments where you preferred a chaotic household over a quiet one. In the mere weeks that followed his death, life seemed to move on for your mother but not for you. She still woke up before dawn and never complained about the cold weather during the winter months or the heavy rainfalls in the summer. Whereas she endured life as if he hadn’t passed, you carried the weight of emotional neglect and dissonance of your relationship with him. 

The funeral was a month later and his cremated remains were spread along the larger lake nearby because he always said he would never choose to move away from water. The boat ride to the deepest part of the lake was uncomfortable and frustrating as your mother and two of his closest friends lamented over his passing, barely touching on the hardship he put your family through in his years being alive. It seemed like everyone was able to forgive him and move on as if every single person in his family went unscathed. Listening to them recite their happiest memories with him felt like a knife twisting in your heart until it stopped beating. 

Moving away was bittersweet, too. The neighborhood you grew up in never felt like a home to you but it would always be nostalgic. It was a plot of land with four walls and a roof, and yet the memories you’ve made haunt every corner of your street like a ghost that refuses to cross into the light. The grey walls look more dreary and dull than it had before and the large tree that grew on the lawn was cut down after years of neglect. Your old house looked brand new and unrecognizable. Everything had changed too quickly for your liking. Even when you packed your last box in the moving van, the emptiness of your bedroom felt like you were saying goodbye to a part of your life you’d never yearn for again. You’ve never looked back since. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.” Sunghoon brings you out of your temporary stupor. 

“It’s alright. I didn’t mean to get lost in my thoughts.” 

He gently knocks his shoulder into yours. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t think talking about even more depressing things is gonna put you in the holiday spirit.” 

“Keeping them to yourself just to make other people comfortable won’t put you in the holiday spirit either.” You know he’s right and begin to gnaw at your inner cheek. 

“I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“The nice thing about having friends is that you can say whatever you want and they won't judge you.” Sunghoon smiles at you like he means it. His eyes twinkle underneath the sun and, even if for a moment, you feel like he’s right. 

“My mom and I are close, even if we don’t talk every single day. She works at a fishing dock and that takes up most of her time, and I work at one of the busiest marketing agencies in Korea, which eats up my week. We find the time to talk to each other and I tell her almost everything. I don’t think there’s a secret of mine she doesn’t know. 

“But even so, I love her too much to ever tell her how I’m barely handling everything. It's like I’ve been running into a brick wall every time I try to walk away from grieving. It’s always been the two of us even when he was alive. She raised me the best she could because he was always physically there, but never emotionally present for either of us. His passing left so many questions unanswered and unresolved feelings but it seems like she’s moved on from it.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“It was a long time ago. My dad and I were never that close. There were a few good memories that I think about from time to time, but sometimes they’re ruined by all of the bad things I think about when I think about him. It’s an endless cycle of self sabotaging and I can’t stop myself from doing it. My mom wants me to visit her for a weekend during the holidays and she keeps asking me when I want to come home, but I keep pushing it off because I can’t bring myself to go back to a place that made me unhappy.” 

Sunghoon remains quiet beside you. When you take a peek at him, he looks as if he’s deep in thought as he looks ahead at the environment and watches the children play on the nearby playground. His eyebrows are furrowed only slightly and his mouth forms a downward pout, and you’re left wondering what he's thinking about. 

Finally, he speaks. “Do you feel guilty for putting it off?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“It’s almost like you know it's the right thing to do but you can’t bring yourself to do it. People teach you that family is everything, but when they force you to act and feel a certain way, it’s like you’re suffocating.”

“It’s like you took the words right out of my mouth. I keep telling her I’d think about it but I always feel guilty because it’s just an excuse to put off making a decision. I’d feel guilty if I don’t go, but I can’t bring myself to make that trip, even if she’s just a few hours away.” 

“My parents are a bit similar. They’ve given me more than I could ever ask for, and yet I still feel selfish for wanting to explore myself without them right behind me.” 

“I feel like an awful daughter every time I don’t agree to go home. I know she can tell I feel hesitant about it. I don't want to make her worry and I wish this feeling would go away. I can’t face my fears yet.” 

“Pardon if this is a difficult question for you, but…Is your father the main reason why you don’t want to go back?” 

“Yes.” You answer him meekly, as if telling the truth above a whisper will send you straight to purgatory. “I can’t walk in my neighborhood without hearing the sound of his voice when he yelled at me. Being in my house makes me think of all the times he’d threaten to throw me onto the streets for something as stupid as forgetting to wash the dishes. That place is a carousel of bad memories that I never want to think about ever again.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s normal for me now but it doesn’t make me feel any better if I try to frame it as ordinary. It doesn’t hurt me on most days. I push him out of my mind and focus on the present but the holidays are when I start to think about him and my childhood the most. I’ve never had a peaceful winter. There was always something going on and either Christmas or New Year’s was always ruined.”

“Is that why you love the holidays so much? To override your bad memories and create new ones?” 

“Yes. I never want to feel the way that I did before he passed away and having my friends here with me makes me forget about how sad I get when October rolls around. The weather gets colder but I try to do everything I can to think about how much I have to look forward to now that I’ve got so much time to do whatever I want. I learned that I can’t rely on somebody else to make me feel like I have something to live for.” 

“That’s admirable of you and I hope you know that.” 

“I don’t know if I’d put it that way.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “It is, though. It sounds like you had a rough childhood and your mom was spread thin with her job that it left you with someone who couldn’t take care of you. I can hear it in the way you talk. You’ve got this determination inside of you whether you realize it or not.”

“Sometimes I feel like it’s all for nothing. I wake up and live my life but it doesn't feel like I’m getting better.”

“You have your whole life ahead of you to understand the grieving process and work through that. You’ll never know if you don’t stick around to find out, will you?” 

“No, I suppose not.” 

“My parents put a lot of pressure on me to perform well in everything. Bad grades weren’t acceptable and I juggled a few different sports to fill my free time. It always felt like they set me on a path that I needed to follow instead of allowing me to figure out myself on my own. I know they meant well and I know they loved me, but sometimes I wonder if they’d love me knowing that I want something different than their future for me. 

“How do you handle it?” 

“I don’t.” Sunghoon shrugs nonchalantly and the hard snow underneath his foot crunches loudly as you near the end of the aisleway. “I keep putting it off like you do. I’m here in Seoul because they agreed to let me explore the city for a while until it’s time for me to return and discuss the future they want for me.” 

“What do they expect you to do?”

Sunghoon purses his lips. “They want me to take over the family business. My father is adamant that I come home and take it seriously because he’s planning on retiring soon and trusts me to be the person who handles everything. They run a local grocery market chain and love that lifestyle but it’s not for me. I want to be here in Seoul and figure out what my life is supposed to look like without them holding onto the dream that I’ll run the company. They’ve made good money off of it and found success as they’re starting to expand, but I don't want to have any part in it.

“I majored in business and operations when I was in university but hated every second of it. I always felt like I was grinding myself to the bones but I did it to make them happy. I never felt like I got the chance to do anything I wanted to do until they agreed to let me move here.” 

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who’d run a grocery store chain.”

Sunghoon beams at that. “I don’t think so either. I like to think of myself as pretty creative but I don’t know what to do with that. I didn’t take any photography classes in college and I feel like my time is running up.” 

“The beauty of time is that there’s so much of it. You can do anything you want, whenever you want.” 

“Thanks. I’ve been taking a few photography classes here and there.” He pulls out the camera from his pocket and lets you look at it. “Lately, this is how I’ve been getting my creative fix. It feels good to do anything other than learning about how grocery stores operate. I couldn’t care less about that and I feel like myself when I’m behind the camera.” 

“I like that you’re so passionate about photography, Sunghoon. I can hear how much you love it by how you’re talking about it. It’s nice to hear people talk about their hobbies.” 

“He tries to hide a smile but fails, and instead turns the camera on and holds it above his eye. “Can I take a picture of you?” 

“Me?” 

He pulls it away and grins. “Yes, you. Who else would I be talking to?” You stand beside a large collection of snowglobes and pick one up as Sunghoon points the camera at you again. 

“You could’ve been talking to this snowglobe for all I know.” 

“Too bad. I want to take a photo of you. Smile for me.” 

Reluctantly, you do and see the flash go off before putting the snowglobe down and apologizing to the vendor, who doesn’t seem to be displeased with what transpired in front of her. Sunghoon thanks her too with a short bow before turning his camera off and tucking it back inside of his pocket. 

“The fun of film photography is seeing the pictures when they develop. As much as I love learning about lighting and composition, I like it when I don’t think too hard about the photos I take and seeing which ones come out good and which ones don't. It’s always a gamble but it's a safe bet.”

“You’re lucky. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.” 

He cocks his head. “Maybe not in the way you think you do. Your friends were talking my ear off about how cool you are when it comes to your work. Heeseung told me you’re considering applying for a promotion because of your recent campaigns.” 

You blush and look away from him. “It’s nothing. I don’t think that’s really creative.” 

“You’re amazing, even if you don’t realize it. I think it’s cool that you work so closely with clients and help their vision come to life.” This feels like too kind of a thing for Sunghoon to say after having known you for such a short amount of time, but you can’t deny and say you don’t feel your heart fluttering with every compliment he gives you. 

Instead of responding by stuttering over your words, you drag Sunghoon through the remainder of the market and enjoy multiple warm cups of hot cocoa and try all of the desserts they have to offer. You end up buying a few things for your friends to add to their holiday gifts, even though they’ve been sitting in your bedroom for the past few weeks. Sunghoon reluctantly allows you to cover the lunch bill when you bring up how he bought every beverage and dessert the two of you have tried. He sees you signing the back of the receipt after writing today’s date.

“Why do you do that?” 

You hold the receipt up. “This?” 

“Yeah. Why do you sign it?” 

“I like keeping mementos of things. My fridge is covered in different letters, receipts, and artwork from friends and family. I have an entire box of receipts from important moments that I want to remember. I usually have the people I’m with sign them too and go through the receipts when I feel nostalgic.” 

“Do you think this moment is worth being nostalgic over?” You blush. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Sunghoon blushes too. “I think that’s really cute, actually.” You slide the pen over to him. 

“Do you want to sign it?” His signature looks like that of a movie star. Even his penmanship is perfect. “There. Now you can look at this receipt when you miss me.” 

“Or I could just knock on your door until you let me in.”

“What says I’ll let you in?” 

“Because I’m the best neighbor you will ever have and even though you say you don’t like Christmas, you have to admit that you’re having fun.” 

Sunghoon smiles at that. “Yeah, you could definitely say that. I might have to come over to your apartment to see this receipt box of yours.” Sunghoon looks at you with a smile that makes you weak in the knees. It feels like you’re the subject of a reality TV show and you’re waiting for the camera crew to come out of their hiding spots and tell you this is all for show, but that never happens. 

“You know where I live,” you say to him coyly, backing away slowly as you throw your trash away. “Knock on my door any time.” 

Sunghoon laughs and you think you’d rather die than never hear it again.

***

You don’t get the chance to see Sunghoon during the week because of your work schedule but find yourself texting him whenever you get the chance. Your evenings are for catching up on TV shows that are halfway completed and messaging him even though he lives across the hallway. He hasn’t made an effort to come over to your apartment and neither have you, but you find yourself making plans with him to go ice skating with him during the following weekend and choose to look forward to that instead of letting your insecurities get the better of you. 

Heeseung asks you for updates and you can’t help but divulge into the whole truth, including every small thing Sunghoon did or said that made you overthink when he dropped you off at your apartment. He’s attentive and teases you every time you get a bit too shy to tell him how much fun you had with Sunghoon but tells you he’s proud that you’re putting yourself out there and making a new friend. Heeseung tells you that he and your other friends have been texting Sunghoon as well and discovered that they share a lot of common interests, and that they’ve got loose plans to see each other for drinks in the future. It warms your heart to know your friends like Sunghoon enough to include him in things, which makes you feel a little crazy considering he isn’t your boyfriend and you’ve officially known him for about three weeks. 

You find yourself standing on ice skates when the weekend approaches and you’re surprised to see that the outdoor rink is empty for a Saturday afternoon. You’re better than the average skater thanks to a childhood interest in figure skating and buying a ticket to the outdoor rink at least once every winter season. Sunghoon tells you he picked it up as a hobby when he was younger but his agility when he glides on the ice tells you he’s better than he claims. 

It’s chilly and your gloves protect your hands from the biting chill. Sunghoon’s alabaster skin looks like it’s glowing underneath the bright sun and his sunglasses make him look like the epitome of cool if you were to look it up in the dictionary. He keeps himself skating fairly close to you but you aren’t sure if that’s because he wants to be in your personal bubble or not. Either way, you sweat underneath your clothes and try to focus on balancing yourself on top of the hard ice. 

Sunghoon paid for your tickets and skate rentals too. He surprised you by signing his name and today’s date on the receipt for your safekeeping, telling you to keep it in your purse so it doesn’t get lost. He said it like it’s a matter-of-fact and not something only you do because you love being nostalgic about happy memories. Your hands shake as you lace up your skates and Sunghoon patiently waits for you to finish putting on the other shoe before taking up space on the ice. That feels warm.  

“I can’t help but like Christmas a little bit more when I’m on the ice.” Sunghoon takes his hands out of his pockets and runs his hand through his hair, and it makes you want to swoon. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Something about it feels like it should be done only in the wintertime. The Christmas music is helping me feel a little more festive anyway.” 

“There used to be a skating rink by my old middle school before it shut down a few years ago. I’d go with my friends as soon as December hit and learn how to skate because the owner saw me beg my parents to let me take lessons, but it was too expensive. She gave them a discount for my first few lessons.” 

“Did you stop skating?” 

“Yeah. They were able to pay for lessons as I advanced because of a bonus my mom received at work and she chose to spend it on me. My dad never cared that much but attended a few of my lessons here and there when my mom couldn’t drive me.”

“Did you compete?” 

“No, it was mostly for fun. I stopped because the financial burden was getting too much. Figure skating is the only thing I regret quitting.” 

“I stopped skating because it got in the way of my studies.” Sunghoon purses his lips. “I wasn’t aiming to go pro, or anything. It was a fun hobby I liked to do after school but my parents said it took up too much of my time because my grades weren’t straight A’s.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I can’t skate anymore but sometimes it felt like I was being primed to take over their company and I could feel that when I was in high school. Ice skating was my way of trying to tell them that wasn’t the life I wanted, but I don’t think they got the message. I ended up quitting halfway into my sophomore year.”

“Do you miss being on the ice? 

“Sometimes. I competed at local competitions and thought about what my life would’ve looked like if I committed to a professional career, but I decided that wasn’t for me. I wanted to do something creative. Anything different than running a grocery chain.”

You bump Sunghoon’s hip. “Sounds like you’ve found your niche in photography.” 

“Ah, I hope so. I should show you some of the photos I have that aren’t on my wall.”

“Do you have a website or an Instagram for your pictures?” 

“No, but I probably should.” 

“You definitely should. I’ll even be your first follower and tell everyone to follow you.” 

Sunghoon smiles down at you. “How sweet of you.” 

“What happens next? You mentioned that your parents let you come to Seoul for a little while, but what happens after that?” 

His shoulders sulk. “Honestly? I don’t know. I moved into this apartment this past January and they said they’d give me a year to do whatever I want before I take over the business. I’m not so sure that I want to go back.” 

“Does that mean you have to move?” Sunghoon avoids looking at you. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” The silence permeated for a moment. 

“I don’t want to leave, though.” Sunghoon clears his throat and shoves his hands back in his pockets. “I love Seoul and the freedom to do whatever I want. I work at a photography studio part time to pay for myself. I’m lucky that they agreed to pay my rent but that luck’s running out soon because they want me to come back. 

“It’s funny, though. My younger sister’s the one who wants to run this company because she’s studying business operations and loves it. She thrives in this environment and has always been interested in networking with people my parents know. I couldn’t care less about any of that. She has fun at his client parties but all I want to do is hide in a corner.”

“Why won’t they let her take over the business, then?” 

“My parents want to retire soon. They’ve been at it for so long and people are pressuring them to sell the business because everybody who knows them, knows they want out. My sister’s in her last year of university and isn’t ready to take over just yet. They say she needs more experience even though she’s interning with his division until she graduates.”

“So, what? If you take over, what’s she gonna do?” 

“Ideally, she’d be a co-owner the minute she feels ready to do it. But I think the plan for her is to become an assistant and then find another CEO role in another company. My parents don’t really understand that she and I want to switch places because they’re so focused on their retirement. We don’t know how to bargain with them and it’s become a sore point in our relationship.” 

“I’m really sorry, Sunghoon.” 

“My sister and I talk about this every time we see each other and I can tell she’s upset that they aren’t willing to wait out for her. She knows I don’t want this either, but sometimes it feels like she’s barely there whenever I’m with her.”

“It’s like knowing what you want is right in front of you but out of reach.” Sunghoon agrees in a noncommittal hum and you see him look in front of you at the other skaters. 

“I know how much she wants my position and I’d do anything to give it to her. I just need to convince my parents to wait a few years. I don’t mind helping out from time to time like I do now. But I don’t want to become CEO and work in that industry. I want to be a photographer and have my portraits hanging in museums and in people’s living rooms. Is that too much to ask for?” 

“No, it’s not. You’re so passionate when you talk about photography and it’s really endearing.” 

“You think so?” 

“Yeah, I do. It sounds like your sister is passionate about that CEO role as well. I hope the two of you are able to work things out.” 

Sunghoon sighs from beside you. “Me too. My lease is up in the new year and I’ll have to start packing if they don’t agree to wait a few more years until she’s ready. They’re afraid of bringing it outside help because they’d rather keep this in the immediate family.” The thought of knowing Sunghoon might no longer live across from you sends you into a temporary panic. You’ve just gotten to know him and it feels a bit unfair. “But I don’t want to move. I’m happy here.” 

“Are you?” 

He looks at you and smiles. “I am.” 

“I hope you’re able to stay,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact. “I think you’re fun to be around.” 

“Just fun?” Sunghoon teases, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Not charismatic and devastatingly handsome?” 

“No,” you lie, willing the cold air to cool down your warming cheeks. “I would never call you any of those things.” 

“Such a shame. You have an incredibly hot neighbor who’s willing to do all of these Christmas things with you.” You smack his bicep. 

“You’re so annoying.” He laughs. 

“You’ll have to try harder to get rid of me.” 

***

The first time Sunghoon saw you was approximately a week after he moved into his apartment. You were wearing blue Bose headphones and looked so determined to unlock your door that Sunghoon chose to keep to himself and not bother you. He couldn’t help but notice the scowl on your face and how it made the perfect pout etch itself onto your lips. 

Ever since then, he’s seen you nearly every time he’s stepped out of his apartment and starts to wonder if this is fate telling him that he should make the first move and approach you because you’re friendly enough to nod at him when he passes you throughout the building. But he’s always been an introverted person who falters when it comes to meeting new people. Growing up around investors and adults who didn’t care about anything other than the economy didn’t do great for his confidence, especially since finance and business was the last thing he wanted to talk about. 

His sister was always more outgoing than he was. Sunghoon used to stutter when girls talked to him and couldn’t fathom the idea that anybody would be remotely interested in him enough to develop romantic feelings for him. It often felt like his personality mirrored everybody else’s for the fear of disappointing people to the point where Sunghoon had a hard time figuring out who he was when he wasn’t with his family or anybody who knew him as he grew up. 

Leaving his home to live in Seoul was something akin to a breath of fresh air. He loved his university days because it was the first and only time that Sunghoon could be himself without being afraid of what others would think of him. He experienced many ‘firsts’ while he was away from home–first college party, hangovers, and having sex for the first time. His first girlfriend made him realize he wanted more to live than to live the predestined plan that his parents set out for him. He didn’t want to marry someone into his family only for him to become a shell of a human being if he took on a job he didn’t want to do. When his girlfriend encouraged him to follow in his father’s footsteps because of how wealthy and successful he could be, Sunghoon broke it off with her and never looked back. 

Working for his parents was supposed to be a trial run. For the first three years after he graduated, Sunghoon agreed to come back and work at the company as an entry level assistant and work his way to the top. The weight of their expectations hung over his shoulders every time he stepped foot inside of the tall, intimidating building, and the anxiety he felt never really left him. Sunghoon worked himself to the bone every single day and continued dreaming of a life that was anything but his reality until his parents came to him with the proposition of slowly transitioning into an executive role. Suddenly, it felt like Sunghoon was running out of time and he proposed a year off before he would begin that process. 

Now, Sunghoon finds himself walking into your apartment with these lingering thoughts at the forefront because his parents are indirectly pressuring him to move back home. He ignores their calls and voicemails to the best of his ability. Spending time with you and your friends is a welcomed distraction because he doesn’t have to think about his future. The four of you give him space to be whoever he wants to be, and that isn’t something he’s felt in a very long time. 

“Your apartment looks like the inside of your brain,” Sunghoon tells you as he looks at your colorful furniture and the artwork decorating your walls. He lingers by the gargantuan posters of different cocktails framed neatly and the bar cart you keep by the kitchen in case you feel like having a drink or two on the weekend. “It’s so…you. 

“I worked really hard to make it that way. My Pinterest boards can tell you that much.” 

“I like that you’ve incorporated dark green. It’s pretty.” 

“Dark green is my favorite color. I’ve always wanted a space that felt like a home rather than a place I live in. I bought this green velvet couch when I got promoted the first time.” 

Sunghoon caresses the back of the couch. “Soft. I like it.”

“Do you want a drink, or anything?” 

“Are you gonna make me something festive?”

“I subjected you to ice skating and Christmas music that seemed to have four songs on shuffle the entire time. I think I’ll spare you tonight.”

“I’d like to try something new, if you’re up for it.” You light up and Sunghoon thinks he wants to make you look like that more often. He follows you into the kitchen and watches as you wash your hand and bring out every ingredient before turning to face him. 

“Have you ever heard of a hot toddy?” 

“Can’t say that I have. What is it?” 

“It’s an alcoholic drink I used to make with my friends from college when it starts to get cold. It’s whiskey, honey, and lemon dissolved in hot water.” 

“I don’t see how that’s festive,” he teases. 

“Trust the process, Park Sunghoon. First, boil water in a kettle.” 

Sunghoon watches you assemble the drink that is a bit too complicated for him but appreciated the effort you put into it. You tell him about your friends from college and how some of them have moved far away while others are people you see every once in a while. He hears about how you became a crowd pleaser during one particularly cold December night the day before finals and ended up making dozens of hot toddy’s for the people who lived on your dorm floor. You show him a picture of the makeshift tip jar your roommate made you to collect tips from students who wanted to pay you for the drink and went home with enough money to make you forget about finals. 

You tell him that your friends love this drink too, even if they downplay just how much. You hand him your phone and let him scroll through pictures you took of Heeseung and Jake the last time you made the drinks for everybody. They were hanging off of each other after begging you to add in a shot more than necessary every time you made a new cup. Jay helped you set a makeshift bed on the couch and floor for them to sleep off the alcohol and Sunghoon laughs at their less than flattering faces when you smile with two thumbs up as they pass out from the alcohol. 

Sunghoon has deduced that being here feels comfortable. It’s crazy to him that the four of you managed to weasel your way into his life as quickly as you did. He finds himself playing video games with the guys when they come home from work and they add him into their group chat within a few days of knowing him. Sunghoon’s always had a difficult time keeping friends around because he feels too awkward to socialize and feels like he never learned how to make friends around his age because of the environment he grew up in. He takes a picture of you on his camera despite your protests when he feels like words are too much.

Getting to know you has felt like the climax of a romance film. He’s spent so much time pining after you from afar, from thinking about what your favorite foods might be to what kind of music you listened to. You always looked so polished and head strong, something Sunghoon wished he could be. He’d lie to himself and say he’s attracted to you because you give off a sense of self-confidence that he’s never seen in anybody else, which is partially true, but spending time with you has only made him fall for you even harder. 

He’s only known you for a few weeks but it’s felt like he’s known you for a lifetime. Sunghoon tells you things he’s too afraid to tell other people or admit out loud. You bring out a side of him that wants to make a life for himself instead of listening to people who don’t have his best interests in mind. He loves it when you share your interest in Christmas and winter with him because it feels like he gets to know you better and it takes his mind off of his future. Plus, it helps that you look too cute when you start to get excited about things. Sunghoon can’t bear to be the reason why you would ever cease to feel like that. 

The more the two of you sip on the warm alcoholic cocktail, the more Sunghoon feels his shoulders start to relax. Whether it’s because he hasn’t eaten anything in a while or because you’re giving him butterflies, he doesn’t know. He hasn’t told anybody about you because he doesn’t know who he’d tell and he can’t believe he’s standing in your apartment making conversation with you. You laugh at his jokes and give him a tour of your place as he sips on his drink, and the warmth spreads throughout his chest. Suddenly his sweater feels too hot. 

You let him inside of your bedroom and it’s neat, with keepsakes lining your shelves and books on your walls. You’ve got a few floating bookshelves he admires and gawks at because he thinks it makes your room look that much cooler. You’ve got a few pictures of yourself, friends, and family along your desk and a makeup vanity with an impressive mirror on it. Everything in your room feels like it has a place and a reason to be there and Sunghoon can’t help but feel privileged that you’re letting him inside, like he’s supposed to be there too. 

“Is this your box of receipts?” he asks when he sees a small box without a lid on it. There are dozens of receipts haphazardly lying in there and he takes one out when you nod at him. There’s a receipt for a late night doughnut run, a printed copy of the receipt from the couch in your living room, and your first trip to the doctor. He digs to see if he can find the one from the market. “Where’s the receipt from when we went to the market?” 

You point at the board above your desk filled with pictures and other receipts too. Sunghoon looks at it and spots your handwriting and his next to a picture of you as a child. It makes his heart melt a little bit. 

“I like to keep really good memories up here.” 

Sunghoon feels like he could cry. “I’m really happy you had a fun time. I did too, but I didn’t want to come off as weird and tell you that.” 

“I don’t think it’s weird at all. If anything, I didn’t want to come off as too eager to hang out with you when we got back home.”

“Is this a good time for me to confess that I wanted to hang out with you instead of parting ways?” You look away from him to hide your smile and he can’t help but feel his heart skip a beat. 

“Now you’re just buttering me up,” you say in lieu of an answer. You stand impossibly close to him while he looks at the pictures on the board. 

“You were such a cute kid.” 

“I was cuter when I wore pigtails and when I was missing my two front teeth, that’s for sure.” 

“I think you’re doing fine just now.” 

You blush again. “Okay, you’re definitely trying to make me flustered.” 

“Is it working?” Sunghoon grins when you hide your face in his arm. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“Anyway!” You pull yourself off of him and close the receipt box while he laughs behind you. “That’s enough of that.”

“It’s getting late and I think you put too much whiskey in this.” Sunghoon looks at you with another teasing grin but he’s starting to like catching you off guard like this. 

“I’m not listening to anything you say because you said it was just enough.” Even your faux pout is cute. “Thanks for going ice skating with me.”

“Thanks for making this for me.” He holds up his empty cup and you lead him to the kitchen. He offers to wash your dishes for you but you decline and forcibly lead him to the front door when he starts to protest. The exhaustion from today has started to tire him out and his eyes begin to droop when he steps outside. 

“Goodnight, Sunghoon. Thank you for today.” You look up at him with an expression he can’t read. 

“I had a lot of fun. I mean it. You might change my mind about Christmas after all.” 

“There’s nothing I can’t do, Hoonie.” He blushes at the nickname. “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

He snorts. “Sure thing. I’ll be sure to text you in five seconds after I lock my door.” 

“Good. Who knows? This is a big hallway. Maybe you’d drip and fall a few steps into your journey.” Sunghoon thinks you’re too cute when you’re coy like this. 

“I’ll even text you when I’m tucked in bed so you know I made it safely.” 

The last thing he expects you to do is kiss his cheek. He feels your lips on his skin and his entire body becomes frigid, like he suddenly forgot how to breathe. Sunghoon thinks he might trip on his way back to his apartment at this rate. 

“Goodnight, Hoonie. Text me when you’re home.”

***

You don’t get the chance to spend any time with Sunghoon for the next couple of weeks because your work leaves you too tired to do anything outside of your apartment since it requires a few hours during your weekends. Sunghoon seems to understand and doesn’t push you to go out with him too much. Part of you wants to invite him over to your place for something casual, but your tendency to overthink prevents you from putting that offer on the table. 

Heeseung can tell you’re overwhelmed when he sees you. You hide yourself away in the confines of your office and don’t make conversation with him like you typically would. The start of the holidays mark a tumultuous time for you and he knows that better than anybody else. He can’t help but be a little concerned when you don’t join him for lunch like you typically do if meetings don’t interfere. When he sees you eating at your desk with a pathetic looking sandwich with a single bite taken out of it, he walks into your office without knocking and replaces his lunch with yours. 

“Don’t even think about scolding me for coming here unannounced.” Heeseung gestures at your desk. “Eat.” 

“You don’t deserve to eat a poorly made sandwich.” 

“Oh, and you do?” 

You groan. “No. But I was in a rush and forgot to pack a lunch last night.” 

“What’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this.” 

“My mom keeps asking me if I’m going to come home and I feel so guilty that I keep dodging it. I know she means well, but that’s what makes it worse. She keeps telling me she wants to have one weekend with me for Christmas, even if it isn’t on the actual holiday because she hasn’t seen me in a while. 

“I feel like I’m disappointing her, you know? It’s hard to leave the bubble I’ve created for myself because I know I have to face all of the bullshit I faced with my dad when I go back. It feels like I become the teenage version of myself who couldn’t express her feelings and kept everything bottled up inside. I want to forget all of that. I don’t want to be that kind of person anymore.” 

“Do you want to go?” 

“I do, but I can’t bring myself to actually buy a train ticket. I want to go home and not feel this contempt but I can’t help it. I hate it there. I hate walking through the hallways because I can hear his footsteps and the way he used to yell at me when I did something wrong. I can’t escape these feelings when winter starts. I mean, you know me. The holidays only became what it is because I try not to think about how fucking awful it used to be.” 

“You can’t run from everything forever, though.” Heeseung looks at you like he’s trying to drill his words into your head. “You’ve already done the work to push past it.”

“I know, but it’s hard to be in a place that feels like an empty home. I’m so nostalgic for everything I loved as a kid but it gets tainted when I think about my dad and how hard it was for my mom to raise me by herself. All I can think about is how I felt when I couldn’t do anything to save myself. But on the other hand, I feel so guilty for missing him too. He had his moments and I try to think about that instead of thinking about the bad ones. He’s not here to make me feel like I have to watch my back, but why does it feel like I still have to?”

“You’ve been through a lot and you have to understand that the average person doesn’t go through a lifetime of pain and trauma before they turn twenty-one. It feels like you’re stuck because there aren’t many people who can relate to you.”

You sigh. “I guess so. It feels lonely and isolating. It doesn’t matter how many times I open up to a therapist about it either. It always feels like I’m running so fast that I end up tripping over myself.” 

“So, what are you gonna do about it? Sit here and mope or make a decision?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It is, though. You’re somebody who hates waiting around for people to save you. The only way to resolve anything is to pick a decision and stick with it until the end. If you regret it, at least you can say you tried.” 

“It’s really hard to self sabotage when I’m friends with you.” 

Heeseung laughs at that. “I know. I won’t let you do that either.” 

“I think I mostly feel bothersome for always talking about the same old problem to you.” 

“It doesn’t bother me. I care about you and you clearly need to talk to somebody who knows you inside and out. I’ve seen how difficult it is for you to open up and the fact that you’ve grown so close with Sunghoon in a short amount of time is incredible to me.” 

You groan and slump over your desk. “Don’t remind me. I haven’t properly seen him in weeks and feel awful that I have no energy to hang out whenever he asks me to. I hope he doesn’t think I’m ghosting him.”

“He doesn’t.” 

“How could you possibly know that?” Heeseung pulls out his phone and lets you glance over his texts with Sunghoon. 

“He asked if you were okay a while back and said he was worried since you kept declining to go out. His first thought was that you might’ve been sick or burned out, not that you were ghosting him.”

“Burned out is definitely the right answer.” 

Heeseung smiles at his phone. “Hoon was worried that he was coming off too strong by texting you so much. I told him you’d probably appreciate hearing from him more than giving you space.”

“Since when do you call him ‘Hoon’?”

“We’re close like that.” 

“That makes me nervous.” 

“I’ll be sure to divulge your crush on him while we hang out tonight.” You throw the cap of a pen at his chest. “He said he missed you, though.” 

“I miss him.” You groan a little too loudly for your liking. “I haven’t had any energy these last couple of weeks and I’ve been overthinking the hell out of kissing his cheek when I last saw him.”

“Sorry, you did what?!” 

“I kissed his cheek when he left my apartment and I can’t tell if I regret it or not.” 

“Dude, Sunghoon is clearly not weirded out by that,” Heeseung says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He wouldn’t be checking in with me about your mental state if he thought it was weird.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. You don’t have to do anything crazy with him either. I get the feeling he’s the type of guy who’d appreciate doing anything as long as it’s with people he enjoys being around. He’d probably enjoy it if you two stayed in and watched movies.” 

“I can do that.” You pull your phone out and search for his contact. “I could do a movie and takeout.” 

“See? There's nothing to be worried about. You’re just stressed out about going home. Take it one day at a time.”

Sunghoon agrees to have a quiet night in when the weekend approaches and you find yourself sitting in his living room instead of your own. He tells you to come over in your pajamas with your worries left at his doorstep and asks you to let him take care of everything, including ordering takeout and paying for it. He tells you he’s up for watching a Christmas movie, but you’ve had your fill and the two of you decide to watch reruns of Community on Netflix as a way to relax through laughter and comedy. 

“I’m sorry that you’ve had a rough couple of weeks,” he says as he sits next to you on the couch. He’s encouraged you to put your feet up and sit however you’d like, and crossing your legs feels like a respectable position. He sits at a short distance from you, far enough that you aren’t touching but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiate off of him. 

“It’s that time of year. Everybody wants answers but nobody is willing to put in the work. It gets like this every December because everybody’s trying to finish strong before winter break.” 

“Still though, the guys made it seem like this was an everyday occurrence for you and seeing you so tired made me worried.” Your heart skips a beat. 

“Ah, well…my friends know I can push through anything. Jay’s the one who understands me the most when I get like this. I’ve been getting better at asking for help and they know I’ll come to them if I need to.”

“What about when you don’t?”

“Don’t what?”

“Ask for help?”

You turn to look at him. “I guess they force me to open up until I get annoyed and tell them to leave me alone. But that usually doesn’t last very long and I cave in since they never seem to listen to me anyway.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” Sunghoon takes a small handful of the popcorn sitting on the coffee table and shoves it in his mouth. “You have good friends and I can tell they love you.”

“I owe them a lot, if I’m being honest. Sometimes it feels like I don’t do enough for them.” 

“You must be a good friend if they care about you that much, too. Don’t sell yourself short.” Sunghoon seems to see you in ways you can barely see yourself and his constant reminders always leave you speechless. 

“How’ve you been? How’s your photography class and work?”

“My classes wrapped up last week. It was bittersweet. I love my instructor and I’m sad that he and I are parting ways, but he’s taught me a lot that I’ll definitely remember when I pick up a camera. Work is fine as well, it’s getting a little busy because of the holidays but it’s nothing I can’t manage. They know about the situation with my parents so we’re trying to take it as it comes.” 

“Have you resolved that?” 

Sunghoon shakes his head. “Not yet…It feels like they don’t get it at all.” 

“I’m really sorry, Hoonie.” 

“It is what it is. I’ll miss Seoul a lot for more reasons than one.” He looks at you and your heart skips another beat. 

“Living here won’t be the same without running into you, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I’ll cherish those moments forever,” he teases. “I don’t know what I’m going to do but I’m going to try to convince them to hold off on retiring for a few years. I talked to our landlord and managed to negotiate one more month when I told him about what’s happening. I have enough to pay for that and I’m a little shocked that he agreed.” 

“Must be a Christmas miracle.” He looks at you with an unreadable expression. 

“Maybe. Have you decided if you’re going back home or not?”

You pick at your fingers. “I’m still on the fence about it. She called me yesterday and slipped that question in halfway through the conversation. I can tell she’s empathetic about it, though. She knows how hard it is for me to be back home with everything that happened with my dad. Part of me wants to go because I miss her, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Train tickets are probably too expensive anyway.”

“I’ll drive you.” 

You turn to face him. “Sunghoon, it’s a two hour drive.”

“And?”

“I’m not making you drive two hours to my house and two hours back to Seoul.” He looks at you like this is the easiest decision he’s ever had to make. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything. I want to. This has been weighing on your mind for a long time and I don’t want you to miss out on spending the holidays with your mom just because of how much a ticket would cost to get you there.”

“Sunghoon–”

“It’s no sweat off of my back. I’m serious about it. I don’t have classes anymore and my work schedule is flexible. Plus, I think it could be cute to see where you grew up.” 

“That’s…Really sweet of you.” Sunghoon turns to look at you too and smiles with those plush lips you think about kissing a little too much. You try to reel it in because he’s your friend and that’s what friends do, right? 

“You’ve done a lot for me. The least I could do is drive you home.” 

You don’t say anything. You can’t say anything. Sunghoon sees you from the corner of his eye as you turn back to face the TV, and he watches you try to hide a smile. He turns away and feels his own cheeks flush at the thought of seeing you in your hometown, even if it’s for a short while. Above all, Sunghoon wants this Christmas to feel like it’s the best one you’ve ever had on the account that you’ve made Seoul feel like home for him. 

The night progresses and you switch to a movie halfway through the night until you yawn. Sunghoon grabs a blanket and puts it over the both of you instead of suggesting you go back to your apartment. Somehow, this gesture feels kinder than anything anybody has ever done for you. 

You’re both acutely aware of how close your bodies are because of the blanket but neither of you care all that much. Your shoulder keeps bumping into his every time you move and eat the popcorn he’s provided, and Sunghoon silently wishes that he could pull your body against his once and for all. He doesn’t, choosing to savor the way your side touches him instead of doing anything that might make you uncomfortable. But somewhere in your tired stupor, you put your head on his shoulder and yawn. 

“Thank you everything,” you say quietly. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you’d drive me home.”

“I’d do anything for you.” Sunghoon says it a bit too quickly but he doesn’t regret telling you that. 

“I wish I could repay you.”

“Being here is enough. Can I try something?” 

When you nod, Sunghoon maneuvers himself so that his back rests against the arm of the couch with his body spread across the cushions without disrupting you too much. You don’t fight against him when he scoops you into his arms and places your head on his chest. You feel his heartbeat in this position. It’s slow and melodic, unlike your fantasies of hoping the cute guy next door would have a rapid heart rate every time he saw you. But you think you like this better; Sunghoon seems to be comfortable around you. 

For the fear of touching you too much, Sunghoon keeps his hands by his side and pulls them away when he realizes he’s touching your exposed skin. You let go of every thought telling you to run away and grab his arms to wrap them around your own body, nuzzling your way close to his with your eyes closed in contentment. 

In lieu of saying goodnight, you kiss his chest and Sunghoon thinks he might be on cloud nine.

***

In the time between telling your mother you’d be home for a couple of days over the weekend to arriving at her doorstep, your friends have expressed their happiness in your decision. Jake couldn’t help but feel emotional when you told him and you get the feeling that Jay always knew the decision you’d make. Heeseung chose to forego teasing you out of solidarity for this vulnerable moment and wishes you all the best. However, all three of them did not hold back in telling you every joke in the book when you told them Sunghoon was dropping you off and picking you up. 

Sunghoon drives seamlessly and you silently thank him for it because approaching the familiar quietness of your neighborhood makes you feel somewhat uneasy. Your stomach turns in flips when you see that same house you used to look up at whenever you’d come home from school. It’s still jarring to see that only your mom’s car is parked on the street with your father’s car nowhere to be seen. It’s a physical reminder that he isn’t here and you don’t know if you’re relieved or not. She greets you the moment Sunghoon parks his car and the feeling of melting into her arms is indescribable. 

“I missed you,” she whispers into your hair. “It’s been so long.”

“I know, Eomma. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You’re here now and that’s all I care about. You’re Sunghoon, right?” He turns to look at you as he pulls your duffle bag out of his car and bows at a full ninety degrees for just a second too long. She finds it amusing and tells him so when he stands up. 

“Pleasure to meet you. She has great things to say about you.”

“Oh, trust me. She has good things to say about you too.”

“Okay!” You clap your hands and grab the bag from Sunghoon, turning your body away from him. “I think we’ve had a long car ride and can find literally anything else to talk about.” 

“I should get going before traffic gets bad. It was nice to meet you.”

“Come in for some tea!” 

She doesn’t give him the chance to respond but he doesn’t seem to mind. Sunghoon takes off his shoes and leaves them in the corner as your mom presents the two of you with a freshly brewed pot that reminds you of your childhood. The interior looks the same as it has since you last visited and that big family portrait still hangs above the couch in the living room. Your father smiles back at you like he’s happy you’re here. 

Sunghoon chooses to remain quiet as he drinks his tea to give you and your mom some time to catch up. He feels a bit awkward in a stranger’s home when this trip was supposed to be about you and your family, but he can’t say he isn’t pleased when the warmth of the tea starts to settle in his chest. Photos of you from your childhood line the walls and he can’t help but comment about how adorable you look in pink bows and frilly dresses. You look as cute then as you do now, but that’s something he will never tell you. 

Your mom brings out a small booklet of photos from your past, too. You try to prevent her from showing Sunghoon but he laughs it off and sits with pictures of you from elementary school in his hands. He tries not to let it show that his hands are shaking because you let your chin rest on his shoulder as you peer over him. He can feel your warm breath on his neck and it sends him into a short spiral until you’re scooping up the book and handing it back to your mom with a bashful smile on your face. 

He can see that you’re trying your best not to feel like that same, awkward mess of a teenage girl when your mother tells him stories about you from childhood. She tells him about the first time you performed in a dance recital and how you were center stage only to accidentally trip on your shoelaces that nearly sent you flying into the audience. She tells him about your first overseas vacation to Disney World in Florida because it was the first time you learned you hated humidity and people who didn’t know how to drive. 

With every hour that passes by, Sunghoon starts to think he understands you better. He knows you to be somebody who’s independent and confident, but the idea that you had to work hard towards it was lost on him until he came to visit your hometown. He understands why you felt so trapped here between your mother’s rants about how difficult your dad was to the limited opportunities for you to thrive. She tells him a bit about how you were emotionally unavailable in your teenage years despite your protests (as mothers tend to do), but she finishes her thought by telling Sunghoon how she’s always thought you were destined for things greater than what a small fishing town could ever offer you. He pretends like he’s got allergies when he feels his eyes watering up. 

Sunghoon asks to stretch his legs and by the time the night approaches, he’s agreed to stay over and spend more time visiting your favorite places and where you grew up. Your mom tells him not to feel like he’s intruding, as she rarely gets to spend time with anybody in your life, and he decides that this little vacation might be good for him. He offers to pay for dinner and he thinks he’s gained some approval for that. 

Time passes by too quickly for his liking. You’ve taken him everywhere you can think of–your old ice skating rink, your favorite boba shop, the schools you’ve attended–but it still feels like he’s barely scratched the surface of getting to know you before adulthood. He loves that you’re so open about yourself in a way that he’s never been able to. You talk his ear off about drama that you haven’t thought about in decades and he listens and feels several different emotions on your behalf despite not knowing anybody you’re talking about. He parks his car in the parking lot of your high school and the two of you spend an hour eating takeout from your favorite sandwich shop and gossipping about the entire town just for the two of you to hear. 

You talk about your dad on occasion and he doesn’t pry you to talk about it either. Sunghoon hears the melancholy in your voice when you think about old memories and missing him in ways you’ve never been able to experience before. You tell him that it’s been four years since you lost yourself. You also tell him that you don’t want to live the kind of life where you’re held back by his opinion anymore. He’s here in the walls and all over town, and the weight of missing him doesn’t feel like a burden anymore. It feels like a step towards freedom to be who you are, free from the anchors that kept you sheltered. Sunghoon knows your mother must be proud of you for making this decision because he sees it in her smile when she watches you laugh.

He decides he wants this kind of life; Sunghoon wants to be supported by his family when it comes to what he wants to do with his life. He wishes his parents believed in him as much as your mother believes in you. Seeing her so open and welcoming to a complete stranger and bragging about your accomplishments to him makes Sunghoon yearn for that kind of unconditional love too. Even in the moments when you get quiet over unpleasant memories that seem to resurface from coming back home, it seems that she helps you through it and doesn’t shame you for feeling the way that you do. It’s something Sunghoon desperately wishes he could do instead of entertaining conversations about taking over his family’s business. 

If there’s one thing you’ve taught Sunghoon, it’s that he can fall as many times as he wants so long as he chooses to get back up again. He’s come to love how open you are when it comes to people and experiences because he’s starting to understand just how difficult your childhood was until you found your footing in Seoul. Being alone meant exploring who you were without the opinions of people who wanted to hold you back. Even if people gave you reasons to shun the world and expect apologies from everybody under the sun, you hold your chin up with dignity and choose to move on instead of dwelling on people and things that don't matter. He wishes he could be like that too.

“Are you happy?” 

Sunghoon stares at your ceiling in your childhood bed when he asks you that. He’s a bit surprised that he’s allowed to be here at all and offered to take the couch, but your mother said the two of you are adults and don’t need her permission. The two of you were blushing messes when she left you alone to unpack your clothes while she gave him an extra toothbrush and old clothes from her brother who left them at her place. Both of you decided that it would be too awkward to try to not cuddle on your surprisingly comfortable twin bed and he chooses to use this as an excuse to touch you. He hasn’t heard a complaint from you and the feeling of your body wrapped up in his is exhilarating.

“I am, yeah. This weekend was a lot better than I thought it would be.”

“But are you happy with your life? Are you happy with yourself?” You push yourself off his body and look down at him.

“Where’s this coming from?” 

“I kept thinking about my life and my parents for the past couple of days. Your mom’s sweet and I can tell she believes in you whenever she tells me about your life here. It sounds like she did her best to raise you between work and your dad, and I can never imagine how stressful your childhood must've been with him in the house. I see how much you’ve grown from everything. It’s inspiring.”

“I don’t know if inspiring is the right word. I think I was dealt with shitty cards and expected an apology from the world without realizing that I had to work on myself in order to receive it.”

“That’s the thing, though. I can see that you’ve put in the work to become a better person. My parents aren’t as supportive as your mom and I kept thinking to myself: ‘Do I want to go through with a life that’s already planned for me when I know I’ll be unhappy?’”

Sunghoon looks up at you when he feels you brush his hair from his eyes. He can’t really tell what you’re thinking about as you look all over his face but the gentle touch of your fingertips puts him at ease as his mind begin to race. 

“I am happy. There are moments where I feel like the world is crumbling around me, but I know tomorrow is around the corner. I used to think that there wouldn’t be people out there who would ever believe all of the things I went through, but meeting the guys and making a life for myself makes me think otherwise. I’m happier because of it.” 

“That makes me feel hopeful.”

“Does it?” 

He nods and closes his eyes when your fingertip draws an invisible pathway across his cheek and down the bridge of his nose. You get dangerously close to his lips but your hand merely cups his jaw and your simple, gentle touch is enough for Sunghoon to realize he’s fallen far too hard to give up on his future, especially if you’re in it. 

“Yes,” he says in a whisper. “You make me feel like I could do anything if I try hard enough.” 

Sunghoon stares at you like you’ve hung up every star in the galaxy for him to see. When he looks at you, everything he’s been too afraid to say comes bubbling to the surface and his life beyond today becomes as clear as day. He wants to wake up next to you every morning and listen to your childhood stories until you run out of breath. He wants to spend every Christmas with you and fill your memory box with as many receipts with his signature on it. There is no future without you in it. 

You kiss him so tenderly that Sunghoon thinks he might be imagining things. Your palm is warm to the touch and he’s quick to react, pulling your body closer to his while his arms enclose your body against him. Sunghoon doesn’t know how many nights he’s spent imagining what your lips taste like or the way you sound with his mouth on yours, but nothing could ever compare to the real thing. 

He maneuvers you onto his lap because of the limited space on your twin bed and his body feels like it’s set ablaze when the back of your thighs touch his lap. You’re wearing thin shorts and an oversized shirt while he’s wearing clean basketball shorts from his car and a shirt your mom let him borrow. He feels your breasts push against his muscular chest as you lean against him for support and tilt your head to capture his mouth like you’re trying to taste all of him at once, and Sunghoon thinks he likes it when you’re desperate for him too. 

The weight of your body on his lap inevitably makes him hard and the quiet gasp into his mouth makes Sunghoon buck himself up into you. You grip onto his shoulders and dig push him back down onto the mattress to keep yourself steady and he’s about to apologize for crossing a boundary until you grind yourself onto him too. You tug at the hem of his shirt and he complies, taking it off in one fell swoop. 

“You’re really hot, you know that?” 

“Would you believe me if I told you I work out for you?”

“Not even a little bit.” Sunghoon laughs as he pulls your shirt off of your body delicately, cupping your breasts in his hands as he gives them a soft squeeze. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “So perfect.” 

He’s hard underneath you, so much so that you feel him through your thin sleeping shorts. His cock is situated between your folds and every small movement you make is enough to make him feel like he’s losing his mind. Sunghoon holds your breasts in his hands as you push yourself off of his lap just to sink your weight back down. He gives your nipples a squeeze periodically and he makes a mental note when you throw your head back and moan. 

“I’m so wet,” you whisper when you sit upright, your hips continuing to grind against him. The way your voice cracks makes him feel better about being desperate to feel you. “This feels so good, Hoonie. But we can’t. My mom’s down the hall.” 

“Do you trust me?” 

Seeing you nod is enough for him. Sunghoon’s thankful your mattress isn’t loud or bumping against the wall. He temporarily pulls you off of his body to kick off his shorts and feels a bit shy when you stare at how big and hard he is through his boxers. You push your lap back down onto his and he refrains from moaning too loud, silencing himself by pulling your lips down to his by your neck. His hands wander to your ass as you feel his toned chest and abdomen too. He pushes and pulls your body over his cock and moves his lips to kiss up your jawline. 

“I wish I could fuck you properly like you deserve,” he says, leaving a wet trail of kisses on your skin. 

“I want that too.” 

“I’d worship every inch of you.” He uses his hands to press you against his lap until you bite back a moan. “I want to know what you feel like.”

“Fuck.”

“Cute.” 

He kisses your chin and wraps his arms around your lower back to keep you in place before thrusting his hips up to meet yours. Sunghoon catches you by surprise and you bite his shoulder to keep yourself from moaning too loud every time his clothed cock bumps against your clit. He’s so warm underneath you and this kind of touch is one that you’ve been craving longer than you’d like to admit. 

The passion is short lived and the two of you don’t care how quick it takes the two of you to come undone in the quiet of your bedroom. He kisses you and tries to swallow the sound of your lips smacking against one another, too afraid that one wrong move could make your mother distrust him. Sunghoon’s kisses make you dizzy but you cling onto him like he’s your lifeline until your high ebbs away, and the two of you clean up before getting a well deserved, good night’s rest. 

***

Sunghoon can barely keep his hands off of you when the two of you arrive back to your apartment. He tells you to come back to his place and have a cup of tea with him before you part ways and you agree. The entire car ride home made you feel like you might as well be living in one of your daydreams because he didn’t mind it when you pulled one of his hands from the steering wheel to hold it the entire drive back. He’d switch from holding your thigh to kissing the back of your hand every time you changed the music. The two of you sang your hearts out to pop songs from the 2000s and pretended to perform in front of an audience when dramatic ballads came on shuffle.

Things fall into place on the ride back. You decide to pursue a promotion when it opens in the new year and text your friends to tell them you’re safe and with Sunghoon. They make you promise to tell them all about this past weekend and try to get you to reveal your presents, but you refuse and include Sunghoon in all of the jokes they tell you in your group chat before they ask if he wants to be added into the main one. In every sense of the word, it felt like the two of you found a home in each other. 

He lets you change into fresh clothes and shower before you knock on his apartment. Sunghoon feels his heartbeat picking up when you show up in a tank top and shorts with no bra on, and he feels a bit like a teenage boy seeing a girl semi-naked for the first time. The two of you talk about your trip and the next festive thing you’ll do when he feels himself starting to get worked up. All Sunghoon can think about was keeping his promise to you when he made you orgasm through your panties. He wants you to know that he loves you, so he decides to tell you that when you stand up to put your mug in his sink.

“I love you. I’m telling you right now that I’d do anything you asked me to.” 

Sunghoon squeezes your hips with his fingers like he’s trying to convey what he says through his touch. His breath is warm as it fans against your lips and the heat of his apartment makes your cheeks and neck warm up from where you stand. He breathes heavily, as if his confession carries a great deal of weight to it. Every word he speaks drips with honesty and the loyalty behind it scares you. 

And yet, you can’t bring it in yourself to pull away when he kisses you. 

His soft, pillowy lips approach your own with caution. You feel him hover above you until he’s ghosting his mouth against yours as if you’re a magnet he can no longer resist. Sunghoon’s lips descend upon your own and he holds your body tightly against him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. 

You both move like two slow dancers, swaying to the silent melody only audible by those who pay close enough attention. It’s at this moment you understand why poets and romantics speak of a hidden language only two lovers know. Sunghoon’s confession strengthens the feelings you’ve harbored for him and something about the way he touches you makes you feel like you can let go of your inhibitions. He’s brought your eagerness bubbling to the surface and you find that the harder you try to ignore your love for him, the louder your heart beats inside of your chest. 

You can’t help but think about how perfectly you slot against Sunghoon when you wrap your arms around his neck. He squeezes your hips the more you push into him and kisses you like he’s trying to commit the way your lips feel to memory. All of your worries melt into the floor the moment Sunghoon pulls away to look at your face under the ambient lighting and his gentle touch brushes your hair out of your face. His delicate thumbs come to cup your jawline and rub the apples of your cheeks as if you were made of something breakable. Sunghoon looks at you like this with the kind of gaze that can only be described as fondness. He looks at you with an accumulation of his feelings and desires of being wanted for who he is, not who he’s supposed to be. 

When Sunghoon looks at you, what he sees before him is a strong girl who braves the toughest weather in a tiny row boat with nothing but her wits and a single paddle. It’s your intelligence and patience that steers you away from the turbulent waters. You’re a beacon that lights a dark tunnel and deep down, Sunghoon knows that you’re his guiding light that’ll lead him home. It was your charm and passion that drew him in, and it’s your resilience and willpower that makes him want to stay. 

“I am nothing without you.” Sunghoon kisses both of your cheeks and his warm lips feel like comforting reminders that he’ll always be with you. 

“Hoonie…”

“What is it?” 

“Kiss me.” 

He does, with a slow pass at your lips while his hands cradle your cheeks in his hands and the tenderness of his touch feels something akin to puzzle pieces falling into place. The feeling is intense and overwhelming the more you drink in Sunghoon’s words to you and in this very moment, you allow yourself to believe he means what he says. Your hands find perch on his wrists as you grip onto him to anchor yourself. Sunghoon keeps kissing you as he puts one hand behind your head while the other moves to your upper back. He’s got you, even when you fall onto the mattress behind you when he dips your body backwards. 

Sunghoon hovers above your body and cages you underneath him as his warm mouth pushes against you rougher than before. He squeezes your hip until both legs are wide open enough for him to slot his body between them. It’s like he can’t get enough of the way you feel against his body because he finally has you exactly where he wants you. Sunghoon’s heart beats loudly in his chest that he feels the vibrations in his ears the more he listens to the way you two kiss, paired with your hands pushing up his shirt. Your fingernails rake down his abdomen and it leaves him a panting mess while he sucks in his stomach at the intense feeling. Sunghoon pushes a quiet moan against your mouth and you drink it up like it’s water. 

“I want to see you.” 

You whisper your incantation against his lips and the desperation in your voice enchants him. Sunghoon moves his fingertips to the hem of his shirt and briefly disconnects your mouth to pull it over his body completely before coming back down to kiss you again. He feels your hands spread across his shoulders and arms, squeezing his biceps while you moan at their firmness. They touch his chest and down to his sculpted abdomen when he jolts and he emits that same, breathy moan from before. 

Sunghoon chases your lips when you push his chest away from you and it takes two tries until he’s pulling his body back. The way you look underneath him does not compare to when he dreams of you like this. You’re breathtaking and alluring with your hair fanned out and lips wet and swollen from his kiss. He loves the way you look at him like he’s your consolation prize for befriending him all that time ago, and Sunghoon thinks he loves the feeling of you looking at his body like you’re a step from objectifying him. It feels like you’re finally taking what you want without hesitating to, like you’re not ashamed of feeling so intensely about him. That guard you keep up, the one placed there in protection against those who have the intention of abandoning you, has vanished only for him.

“Touch me.” 

His baritone command rings in your head while your hand spreads across his abdomen. Your fingers feel every hard ridge and the way he constricts his stomach underneath your touch. Sunghoon holds your hand underneath his to pull it up to his neck and guides you down his body as if he wants you to memorize what he feels like too. Somewhere between his parted lips and intense eye contact is when you realize your sanity is nowhere to be found, and it seems like he can tell because he feels the way your legs squeeze him. 

“I want you to see me too.” 

His fingers lift the hem of your shirt. “Can I take this off?”

When you nod, his fingers begin to tremble the higher the fabric travels up your body. Your skin is warm and soft underneath his tongue and he’s afraid that he’ll forget what you look like if his eyes stray from you. He pushes your top until he sees your deep green bra that hides your chest from him and pushes your back into an arch for him to unhook the fabric without much of a fuss. 

He doesn’t know where to look first. The bra is thrown haphazardly beside him and you can’t bring yourself to care about where it is on his bedroom floor. Instead, his hands cup your breasts and his fingers give a light squeeze as if to experiment with them. Sunghoon’s eyes gloss over your body and his mouth parts in astonishment the more he soaks your image in. He brings the pads of his thumbs to rub your nipples that have grown hard and sensitive since he pushed you onto the bed. 

Slowly, he descends. His warm mouth wraps around your left nipple with a tantalizing slowness that makes you feel like time is frozen around the two of you. Your heart drums in your chest at his merciful tongue that experimentally licks your nub. Sunghoon’s eyes dart up to look at you and drink in every reaction from his movements, and when he feels your chest arch into him upon sucking his mouth around your nipple, he brings his hand to the other and pinches it until you yelp. 

He flattens his tongue to lick you up before moving his head to switch to your other nipple, pressing a wet kiss to the valley between your breasts before attaching himself back onto you. The spot where his lips touched you blooms underneath your skin and sends a soft buzz all over your body. It’s hard to focus on his mouth when you feel overwhelmed in the best way possible. 

“So soft.” Sunghoon mutters in the quiet silence apart from your quiet pants and his mouth working your nipple. He grips your breasts and pushes them together as if to admire your naked chest with you watching him. 

“Hoonie—”

“I need to taste you.” He licks between both nipples and speaks as if he’s read your mind just by looking at you. “Can I? Please?” 

To be yearned like this feels like it could’ve been a blessing from above. Sunghoon looks at you with determination when you nod and you watch him sink further down your body with his hands following in his wake. In the quiet of his room, the bedsheets rustle underneath you when he beckons you to sit back against the pillows at the top of his bed. His warm and heavy breaths touch your thighs when he hooks his fingers around your shorts and pulls them down along with your panties. He hums when he pulls them off of you completely and looks directly between your legs, bringing both of his palms to feel your smooth legs until they come to grip your inner thighs. 

His electric touch is a spark you cannot seem to run away from. You feel completely frozen underneath his stare but you can’t bring yourself to shy away from his touch or sink deeper within yourself. Something about the man before you brings out the desires and needs you keep locked away, tucked inside the smallest cupboard in the back of your mind with the key long gone. But somehow, Sunghoon has paved his own way and brought you to your knees with a single kiss.

Sunghoon kisses your inner thighs, his pillowy lips leaving traces of cool spit onto your hot skin. His slow, soft pace is the kind of patience you wish for yourself. You love how kind and gentle he is when he’s with you and he never pushes you farther than your own capacity. He lets you set the tone and lead him wherever you choose to go, and his delicate touches with your body completely bare before him makes you think love and sex can be just as powerful as everyone says it is. When Sunghoon’s mouth comes to pass your core, he kisses the middle of your slit and savors the way your lap moves against him. 

“You feel so good.” He mutters against your other thigh like he’s saying a prayer. “So pliant for me.” Sunghoon nips at the juncture and smiles to himself when you gasp before returning to your mound, his left hand caressing your thigh while his other brings his thumb to knick at your hardened, aroused nub. 

“Sunghoon, I can’t…”

“Can’t what, baby?” 

“I can’t wait anymore.” When Sunghoon looks up at you, he sees the lust by the way your mouth parts just slightly ajar and how your chest rises and falls in anticipation. Who is he to deny you of your pleasure? 

Without another word, Sunghoon closes his eyes and sticks his tongue out to lick a fat stripe up your folds. Your moans are like music to his ears and he swears he could bottle it up and keep it shelved for days. The way you taste covers the surface of his wet muscle and he hums right into your core the more his mouth explores your aroused hole, poking the tip inside of you with every other swipe of his tongue just to tease you. 

“Ah, ahh!” Sunghoon loves hearing the way you whine underneath him and moans in appreciation when you roll your hips against his face because of him. It motivates him to move his head against you too, angling his face to lick every every single part of you. 

Your hands find themselves gripping your naked breasts in an attempt to ground yourself as your chest becomes one with the ceiling the more you arch your back. Sunghoon’s hands come to hold your waist and keep your legs spread before him before you can even think about falling back onto the bed. His touch is magnetic and you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to be touched by anyone before him. 

He lets your body fall and decides to give your legs a break since they’ve been spread out for him for so long. Your hips thank him when he lifts them both into the air and temporarily separates himself from your core to look at you like this. Sunghoon rises to kneel before you and his saliva leaves a string of spit when he detaches from your swollen folds. 

“Your pussy is so pretty.” Sunghoon stares intently at your glistening core and he’s mesmerized by the way you clench at his praise. He brings his thumb to your clit and rubs your sensitive nub and smears your wetness around your folds, his other hand holding your legs up for you. “I can’t believe you deprived me of it for so long. 

“I wanna cum,” you moan selfishly when he sticks two of his fingers inside. Your smooth walls engulf his digits and your arousal splashes around the more he pumps them in and out of you. 

“My baby wants to cum?” he asks rhetorically, thrusting his fingers rapidly while your hands come to steady your legs in the air the way he’s been holding you. “You deserve to cum, baby. Let me make you feel good. Shit, yeah, squeeze my fingers just like that.”

“I-I can’t hold it!” 

“Cum right now or I’ll stop fucking you.”

As if a dam’s protective guard had shattered into a million pieces, Sunghoon’s command tips you over the edge and you release around his fingers. Your mind feels dizzy with the nonstop pleasure he’s been giving you and the way his fingers reach the deepest parts within you the more he angles himself on top of your body. His soft praises of a job well done sink into your chest the more he speaks. The sight of his toned biceps moving with every pass of your pussy makes you clench and push your orgasm out around his fingers. Sunghoon smiles wickedly at your mound the more you cream around his fingers and only stops pumping himself when your pussy squeezes him out. He brings his hand to his mouth and wraps them around his digits. 

“Mm,” he hums, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders drop. You peek at his lap and see his fully hardened cock tenting in his pants. The impressive size stares back at you like it’s daring you to take a peek. Sunghoon licks his fingers clean and catches you staring at his dick when he opens his eyes, but your lustful gaze only fuels his arousal. He leaks in his boxers and feels the precum soak the fabric. 

“You taste so fucking good.”

“Really?” Sunghoon grips your legs gently and settles them back down onto the mattress, soothing your sore thighs with his palms as he lightly massages your skin. He bends down to lick you one more time.

“Best pussy I’ve ever tasted. I could die between your legs.” 

“Sunghoon.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

He watches your hole when he pulls his pants and boxers down below his balls until his cock springs out and bounces in your presence. He’s big and girthy, just like you’d imagined the first time you saw the outline of his dick in his pants one morning. Sunghoon wraps his palm around his length and gives himself an experimental squeeze, hissing at the warm contact before tilting his head to spit on the head before stroking himself. The wet sound makes your core jolt in excitement. He watches you looking at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth with an expression so determined that it makes him laugh from above you. 

“Eager for me?” You look up but you don’t answer him. “I’m always so fucking hard for you but I didn’t want to scare you away. You wore this long black dress that made your body look like sin a while back. I think about what your ass looked like in that dress from time to time.” 

Your brows furrow in confusion. “I haven’t worn that dress in so long…that was before we met.”

“Yeah,” he confesses, twisting his wrist against himself before pinching the tip. “Thought you were cute back then.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He stops stroking himself and kicks off the rest of his clothing before settling back between your stomach and cups your jawline with his hand. The way he looks at you is pure and nearly cliché, like the two of you might as well be the lead roles in a romance film. His warm, brown eyes bore into yours and you can’t say you don’t love it when he looks at you like this. 

“I didn’t want to get too attached to anything or anyone because I knew I had to go back home. I kept telling myself I wouldn’t do anything unless something gave me a reason to talk to you, and then we ran into each other with Jake’s ugly sweater.” 

You cheeks head up. “I forgot about that.” 

He kisses your lips once. “You looked so cute in it.”

“I look atrocious, Hoonie. It’s okay, it’s called an ugly sweater for a reason.”

“You could wear a trash bag and make it look fashionable.” 

“That’s a bit of a stretch, but I appreciate your faith in me.” Sunghoon kisses the tip of your nose. When he moves, you feel his bare cock resting against your folds and push your hips to meet him. His cock slots between them and Sunghoon hums when you grind against him, holding one of your hips steady. 

“Make me wet, baby.” Sunghoon kisses your jawline and his wet lips leave a cool trail on your skin the more you grind against him. “Make my cock wet enough to fuck you.” 

“Shit, shit…”

“Feels good, yeah?”

“So good,” you whisper. He kisses just beneath your earlobe and puckers his lips until he sucks the skin underneath. The tip of his cock catches your clit with every other pass and Sunghoon drinks up your moans like it’s water. 

“You’re gonna be a good girl and let me stick it in, right? You want my cock just as badly as I want your pussy, don’t you?” 

“You’re so fucking good at this.” He chuckles and his warm breath against your ear makes you shiver.

“Good at what, babe?”

“Talking. Touching me, fuck…everything.”

He drags his nose across your neck to the other side. “You deserve to feel good. You’ve been running around all over Seoul with no one to take care of you but me.” 

“Can’t believe I want you this much.” Without disrupting the position, Sunghoon reaches between your bodies and angles his cock until it breaches your hole with just his tip. It pulls a gasp out of you and Sunghoon lifts his head to watch your face morph in pleasure with your mouth open slightly ajar and eyes almost squinting in disbelief. 

“You don't even know the half of it. I want all of you all the time.” He pushes another inch inside of you. “I want to mold your pussy to the shape of my cock to the point that nobody else can fuck you as good as I can.” 

You grip onto his biceps. “F-Fuck.”

“I want to be the only person you look for. I don’t care how long it takes me to come back, but I’m not leaving you behind. I want you. Only you.” 

The feeling you get when you’re with him makes your chest feel tight with love and admiration the more Sunghoon looks at you like you’re the object of his affection, as if you’re something he cannot live without. You didn’t know that love could feel like an accumulation of every happy memory replaying in your head simultaneously. This newfound overwhelming sensation makes you feel like there isn’t anything you can’t face, as long as you face them with Sunghoon. 

He, on the other hand, finally understands why people talk about finding a home within another person. He’d never given second thought to romance when he knew that his life was planned out for him since he was born and never once thought that he’d get to make decisions on his own about his feelings when his entire livelihood is surrounded by order and duty. But here you are, lying so beautiful underneath him like a mosaic built from colorful stained glass with the sun peeking through it. You look like a dream with your face so pretty the more he pushes into you until he’s buried himself to his full capacity. 

Neither of you have ever had sex like this, so pure and raw with your bodies in tune with one another. It feels like the two of you exist beyond space and time with the way your breathing intensifies the more Sunghoon pulls out from you just to push right back inside. The intensity that permeates around his bedroom makes your breath run short and it fuels Sunghoon to keep a slow and steady rhythm, allowing his cock to reach the deepest parts within you without pushing you too fast. The whole affair is erotic and what can only be described as lovemaking. Sunghoon watches your eyes squeeze shut below him and brings a hand to push the stray hair away from your face. He thinks the two of you must’ve been fated in every universe for him to find, because there is not a single person he could ever imagine loving more than you. 

“I’ll fuck you every single day if you let me,” Sunghoon mutters against your neck. He pulls his body up and places both palms on either side of your body before rolling his hips back. The new angle pushes him in a way that makes you moan loudly. 

“Fuck, Sunghoon.” 

“My baby’s so fucking pretty when she’s filled with my cock. Do you love this as much as I do?” 

“Yes!”

“Do you love me as much as I love you?”

You don’t hesitate to answer him. 

“I love you. I want you here forever.” 

“I can give you forever. I swear on it.” 

He pistons his hips until the audible sound of his pelvis smacking against yours becomes the loudest sound in the room. His balls slap against your ass when you wrap your legs around his waist until he drops to his elbows to catch you and squeeze your body when you clench around him. He tucks himself into your neck and his forehead feels warm and sweaty to the touch, but you can’t say that you don’t love how much he’s putting his body–and yours–through the ringer just to make you cum as many times as he possibly can. 

None of this feels real. Sunghoon might as well be a figment of your imagination because it seemed impossible for sex to feel as good as he’s making you feel. All of your concerns about the future don’t exist when he’s bringing you closer and closer to your second orgasm. He, too, pushes all of his unwanted thoughts away in favor of helping you chase your release. Sunghoon’s determined to show you just how much he loves you by any means possible, and if his words of conviction won’t do him justice, he hopes his body will. 

It’s uncanny the way you feel completely safe around Sunghoon, when no one else has ever made you close to feeling the way you do with you. You’re able to break right before his very eyes and pick yourself off of the floor without feeling ashamed to have insecure and unwanted feelings about love and your attitude surrounding happenstances. You live your life based on the principle that everything happens for a reason and that people come and go but lessons will always stick with you. The people who live as ghosts in your past serve as reminders of painful memories and people who were never supposed to be here for very long, and you pray to the Heavens that Sunghoon is somebody meant to be in your life until forever comes to an end. 

Sunghoon holds himself off until he feels you unravel around him by the way you cling onto his body and clench around his cock. He brings his lips to yours and roughly pushes against your swollen ones when he feels you coming undone and allows himself to follow your lead. His cum fills you with thick, white ropes and oozes out from around him when your pussy can’t hold it in anymore. Sunghoon slows his pace down the more you try to catch your breath in an attempt to help you ride out your orgasm without overwhelming you too much. The squelches keep him semi-hard and your lips taste exactly like his favorite memory. 

“My good girl,” he whispers. “So sexy when you cum.” 

“You’re one to talk. You look like fucking Adonis right now.” 

Sunghoon laughs and kisses your forehead. “You flatter me too much.” 

“Nuh uh. I’m telling you the truth. It’s a little unfair how you always look so good, even when you aren’t trying.” 

“You’re one to talk.” He kisses your lips. “You always look so…cute.”

“Just cute?” 

“Pretty, too.” 

“Only pretty?” Sungoon smacks your outer thigh. 

“You are very beautiful and I’m enamored with you.” 

That makes you blush. “Hoon.” 

“What? Can’t a guy proclaim his love anymore?” 

Sunghoon’s body is warm against yours and he looks down at you with a fond smile in a way you always hoped somebody would. His dark eyes feel warm from above you and something about the way he’s watching you doesn’t make you feel observed. Rather, you feel a blooming warmth within your chest and nuzzle into his touch when he brings his hand to cup your face and rub the apple of your cheek. Sunghoon is gentle with his touch and you find it unbelievable that he’s managed to squeeze his way into your comfort zone as successfully as he had. You love his touch. You crave it, even.

His smile widens when you kiss the underside of his hand with a sweet peck and tilts his head in amusement. You feel bashful when Sunghoon looks at you like this because it feels reminiscent of having a crush in your childhood years, but with him, you can’t find that you dislike the way that you feel. His palm is warm and comforting, especially after spending so much time putting your body through physical rigor in ways you’ve never experienced. His strength never ceases to impress you and the nights you’ve spent picturing yourself underneath him suddenly have merit to them now. 

You find yourself breaking your own character when you lift your head up to push Sunghoon’s lips against yours and his response is immediate. Sunghoon’s plush lips melt right into yours and he slots himself against you like he was always supposed to be there, letting your head lie against the bed while his arm holds your waist. Everything about Sunghoon makes you wonder if love is supposed to feel like a quiet hug amidst a rainstorm, or if it’s supposed to feel like the crescendo in a brilliant symphonic masterpiece. Perhaps it’s a combination of both or none at all. These deep feelings you have for him have never been brought out by anyone before him. 

Sunghoon must know what you’re thinking because his hand travels up your body and back to your hair, gently scraping your scalp with his blunt fingertips. It feels so good to be loved and doted on like this without feeling like you don’t deserve to find an ounce of happiness with somebody who tells you they love you. Years of running away from the feeling of a comfortable embrace melts away with every second that passes with your lips on Sunghoon’s. He feels like every bit of home you’ve spent your whole life yearning for. 

“What are you thinking about?” His question pulls you out of your thoughts and you can’t find it in you to lie to him. 

“Is it selfish that I want you to stay?” 

“No, it’s not. I don’t want to leave Seoul either. I don’t want to leave you.”

“It feels like I just got you but now I have to let you go.”

He kisses you. “You don’t have to let me go. I’ll do whatever it takes to convince my parents to let me live the life that I want. Our trip to your hometown made me realize there’s more to life than people’s expectations of me.”  

You bottom lip quivers. “I’m scared that they won’t budge and that you’ll leave. I’m scared that you’re going to move on and leave me here thinking about you.” 

“I’d never.” He shakes his head like it’s a fact. “I could never forget you. I would never even think about moving on from you. I’m scared that somebody’s gonna snatch you up when I’m away.” 

“I’m really in love with you, unfortunately.” Sunghoon nips at your lip and cherishes the way you laugh. He looks away from you for a split second but the soothing touch of his hand feels comforting. He watches you frown for a minute. “I didn’t get you a present.”

“Baby, you’re my present.”

“That was really corny.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” He kisses you once more. “You’re too important for me to give up. I don’t want to let you go.” 

Somehow, you know he’s telling the truth. 

“Does this mean I’m your boyfriend now?”

“You have to ask.”

“Can I be your boyfriend?” 

You silence him with a kiss and when he feels you smiling against him, he has his answer. 

****

comments and reblogs are appreciated! :) x

[yeokii]

i understand all the reasoning u are giving but where is y/n confronting jake???? girl like where?? if i were her i would atleast ask and confront him and ask if they done more but no none of this was mentioned and we are going straight to getting back together??!! (ik know they did not break up) why are u beating around the bush huh?? ask him about it you have proof i think it does not make sense and im just stating my opinion( if u dont want it its okay) but im not spreading any hate towards you or im not trying to. people are gonna comment when u are writing a story there are gonna be good comments and bad comments(some are unreasonable hate and some are just opinions) .im just trying get my point across i hope u understand

do u want me to post the planning and all the chapters that I wrote? Is that what u want? Cuz I will genuinely if u want me to. it’s chapter seven for fucking Pete’s sake. It’s chapter seven. There’s sixteen chapters. I’m telling this again there’s sixteen chapters I’ll repeat it again there’s sixteen chapters. I just finished my exams and the first thing I thought of was to post a chapter for this smau. Can’t u literally wait for a week until ts ends because do u genuinely think im that much of a shitty fucking writer to not adress the situations of jake cheating???? Why tf do u think I put that in the entire story just to ignore it a couple chapters later??? Dear God im telling u again this is chapter seven. What the fuck do u think the other chapters are for, filler???? Random fluff???? obviously not this isn’t even the climax of the smau. I’m not condoning cheating, im not agreeing with the people calling yn a bird and obviously im not even done with the fucking smau. Chapter seven is not the end of the smau. You would know that if u actually had waited until tmrw cuz the first thing I was gna do in the morning was make the fucking chapter. hope ur happy for shitting on a teenager for making a realistic smaus that don’t fit ur standards

[stellast4rzy]

he's so pretty o(TヘTo)

[noirellee]

‎‎ ‎‎‎​ ‎‎ ‎‎‎​ • 🗑 ㅤTHE RETROSPECTIVE ｡ ( 성훈 )

𝒜𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 ' 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖾𝗅, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒.

𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗎 👜 : 𝒻t. 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 × 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ꣑୧ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗏𝖾 '‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 爱 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 ‎‎ 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗌 ‎‎‎ 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍

OO1 OO2 OO3 OO4 OO5 ...

✉️ ୨୧ listen to Iris by Goo Goo Dolls while reading this chapter >< trust me. i had that song on repeat the entire time i was writing ❤︎

isa: i'm so sorry to everyone for the last part :p i know it hurt. but basically… this was the whole plot from the start. >< sunghoon had to be dead. there was no other way to end it. also the taglist is closed for the smau :>

[crimswon]

say it back! - not saying 'ily' back to ot7!enhypen

엔하이픈 ⋮ SMAU ˑ fluff ˑ comedy(?) ˑ x reader ˑ ot7 ˑ reader loves to prank her bf ˑ 14 photos ˑ taglist ˑ masterlist

just say i love you back!

a/n⋮ sorry this is kinda lateee i got home from work, ate dinner and bed rotted for a bit lowkey.. but we're here now! im flopping so bad recently idk why tumblr hates me but its okay ig😔

now playing ▶︎ ─•───── awkward silence...!⋮ stray kids ♫

taglist ⋮ @wonscapes , @tojiworshipper , @wonderikii , @evansfangz , @lilyhaslowiron , @pix3lkitten , @ryukumi , @taetaewonwon , @whymsikl , @kristynaaah , @yangw0ni3 , @yoanalovesyouuu , @gracesalvatore , @luvv1anime , @fxreverzora , @evaflms , @nikiasaurus , @aineest4r , @scarint , @enhaxlhs ꨄ︎

@ crimswon, est. 2006

[hoonstrology]

how do you have 2500 followers when most of your fics cap at 1k notes? no shade

ok, i've been letting you simmer on my inbox for quite a few days now and i really wanted to believe you came asking me this in actual curiosity, but u know damn well this is shady. 😹 one, you're weird for note-checking my fics. two, i don't gaf how much notes they get. i enjoy seeing the amount of love they receive, yes. but it's not really an end all be all for me and that's just how it should be.

based on how anal you're being about the note count on my fic, i'm assuming you're a writer too. and i really hope your miserable ass isn't making fics just for the sole purpose of getting notes and tumblr clout. that's just straight up pathetic. LMAOOOOOO.

[opiuons]

THE CHANCES ARE NEVER ZERO. 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 ❤︎⁠ 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆.. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍? 𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆!𝗋𝗂𝗄𝗂 𝗑 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 humour, fluff,

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : a gift for my aegi bebi @aerikishi ❤️🎂. the only niki fan ever. i hope all the other niki fans love this too. im so happy to share a birthday with you 🥹🥹 80% of the dialogue is based on actual messages from her about niki HDJFBDJFBDJFJ (i made the exception of writing for him just for u..) i love u

[swiftjay23]

𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃? -> fuckboy jungwon’s favourite!

HE'S USED TO GIRLS CRUMBLING. Tears, trembling legs, desperate little begs while he spits filth and breaks them apart with every brutal thrust. But you? You moan softly, laugh breathily, and throw his own dirty talk right back in his pretty face like it’s a game. And maybe? It is. Game on, pretty boy. You just met your match.

pairing: fuckboy!jungwon x reader !

warnings: strong language alcohol power imbalance toxic relationship one night stand porn with little plot

warnings (smut): jungwon's a dick he's exactly what men shouldn't be. Power imbalance degradation dirty talk humiliation manipulation mindfuck toxicness toxic masculinity unprotected sex (no!) semi-public sex risk of getting caught creampie choking doggy style no romance no feelings one night stand meandom!jungwon harddom!jungwon rough sex

playlist: Often by The Weeknd [] Into It by Chase Atlantic [] Starboy (feat. daft punk) by The Weeknd [] Nine Inch Nails by Closer []

likes and reblogs for a cookie!

☆ WORD COUNT: 2K !

(Masterlist)

Yang Jungwon is the kind of fuckboy who makes a girl regret wanting him the second he’s done with her.

He’s got that angelic face, soft doe eyes, pretty lips, dimples that appear when he smirks like he already knows he’s about to ruin you. But the moment the door closes and clothes hit the floor, the mask drops. Jungwon fucks like he hates you. Brutal, mean, and terrifyingly good at it.

He doesn’t do slow or sweet. He pins you down with one hand around your throat, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, and pounds into you like he’s trying to break something inside. Deep, punishing strokes that make your eyes water and your voice crack. He’ll pull your hair, slap your ass, spit in your mouth, and call you the filthiest names while he’s buried balls-deep, laughing low and cruel when you sob his name like a prayer.

He always makes you cum, multiple times, actually, because he gets off on watching you fall apart for him. But the second he finishes (usually down your throat or painted across your face), the switch flips.

He pulls out, wipes himself off like you’re nothing, and tosses you your clothes.

“Get dressed.”

If you try to linger, if you even breathe the word “again” or “stay,” his expression goes ice-cold. Those pretty eyes turn dead.

“I told you before we started, this is it. One time. I don’t do seconds. I don’t date. I don’t cuddle. I don’t give a fuck about your feelings.”

And if you cry? If you beg or ask why he’s so cruel?

He just laughs, low and mocking, while he lights a cigarette or checks his phone.

“Crying already? Pathetic. You knew what this was. You spread your legs for me anyway. Now stop embarrassing yourself and get the fuck out. Don’t ever text me again thinking I’ll wet my dick with the same pussy twice. What’s done is done.”

He’s merciless. No soft aftercare. No fake promises. Just the brutal truth: you were a hole for the night, and now you’re disposable.

The girls always leave in tears, mascara running, thighs still shaking, heart shattered, because Jungwon doesn’t just fuck your body. He fucks with your head too, making you feel like the most desired girl in the world for thirty minutes and then like absolute garbage the moment he’s finished.

And the worst part? He never feels bad about it. Not even a little. Because Yang Jungwon doesn’t catch feelings.

He only catches new pussy.

And the moment Jungwon lays his eyes on you during Heeseung’s party? You know you’re in for something good tonight. 

The bathroom door is barely locked, the bass from the party still thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. Jungwon has you folded in half on the marble counter, your back pressed against the cold mirror, knees pushed all the way to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders. Your dress is bunched uselessly around your waist, panties ripped and dangling from one ankle.

He’s pounding into you with brutal, deep strokes, hips snapping hard enough that the sound of skin slapping skin echoes louder than the music outside. His cock is thick, veiny, stretching you open with every punishing thrust, the head dragging against that spot that makes your toes curl.

Jungwon’s hand is wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. His pretty face is twisted into that signature smirk, sweat dripping from his dark hair onto your tits.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, slamming in particularly hard, watching your pussy swallow every inch. “Such a dirty little slut, letting me bend you like this in someone else’s bathroom. Bet you let anyone who looks at you twice wreck this cunt, huh?”

He expects the usual, whimpering, begging, tears already forming because he’s being so mean, so rough.

But you only let out a soft, breathy “Ah—fuck…” when he angles his hips just right and grinds against your clit with every thrust. Your eyes stay half-lidded, lips parted, but there’s no sobbing. No pleading.

Instead, when he calls you a slut again, you bite back with a sharp little laugh that turns into a moan.

“Slut? Says the guy who dragged a stranger into the bathroom because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants for thirty minutes,” you shoot back, voice surprisingly steady despite how deep he’s buried. Your walls flutter around him on purpose, clenching tight just to watch his smirk falter for half a second. “If I’m such a slut, why’s your cock twitching like it’s never felt a pussy this good before?”

Jungwon’s eyes narrow. That wasn’t the reaction he wanted. He pulls almost all the way out and slams back in with vicious force, the counter creaking under you. His grip on your throat tightens as he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“Keep talking shit and I’ll fuck that attitude right out of you,” he hisses, picking up the pace, brutally drilling into you so your body jolts with every thrust. “You’re supposed to be crying by now, begging me not to stop like every other pathetic girl. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Another sharp thrust. Another soft, sweet “Ahh…” from you when he hits that perfect angle again, nothing more.

You tilt your head back against the mirror, eyes locking with his, a teasing smirk of your own playing on your lips even as your pussy drips around his cock.

“Wrong with me?” you gasp between thrusts, still sounding far too composed. “Nothing. I just don’t cry for boys who think being an asshole makes them special. Now shut up and fuck me properly if you can, Jungwon. Or are you all bite no bark?”

His jaw clenches. The pretty fuckboy who always makes girls break is suddenly the one thrown off. He doesn’t like it.

And he definitely doesn’t like how much his cock throbs harder at your sharp tongue.

Jungwon pulls out suddenly, flips you around like you weigh nothing, and bends you over the sink instead, face pressed to the mirror, ass up, back arched deep. He kicks your legs wider and drives back into you in one brutal thrust, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fine,” he snarls, voice low and dangerous as he starts railing you even harder from behind. “Let’s see how long that pretty mouth stays smart when I’m done with you.”

Your only response is another soft, pleased “Ah…” as he hits even deeper, followed by a breathy, defiant little chuckle.

Game on, Yang Jungwon. 

The slap of skin on skin is filthy and loud in the small bathroom, almost drowning out the muffled party music outside.

Jungwon has you bent over the sink now, one hand fisted tight in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard his fingers are going to leave bruises. He’s fucking you with vicious, deep strokes, fast, mean, relentless. Every time he bottoms out, the head of his cock bullies against that spot that makes your pussy flutter and drip.

You’ve been taking it like it’s nothing. Soft little “ah”s and sharp comments. No tears. No begging. Until suddenly your walls clamp down hard around him.

A low, shaky moan slips from your lips as you cream all over his cock, warm, slick, pulsing, your pussy gushing and squeezing him in tight, rhythmic waves. The feeling is so fucking good it rips a guttural groan out of Jungwon’s throat before he can stop it.

“Fuck—shit—”

He can’t hold back. His hips stutter once, twice, then he buries himself to the hilt and cums hard inside you. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your pussy in smooth, pulsing spurts, painting your walls white while your own orgasm milks every last drop out of him.

For a few seconds the only sounds are heavy breathing and the wet, obscene sound of his cock still twitching inside your cunt.

Then, just like always, the switch flips.

Jungwon pulls out in one quick motion, his cum already starting to leak down your thighs. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look at you. Just turns, grabs his pants from the floor, and starts pulling them on like you’re already forgotten.

He’s waiting for it. The usual pathetic whimpering.

The “my legs don’t work…”  

The teary “can you help me get dressed?”  

The last girl literally begged him to carry her out of the bathroom like some princess.

He’s ready to laugh in your face and tell you to crawl if you have to. But you don’t.

You straighten up slowly, legs steady, thighs glistening with his cum and your own mess. Without a single wobble you reach for your dress, pull it back down, and smooth it over your hips like nothing happened. You even bend over casually to fix your heels, ass still out, his cum dripping down your leg, and you don’t even flinch.

Then you turn to the mirror, fix your hair with quick fingers, and wipe a smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

Jungwon freezes mid-zip, staring at you. You’re walking perfectly fine. No shaking legs. No clinging to the counter for support. No teary eyes or whiny voice asking for help.

You just look… unbothered. Satisfied, even. Like he was just a decent workout and nothing more. His blood boils instantly.

The man who always leaves girls ruined and crying is suddenly the one whose jaw is tight, eyes dark with irritation.

He steps closer, voice low and sharp. “…The fuck is this?”  

He gestures at you, standing there steady on your own two feet, already looking put-together while his cum is still leaking out of you. “You’re not even limping? Not gonna cry and beg me to carry your useless ass out of here like the last pathetic bitch?”

You glance at him through the mirror, one eyebrow raised, a small, amused smirk tugging at your lips.

“Why would I?” you say lightly, voice still a little breathy but perfectly calm. “It was a good fuck, Jungwon. Not life-changing. My legs work just fine.”

You turn to face him fully, adjusting the strap of your dress like you’re getting ready to walk back into the party.

“Besides… you’re the one who said ‘what’s done is done,’ right? So I’m done. Thanks for the dick.” You reach for the door handle.

Jungwon’s hand slams against the door before you can open it, trapping you there. His chest is almost pressed to your back, breath hot against your ear. He looks pissed. Actually pissed.

“You’re really just gonna walk out like that?” His voice is dangerously quiet. “Acting like I didn’t just fuck you stupid and fill you up?”

You tilt your head slightly, still calm, still unfazed. “Yeah. I am.”  A soft chuckle leaves you. “What, did I bruise your precious ego because I’m not on the floor crying for you? Poor baby.”

His grip on the door tightens, knuckles white. He hates how much he suddenly wants to bend you over again and fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week.

He really, really hates it. Your hand gently pushes his arm away from the door.

“Move. I have a party to get back to.” Jungwon doesn’t move right away. His eyes are burning into you, something dark and new flickering behind that usual cold smirk.

For the first time in a long time…  Yang Jungwon doesn’t know what the fuck to do with a girl who just walked away from him like he was average. And it’s making him furious. You wink at him one last time as you push the door open, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek, mocking. Had it been anyone else, he’d have pushed them off of himself and wiped his face in disgust, but he didn’t to you, he couldn’t.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist”

perm taglist:

@hellomynameis-jessica @svvtvenom @saeivra @chaebbys @wonswrl @rianzysworld @bxldak @liloaeu @seungsoftly @enstarzzi @slut4heespam @freakseung2001 @strawberrykkkl @hoonsocks @rikifishh @onlynkfans @gardenwonn @saccharinezennie @yjwpout @kpopishgirlie @minamores @chario1397 @astronomicalastro-blog1

[paarksunghoon]

KISS IT BETTER — JONGSEONG

SUMMARY: park jongseong is the kind of guy who likes to put his back against the wall to observe everybody before him and he likes the calm high only marijuana can provide when jake forces him out of his bedroom to socialize. enter you: a beautiful enigma in a black mini skirt and the only person who could get him higher than his favorite drug.

NOTES: a purely self indulgent fic. happy birthday jongseong 🖤

WORD COUNT: 23.8K

WARNINGS: marijuana use, extensive dry humping, jay being equally obsessed with ass and tits, reader having a rack and a big ass, oral (m & f receiving), mild ass play if you squint, confident & slightly bratty mc, unprotected sex, mating press, solo masturbation (m), jay is a walking green flag. I wrote most of this while stoned so maybe that should be a warning in itself...

🎧 kiss it better — the playlist

Jay doesn't have to announce that he smokes; his clothes smell earthy with the faint scene of leaf and smoke that lingers on all of his shirts and jackets. He always keeps a lighter on him in case there's an opportunity to get high or help someone else achieve that euphoria. Most times, Jay smells of vanilla and sandalwood from his favorite cologne that he intentionally sprays on his body for the longest lasting effect. It masks the scent or marijuana and wafts through his jet black hair, which has been cut short as of a week ago. He keeps to himself mostly, often preferring not to mingle with people who don't know how to carry a conversation. Jay hates unnecessary small talk. He'd rather people call him recluse than subject himself to people who only talk to him out of obligation.

Despite his quiet and introverted tendencies, he's friends with Jake, who is almost always the loudest person in the room. Jake is the type of person who can crack a smile and start a conversation with anybody. He doesn't mind if the small talk is bland and boring, unlike Jay, who counts the seconds until it's over. Jake loves it when the attention is on him like any other twenty-year-old something who's just gotten used to leaving home for the first time.

Their apartment on the outskirts of Seoul is less of an apartment and more like a small house, courtesy of Jay's exceptionally rich parents who dropped an unprecedented amount of money into his bank account despite the fact that he has a job. They don't particularly love that he works at a guitar repair shop or that he occasionally teaches people how to play the instrument when he has a free weekend, but Jay's never been the kind of person to care about what other people think of him as long as he's doing what he loves.

Well, that's how he's been ever since he started smoking.

Some time back in high school during the summer before his third year, he'd somehow met a freshly graduated student looking to sell off the rest of his marijuana before moving away for college. No way he could pack that shit in his luggage and fly halfway across the world with it in his possession. The plug was a friend of a friend. On a hot Thursday summer night, Jay smoked from a bong for the first time. He coughed and coughed, grateful that neither his friend nor the plug laughed at him for too long. The high didn't kick in until the third try when Jay had learned how to properly inhale.

If he could describe that first taste of euphoria, Jay would probably say it felt like walking on cloud nine with his head feeling heavier than a rock while the rest of his body felt as light as a feather. He could finally focus on one thing at a time instead of his brain running with a million thoughts. This was what it meant to let loose and be in the present moment. His friends thought he spent too much time worrying about the future instead of basking in the here and now. Jay finally understood what they were talking about.

When you first catch his eye, it's in the basement of his apartment. You arrived forty minutes prior along with your friends, some of whom he knows from around campus, and he looks at your exceptionally short black skirt that hugs your curves. The weather is starting to warm up with summer approaching beyond the horizon, even during the nighttime. Jay's red, bloodshot eyes rake over the expanse of your exposed legs and stop at the hem of the fabric before he peeks at your top, which is surely too small to properly cover your chest. It's a wonder how you haven't noticed him blatantly checking you out, but then again, the music is loud and there's far too many people in this room to make him stand out.

You look at Jay when the rest of your friends start to gather around the couch he's sitting on. Jake, who has migrated towards the coffee table with bottles of beer and soju, puts the drinks on the surface and starts pouring shots like the alcohol will give everybody enough courage to fly if they tried hard enough. He watches as you take a look at him too. Jay wears loose fitting black jeans and an old grey t-shirt he's worn one too many times. He's ditched his signature leather jacket because the apartment is warm with all the bodies that move before him and because it's his place. There's no use putting one on when he can walk upstairs to his bedroom if he gets cold. He never does. Several silver necklaces adorn his neck accompanied with matching silver jewelry that somehow makes his fingers look much longer than when his hands are completely bare. The callouses on his fingertips wrap around the joint in his hands—which is halfway finished—by the time you walk around the coffee table and look down at him.

"Is this seat taken?" Jay shakes his head.

"All yours."

He hears your polite thank you amidst noise. There's far too much for him to focus on, namely the chatter of multiple conversations and Jake's twenty-seven hour long playlist he puts on shuffle every time he hosts a party. Now he has to add in your perfume into the mix, which smells something like almond and cherries. Jay doesn't mean to inhale your scent, but it's kind of hard not to when you're sitting so close to him. The couch is only so big, anyway. Your thigh might as well be pushing against his if you weren't so polite.

"I like you what you did with your hair," you say, turning your body to look at him.

"Hm?" Jay hums.

"You hair. I like what you did with it," you repeat, using your index finger to point at his gelled hair, which he styled last minute thanks to Jake's suggestion. "It looks good on you."

"You think so?" You nod a few times. Jay can tell you're drunk from pregaming and the drinks his roommate and your friends have been passing around for the last hour or so.

"You look…edgy."

"Edgy?"

"Like, way too cool to be here."

Jay nearly scoffs at that. Too cool. Nobody's ever used that phrase to describe him before. Most people think he's too quiet for his own good or that he's a bit of a snob because he refuses to be part of the crowd that goes along with anything for the sake of looking like he has friends. Jay is the kind of person who keeps to himself until he feels comfortable enough to open up. Being vulnerable is not his forte. He'd rather keep everything to himself until he's given a reason to spill his guts. People tend to compare him to Jake and always wonder how the two of them are so close despite being so different. His best friend's loudness complements his quiet nature, even if it gets to be too overwhelming sometimes.

You, on the other hand, are the epitome of cool. Jay's never spoken to you in his life, but he's seen you around before. You never walk around campus without somebody trailing after you and on the rare occasions you're alone, he's seen you call out to somebody as they pass by. Jay doesn't know if you're a natural socializing magnet or if people seek you out on purpose. He doesn't know if there's much of a difference. Jay has never found the appeal of having a large friend group because he'd rather find a few people who he can trust than entertain people who don't really care about him. He doesn't know you well enough to make any assumptions beyond what he's witnessed, but you're friends with the girl Jake is talking to, which means he's been seeing you more than he ever has.

With his joint still lit, Jay laughs and the sound vibrates deep within him as the high continues making him feel like his head is much heavier than the rest of his body, just how he likes it. "You flatter me."

"You're Jay, right?" You ask. You tell him your name, which he already knows, but he chooses not to tell you that.

"Yeah, I am. Jake's roommate."

"I've heard a lot about you."

"Have you?"

"Good things, I promise," you tell him with a sweet smile. Jay's eyes barely flicker to your lips. You'd notice if you were sober, but you aren't. "Jake told me you play guitar. I think that's really cool."

"Do you play too?"

You shake your head. "Nope. I grew up playing piano. My parents never let me learn guitar because they wanted me to become a pianist."

"How's that going for you?"

"I can play Tchaikovsky without sheet music, but I really like learning about astronomy."

"You're either a disappointment or an exceptional daughter."

You giggle. Jay doesn't think he's made anyone make that sound before.

"Maybe a little bit of both. I crushed their dreams of seeing me in Carnegie Hall, but they're happy I chose a hard science as my major. I'm planning on going to grad school after taking a gap year."

"You're…very confident."

"Is that a bad thing?" You ask with the tilt of your head.

"Not at all. I'm just surprised."

"You are the cute guy with a joint and enough jewelry to last a lifetime. You look pretty confident to me." Your eyes rake over his hands, which are adorned with an assortment of silver rings before passing up his neck and to his ears, both of which are tastefully decorated. Jay looks at you and notices you're decked out in jewelry too. The gold tones complements you well.

"I think people shouldn't be afraid of accessorizing," Jay says.

"Fuck the clean girl aesthetic." You laugh. "I'm just kidding. People can do what they want. But I don't feel like myself unless my eyes are caked in eyeliner." Your makeup looks expertly put on. It's messy in a tasteful way, like you didn't try too hard even though you probably took your time getting ready.

"It looks nice on you."

"You think so?"

Jay nods. "Makes you look like a rock star."

"You're one to talk," you say, letting your eyes fall again.

The joint burns quicker than he'd like and in lieu of a response, Jay takes another puff and hopes he doesn't come off as socially awkward. He inhales and holds it in his lungs as casually as he can before turning his head away to blow the smoke anywhere but in your face. Jay can feel your eyes watching his lips as he brings the joint to his mouth and feels his neck start to warm up.

"Do you want to take a hit?" He asks, holding the joint out for you.

"Do you care if I get lip gloss on it?"

As if he'd pass up the chance to taste it.

He pushes the joint closer to you until your nimble fingers take it from him and he watches intently as your lips enclose around the opening. You've already got your lip gloss on it, something he can only describe as cherry cola, but he doesn't really care. Maybe he's high or maybe he knows a thing or two about pretty girls who like to make their lips look real kissable, but Jay takes note of your brown lip liner that makes you look even more delectable than when you were standing across the room from him.

Like the polite girl you are, you turn your head away to blow the smoke out of your mouth. You take it like a champ, too. You inhaled quite a bit and he was sure he'd have to get up from his spot on the couch to grab you a glass of water—or make Jake do it—but you cough only once to clear your throat before turning back around and inspecting the lip gloss that's managed to taint the paper. You smile and laugh when you notice it, flicking your eyes back towards Jay as you pass the joint back to him.

"Sorry," you apologize. "I really tried not to get any on there."

"S'okay. It happens," he mumbles, trying not to become too transfixed with the way you rub your lips together.

"Do you always offer your joints to strangers you see at parties?"

"Only if they're pretty."

Jesus. He's never this bold when he's sober. Jay sees a flicker of bashfulness in your expression when he says it, though. He isn't used to talking to girls like Jake is because he's got more things to worry about than wondering when he'll get his dick wet. He's the kind of guy that likes to take things slow and only jumps in on opportunities if they happen naturally. Jake's tried to introduce him to a few girls in the past but it never felt right.

Something about you smoking the joint he rolled twenty minutes before this party began is making him feel differently.

"Do you think I'm pretty, Jay?" Caught between embarrassment and bravado, he chooses the latter.

"Very pretty."

"I think you're pretty too."

"Do you?"

You nod. "Always have. I've seen you around campus before. You've got this mysterious thing going on. It works for you."

"Did Jake put you up to this?" He asks, shaking his head before inhaling a small puff.

"He didn't," you tell him. "I'm not really friends with Jake. Well, we know each other because we've shared a few classes and because he's talking to my best friend. No colluding here."

You move closer to him only slightly, but Jay's high and the only thing he can focus on is your exposed thigh inching closer towards his own. Your skirt has already ridden up so far because of the position you're sitting in and because it's hard to fix your clothes when you aren't standing up. If he looked down, Jay would see your tits practically shoving themselves in his face because of the tight, low cut. But even when he's inebriated, Jay is a gentleman, so he maintains his composure and keeps a respectful distance.

"Can I have another hit?" He gives the joint back to you and tries his best not to gawk at your lips again. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

"It is if Jake asks me to come," he answers, watching you tilt your head back to exhale. "I'm not a party guy, but it's my house and it'll be just as loud in my bedroom."

"I see," you say with a hum, looking at the group of people that have gathered near the table at the far end of the room. "It's not really my scene either."

"It's not?"

You shake your head. "I go to these things because my friends like to and I like them. Don't get me wrong, I like going out, but I think I'd rather smoke with a few people in my apartment instead."

"What would you rather be doing?"

"Depends on my mood. Right now I'd rather be high on my roof stargazing. I also like watching anime a lot. I'd rather be doing that alone in my bedroom."

"You must really like your friends to come out tonight." You laugh and Jay thinks it sounds like his favorite melody.

"I have my moments where I want to go out. I think my introversion comes out sometimes, but it's my last year of university and who knows when I'll be able to see all my friends in one place. What about you? What would you rather be doing?"

"Is it obvious that I'm bored?"

"Well, you look like you'd rather hide in your room than stay down here."

"I don't know anyone well enough," Jay tells you. "Not bad company, everyone's just a stranger tonight."

"But not me, right?" You ask, leaning in closer to him.

His eyes flicker down to your lips before looking back at you.

"No. Not you," he murmurs. "I know you now."

"Come play beer pong!" Jake shouts, interrupting the conversation from halfway across the room. When Jay turns his head to look, everyone has migrated to the table with red solo cups perfectly aligned on both sides. Your friends call out for you and Jay assumes you must be really good at this game if they're this adamant about you playing.

"Come with me?" You ask him, standing up while outstretching your hand to him. He only hesitates for a second before putting the joint in his mouth and putting his hand in yours.

Already, he notes how soft your palms are and the long, pointy shape of your nails that have been painted a dark shade of purple. Jay tries not to stare at your joined hands for too long because he doesn't want to seem like he's gawking, especially when he's surrounded by people you know. You lead him towards the crowd as Jake pours beer in the remaining empty cups.

You don't drop his hands immediately. Instead, you turn towards him and look up, batting your eyelashes. "Can I have another hit? For good luck?"

"Won't that make you loose focus?"

"I'm really good at beer pong."

Instead of giving you the joint, Jay holds it up to your mouth and watches you envelope the tip into your mouth. He doesn't hide the fact that he's staring, nor do you hide the fact that you're looking at him as he looks at you. He can hear your friend telling you to hurry up but you don't, instead choosing to inhale as much as you can before pulling away, holding it in your lungs, and blowing the smoke behind you.

"You know the rules," Jake says, standing across from you with a ping pong ball in his hand. "No pushing or blocking. I want a clean, fair game."

"Until the next round," your friend says.

Jake smirks. "Until the next round."

You finally let go of his hand to stand next to your friend and Jay can't help but trail his eyes until he looks at your ass. Fuck. You look exceptional in that skirt. He pulls his gaze away to avoid looking like a creep checking you out while you're bending over, but can anyone blame him? With every move and every stop, your skirt rides up your incredible thighs and he almost wishes he could push the fabric up just to see what you look like underneath it.

True to your word, you're really good at beer pong. Jake is far more drunk than you and your friend and his partner is barely carrying his weight. You, on the other hand, manage to sink the ping pong ball into the cup every single time you throw it. Jay relishes in Jake's defeated expression when he has to drink out of a cup, partially because his best friend wouldn't allow him to hole himself in his bedroom all night, and partially because Jay finds your hand-eye coordination really attractive. He finishes the remainder of the joint and finds a spare ash tray somewhere behind him.

The game ends eventually. Jay watches you and your best friend share a celebratory embrace and he can't help but let a ghost of a smile adorn his lips when he sees how happy you are now that you've won. Half of your drinks are still on the table while Jake's cups are nearly empty. Your friend walks to the other side of the table to console his best friend, who asks to team up for the next round as an excuse to be close to her, when you grab a two of the red cups and lift one to his mouth.

"Drink with me?"

He doesn't say no. Jay's knees nearly buckle when you maintain eye contact over the rim of the cup until you finish yours, which prompts him to finish his own. He doesn't particularly like the taste of warm, cheap beer, but he'd drink the rest of it if that meant staying by your side.

"Congratulations on the win. Jake's really bad at beer pong and hasn't improved in the four years I've known him," Jay says somewhat awkwardly, too high to find the confidence to act like he's sober enough to have a proper conversation with you. You're faring much better than he is, but he thinks it's probably because you're naturally good with people.

"I've played him a few times and you're right, he's terrible at it," you say with a short laugh. "What about you? Are you any good?"

"I'm decent, but I prefer staying on the sidelines instead of playing."

"That's okay." You smile up at him. "You can be my cheerleader from now on."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum. You hold your hand up in front of him. "Give me your phone."

"My phone?"

"I wanna give you my number, silly."

Jay nearly chokes. You're really pretty. He'd have to be an idiot to deny your request.

He fishes his phone from his pocket, grateful for his past self that decided to bring it downstairs instead of leaving it in his room like he usually does. After unlocking it, he hands the device to you and watches the way your fingers wrap around the case as you type your number. He's surprised when you take a picture of yourself in front of him to have as your contact photo before you hand it back. Your contact name is simple, spelled in all lowercase with a singular black heart right next to it.

God, you're something.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?"

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

It's been two weeks since then.

Sober Jay from the morning after somehow convinced himself that you weren't serious about him texting you. It must've been the weed, right? Or maybe it was the atmosphere at the party. Things like this happen to Jake, not him.

But here you are, walking towards him with a big smile on your face.

Lee Heeseung cocks his head and looks between the two of you. He watches Jay notice you from the corner of his eye, slowing his gait as if to check if it's really you, before looking ahead and taking another step forwards. Heeesung raises an eyebrow and pulls Jay by the arm.

"You shouldn't ignore a gorgeous girl who wants your attention," says Heeseung, clearly giving you a once over. You don't seem to notice because you're too busy trying to get Jay's to look at you. "Do you know her?"

"Barely," Jay mutters.

"It looks like she knows you."

"We met at a party a couple of weeks ago, is all. We barely know each other."

"I'll come over after work," Heeseung says, effectively patting Jay on the shoulder before he leaves.

"Heeseung—"

"Jay!" You say from beside him. He looks down at you, giving Heeseung the chance to slip away without saying a proper goodbye. "Who's your friend?"

"Nobody important," Jay mumbles. "What are you doing here?"

"In the public quad?" He tries not to let a blush form atop his cheeks. "You didn't text me."

There's no use in trying to come up with a cohesive answer. He opens his mouth like he's a fish out of water, but you keep looking at him like you're amused.

"I didn't think you were serious."

"I even added a contact picture."

It's a fucking good one too.

"Here," you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "Put your number in my phone."

"This feels like déjà vu."

"I thought about finding your Instagram or asking around for your number, but you could've ignored me there too. I figure I'd find you and ask you myself."

Jay's never had anybody this interested in him. He's had girlfriends in the past, but they always felt like placeholders. He's pretty sure his ex-girlfriends felt the same way about him too. You, on the other hand, have been bold and forward ever since the first time you laid your eyes on him. Ever since sharing that joint a couple of weeks ago, Jay's felt this strange sense of his heartstrings being pulled involuntarily.

The truth is, he hasn't stopped thinking about you since that night. In the evening, when Jake is asleep or gaming with his noise cancelling headphones, Jay would pull up your contact and stare at your image for hours. He'd fantasize about seeing you again before feeling embarrassment for conjuring such an image. There have been to many times where he'd draft a text message just to delete it altogether. Jay can't pinpoint why he refrained from reaching out to you, but deep down, he knows it's because he's scared of being rejected by you.

And yet, here you are, asking for his phone number.

you: hi jay!!

"Don't be a stranger. I mean it this time," you tell him as you pocket your phone and walk away.

"Fuck," he whispers. He's never felt such exhilaration in his entire life.

Jay does text you back. He texts back approximately four hours later (after conferring with Heeseung on what he should say) and settles on being just as direct as you. He figures dinner and a movie is a safe bet, especially since he doesn't know you well enough to know what you'd be interested in. Heeseung tells Jay he's overthinking and fuck, he knows that, but it's hard not to when he really wants to impress you and make you believe he's more than just some guy you got high with at one of Jake's parties.

Sometimes Jay wonders if he jumps off of the deep end too fast. He'd never purposely make you feel like you need to rush into anything with him right off the bat, but he can't deny that his feelings towards you compile into something that feels like a crush. Smoking with you didn't feel like a one-time thing, especially since you held his fucking hand and told him to join you during that beer pong match. You let everyone see you drag him to the group. You didn't drop his hand for the sake of not wanting to be seen with him, but because your teammate needed you to be laser focused to win against Jake and his partner.

He'd never admit that you're on his mind at every waking hour. Perhaps he's been such a loner for so long, but Jake and Heeseung both would argue that Jay isn't a loner per se. Rather, he's someone who takes his time and has impossibly high standards because he wants to be completely sure about a decision before he goes all in. He's always been a bit indecisive like that, even in childhood. But it's not his fault that he's a careful person. Jay's careful with his mind, body, and soul.

You came into his life like a fucking thunderstorm. You've unarmed all of Jay's senses and made him forget being cautious like he usually does despite having only spent a few hours with you a couple of weeks ago. There's no rhyme or reason for your existence in his life and all you've done is share a joint and talk to him like you've known him all your life. He loves people like that. Jay's first encounter with Jake was at orientation during their first year of university and the latter had struck up a conversation because he simply didn't know anybody at the time. It was alarming in the best kind of way and Jay decided to take a leap of faith to befriend Jake. The rest is history, as they say.

Is it pathetic that he's thinking about making space in his life for you when he barely knows who you are? He knows you're beautiful, you like to get high, and you're exceptional at beer pong. There's not much he can go off of when he allows himself to fantasize about what it would be like to call you his girlfriend. God, Jay must be truly fucked in the head to think that far ahead when he's only hung out with you once. He'd never call himself a hopeless romantic or the kind of guy who believes in love at first sight, but something about your wondrous self makes him think otherwise.

Eventually, the two of you sit across from one another in a late night diner after seeing The Drama.

"This whole movie was bullshit," you say, dipping french fries into a mixture of ketchup and hot sauce. "I mean, Emma didn't go through with her original plan. Her belief system was completely shaped after finding her friend group. Shouldn't that count for something? Everyone else at that table did some fucked up shit, but Emma was the only one who didn't."

"Rachel was a terrible friend," Jay says with a definite nod. "Her husband—what was his named again? Mike?—was useless the entire time. All of this could've been avoided if Emma and Charlie postponed the wedding to talk about it."

"I couldn't help but notice how everyone except for Emma showed their true personalities. Rachel locked that kid in a closet and didn't help him. She got spooked and let left him to the wolves, which is exactly how she treated her best friend. Mike was a pussy who used his ex-girlfriend as a human shield and he did that again by hiding behind Rachel, no? And Charlie…he didn't even know what happened to the kid he cyberbullied and wrestled with that until he got over it. All three of them repeated their mistakes but Emma was the only one who didn't."

Jay can't help but look at you in awe. Underneath the awful diner lighting, you look beautiful as you dive straight into your analysis and your late night dinner. He can get talkative too, something his parents used to scold him for, and part of him thinks they're the reason why he feels conditioned to keep his opinions and feelings to himself. There are a few people, like Jake and Heeseung, who naturally bring out his loquacious tendencies. Jay feels that way with you and he loves that you aren't afraid to tell him what you think, even if it isn't pleasant.

"How did you feel about the ending? When Charlie and Emma met up at the diner and pretended everything was okay?"

"I honestly don't even know," you say with an exasperated sigh. "If that were me, I would've advised both of them to postpone the wedding and get extensive couples therapy. You?"

"I would've done the same thing," he replies. "They didn't seem like a great fit to me from the start. I mean, why didn't Charlie just read the book before their first date?"

"Men are the worst," you say, rolling your eyes. Jay nods in agreement. Men really do suck.

"Hopefully our night will end better than theirs."

You raise an eyebrow. "With me in a wedding dress and you bloody and bruised?"

Picturing you in a wedding dress makes his heart skip a beat.

"No," he said with a slight blush. "I hope we enjoy our food and maybe you like me enough to want to do this again."

"Let's see how the night ends first," you say coyly. "But I'm having a great time, if that's any consolation. The movie might've been bad, but the company isn't."

Jay laughs and looks down at his plate. "You say things that make me think you're flirting with me."

"What if I am?"

He looks back up at you. "Aren't I the one supposed to make you blush?"

"We still have the whole night ahead of us, Jay. There's plenty of time for that."

"I was surprised when you came up to me at the party," Jay confesses. "I'm not the type of person to just…go up to people the way you do. I thought that was cool. I didn't want to fuck tonight up."

"You could've texted me sooner," you tease, grabbing a fry from his plate. "But it's fine. I'm the kind of person who believes in fate, or whatever you want to call it. Whatever happens is supposed to happen."

"That's a beautiful way of putting it."

"Do you remember what I said to you? I could've looked you up on Instagram or ask Jake but you could've ignored me there too." Jay blushes, shutting his eyes closed. You laugh when you see him and take a sip of your chocolate milkshake.

"God, I don't know why I convinced myself that you were joking."

"Well, I actually told myself that if I saw you in person, that would mean it's worth trying again."

"Really?" You shrug.

"Yup. Simple as that. I desire many things and let fate handle the rest."

"You are…extremely poetic."

"I'm not afraid to say what's on my mind," you tell him. "I think you could learn a thing or two from me."

"I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," Jay says without missing a beat. He holds your gaze, which makes his fingers twitch, but he doesn't relent. It's your turn to be bashful now and he relishes in the sight of you breaking eye contact first.

"You really flatter me, Jay."

"I'm only saying what's on my mind. It's all I've been thinking about for the past two weeks, actually. I can't seem to get you out of my head and I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing."

"It's a good thing," you say. "Definitely a good thing."

Jay pays the entire bill. Your apartment isn't very far from here, just a short seven minute drive. With you sitting in his passenger seat, he has the itch to put his palm on your thigh as some kind of silent claim, but he doesn't because the two of you haven't even kissed.

The short drive ends quickly and you make a passing comment about how the night is still young because it's Friday and you don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning. Jay decides to push his overthinking tendencies to the side, asking if you'd want to keep hanging out while he drives aimlessly all over down. You say yes and make a joke about how much gas he'd be wasting, but he tells you he doesn't mind it if you're the one he's driving with, and that makes you blush.

It's unfathomable how comfortable Jay is with you already. It's only been one date (two, if you count when you first met), but he's already falling in deep. You talk about life like you're excited to be alive and make him feel like there's something at the end of every tunnel. He learns so much about you by listening to all the things you aren't saying and asks question after question. You do the same, making him feel like he's part of the conversation instead of focusing solely on yourself and Jay gets the sense that you really want to get to know him too. Sometimes he thinks he can talk for hours without anyone interrupting and he feels like this habit of his annoys people around him. But not you, apparently. You hang onto every word and don't interrupt him.

After a near hour of driving, Jay finds himself back at your apartment and walks you to the front door like the gentleman he is.

"I had a really great time tonight," he says, looking down at you. It's unfair how beautiful you are underneath the moonlight.

"You surprised me, Jay."

"I did?"

"Mhm. I always thought you were the lonesome, brooding type. You're intimidating, you know that? Especially when you're smoking. You look…untouchable." He laughs at that.

"Is that a good thing?" Jay asks, looking at the way your eyes travel up and down his body. His neck feels warm all of the sudden.

"It's a really good thing," you say, pushing yourself closer to Jay. "You're too cool to be in most places."

"You're one to talk. You know exactly who you are. That's intimidating."

"I don't go out with just anyone, you know. I made an exception."

"For me?"

"For you."

His eyes flicker down to your lips. He can barely believe his life. Jay must look like he's fighting some invisible urge to remain the gentleman you deserve, but you aren't having that. "Kiss me, Jay."

He does.

God, your lips are so soft. The lip gloss rubbed off an while ago but he still tastes the remnants. Jay's already lost in the feeling of your mouth on his, carefully putting both of his hands on your hips. The feeling of pure adrenaline becomes more intense when he's kissing you with his eyes closed and Jay can only feel an exhilarated jolt in his body when he realizes you're kissing him back. The kiss is as polite as it can be for two semi-horny twenty-year-old-somethings making out in the dead of night, right where anyone could see the two of you. Jay doesn't care, though, and he doesn't think you do either.

It's short-lived because you drop your keys, startling the two of you until you both pull away.

"You taste incredible," Jay says without fully thinking.

"Come upstairs with me?" You ask him in a rush, bending over to pick up your fallen keys.

"Only if you want me to."

"I do, Jay. Come in."

Jay doesn't have time to look at the decor in the living room because you're hauling him past the dark kitchen and up the stairs. You drag him in such a haste that he stumbles as he takes his shoes off, unable to place them neatly by the door. For a second, Jay's worried that the two of you will wake up your roommate, but you open your door and pull him inside with brute force that he stops thinking with his brain and starts thinking with his cock.

Your room is cute. It's very you, dark with red and purple accents with posters and artwork covering every inch of you wall in a tasteful manner. Your desk is littered with makeup, your headphones, and other miscellaneous items Jay can't make out in the dark. The window by your bed provides a bit of moonlight for him to see and he's grateful for it because he's watching you take off your shirt. Your bra is midnight black. A push up, most likely, making your chest look like a cardinal sin. Jay can't help but let his eyes drop to your tits, his eyes watching you breathe heavily.

"Fuck me," Jay whispers. It cuts through the silence of the night and he's about to apologize when you pull him by his neck until his lips are back on yours.

The two of you tumble onto your queen sized bed, effectively pulling Jay's chest to fall flush against yours. He feels you try to push off his jacket, to which he pulls his arms out before tossing it somewhere behind him, while his lips chase after your plush ones. Your hands are all over his body and Jay's horny brain prevents him from holding back like he was when the two of you were outside your front door. You're kissing him just as enthusiastically, fingers clawing at his clothing as your hands explore his chest and abdomen, making Jay recoil at your sensitive touch.

He doesn't know what to focus on. Your voice is breathy and light and your mouth tastes like an invitation to sin underneath the moonlight. Jay can barely register your tits pressing up against his chest because his dick is starting to harden in his jeans with every second that passes. Your mouth leaves his own and he holds back a pathetic whine because he wants to keep kissing you while you're underneath him, but your wet lips attach to his hot neck. He almost forgot how good it feels to be touched by somebody he's actually excited about. Sex isn't always just sex to him and he thinks there must be something fundamentally wrong with him for being unable to truly live in the moment if he isn't completely attracted to the girl he's with. Hovering above your semi-naked body with your mouth sucking on his warm skin makes him feel like his soul is on fire burning with unashamed desire.

It's hard to keep still when you're kissing him like you're desperate for him too. His fingertips itch to move your bra and panties out of the way, but he doesn't want to ruin a good thing by acting out of haste. When you pull your head back, presumably from the discomfort of craning your head at an uncomfortable angle, Jay sees his opportunity to make you feel as good as you make him feel. His mouth presses long, wet kisses along your jawline until you're moaning straight into the air and right next to his eardrum.

God. You sound divine.

You sound like a siren luring him into the deep end. He's a sailor braving the storm when he hears your song echoing from the distance, turning his ship from the traveling course to sail wherever you are. Your breathy voice and rolling hips makes his dick impossibly hard and Jay never imagined he'd ever get like this over dry humping, but you seem to take him out of his element and reward him for it.

Jay has long since stopped asking for verbal permission because he keeps getting cut off by your eager lips. Your hands have found their way to the back of his head, tugging on his soft strands the more he travels down your neck. His mouth sucks on the spot just underneath your earlobe and the euphoric tension makes your legs wrap around his body, effectively trapping him right where he wants to be. Jay would never complain about you clinging onto him like this. In fact, he wants to be as close as he possibly can with you.

Tugging on his roots causes him to groan against your skin. Your silent room makes the combination of your moans sound like something out of an amateur lewd film and it makes Jay's senses go haywire. The more you tug on his hair, the more he pushes his covered dick against the fabric of your panties. He can feel you. Jay notices the way you push your lap straight into his like you're trying to feel his cock through his denim. He savors the way your body arches deeply when his tongue licks your earlobe, making your entire body shudder to the point where Jay's arm catches you before you roll over.

"Take your shirt off," you moan with an opened mouth, moving your hands from his head to underneath the hem. Jay grunts when your manicured nails scratch down his toned abdomen. Fuck, your touch might as well send him in a spiral.

The shirt comes off and it'll live on your bedroom floor for the foreseeable future because the only thing on Jay's mind is the pure desire that emanates from your gaze. You resemble that of a hungry feline ready to pounce on your prey and Jay doesn't care that your eyes are raking all over his body. In fact, he finds it incredibly sexy that you're objectifying him like this—is it objectification if he allows it?—because it turns him on. Knowing you want him as badly as he wants you is the very on top. When it comes to you, getting his dick wet means absolutely nothing if you aren't into him too.

He's caught off guard momentarily, allowing you to push him until his back hits your mattress. Jay follows your body, watching and feeling the way you climb onto his lap like you're its rightful owner. This moment is something out of his wildest wet dream—you in a black lace bra with panties pasted onto your pussy because of how wet you've made them. Jay could only guess how turned on you were but now that he has a clear view of you, he almost can't believe you're letting him see you like this.

Jay doesn't think when he brings his thumb to nudge at your wet center. You buck your hips at that and let out this soft, airy moan that makes his cock twitch. He's sure you can feel it but he doesn't particularly care, not when you're grinding again his thumb that's rubbing you right over your covered clit.

"You're so wet," Jay groans, pushing the pad of his thumb harder against your swollen bud. "Your panties are soaked."

"You turn me on," you confess unashamed, hands coming to the button of his jeans as you try to take them off. Your long nails prove to be troublesome, though. Jay chuckles at your frustration and unbuttons his pants as you lift off of him until he's able to push them down far enough to reveal his boxers and the hardened outline of his dick.

His jeans sit uncomfortably halfway down his legs but Jay can't bring himself to care when you're looking down at his lap like his cock is a piece of mean. Did you mean to lick your lips or was that a natural response? You marvel at it for a short moment before crawling your way back up until your clothed core drags along his boxers and for the first time in a while, he doesn't have to rely on his hand or a spare toy to get him off.

Feeling your warmth is enough to get Jay's blood pumping even harder. He feels the metronome that is his heartbeat pounding in his ears when your hands roam around his naked chest, feeling every ridge and dip his abdomen and pecs have to offer. You run your fingertips over his nipples and Jay visibly shudders at that, to which you smile wickedly and laugh like you find him amusing. Your hips don't stop moving either, slowly grinding your panties over his boxers as if you've decided to take your sweet time with him compared to when you latched your mouth onto his neck like a leech.

Every drag of your hips brings him closer to Heaven. Jay's grateful he's sober for two reasons: he'd probably cum in his pants the second he saw you in your bra and the feeling of your hand repositioning his dick in your boxers so that your clit can rub over his tip is sensational. Jay's never fucked a girl who was so intentional before. He's familiar with putting on this persona of the guy who wants to take care of every girl he sleeps with (that's true for the most part) but his heart isn't in it half the time. But you…you know exactly what you want and you aren't afraid to take it. It's what he's grown to like about you over the course of his date with you and Jay's experiencing what that's like right now.

"Drag your pussy over me like you mean it," he grunts, bringing his hands to your body as if to guide you in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck," you curse. "This feels so fucking good."

"Your body's phenomenal," he groans like it's a confession he wants you to hear. "Why have you been hiding these pretty tits from me?"

You laugh at him, arching your back to give his face a full view of your chest. "You like these?"

"I love them," he replies, digging his fingertips into your flesh. "Makes me wanna see them with your bra off."

You comply like the deviant you are, expertly unhooking your bra and tossing it somewhere onto your bed. Jay almost drools at the sight of your erect nipples, licking his lips involuntarily. You look like a beautiful, demonic succubus straight from the deepest pits of hell meant to seduce Jay. He'd gladly sell his soul if that means he gets to be the only one to experience you like this.

Watching you from below might as well be the last thing he sees before he dies. Your tits look phenomenal as they bounce the more you drag your covered pussy over his lap. The soiled fabric must feel so good against your bare, wet pussy because you're moaning like your life depends on it. Your vocal moans bring him closer and closer to the edge he's trying not to peer over, but you make it hard when you look and sound like that. Sexy beyond compare. Jay's pictured this exact moment every single night as his hands cup his dick without him realizing it most times. He finds that his body responds to yours in ways it's never responded to anyone before and at this rate, he's let his cock do the thinking for him. Every single rational thought he's had about being a gentleman tonight has been thrown out of your window, never to be seen again.

Jay yanks you down by your neck and pushes your lips with his own until your tongues collide and smash against one another. The wet spit makes the whole affair that much more erotic, especially when Jay's bending his legs and lifting them up and thrust his covered dick right against your panties, paying no mind to the fact that his jeans are technically caught at his ankles. You two must look like two desperate people rutting your laps against one another, if he had to guess. Fuck it. It feels so good. Grinding into you like this makes him feel like he's in a quick haste. He wishes he could do more, like peel your clothes off and kiss every inch of your skin until he memorizes what your body tastes like, but you're both too far gone to think about that right now. You moan hotly against his lips and push your tongue against him harder like you're trying to get underneath his skin. It's working and Jay grabs your ass cheeks, gripping onto your meaty flesh while he moans and thrusts his hips like a wild bull.

"I'm close, Jay. Fuck, keep doing that and you'll make me cum," you moan, grinding your ass back onto him. The way the tip of his cock hits your wet patch is indescribable. He wishes he could feel that with his raw cock instead.

"You feel me like that? The way my dick pushes against you?" Jay grunts, bucking his hips. "This is just a preview. I'm going to fuck your pussy until you crave me when I'm gone."

"Yes, fuck!"

"Gonna fuck that drooling pussy of yours." Something about one particular thrust makes you yelp, making you cling onto him like your life depends on it. "Cum for me," Jay moans, gripping your ass tighter until you're moaning louder. "That's so hot. You're so hot."

"Cumming, cumming!"

"I'm cumming too," he grunts in short breaths.

Your covered pussy pushed against him when you come and Jay follows soon after. He feels the way his hot seed shoots straight from his slit and onto his boxers, the sticky substance rubbing against his skin with every thrust. Jay feels like a teenager coming like this but it's worth it when he looks up to see your eyes closed shut, mouth hanging open as you catch your breath and relieve yourself from the incredible high. The sweat on his forehead starts to cool when his hips thrust haphazardly against you and Jay spills the last of his semen into his pants when you drop your head to his shoulder.

The sounds of your heavy breaths fill the quiet room. Jay strokes your back when you breathe against his neck in a silent attempt to calm you down from the dirty affair, readjusting himself to let you lay your head completely on his chest. He kisses the crown of your head as you curl your fist against him and the feeling of your mouth littering soft kisses on his naked body makes his heart flutter.

However, the moment is cut short when you receive a call on your phone, startling the both of you. You yelp in his arms and his heart rate skyrockets until you're both looking at each other and laughing at the absurd juxtaposition having made each other come to an orgasm before your phone rang. Jay reluctantly lets you go, but he watches the way you turn back to look at him before answering.

"Now?" He hears you say. "What? I'm not out of breath. I just ran up the stairs, though. Okay sue, fried rice is fine. I'll see you in fifteen. Drive safe."

"Who was that?" Jay asks when you hang up the phone.

"My roommate," you reply. "I thought she was gonna be out until tomorrow, but her plans changed and now she's coming home with takeout."

"Great roommate, awful timing."

You smile at him apologetically, walking towards him until you're standing in between his legs. He sits on the edge of your bed and places his hands on your hips to draw you in closer to him, neck craning to look up as you bend down to give him a kiss.

"I'm sorry, Jay," you apologize. "I don't want to kick you out, but she's going to question you like she's my mother. You remember the girl Jake's talking to, right? That's her."

"She seems nice, though."

"She's the best," you say with a smile against his mouth. "She's my best friend and she's really protective over me. I don't really want her first time meeting you to be like, well…this."

"We've met before, though?"

"Yeah, but not as the guy I'm seeing." Jay feels his heart bounce against his chest. He likes the sound of that.

"Don't worry about it," he says, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your skin. "I had a great time tonight. The date and the sex."

"I can't believe we dry humped on my bed," you giggle, looking down at his naked torso. "You're really hot, Jay."

"You're hotter," he says, kissing you again. "I should probably get dressed, huh?"

You pout. "I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go either, but your friend is coming back." Jay pecks your lips and pushes you to the side to grab his discarded clothes and to fix his pants. His come is sticky in his boxers but there's no time for him to clean himself up, so he decides he'll brace the uncomfortable drive home.

"Stop being such a green flag," you grumble cutely, eyebrows furrowing like you can't believe he has the audacity to be respectful.

"You're so cute," he admits without thinking, leaning down to kiss you again before kissing your temple.

The two of you put your clothes back on and he stumbles back down the stairs, pretending like his legs aren't jello from humping you ten minutes ago. Jay becomes a happier version of himself when you walk him to his car and he kisses you one last time, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you in place. He leaves soon after that, watching the way you touch your lips and smile to yourself in the rear view mirror.

You're so cute.

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

Despite that incredible night, exams get in the way of spending alone time together.

The two of you hang out on campus more than not after realizing the pathway to your classes overlap. Jay doesn't mind these innocent run ins (that have turned into intentional dates spending time with one another) because he learns more about you the more you talk. And the more you talk, the deeper he falls.

There's something about the way you carry yourself. You embody confidence that makes Jay want to kiss you all over and let everybody know you're with him. They probably do, since the two of you have graduated to holding hands in public (so much so that Heeseung and Jake have since started teasing him for it). Life feels better with you in it. Jay's never been the kind of person who lives for other people, but you're a welcome presence that feels like a steady addition to his life instead of a burden. He wakes up in the morning looking forward to hearing your every thought until your lungs burn from talking so much. He could listen to your voice forever. And you listen to him too, letting him drone on and on about everything and nothing at the same time. The conversations don't feel forced or make him feel like he's supposed to be interested for the sake of being polite.

Everything happens for a reason, right? People fall into place when the universe aligns or some shit like that. That's what Jay thinks when he's high out of his mind, sitting on his bed as he watches anime on his TV. He's been having more of these sentimental epiphanies lately. It's like his mind focuses on the positives instead of what obstacles he has in front of him. He used to think you were a welcomed distraction, but now he thinks you're actually a perfect complement.

There's no stress with you. Jay lets himself fall deeply through your intuitive nature and all the subtle things he picks up. He loves that you're more considerate than you give off, always taking the temperature of the room and thinking before you speak. You're loud, animated, and entirely too whimsical to ever peak in university. You've got a million stories to tell him and he learns so much about you with every anecdote that passes through your lips. Jay notices how guarded you are and can't help but feel so special that he's an exception to this condition. It almost feels like he's in the inner circle, but the payoff has less to do with access to you and more to do with the fact that he's watching you grow softer. It's as if you're allowing yourself to fall for him too.

He'd never rush or make you choose him when you aren't ready. Jay's the kind of person who adapts and takes things for what they are instead of trying to find the deeper meaning when there is none. You're so delicate in Jay's eyes. He's stopped overthinking with you and started taking initiative for things like holding your hand or suggesting things to do when the two of you aren't getting stoned or studying. He tries not to look at you when he sees you blushing, but it's hard to ignore how cute you look when you're trying (and failing) to pretend you aren't affected by Jay's ability to read your mind. He's developed this canny ability to read you like an open book. It's adorable to see you opening up to him in ways you don't with other people.

The four-day weekend is exactly what Jay needs.

Something about a student-led event followed by a national holiday. It doesn't matter. Jay has no interest in keeping up with student life nor did he care about it in the first place, but he's grateful for it this year because that means getting to spend more time with you. On Thursday, the two of you spent the entire day at the aquarium whilst high on edibles. On Friday morning, he paid for breakfast. Now it's Saturday evening and your excuse for knocking on his door at nine in the evening is because apparently, your best friend and Jake were planning on hooking up at your place and forgot to tell you.

You come to Jay's apartment naturally. You say this to him like it's a no-brainier before he could ask you why Jake hadn't invite your friend over instead because he hates making people feel like they have to go the extra mile to get what they want. But you laugh, already a bit high from an edible you had taken earlier, and ask him to roll a joint to share. Either way, the two of you will be alone and it doesn't really matter the location, your place or his. It starts to make sense the second Jay's high kicks in because he's noticing the fact that you're wearing a shirt that lets him know you aren't wearing a bra.

His mind wanders and he thinks about all the selfies you've sent him where your tits are clearly on display. Somewhere along the way, you've graduated from sending photos of yourself to pictures of your body like you're trying to entice him. It always works, especially when the photo is just shy of a proper nude. He thinks it's sexier that way and he's grown enough confidence to send you things as a thank you, including shirtless photos, dick prints, and pictures of himself after getting out of the shower. He'd like to think you're using these to get off, imagining what you'd look like shoving your fingers inside of your pussy. Jay pictures your toes curling and eyebrows pinching when that final thrust makes you come, your free hand scrolling through all of the suggestive photos he's sent you as you orgasm.

It comes to a head one night when he received a picture of your ass when he asks you about the color of your nails since you had mentioned an appointment earlier that day. God. It looks just as plush as it does in real life. One of your hands cups your ass cheek, your perfectly manicured nails on display right next to your perfect ass. Jay grows rock hard in record time, his dick swelling in his sweats until he pulled it down just enough to reveal himself. He sat in the middle of his bed with his back against the headboard, one hand stroking himself as the other holds his phone so that he could stare at the image. Tugging on himself wasn't enough. Jay wanted you to be the one to do it. Dry humping can't be how far the two of you go. Imagining himself burying his face in your ass is what compels him to record a video of himself finishing, angling his dick towards his chest as he comes everywhere as he moans your name. He sends it to you without thinking and you call a minute later. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize the two of you ended up having phone sex.

And well, Jay is a man after all. This is all he can think about as you're sitting next to him on the very couch you sat on when he first met you. It doesn't help that he's high, which is making him laser focused on the image of you grinding on top of him.

With the ceiling fan turned on and Jake out of the house, Jay doesn't bother stepping outside to light his joint. Not that Jake would mind. Matter of fact, it does something to Jay's psyche knowing you're smoking his stuff and getting high off of it too. It makes him feel like he has some invisible claim on you, even if you're getting high with other people. He'd rather not think about that.

"What do you wanna watch?" Jay asks after blowing out a puff of smoke. He passes the joint to you as you sift through the abundance of movies and television shows, aimlessly scrolling past them without giving it too much thought.

"I'm in the mood to watch something supernatural," you say. He watches you look at his TV intently. "Have you ever watched Castlevania?"

"Can't say I've ever heard of it."

You turn your head like what he's said is completely outrageous. "You're lying."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I need a hit after hearing that." You laugh, making Jay want to physically melt into the couch as if his skin and bones are made of butter. You inhale the smoke like a professional and tuck your legs underneath your body to make yourself more comfortable on his couch.

"Is it that good?"

"Jay, it's like, the best show I've ever watched. It's about this guy named Trevor—who comes from a long line of monster hunters, fighting Dracula because his wife was accused of being a witch and burned at the stake. Everyone's a vampire. It's sexy."

"You like the dark and supernatural, don't you?"

"It's only the best genres ever, Jay." You take another hit from the joint. "What kind of things do you like to watch?"

"Sports, mostly. I could get into a thriller every now and then. I'm more of a music person, honestly. I don't watch a lot of movies or TV."

"Hm," you hum. "You'll have to show me what kind of music you listen to someday."

"Yeah," Jay replies with his eyelids focusing on your pretty lips. "You should come over when I'm not stoned out of my mind so I could show you my records. I feel like a limp noodle right now."

"I'd really like that. I have a few vinyls but I don't have a record player. I should bring some over."

"I'll bet you have great taste in music."

"Duh," you say playfully, smoking from the joint. "We don't have to watch Castlevania if you aren't into it. I'm sure I can find something else."

Jay shakes his head. "I'd love to see what kind of things you're into." You turn towards him and cock your head to the side.

"Yeah?" Jay nods and you smile at him like you're amused. Maybe the marijuana is making him lost his mind more than it usually does. In actuality, this is how Jay feels when he's with you, stoned or sober.

It's really hard to focus on the screen in front of him when you're sitting so close. It started at a respectable distance with his arm resting by his sides. The last thing Jay wants to do is make you uncomfortable in any way, especially because he knows you're high. It's the first time you're hanging out at his place without a bunch of other people here too. The two of you are alone with nothing but the sound of Castlevania echoing in his living room and the lingering scent of marijuana in the air despite an opened window and the fan above.

Halfway through the episode, you make a comment about how cold it's gotten since you first arrived and Jay's quick to get on his feet and retrieve a spare blanket from his room. He drapes it over you like you're something precious he wants to tuck into bed, which makes you laugh, and Jay swears he could listen to you make that sound every day without getting tired of it. Just as he's about to sit down, you open the blanket and tell him it's big enough to share, and Jay's smart enough not to tell you he's actually overheating like a furnace because his body runs warm. He'd gladly let trickles of sweat collect on his forehead if that means getting to be next to you without a barrier holding him back.

It's difficult to pretend he hasn't been half-hard ever since he watched you take your first puff. Jay was somewhat grateful that you got cold enough for him to throw a blanket over you and even more grateful that you insisted on sharing it with him. You must be doing this on purpose, right? Or is this all in Jay's mind?

It doesn't really matter. Not when you're sliding to the floor, kneeling in front of him.

Jay almost feels sorry for you. Your favorite show is playing but your back is turned to it in favor of staring at the tent that's forming in his pants. These cursed grey sweats. Yeah, maybe he chose to wear them because he knows girls go crazy for dick prints. His mind wandered to the night you bounced yourself on his clothed lap until you came and didn't seem to mind that he was rutting himself against your covered pussy. Driving home was pure torture for him but he didn't want to overstay his welcome, especially with your roommate coming home.

So, yeah. Sue him. Jay isn't so naive to think you wouldn't have paid any attention to him with these particular pair of sweatpants on. In fact, you seem to look at him like you're hungry, barely paying attention to the way he's staring down at you like he's nervous for what you'll say or do.

You catch him off guard when you nuzzle yourself straight into his lap. He nearly jumps at the contact of your nose against his dick, feeling the way you drag it up before using your lips to feel him beneath the sweats. You're slow with your movements, kissing your way from his base to the tip, feeling the way he twitches against your touch. He's caught halfway, somewhere between embarrassed and shameless as he watches you push your face right into his lap. Jay's imagined what you giving him a blowjob more times that he can count and he's had so many wet dreams of you jerking him off with your hands instead of his own. But he never quite pictured you to be the kind of girl who truly savors her time. Maybe it's because you're both high or maybe, just maybe, you like him, but Jay can hardly believe you're pushing your face into his cock without taking his pants off.

He's starting to think you're way freakier than he could've ever imagined. It's making him horny.

Eventually, your fingers hook on the band of his pants. Jay gets the hint and lifts himself off of the couch just enough for you to completely pull the fabric off of him, letting them pool to his ankles before helping him step out of them completely. He doesn't know what you do with them as he's far too excited, if that isn't completely evident by the way his dick starts to stand at attention. He's on his way to being the hardest he's ever been, he thinks. You eye him like you're hungry and you might as well be drooling because you're licking your lips at the sight of his flushed tip.

Jay doesn't know what to expect. It's been a while since he's been this turned on and watching you arch your back and pucker your lips just to press the softest kiss to his tip makes his entire body shiver. He's masturbated while high a million times before and knows what kinds of things make him tick and reach his orgasmic peak quickly. It's different with other people, though, and much different with you.

You've managed to catch Jay by surprise in more ways than one. He's confident when it comes to his music and walking through life without thinking everybody who remotely looks in his general direction has it out for him, but when it comes to girls, he doesn't think he's as experienced as Jake. Yes, he's had sex and short flings before, but they've never held any merit to what he wants in life. Jay doesn't see the use in wasting his time having mediocre hookups or entertaining people because they clearly think he's the hot loner who looks sexy when he's high (which was the case of his last hookup and the reason why he swore off of sleeping with random girls he meets at parties Jake forces him to go to).

You seem to be the complete opposite of anyone he's ever met before. You're like him in some ways—paying no mind to outside opinion. Even prior to meeting you, he's seen the way you carry yourself when you walk and how you treat people like they're a close friend even if you've just met them. He felt that way the night he properly met you for the first time and it caught him by surprise when you admitted to being serious about wanting him to text you. In a way, it's almost like you're pursuing him, even though you aren't. All you're doing is asking him to hang out and he's saying yes like a puppy who follows its owner wherever she goes. In fact, Jay wants you more than you could ever imagine. It's just that, well, you're very fucking beautiful and he's afraid he'll mess it up if you found out how often he imagines you laying in his bed stuffed full with his semen.

That, and he's scared of what you'll think if he ever admits that he'd like to take you out for breakfast after he fucks you.

"You're bigger than I thought," you say in a near whisper. Jay twitches at that and you let out a breathy laugh. It hits his skin and he tilts his head back as it teases him.

"You can't just say things like that," says Jay, looking back down at you. "You're going to kill me someday."

"Death by orgasm. Doesn't sound too bad."

"You don't know how good you look right now."

"Oh, I think I do," you say confidently, pushing your head forward to lick his slit, to which he hisses. "I know I look good sucking dick, Jay. I'm really good at it too. Do you want to see what I can do?"

"You're an evil person," he says without thinking. But you laugh like you enjoy seeing him in such agony, knowing your warm and wet mouth is almost where he needs you the most.

"Give me the joint." Jay hands it to you, watches as you inhale some of it, and feels his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when you exhale right on his cock.

Your mouth follows soon after. Without using your hands, you dip your head until your mouth catches his tip to envelope it into your mouth, letting his velvety texture become familiar with your tongue. You're intentional with your movements as if you're really trying to savor the feeling of his hardening dick as you push him inside little by little. Because the apartment is empty, Jay can be a little louder with his moans than usually. When he knows Jake's home, Jay shoves a pillow over his face to drown the sound of his deep, breathy moans to avoid an awkward encounter with his best friend once he's finished. He should be embarrassed that he's already making all kinds of sounds the more you get his dick wet, but he doesn't care. Not when this feels so fucking divine.

Curse your shorts. When he looks down and past your mouth on his dick, he looks at your plush ass as you arch your back to fully grasp him. Jay wishes he could reach down and take that stupid fabric off of your body and he supposes he could if he really wanted to, but the tone you've set is far more sensual than how he'd like to have you. He isn't picky, though. He'd rather endure your slow, sensual torture than scare you off by putting his dick inside of you right off the bat.

Your tight mouth takes him inch by inch at a snail's pace, but there more be a method to your madness because you make him wetter with each push and pull of your head. You periodically remove yourself from him to smoke from the joint before the leaf completely burns until you become tired of not being able to use your hands. Jay takes it from you and inhales a long, satisfying puff. It settles into the depths of his lungs and when your free hand cups his balls, his head tilts back and the smoke rises as he blows it out.

You're the devil reincarnate. Or you're a demon who's wickedly good with her tongue. Maybe you're some kind of angel whose sole purpose is making him come. Jay doesn't really know what you are, but he knows you know exactly what you're doing with his mouth. He doesn't want to think about how many people have experienced this side of you before because he'd rather pretend he's the only person you've ever treated like this.

The high is pure ecstasy. Jay looks down to see your beautiful mouth wrapped up in his cock, head pushing yourself down on his long, girthy dick until your mouth stretches around it. He loves that you aren't neglecting his sack either, rolling them between your fingers until it makes his toes curl. You hum in pleasure when he moans after your index finger traces the seam, making something shoot up his spine when you do. His thighs flex underneath your touch and he sees himself glistening with how much drool is coming from your lips. It makes the glide easier and he feels the way your throat constricts around him every time you push yourself further down.

The sight of his dick completely disappearing inside of your throat is fucking sinful. You push your nose against his pelvis until your choking around him and the gagging sound makes his balls tense up. Jay tries not to drop the joint and considers finding a nearby ash tray to put it out just to avoid accidentally dropping it onto the couch or, God forbid, you. Spit completely falls from the corners of your mouth but you don't give up either. He groans loudly and uses his free hand to stroke your head as if he's using you as an anchor.

"Oh my God," Jay moans. "Your mouth is so fucking tight. Fuck, you like to deep throat?"

You pull yourself off of him, not bothering to wipe any of the drool from your mouth. He watches the way the spit connects from his tip to your tongue before you break the chain to stroke him some more and it nearly puts him into a coma.

"I can do a lot more than that," you tell him. It's like you're trying to remain playful while simultaneously wanting to show him just what you can do. And fuck, Jay's more than willing to let you do whatever you want to him.

"Oh yeah?" Jay asks coyly. "What else can that mouth of yours do?"

You don't answer him with words. Instead, you lift his cock with your hands and bow your head until you're spitting leftover drool from deep throating him right onto his balls. He hisses when the warmth hits his most sensitive area and his next moan comes somewhere from deep within him. The surface of your tongue licks it up until you're lapping at him like a kitten drinking milk. He feels the pass of your wet muscle over and over again while your hand has started to move in tandem with your mouth, stroking him while you work on his balls.

He doesn't think he's ever experienced a girl pleasing him like this. Jay's has blowjobs in the past, but it always felt like the girls he'd sleep with viewed blowjobs like it was a chore to thank him for going down on them first. With you, Jay gets the sense that you like giving blowjobs and playing with his dick because it turns you on, not because you think it turns him on. God, he's so attracted to the fact that you don't really care about anyone but yourself. That's not completely true, and he knows it, but your ability to chase after what you want without caring what other people thinks turns him on more than seeing you sucking him off (which is a lie, Jay is so fucking horny).

"Holy shit," Jay curses under his breath. He shoves the tip of the joint in his mouth and savors the feeling of that initial inhale. He groans when the smoke leaves his mouth. "You're so fucking good at this. Treating my dick so well. Fuck."

You moan against his balls, rewarding him by pushing against him even harder and squeezing his cock at the same time. Your hand is so wet and the sound that echos the room sound better than Jay could've ever imagined. His own hand doesn't do him justice, not even when he gathers enough spit to pretend his palm is your warmth mouth as he fucks into his fist like his life depends on it.

His moans seem to motivate you to make him come faster because your mouth trails from his wet and swollen sack right back to his cock. Your hand hold him by the base before angling your mouth right over him and pushing his dick past your lips. Unlike before, you aren't slow with it. Instead, your head's moving at a faster rate until he feels the gentle scrape of your teeth along his sensitive veins and the way your tongue moves in a circle every time your reach his hip. He grunts every single time it passes against his slit and feels the pressure building in his balls as if he could finish at any moment, but he tries his best to keep going steady because he wants to draw this out for as long as humanly possible.

It's beautiful how your throat accommodates his cock. With your mouth completely stuffed the more you push your head down onto his exceptionally hard dick, you choke and gag without stopping. Jay feels fucking invincible right now.

"What a good mouth," he moans, legs widening as he slouches from how good you're making him feel. "You feel so fucking good around me. Your mouth is so tight and wet, fuckkk. Squeeze my balls too—yes, just like that. Shit, you're gonna make me cum soon. I'm so fucking close."

You moan around him and renders Jay completely fucking useless because of how good that vibration feels. He bucks his hips until the tip hits the back of your throat involuntarily but you don't stop your ministrations. You keep your fast pace as you squeeze his sack in your hands, letting the drool coat them as you push him closer to his climax. He thinks about cumming straight down your throat but thinks that might be a little too much for the first time you're blowing him. Would finishing on your face be more appropriate? Every single open seems more lewd than the next, but he can't deny that he'd like to see what you look like with his semen splashed all over your pretty cheeks and lips.

"I wanna cum on your face," he moans, fighting the urge to fuck your throat like he'd fuck your pussy. "I want to drown you in my cum."

You pull off from his mouth and use both of your hands to jerk him off with his tip angled right at your beautiful face. "Cum for me. Make a mess on my face."

"Fuck, you'd let me?" You nod rapidly.

"Cum on my fucking face, Jay. I want it so bad."

You don't have to tell him twice. When he feels his balls twitch for the last time, Jay's cum shoots from his slip and hits your cheek first. His semen splashes everywhere—your lips and across your nose—as he moans, holding tightly onto the joint to prevent it from falling. It's a wonder he's able to preserve it as he comes, his hips jerking as a consequence to the intense high as he climaxes all of your face. You take it like a fucking champ, too, smiling with your eyes closed as you feel his warm come seep right onto your face. You truly are a freak if you love this feeling. You're even laughing. Jay's never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

"Fuck me," he curses as his cock softens. He takes a short drag from the joint and stares at the beautiful mess on your face, nearly choking on it when he sees your tongue dart out of your mouth to lick the cum that has landed on the corners of your mouth. "You're a fucking fein. A fein for my cum, or something." You laugh again, scooping what's on your cheek with your fingers before sucking on them. "Yeah, you really know how to make a guy feel good. Stay right there. Let me clean you up."

Jay feels terrible and leaving you in his living room on your knees with his come all over your face, but he'd rather soak a wash cloth in warm water than let it dry all over you. He comes back quickly after having cleaned himself up in a haste and gentle swipes the fabric until you're clean.

"I have face wash if you want to use it," Jay says as he wipes the corner of your eye. "I don't want my come staining your gorgeous face."

"You're so thoughtful, Jay," you reply. The sincerity in your voice is a complete turnaround from your lewd acts just a few minutes prior. It makes something swell within his soul because he's suddenly picturing his future looking like this domestic, wonderful bliss with moments of eroticism.

You take him up on his offer and make a comment about how this expensive the face wash is. Jay's mom got him an entire line of skincare for Christmas and he's a bit reluctant to admit that his skin looks so much better now that's he's actively taking care of it. You reassure him, letting him know that there's nothing hotting than people being self sufficient and caring for themselves before swiping the face wash all over your face. It takes you a good minute to completely rid yourself of his come. Jay leans against the door frame with his hands crossed over his chest, smiling like an idiot at how domestic this all feels.

Call him crazy, but Jay's the type of person to fall fast. He's learned lessons the hard way, which typically entails falling for people who don't feel the same way about him, but spending time with you makes him think otherwise. Jay realizes you enjoy getting to know him too and you never silence him when he apologizes for talking so much. There's an equal balance of talking and listening on both ends, something Jay wishes he could achieve with every person he meets. He hates getting his hopes up just for things to fall through. It doesn't matter if it's a friendship or a relationship because it's mostly the same to him. He hates people who aren't honest and deceptive. College is the time to experiment and figure out who you are, sure, but Jay has always known that he's the kind of guy who values loyalty and transparency above all else.

Despite his best efforts, Jay manages to fall for you every time he holds himself back. Vulnerability is a hard thing to come by and he's more scared of being honest about himself than he lets on. It's scary to open his heart and share parts of himself to people who aren't guaranteed to stay forever. That's part of life, but it gets to a point where being vulnerable means getting his heart stomped all over in the name of having "fun." But it's not fun for Jay and he's as honest as they come. He'd rather be alone for the rest of his life than entertain people who don't have his best interest in mind, especially when they tell him they care about him but don't mean it.

Perhaps his general nonchalance about what other people are doing intimidates those who have deep seeded insecurities that can only be fixed by pretending to be someone they aren't. Jay has this crazy theory that probably isn't true aside to feed his own ego, but his friends have said he's a mirror. He reflects every beautiful and ugly trait right back to others, forcing people to confront who they are in the midst of standing right next to Jay, who accepts himself for who he is, faults and all. He's learned that people don't typically like it when they're reminding of things they'd rather forget. Jay is as open as they come, willing to experience things for a good story to look back on or learn from past mistakes. Learning how other people aren't as keen on growing into a better version of themselves made the world look absolutely bleak and meeting new people makes Jay weary from the get go.

Despite his brain telling him to be extra cautious, he can't help but give all of himself to you. Every conversation pulls him deeper into dangerous territory but for the first time in a while, Jay isn't so scared of the unknown. Even if, God forbid, this ends in heartbreak, Jay doesn't think he'll crumble into a hollow version of himself. He'd be sad, but he'd be content knowing he gave it a shot. The act of trying is better than being held back by fear.

The two of you smoke some more and restart the first episode at Jay's request and when his hand inches towards your lap to return the favor, you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss him on the lips. We've got all the time in the world, but I really want you to watch this first. You can eat me out afterwards, you say, smiling against his mouth before kissing him again. How could Jay say no to that? Besides, his brain is short-circuiting after receiving the most mind bending blowjob he's ever had in his life. A guy needs to recover from such an experience. The fact that you, someone who refrains from physical touch, is actively clinging onto his arm and cuddling against his side is far better than anything he could've ever hoped for.

He becomes engrossed in Castlevania and the two of you end up watching another episode. Jay glances down at you every once in a while and can't help but play with your fingers the more he watches the television. All of this feels so incredibly domestic and Jay has to force himself to stop smiling because he thinks you'll view him like a lovesick idiot. Maybe he is.

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

"Do you want me to pick you guys up?" Jay asks on speakerphone as he fixes his hair with a little bit of styling gel.

"No, we're gonna split an Uber. No use coming when I'll see you anyway."

"You know I don't mind," he says casually.

"I know, baby. That's real sweet of you, but don't worry about it."

"You could spend the night and I can drive you back tomorrow morning, if you want. So you don't have to spend more money."

"Oh, Jongseong, do you want me to spend the night?"

"Of course I do," he says with a smile on his face as he hears you laugh. "I always want to spend time with you."

"You…Are such a little shit. Don't make me blush on the phone."

"Let me pick you up so I can make you blush in person."

"You two are disgustingly cute," your friend says from beside you. "Like, I've never seen her act so cutesy before."

"She's so cute when she's trying to be tough."

"That's true," says your friend. "But remember, she was mine first, okay?"

"Of course," Jay replies, "I'd never get in the way."

"Good! We'll be at your place in thirty."

"See you soon, Jay," you tell him before hanging up the phone.

You come in wearing the most gorgeous dress with golden accents all over your body. Jay can hear you before he sees you because your bracelets smack against one another every time you move and he thinks that's the sexiest thing a woman could ever do. Unlike the first time he met you, he isn't afraid to pull you by the waist and join your little parade as you walk around to greet every person you know, taking shot after shot along with the joint Jay's passing around to anyone who asks.

When you finally register Jay's presence beside you, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the way you're eyeing him like a piece of meat. His biceps are on display along with a nasty stack of rings that make him look like walking sin. There's something about Jay tonight that makes him look extra delectable and you're looking at him like you'd pounce if there weren't so many people around. You almost parade him around like he's arm candy or another accessory for your outfit. Even Jake, who usually has to force Jay to put a little effort into coming out of his bedroom, nods in approval.

You only leave his side for ten minutes when a girl you know is asking you to help her redo her eyeliner in the bathroom, apologizing to Jay before skipping off to help her. He doesn't mind, though. In fact, he loves that you're eager to help others and make yourself available for people who politely ask for your help. You're considerate and generous like that.

"You guys look cozy," Jake says, bumping his elbow against Jay's forearm. "I can't believe you actually wanted to come out of your room tonight."

"I only come if the company's good," Jay retorts, bringing his cup to his mouth.

"Hey!" The two of them share a laugh. "She's good for you, Jay. You light up every time she walks in the room."

"That's the corniest thing you could've ever said to me."

"It's true though. I know you, man. You need to get to know somebody before you like them and you like her. You'd be crazy not to ask her out officially."

"I was planning out asking her to be my girlfriend on our next date," Jay confesses. "She loves mini golfing and she's extremely casual about a lot of things. Hates fancy dinners and making a big show of things. I wanted to ask her when we get food, or something."

"That doesn't sound super romantic."

"Trust me, it is," Jay says. "She's the kind of person who can appreciate big gestures, but I know she loves it even more when people pick up on the small thing. She hates being the center of attention even if that's where she ends up, so I know she'd appreciate if I asked her casually. I mean, it's not casual, but it's not over-the-top, you know?"

"I totally get it," Jake says with a nod. "What's meaningful to her is more important than looking 'romantic.'"

"Exactly. Don't get me wrong, though. I'll wine and dine her as long as she lets me."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that."

"But for now, I know she's got a lot on her plate and the last thing she needs is something to stress her out even more. She'd probably say no if I made a whole show of it."

"You're so attentive and I think that's probably why we're friends," Jake says, patting his friend on the shoulder. "You'll be a great boyfriend."

"This is oddly mushy."

"Yeah, it feels weird not to bicker with you." Jay tilts his head back and laughs when he sees you walking out of the bathroom.

"Are you boys up to no good?" You ask, leaning against the wall to look at the both of them.

"Depends what you mean by 'no good,'" Jake teases, raising his eyebrows at Jay before snickering to himself.

"Does he know something I don't?"

"No."

"Yes."

"Okay…" You trail off, squinting your eyes before laughing. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know unless I need to know."

"You're in good hands," Jake says, nodding at you before making an excuse to leave. He winks at Jay when you aren't looking and leaves to find your friend.

"Jake Sim is a weird motherfucker," you say against your cup. "But he's harmless, right?"

"As harmless as they come. I think he likes riling me up."

"We all do."

Jay laughs too. "You look beautiful tonight.

"I look hot, don't I?"

"I'm trying to be respectful here."

You kiss his cheek. "You are such a gentleman, Jongseong. But you don't need to be like that thing me all the time. I think we've crossed that line ages ago."

Well, shit. His cock might as well be stirring in his pants now that you've given him the mental image of all the times he's seen you naked.

"You look hot and I'm going to fuck you when you're ready to leave," he says in a low murmur, his voice steady like it's something he's something he's been thinking about all day. You press a small kiss to his jawline.

"I can't wait."

The two of you could technically make a break for his bedroom, but you're clearly having a lot of fun drinking with your friends and sharing Jay's joint with everyone who wants a hit. Jay, too, is enjoying himself for the first time in a while now that he recognizes some of the party goers. It's easy to have fun when the people he's surrounded with seem to want to talk to him too. You clue him in on inside jokes and he has the time of his life playing bartender, mixing drinks for strangers with the very limited knowledge he has after one summer bartending because he was bored. He's a hit with everyone who wants alcohol and he gets extra bonus points for having a stack of joints readily available in his pocket when the one he smokes runs out. It pays to be a man with marijuana and a lighter.

Jay's newfound role has garnered a lot of attention. From girls specifically, since tonight there seems to be double the amount of people than usual. Jay doesn't really pay much attention since he's too busy peeking at you from the corner of his eye, sending a wink your way with every drink he serves. You, however, have gravitated closer towards the bar station every single time a girl comes up to him to strike up a conversation or worse—touching his arm while trying to play it off as something casual. He'd shrug it off, of course. The only girl he wants is you.

You make haste and appear by his side in record time, handing off drinks like you're being paid to do it. Jay doesn't miss the way you squeeze your way in between himself and a stranger trying to fish for attention. It's kind of hot that you've pushed her away with the touch of your hip, barely intruding while smiling politely like you've done nothing wrong. He would've said something before you got there. It's not like the two of you haven't been draped all over each other all evening, so really, everyone here should know he's off limits.

Jay isn't oblivious to the sudden switch of your mood every time a girl comes up to him.

It's funny to think that a month earlier, girls usually pursued Jake. Jay knows he comes off as this aloof, barely-there kind of guy, like someone too intimidating to pay attention to for the fear of failing. He's the embodiment of the classic rock star: wickedly good at guitar and an attitude that screams do not fuck with me. Jake is an easygoing, open kind of guy. He'd take any chance to make a new friend. It's part of him charm, but it's not one he shares with Jay.

You're a very sweet person. Blunt? Yes, but you always say it like it is and don't coddle people to make them feel better when there's no use. Jay loves that about you. He doesn't have to guess where your head is at or question your intentions because you're upfront and honest. He can count on you to tell him the truth, which is a skill most people lack. It's refreshing to meet somebody who can put her heart on the line while maintaining integrity. People tend to say one thing but disregard it's meaning until it becomes something new entirely, but not you. You're Jay's safe space whether you realize it or not.

This new emotion—jealousy?—is something new for Jay to see in you. You both have breached the threshold of being touchy the first time you dry humped in your bedroom. You've been much bolder now, but it's only escalated to grabbing his hand and letting him hold yours. There's an unspoken line that has yet to be crossed, never mind the fact that you gave him the best head of his life not too long ago.

But tonight, you're clinging onto his arm like a koala and pressing your body against his side. It's because you're wearing a tank top, you muttered in disgust as you watched yet another girl cower away underneath your gaze. They're looking at your fucking biceps. And you're letting them.

Jay is thoroughly amused. You have an edge to you, even if this is a side you don't show anybody else. From the beginning, he got the sense that you were the type of person to keep vulnerability at arm's length. But the way you're acting tonight tells him you're jealous. You, the independent and secure girl he's crushing on, feel protective of Jay and his body. Entitled, even. But it's so fucking sexy to be desired by you. It boosts his ego, sure. He's a man who thinks with his cock sometimes and you're no exception. Mostly, Jay's turned on by how much you desire him too. It isn't the attention. It's you.

He wouldn't stoop so low to exploit that. Jay would've told these girls to fuck off if you hadn't said it on his behalf. It's kind of cute, honestly. You resemble a baby lion trying to roar for the first time. To these other girls, you bark like a guard dog. He doesn't even think you know how intimidating you look when girls lower their gaze to the floor and back away from the two of you cautiously. Serves them right, honestly. Can't they see that he clearly isn't interested?

"Freaks," you mutter under your breath. "They're all freaks for coming up to you when I'm right here."

"I probably should've worn a different shirt." You shake your head, hands running from his bare shoulders down to his bicep. You give him a squeeze and he feels the tips of your nails digging into his skin.

"You look really fucking good, Jay," you all but moan.

"Did those girls bother you, baby?" Jay asks, turning to face you. He sets his drink down on the counter and cages you in between his hands.

"They should know better than to talk to you," you say without stuttering, your lips barely touching his own. "I hate that they had the audacity to think they have a chance when I'm the one you want."

"You're the one I want," Jay whispers against your lips, stealing a soft peck. The innocent sound of lip smacking makes his cock ache and he can't help but pull you closer to try and relieve even an ounce of friction.

"These freaks can go fuck themselves." God, you found so sexy when you're jealous.

"You know what I think?"

"What do you think, Jay?"

"I think that we should ditch this party and go back to my room," he says, caressing your covered ass. "We can light a joint and smoke a little. Get away from the crowd. How does that sound?"

Your eyes dart from his lips to his eyes. "Take me to your bedroom, Jay."

He's grabbing your hand without another word and hauling you off upstairs. Jake sees the two of you pass him by and gives his friend and encouraging two thumbs up, to which Jay can't help but roll his eyes but he laughs anyway. The noise from the party subsides but a little bit, but he can hear the music and the murmur of the crowd even with the door closed.

There you are, looking like absolutely devious in your short and tight dress all up in his bedroom. You've been up here a few times and take perch on his bed like you always do when Jay walks towards his nightstand and opens his drawer to pull out marijuana and rolling paper.

"I was going to do this on our mini golfing date," Jay says, busying his hands with preparing another joint. He hears you move across the bed after having kicked off your heels, knees padding until he feels you right behind him. It calms his nerves to feel your arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, mouth pressing against his ear as you little his skin in soft little kisses.

"What were you going to do?"

"Ask you out. Properly, I mean."

"Are we not already going out?"

He stills, dropping the materials from his hands to turn around and face you. God, you look so gorgeous like this. By now, he's already learned that the black makeup around your eyes make you look like a sexy feline and the scent of your almond and cherry perfume make his senses go crazy. Jay would be absolutely crazy to think you'd stick around forever if he never communicated his feelings to you. With his hands now free, Jay pulls you close by your waist.

"I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend on our mini golfing date," he admits. "I know you're not into big gestures because it puts you on the spot and I know you hate being put on the spot. I wanted to do is casually. Maybe after the last round or whenever we left to get food. I don't want to make you feel like being with me is just sex or getting high. Or anything other than dating, really. I like you a lot. I think I have since the night we met and I don't want you to think I'm interested in other girls because I'm not. I want you."

For as much as Jay thinks he knows you, his heart pounds in his chest like a beating drum that refuses to stop. Part of being vulnerable and putting himself on the line means being honest about his feelings and to his delight, a beautiful smile graces your lips until you're leaning forward to put your mouth on his. It's a soft, simple kiss that makes his head spin and you pull away with his lovesick glint in your eyes he's never seen before.

"I'm not the best with affection but it's different when it's with you, Jay." Your arms come to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling his face impossibly close to yours. "Being with you feels right. Like I never saw you coming, you know?"

"I know," he murmurs, softly pecking your lips. "I'll make up for this shitty confession, I promise. Be my girlfriend?"

"You're so stupid, but I think you're really cute," you whisper with a smile you can't seem to contain before kissing him again. "You were right by assuming I'd want you to ask in the most casual way."

Jay lets out a strained sound from his throat. "Yeah, but a bunch of girls tried it with you tonight and basically ruined my entire plan."

"Mm okay, I'm still mad those girls clearly couldn't see we're together. But I think being honest is more important than how you ask, you know?"

"You are a fucking dream, baby," Jay says, pushing his lips harder against you until you giggle into him. "It's real cute how you got so jealous."

"I wasn't jealous."

"Territorial, then."

"Mhm," you confirm with a single nod, smiling against him. "People need to know what's mine. That's all."

"Yours?" He asks with an amused grin. "I like the sound of that. I'll be your trophy husband."

"Husband," you say, testing the word on your tongue. "Awfully sexy of you to imagine me as your wife."

"I've been imagining taking a wedding dress off of you since our first date," he confesses without shame. "I don't mind being your trophy husband."

What starts off as an innocent kiss turns into something erotic quickly with your back resting comfortably on Jay's mattress while his body's on top of yours, reminiscent of the time he first saw your apartment. The kiss grows hungrier with every moment that passes by and the inebriated haze has slightly worn off because of the stone cold, sober truth of Jay's confession. He doesn't spare you another pass at being a gentleman because he's learned that you trust enough to allow him to take whatever wants. Jay knows you'll tell him to stop if it comes to it. And in turn, he's learned that it's okay to desire someone so much that he loses control.

Jay pulls away to catch his breath and the whine that escapes your lips makes his cock jump in his pants. He laughs at your neediness and laughs again at your immediate silence when you realize he's grabbing the marijuana to roll a joint for you.

"I wanna roll one on your body," Jay says, eyelids growing heavy the more he visualizes it.

"Fuck," you moan. "I think that's the hottest thing you've ever said to me."

"Can you take your clothes off for me, baby? I want to see that gorgeous body of yours."

The music thumping from downstairs serves as the soundtrack for tonight. You make haste and get off of the bed as Jay sits on the edge with his legs open as you face him. Jay's dick hardens during his own personal strip tease and he watches the way your soft hands run all over your body like you're the devil trying to seduce him. Your fingers catch underneath the hem of your short dress but you don't take it off like he thinks you will. No, instead you reach underneath to pull off your black thong until you pull it down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace before tossing it in his lap.

What's a guy to do? Jay grabs your panties and hears that melodic laugh of yours he loves so much. He squeezes it in his hand—is that a wet patch?—while the other palms himself through his pants the more you twirl around for him, making a show out of jutting your ass out the more you sway your hips to the muffled bass from outside. When you do finally take your dress off, Jay intently watches the way you slowly expose yourself to him. His eyes rake over the first peek at your bare pussy, your torso, your tits, and finally your face as you toss the dress somewhere behind you.

"Come here," he beckons, throwing your panties to the side when you take a step closer to him. He makes room for you in between his legs, using his hands to spread your own apart until he has a view of you from the front. Jay lifts his finger to run a single digit over your folds and relishes in the way you moan from above. "Have you been wet this entire time?"

"I've been wet since our phone call."

"My poor baby," he tuts, letting his finger slowly glide against your wet lips, occasionally grazing over your clit. Jay doesn't want to miss a single thing and looks at the way you struggle to maintain eye contact with him. It's so cute and hot at the same time. He lifts his finger to show you the wet glisten before licking it clean, groaning at the first taste. "Delicious as always."

"Fuck," comes your whine. Jay feels you trembling between him.

"Come lay on the bed for me. I want your ass facing me so I can use it as a table, yeah?"

You make haste and Jay hums in satisfaction, standing to grab his materials before making his way over to you. He feels the way your eyes watch him and looks at the way you're laying comfortably on his mattress, arms tucked underneath your head like you're in some kind of blissful state of mind. You look delectable like this. Jay has half a mind to pull his cock out and push it inside of you right now since you're wet enough, but he holds himself back because in his opinion, there's nothing better that drawing out orgasm after orgasm while high.

He doesn't immediately put the paper and marijuana on your body. He lets curiosity get the better of him and allows his fingertips to drag along your upper back, tracing an invisible line down the curve of your spine before he reaches your ass. You part your legs instinctively and Jay mutters a quiet good girl that makes you clench against absolutely nothing. It's so hot. He bends down and presses a kiss to your slit and licks your arousal right off of his lips before pulling back to grab his materials, letting them rest on your back as he gets to work.

You crane your neck to watch as he focuses on rolling the joint without spilling. Jay's done this a million times, but he's never had the pleasure of fixing one on the prettiest girl he knows. It's clean and quick. He's managed not to spill any of the marijuana as he grinds it, expertly placed the leaf inside of the rolling paper, then uses his fingers to push it into place until it's snug. Jay folds the tip of the joint before pushing the excess paper down and presents you the most gorgeous, fat joint you've ever seen in your entire life.

"You can do whatever you want to me," you blurt out.

"Whatever I want?"

"If you fuck me within the next minute, yes." Jay laughs and grabs his lighter, holding it up to the end of the joint until it lights up. He takes the first hit to ensure the joint burns properly before passing it along to you, happily watching as you eagerly inhale.

"I'll fuck you real good," he promises, taking his shirt and pants off the longer you smoke. "I want to do it my way. I want you to feel that aching burn between your legs until you can't think of anything but cumming on my cock. I want you needy and desperate for me."

He takes his clothes off and feels his dick throbbing when he watches you smoke on his bed. It's a sight right out of a wet dream and he's probably thought about this exact moment a million times over, using this exact fantasy to get himself off more times than he can count. You've maneuvered onto your back and Jay marvels at your gorgeous tits when you bring the joint back up to your lips. He puts both of his knees on the bed and knocks your legs open to put his body right where it belongs, stealing the joint from your hands before smoking it again. Your mouth welcomes his exhale when he leans above you. Like clockwork, the smoke travels from his mouth right into yours and Jay feels your chest arch right against him just as your lips touch. He's careful not to drop the weed as he watches the way your eyes become more red by the second. Jay's positive his eyes look exactly the same.

"I'm gonna eat you real good," he mumbles as he drags his mouth along the column of your neck, trailing wet kisses down your skin.

The cool drag causes goosebumps to arise, making you gasp right into the open air. Jay takes his time, stealing another smoke when he makes his way to your chest and he makes a pit stop, handing you the joint before using both of his hands to cup your tits. They spill over just the way he's always pictured and he brushes his thumbs against your perky, sensitive nipples. Jay marvels at the sight the more he toys with them. He becomes entranced from the high, zeroing in on the way your tits move and spill from his fingertips. Jay pinches your nipples and relishes in the way you gasp at his touch, which makes him laugh and lean down to lick one of them.

"Perfect tits, perfect body," Jay moans, attaching his mouth to your hardened bud. His tongue rolls right over it as he makes himself comfortable between your legs, his own body relaxing with his cock sandwiched between his torso and his mattress. The sound of his lips sucking on your nipple and his hands squeezing on your chest like they're his own personal stress toys makes you moan in deep pleasure, letting the high consume you like never before.

He moves onto the neglected bud with his eyes closed, moaning around your most sensitive area. He loves how responsive you are with your quiet moans and your chest pushing against his face. Jay's mind is in a haze the longer he has his mouth on you, dick swelling with every breath he takes like his life's purpose is to kiss every inch of your skin.

Jay doesn't stick around your tits for very long, especially not with the way you're accommodating his body by spreading your legs open for him. He kisses down the valley of your breasts and reluctantly lets go of your chest to venture down your torso, dragging his lips and leaving messy wet kisses in his wake. He grabs the joint from your hands and inhales before tapping it hard against his ash tray to kill it before gripping your thighs and blowing the smoke right against your wet hole.

The sound you make is indescribable. It's somewhere between primal and desperate, especially when the forced air makes contact with your wet lips. Jay watches the way your hole twitches in anticipation and sees the way your hands grab onto your chest for stability from the corner of his eye. Your arousal drips from you like a waterfall and he hastily licks a strip up your slit. When he reaches your clit, he lets the surface drag slowly with the kind of pressure that makes your legs shake in their place, allowing his tip to flick over the sensitive bud. Jay witnesses you throwing your head back like you're starring in your very own pornography film and the view of from below makes you look like walking sex.

Jay descends with his tongue lapping at your eager pussy. He tastes every crevice and fold you hide while gripping onto your thighs to keep your legs open for him. He feels your resistance and laughs against you like this whole affair is for his entertainment only. But really, knowing he could get you to fall apart on him like this is the cherry on top. You're the most put together person he knows. Watching you lose your mind on his tongue feels like his greatest accomplishment.

"I love watching you fall apart," Jay moans against you, pushing his tongue inside of you. He hears you cry out his name and grip his hair as you tug in response to the sudden intrusion, keeping his tongue stretched out to thrust it in and out of your wet hole. It's a tight fit and he can only image what it would feel like to slide his engorged cock inside of you.

Your arousal slips and falls from the corner of his mouth along with his spit when Jay starts to grind his dick against the bedsheets. Your hips start to roll against his tongue like you're chasing your own high too. It's so hard for you to keep still and for your legs to remain on the bed, that much Jay can tell for sure. You're writhing underneath his touch despite his best efforts to keep you in place, but his pride swells with every cry and moan. Jay pushes his mouth harder against you, sucking and slurping on your folds like he's trying to eat you alive. He doesn't care if spit dribbles down his chin nor does he particularly care about keeping this ordeal clean and tidy. Unlike rolling a joint, Jay wants sex with you to be messy. He wants the nasty, filthy, horny affair to feel raw.

The high makes his skin buzz and his body feels like it's at an all time high. It feels so good to rub his bare dick against the bed, listing to the loud moans escaping from your mouth. Never mind the fact that his room isn't technically sound proof, but the music is going a great job at drowning out the sounds from his bedroom. Not that Jay would mind, of course. He doesn't think you'd care either. In fact, you'd be happy knowing other girls could hear the way Jay's making you feel.

"Fuck Jay, your tongue feels so good. How did you learn to eat pussy like this?"

He chuckles, dragging his tongue to kitten lick your clit. "You like it when I have my mouth on you?"

"Yes—fuck!"

"Mm yeah, love it when you make that sound," Jay says after he spits directly on your clit. He lets his digits trace your folds, dipping the tip of his pointer finger tip into your hole. You tense up against him but he tuts, shaking his head. "I won't have that. Open up for me, baby. Relax and let me feel you."

"S-So sensitive," you mutter.

"Already? How are you gonna take my cock?" Jay mocks, pushing his finger inside of you until you adjust around him. He can feel your pussy squeezing around him already. "I need to make sure you get a taste of what's to come. Need to watch you fall apart on my mouth and fingers."

"Fuck!"

"Yeahhh. That's right, honey. Make those pretty noises for me." The pet name makes our eyes roll to the back of your head and your grab a fistful of his blankets the faster he pumps his finger inside of you. Jay adds another finger and fucks you faster, relishing in the way you're moaning like your life depends on it. He bends his head down to lick at your clit at the same time and the sensation is overwhelmingly euphoric for the both of you. From here, Jay watches your mouth hang open and your hands clutching his bedsheets like that'll give you stability. It's so hot the way you're falling apart on him.

Your orgasm completely washes over you the longer Jay laps at your clit. He stares at you as best as he can while trying to keep you still before him, but your rolling hips make it difficult for him to focus on helping you feel out your high. He tries, though, removing his fingers from your pussy to grip your thighs so hard that you buck against his face and rut all over him.

"You taste so good," Jay moans when your body finally subsides. He keeps licking the remnants of your orgasm, catching every last drop on his tongue before it gets the chance to escape him.

"I don't think I've ever had anyone eat me out like that," you say, catching your breath. "You're eager."

"Eager for you, yeah."

"So cheesy." Jay watches you hide your face in your arm like you're too shy to admit how much that turns you on. He laughs at your bashful nature and kisses his way up your body, temporarily stopping at your breasts to lick around your nipple and tug at them with his teeth. You reach down to grip his cock in your hands after you've spit directly into your palm, twisting your writ to jerk him off when he removes himself from your chest.

Jay looks down and watches your smaller hand around his girthy, thick cock. He can barely register his reality because of the marijuana and remembers he still has half the joint left. With the flick of his lighter, he's smoking once again and pushes his head back to blow the excess smoke towards his ceiling, moaning when you squeeze him.

His attention resumes on your hand when he feels you press the underside of his cock against your wet slit, watching the way your hips grind against his bare dick. The tip is just shy of breaching your hole every time you grind yourself against the head and Jay bucks his own hips in response. He gets a preview like this, watching exactly how far he'll disappear inside of you. It makes him crazy to see you like this, too. Pre-cum leaks from his slit the drips down your onto your pussy to make an ever wetter mess, the sound of the splash ringing in his ears the more the two of you grind against each other. He passes the joint to you and you eagerly accept, inhaling a long puff and expertly holding it in before exhaling.

You nearly drop it when Jay angles his dick to press the entirety of his cock into you. He catches you by surprise as he's able to grab it from your fingers before it falls onto the bed. The stretch is already unimaginable and he takes his sweet time pushing himself into you, allowing his gaze to fall where the two of you connect. Jay witnesses as your tight, velvety walls make room for his thickness and you're taking him like the champion he knows you to be. Jay drags his cock out and thrusts shallowly to let you get comfortable with his impressive size. His eyes roam across your body until they land on your plush lips and he bends down to steal a kiss while keeping the joint steady in his hands.

You eagerly kiss him back as if his mouth distracts you from the initial pain of his dick. Jay keeps fucking into you little by little, letting the sound of your shared arousal echo within the room. "You hear that? Baby. That's all you. You made us this wet." You tense around him and clench at his words, lips chasing his own in a messy kiss the more he pushes himself inside of you. "Your pussy's been aching for me, hasn't she? All the times we've fooled around prepared you for this, honey. Feel my cock. Feel it go in and out."

"It feels so good."

"I know it does," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Feels so good when you're high, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you moan. "I'm so fucking horny, Jay."

"I know you are, baby. You're so wet."

He kills the joint for the last time before tossing it on the ashtray to focus on you. The last push of his cock feels like pure heaven as his balls hit your ass cheeks the second he bottoms out, and his tip hits the deepest part of you. Maybe it's the high or maybe it's because sex with you is no longer a mere fantasy, but Jay can feel every movement from your twitching hips to the way you're constantly clenching around his dick.

Fucking you is insanely different than fucking his hand at the thought of you. Your walls enclose around him like a vice meant to keep him addicted to you forever. Every single drag and thrust of his hips makes Jay lose his fucking mind because his dream girl is underneath him with her legs spread wide open for him to fuck. Jay collapses right on top of you the second your arms pull him by his neck. He doesn't fight, his body already soaring through his high like he has the ability to fly. The combination of Jay's attraction and the his inebriated state contributes to how his arousal that seems to be never ending.

Your hole is so slippery. How can one person be this wet? Jay thanks whatever god is listening to him the more he ruts himself against your lap like a crazed sex addict. Or, he sure feels that way since you're gripping him with your pussy and your arms, pulling him impossibly close to you like you're trying to become one with him. Jay doesn't mind feeling your sharp nails down his back. He grunts at the mental image of the red lines decorating his skin when he gets the chance to look at himself in the mirror. He'd do anything to see you get off on his cock.

Jay buries his face inside of your neck and lets his warm breath fan over your skin. The entire room smells like weed and sex, two very important things to Jay. He can't remember the last time he was so horny that he thought his dick would fall off the longer he fucks himself into a tight hole, but your wetness paired with your angelic moans continue to push Jay closer and closer to his first orgasm. He's determined to keep himself from coming too quickly, though. He kisses along your neck and doesn't care that he's probably moaning too loudly against your ear.

"Harder," you croak, voice dry from the marijuana and from the constant moaning. "Fuck me harder."

You don't have to tell him twice.

Jay positions your legs on both of his shoulders, admiring the way your tits look. They're big and round and they jiggle every time he moves your body to put you in the exact spot he wants you. The way your nipples move at every slight movements makes Jay kiss the back of his teeth and slot his cock right back into you before he pushes his cock and his chest forward, effectively bending you in half.

His cock reaches a whole new angle the more he's able to push himself down. You cry out a broken moan when his dick pierces a new depth and he silences your cry with a kiss to your lips. Spit falls everywhere the more your mouths mash together, tongues fighting like the two of you are locked in an intense battle. Jay repositions himself until his legs are spread wide, the balls of his feet planted on his mattress before lifting his hips just thrust into you with a newfound strength that makes your eyes squeeze shut.

He drinks up your moans like it's liquor. Jay's abdomen tenses as he holds this position, feeling the burn in his legs the longer he uses his strength to push and pull himself in and out of your body. The drag is delicious. It's so good that he hisses and closes his eyes to focus on the feeling of your wet cunt gripping onto him like you're afraid he'll leave if you aren't tight enough. Sweat has formed along his forehead and your bodies are slippery from the sexual workout, but it adds to the intensity of it all. Jay has never felt enamored with a girl like he is with you and the sheer magnitude of his attraction outweighs any drug he's tried in his lifetime. He'd happily quit smoking marijuana if you asked him too. But lucky for him, you can keep up.

"Tightest pussy in the world," Jay groans, slamming his cock into you and holding your body underneath him until you're pinned between the mattress and his chest. His cock is lodged deep into your pussy with no signs of letting up and the way you squeeze him from the inside out is enough to make Jay feel like he's seeing stars. "Are you always like this? Do you always make people feel so fucking crazy?"

"Just you," you say, barely able to speak from the intensity of the position.

"Just me," he repeats, grunting through his nose. "Only me, baby. Only I can make you feel like this."

"Only you."

"Only I can get you high like this," he grunts, lifting his hips to slam them back down onto you. You cry and it sounds like a fucking hymn. "I want you to cum like this. Can you do that for me, honey? Cum right on my dick."

And you do. It's like a command, almost. He knows you've been holding out and waiting for him, but you deserve to come as many times as you want without asking for his permission. He loves knowing he can get you to feel as free as you do without worrying about other people. It's so sexy that you're as considerate as you are, but as far as Jay's concerned, you could come on his cock a million times over and he wouldn't care about getting off it you were satisfied.

He feels the tension in your body as you focus on your orgasm. Jay moves in tandem with you, letting his cock impale your pussy and pushing past your hole when you clench around him. The tightness squeezes him until his tip is hitting the very spot that makes you scream out his name like it's a prayer, and you come like you've never experienced such an orgasmic high before. He feels you come. Jay savors the way your body arches as you reach your peak and it takes everything in him to stay as still as he is, his abdomen aching and his legs burning from holding this position. But it's worth it to watch the way you fall apart on him completely.

"You're so hot when you cum," Jay mumbles against your lips, letting your legs fall from his shoulders and allowing himself to break from his previous hold. He kisses over your lips to soothe you as he slowly rocks his hard cock in and out of your pussy, using your orgasm as lubricant. "It makes me wanna fuck you within an inch of your life."

"Do it," you taunt, smiling up at him with a fucked out grin that makes Jay think you're a succubus. Your lack of a refractory period is pure insanity. He can barely believe your pussy doesn't ache from his mouth, fingers, and his cock. Or maybe it does but you aren't saying anything. You're taking it like a fucking champ.

"Bend over," he instructs, pulling his cock out to stand while you turn your body over. He strokes himself in the meantime, watching as you spread your legs and arch your back like a feline waiting for its reward. Your pussy is on full display in front of him and he can't resist getting on his knees to shove his face in your lap again.

There is no rhyme or reason to it anymore. Jay has turned into a dirtier, hornier version of himself the more his high climbs up an invisible mountain. His tongue licks over your delicious folds and licks up every drop of your come like it's syrup spilling from a maple tree. Jay makes a complete mess of his face and slurps at your wetness, drinking your sweet nectar like it's the only thing he could ever imagine in his mouth.

He lets go of his cock to grip your ass cheeks and moans straight into your pussy when he ruts his cock against the side of the bed, thrusting every single time he pushes his tongue deeper into your wet hole. You moan before him and push your ass right against his face, making him bury himself deeper into your hole as though he never wants to leave. He doesn't, really. He'd be perfectly happy if he died with your pussy on his tongue.

Jay removes himself from your pussy when he feels himself get closer and closer to the edge. The soft material of his bedsheets would be enough to throw him off the deep end if he isn't careful. He gets back on his feet after licking up a stripe and pushes his tongue up your slit until he licks your wrinkled hole. Your body tenses at the strange sensation but you aren't completely turned off by it. In fact, Jay notices your legs spreading even wider as your back arches deeper like you're in some kind of trance. He takes his chance and spits directly into your tightest hole with a slow drip, listening to a moan that comes deep within your chest the second it hits you. He brings his thumb to gently rub it in, temporarily neglecting your pussy to watch the way you're writhing as he brushes his finger over your asshole. It's incredible how responsive and trusting you are. If he was a worse person, Jay would put the very tip of his cock right against your hole. But he isn't and he figures if you liked it enough to endure his curiosity, you might let him try putting his dick in there one day.

He lines himself with your pussy again, flicking the head across your folds to gather enough slick. Jay lets his tip pass over and over again until you're whining like you'll die without his dick. The desperation in your voice turns him on so much that he feels his balls twitch when you let our a particularly high-pitched noise. It's enough to make him sink back into your pussy, hands gripping your hips for stability. He feels his own legs shaking from the new angle and the sight of your back arching in front of him.

Without a single warning, Jay fucks you. It's the kind of pace that only occurs when he's so horny that he can't think about anything other than finishing himself off. You claw at his bedsheets and manage to grab one of his pillows to hold against your chest. His blunt nails dig themselves right into your meaty flesh as he brings his right hand to smack your right ass cheek. The sting is incredible and he must assume you love this kind of pain because the long, drawn out moan rings in his ears like it's Christmas. He smacks your ass again while he bucks his cock into you like a madman, spanking you over and over again until he feels a bit sorry for the pain he's causing you.

Jay's sack bounces against your puffy clit with every thrust and he's positive you've started whining because you feel another orgasm approaching. He wishes he could hold himself out longer too, but the two of you are higher than a pair of kites in the sky and your incredible moans and tight pussy push him to his limits. He clenches his ass to prolong this feeling, hissing at the intensity of your walls gliding against him every time he drags his cock out of you just to push it back inside your hole.

"One last time," Jay grunts, reaching one hand to toy with your clit and making you moan into his pillow. "Come for me one last time, yeah?"

"C-Come together," you barely manage to say.

"Yeah, baby. Let's come together. Fuck, give it to me and I'll give you my cum too."

Lost in the chase for his own orgasm, Jay's knees nearly lock when he's about to come. He braces himself at the very last second and falls until his cheek hits your upper back, feeling the way you clench around him before finishing for the third time. Jay follows soon after, spilling his seed directly into your hole without ceasing his hips from fucking it back into you. He doesn't care that the mixed cum starts to seep from where you're both connected, nor does he care that it's starting to drip down onto your thighs. He keeps thrusting until he's managed to overcome the peak and ruts into your hole.

When all is said and done, the only thing that registers is his heart beat and your breaths. Jay kisses the back of your neck with such tenderness that it pulls a satisfied moan from your throat. He can't help but laugh and twitch inside of you as his cock grows soft. You eventually push him out with a single clench, feeling the way his dick falls to your thigh as leftover semen seeps from his slit and onto your skin. The room is hot, wet, and far too overwhelming to properly come down from the insanity of tonight.

"You did so good, honey," Jay murmurs against your shoulder, peppering sweet kisses as you close your eyes. "My good girl. My sweet, sweet baby."

"I'm your baby," you whisper in a fucked out bliss.

"That's right." He nods and brings his face to yours, kissing you once before turning your body over to face him. Jay brushes your hair out of your face and cups your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "Are you okay? You sounded a little dehydrated."

"It was the weed," you say with a quiet giggle. "So worth it, though. But I could go for some water."

In record speed, he's able to clean the both of you up and fetch some water from the kitchen without making too much conversation. He avoids Jake, who looks at him and whistles as he walks back to his bedroom. To his surprise, you're up on your feet and digging through his closet with one of his shirts draped over your body.

"Aren't you beautiful," he says, bringing the water up to your lips. You laugh at the absurdity but drink from his hand anyway.

"I can drink by myself, you know. I'm a big girl."

"Yeah, but I like the idea of taking care of you."

"Are you still high?"

"Yeah." Jay laughs. "But I'd tell you that sober too."

He beckons you to climb into bed next to him after he's opened all of his windows. After the intensity of sex, the softness of your head resting on his chest pulls a smile out of Jay. Your leg rests atop his own like a needy koala, but he doesn't mind. He loves it, in fact. He's positive you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

"Breakfast tomorrow?" You whisper already half-asleep. Jay kisses the crown of your head and pulls you closer to him.

"Sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

please condsider reblogging and leaving a comment (or two!) x

[jaylaxies]

hands down one of the best jay fics i’ve read goshhh the characterization is pure perfection the way i started loving this from the very first line, and also you included that he plays guitar 🥹 perfume oml, i love the scent of cherries genuinely. yn’s character is so good here, esp the confidence and how jay is sooo cute but also insanely hot im dead 🗣️‼️the drama spoilers oh god is it actually a shit movie? everything was so apt like jay is def the kind of guy to fall fast but everything is so pure about him <333 love this downnnnn

[nishimmortal]

can ı just be ın perm taglıst atp bc you have zero mısses ıts crazy

but of course 😛😛

thank u sm 🥹🥹

[unsvripted]

Wrong Stall, Right senior ft Sunoo

current playing TiO by ZAYN

Y/N accidentally walks into the men's bathroom and gets caught naked in the shower by senior Sunoo. To avoid his friends, he hides in her stall.

warning : minor dni! , ( 18+), needy!reader, semi-public sex, rub!v, teasing!, cowgirl, normal sx, unprotected sx p!v ( not recommended in rf), fem!reader, fem! receive, orgasms eating, both receiving, blowjob, smut+ fluff .

word count ! 4.5k

listen to me while reading

You had just finished swimming, and your so-called friends had ditched you without a word. Annoyed but too tired to care, you grabbed your towel and spare clothes, heading straight for the showers.

You glanced at the signs on the two stalls. Both looked like female symbols. Without thinking twice, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. The nameplate on the front had slipped off earlier, revealing the truth this was the men’s bathroom.

It was quiet and empty. You chose the last stall, pulled the curtain shut, and quickly peeled off your wet pink sporty swimwear. The cool air brushed against your bare skin as you set the swimsuit aside. Completely naked now, you turned on the shower, letting the warm water cascade over your body. You ran your fingers through your wet hair, rinsing off the chlorine, when you suddenly realized you had forgotten your soap and shampoo.

Just then, you heard footsteps. Someone had entered the bathroom.

Luckily, you spotted a bottle of school-provided soap and shampoo on the small shelf inside the stall. You turned off the shower, wrapped one arm loosely across your chest, and peeked out from behind the curtain — just enough to show your wet hair and bare shoulders.

“Excuse me, can you please—”

Your voice died in your throat.

It wasn’t a girl.

A tall guy stood there, frozen mid-step, eyes wide as he stared at you. His mouth parted slightly, clearly trying to process the situation. Before either of you could react, the main door creaked open again — more voices echoing as a group of guys walked in.

In a flash, he moved. He rushed forward, slipped into your stall, and pulled the curtain closed behind him. You stumbled back in shock as he gently but firmly pushed you deeper into the stall, his hand landing on your bare waist.

Your eyes widened in recognition.

It was Sunoo — the handsome senior from the engineering department.

He was still fully dry in his casual clothes, standing inches away from your completely naked, dripping body. His warm palm remained pressed against the curve of your waist, steadying you… or maybe steadying himself. His breath was shallow, his dark eyes locked onto yours in stunned silence as the voices of his friends grew louder just outside the thin curtain.

You wanted to argue so badly — to push him away and hiss at him for barging in — but the voices of his friends right outside the thin curtain made you freeze. Any sound could give you both away. So you stayed quiet, heart hammering in your chest, cheeks burning with embarrassment and shock.

Sunoo’s eyes flicked toward the curtain for a split second, then back to you. Without a word, he slid closer, his body pressing lightly against yours as he reached for the shower knob. His clothes brushed against your wet, naked skin, sending a shiver down your spine. He turned the water on, letting the spray hit the wall first before adjusting it so it would sound like someone was actively showering.

The sound of running water filled the stall, masking your quick, shallow breaths.

His friends’ voices echoed loudly now, laughing and talking about practice, completely unaware. One of them even tried the stall next to yours before moving on.

Sunoo kept one hand firmly on your waist, steadying you under the warm spray. Water began soaking into his shirt, making the fabric cling to his chest. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath brushing against your wet hair. His dark eyes met yours again, a mix of apology and panic in them.

He leaned in slightly, lips barely an inch from your ear so only you could hear.

“…Sorry,” he whispered, voice low and slightly hoarse. “Just… stay quiet for a minute. They’ll leave soon.”

His fingers unconsciously tightened on your bare waist as another burst of laughter came from outside. The water continued to cascade over both of you now, drenching him completely while you stood there, heart racing, trapped between the cold tiles and his tall frame.

You were still completely naked.

He was fully clothed — but getting wetter by the second.

And neither of you could move without risking everything.

You hated it.

You hated how his low, husky whisper sent a warm shiver straight through your body. The way his breath brushed your ear made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. Fuck, you thought, cheeks burning hotter than the shower water. You just nodded quickly, not trusting your voice.

You couldn’t even look at him directly. Every time your eyes tried to meet his, your heart stuttered. Instead, you kept your gaze lowered, staring at the wet fabric clinging to his chest. But curiosity won for a split second — you glanced up.

Fuck… he’s handsome.

Even soaked, Sunoo looked unfairly good. Wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead, water sliding down his sharp jawline. His usual calm, composed senior vibe was cracking under the situation, replaced by flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips. His dark eyes were locked on your face, careful not to let his gaze drift lower, though you could tell he was fighting it.

He noticed your quick glance. For a moment, something shifted in his expression — a flicker of heat mixed with panic.

The voices outside grew louder as his friends joked around, one of them yelling something about waiting for Sunoo. The running water was the only thing keeping your secret safe.

Sunoo’s hand was still on your bare waist, his fingers now lightly pressing into your slick skin as if he didn’t realize he was still holding you. The thin curtain and the sound of the shower were the only barriers between you and total humiliation.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of how close his body was to yours. Every small movement made his wet clothes brush against your breasts and stomach. The heat between you two was getting harder to ignore.

He leaned in again, voice even lower this time, almost a breath

“…You okay?”

His eyes finally dropped for half a second — just long enough to take in the sight of your naked, dripping body pressed against him — before snapping back up to your face. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You nodded again, biting your lip.

Neither of you dared to speak after that. The only sounds were the shower running and the heavy beat of your hearts.

You felt like you were losing your mind.

A deep, aching heat had settled low in your stomach, pulsing uncomfortably between your legs. It wasn’t just nervousness anymore. The way Sunoo’s wet body was pressed against yours, his fingers still gripping your bare waist, the sound of his breathing so close to your ear — it was making everything worse. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, but that only made the throbbing sharper.

Shit… not now. Not here.

You hated how your body was betraying you. The warmth spreading through your core, the way your nipples had hardened against his soaked shirt… damn it. You wanted to squirm, to clench your legs tighter, to do something to ease the building pressure, but you couldn’t. Any movement, any sound, and his friends right outside the curtain would hear.

Sunoo was still watching you, his dark eyes searching your face. He must have noticed the way your breathing had changed — quicker, shallower. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, almost like a silent question.

You shook your head very lightly, biting down hard on your lower lip. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even shift your weight without the water splashing differently. All you could do was stand there, completely naked and dripping, while unwanted heat kept pooling between your thighs.

Sunoo leaned in closer again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, barely audible over the running shower

“…Breathe. I’ve got you.”

His voice was lower than before, a little rougher. You didn’t miss how his thumb unconsciously stroked your wet skin, slow and soothing. The front of his soaked pants was now pressed lightly against your hip, and you could feel he was getting hard too.

That realization only made the ache between your legs intensify.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to fight the wave of heat crashing over you. Your friends had ditched you. You were stuck in the wrong bathroom. And now the unfairly handsome senior engineering student was trapping you against the wall, both of you soaked, while his friends laughed and chatted just a few feet away.

And all you could think about was how badly you needed relief.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The throbbing between your legs had grown unbearable. Every tiny shift of your body made it worse, and Sunoo’s warm, wet frame pressed so close only intensified the ache. Your heart was racing, your breathing shaky. You had to say something before you lost control.

With the shower still running loudly, you leaned in just enough so your lips nearly touched his ear. Your voice came out as a trembling, barely audible whisper

“…Sunoo… I-I can’t… it feels too much down there.”

The words left your mouth and you immediately regretted how needy they sounded. Your face burned with shame, but the confession was out. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed to look at him.

Sunoo froze against you.

His hand on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your slick skin as he processed what you’d just whispered. You felt his chest rise sharply against yours, his breath hitching. The front of his soaked pants twitched noticeably against your hip — he was definitely harder now.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his dark eyes wide with shock and something much hotter. Water streamed down his flushed cheeks as he stared at you, lips parted.

For a few long seconds, he didn’t speak. Then he leaned back in, his wet hair brushing your forehead, and whispered so quietly you barely heard him over the water

“…Fuck. You’re serious?”

His voice was hoarse, strained. His free hand came up to rest on the tile beside your head, caging you in as his body pressed a little closer despite himself. The new angle made his clothed thigh accidentally brush right between your legs, right against your aching core.

You had to bite your lip hard to stop any sound from escaping.

Sunoo’s eyes darkened. He looked like he was fighting every instinct he had.

“Tell me what you need,” he breathed against your ear, voice shaky but gentle. “Quickly… before they hear us.”

His friends were still chatting and laughing outside, completely oblivious, but the tension inside the stall had just skyrocketed.

You wanted to speak so badly.

You wanted to tell him exactly how badly your body was aching, how the throbbing between your legs was driving you crazy, how his thigh pressing against you was making it ten times worse. But fear sealed your throat. Any sound louder than a breath could alert his friends just outside the curtain. So you stayed silent, trembling, eyes glassy with desperation.

Sunoo studied your face for a heartbeat, reading the unspoken plea in your expression. His jaw clenched. Then he gave a tiny nod, understanding.

Without another word, he slowly slid his hand from your waist, down over your hip, and between your thighs. His touch was careful, almost hesitant at first. Two fingers gently parted your folds, finding you slick and swollen with arousal. The moment he brushed against your clit, your knees buckled. You grabbed onto his soaked shirt with both hands, burying your face against his chest to muffle any sound.

He started moving — slow, quiet circles against your most sensitive spot. The warm shower water mixed with your own wetness, making every glide smooth and torturously teasing. His fingers were skilled, pressing just enough to give you relief without making noise.

You bit hard into his shoulder through his wet shirt, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure spiked through you. A tiny, broken whimper almost escaped, but Sunoo quickly pressed his lips to your ear.

“Shhh…” he breathed, barely audible. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

His other arm wrapped around your back, holding you steady against him while his fingers continued their secret work — rubbing faster now, then slowing down when your breathing grew too ragged. Every stroke sent sparks up your spine. You were soaking his hand, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

The voices of his friends outside rose and fell, laughing about something stupid. The risk only made everything feel more intense.

Sunoo’s own breathing was uneven, his hardness pressing insistently against your hip through his soaked pants. He was clearly affected too, but he stayed focused on you, curling his fingers lower to tease your entrance before returning to your swollen clit with perfect pressure.

You wanted to moan his name. You wanted to beg him to go faster. Instead, all you could do was pant softly against his neck and roll your hips desperately into his hand, chasing the building pleasure in complete silence.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple — almost sweet despite the filthy situation — and whispered hotly against your skin

“That’s it… cum for me. Quietly.”

Your body tensed hard as the pleasure finally crashed over you. You buried your teeth into Sunoo’s shoulder through his soaked shirt, biting down to stop yourself from crying out. A powerful orgasm ripped through you, making your thighs shake violently and your walls clench around nothing. You came hard on his fingers, hips jerking against his hand while the shower water continued to rain down on both of you.

Sunoo’s breath hitched sharply. Feeling you come undone, feeling how wet and tight you were, finally made him lose control.

He pulled his hand away from between your legs, breathing heavily. For a moment, he just stared at you — eyes dark with lust, hair dripping, lips parted. Then he slowly looked into your eyes, his gaze asking the silent question.

is it okay

You nodded quickly, desperately, still trembling from your orgasm.

That was all the permission he needed.

Sunoo stepped back just enough to peel off his wet clothes. His shirt hit the floor with a heavy splash, followed by his pants and boxers. In seconds, he was completely naked, his hard cock springing free, flushed and leaking at the tip. He kicked the soaked pile of clothes to the corner of the stall.

You leaned back against the cool tiled wall for support, chest heaving. Sunoo moved in again, tall frame pressing close. He hooked one of your legs over his hip, adjusting his position carefully. The head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance, sliding up and down your folds teasingly.

Just as he pushed forward — the thick tip stretching you open — your mouth fell open in a silent moan. Before any sound could escape, Sunoo’s large hand clamped firmly over your mouth, muffling you completely.

“Shhh…” he whispered hotly against your ear, voice strained with lust.

He sank deeper inside you in one slow, steady thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His eyes rolled back for a second at how tightly you wrapped around him. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, forehead pressed against yours as both of you struggled to stay quiet.

Outside the curtain, his friends were still talking and laughing, completely unaware that Sunoo was balls-deep inside you just a few feet away.

His hand stayed pressed over your mouth as he slowly rolled his hips, starting to fuck you against the wall — deep, careful strokes that made your eyes water with pleasure.

Sunoo’s thrusts grew faster, deeper, and much riskier.

He was fucking you harder now, the wet sound of skin slapping skin starting to mix with the shower spray. Every stroke pushed you up against the tiled wall, your breasts bouncing with the force. The risk of getting caught only seemed to make him more desperate.

He suddenly pulled his hand away from your mouth. Before you could even gasp, he cupped the back of your head and crashed his lips against yours in a hungry, messy kiss.

You moaned into his mouth — soft and needy — and he swallowed every sound. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting you deeply as he fucked you faster. The kiss was wet, sloppy, and intense, muffling your whimpers while his hips snapped against yours.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he breathed against your lips between kisses, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

He angled his hips and drove into you even harder, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. The stall shook slightly. Water splashed everywhere. The wet sounds were getting louder.

Outside, his friends were still there. One of them laughed loudly and said, “Yo, where the hell is Sunoo? He’s taking forever.”

The voice was so close it made your pussy clench hard around him in panic and arousal. Sunoo groaned quietly into your mouth, his grip on your thigh tightening as he pounded into you faster, chasing his own pleasure now.

He broke the kiss for a second, pressing his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily.

“You’re gonna make me cum…” he whispered hotly, eyes half-lidded with lust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and relentless.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, biting your lower lip as his pace turned almost frantic — risky, noisy, and completely addicted to the feeling of your tight heat around him.

Your second orgasm was already building fast, dangerously close, while his friends lingered just outside the curtain, still chatting and waiting for him.

Sunoo suddenly pulled out of you, making you whimper at the loss. In one swift, strong movement, he gripped the back of your thighs and lifted both your legs off the ground, wrapping them around his waist. Your back pressed harder against the cold tiles as he held you up effortlessly, your body completely suspended between him and the wall.

His cock nudged your entrance again before slamming back inside you in a single deep thrust. The new angle was devastating — he reached even deeper, hitting spots that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck—” you choked out against his lips.

He kissed you again, hard and desperate, swallowing your moans as he started fucking you with reckless intensity. The position allowed him to drive into you faster and harder. Wet, filthy sounds of his hips slapping against your ass echoed inside the stall, barely covered by the shower.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as he bounced you on his cock.

The pleasure built dangerously fast. Your second orgasm hit you like a wave.

You came hard around him, pussy clenching and pulsing, thighs shaking violently in his grip. A broken, high-pitched moan escaped into his mouth. Sunoo groaned deeply, kissing you even more messily to silence you as your walls fluttered and squeezed him.

The feeling of you cumming pushed him over the edge.

“Shit… I’m cumming—” he gasped against your lips.

With a few final, brutal thrusts, Sunoo buried himself as deep as possible and came inside you. Thick, hot spurts of his cum flooded your pussy, filling you up while he held you tightly against the wall. His hips jerked, grinding into you as he rode out his orgasm, groaning quietly into your neck.

Both of you stayed locked together, panting heavily, bodies trembling. His cock was still buried deep inside you, twitching with the last drops of his release. Cum was already starting to leak out around him, mixing with the shower water running down your thighs.

Outside the curtain, one of his friends shouted, “Sunoo-ya! Hurry up, man! We’re waiting!”

Sunoo froze, still holding you up with both legs wrapped around him, his cum dripping out of your used pussy. He looked at you with wide, hazy eyes — a mix of satisfaction, panic, and lingering lust.

He pressed a soft, breathless kiss to your lips and whispered against them

“…We’re so fucked.”

Sunoo’s chest was still heaving, his cock buried deep inside you as he tried to steady his breathing. Even through the aftershocks of his orgasm, he managed to lift his head and shout toward the curtain in a surprisingly steady voice

“I’ll catch up! Just go ahead without me!”

His friends groaned and teased him for a second, but they sounded convinced.

“Alright, don’t take too long, dude!”

Their voices faded as they laughed and talked about random things — practice, food, some upcoming exam — until the bathroom door finally clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

You were finally alone.

“Fuck…” you breathed out, voice hoarse and shaky now that you could actually speak.

Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still dark with lust. A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at his lips. He was still holding both of your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still hard and twitching inside your cum-filled pussy.

“Yeah… fuck is right,” he whispered, voice low and rough.

Without warning, he started moving again — slow and deep at first, pushing his cum even deeper into you with every thrust. The sound was wetter now, obscene squelching noises filling the stall as his load leaked out around his cock.

But being completely alone changed everything.

Sunoo’s pace quickly picked up. He fucked you harder, slamming into you with long, powerful strokes. Your back slid against the wet tiles as he railed you, the wet slapping sounds echoing freely in the empty bathroom.

“Again,” he growled against your neck, biting down gently. “I want you to cum again.”

He adjusted his grip, spreading your legs wider as he drove into you relentlessly. The new freedom made him bolder — louder. His moans mixed with yours, no longer needing to stay quiet.

You could barely think straight. His cock kept hitting that perfect spot, and the feeling of his warm cum being fucked in and out of you was driving you crazy.

Sunoo pulled out of you with a wet sound, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“New position,” he said huskily.

He sat down on the small built-in bench inside the stall, water still cascading over both of you. Then he pulled you onto his lap, facing him — your knees straddling his thighs in a seated cowgirl position. The moment you lowered yourself, his cock slid back inside your cum-filled pussy in one smooth glide.

“Ride me,” he groaned, hands gripping your ass tightly.

You braced your hands on his shoulders and started moving, rolling your hips and bouncing on his cock. The new angle made him feel even deeper. Sunoo leaned back against the wall, eyes locked on your bouncing breasts as you rode him harder, the wet sounds echoing shamelessly now that you were alone.

“Fuck, you look so good like this…” he muttered, thrusting up to meet your movements.

After a few intense minutes, he suddenly lifted you off him. Before you could protest, he dropped to his knees on the wet floor in front of you, pushed your back against the wall, and threw one of your legs over his shoulder.

His mouth was on you instantly.

Sunoo licked a long, hungry stripe up your pussy, tasting both your juices and his own cum. He moaned against your folds, the vibration shooting pleasure through you. He ate you like a man starved — sucking on your swollen clit, fucking you with his tongue, and licking up every drop of his cum that leaked out of you.

“Ah— Sunoo!” you moaned freely, fingers threading through his wet hair, pulling him closer.

He looked up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes while his tongue worked relentlessly. Two fingers joined his mouth, curling inside you as he sucked hard on your clit. Your legs started shaking again within seconds.

You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out. Sunoo didn’t stop — he kept licking you through your orgasm until you were pushing at his head from oversensitivity.

When he finally stood up, his cock was rock hard again, flushed dark and throbbing. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, water running down his toned body.

Your turn.

You dropped to your knees without hesitation, the shower water spraying over your back. You wrapped your hand around his thick cock and took him into your mouth in one go.

“Shit—!” Sunoo hissed, head falling back against the tiles.

You sucked him eagerly, bobbing your head, swirling your tongue around the tip, and taking him as deep as you could. The taste of your mixed juices coated your tongue. Sunoo’s hand gently held the back of your head, guiding you but not forcing, soft groans and curses spilling from his lips every time you hollowed your cheeks.

“You’re too good at this…” he panted, hips twitching. “Keep going, baby.”

After a few more minutes of you sucking him eagerly, Sunoo’s breathing turned ragged. His hand tightened gently in your wet hair.

“I’m close—” he warned, voice strained.

You looked up at him and took him deeper, sucking harder. With a low, broken groan, Sunoo came hard in your mouth. Thick ropes of his cum spilled onto your tongue as his cock pulsed between your lips. You swallowed every drop, milking him until he was trembling and gently pulling you off.

“Fuck… you’re incredible,” he whispered, helping you stand up.

You both finally took the chance to clean up properly. Sunoo grabbed the school-provided soap and shampoo. Under the warm spray, you washed each other — his hands gentle but lingering as he soaped your breasts, back, and between your legs. You returned the favor, running your hands over his toned chest and abs, smiling shyly when his cock twitched again at your touch.

After rinsing off, you both stepped out of the stall. Sunoo quickly went to his locker near the sink and grabbed the spare clothes he had left there earlier. He lent you his clean oversized hoodie while you changed back into your extra clothes. You dried your hair with a towel and brushed it in front of the mirror.

“I’m Y/N,” you said softly, glancing at him through the reflection. “Second year, Architecture.”

Sunoo smiled — a bright, charming smile that made your heart skip. He was drying his hair roughly with another towel.

“I’m Sunoo. Engineering senior,” he replied, still smiling. “Nice to officially meet you, Y/N.” He paused, then added with a playful glint in his eyes, “Wanna grab coffee? My treat.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “I’d like that.”

You both walked out of the swimming complex side by side, the tension from earlier slowly turning into a warm, fluttering feeling.

Just as you reached the courtyard, two familiar voices called out.

“Y/N! There you are! We were looking for—”

Samantha and Yukuzi stopped mid-sentence. Their eyes widened when they saw who you were walking with.

Kim Sunoo.

They both looked completely starstruck, mouths slightly open.

“Uh… we wanted to—” Samantha started, still staring at Sunoo.

“Maybe later,” you said calmly, cutting them off with a small wave. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

Without waiting for their reply, you continued walking with Sunoo. He glanced down at you, amused, and quietly slipped his hand into yours.

[evanificais]

js want to make it clear that i am OT7 and heeseung biased (if it wasnt obv from the user alr), so keep ur ot6 bs of my dms 🤨

also i finally got an idea for what to do for part 2 !!! still havent started on it yet tho 🥲

[woonhakfeet]

don't hate me because i'm beautiful | [엔하이픈]

kim sunoo.

PAIRING: fashionschool!sunoo x classmate!reader

GENRE: slice of life, comedy, slow burn, fluff, enemies to…

WARNINGS: bickering, forced promity, sunoo is a bit of a sassquatch and low-key rude but you are too so touché.

SYNOPSIS: When life tastes too sweet and the sun shines too brightly in the sky, that is when you ought to beware and brace yourself for impact. You had to learn this the hard way. Your final year of fashion school was meant to be your glory days— a catapult to your grandiose debut in the fashion industry; your heaven on earth, a free ticket to graduating at the top of the arts institution with flair and an unyielding sense of peace and fulfilment. Perhaps even paired with an obnoxious, villainous laugh. That was your carefully scripted “reality.” Until the one person you hate the most in the whole solar system waltzed into the classroom and ruined all potential plans of an early retirement, creative freedom and a stable blood pressure. Now, forced to co-operate alongside the very bane of your existence, you're plunged into an unwanted partnership, cat fights instead of catwalks, and an unavoidable confrontation of a ridiculously long historical rivalry.

WORD COUNT: 12k (got a lil carried away)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: can you believe it’s finally here? my first full enhypen fic! I could cry. I hope u enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. expect more enha fics in the future! i appreciate all feedback so don’t be afraid to comment ur thoughts <3

 You’ve been at war since you were six.

"Are you friCkiNg stupid?"

"No. But I know you are."

"Why yOU—"

A tiny sea of arms secured you a split second before you could leap into battle. Your classmates had already anticipated your moves, creating a makeshift barricade with their limbs for the both of you before matters could get any worse.

It had been the third time this week that a brawl broke out between the two of you, and it was only a Tuesday. 

On Monday, it was a fight to the death on the playground over who got the correct scientific name of the animal that scurried on the big oak tree.

It was a squirrel.

"—I said let me GO!"

And now, your patience was being tested inside the classroom.

The teacher had briefly nipped away to fetch more gluesticks for the arts and crafts spaceship your class was building for the upcoming school funfair. She absentmindedly put the brightest, most responsible child, who was obviously you, in charge.

All was going splendidly, till a certain foxy, poopoo faced looking, annoying, short, bratty and stinky-bum boy decided to open his mouth and move it like a typewriter.

He insulted your drawing skills. Berating you and saying your doodle was "gross" and that you "couldn't even colour in right." You had drawn an outstandingly detailed flower at the bottom of the cardboard spaceship.

He called it a deformed elephant with wings.

And elephants don't live on the moon.

They don’t have wings either…

So, you took that personally.

The group of little children were now trying their best to push the both of you to opposite corners of the classroom, but your thrashing only grew fiercer.

You accidentally kneed one of them in the shin and elbowed another in the face. The two fallen soldiers dropped to the floor like wilted petals, each holding on to their brand new injuries gifted by yours truly.

By this point, hot tears of anger started to form as you fought to rush the dark haired boy who still had the audacity to stick his tongue out.

You ground your teeth.

From behind you, a kind girl with pig tails landed a few soft head pats to soothe your vexation.

But there was no calm before the storm when it came to you. You were all fire and crackle and if anyone ever tried to put you out, you'd set them ablaze too. 

"Quick! Help me hold her arm—"

You slipped out of their grasp like water from a faucet, ignoring the squeals of terror that gurgled out of your classmates.

As if time itself gave way to marvel at your closing act, you propelled your small body forward, jumping with all your might, arm drawn back with professional ease, fist loaded for impact. 

The dark haired boy’s eyes flew wide open, legs attempting to scamper off to safety, but he couldn’t make it on time. It was already too late, and he knew it.

And like the famous painting of Apollo descending from the skies akin to an angelic dove, your mini sized fist connected raw and clean, right on his soft, chubby cheek.

His body fell in slow motion, your classmates watched in morbid horror, and you guffawed at the face of mockery, hands resting on your small hips like an infamous dictator.

And that’s how a new bruise was born.

You and Sunoo never got along.

Not when you were both in 3rd grade grabbing each other’s hair because one called the other’s shoes ugly.

Not in 7th grade, when you called Sunoo’s gifted and brand new £200 perfume vomit-inducing. 

And certainly not in the very last year of high school, where Sunoo had painfully ridiculed and sabotaged your collaborative, end of year arts & science project. 

In front of your whole entire school, your precious piece blew up on your face, the entirety of your hand made solar system had catastrophically erupted all over you, covering you from the crown of your head to the very soles of your shoe with a concerning amount of hot pink lip gloss.

It was supposed to spit out a sensitive amount of glitter to mirror the shining of the stars in space.

You’re not even sure how he managed to get such an ungodly amount of lip gloss in one go. And you’d rather not know.

So, basically, no.

You and Kim Sunoo never got along.

Never did.

Never have.

And likely, never will do.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t your fault, because somewhere in your mind, at the ripe age of 11, you convinced yourself that from that point on, nothing was your fault. Maybe it was the inner workings of an upcoming narcissistic phase, or perhaps it was truth coated in a ridiculously thick layer of lies. 

Whatever it was, you decided to stand by it from then on.

In your viewpoint, you tried your very best to be nice. You attempted to make friends at any given opportunity (that’s a lie), you were stunning (truth), smart (correct) AND incredibly inviting (debatable). 

Day by day, you managed to give Mary Sue a run for her money, if you do say so yourself. And the most significantly impressive thing of all is that you strained yourself daily to not downright rip Kim Sunoo apart, piece by piece.

You were a saint. 

Nothing could convince you otherwise. 

Which left the equation as obviously self explanatory as it could possibly be. 

You weren’t the problem. 

He was. 

So, naturally, when you came back to your last semester of fashion school after being severely sick for two weeks straight, the last thing you expected to see was a sadly familiar set of dark hair before you.

No, surely not…

This couldn’t be—

You rebuke it! 

You shut your eyes momentarily, an intense scowl imprinted on your previously serene face. 

Maybe if you didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see you. In fact, what if he was just a figment of your imagination? 

You peeked your eye open to check.

Nope, still there.

He just hadn’t seen you yet.

Making a strangled noise of defeat, you growled lowly, eyes narrowing into murderous slits.

What the heck was he doing here?

Perfectly styled strands of ebony frilled around rhythmically, the wind blew like it was his partner in an end of year tango dance. His lips shone in pride, always moisturised and glistening as if ridiculing everyone else’s chapped ones.

It pissed you off. 

Sunoo sat at the very back of the room, his attention completely absorbed in his own reflection as he monitored his appearance using the back of his phone. 

You scoffed unbelievably, a mirror phone case, why of course.

His aura practically screamed “I’m better than every single one of you roaches” and your eye retorted with a twitch.

The clearing of someone’s throat pinched you out of your annoyed brain fog. 

Your lecturer, also recognised as your fashion tutor, Ms. Dubois, smiled down at you with a sophisticated, rouge grin. She wore her signature 7 inch red bottoms, tight pencil skirt that trickled down to stop just above her knees and a cropped, asymmetrical blazer covered her slender shoulders. 

You scowled deeper.

“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look, young lady! You haven’t stepped foot in here for two weeks and you’re already greeting me with such ugly energy.” Her heavy, francophone accent swam into your ears, a voice as strong as a diamond and as sharp as a dagger. She waved her hands in front of you as if attempting to “shoo” away your bad energy. 

Your expression refused to change.

“What is this I’m hearing about? Some kind of paired work,” you spoke up, ignoring her hands still fanning the air around you. 

“Oh! Yes, yes!” She finally stopped trying to exorcise you and bit down on the bait you offered her; the project. 

“The final project will be a collaborative assignment. Pick a concept, a theme, and show the world what you got!” 

You sighed, your shoulders sinking to the ground in despair.

It was too early in the morning for this.

“What’s the length of the project?” You inquired, already planning various mental mood boards and formulating prototypes of pieces in your head. 

“3 months, darling.” Her towering figure stood with elegance, a professional smile beaming down at you. 

You could already feel the weight of the project on your frontal lobe. You fought the urge to succumb to your intrusive thoughts of jumping out the window.

You were on the 7th floor. 

That certainly wouldn’t end well.

“Have the rest already picked their partners?” You barely got your sentence out before Ms. Dubois guffawed in hysteria. You aimlessly blinked with mild astonishment.

Erm.

Okay?

“Darling, the pairs are assigned. Your partners were announced last week. Let me see,” she waltzed over to her overly large desk. Grabbing a folder as big as a Yellow Pages book, she licked her finger and started turning through the papers.

“Ah! Here we go. Your partner is, uh…” she looked up from her folder, squinted her eyes and skimmed the crowd of students with laboured difficulty.

“Umm, Kim Sunoo?” She carefully gestured towards the male that was STILL checking himself out before his name got mentioned. Her voice gave a slight rise near the end of her sentence, uncertain about her pronunciation.

Time zeroed in on itself. 

The classroom completely blacked out and your head twisted to meet a dreaded face that looked just as awfully put off as yours. 

You’d think it was an AI generated video at how unrealistically slow you moved.

You swallowed harshly, your eyes meeting his wide, amber ones. 

His hands had frozen in mid air, one somewhere between fixing his hair and the other on its way to lowering his phone. His gaze faltered all the more once your tired eyes turned completely stone cold.

…Hmm…

Maybe it was a different Kim Sunoo?

Your brain tried to coerce you into delusion as you walked up the steps towards the self-centred ass— you mean, man.

Dropping your items on the table with exaggerated force, you tossed your head backwards, sighing the world’s biggest sigh.

You know what made it all worse? 

You hated sitting at the back. 

You purposefully aimed to sit at the front on a regular basis, unfailingly, because even one single missed information would gnaw at your skin like the bubonic plague.

Even the past two weeks, you were working yourself like a dog on the lecture slides and studying overtime on the current fashion trends.

You were aiming to be a serious prodigy, an outstanding fashion designer. One of a kind. Once in a century. 

You wanted to gag the current brand leaders and respected personnel in the industry. You couldn’t possibly do all that from the back. That’s for unserious people, that’s like shooting yourself in the foot at the finish line.

With your head still tilted, your eyes slid to look at Sunoo with murderous intent. 

Your lids were heavy, mouth rested in an expressionless straight line, but the look in your eyes was enough to transpose all you wanted to do to this man.

Wrangling his neck would only be the start.

The dark haired male gagged in disgust as soon as he saw you standing near the table. His bundled fist flew to cover the opening of his mouth, eyes tightly wrinkled in pain.

“Could you kindly stop looking at me? Your face is making me feel physically sick.”

You nearly threw a table at him.

Silently staring at him for a moment, you turned on the balls of your feet, and wordlessly speedwalked back down the steps and straight for Ms. Dubois.

Her unsuspecting form was going through another student’s portfolio, assessing their recent contributions. 

Your hands slammed against her desk with such force that Ms. Dubois was sure you disengaged gravity for a good minute.

“Ms. Dubois.” Your voice was low and eerily calm. You weren’t facing her, your head was lowered and glaring daggers into the wooden table below, your hunched back creating a dark, shadowy cast over your face.

Ms. Dubois gulped.

“I need a new partner.”

Ms. Dubois gave a quick prayer, preparing to utter her next words as sensitively as she could. She took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry to inform you that I can’t do that,” 

Silence.

Blinking in very real alarm, Ms. Dubois attempted to get a good look at your face, calling out to you in genuine fear. 

You didn’t move. 

You couldn’t. 

You were rooted to the ground of the classroom, a prop to the school building. 

Why you?…

You seethed.

Why now?! 

A poke stammered you back into focus. Ms. Dubois cautiously rushed to retreat, her finger now safely to her side.

“I really can’t, darling. It’s the rules! And I sent out an email with a deadline for discussions about changing partners last week.” She spoke as if her justifications could ever alleviate the raw suffering and sorrow you were condemned to. 

Taking in a worryingly deep breath, you closed your eyes, rising up from your position with poise. 

“I understand.” 

Ms.Dubois blinked in surprise. 

Did she hear you correctly? 

“Wait. Y-you do?!”

“Yes.” 

You turned around like a puppet on strings and made your way back to where your lovely partner was sitting, elbow on the table, hand upholding his jaw as he looked at your sorry attempt at changing partners with the most primal level of schadenfreude. 

You balled your fists. 

“Good morning to you too.”

You snapped your neck to the side making direct eye contact with him. The air physically grew cold. 

“Don’t talk to me.” 

Sunoo let out a dry whistle. “Gosh, aren’t you just a joy to be around.” 

“Can’t say the same about you.” 

He bit his lip, fighting the urge to throw an insult back. 

Sighing, whilst whispering a hollow “Whatever,” he opened his sketchbook to the page he was already working on. 

A variety of brainstormed ideas scattered the paper. Small sketches, colour schemes and fabric lists adorned each page like a purposefully orchestrated spectacle. 

You took your seat, methodically choosing the one that was a chair away from him. 

Sunoo was fully immersed in the planning of the project. 

“I already thought of some concepts and prototypes for the pieces, whilst you were lazying about in the comfort of your own home,” 

Sunoo glanced up to test your reaction, a sadistic smirk mildly glazed his lips before momentarily faltering. 

He raised a brow. 

“Why are you so far away?” 

You stopped your writing to look at him. 

“I work better in a controlled setting.” 

Jabbing your pen at him, you added. 

“You are not a controlled setting.” 

Was he genuinely not as appalled, by the idea of the two of you being forced to work together, as you were? 

He has been awfully on board with the whole thing. Usually, he’d already be trying to stab you with a ruler.

Scoffing, Sunoo directed his attention to you. His hand forcibly moved the chair between the both of you out of the way. 

What happened next had you completely and utterly stupefied into pure silence. 

He leaned over the now empty space, grabbing a hold of the bottom of your chair, and promptly pulled you over in silence. 

Your chair migrated very slowly with a chorus of squeaks and mind altering screeches, eventually coming to a stop decently close to the pretty male. 

You paled in your seat.

“There,” he said, hands wiping away at false sweat. His eyes never found yours. 

“That’s better.” 

You nearly threw up. 

Attempting to move your chair back to its original position, Sunoo blocked any further movement by sucking in a short breath. 

“Do you want to get a good grade or not?” His caramel eyes raked over you, briefly.

“I’m not exactly ecstatic working with you either, but unlike you, I’m actually serious about my work. So stop being a pain and pick up your pen. We have some planning to do.” 

You were left speechless. 

And unfortunately, he was right, although you would never admit that, not even over your dead body. 

So you kissed your teeth, silently picked up your pen in mandatory obedience and started doodling fashion ideas.

Sunoo cleared his throat, hastily glancing at your quiet form.

You sighed. “What now?”

“I was thinking we could do a wedding concept—”

“No.”

Sunoo’s eye twitched.

“No? What do you mean, no? I didn’t even finish talking!”

The volume of your bickering managed to catch the attention of a few classmates. In particular, a short girl’s eyes lingered just a bit longer than others.

You continued drawing, shaking your head slightly. “That’s a weak concept. It’s not eye-catching, it’s predictable, safe, and it has limited themes. Sure, you could twist its traditional colour schemes but you can’t make a widely, unrepeatable fashion statement with a wedding dress.”

“Who says it needs to be a dress?”

“Your point remains invalid.”

He glared at you, clearly displeased.

“Well then have you got any ideas, since you’re the self proclaimed genius in this relationship—OW!” Sunoo rubbed his stinging upper arm. 

“What the hell is actually wrong with you!” 

“Oh, stop being a diva. I barely touched you. And we aren’t in a relationship.”

“You must be an imbecile, because a relationship is just a connection between two people, stupid. We’re literally partners.” He gave you a flat look. 

“Anyway,” you resumed, ignoring him. 

“My glorious idea is to go with the concept of extraterrestrial life—” 

“Like that’s any better.”

You continued. 

“It’s widely interpretable, allows experimentation with shapes, colours and sizes, and most of all,” you leaned close to his face just to spite him with your next line. 

“It’s interesting.” You finished, smugly. 

He seemed unfazed at the proximity.

Nevertheless, you raised your brows in victory, throwing your arms to the side as if saying, ‘I told you so.’ 

Sunoo pinched his nose shut, making a disgusted face. “Gosh, your breath reeks. Did you even brush your teeth this morning?” 

“Say one more word and this is going right up your ass.” You were being so deadass, hand twirling your ‘Hello Kitty’ ball point pen in your fingers like you were playing poker. 

“Please, I insist.” You urged him. 

He just scrunched his face and wrote down your suggestion with no further comments. 

You smiled. 

Good.

“—How does an extraterrestrial bride sound to you?”

“Sounds like utter bullshi—”

“I like your plan, except it sucks, so let me do the plan and that way, it might be really good.” He interrupted you with no care whatsoever.

You see, that’s the thing. 

The both of you couldn’t be more different. 

One reason why you were both constantly at each other’s throats growing up was because you were always at the polar opposite end of every possible spectrum. 

When Sunoo liked pink, you liked blue. 

When he wanted sparkles, you reached for mattes. 

And when you wanted sequin, Sunoo would go through heaven and hell to opt for satin. 

“Since we can’t agree on a concept we both like, let’s do one we can’t care less about.” 

“But liking something makes you work harder.” 

Sunoo glanced at you with little to no interest. 

“That’s not how professionalism works. A professional puts their all in every project and can work with any criteria.” 

You chewed your lip, hating how he was technically correct.

“What are you, Detective Conan?”

He snickered smugly.

Huffing air out of your cheeks like a cartoon character, you slumped in your seat dramatically. 

“Fine, let’s go with nature.”

“That’s basic.”

“Shut up.” You retorted.

He wrote down some words whilst you sulked next to him. 

“Specifically, let’s do animals. I think that’s eccentric enough to keep your attention span running.”

You sat up a little higher on your seat. 

“Hey, that’s not a bad shout, actually.”

“Cool.”

He gave a satisfied smile and your brain farted. 

“Ew.” You said on instinct. 

“Don’t smile like that, it’s making me feel nauseous.” 

He replied with a dramatised eye roll.

Returning to finally making some progress on your work, the reason as to why Sunoo was here had nearly escaped your mind.

“Why are you—no, how are you here, anyway? I haven’t seen you in years. Didn’t know you studied here.” You wrote as you conversed casually. 

“Ooo, is that interest I’m smelling?” 

Sunoo had shifted to give a small turn of his head to look at you, his jaw propped up by his palm, elbow on the table, a relaxed smirk.

You wrinkled your nose, eyes still focused on your book as you replied with little to no effort. 

“Hardly.”

He hummed, turning back to his own sketchbook. 

“I’ve always attended this institute, in case you were wondering. I’ve seen you around, actually. I just wasn’t enrolled in this specific program.” 

You continued to listen.

The room filled itself with the sounds of pen strokes hitting watercolour paper and the blurred out conversations of other groups. A layer of comforting white noise.

“I was originally doing the Fashion, Beauty and Cosmetics course, but I found that too easy. I mean, I practically know beauty inside and out.” He pridefully raised his chin to show his sculpted face. 

“So, I changed to something closely related but slightly more stimulating.”

You raised your head to steal a look at him. 

“How did they even allow you to do that on the last year during the last term?”

Sunoo simply shrugged.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Fashion Design & Textiles was far from easy, so you concluded that if he was allowed to join this late so openly, he ought to have been more than qualified. 

Or maybe the institute’s course director had lost their marbles. 

Essentially, the outcome was the same; they ruined your comfort.

Sighing, you placed your pen down. 

“I’m going to need your phone number. We need to arrange for fabric, styling, make up— though I’m sure with your prior knowledge that will be a breeze, and we need models.”

Luckily, the main showcase was to execute one primary piece with two other complimentary garments. This meant that you didn’t need to scramble about like a headless chicken, looking for 5 tall enough campus victims, like last year. 

Three looks should be a piece of cake.

“With my prior knowledge… are you finally admitting I’m good at something?”

Your lips twisted.

“No.”

And you left it at that.

The two of you exchanged numbers, despite Sunoo initially gate keeping his phone like his life depended on it. 

It’s not like you wanted to do this either, but you weren’t about to bank your future success on your hatred levels. 

Even for you, that’d be low.

The rest of the day went by like a filler episode, and because your team had the likes of you in it, you got the majority of the planning done in no time. 

Some suggestions had to be beat into agreement, Sunoo was hard headed after all, but you cracked the code of how to get what you want from the male. 

Just annoy him until his ears bleed.

“I said we’re doing an Arctic fox, what the hell is this?” Sunoo lifted a design sketch of a garment that fully resembled the nature of a snow owl flapping its wings.

“Well, I said I liked the snow owl. So we’re doing the snow owl.” You snatched the paper out of his hands and straightened out the crumpled bits.

You were at the famous campus Café. 

You hadn’t ordered anything because you were simply here for business, not to dilly dally. Sunoo ordered a mint chocolate and salted caramel frappé.

Your mind was already steeled to not let his opinions pass so easily.

You almost hesitated when you first walked into the building, seeing the sight of Sunoo’s heavy eye bags and what looked to be a gazilion loose sketches laid out on the table. For once he looked less like Ass Sunoo and more like a student running on delusion and spite, but you had a surprisingly strong resolve. So you kept it pushing.

Also, a whole week had gone by and all your texts regarding the project had been dutifully aired by the dark haired male, so you were in no mood to compromise, especially when your assigned partner wouldn’t listen or put in the work. No matter how heartbreakingly shattered your partner may look. 

Taking a bottle of water out of your bag, you took a sip and swiftly twisted the cap back on. “An arctic fox is so painfully predictable.”

Sunoo scoffed.

“Oh, and an arctic owl isn’t?”

You nodded as a matter of principle.

“Gosh, why do I even try?” He mumbled to himself whilst throwing his hands in the air. 

“That’s what I’m saying, why bother?”

He nearly jumped you, but decided to be the bigger person.

“You know what, fine. We can do the stupid owl.” Sunoo frowned like a pre-schooler. His bottom lip jutted out in utter displeasure and his eyes brimmed with dissatisfaction.

You watched him quietly for a moment, then sighed ever so dramatically.

“Well, since we are doing animals as the main prompt, how about we pick arctic life as the theme?”

He looked up at you and you nearly flinched at the way his honey coloured orbs focused solely on you like there was no other presence in the room.

You cleared your throat.

“In other words,” you started, averting your gaze to the barista with the name tag reading “Niki” who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but behind the counter. “We can do your cursed arctic fox idea.”

A solid silence lingered after your words and for a second you wondered if you said something wrong. But then you remembered that you don’t have the ability to be wrong, so you smiled to yourself with an odd look of serenity. 

Your vivid eyes shifted to catch Sunoo’s reaction.

He was still looking at you, but the straw between his lips froze mid sip. His eyes widened a fraction, and he was looking at you as if you grew 6 extra pair of eyes.

“Okay then. Maybe not—” you rushed.

“—No! No… I like that idea,” he blinked slowly. “I think it’s cool.”

You looked at him with a plain stare. 

“You don’t look like you think it’s cool.”

At your pointed expression, his senses seemed to have re-awakened. 

With the corner of his lips lifting, he gently leaned back on his chair, eyes holding prolonged contact with yours. 

“What? Do you want me to jump up like a frilled lizard and start applauding?”

“I hate you.”

He made a kissy face back and you’re sure that if you ended up ordering anything you would’ve spat it right onto his face from the sheer disgust you were feeling.

But since you didn’t have a drink to communicate your distaste with, you settled with lightly kicking him under the table.

“Ah!”

His painful moan garnered a few judgemental glances from the tables nearby. 

You pursed your lips in an attempt to stop yourself from laughing. As you reached for another sip of your water, your hand stopped.

“Oh—” You slowly got up from your chair, eyes drifting toward the restroom sign.

“I’ll be right back.” You started off, then turned back menacingly.

“Don’t touch anything.” 

And disappeared behind the toilet door.

Sunoo was left sitting silently at the table, occasionally sipping his drink. 

A tap made him glance over his shoulder.

A classmate. The short girl from last time.

“Hey Sunoo!” She smiled bubbly. Sunoo returned a cheery beam of his own.

“I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation. I’m sorry you got paired with her. She’s insane, isn’t she?” she asked, tone light, almost expecting agreement.

He looked at her for a moment. Then briefly glanced past her to where her partner sat, completely absorbed in his phone.

“I requested to work with her.”  he said simply, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I wouldn’t worry about us though.”

He nodded toward her partner.

“Good luck.”

The girl forced a small laugh and turned away with a confused frown.

He did the same.

Sunoo’s fingers twitched around his drink. He raised his straw to his lips, his hold lingering a moment too long. He took a small sip.

His honey eyes scouted the vicinity just in time to see you returning, a small bounce in your step after feeling refreshed.

You dropped back into your seat.

“Okay, where were we?”

“Sketches.”

“Right, sketches.”

The sound of pen on paper resumed.

“Hmm, we could have both our ideas and then make a main piece that brings everything together. How about an arctic hare?” You started jotting into your sketchbook, unknowingly smiling as you got carried away.

“Wait, shut up for a second, I need to think…” Sunoo mimicked a thoughtful pose, eyes lifting toward the ceiling in false immersion, fingers stroking his chin.

You threateningly tapped your pen against your open page at the carelessness of his words.

“Let’s do an Orca.”

You raised a brow.

“A what?”

“An Orca.” He repeated, unimpressed.

“An Orca…” you echoed. “Why though?”

“Because we’ve done a land animal and a fowl.” He looked at you as if you were dumb.

“Oh, elements…water!”

“Yeah, water.” He said with false excitement as he went right back to sipping his extremely loaded frappé.

“Water, land and air. Huh, that’s actually—” you choked on your own words, physically unable to compliment him further.

“A brilliant idea. Yeah, I know. You’re welcome. Don’t mention it, not like you ever would.” 

The two of you got to sketching each final piece by the end of the life span of Sunoo’s frappé. 

It hadn’t been as difficult as you thought. Oddly enough, the process had been easier than with your previous partners.

Your fingers moved swiftly as you drew line after line.

“You’re quick.” You recall Sunoo commenting.

You pridefully smirked as a reply.

At a certain point, the task stopped feeling like a punishment and melded into more of a side quest accompanied by an annoying NPC.

“You’re blocking the sun.”

Sunoo raised an eyebrow.

“What? Does it give you some sorta super power or something?”

You opted to reply, but naturally fell back into the pull of your sketchbook.

You both worked silently for another hour.

You hard carried the drawing part, as you were accustomed to the course more than he was. You were also a heavy perfectionist and insisted on sketching most of the art foundations yourself. You didn’t fail to include Sunoo’s ideas though, and he didn’t fail to draw his own version.

“These look great.” You beamed, hand holding out the three sheets of paper like they were your babies. 

“Agreed. You did good.” You heard the man across from you say, suspiciously softly.

What?

Shuddering, you clasped your chest in a hurry. Your heart literally stopped beating for half a second. 

Was it the plague? 

“Please don’t ever say that again, I nearly perished.” You hushed. 

A short silence landed before Sunoo caught on to what you meant. 

He blinked once. Then just stared at you strangely. He never encountered anyone that reacted that way to praise before.

“Weirdo..” he huffed a gentle smile. A smile that went very unnoticed by the likes of you.

Apart from the constant bickering, the next few weeks went swell. 

You got your Snow Owl inspired two-piece done, just in time for you to work on Sunoo’s outfit; the Arctic Fox. 

And yes, Sunoo got to have his darn androgynous dress. 

In fact, the design was primarily his doing. You remember starting the sketch only for him to stop you mid stroke, his hands pulling out a revised drawing of his idea. This time, it had the inclusion of the comments you had made in the Café. “Not too feminine. Not too masculine.” You had said.  Wanting to appropriately represent nature’s original beauty.

Your eyes squinted, getting a good look at the paper. He even added things you don’t remember mentioning. He perfected your collaborative vision. 

Oh. You didn’t know he could do that.

Despite the fact that the dress almost uncannily reminded you of your teammate with its foxy nature, it was turning out to be outright stunning. Dare you say, it was almost too perfect. 

Yeah, everything was going too well.

The both of you had now gotten the main trail of the garment done. Its nature resembling the mischievous movements of a fox’s tail. 

The fabric adorned the most beautiful layer of shimmering beads and rhinestone, a line of faux fur coating the bottom line. 

A harmonious cacophony of whites, splinters of black and the collaboration of silk, wool, tulle. You name it. 

It looked like it was personally touched by an angel.

Ugh! You were so going to get that future you planned out.

Not to brag, but a good 60% of the whole thing was your idea, so you deserved to toot your own horn.

It was half way through the given time, and you were confident that you would be able to get the project done early. Granted, you still had the rendition of the Orca inspired dress to get to. But at the pace you were going, that’d be done with at least a day to spare.

Side by side, you worked through the garments in silence, needles pulling through fabric in a steady rhythm.  Dare you say, you made a pretty decent team. 

You managed to snag 3 out of 5 of the same models you borrowed last year, and, better yet, you barely had to talk to Sunoo when you met up to work on the clothes.

Surprisingly, he didn’t talk much when he was working. Not that you noticed.

Anyway, your life was looking up.

Until it wasn’t.

Gasping like someone stole your mom, you pointed an accusing finger at the figure near the foot of the dress. 

What could only be described as a nearly done dress, now had the most devastatingly enormous tear known to man. 

Your heart plummeted straight to your ass cheeks.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” You spat venomously, legs rushing into the scene, a bleak attempt to save what was already lost. 

Before you crouched Kim Sunoo, face as guilty as can be, scissors in hand, jaw on the floor, legs shaking. 

“No, no, NO! What have you DONE?!” You held parts of what used to be part of the dress, eyes shocked open in pure disbelief. 

“I-I just wanted to trim the loose thread near the—”

“—You’re so useless! Do I have to do everything myself? Can’t I just leave you alone for one second?”

Sunoo’s mouth fell shut. 

“I can’t believe you, you’d seriously go as far as sabotaging your own piece?”

“I-wait, wHAT?”

“You heard me!” You snarled, snatching the scissors out of the male’s hands. 

“How many times have you ruined my work in the past, huh?! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” you heaved as your lips continue to throw venom. Sunoo could only look on in silence, his arms glued to his side in defeat. 

“Do you… hate me that much? So much so that you genuinely believe I did this on purpose?” His voice came out weak and small, holding a hurting that you missed due to your fervent anger. 

He looked at you, waiting for a response.

You breathed heavily, eyes glossed over with betrayal. Your face was hot, voice gruff from frustration.

Marching straight to his face with your bodies barely a centimetre away, you looked him dead in the eyes, purposefully ignoring the way your heart clenched in shame and how your orbs hesitated at your next words.

“I hate you.” Your voice was hoarse and your throat dry.

“I hate you so so much, Kim Sunoo. More than humanly possible. If it were only the two of us left on Earth, I’d find a way to end you. Now get the hell out of my sight, I need to fix the mess you made.”  

You shoved him out of the way aggressively, arms scrambling to gather up the destroyed material. Your eyes began to water as you continued to pick up part of your work. 

Piece by piece. 

Tear by tear.

It was like a small part of you crumbled into nothing. You spent three weeks on this, hard earned sweat, stab wounds from needles, blisters from hot glue burning your skin. For him. For his piece.

You specifically took it upon yourself to manage the majority of the practical work due to Sunoo’s inexperience with varying materials, and the one time you start to think he’s grown into a sort of decent human being, he ruins everything and shoves it down your throat. 

Bet he was happy.

A single drop rolled down your cheek. 

You sniffled weakly.

Bet he was laughing his ass off in another room, rejoicing at your downfall. 

A sad sob escaped your lips, you wiped your hot tears with your sleeve as they increased.

You were so blinded by your own rage that you couldn’t even see the slumped figure just a few feet away from you.

Sunoo never left the room.

He stayed. A distraught look on his face, just watching you cry to yourself.

He was sorry. 

He was so sorry.

He didn’t mean to ruin your hard work at all, but there was no way you’d believe any of the words coming out of his mouth. 

His shoulders slumped, his face falling to the ground.

He couldn’t bear to look on any longer. 

With a reluctance as heavy as the weight of his mistakes, he turned on his heel and left without another word. The choked up cries still lingering past the soft thud of the door.

And then there was nothing.

Just you and the dress. 

You stared at it for a long time. The tear bared its teeth at you— an ugly reminder of the irreparable. It was mocking you. Telling you don’t have enough time to fix it and get the last piece done. It was calling you names. Incompetent. Useless. Failure. Yet your eyes refused to show any disdain towards it. Instead, you felt the most angry at yourself. At the way you lost your grip on your emotions, at the way you failed to avoid, or at the very least, control the situation, at the way you threw blame like a dart to a target.

Softly, the tip of your fingers found the edges of the damaged fabric. As if on autopilot, you caressed the sheets, smoothing and assessing them with the similar emptiness of a doctor when checking for a pulse they already know isn’t present. 

You stayed there for a while, sprawled on the floor. Silent. The crook of your neck ached and your head began to thump aggressively. 

You got up and made for the needle.

You could fix this—no. You had to fix this. There was no time to dwell on failure.

Swallowing the thickness in your throat, you reached for the dress. 

The first attempt took approximately 57 minutes. You couldn’t make it to an hour. 

It was too humiliating. 

You had plucked at the severed seams, unpicking the string with surgical precision, rethreaded, started again. Your hands were steady. Your face was blank. You partially held up the piece and you could feel your stomach churning. 

It was wrong. 

It was all wrong.

The precision was off, the seam slightly puckered where your fingers had pressed too hard and the thread veered the smallest bit to the side. If you squinted with enough intention, you were sure you could likely make out exactly where the tear began and ended. 

Barely noticeable to anyone else. 

Absolutely unforgivable to you.

You started again.

Second attempt. Your fingers moved fast. Sewing machine whizzing with no real destination. New threads. More fabric. New needles. More sweat.

It was worse.

You knew it. You didn’t have to look to know. The fabric sat dead on your fingers, almost like the previous magic it held managed to seep its way out through the cracks. A flatline on an ECG monitor. Unsalvageable. 

You stayed on the floor, the trail of the dress on your lap, just staring at it. A hostage to time. 

Eventually, you set it down. Carefully, the exact same way you place something down when all you really want to do is throw it out the window. 

You took a 30 second break.

The third attempt you didn’t even finish.

You were so used to people parading about the third time being the charm. 

Well they were wrong. 

They lied. 

You still believed it though. Why else would you have had so much hope? 

The process was the same. A sickening cycle. You got halfway through and stopped. Simply…stopped. Needle suspended mid weave, long thread pulled taut between your teeth, the dress hugging tightly against the mannequin, waiting for you to do something. Anything.

Silence filled the workroom. Everyone else had packed up and gone home hours ago. The faint smell of new fabric, dye and glue. The exact kind of quiet only found in studios such as these. The quiet that you used to love. 

Now it made you sick.

You abandoned the needle in your hand on the table next to you, eyes unfocused as you mentally digested just how long you devoted yourself to this project. 

It was hopeless from the start.

Like a puppet without a mind of its own, you stood up, refusing to acknowledge the dress. 

Your legs walked without your consent, fingers lazily reached for the light switch. 

Without sparing a glance backwards, you turned off the studio lights.

And walked away.

The room sat hollow after that. Nothing but the dull corridor lights bleeding past the crack of the door. It stayed still. No one in. No one out. Until a little past 10pm. 

The door clicked open with a considerable amount of hesitation. 

Sunoo stood in the frame for a while, hand still on the handle. His eyes peered into the darkness, slowly adjusting to the mess in the room. 

The dress, in the middle, shining with mercy for attention. 

He exhaled through his nose. 

Without another word, he switched on the lights. 

Every step closer to the piece unveiled a new layer of damage. Somehow, the dress looked worse than when he left it, and the sprawled scissors, torn scraps of material and stray needles served as hard evidence in knowing exactly whose hands had been on it. 

Desperation didn’t always amount to success. 

He knew that more than anyone.

He plainly stared at the joint work of chaos. 

It was a mess, but sometimes messes made for the most surprising results. 

He picked one of the loose needles on the table, and started moving.

Empty corridors, chilly workrooms.

Hours passed with the ease of the night.

The building retained that particular kind of quiet atmosphere that was exclusively reserved for 2am only. 

Then, approximately a minute after 2, the door gently propped open. 

A classmate, bag half on, clearly on their way home, stopped short when they saw the lights still on. 

They leaned in the doorway drinking in the scene with that slow comprehension of someone whose brain is already at home and tucked away in bed. 

They blinked very slowly.

“Dude. It’s 2am. Ain’t you going home?”

“In a minute.” Sunoo replied soullessly. He didn’t even know who he was talking to. His whole attention being pulled to the crystalline faux fur in his hands. 

The other student didn’t move, they stayed standing, quietly taking a sweep of Sunoo’s condition. Beads of sweat gathered on his temple, his hair resembled defeat, the cream fabric of his shirt decorated with small rust coloured splotches that definitely weren’t there last time. And the bandaids—fingers, palms, and one on his cheekbone. How did that even get there?

The classmate gently shook his head, speaking more so to himself than Sunoo. A low whisper, “…Y’all sure you hate each other?” 

Sunoo’s fingers faltered for a fraction of a second, then kept moving like the moment never came.  

“Goodnight man.” The classmate called out. The door clicked behind him softly, leaving Sunoo to his isolated concentration once again. 

The night rolled on in silence, a comforting sheet of company.

Morning came and students followed along with it. The corridor slowly filled with the shuffling sounds of early risers and the chirpy voices of classmates who were likely having a better day than most people.

Footsteps approached the door to the workroom. A click.

The conversation of a small group of female students, morning coffee in hand, stopped dead upon seeing him.

“What the… Sunoo?”

He didn’t look up.

“Morning.” 

A timid beat of silence stretched on much longer than needed.

“Wha—have you been here all night?”

“Morning,” He repeated lightly, a polite smile etched on his lips. His eyes still refused to separate from the part of the dress that he was working on. The needle in his hand poked through flesh, drawing another bead of red. He didn’t so much as blink, continuing on with a scary level of focus.

The others shared a puzzled look before scattering off to their own stations to work on their own projects.

The rest of the day went on as normal, apart from your absence. It was almost like the place felt more amicable without your dictatorial energy buzzing with competitiveness. It was nice, yet a little uncomfortable. Or perhaps your classmates had just become a little too used to your terrorising presence. 

How sweet.

It was the official end of the day. Around hour 19 for Sunoo. The workrooms had thinned out by then. The afternoon crowd slowly surrendering to the temptation of the evening, bags packed, stations cleared, the familiar end-of-day sounds of zips and goodnights. 

One student remained longer than the rest. 

They’d been a quiet comrade for a few hours, tucked away at the far end of the room with their own project. When Sunoo felt drops of red trickling down his nose, the student silently excused themselves to the toilet. The next thing you know, a small bundle of toilet paper was placed near Sunoo’s work station. 

They were smart enough to say nothing. Decent enough to stay.

Eventually, they pushed back on their stool, the sound making Sunoo’s shoulders flinch the smallest bit. 

Crossing the room, they stopped beside him. They looked at the dress, then at him. At the constellation of plasters and wounds. At the evidence of his hard work and determination. 

Without a word, they set something down on the table beside his hand. 

A singular strand of gum. 

“It helps.” 

Sunoo glanced at it for a second. Then picked it up and tucked it away in his pocket, giving a small nod as a thank you.

The other student, Heeseung, pulled up a stool beside him and worked quietly for another hour, no conversation, just the shared sound of two people making something remarkable. Then he packed up, slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. 

Before leaving, he glanced behind him. A relaxed expression on his features.

“Goodnight Sunoo.”

This time, Sunoo actually looked up. Tired citrus orbs, dark circles, and that small smile of his that could make anyone’s day just a little more bearable. 

The vision of humility, something that he had been avoiding deep inside for far too long.

“Night.”

Heeseung nodded, opening the door and walking out.

The door shut behind him.

And then it was just Sunoo again. 

“Oh, for crying out loud.” 

Your grumpy face met the surface of your pillow. 

You skipped out on lectures, something you’ve never done willingly. The crawls of guilt crippled up your skin. 

You made a face.

Sitting up on your bed, you glanced at the clock. It was probably dark outside. 

You sighed dramatically.

What were you even doing? Moping around like an absolute loser. 

You had to admit, you were appalled at your own behaviour. Wallowing in your room over a dress like a sad sack of potatoes. How laughable!

Kicking yourself off your bed with the momentum of your legs, you quickly stood up, an intimidating aura surrounding your form.

“What a crybaby,” you slapped yourself over the chest. “Acting like the world just ended and everything, psh!” You bit the fat on your forearm. 

“How are you meant to survive the industry if you cry over the World’s most minuscule mishap, hUH?!” 

Sudden banging from the wall beside you made you jump five feet in the air.

It was late. You were being too loud. And your neighbour was 2 minutes away from calling security on you.

You kicked the wall in retaliation. 

Anyway, like you were saying. What kind of professional faints at the sight of a challenge? Embarrassing! 

With a new found speed, you grabbed at your sewing kit, shoved it into your bag, and kicked the wall you shared with your neighbour once more (just for good measure) before dashing out of your apartment with crocs on.

Commando. No socks. 

What an absolute fashion statement.

You scampered over to your campus looking like that gremlin from the Lord of the Rings. 

Desperate times called for desperate get ups. 

The Fashion department always remained open  for longer periods of time because the average fashion student didn’t know the concept of sleep. It seemed like you fell snugly under that category. 

Unlocking the door to the large building, you ran to the elevator, cursed at it for being out of service, and made for the stairs.

By the time you reached the 7th floor you regretted your life decisions. Why was it that adrenaline lasted the equivalent of a YouTube ad. 

Screw physical activity!

“Urgh,” you swallowed a load of air, burping in the process. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” You leaned against the door to the workroom, your previous motivation fizzling out in real time.

Pushing your body weight on the door handle, you heard the soft click of the door. Your body came tumbling down on the other side with a sad splat.

“Oof, my rib!”  You gripped at the edge of the door from the ground, ready to pull it off its hinges with your frustration. 

But before you could do that, the gleam of something inside the dark room sent you blind first. 

You squinted, hand going to shield your face.“What the actual fu—”

Wow…

You stopped mid complaint, entirely enchanted by what you were seeing. 

The dress. Finished. Breathing in all its glory, as if the recent instances never occurred.

You gulped, unable to hold the gasp that left your lips. Getting up from the ground, you made tentative steps towards the garment. Slow and steady, like a zoo keeper approaching a wild animal.

It was on full display, moonlight highlighting its curves like the shimmers from winter sunlight hitting ice water. 

“She’s beautiful…” 

Absolutely, jawdroppingly stunning. 

Enviably majestic.

The tip of your fingers landed on the surface of the table. You stood face to face with the mannequin, the wonders of the material shining even better at closer range. 

Glancing to the side, you caught countless stray papers being sprawled on the surface. 

Drawings.

Some crossed out, others ripped in half, but none left unfinished.

Messy and sloppy. Highlights on every word, defeating the entire purpose of a highlighter. But he didn’t give up until he got it right.

The standout sketch was updated to match the dress’ current design. 

Clumsy and clearly inexperienced. 

Wonky by your standards but undeniably genuine and real.

You felt a small lilt in your chest.

He did this?…. Alone… This quick?

It was hard enough as an experienced fashion student let alone a rookie. This guy. Kim Sunoo… he had the potential of becoming a true fashion designer. You couldn’t believe you were admitting it but, he may have actually been…better than you.

You were still marvelling at the moon beams swimming through the materials of the dress when the door popped open. 

The yellow industrial lights of the corridor broke into the darkness. 

You turned around.

Sunoo.

Box filled with spewing fabrics in hand.  A makeshift scarf of light sequin around his neck. And an alarmed gaze that bore into your surprisingly calm orbs.

He was scared.

Even you could tell this much. 

You weren’t new to people being scared of you, but usually it was due to your fiery and unorthodox nature. 

But this was different. You felt it. Saw it. The guilt that still lingered, strangling his throat into a suppressed silence.

He was the culprit in this crime, and the jury stood before him unannounced.

He swallowed a thick lump.

“Erm,” you awkwardly started, gaze bouncing around everything in the room but him.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here…”

“Yeah, no. Me neither.” 

“So…uh,” 

Sunoo stood remarkably frozen, you on the other hand, were shifting your weight from one leg to the other: a dog needing the potty.

Without further thought, you spouted out the first thing on your mind.

“I’m sorry—” 

“—I’m sorry—oH!”

A beat of silence.

“I didn’t know you knew those words.”

“Again, me neither.”

You pressed your lips together.

“Can I go first?” You inquired, putting your hand up like a child in class. 

With eyes slightly wider than usual, Sunoo nodded once, his whole attention on you.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” you paused, not entirely used to the phrase on your tongue. “I overreacted. I was supposed to be your confidant. Your helper. The teammate that you rely on.” 

You ducked your head in shame. “I was supposed to be your partner…” you silently added, barely above a whisper. 

“Mistakes happen all the time in this line of work, and yet, I conducted myself like an absolute rookie who’s unable to handle a singular unexpected event.” You sighed, frustratingly totalling your hair at the mere memory of your breakdown. 

“I put all the blame on you when I was meant to reassure you. I was meant to guide you, but I was so blinded by my own selfishness. You trusted me, yet I shunned you and treated you like crap. So, once again,”

Your eyes rose to finally meet his. They stayed on you the whole time. You gulped.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. I would understand fully.”

A dead quiet overtook the air and you couldn’t help but immediately lose the confidence that you conjured up. Your eyes found the floor again.

Sunoo took a breath, carefully searching for the right thing to say. You flinched at the sound, ready to receive a load of hateful slashes and an unaccepted apology served stone cold.

Instead, you heard a short, playful scoff.

“Wow. Character development.” 

You gaped at him, eyes blinking in offence, yet you couldn’t even begin to defend yourself.

“Now, if I may. I would also like to have heartfelt speech.” 

Your left eye twitched.

Was he being serious right now?

“I’m sorry about the dress. It was truly my doing. I was too ambitious and eagerly tried to do something without discussing my decision with my teammate. So for that, I apologise.” He gave a small bow, an unfamiliar sense of humility latching at his words. 

You licked your lips. 

This wasn’t the time nor place, but the way he appeared so meek and vulnerable under the moonlight’s beam almost made him look… attractive—

WoAH, who said that?! 

You cleared your throat. 

His lips parted to add.

“Granted, your reaction was admittedly overdramatic.”

You looked around for something to throw at him and he immediately ducked behind a nearby empty mannequin.

Not finding anything remotely adequate, you quickly grabbed at the spare mannequin near you as well, lifting off the ground just a smidge.

“Sorry, what was that again? I think I misheard you?” You smiled at him, tone venomous.

“I said I accept your apology!” 

You placed the heavy weapon back down.

“Great! I don’t accept yours.”

“What?!”

Pointedly ignoring his complaints, you nudged your chin to the items he was carrying earlier which were now left on the floor near the door.

“What are those for?”

Sunoo’s eyes flitted to find yours and you had to clench your ass cheeks to not flee his eye contact like a weakling.

Were his eyes always so…

“The dress,” his voice interrupted.

You raised a brow. 

The dress?

“Wait…it’s not finished?” A disbelieved blink. 

There was no way that absolute masterpiece of a dress wasn’t finished. No, seriously. You couldn’t possibly think of any necessary additions. It was practically perfect!

Your eyes raked over him in suspicion.

“What more could you possibly want to add?” 

He just watched you like you said the most unhinged thing ever.

“Did that phrase really just come from you right now? I thought you loved the extreme?”

“There can never be too much. But sometimes too much is too much.”

“What does that even mean?” 

“Just show me what you’re planning to do.” You sighed out, gravitating towards the box on the ground.

Sunoo picked it up before you could reach it, the sash still around his neck. Switching the lights on, he made his way to your shared station. You cluelessly followed close, a duckling to their mama bird.

Setting the stuff down, he took a seat behind the piece, crossed his legs on the floor and waved you over.

You quietly did the same.

Before he did anything else, he turned to you, a gentle confidence behind his eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

No.

“Yes.”

Fake it till you make it proved to work on most occasions. Then again, you really did hold a certain amount of trust towards him. Not astonishingly enormous, but it was there. And it had never been there before, or perhaps you never noticed it. So this time, you were going to latch onto it and see if it was worth keeping.

Your stare was intense, being filled with a sense of reliance that felt foreign to him. He’s known you for over half his life and he never saw you look at him that way until now.

The ghost of a smile adorned his lips and he had to quickly avert his gaze to avoid losing control of his expression. 

A satisfied hum left him.

“Good. Then let’s get started.”

You were about to crap your pants. 

Show day. The runway was ready. The audience was already seated, curiously following the various model’s paths as they posed and twirled in each team’s garments.

Your model was MIA.

Why was your model MIA?!

You furiously bit your lip, pacing around backstage. Sunoo and the two other models that showed up watched you in silence, too scared to tick you off even more. 

“Where is he?!” You whisper-yelled in distress. A cold sweat bead licking the corner of your temple.

Sunoo tried to put on a wobbly smile but it ended up looking lopsided. 

“I’m sure he’s on his way—”

“Your team is going up in 10.” A staff member called from the back before disappearing behind the curtain, and you could feel the life drain out of you. Sunoo had to hold the small of your back to keep you standing, the hand placement making your skin buzz in an unexplainable conflict of emotion.

The sound of a ping caught your attention. 

You pounced at your phone, unlocking in record speed.

A text from Johnny.

‘sorry, can’t make it in today something came up’

‘I’ll make it up to you though…’

‘eventually lol.’

The last text echoed in your head. His boyish voice circling your mind like an unending joke.

You chuckled lowly. 

“We’re doomed.”

Your laugh only increased. Complete hysteria. 

“We’re so doomed.” 

A frozen smile plastered your face and the rest of the models were left to look at each other in worry.

Your eyes drearily shifted to Sunoo’s.

Your mouth opening to add more fuel to your misery, but no words left your lips. 

You stared at him for a long time. 

Wait…

His eyes. His nose. His lips.

Your gaze dropped to his skin-tight shirt, the material hugging his waistline.

A spark crossed your eyes.

Suddenly, you sprung to life, grabbing Sunoo’s upper arms with the force of a thousand men.

His face was perfect.

No, he was perfect.

The whole piece looked like it was designed around him. 

Sunoo blinked back at you. A completely innocent expression on his unsuspecting face. 

He gave a short laugh, quietly asking. “…What?” 

You pulled him to the side immediately, your eyes casting a brief glance at the clock. 

8 minutes.

You could do this.

Taking his hand in yours (to his surprise), you quickly guided him towards the fox-inspired piece.

You let go of his hand, staring at him with straight eyes.

“Strip.”

He nearly choked on his spit.

Then, sputtering, he responded. “W-WHaT?”

“7 minutes till you’re up!” 

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, already starting to pull it upwards.

“Hey!”

“No time.” You were calm. Your voice completely relaxed, eyes focused. 

No one would have ever been able to guess you were losing your mind a minute ago.

Sunoo saw the look in your eyes, his own honey orbs finding the dress not too far away.

He finally caught on.

With dread written all over his face, he started to squirm under your hold.

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Sunoo,”

“I didn’t even rehearse, I don’t think I even know how to walk straight—”

“Sunoo.”

“I’m not cut out for this—”

“KIM SUNOO!”

He stopped.

Wide eyes found yours, the embodiment of insecurity.

His breaths slowed down. Gulping, he finally spoke.

“What if I ruin everything?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was right. There was no telling what would happen. No guarantee that all would go smooth sailing, and he had a pre-existent record of short-comings.

But.

Your eyes searched his. 

“You won’t. I trust you,” you said smoothly. And this time, not one lie was told. 

Your peaceful tone acted as an anchor to his nerves. You continued.

“Do you trust me?”

Somewhere in the distance, the staff member called out again, the sound becoming muffled behind the intensity of your stare. 

There was something behind your eyes. Something more than trust. Something that left Sunoo entranced and breathless. 

Without a second thought, the words came spilling out of his mouth like water.

“I trust you.”

You nodded once. 

Good, because there was no time.

The two of you moved in sync, somehow managing to shuffle Sunoo into the dress. 

The models helped with the jewellery and shoes. You got to tailoring the size with inconspicuous clips, and Sunoo’s fingers swam across his face with ease whilst doing his make up. 

“1 minute! Let’s go everyone, let’s go!”

A crowd of arms rushed you towards the front.  You hopped after Sunoo’s figure which was moving further away from you quicker than you anticipated. 

Stretching forth your hands to fix the trail, you ended up tripping over something, completely face planting the floor. 

Sunoo turned around instantly, concern written all over his face.

You sent him a firm thumbs up, body sprawled on the floor like a starfish, a tiny trickle of red to one of your nostrils. 

You smiled.

“You got this!”

And that was all he needed.

One by one, the models (and Sunoo) went up. 

Each piece flowing like a carefully orchestrated storyline, one after another. You watched, crouched from behind the curtain. You gave a little prayer when it was Sunoo’s turn. Just in case. 

Step after step. Sway after sway. It was like he was born to do this. Evidence of his nerves pooled lightly on the crease of his brows but it was hardly visible to the naked eye. Only someone accustomed to his expression would be able to tell. 

You bit back a snort.

It was almost like you knew him like the back of your hand now. Perhaps you’ve known each other for too long.

The show ended with the expertise pose performed by yours truly; Sunoo. All the models coming out to walk the finale. 

The crowd cheered. People clapped. And you soaked in the sounds of what ‘could be’ in the future. 

It was finally over.

“You did so good!” You mused at the model that wore your owl inspired outfit, her joyous smile radiating off her features, making her look even more surreal. 

“Thank you!” 

You high-fived the second model. The orca inspired outfit was endorsed in black and white, a striking combination with his darker complexion. 

He gave you a charming grin, nodding over at you before going in for a quick hug.

Then came Sunoo.

His steps were small and almost hesitant. Eyes not meeting yours.

You halted, taking him in slowly. 

Taking a step closer, you manoeuvred your face, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

A small panic ensued, the male taking a small step backward. You held his arm, preventing him from escaping further.

Slowly, a small genuine smile softly overtook your lips.

“You were perfect.”

Silence.

Nothing but the overly loud beating of Sunoo’s heart. Something he hoped you couldn’t hear. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he blinked, releasing a breath.

“T-thank you.” 

You simply nodded back, turning away from him and starting to get your stuff ready. 

“You were perfect too…by the way.” 

You froze at the comment.

Your chest suddenly feeling light.

Clearing your throat, you straightened your back. 

This wasn’t something you were used to. Not between the two of you, anyway. This whole cordial atmosphere was so… unfamiliar. Or maybe it wasn’t? Maybe it had just been presented as something else this whole time. 

Unsure of what to say, you just threw another thumbs up. 

At your unexpected gesture, he broke into a light fit of laughter. The sound carrying gently into your ears. 

Your cheeks felt warm.

“You’re so… awkward.” He giggled again and you felt a small lament bubble up inside you.

“Oh yeah? Well you’re so…sO,” 

Your voice broke.

His laugh increased.

Your eye twitched.

“Well, whatever.” Was the weak response you decided on.

This was unlike you. Usually you’d be able to counter with ease. Usually his chuckles would be like nails to a chalkboard.

Usually… you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

Grabbing the rest of your stuff in a hurry, you mumbled under your voice, a false bite to your tone. “I’m going home.”

Sunoo’s soft chuckles were still present despite them fizzling out. He called out with a certain comfort that only the two of you had. “Wait for me!”

And you did. Oddly enough. It was like your body wasn’t responding to your brain anymore.

Maybe it was broken.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

“How ugly you looked in that dress.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you  were.”

“I really was. Reminded me of the pig we used to look after in 5th grade.”

“Pint the pig?”

You raised an inquiring brow. “His name was Pint? Well, that’s very on brand. He was the most energetic pig I’ve ever seen in my life. Second only to you—”

You dodged the punch that was about to land on your arm, sticking your tongue out like a child.

“I’m surprised you even remember that.” Sunoo finally said after some quiet strides beside you.

You were nearing the intersection where you’d both go your separate ways.

Humming lightly, you cocked your head to the side. “I have a great memory.”

“I’d beg to differ.” Sunoo deadpanned.

“You always beg to differ when it comes to me,” you sniffled, crossing your arms over your chest. Your steps had slowed down to a tranquil strolling pace. “It’s like you’ve had it out for me ever since we were little.” 

At your light tone, he softly chuckled.

Then, after a few seconds, you added. “Why did you hate me anyway?”

Your voice lacked the sarcasm it carried earlier. A tiny entrance of honesty being opened for Sunoo to explore. Small enough to keep your face, big enough for you to feel a tinge of vulnerability gnawing at your skin. And this time, neither of you backed away from the pressure of confrontation.

You reached the intersection, both your footsteps stopping, allowing the question to hang in the air between you.

Sunoo’s head tilted backwards. A small sigh left him, his eyes staring up at the sky.

“I never hated you.” 

At this, you turned towards him. You stood very still, a small expression of confusion on your features. 

“I’m pretty sure you did, buddy.” 

Sunoo snorted at the random nickname.

Covering his face with his hands to hide his smile, he shook his head, sparkling crescents blooming in his eyes. “I really didn’t!”

“Then why’d you always pick on me?!”

“Because…” Sunoo thought for a moment.

“…wait, you were the one who hated me!” 

You looked at him incredulously, scoffing.

“I’ll have you know my mum told me never to start fights, but to end them. So that means it was definitely you who hated me.” 

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeh-uh!”

Sunoo flicked your forehead lightly, causing you to rub at the spot with both your hands. You glared up at him.

“I’m telling you, you were probably just jealous of my pretty privile—”

You sputtered out a boisterous laughter, wiping at a tear.

“Oh, please! You? Pretty privilege?”

Ignoring your unprecedented bullying, Sunoo tossed his hair, frilling up his fringe.

“6 year old you just hated seeing beautiful people succeed.” Patting your shoulder, he gave a mocking pout. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, darling.” 

“Wha…” 

You couldn’t believe your ears. Blinking repeatedly, you shook your head in disbelief, shoving towards his side of the intersection. 

“You better go home then, Cinderella, before the clock strikes midnight and you become ugly again.”

Walking backwards to keep his conversation with you going, Sunoo raised a pointed finger. “Um, that’s technically not how the story goes—”

“Just go home! Jeez!” You huffed, shooing him away before turning around and making for your house.

Without even realising his actions, Sunoo tenderly watched you walk away with a tiny smile. Your form becoming smaller and smaller as he stayed.

What you’d never know, is that he never hated you. 

Not one bit. 

So long as you were annoyingly stuck to his side, and talking his ears off, he didn’t mind living with the constant migraine. Because when the migraine was as irritatingly addictive as you, it also had the strange ability of feeling like home.

But that was something that Sunoo knew you weren’t ready to hear.

So for now, the migraine was enough.

After all, he’d known you since he was six.

[bbmbaaby]

please do not send me asks regarding the heeseung situation i am not changing my mind and this is not a safe space for ot6

[bbmbaaby]

Whats your stand point on heeseungs situation?

might lose a few followers but im a boycotting ot7 and im firm on that stance :)) and i dont agree w ot6 whatsoever didnt rlly wanna talk abt this but ive been getting multiple asks over it