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sour cherry love

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦. 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥. 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬. 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jung wooyoung x f!reader 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: how to differentiate love and obsession? caring and abuse? wooyoung knows very well. you, however, don't. and it breaks his heart every time he sees your loving eyes gaze upon that caring boyfriend of yours. he knows better than to meddle, so why do you have to make it difficult by constantly hanging around him and making him care for you? 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 29.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: euphoria au, plot, slowburn!!!, high school themes (aged up, 19-22), alcohol and weed use, toxic relationship, nsfw themes 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i've proofread this at least five times i am getting sick of my own writing. don't mind the typos, and enjoy :)

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊.

there is something oddly calming about the gentle hum of fridges and the sound of the led bar on the verge of its life at the local gas station convenience store. especially on a quiet night like this, where jung wooyoung can sit in his staff room, or a corner more like, and roll his blunts in peace.

a cigarette rests between his slightly chapped lips, the soft smoke filling up the space that is separated from the store with a beaded curtain, half the beads missing. every now and then, his sharp eyes glance through it, hoping not to catch a figure lingering amongst the shelves.

his finger pads are rough against the smooth paper, yet skilled and quick. he takes pride in this ability. each blunt is the same shape, as if they were made in a factory. the satisfied smile is cut short when a bang startles him, sending ash from the cigarette onto his jeans.

"fuck." he breathes out, placing the cigarette on a makeshift ashtray, made from a can of soda by his little niece as he brushes the ash off his clothes.

he doesn't announce himself as he slips through the beads, the clicking sound crashing with the calming hum. annoyance is only slightly wiped from his face upon setting his eyes on you. and your cherry coke that sits on the counter.

your eyes find his when he slips behind the counter. wooyoung swears he has never seen such sparkly eyes. it might've been the purple neon sign above his head, but he chose to believe it was natural. a smile spreads on your pink lips, and you greet him. "hello."

wooyoung only hums, grabbing the can of coke and scanning it, all while biting his lower lip and taking your figure in.

"so..." you trail, awkwardly swinging on your toes back and forth. "how's... business?"

wooyoung chuckles, setting the swollen lip free. "well, now that you ask, i don't remember the last time someone bought a cherry coca cola."

"oh, is that why there were only two cans in the fridge?"

"yes."

you nod with a hum, then pull a bill from the back pocket of your jeans.

"two fifty." he slides the can towards you, hand lingering on the cold item until you reach for it. you try to grab it, yet his grip intensifies, making you look at him with confusion. "you're too pretty to be here."

"thank you–"

"that wasn't a compliment." he shuts you down, eyeing your pink tank top and shimmery bracelets.

"oh." your smile falters, insecurity crawling up your spine. "what does that mean?"

"it means," he leans over the counter, close enough to catch the sickeningly sweet perfume clinging to your skin, then continues, "that you look like an easy target."

your heart stutters behind your ribcage. you swallow thickly before speaking. "is this a dangerous neighbourhood?"

"it isn't the safest one. but what does it matter? you should be on your way and get out of here. it's late."

"okay." you place the money on the counter. wooyoung finally lets go of the can, and you immediately grab it, as if he'll take it away from you. "have a nice night."

the young man doesn't reply. he watches you slowly exit the shop, cracking the can open on the way out. when he sees you enter a car, he feels at peace. you weren't alone. you were safe. he retreats to his corner, cigarette back between his lips, fingers already working through his stash like nothing happened.

𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐘.

the first day of the senior year was something jung wooyoung dreaded. summer was going well. he got used to working, earning, and having free time. now, aside from being in the building almost every day and working, he also needs to make time for studying.

"tonight at nate's?"

and parties.

"come on," the younger man nudges wooyoung with his elbow, seeing his eyes roll. "it'll be fun."

wooyoung huffs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and dusting the ash on the ground. "i fucking hate that guy."

"well, sadly for you, nate jacobs is the only one who can throw one hell of a party. besides, girl hunting isn't a solo activity. i need you there."

the black haired man shoots his friend a disapproving look. "girl hunting? james."

"it's just an expression." james defends himself, poorly.

"no, it's not."

"fine. i take it back." the blonde haired man rolls his eyes, much like wooyoung earlier. they both stand up, making their way inside the building and to their lockers. "if i spend another year without a relationship, i'm going to become a nightmare."

jung wooyoung swears he had a witty reply as he tosses his jacket in the locker. the words perish once his brown eyes land on a figure in the hallway. the shine of lips too familiar to ignore, and the scent as the person passes by too sweet to forget.

you.

"woo?" james calls, closing his locker with a loud clank. "i need a verbal confirmation that you are coming tonight."

"sure." he replies, eyes still glued to the way your blouse hugs your body. "just text me when."

once james disappears to his class, wooyoung finds himself lingering in the hallway. have you always gone to east highland? why is he just now noticing you? no, why are you everywhere for him to notice you? a big question mark follows him into the english classroom, the look on his face puzzled when he smells that scent again. surely enough, there you are. in the corner of the room, the last seat near the window. his seat.

there are plenty other ones in the classroom. however, wooyoung has always sat there, and everyone knows it. he chose it strategically. it is ideally hidden from the professor, he has fresh air from the window, and he has his privacy. most importantly, he is sitting far away from cassie howard. he doesn't want to bother you by asking you to move, but if he has to hear that insufferable laugh and see her turn around every few minutes, he will explode on the spot.

"that's my seat."

he doesn't intend on sounding mean. it comes out like that anyway, causing you to look up from your books with those sparkly eyes. when you recognize the man from last night, you can't help the smile that spreads on your lips. the first familiar person, finally. "hi."

wooyoung raises his eyebrow. did you not hear him? "i sit here."

"oh," you finally acknowledge his words. you don't make a fuss out of it. you simply gather your belongings and sit at the desk next to him. something he could've done instead of moving you, yet you don't point it out. once you make yourself comfortable, you notice that he is still standing, eyes locked on you. you look around before speaking. "uh... can i sit here?"

he ignores you, finally throwing his bag near the desk as he plops down on the chair. he's puzzled by your easy-going nature. were you a people pleaser? you looked like one. shame, you'll have to toughen up soon or you'll be eaten alive.

the classroom fills up quickly, and by the time the professor arrives, wooyoung has stolen many glances at you. it irks him that cassie is sitting so that whenever he looks at you, her blonde hair is in the background. halfway into the class, he has noticed a few things about you already.

first, you like to use colorful pens. you have at least ten different shades in your fuzzy, stupid looking pencil case. it irritates him for no good reason- who carries a pencil case to high school? second, you like cherry cola. the dark red can sits at the corner of the table, the edge of it shimmering with remains of your gloss. third, you are overly friendly for your own good.

each time someone locks eyes with you, you smile. they smile as well, but not in a good way. they're mocking you. wooyoung doesn't know whether you choose not to see it or you truly do not see it. he doesn't feel that sorry for you. as he said, you're making yourself an easy target.

by the end of the class, the dark haired man doesn't have a single note written in his notebook. you, however, are happily underlining words and sentences while the rest of the class is glancing at the fateful clock on the wall. once it marks the end of the first period, and the professor leaves for the five minute break, the class erupts in chatter and chaos.

wooyoung wastes no time in pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his washed out jeans and sitting on the window. he lights it up, the nicotine slowly filling his lungs as he inhales deeply. a tap on his shoulder interrupts the little ritual, and he can't help the annoyed look on his face as he turns his head to the side, only to be met with your face mere inches away from his.

he blows the smoke into you, accidentally. your words catch in your throat, stopped by the unexpected smoke you've inhaled and a coughing fit.

"shit," wooyoung moves the cigarette from one hand to the other, away from you. "sorry. didn't expect you there."

"no, it's fine." your voice is raspy, and there are tears in the corners of your eyes. fuck, are you going to cry? he can't handle that this early in the morning. "i have a nicotine allergy."

"that's a thing?" he asks. you nod, clearing your throat in the process. "ah."

he isn't the talkative type, you notice. perhaps he is a listener. or he just doesn't care about either of those things.

"what happens now? will you end up at the nurse's office?" he teases, though he is genuinely curious.

"my reaction depends on the brand, i've noticed. in most cases i start feeling nauseous and my throat becomes red and swollen, and my eyes tear up. not fatal, but not the nicest feeling."

the man glances at the box of cigarettes on his desk. he makes a mental note as he bites his lip, then, with a sigh, presses the lit end against the outside wall. "right. i didn't know that."

jung wooyoung would never waste a cigarette. yet he finds himself tossing an almost unused one outside, barely getting one drag out of it. why? because the girl in pink couldn't handle it.

"you wanted to say something? you know, before you almost died on the spot."

"ah." you nod. "i have a lot to say, actually. for starters, i didn't catch your name."

"you talk a lot." he crosses his arms across his chest, then sits on his chair. "calum."

"ouch." you scrunch your nose as you follow him to his desk, making yourself comfortable by leaning on it. "calum? fitting."

"is it?" wooyoung is amused. "how so?"

"every calum i've ever met is dark haired and tattooed." you explain as you admire the rose and skull tattoo on the side of his neck. "it's very nice, by the way. looks pretty on you."

pretty? it's not pretty. it's cool. it's anything but pretty. never in his life did wooyoung think that he'll blush in front of a girl like this. all because she called him pretty. well, the tattoo. not him. still, he finds himself looking through the window again, avoiding your intense gaze.

"okay. go away now." he bites the inside of his cheek. "bother someone else."

"sorry," you push yourself off his desk, "didn't realize i was bothering you."

you don't seem offended, nor sad. you sit back at your desk, colorful pens back in hand and attention on notes until the professor comes back for the second english period. wooyoung doesn't understand your behaviour. do you not feel bad emotions? or do you simply shield yourself from them by wearing good ones as mask?

he sighs, and finally, his pen starts gliding on the blank paper that sits in front of him.

𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓.

cassie howard is a leech. lexi howard is the sweetest person you can meet.

what wooyoung doesn't understand is, why james likes cassie over lexi. cassie can't form a single sentence without using words such as like, totally, and literally. maybe wooyoung is too judgemental. why doesn't he get up and dance with lexi then, if she is so much better? why is he even thinking about the howard sisters?

his eyes finally leave james and cassie as they dance, or dry hump, in the tight space of the living room, and roam around the house to find a different entertainment. he sits on the couch, legs on the coffee table and arms crossed over his chest. he leans against the cushions, until a couple plops down next to him in a heated makeout session. he sighs, wondering why he even came.

outside is equally, if not even more, chaotic. drinking games in the pool. very safe. the dark haired man tsks to himself, watching as the guys hold the girls on their shoulders as they play fight while tipsy. he hopes nobody drowns tonight. as he reaches the kitchen in search of a drink, he is glad to find it half empty. he helps himself in the fridge, grabbing an unopened bottle of sparkling water. he closes the door, and twitches in surprise.

"fuck," he breathes out. "you are just... everywhere, aren't you?"

you stand near the fridge, earlier being shielded by the opened door of it. "sorry, just wanted to grab a sparkling water for myself."

wooyoung stands still, dark eyes quickly scanning your figure as he thinks. you wear a skirt, and a simple tank top. not revealing, he notices. before you can speak again, he hands you the bottle. you take the other end of it, slow and unsure. "take it. i'll grab another one."

"oh. thanks." you smile. "i won't forget this."

he scoffs, preparing to say something witty in return. but you disappear into the crowd, leaving him alone next to the fridge. he doesn't grab another bottle. not because he doesn't want to, or because he forgot. he doesn't grab one because it was the last, and he gave it away. why? he isn't sure. he just wanted to get rid of you. yeah, that sounds good in his head. doesn't matter if it's true or not.

wooyoung can't leave before james wishes. he is his ride home. he doesn't owe it to the blonde haired man. not really. wooyoung would do anything for his friends anyway. truth is, ever since he has started working at the gas station, wooyoung doesn't have time to hang out. the least he can do is go to a few parties and drive him around. it's not like he has anything else to do.

which is why he finds himself on the first floor of the jacobs' house, blunt in hand and lighter in the other. the first room is occupied, and so is the second. as the last resort, he reaches the bathroom. it is empty, and in no time, wooyoung lays down in the empty bathtub, pulls the curtain shut, and lights the blunt.

the first inhale is like the first breath back to life. he can't help the hum that escapes his lips. the drags are slow, he savours every single one. by the time he reaches half of it, his senses are dulled. yet not dulled enough to not hear someone entering the bathroom. it's not the first time it would happen; someone doing their business and moving on. except this time, his ears perk up.

"here, really?" your voice echoes in the bathroom, even though you speak quietly. "it's... filthy."

"yeah well, you're a filthy girl." a male voice chuckles, and wooyoung's brows furrow. "come on, bend over."

"seriously?"

"you complaining now?"

you scoff. "just don't take forever."

oh.

what a shame. you were no different than the rest. secretly, he wanted you to be. he hears shuffling, kissing, then clothes being unzipped and unbuttoned. he returns to his own activity, brain feeling fuzzy. not fuzzy enough, because the sounds you emit keep distracting him. you keep ruining everything without even trying. the one thing that brought him peace has lost its power, and wooyoung has had enough.

he presses the lit end on the tiles that cover the wall, then stands up, not bothering to sneak out. the pulling of the curtain doesn't stop the man that has you bent over the sink and into the mirror. he glances at you through the reflection, briefly making eye-contact, before exiting the bathroom. you see him. he knows you do. you don't react, instead closing your eyes and giving all the attention to the man. he doesn't see who it is beyond the ginger hair. he doesn't want to. disappointment pools in his chest. he shouldn't have done it. perhaps he would have made himself believe it wasn't you. sadly, the image is now stuck in his brain, and his footsteps become faster as his thoughts start racing.

james is going home, whether he wants it or not.

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐄.

there are many students who work and go to school at the same time. wooyoung isn't special. however, wooyoung is one of the rare ones, if not the only one, who manages a shop as if it's his own. the true owner is old and sick, and only comes in once a month. wooyoung is the one who takes care of the other two employees, inventory, salary, and whatnot.

he currently sits behind the counter, brown eyes bloodshot from exhaustion fixed on the computer screen as he orders the items that have sold out. there are two books on the counter: one of the inventory, and one of history class. he multitasks between checking the items on the screen and memorizing the years of important events needed for the upcoming exam. and it goes well, until the mouse pointer hovers above the cherry coca cola on the site. he doesn't write any amount in the box. usually, he'd put two or three. if none keeps you away from him, so be it.

the sound of the door opening doesn't distract him. it is the scent that does, making him look away from the screen and towards the fridges. you stand there, eyes skimming over the different soda cans. you linger by the cherry cola section, biting your lip in the process. wooyoung mimics you subconsciously, biting his own. you wear a dress today. he hasn't seen you at school, you didn't have any classes together. frankly, he was a tad bit bored. he wanted to see what else you had to offer that could annoy him.

he averts his gaze as you turn around and make your way to the counter. however, he does catch a glimpse of a few bruises on your neck. the memories of last night flood his mind, and wooyoung gets reminded just what you are. a disappointment.

"hello, calum."

right. he hasn't told you his real name. "mhm."

"just these two, please." you place two cans of sprite on the counter, right between his books. "studying?"

he sighs, minimizing the ordering site and switching to the register one. he scans the items, and finally looks at you properly as he reads the price out loud. "five."

"i never told you my name." you blabber, holding a five dollar bill for him to take. "i'm y/n."

he stays silent, looking at the crumpled bill in your hand. an awkward chuckle leaves you, and you try your best to straighten it, thinking it is the reason wooyoung won't take it. yet even when you do it, his gaze almost pierces you from intensity.

"uh... with tax?" you wonder.

"you can just put it down." he nods towards the counter.

"oh." your brows furrow as you follow his instructions, though the ends of your lips are still curved in a smile. "i don't have a contagious rash, calum."

"i do not care." he grabs the bill, placing it in the register and shutting it forcefully. "bye."

"aren't you a ray of sunshine today." you touch his nerve.

the man opens his mouth, ready to degrade you as you make your way towards the door, before he notices the bruises littering your arms and legs. he may be out of line, but something just won't leave him be at peace. "you like it rough?"

you stop in your tracks, body frozen. "what?"

"you heard me." he crosses his arms over his chest, something he does whenever he thinks deeply. "look at me when i'm talking to you."

"jeez louise." you chuckle nervously as you turn around. "it's like hearing my dad. look at me when i'm talking to you."

"does your dad know men fuck you in bathrooms of other people's houses?"

you don't seem surprised by his vulgar choice of words. not offended, neither. you seem scared. you tremble under his gaze as he circles the counter, approaching you slowly until you have to lean your head back slightly to look at him. "uh..."

"answer me."

"i-" you stutter, the cold cans in your hands the only thing cooling you from late summer heat and wooyoung's fire gaze. "he doesn't."

"you proudly showing off all these... sex injuries?" he lifts your arm, touching you for the first time. his fingertips tingle like soft electricity as he examines your bruises. these don't look like sex injuries. they look like proper injuries. at this moment, he wishes you'd confirm they're what he accused you off. for your sake, and for his sanity.

you don't reply at first, audibly gulping. then, you smile, too soft for the words that come out your lips. "what can i say? i do like it rough."

wooyoung's hand lingers on your arm, eyes searching yours for any hidden signal you might be sending him. when he finds none, he lets go, letting you resume your path to the exit.

"y/n?" your name is bittersweet on his tongue.

"yes?" you turn your head to the side as you touch the door handle.

"those aren't sex injuries." wooyoung's voice is laced with worry.

"i know." you lock eyes with him one more time, then finally step out.

he abandons both studying and ordering, leaving it for another day. his mind is too loud for either. yet, he re-enters the order site, just to type in generous number next to the cherry coca cola. as he does so, he can't help but wonder: how long until you start crying for help?

DEFINE LOVE.

group projects are useless. in a group of five, one or two people end up doing all the work, and one always makes up excuses and doesn't contribute. the rest? they do such a shabby job that doing nothing would've been more helpful.

as the media studies professor assigns the groups, wooyoung lays with his arms on the desk and his head on them. if he doesn't see mr herbert, mr herbert won't see wooyoung either, right? wrong.

"y/n, james, cassie, lexi, and wooyoung."

gods.

"since y/n isn't here today, please notify her of this project that must be done by the end of the month. your theme is: toxic love. i want you to show me the works. camera work, editing, acting, costumes, makeup, all of it."

fitting, wooyoung thinks as he looks over at your seat. to say he isn't worried about you would be a lie. he hopes you slept in, or caught a little cold. when you come back tomorrow, he hopes you don't have a new bruise on your skin. he doesn't analyze the sheet mr herbert gives him, eyes stuck on your empty chair. so much worry for a girl that doesn't even know his real name.

days have passed, and you don't share many classes. it was easy to keep away from you. what wooyoung doesn't understand is that, despite being friendly and kind, you do not have a single companion. you always roam the hallways alone, barely making it to your locker without getting pushed and shoved by people who won't look where they are going. the only person you interact with is him, by waving at him or simply smiling.

and your boyfriend. you may not be a gossip girl, but wooyoung can be if he wants to.

"who is she, anyway? she just dropped out of the open sky." wooyoung nods towards you one day as he replaces his math books with english.

james follows his gaze, and soon enough, lands on you pressed against the lockers, with a tall man towering over you. "ah, y/n? she just moved here at the end of summer. as soon as she moved with her parents, logan got his hands on her. he doesn't let her talk to anyone, that idiot."

"logan?" wooyoung raises an eyebrow at his blonde friend. "as in, nate jacobs' best friend, logan? that ginger cunt?"

"yep." james nods, then slams his locker shut. "real shame. she seems nice."

it is a real shame. shame that whenever nate jacobs is mentioned, wooyoung gets bad news. now, you're a part of it. but of course it is logan. how could he not recognize that stupid ginger head? his jaw tightens as logan raises his voice at you, and while wooyoung cannot comprehend what he is saying, the startled look on your face is enough for him to react. he slams his own locker shut, storming towards you as fire pools in his chest.

by the time he makes it, logan is kissing you. that bipolar fuck. to anyone else, this would look like a normal new couple activity. making out in the hallways, nothing new. to wooyoung, it is anything but normal. he sees the grip of his hand on your waist. he sees your hands on his chest, wanting to push but not being able to. before he turns around to leave, he sees a single stray tear escape your eye.

he doesn't see you again, not until saturday when the group meets up at james' house for the project. today is just planning, with no cameras or props. he parks his motorcycle just as a car pulls up, the headlights hurting his eyes. you exit the car, wearing a cardigan and jeans. and of course the cardigan is pink. there is a plate in your hands as well.

"brownies. made them all by myself." you respond before he gets a chance to ask. the smell of chocolate makes wooyoung smile. he can't remember the last time he ate a homemade brownie. "i hope you like them, wooyoung."

his name rolls of your lips like a bitter cherry. the man stops in his tracks, right in front of the door as he was about to ring. "ah."

"i don't know the reason behind your little... ruse, but what i do want to know is how far did you think you'll make it as calum?" again, your reaction is way to timid. was wooyoung used to explosive women? why does this surprise him?

"it was funny when i told you at first. and then... i don't know. it was too late to admit on my own." he answers truthfully. brown eyes land on your cardigan again, scanning it. "a cardigan? it's still warm."

"not for everyone. you brought in a jacket the first day of school." you push past him, finally pressing the bell.

he doesn't believe you. however, he cannot convince you to be honest, nor can he take the cardigan off you to prove a point. all he can is stand aside and look at you, calculating his next move.

a pair of arms envelop him and wake him up, and instinctively, he wishes to free himself. when he sees the long brown hair, he decides against, and instead wraps his arms around the girl. "hi, howard."

"so uptight, jung." the girl rolls her eyes as she steps away, smiling at him. the red lipstick is present, so subtle, yet so her. wooyoung can't help but smile as she does. it is contagious. "come on in."

wooyoung steps in first, brushing past lexi and entering the living room where james and cassie are talking on the couch, barely an inch of space in between them. the table is filled with bottles of alcohol and snacks instead of studying material. he hears lexi welcoming you, and in the corner of his eyes, hugging you, which seems to take you by surprise. you stay frozen in place, not knowing how to balance holding the plate and returning the unexpected hug. lexi takes the plate and disappears with it in the kitchen, leaving you alone.

usually, he would already plop on the armchair he has claimed for himself in james' house. right now, he is waiting for you to enter, monitoring your movements. for somebody that liked to talk a lot around him, you seem quiet and lost. for some reason, he wants you to know he is here if you need anything. if you show any sign of discomfort, he'll react. weeks have passed since school started, and you are yet to have a friend. perhaps not having any and only being met with mockery and fake kindness has made you alert, and is now ruining your chance to relax and meet someone. someone like lexi. not cassie. definitely not cassie.

the urge to protect you grows bigger with each day that passes. you annoy him, yet in classes without you, he feels empty. he wonders what you do, whether you try to make friends, and whether those people are nice to you. glares and warnings from him only help when he is nearby. you're delicate, a blooming rose in a field of thorns. and a rose under a bell called logan scavo. although still weak and repressed, the desire to break that bell grows bigger whenever he sees a new bruise on you.

"hello." you greet, pulling the sleeves of the cardigan over your hands.

"hello?" cassie smiles, that pity smile of hers. "who are you again?"

"y/n," you respond, not at all surprised by her behaviour. you're used to it in class, anyway. "we have several classes together."

"oh, do we?" she turns to james, seeking validation, then to wooyoung. "haven't noticed you, like, ever. have you noticed her, wooyoung?"

"of course i have." he shuts her down, then looks at you. "take a seat. armchair's comfy."

he motions towards the armchair, surprising others. nobody sits there if wooyoung is in the room. however, it seems that since he met you, he cares a little less about those seats he once gatekept. as you sit down, he follows by sitting on the floor next to the coffee table. before you can open your mouth, wooyoung sees that you are getting ready to get up, and interrupts you.

"i am pretty comfortable here." he says.

you send him a grateful smile, then sit back and look around. he sees admiration in your eyes. you aren't wrong. james has a big house, and might be the richest student in the area. some of the most memorable parties were held in this place. wooyoung would know. he attended every single one of them. and stayed cleaning afterwards, while james was either passed out drunk or passed out in bed with someone. cleaning while high was something very pleasant for wooyoung, even if it doesn't sound like it.

"you like the house?" james asks, seeing the look on your face.

"yeah, it's very nice." you nod, eyes examining the lavish chandelier.

"you live in that shed looking house at the end of the street, right? how do all three of you fit in there?"

"oh, it's just..." you fidget uncomfortably, placing your palms under your legs so that you sit on them, before continuing, "until we find something better. my parents decided last minute to move here, so that's the best they could do."

"don't feel bad." wooyoung is grateful to james for a second, although a spark of suspicion stays present. then, james meets his eyes as he puts a beer bottle to his lips, then continues after a sip. "wooyoung here lives in a trailer. nothing to be ashamed of."

wooyoung's jaw clenches. he didn't mind being called a stoner. a weirdo. a jackass. whatever. he would do anyone a favour, if deserved. he doesn't get into anybody's business. however, when it comes to his financial state? that's where he doesn't like to be touched.

"his sister and her daughter were crammed up in there with him up until recently."

nor does he like when his sister is mentioned. "james."

"right, sorry." james nods. he offers you a bottle, which you politely decline by shaking your head. "suit yourself. anyways, wooyoung doesn't like talking about his sissy. she died a few months ago."

and lastly, wooyoung doesn't like to be pitied. he can feel you staring, yet his eyes remain on the young man that sits on the couch to his opposite. he sips on his drink as if he had just told his own story, not someone else's without consent. "you done?"

"where's your niece, anyway? arin, was it?"

wooyoung stands up abruptly, causing you to flinch. a pang of guilt hits his heart. he didn't mean to scare you. james is crossing a line, and wooyoung cannot afford it to cross it himself. it won't end well. that's why he decides to retreat to the top floor, down the hallway, then out on the big balcony. it takes him less than a second to find a blunt in his pocket and light it up, all while leaning against the fence with his head hanging over it.

he doesn't know how long passes. long enough to go home, he hopes. the sound of doors opening and closing grounds him for a moment, mind not yet fuzzy enough to let go. your scent envelops him, and god, he hates that he feels comfort. he wishes to tell you to leave, but if you do, he fears it'll be worse.

"hey." you call, standing beside him and leaning on the fence. "it sucks down there without you."

the dark haired man smirks. "it sucks up here without you."

"ha-ha." you fake a laugh, rolling your eyes. you take a good look at him, and he feels it. your eyes taking in his form, lingering on the tattoo. "wooyoung?"

"yes, cherry?"

"uh," you stutter upon hearing the new nickname, blush creeping up your cheeks. he sees it out of the corner of his eye. "i wanted to say... if i'm bothering you, i'll go back. just say the words. it just didn't feel right to leave you alone."

"that's alright." he takes another drag of the blunt, then slowly blows it in the air, away from you. "you're not bothering me. yet."

a comfortable silence takes place, and you both stop and look at the east highland that is dimly lit in this evening. now and then, wooyoung takes a drag of the blunt, and the two of you watch the ash fall from the balcony until it gets swallowed by darkness in the air. you're staring at him again, you can't help it. wooyoung likes it, and he also can't help it. still, one thing won't leave his mind.

"why are you with scum like scavo?" he breaks the silence first.

"he's not that bad."

"don't defend him." wooyoung's tone is annoyed and angry. "he is awful, and you know it."

you sigh, turning around so that you lean against the balcony fence with your back. he turns his head towards you, finally making eye contact since you got up here. his eyes soften upon gazing into yours, and the blunt is loose in his grip.

"why?"

you smile. your hand reaches towards his face, brushing a raven stray strand from his forehead so that it doesn't fall in his eyes. everything you do has him falling further down the void, even if you're just standing and doing nothing. a tear escapes your eye, yet you keep smiling. "i can't leave him."

"but, why?" his voice is a whisper, afraid that he'll break you if he keeps asking.

"he blackmails me. i have no other choice." one by one, tears roll down your cheeks, yet not a single sob leaves your mouth. you smile through it all. "besides, he's just violent when i give him reason to be. otherwise, he really loves me."

"that is not love. you're smarter than that. besides, what could he possibly blackmail you with?"

you avoid his gaze, instead choosing to throw your head back so that you can look at the glimmering stars above. "i can't tell you."

"if you think i would judge you, you think very low of me. i'll be offended."

a long sigh leaves your glossy lips. it buys you some time to gather the courage to say the next words. "he has my nudes. my videos. if i leave, he'll show them to everyone. there."

wooyoung remains silent. not because he is disappointed, or disgusted. it is because he refuses to believe that someone would use your trust and loyalty like that. you trusted somebody with something that is so sacred to him, and that person treats it like blackmail material. "what the fuck."

"i- i shouldn't have said anything." regret sets in you, he sees it. "as if the bathroom thing wasn't enough, now this. i just keep lowering myself in your eyes. that's the last thing i wanted."

you try to leave, the sleeves of your cardigan soaking in the tears of your cheeks as you rub your face. he grabs you by your elbow, and you wince. slowly and carefully, wooyoung guides you toward the bench, sitting you down and crouching in front of you. he tests the waters, thumbs rubbing your wrists as he holds your hands in hopes of calming you down. when you show no signs of discomfort, he gently rolls up your sleeves, revealing injured arms.

"oh, cherry."

you sob, the sound shattering wooyoung's heart. he heard this one one too many times, until they stopped a few months ago and the trailer went silent. this time, when he looks into your eyes as he rubs soothing circles into your barely healed wounds, he makes himself a promise that this time it'll be different. this time, he won't bury the person. he will save her.

"if you expect me to act as if i didn't see this," he says, brows drawn together as he watches you fight for air. "i won't."

"i don't ask to be saved." you manage to squeeze the words out in between the sobs. "i am fine."

"you're not fine-"

"i said i'm fine." your tone shifts, causing wooyoung to halt his moves and freeze in front of you. as if he wasn't confused enough, you make it worse by standing up and yanking your arms away from him, then standing up. "i'm going back. forget this ever happened."

you close the door as you go back inside, already doing your part of forgetting. yet how is wooyoung supposed to, when all he can see when he closes his eyes is your skin littered with bruises of logan's death touch?

wooyoung doesn't immediately follow. he stays behind, thinking long and hard. the blunt burns out in his hand. another unused item he cherishes perishing because of you. he discards it on the ground, littering on james' balcony. how do you expect him not to meddle, when only months ago, his sister was in the same position?

eventually, he comes back. he went to clear his head, yet he came back in a worse state. the weed did nothing, only gave him stinging eyes and a feeling of emptiness. upon coming down, he makes his way to the kitchen, refusing to face you.

"hey, you." lexi pokes his forehead before he can collide with her figure, thoughts visibly elsewhere. "want a brownie?"

"sure."

lexi unwraps the plate you've brought, and even if the scent of brownies was present before you entered the house, now it was more intense. so intense that wooyoung almost drooled, but managed to hold it until lexi held a piece for him to take. without hesitation, he takes a bite out of her hand, savouring the intense chocolate flavour and fudgy texture.

"god." he groans, chewing slowly.

"right?" lexi nods, feeding him the remaining piece and putting the smudged finger in her mouth. "she has golden hands. can you believe these are homemade?"

"i can, actually. you can't find these in a store."

you don't sit on the armchair anymore. you sit on the couch, beside cassie. she is talking to you, while looking at wooyoung. he wants to interfere. whatever she is saying, it can't be good. but he refrains from meddling, giving his attention back to lexi.

you don't speak the rest of the night. you laugh at a joke, nod your head as drunk stories are exchanged. wooyoung keeps to himself, choosing to examine your body language instead. much like him, you were probably expecting to work on the project. when midnight comes, and not even an outline is made, you seek for a way out. he sees you fidgeting with your phone, the sleeves of your cardigan, and looking out the window. you've probably called logan to pick you up.

midnight turns into one in the morning, and you are still stuck between cassie and james. you've even accepted a bottle of beer, slowly sipping it. wooyoung is still sat on the floor, to your opposite. you do your best to avoid his gaze. seeing your flushed cheeks, he realizes alcohol isn't your friend. thus, he offers to save you once again.

"it's getting late, guys."

"we are just getting started," cassie giggles. "and we haven't started the project yet!"

"yeah, i don't think we're doing that tonight." the dark haired man stands up, running his fingers through his hair to tame it. "i'm leaving. anyone else?"

your eyes meet his. it is a silent plea for help, and this time, he's glad you're asking.

"cherry? need a ride home?"

the room stills, laughter dies out. you don't notice, too busy getting yourself off the couch. wooyoung pays them no mind, instead offering you his hand so that you don't trip over the coffee table and their legs. you accept it, carefully making your way out.

you say your goodbyes, too tipsy to realize that wooyoung's nickname, his offer to drive you home, and him holding your hand are a big deal to those who know him longer than you. before any of them can put together a sentence, wooyoung picks up his leather jacket, and leads you outside to the motorcycle, slamming the door shut behind him.

"you okay?" he asks.

"i forgot my plate." you complain.

the man smiles, the hazy look on your face too cute to leave him indifferent. he abandons your hand, retrieving the helmet that hangs off the vehicle. you tilt your head back as he approaches you again, eyes wide with curiosity.

"may i touch you?" he asks.

"huh?" you're confused, until your eyes fall on the helmet. "oh. yeah."

even with your consent, wooyoung moves carefully. he pushes the hair out of your face, the tips of his fingers tingly as they touch you. your face is flushed, and he can't tell whether it's from alcohol or this interaction. he feels guilty for hoping it's the latter.

once he finally secures the helmet, he helps you sit on his treasured motorcycle. a vintage harley davidson, left to him by his grandfather. he never lets anyone sit on it. any time he has to play chauffer, he uses his sister's car. you, however, he doesn't mind. it's foolish, really, these rules and habits he set up that he keeps breaking for you.

"comfortable?" he asks as he sits in front of you. you reply by wrapping your arms around his waist, and leaning your head against his back. he stills, breath hitching. "i'll... take that as a yes."

"mhm." you hum, eyes fluttering shut as he starts the engine. "what about your helmet, though?"

"worried about me?" wooyoung can't help but tease. "i only have the one, but i don't need it."

"i don't want your death on my conscience. i have enough on it already." you chuckle.

it was meant to be a joke, but wooyoung doesn't laugh. he wonders what troubles follow you every day, and whether they can be resolved. whether he can resolve them. his eyes drop to your arms, where the pink cardigan sleeves hide the little secret you've shown him.

"are we going?"

"yeah," wooyoung blinks, eyes now fixed on the road as he slowly backs away from james' house. "where should i drop you off?"

"logan's."

the young man clenches his jaw. there is no way you are going to his house in this state. "i can't do that."

"just... drop me off one block away, and i'll walk. he can't see me with you, anyway. he'd kill us both."

wooyoung stops the engine, head turning to the side to look at you. "what?"

"should i just walk? is it trouble?" you unwrap your arms and start undoing your helmet, and wooyoung suddenly feels cold around his waist.

"no," he stops you, putting the helmet back in place. "i- can't i just drop you off at your parents house?"

"i promised logan to sleep over tonight. he is expecting me."

wooyoung's hands are tied. you are running back into the lion's den, and all he can do is help you get there faster. his heart pounds against his ribs, and thoughts run loose in his brain. it all calms when your hands wrap around his waist again, beneath the leather jacket and against his white cotton t-shirt. subconsciously or not, you rub soothing circles with your thumbs on his torso, and it makes him calmer.

"i'll be fine, woo." you lean your chin on his shoulder, the side of the helmet pressed against his neck and cheek. "i pinky promise."

when he turns to look at you again, he can't help but smile upon seeing your squished cheeks in the helmet and eyes looking up at his. when he looks at your arms around him, he sees your pinky finger waiting for his, and he rolls his eyes before interlocking it with yours. "stupid girl."

"you like me." you giggle, leaning your head against his back once again as he starts the engine.

he pretends not to hear you.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒.

before school, wooyoung stops by the shop. he reviews all the inventory that has arrived, and signs the papers so the driver can leave. lydia, the middle-aged woman who works the morning shifts, immediately gets to work sorting out all the items they've received. wooyoung lingers by the counter, picking through the rack of cigarette packs.

"wooyoung?" the woman calls, knife in hand as she stares at the open box.

"yes, lydia?" the young man briefly glances her way, before returning to his hunt.

"this is a lot more cherry cola than you usually order."

"yes."

"okay." the redhead doesn't question it, instead already stacking them in the fridge. wooyoung knows best. it's why he is leading this store. "might try one myself these days."

"suit yourself."

"what are you rummaging for, boy?" the sounds wooyoung keeps making irritates her, causing her to halt her task in order to approach the counter and see what the young man is up to. "your brand is right there."

finally, wooyoung reaches for a pack. not his usual one, lydia notices. the raven haired man scans the item, then throws the cash in the register before shutting it and finally properly looking at the woman. "found it."

"you don't smoke that." she raises an eyebrow. "those are almost bland sticks in comparison to what you usually smoke."

"i hear those are not good for your health." he jokes, unwrapping the clear foil from the pack and tossing it in the trash can by the counter. "so i'm trying something new. healthier."

"right." she doesn't buy it. not one bit. yet she lets it go, for now. she follows as he approaches the fridge, grabbing a can of the freshly stacked sodas and shoving it in his bag. "what do you think you're doing?"

"i'll pay for it tonight," he yells, already out the door.

in english class, he is glad to see he has arrived before you. he sets the can on your desk, and sits at his own.

little by little, the desks are occupied, and the pointer on the clock is dangerously reaching the number nine. you are still not here. everyone else is, with lexi and james greeting him as soon as they enter through the door. the clock strikes nine, and the teacher arrives. you? not here.

you promised you'd be fine. pinky promised, even.

the can of cola occupies your desk, untouched. a taunting reminder that you aren't here because something might've happened to you. or someone. as he falls deep into his thoughts, he begins to see a pattern. every time you don't show up at school, the day after you appear with new bruises. the more he thinks, the more restless he grows. brown eyes glance at the clock, awaiting the end of the class. he isn't one to ditch, or create trouble. no, he is an average student. today, that will have to change.

wooyoung stands up, shoving his belongings into his bag, and making his way outside the classroom, despite the teacher's warnings. but not before grabbing the now warm can of coke from your desk, leaving a wet circle behind where it sat.

he slows the bike before he reaches the curb, lets the engine idle while his feet skim the pavement. the street is dim, washed in the kind of yellow light that makes everything look unreal. his hands stay tight around the grips. the helmet presses in around his head, familiar and suffocating.

he doesn't know why he came here.

the thought comes late, inconvenient. he should have asked it sooner. now the engine is still running, heat bleeding up through his legs, and turning around would feel like admitting something he's not ready to name. he kills the engine.

the silence feels immediate, heavy. the street doesn't sound the way it did while he was moving. every noise stands out now. a car passing somewhere too far away, voices drifting from inside the house, laughter sharp and careless.

logan is outside, leaning against the brick wall. phone in his hand. jacket unzipped. relaxed in a way that makes wooyoung's jaw tighten.

nothing about him looks like a villain. that bothers wooyoung more than it should. he swings off the bike and lets it rest on the stand. doesn't take the helmet off. the visor stays down, tinting the world darker. safer. he walks closer, steps measured, controlled. he doesn't announce himself.

"hey." he calls.

logan looks up, annoyed first, then squints like he's trying to place him. "yeah?"

wooyoung doesn't answer. he hadn't planned words. they scatter the moment logan opens his mouth again.

"you lost or something, jung?"

the pressure behind wooyoung's ribs builds. he thinks about the bathroom mirror. about how easy it was to decide what he was seeing. about how much worse it feels now that he knows he was wrong.

"maybe," he says, and hates how small it sounds.

logan laughs. short, dismissive. "then keep it moving, man. i don't need no weed from you."

it's not cruel. it's not threatening. it's casual. careless. mocking in a way wooyoung is used by people like him. he acts as if no weight sits on his chest. that's what cracks something. wooyoung steps forward and shoves him. it's abrupt, ungraceful. logan stumbles back a step, hits the wall with his shoulder.

"what the fuck—"

wooyoung doesn't let him finish. he closes the distance too fast, helmet knocking into logan's jaw when he leans in. the impact sends a dull ache through his skull. it grounds him. logan swings back, wild and off-balance. his fist glances off wooyoung's shoulder. someone swears. shoes scrape against concrete. it's messy and loud and nothing like the fights wooyoung imagines later, when he's trying to justify this to himself.

they trade hits that don't mean much. elbows, knuckles, breath knocked out and replaced with adrenaline. it's over almost as quickly as it starts. logan slips on the uneven pavement and goes down hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp sound. wooyoung freezes.

for a second, all he can hear is his own breathing, too loud inside the helmet. his hands shake. this wasn't supposed to be anything. it was supposed to stop something. instead it's only made it worse. logan groans, rolls onto his side, swearing under his breath. alive. furious. breathing.

that's enough.

wooyoung steps back. the helmet feels unbearable now. too tight, too hot, too loud with his thoughts. he pulls it off and drops it without thinking. it hits the pavement with a hollow sound, rolling once before coming to rest on its side. he doesn't pick it up.

he turns away instead, heart still racing, hands empty and useless at his sides. the bike starts easily, obedient. the engine roars too loud in the quiet street. he leaves without looking back, driving himself home.

home, to the trailer, where he slams the door shut and lays face down on his bed. everything burns and hurts, but nothing is worse than the dull pain he feels inside his chest. he didn't even get to see you. the not-knowing settles heavier than the bruises. all he can do is wait, and that is something he is somewhat good at.

exhaustion takes over his body, and soon enough, wooyoung falls asleep while thinking of you. which is odd, because it is the first time he has ever thought about a girl, especially one he knows only a short time.

𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄.

next day, wooyoung is the one to skip school. he stays hidden in his trailer, eating ravioli out of a can with a plastic spoon as he sits on the floor. his breathing is slow and steady, each breath sending a sharp pain to his side. he thought he'd sleep through the pain. he was wrong.

even though injured, he still comes to the shop. he has skipped his shift the day before, right after the fight, but he had something to do then. sleep. right now, he is dying of boredom. thus, he finds himself in the staff corner, hunched over the untouched joints. it's been a while since he smoked properly, without having to cut it short because of you.

"wooyoung, i have to go now." lydia peeks through the beaded curtain. "if you need anything, call me."

"sure thing." he nods. "thanks for staying yesterday."

she waves her hand, as if saying not to mention it. "you need to take care of your face, boy. it's scaring the customers away."

"they'll manage." he rolls his eyes.

when lydia leaves, wooyoung is left alone in the store. the fridges hum their melody, as does the broken light at the end of the place. he leans back on the chair, focusing on his breathing as to make it hurt less. he does well, until he hears the doors opening and closing. shit, maybe he shouldn't have come in today. he can barely stand up without wincing.

the person stands by the counter, which means they need something quick and will be gone sooner than they came in. cigarettes, he presumes. or condoms.

or a single cherry coca cola.

"hi."

the man keeps his head low, brown eyes fixed on the hand that hugs the can of soda. you sound cheerful. he doesn't want to ruin it. "just this?"

a sigh escapes your lips. "are we still doing this? playing push and pull?"

you don't understand. he doesn't want you to see him like this. beat up, weak, ugly. he could barely face himself in the mirror, and he doesn't want to think about your reaction. he scans the can, biting the inside of his cheek. "two fifty."

for a moment, you stay still. he can feel your eyes on him. it feels as if you're choosing your words, preparing to tell him something. you opt for actions instead, placing a pink paper bag on the counter. "for you."

without once turning his head towards you, he takes the bag, not sure what to expect inside. of course the bag is pink. he wouldn't expect anything else from you. his hands finally pull the item out, revealing it in its fully glory under the purple neon sign that hangs on the wall above his head.

it's his helmet. not in its original shape, but not in the shape he left it in, either. the scratches are covered up by stickers, each one more sparkly than the other. a soft smile lands on his lips as he examines the flowers and hearts decorating the black item. although the cut on his bottom lip hurts like hell, he can't stop smiling. this is so... you.

finally, he looks at you. as expected, your face changes from hopeful and excited to mortified. and that's what he was afraid of. "listen—"

"wooyoung." you rush around the counter, placing your hands on his cheeks and not giving him an option of looking away. "i- i mean i knew, i just... wasn't aware it'd hurt this much to see you like this."

your eyes become glossy and red, and lord, if you drop a tear for him, he will tear this town apart. he places his hands over yours, skin burning where you touch him, and rubs soothing circles on the backs of your hands. "it's worse than it looks."

he won't tell you that it burns like hell. that his cheekbones ache as you hold his face. no, he's guilty for enjoying it. he doesn't know if anyone has ever held him like this, or looked at him with eyes like yours. you look like you care. the worst part? wooyoung finds himself doubting whether it's sincere or not.

which is what has sabotaged him the whole time. wooyoung has never had a serious relationship. a fling? yes. and that's all there was. not because nobody wanted him, but because rejection meant safety. it was easier to be alone than to get hurt. now? he is putting his walls down without even realizing, and alarms are finally starting to blare in his brain.

"i know you hate being pitied." your voice is soft, muting the alarms for a moment. "but please, let me take care of you. you have dried blood on your face, and it is hurting me seeing you like that."

it is funny how you seem to already know him better than a close friend like james. you don't wait for a response, instead pushing past him in search of a first aid kit. he sits on the counter, legs dangling in the air as he watches you rummage for the box. the concentrated look on your face is cute, and he finds himself feeling disappointed when you finally locate it. he wanted to stare at you a bit more.

you set the box on the counter next to him, standing between his legs on a safe distance. his body and mind are in a trance, eyes following your hands as you prepare everything you need. your hands are gentle, and slow. he thought it'd hurt, but instead, it is almost ticklish. you clean his face, wiping off the dried blood, before moving on to putting ointment on the cuts. you clean the one on his eyebrow next to his piercing, then the one on his cheek, and finally, the one on his bottom lip. he winces, not from pain, but from sensitivity.

"sorry." you whisper, eyes still fixed on his lips. "did that hurt?"

"no, i just... i have sensitive lips."

"that's cute." you smile. "if you didn't bite them all the time and pluck at them... maybe try lip balm."

there is something about you seeing everything through pink glasses. it is comforting. wooyoung never thought he'd be called pretty or cute, and like it, on top of that. yet, here he sits, smiling like a fool despite the cut, because you called him cute.

"if it's any comfort, logan looks way worse."

"you know all the right things to say." he scoffs. "i hate that."

the two of you fall in a comfortable silence. his face is pretty much clean and treated, but you still find ways to linger and care. he sees it in your eyes every time you reach for something out of the box. he lets you. until a heaviness sits on his chest, and he remembers the reason behind his face.

"y/n." he calls, voice serious. you don't respond. you know where he is going with this, and you hope that if you don't respond, he won't continue. "you made a promise."

"yeah, well." the gulp on your side is audible, that if the situation weren't as serious as it was, it'd be funny. "i suck at keeping them."

your breath hitches as his hand touches your chin, gently lifting your head up so that he can take a look at your neck. the concealer you've put on does a poor job at masking the fresh bruises that cover you. it ignites fire within him, and his mind creates unwanted images of logan's hands on you on its own. his hand drops. not abruptly, not like he's burned. just enough distance to breathe again. his jaw tightens, then loosens. he looks anywhere but at your neck.

"you're out of concealer," he says, like it's a neutral observation. like it doesn't mean anything at all.

you huff out a quiet laugh. "yeah. noticed."

he reaches for the first aid kit before he can think better of it, fingers sifting through gauze and cotton pads. it gives him something to do. something that doesn't involve the way his chest feels too tight for his ribs. he stands on his feet again, freeing the counter.

"sit," he mutters, nodding toward where he sat.

you hesitate, just a second, then do as he asks. your legs brush his knee when you hop up, and he has to look away again. he wets a cotton pad, tests it against his own wrist like he's the one being treated.

"this might be cold," he says.

"i can handle cold."

he believes you. that's the problem. he works carefully, slower than he needs to, cleaning around the bruises without touching them directly. his hands are steady now. too steady. he focuses on details: the faint freckle near your collarbone, the way your breath stutters when the cotton gets too close, the way your lips glimmer under the neon sign.

"you don't have to," you say quietly. not pulling away. not pushing him either.

"i know," he answers, just as quiet. then, after a beat, "stay still."

it's not an order. it's a plea disguised as one. the store hums around you. the fridge, the light, the faint buzz of the sign outside. time stretches thin, fragile. he finishes and steps back, giving you space again, hands dropping to his sides.

"that'll fade," he says. "not fast. but it will."

"you're really bad at pretending you don't care," you say, not unkindly.

his mouth twitches despite himself. "so are you."

that earns him a smile. small. real.

"so..." he trails, shifting his attention to the cash register. "what else do you do besides being annoying?"

you laugh, the sound dear to his heart. "i like to draw."

"really? what do you draw?"

it doesn't take much to take the lid off you. you blabber about sketches, types of things you draw, where you do it. he doesn't need to ask. he is glad. it feels nice to know that you are comfortable enough to share this piece of you with him on your own. you carry a sketchbook around, cleverly hiding it and sneakily doodling in between classes. with how much he pays attention to you, it is odd how he hasn't noticed. he voices it out loud.

"i keep it away from you specifically." you cheeks warm up.

"from me?" he questions, turning his attention to you. "why?"

"i can't say. i'd rather die."

wooyoung nods. the last thing he wants to do is push you and make you shut down. you could use a friend. and frankly, so could he. one that doesn't bring out the worst in him. "alright, then. keep your secrets."

"nerd." you recognize the reference. "who would've thought that bad boy wooyoung knew that movie?"

"bad boy?" he repeats, an amused grin on his face. "is that how you see me?"

"black hair, leather jacket, eyebrow piercing, tattoos, smoking, parties, famous among girls... you pretty much give that impression, yeah."

he laughs, genuinely. he never thought of himself like that. he was always in james' shadow, just how he liked it. away from the spotlight, but known enough to make people stay away from him. and girls approach him whenever they needed him. it doesn't make him a womanizer if they are the ones seeking him, right?

"cute." he says without thinking.

"what is?" you're curious, legs dangling in the air as they hang from the counter.

"you've been checking me out. that's cute. well, embarrassing for you."

the words are stuck in your throat, and you struggle to form a sentence while he soaks in your expression. "what? no- i mean, it's impossible not to. not like that! it's just... you're everywhere."

"that's alright. i forgive you and let it go." he generously says. your relief is short lived, because the smirk on his face is bad news. "if you show me your little sketchbook."

"no."

"just one little drawing?" he places his hands on the counter, trapping you. he tilts his head, eyes searching for yours while you frantically look at anything but him. "one page."

"wooyoung." you warn.

"come on, cherry." the nickname is sweet and inviting. "why not? are the drawings... smutty?"

finally, you lock eyes with him. mortified. "no!"

he laughs, biting his tongue teasingly in the process. "then, what's the issue?"

he doesn't realize how close he is standing to you, until you move in further and your nose almost touches his. "you'll make fun of me."

he wouldn't. maybe. he wants to say it, but your scent is putting him off track. all he can think of is how pretty you look under neon lights. it casts a soft purple blush on your face. your eyes glimmer like the first time he saw you. the lip gloss is present, a little smeared in the corner. without thinking, his hand touches your face, thumb rubbing the excess gloss off. your breath hitches at the touch, yet you don't move. you let him. wooyoung is lost in the way your skin feels under his fingertips, how you blush under his touch, and how your legs don't sway anymore. you stay perfectly still as he admires your features. there is an odd sensation is his body. he doesn't recognize it, used to only lustful feelings when willingly interacting with a girl. now? he is utterly captivated by you.

another customer pushes the door open then, bell chiming overhead, breaking the moment clean in half. he steps away from you, and you hop down from the counter, smoothing your clothes like nothing just happened. wooyoung greets the customer, the look on his face back to neutral. still, when he looks at you, his expression softens. before you leave, you hesitate, fingers brushing the edge of the counter.

"thank you," you say. not for the bandages. not really.

he watches you exit the shop, leaving behind traces of your scent that clings to his body. wooyoung exhales slowly, like he's been holding his breath since yesterday. fingertips touch the stickers that decorate the helmet, and the fluttering feeling in his chest is foreign. it scares him that he doesn't know what it means.

𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓.

wooyoung has already made peace with the fact that the project will never be done. they will all get bad grades, because he refuses to do all the work with lexi again and have the rest take credit. not this year. tonight was supposed to be the project night, not a party at nate's night. maybe he can ask the professor for a different due date, since he has been missing from school due to his... injuries. it didn't hurt at all. he just used it so that he can focus on the missed studies and the shop. and getting away from you and whatever odd feelings appear when you are around.

still, as james' chaperone, he finds himself pushing through the crowd of warmed up people in his signature leather jacket and washed out jeans. james had made a comment about it still being warm for a jacket, yet wooyoung doesn't bother to explain that he isn't cold anyway. he just uses it as a makeshift shield from people approaching him.

that shield doesn't work for lexi, because she approaches him and hugs him without a warning. "hey, stupid."

"hi, ugly." wooyoung pats her head.

"gosh." she pulls away, sighing. "i wish i could just sneak off in one of the rooms and do the project."

"howard, don't be silly." the young man rolls his eyes, pushing past her and going to the kitchen. he feels her follow behind. "go out there and drink. you'll feel better."

"and what will you do?" she crosses her arms, looking at him with a raised eyebrow as he rummages through cupboards. he doesn't answer. instead, he opens up a box of chocolate covered sticks, and shoves one into his mouth. "you'll... eat?"

"yep." he says with a full mouth. "then, i'll get high."

he doesn't miss the look on her face as he passes by her and goes to the living room. lexi hates that habit of his, that much he knows. she makes sure to voice her opinion on it every time she sees a blunt or hears him talk about it.

"woo-"

"i don't wanna hear it."

it doesn't take long for wooyoung to get annoyed. he hates being told what to do. he doesn't tell lexi to... whatever is wrong with her. he can't even find anything bad about her. and that annoys him even more.

the living room is somewhat empty, with everybody outside by the pool. again. he won't complain, because he can have the couch all to himself. he props his legs up on the coffee table, ready to get cozy and enjoy his snacks in peace, when someone pushes his legs off it.

"what-"

"oh, great! you're here too." james exclaims, plopping onto the couch next to his friend. "you can play with us."

"play?" wooyoung raises his eyebrow, looking at the people gathering around the table.

"spin the bottle." james is excited. "with truths and dares."

"what the fuck." the dark haired man breathes out, mumbling to himself. "eleven year olds."

"it doesn't get more simple and more chaotic. that's the beauty of it." james finishes off his beer, then places the empty bottle on the table and gives it a test spin. "is everyone here? where are y/n and logan? he said they'd be here."

wooyoung's chest tightens. his stomach flutters. a lump appears in his throat, and his eyes carefully skim the small crowd, as if scared of your appearance. more than that, he is scared of your appearance by his side. he doesn't know how much control he has left in him.

"we're-" logan pushes through the crowd, hand firm around your elbow. his eyes land on wooyoung, fire igniting behind his blue irises. "-here. what the fuck is he doing here?"

your eyes follow logan's pointed finger, and also land on wooyoung. there is an uneasy look on your face, and hesitation. as if you wish to greet him, but you can't. the grip on your elbow is stopping you.

"wooyoung is my best friend, and where i go, he goes." james shuts him down. "now, will you play or get the fuck out of here?"

the redhead thinks, biting his lip and squinting his eyes at wooyoung. the other man doesn't show anything but boredom, biting the sweet sticks in his hand. finally, logan sits on the ground, pulling you with him. "fine."

"good." james nods, then looks at you. "hi, y/n, darling. how are you?"

"i'm good, james." you smile, happy that someone other than logan is talking to you. "how are you?"

"i'm good too. now, would you do me the honors of spinning the bottle first?" he holds out the green bottle for you to take, and you happily do so.

but not before glancing at logan, and it seems that only wooyoung sees the nod from him before you spin the bottle. you were asking for a permission to do something so simple. he cannot imagine doing that to anyone. having so much control over his partner, overlook them and harm them, all while they do nothing but love him. you don't belong with him. you know that. for reasons unknown to wooyoung, beyond the one you told him, you protect him and stay in this wilting cage.

"cassie asks james." you say, clapping your hands once.

wooyoung dissociates. the sweets turn sour in his mouth, eyes noticing everything he doesn't want to. logan's hand on your thigh, an occasional squeeze or pinch to your side when you get too excited, a whisper in the ear that makes your smile fade. he is corrupting you, little by little, using your kindness for his benefit.

when your eyes lock with his, he freezes. he feels his hands go cold, and his heart beat loud. the moment is slow, and the crowd goes silent in his ears. you smile, so tiny, and so subtle, it manages to get past logan. he wishes to smile back. he truly does. instead, his brows furrow, and he bites the inside of his cheek. you don't expect that, and before he can do anything else, you look away. he can't fake happiness or excitement. not while you sit in front of him and he can't help you.

"wooyoung?"

the moment speeds up again, james nudging him awake. "huh?"

"kat is asking you truth or dare."

he looks over at the girl, as she awaits his answer. "dare me to leave. please."

"sure." kat nods, clasping her palms and leaning on the table. "i dare you to leave."

wooyoung squints his eyes. that was too easy. "what's the catch?"

"leave with lexi to the bathroom and come back after ten minutes."

there is a sly smirk on kat's lips. an uncomfortable one on lexi's. he wants to tell her that they don't have to. it's a game. there won't be consequences. but lexi stands before he can speak, waiting for him by the door. wooyoung sighs, jaw tightening. so be it.

as soon as they both enter, they hear a lock turning outside, and just then the weight of awkwardness settles in both of them. lexi sits on the edge of the bathtub, gaze fixed on the tiled floor. she breaks the silence first. "you got a stopwatch?"

wooyoung leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at lexi. "we don't need one."

the girl nods, eyes wandering anywhere but on him. "so... this is awkward."

"only if you make it." wooyoung shrugs. "i could use the silence."

"right. sorry."

something about her tone doesn't let wooyoung enjoy the silence he was promised. he walks over to her, crouching beneath her so that she has no choice but to look at him. her eyes are red, and a few tears have already escaped her them. wooyoung places his hands on her knees. "what's wrong, ugly?"

"i just..." her voice is hoarse. "i feel out of place."

wooyoung hums, thumb absentmindedly pressing into her knee. "yeah. makes sense."

lexi blinks. "that's it?"

"what, you want a speech?" he tilts his head. "everyone out there is pretending they belong. you're just bad at pretending."

a weak huff leaves her nose. not quite a laugh. "you don't seem to care."

"i do," he says easily. "just not about fitting in."

she studies his face like she's trying to figure out how that's possible. "must be nice."

"it's lonely," he corrects. "what triggered this?"

she hesitates for a while. a moment passes, and wooyoung doesn't rush her. "i see all these people making out, touching and fucking like it's nothing. i haven't even had my first kiss yet."

"that's it?" he repeats her earlier words.

she shoots him a glare, a silent warning. "don't."

"lexi, there are no set rules in time about these things. they're not better than you for already having it, nor are you better than them for not yet having it. it goes both ways. when you're ready, it'll happen." he pushes himself off the ground, sitting on the edge of the tub next to her.

"i am ready." she protests. "but it seems that everybody sees right through me. at first i didn't want it to be with just anyone. now, i am growing desperate."

"it's nothing special, trust me." wooyoung sighs. "you'll see."

"easy for you to say..."

silence engulfs the bright bathroom again. there is nothing comforting about this situation, and if they don't exit soon, lexi could have a whole meltdown here. it will just make it worse for her case. he glances at his phone screen, and realizes they have five more minutes. he can repair some damage.

"i get it." he nods. "you want it to be with someone who cares. and someone you care about."

"yeah."

"you care about me too, right?"

she whips her head around, so fast that her neck cracks in a satisfying way. "what?"

"do you?"

lexi stumbles on her own words, struggling to form a sentence. "yeah, of course. i've known you forever."

"good."

the young man places his hands on her cheeks, wiping the tears away with his thumb as his eyes search her face. when she doesn't pull away, wooyoung takes it as a signal to lean in. it is natural to him, kissing girls. he has done it many times, much like lexi said. this is nothing more but an offer and comfort for a friend.

he stops mere inches away, allowing her one more moment of backing off. she doesn't, instead leaning in herself and pressing her lips against his. he can smell the lipstick off her, the signature red she always wears. the kiss is sweet, soft, and full of emotions. none of them are romantic. not to wooyoung, at least. and they shouldn't be to lexi, either.

wooyoung is the first to pull away, hands still on her face. her eyes stay shut, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "lexi?"

"i don't know if i feel better or worse." she admits.

"why would you feel worse?"

"because i know i'll dream of this. and i'll never have it again. not in a way that i want, anyway."

oh.

fuck.

"i-" he is taken aback by the sudden confession. "i didn't know."

"a moment of weakness." the girl smiles through her tears. "you shouldn't have ever known."

he feels somewhat bad. not for the reasons one might think, such as kissing his friend who secretly harbored feelings for him. no. it's imagining someone else there instead. someone he barely knows. and replaying it as they exit, an arm around the friend for comfort and eyes fixed on you.

𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄.

logan scavo is not the most loyal man you'll meet. you know that. he has brought countless girls over, slept with them with you in the next room, made out with them at parties. then why do you feel so bad for feeling jealous when wooyoung and lexi exit the bathroom? she looks flushed, and wooyoung seems closer to her than usual. they don't speak of it. they sit back down, as if nothing happened. you try to catch his gaze, but he cleverly dodges it.

you tell yourself it's nothing. you've gotten good at that. good at shrinking feelings until they fit somewhere harmless, somewhere logan won't notice. jealousy is ugly. you don't get to have it. not when you've stayed. not when you've forgiven worse.

logan leans back, arm draping behind you like a claim more than a comfort. his fingers don't touch you, not really. they hover. they always hover when he's distracted. you let it happen. you always do.

lexi laughs at something james says. it's a little too loud, a little too breathless. she keeps glancing at wooyoung like she's afraid he'll disappear if she doesn't keep track of him. he doesn't look at her. he doesn't look at you either. his attention is fixed on the bottle, on his hands, on anything but faces. it shouldn't bother you.

it does.

you replay the image without meaning to: the way she walked out first, cheeks flushed, eyes shiny. the way wooyoung followed, protective and touchy. you've seen him detached, sarcastic, bored. you've never seen him careful. at least not with anyone other than you. your stomach tightens at the thought. you know the feeling. you refuse to name it.

"you okay?" logan murmurs, low enough that only you can hear it.

you nod instantly. too fast. "yeah."

he studies you for a second, eyes narrowing, like he's checking for something he doesn't actually want to find. then he shrugs, attention drifting away again. satisfied. you hate how relieved you feel when he stops looking. the bottle spins again. someone groans. someone laughs. the party swells and recedes like a tide you're stuck standing in. you glance at wooyoung despite yourself.

he's already looking at you.

it lasts barely a second. long enough to register. not long enough to mean anything. his jaw tightens before his eyes flick away, as if he's been caught doing something he promised himself he wouldn't do again. your chest aches.

you don't know why that look feels different from all the others you've shared before. maybe it's because this time, he looks... guilty. not cold. not annoyed. guilty. as if something happened that you weren't allowed to see. as if something was taken from you without your consent.

you press your nails into your palm until the sting grounds you. logan's hand finally lands on your thigh, fingers squeezing once. a silent reminder. you soften immediately, leaning into him, offering him a smile you've practiced to perfection.

"truth or dare?" maddy asks.

"truth," logan says for you, before you can speak.

"if you could be with anyone else in this room, who would you choose?" you should've known maddy would ask something like that. stirring drama, it's her power.

"ask something else." logan is unamused, taking a sip of his beer.

maddy isn't scared of logan. she isn't scared of anyone. thus, she smiles at logan, so innocently, and bites her lip. "why? jealous she'll say someone you don't like? or ashamed because someone else could do a better job?"

"it's an inappropriate question. i am her boyfriend."

"you don't act like it."

"excuse me?"

"you heard me, jackass."

insults are exchanged, and with each one thrown, they are getting more into each other's faces. maddy is pointing her nail into his chest, and he is gripping the coffee table so hard it turns his knuckles white. the bottle isn't the only thing on it now, with the two of them leaning against it as the moment gets more heated. you stay still, knowing better than to interrupt him. there is still space in between them, where your gaze escapes and lands on the figure that is already looking at you. wooyoung doesn't seem fazed by the situation unfolding in front of him. his eyes show the emotion you hate, much like him. pity. you don't need it. not from him, not from anyone.

"guys." james interrupts, getting tired of the chaos and not wanting anything to happen in nate's house. he'd be responsible for suggesting the game, and for getting maddy in trouble. "come on."

"yeah, maddy. back off."

"i will." she smiles again, making logan's blood boil. "as soon as she answers the question."

slowly, the whole group shifts their attention to you. maddy with an encouraging look, logan with a warning one. your eyes betray you, landing on wooyoung's frame in between them.

his brows furrow, not angrily. confused. as if he didn't expect it. as if wondering why you are looking at him while everyone else is waiting for an answer. but this is your answer. a silent one, to yourself. if you weren't with logan, you'd be with jung wooyoung.

it is the first time you admit such a thing to yourself. having feelings for somebody. not feeling loved in your relationship. thinking that you'll find better in someone else. the only thing left to find out is whether wooyoung truly is what you want him to be. what he presents himself to be.

so far, he didn't polish himself. didn't make himself look perfect in your, or anyone's eyes. he shows himself as he is; rough around the edges, doesn't switch personalities depending on the setting, has only one personality. unlike logan, who acts like five people in one body. you don't want that.

you want someone who sees you the way wooyoung saw your bruises. you want someone careful like wooyoung who asks before touching you. you want someone tender like wooyoung who has treated your wounds. you want comfort, and security. something you only feel when you are in that shop or sitting at the desk next to him.

as you realize all these things right in this moment, the people around you start murmuring. they follow your gaze, soon landing on wooyoung. including logan. fuck.

before you can defend yourself, or logan can react, maddy scans the situation. and realizes just what she has done. she smiles at you, then winks, the rhinestones of her makeup blinking under the lights as she does so. "nice one, sweetie. we got him."

huh?

"you're so easy to piss off, scavo." she rolls her eyes, pushing him away from herself with her hand. "she wouldn't leave you for anyone. or anything. relax."

but you would. if you had the chance. if you weren't in deep shit since the day you moved here. you'd leave, and never look back. nobody here knows exactly what is keeping logan and you together. not even wooyoung. he knows a fragment of it. one that you let slip that night on james' balcony when you followed wooyoung to comfort him. you cannot allow yourself to set your eyes upon him anymore tonight. not when logan doesn't find this prank funny.

deep inside, you wonder whether wooyoung believes it to be a prank. what does it matter, when cassie's words ring back in your ears from the night of the project. when she caught you staring at lexi feeding wooyoung your brownies, and uttered the words. they are in love, they just don't know it yet.

you should've stepped away. that was the plan. but wooyoung somehow always lured you back in, whether he meant it or not. and you didn't resist. now, as you remind yourself of how they looked as they exited the bathroom, you feel a hollow pain in your chest. you feel selfish.

selfish for feeling jealous at the thought of wooyoung treating her like he treats you. does he tease her as well? does he care for her? how much time do they spend behind closed doors? what do they do?

"go on, spin the bottle!" james hits you with a straw, giggling as you wake up from your train of thoughts.

you do as told, spinning the bottle once again with logan's approval. the group has been fidgeting around since maddy has asked you a question, and people are now sitting in a different order. such order that makes the bottle land on cassie and wooyoung.

"youngie!" she exclaims. you can feel him roll his eyes. "truth or dare, babe?"

"ask me again." he mutters.

she sighs, but repeats the question, omitting the nickname this time. wooyoung chooses truth this time, probably not wishing to end up in the bathroom with someone again. unless that is lexi, you suppose. then, cassie asks what has been on everyone's minds. "what happened in there with my sister?"

the room is loud with cheering and wooing. you stay still, eyes fixed on the bottle, scared to look at him. he delays answering, waiting for the room to quiet down. the lump in your throat grows with anticipation and dread. "we kissed."

and erupts.

"oh my god!" the blonde girl cheers, jumping on her sister with a hug. "is it official? are you two together?"

the air is hard to breathe. the room is small, suffocating. it doesn't help that some of them have lit cigarettes, and even if the windows and doors are open, the smell still travels to your throat. you feel like dying on the spot. you can't take it anymore.

"logan." you turn to him, hands on his shoulders. "can i go lay down upstairs until we leave?"

to your surprise, he nods. in his head, it's better if you were up there alone than here surrounded by these people and their questions. as you stand up, you hear james asking where you are going. you expect logan to answer, make up something about you being tired.

"she's not-"

"she has a nicotine allergy. she's running from the smoke." wooyoung interrupts. "you should all know that by now, right?"

you hear it. loud and clear. everyone does. he says it as an accusation, a disappointed one. they shamefully look at you as you climb up the stairs, hiding their cigarettes under the table. they don't understand how seen he makes you feel. does he?

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃.

had you stayed just a few seconds more in that room, you would've known that the kiss with lexi meant nothing to wooyoung. that they weren't official. that they were only friends, and would never be anything more. wooyoung thought of lexi romantically before. he didn't act on it, because he thought he didn't deserve her. then, you came. you made him feel like he is worth something, like he deserves someone. you did it by being cutely annoying, constantly being in his space, and urging him to show more of his soft side than he usually would. you are the first person to uncover the first layer of him, and you didn't even have to try. all you had to do is look at him and smile with that stupid smile of yours, dangle your bracelets and drink your little cola.

now, wooyoung sits in the trailer. alone with his thoughts. all of them leading back to you. and it drives him crazy. he cannot fall for a girl who is taken. doesn't matter that the man who has her is the way he is. that is a story for itself, and wooyoung is yet to end that one. not to have you for himself, but to free you. to give you free will to decide for yourself what you want and deserve. not have it shoved down your throat.

"you changed your cigarette brand." james had noticed last night, looking at the box that peeked from wooyoung's jeans. he didn't say anything more, but the smirk on his lips was enough. "i won't tell."

driving james back to his house wasn't as peaceful as he had hoped. the man blabbered, tipsy, not fully drunk. it was the state where he said everything out loud, and truthfully. it was the state wooyoung hated, because james often made good points.

"is it possible that you only feel pity for her?" he had asked, leaning with his head against the window and drawing imaginary shapes on it with his finger.

"why would you say that?" wooyoung asked, knowing damn well why.

"because..." james trailed, looking over at his friend with worried eyes and hesitation. as if the words he would utter next will hurt him. "she seems to be walking the same path as your sister."

"she isn't." he said, convincing himself more than james. "i'll make sure of it."

"woo." james turned his body fully towards wooyoung, placing a hand on his shoulder. "it is not your fault for what happened to her. and it won't be your fault if anything happens to cherry."

"don't call her that."

"you need to step away. you'll only hurt yourself. you barely made it out last time."

the car came to an abrupt stop, causing james to fly forwards. wooyoung's breathing was shallow, and his mind ran with memories of his sister. her name was not uttered once since her passing, too many bad memories laced to it.

"because i failed last time i should step aside and watch?"

"look-"

"no!" he hit the wheel with his fists. once, twice. until his hands ached, and his senses dulled. he turned towards james, eyes bloodshot red and glossy. his voice? a mere whisper. "seulki died thinking i didn't care about her."

"that's not true..."

"it is true. you know it. i watched him abuse her every single day, from the day they met to the day he left. even the day when he came to try and take arin away from her, i stood aside and watched as he beat her to death. i did nothing. i thought i couldn't do anything. arin cried. she watched her mother die. and i stood aside like a fucking coward."

"but you did do something." james reminded him. a knife to the heart.

"too late!" the dark haired man yelled, hitting the wheel once again. "what i did didn't bring her back from the dead. if anything, i sent him after her into the afterworld."

silence enveloped the car. the road was empty, streets quiet. his heart pounded against his ribs, threatening to jump out and explode with pain. this was the first time wooyoung talked about that day with anyone other than police. he got away with self-defense, and was blessed enough to not end up behind bars. shame, he thought. he deserved to be there.

"i can't stand aside and watch that happen again." his voice dropped an octave. "cherry... she isn't strong enough. she pretends she is, and that can only get her so far."

"so... it is pity that you feel for her." james concluded. "not love. right?"

"can you love someone you just met?" he thought out loud. "not love, necessarily. just... like?"

james doesn't answer. he wouldn't know. he doesn't fall in love.

if what he feels truly is pity, where does that leave lexi? what if his urge to protect you is clouding his chance at something easier? something safer? did the kiss truly mean nothing? even if he imagined you instead of her?

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

more than nate's parties, wooyoung hates dances.

not everything needs a dance. fall formal is inching near, and so far, wooyoung has failed a project which was supposed to be easy, has messed up two orders at the store, and has run out of blunts.

he refused to do the project with lexi alone. when james and cassie had revolted, and asked why you weren't being held accountable, all wooyoung did was block their numbers and exit the groupchat they had created to attack wooyoung and lexi. that little fiasco left him with your number in his phone. of course, he saved you under your fitting nickname.

he doesn't want to go to the dance. he was going to make something up, like a shift at the store. or an illness. but lexi was faster than his thoughts, and found herself sitting on his desk at the end of the class with her legs dangling off it. "will you go to the dance with me?"

"i am very flattered, howard. but no." he says, eyes on your frame as you zip up your fuzzy pencil case and close your books.

since that night at nate's, you've been ignoring him. well, not really ignoring. you were just... dismissive.

"how did you do on the test?" "not bad."

"the cherry colas have arrived this morning." "oh, that's great."

"sorry about the project." "it's not your fault."

it didn't push him away. now he knows what it's like. when he did that to you, all you did was unintentionally push further, until he succumbed to your odd ways of making friends. now, he is doing the same.

"why not?" lexi pouts. "i don't want to go alone this year. we always go together, just for the pictures."

"i..." he trails, not really having a good excuse. usually, he would avoid those due to big crowds and all the professors in one place, each of them pitying wooyoung for what happened. this year, he doesn't wish to go because of you. that is, if you go with logan. "i invited someone else already."

he didn't. he never invited anyone ever. lexi always came up to him, and annoyed him until he said yes. this year? he might start acting like a man and invite someone himself.

"oh. okay."

no protests. nothing. she accepts it, hopping off the desk and making her way to her desk. he does feel bad. however, it is too late now. he doesn't know what the plan is yet. he rarely does this acting first and thinking later thing. that didn't start until you came into his life. where did you come from, and why here?

he lays awake at night, having just finished a video call with his niece. she is staying with his father, her grandfather, who has been nothing but loving and supportive to wooyoung since he moved away. he has offered many times that to come pick him up, have them all live together. wooyoung doesn't think he deserves it. he doesn't find himself deserving of his father's love. knowing arin is there is enough. he is happy in his trailer. somewhat.

thoughts run loose again, and he finds himself searching your name on social media. on facebook, there are pictures of you as a little girl. on instagram, the same girl, now all grown up. he has to do some digging, because your username doesn't use your real name. one thing that hasn't changed is your love for pink and accessories. on each photo of you there is a stack of bracelets, a necklace, an anklet. as he scrolls through your feed, carefully examining every post, he notices how easily you find beauty and happiness in ordinary things. flowers, bees, clouds, books, makeup, nails. now that he thinks of it, your nails are always nicely trimmed and a pale pink colour.

then, he receives a notification. a message request.

by you.

cosmiclove_99: stalking my profile much, wooyoung?

realization sinks in, and wooyoung's eyes inevitably land on the red heart he has marked under a picture of your eyes and glittery eyeshadow. fuck.

jungwooyoung: busted.

cosmiclove_99: :)

jungwooyoung: you're welcome to stalk mine?

cosmiclove_99: what makes you think i didn't already?

the man smiles to himself. he doesn't have many photos, just a few. him and baby arin the day she was born, a childhood photo of him and james, and one that james took of him on his motorcycle. it represented him, and it was enough.

cosmiclove_99: haven't had the chance to say it, but your motorcycle looks very cool. very you.

jungwooyoung: that is the best compliment i could ever get.

cosmiclove_99: :) it's pretty late. can't sleep?

jungwooyoung: not really. you?

cosmiclove_99: me neither. my parents are fighting over something silly again, i'm waiting for it to die out.

you weren't at logan's. that's a relief. wooyoung bites his lip, thinking before his fingers start typing.

jungwooyoung: do you want to talk about it?

cosmiclove_99: like on voice call?

he didn't mean it like that. but now that you've offered, he doesn't think it a bad idea to hear your voice after you drifted apart recently.

jungwooyoung: if it will help. i am known to put people to sleep with talking.

cosmiclove_99: hah! doubt it. i'll give it a shot anyway :)

wooyoung is the one who presses the call button, and after only one ring, you pick up.

"hey." you simply greet, voice soft. he ignores the fluttering feeling in his chest upon hearing your voice.

"hey." he says it back, as casual as he can. "is everything okay?"

"it will be. they do this once a week. i am used to it."

in the background, he hears their voices. muffled yelling, thuds, and crashes. god, you couldn't catch a break. what have you done to be surrounded by utter fools who do not care for you?

"so... it's pretty quiet where you are. i'm jealous."

he hums, looking around the dark trailer.

"is it lonely?" you hit the spot.

he hesitates for a while. he still graces you with a truthful answer. "it is."

there's a pause. you weren't expecting him to say it so plainly.

"i didn't think you'd admit that," you say.

"i don't, usually."

another crash sounds from your side. smaller this time. farther away.

"i guess we're both good at pretending," you murmur.

he doesn't argue. "guess so."

the line stays open. neither of you rushes to hang up. hearing your soft breathing on the other side is somewhat calming. then, you break the silence. "what are you doing?"

"laying down. debating whether or not it is smart to have a can of ravioli right now."

"can of ravioli?" you chuckle. "gross."

he smiles too. he knows you don't mean it in a mocking way. "what's wrong with ravioli?"

"in a can?" you laugh. "everything."

wooyoung doesn't know how long you talk about canned ravioli. perhaps more than he ever thought he would, but it makes him happy knowing that he is taking your mind off the chaos that surrounds you. you don't mention your parents, not really. and he doesn't push. if, and when you're ready, you'll do it yourself.

"is there a reason you liked that specific picture on my profile?"

"you're never going to let me live that down, hm?" he is tossing and turning in the bed, a big smile plastered on his lips. he remembers the picture he accidentally liked. the closeup of your eyes, the focus on your glittery eyeshadow.

"if you tell me why, i might."

"i guess..." he trails, turning over on his side and staring out the window into the starry sky. "whenever i see you, your bruises get all the attention. i never noticed how pretty your eyes are."

silence. wooyoung's insides twist. fuck, why did he have to say the truth?

"and, well, the makeup looked... nice." he tries to backtrack. when he receives no response, he sighs. "too far. sorry."

"thank you." you whisper. "that's the first genuine compliment i've gotten since i moved here."

"oh." his brows furrow. logan is doing a terrible job of being a boyfriend. "logan never...?"

"no, he never compliments me. well, aside from calling me sexy when he wants to do it." you casually reply. it irks him that it is so normal, only being nice to your partner when you want them sexually. you seem to sense his discomfort, and quickly chuckle into the phone. "it's okay, wooyoung. i don't need compliments."

sure you do. you'd bloom beautifully with them. he knows he is starting to, whenever you call him cute. "you can't possibly think like that."

you sigh on the other side, and wooyoung takes it as a cue to stop. he has gone too far anyway. instead of calling you to take your mind off your troubles, he is just reminding you of them. comfortable silence envelops the trailer, and all he can hear is your soft breathing and an occasional murmur from your parents. it seems that the fight is dying out.

"anyways, you said you liked the makeup on the picture?"

"yeah," he turns in the bed again, this time laying on his stomach. "it's pretty."

"can i put it on you?"

put makeup? on him? why? "uh..."

"it'll be fun. i promise. you can pick your own colours." you sound excited, and how could wooyoung break your heart by refusing?

"i- yeah, sure."

you squeak into his ear, and he moves the phone away for a moment while you celebrate. all with a big smile on his face. "yes! you'll love it! you have a pretty face for that."

again with the compliments. why are you fine with not receiving any, yet you generously give them away just like that? even if they're not true? wooyoung is not pretty. he doesn't think of himself as particularly handsome, either. conventionally attractive, maybe. enough to make heads turn, but not chase worthy. and that's enough.

"i'm serious," you add, like you can hear the doubt forming. "you've got good eyes. good bone structure. you'd be a great canvas."

he snorts quietly. "that's a first."

"won't be the last," you say easily.

he goes still at that. not because it's flirtatious. it isn't. but because you say it like it's a fact. like you're not trying to convince him of anything.

"what colours would you even use?" he asks.

you don't hesitate. "warm ones. maybe gold. something subtle."

"subtle," he repeats, amused. "you?"

"hey," you protest. "i can be subtle."

"sure you can, fuzzy pencil case." he smiles, eyes drifting shut. he pictures it despite himself; your hands steady, focused, gentle in a way the world hasn't been with you lately. the anticipation is foreign, never really looking forward to meeting with people. his eyes fall on the decorated helmet that rests on the kitchen counter, stickers shining under the moonlight that peeks through the unwashed windows. "alright. when shall this appointment take place?"

"friday? i'll come over to the gas station after school? it will be like a rehearsal before the dance."

right. the dance. he had rejected lexi, in hopes of asking you to go. now, that doesn't sound so good. asking someone's girlfriend to go to a formal dance. what a fool.

"wooyoung?" his name is a sweet whisper in his ear from your lips. he hums. "are you going to the dance?"

"no." he replies. and he means it.

"oh. that's a shame. i was looking forward to seeing you all dressed up."

the thought of you thinking about him like that makes him wonder how you will look. he isn't going, which means he won't see you. maybe you'll put a picture on instagram, and he can gawk at it. you'll wear pink, surely.

"what are you wearing to the dance?"

"logan picked a dress for me. i don't know yet."

right. he forgot logan's possessiveness goes that deep. he can only hope that he loves you enough to get you something you'll be comfortable in.

the trailer settles around him again. outside, the night stays still. on your end, the house finally goes quiet. words are stuck in his throat. he tries his hardest to swallow them, to not ruin the moment. but his heart aches, and he speaks.

"cherry."

"hm?"

"are you okay?"

there is a beat of silence, a breath of hesitation. then, you speak. "no."

wooyoung's heart erupts. there is a shudder in your breathing, and a quiet sniffle. were you crying? wooyoung doesn't know how to handle that. even worse, it is you who is crying. it devastates him that on top of all your worries, he has become one. he doesn't know when he became this overstepping. his fingers grip the phone, and he turns to his side. he wants to say many things at once. you should leave logan. you shouldn't go to the dance with him. you deserve better.

"i will be." you calm him, voice hoarse. "i'm stronger than i look."

"i believe you."

"thank you."

a yawn betrays you. he has done his job, it seems. shame. he was really enjoying hearing your voice. that doesn't happen often.

"sleepy?"

"mhm."

"then..." he turns on his back again, eyes stuck on the ceiling of the trailer. he doesn't want to hang up. he has to. you need to rest, and he needs to stop being selfish. "...goodnight, cherry."

he hears you chuckle sleepily, then shuffling. you must be getting comfortable under the covers. "goodnight, youngie."

the nickname makes his heart flutter against his ribs. it sounds so natural coming from your lips, and makes it harder for him to keep his distance like james advised him. how can he, when you find a way to wiggle back into his life whether he wants it or not?

before he hangs up, a few words still manage to slip through. "you're my only friend in the world, wooyoung."

the words don't settle. they hit.

something in his chest tightens. not pleasantly. painfully. like being trusted with something he has no right to hold. wooyoung presses the heel of his palm against his sternum, as if it might quiet whatever just lurched awake inside him.

only friend. dangerous words. he thinks of his sister. of promises he couldn't keep. of what happens when people depend on him. what happens when he doesn't act when needed.

"cherry..." his voice comes out rougher than he intends.

a soft hum answers him. you're already halfway to sleep. he swallows everything else. the warnings. the distance he should put between you.

"...i'm here," he says instead.

a tiny breath of relief leaves you, like you were waiting for that.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐘.

you avoid him again. not on purpose, he knows it. you don't share classes anymore, and the few you once did, mostly first periods, he has managed to sleep over and only arrived on the third period.

still, you find him.

in hallways, between crowds, with logan never far from your side. a small wave meant only for him. a quick smile. your tongue poking out before you disappear into the sea of bodies. once, you pass close enough to pinch his side, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, earning a strange look from james. it is ridiculous, how much those scraps mean. they make the days easier.

a hallway feels less like a battlefield when you grin at him from across it. the shop feels quieter, steadier, when he knows you might wander in later with your stupid cola and louder-than-necessary bracelets. the classroom is a storm that quiets down whenever you toss a colourful pen his way. to make your notes less depressing, you once said. he sees you secretly sketch in the corners of your notebooks. he doesn't peek. if it's a wish of yours to keep it private, he will respect it.

wooyoung is getting used to it. he knows the headline of today's chapter will be glittery. he knows he won't light a cigarette in between a double period. he pretends not to expect you. he always does. and in a world that keeps taking things from him, these fleeting seconds feel dangerously close to something being given back. he lets you sit on the window next to him, blabbering your soul out about a new hobby you might pick up.

it is sad how much logan's presence changes you. quiets you, pushes your true personality down and crushes it with his thumb of cruelty. wooyoung sees the way your smile falters when you see logan waiting for you in front of the classroom. wooyoung becomes invisible to you, and god, when you walk past him like you don't know him, it makes him want to rip his hair out. there is nothing wrong with having friends, and he cannot figure out why logan can't understand that. maybe because wooyoung isn't that subtle, and logan can see right through him and see his feelings. feelings for his girl. he is mistaken, though. right?

wooyoung breathes out, running his fingers through his raven hair as he stands in front of the mirror. it is friday, and you are supposed to come over for a makeup date. there is a phone in his hand, and lydia's contact number on the screen as the last caller.

"some police officers are asking about you." she had said. "you need to come over."

with a heavy heart, and even heavier fingers, he enters the conversation with you.

jungwooyoung: i'm sorry, i can't do tonight.

cosmiclove_99: aw, really? :(

jungwooyoung: we'll reschedule. i promise.

cosmiclove_99: sent a photo

his heart races as he opens it. it is a photo of your pinky finger, with a text on it saying pinky promise? wooyoung wastes no time, opening his camera and taking a picture of his own finger, with the title pinky promise written on it. he goes as far as to paint the text pink, smiling to himself like a fool. you are impossible to resist. it is as if you've put a pair of pink glasses on him as well.

cosmiclove_99: alright then. all is forgiven :) also, is it too much to say i'll miss you at the dance?

jungwooyoung: it's not too much.

as he makes his way to the shop, he thinks about how much he could really use those pink glasses now. he knows why the officers are here. someone has snitched again, reported the weed to them. nothing new. lydia already knows to hide it, and has a story to cover him. however, there is nothing to find these days, since wooyoung barely smokes.

deep in his heart, he awaits your call for help. he wants to be sober if it happens. he can't risk being in a hazy state if you need him, and thus, he has nothing on him at the moment. sure, there is always a stash that has buyers, but it is safely buried under his trailer. so far, there was no trouble.

until he sees a bag covered in soil on the counter, the officers standing by it and talking to lydia. his stomach twists. fuck. he forgot about that.

when did they have time to dig under the trailer? who told them? worse than that, how did he not notice? it's a generous amount as well, and he knows that this time he is looking at an enormous fine, or even prison time. he doesn't have that much money. all that is left is being behind bars, and that would mean no more seeing you. he can't let that happen.

he swallows hard, every heartbeat hammering in his ears. the officers glance up, spotting him, and one of them nods curtly. lydia looks flustered, twisting her fingers nervously, and for a split second wooyoung feels the walls closing in.

"wooyoung, step over here," one officer calls, voice flat but firm.

he takes a careful step forward, mind racing. his thoughts scatter, but they always come back to you: your pinky promise earlier, your shimmery eyes, your melodic laugh. he can't risk losing even the chance to hear it again.

"i... i didn't—" he starts, but the words catch in his throat. claiming ignorance might help, but they might also make him look guilty. he needs a story, something believable. he draws a slow breath, squaring his shoulders, and forces himself to speak evenly. "i only just got here. what's going on?"

one officer gestures toward the bag. "you tell us."

the smell hangs thick in the air. fresh. earthy. undeniable. wooyoung keeps his expression blank, like the answer truly means nothing to him. inside, his pulse roars. "this isn't mine."

lydia shifts beside the counter. too fast. too tense. he feels it more than he sees it. the officers sigh, then one of them leads lydia outside, leaving wooyoung alone with the older man.

"son." he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. wooyoung feels small under his gaze, and looks down on the floor. "must we do this once a month? every time you step on someone's bad side? do you not make enough in the shop to do this on the side?"

the young man fidgets with his fingers, plucking the skin around his nails as he listens to the well memorized conversation. he shakes his head at the question, then waits for the officer to keep talking.

"i can't keep letting you go like this. people will start to question it."

"then why do you?" he finally looks him in the eyes. his heart swells, the tired eyes reminding him of his father's. "turn me in."

"i won't do that. you know it."

wooyoung lets out a hollow laugh. "you should."

the officer watches him for a long moment, something heavy settling behind his eyes. "your father asked me to keep an eye on you."

the words land like a punch to the chest. of course he did. wooyoung's jaw tightens. "he's not here."

"no," the man agrees quietly. "so someone has to be."

silence stretches between them. the shop hums with the low buzz of the refrigerator, fluorescent lights flickering like a dying pulse.

"you think this is mercy?" wooyoung mutters. "a favour you're doing me?"

"i think this is a chance," the officer replies. "and you keep wasting it."

wooyoung's hands curl into fists at his sides. chances. promises. pink letters painted across his screen only hours ago. he swallows.

"one day," the officer continues, softer now, "i won't be able to help you. you understand that?"

wooyoung nods. he does. frighteningly well. "what am i supposed to do? live in the trailer for the rest of my life?"

"you could accept your father's invite and go live with—"

"no." wooyoung doesn't wish to hear it. ever. even if he were at the verge of his life, he wouldn't do that. he doesn't deserve it.

"your father has never blamed you for what happened to seulki. why are you then punishing yourself for it?" the man steps closer, placing his hands on wooyoung's shoulders. the young man's eyes burn, and his vision blurs. "he's already lost one child. you're keeping him away from his other one."

the words settle somewhere deep and poisonous. wooyoung's throat tightens. his hands, still curled into fists, slowly loosen like he's forgotten why he was holding on in the first place.

"that's not..." his voice breaks. he clears it, staring past the officer at the stained tiles. "that's not how it works."

but the thought has already taken root. his father alone. waiting. grieving twice. the raven haired man's chest aches like something inside it is trying to cave in. he laughs under his breath, but there is no humour in it.

"you don't know anything."

the officer doesn't argue. and somehow that hurts more. "i won't beg you to tell me. but, if you ever do decide you are ready for a conversation, you know where to find me."

he doesn't take the bag with him. he never does. he trusts wooyoung to either hide it, or get rid of it. as his hand touches the door handle, wooyoung's words escape his lips. "i'll go when i feel worthy."

and he means it. as the officer finally exits the shop, wooyoung's eyes fall on the fridge. the cherry colas are looking back at him, the silver on the can shining under the led lights. he has unfinished business here anyway.

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

wooyoung stays late at the shop that day, talking to lydia. the day after, saturday, he sleeps almost the entire day. the bag taunts him, sitting on the kitchen counter and awaiting its fate. the fate that was supposed to be rue, yet she bailed, as she recently does since meeting jules. wooyoung doesn't like that girl. she is ruining his business.

when he wakes up, it is dark outside. there are sleeping lines all over his torso and face, and he feels very groggy. still, he reaches out for his phone, typing in your name into the instagram search bar in hopes of seeing your outfit for today's dance. there is nothing. did logan buy you something you didn't like? something you weren't comfortable in? there were no messages, either. not that he was expecting anything. why is he disappointed then? fuck it.

he tears the bag apart, fingers already doing what they know best; rolling blunts. there is one soon placed between his chapped lips, and as soon as he rolls the last one, he plops down on the still warm bed. with each second that passes, wooyoung wonders whether he should've come to the dance anyway. for you. he wonders if you are having fun. if logan is keeping you seated, or letting you dance. if you were wearing makeup, and if yes, how much. if you were wearing anything pink and cute, or something provocative against your wish.

lastly, he wonders if you think of him like he thinks of you. do you see him like he sees you? through the careless charade, behind the so-called bad boy persona. his stomach gets fuzzy with each inhale of the blunt, and wooyoung knows it isn't the weed. it's thoughts of you.

once he finishes it, he drifts away again.

the second time he wakes up, it is still night. he checks seulki's watch that rests on the table since the day she took it off to make lunch and never put it on again. it is close to midnight. shit. what is he supposed to do all night, now that he slept all day? easy. smoke again. this time somewhere else.

the door creaks as he opens it, and he barely steps outside, before his heart skips a beat. his leg stays in the air, not touching the steps yet. they are occupied. "what the hell are you doing in front of my-"

the person looks up. tear-streaked, shaking. "woo."

"cherry." he breathes out, dropping the blunt on the floor. he helps you up from the stairs, placing his hands on your bare arms and guiding you on your feet. your eyes are red and swollen. he is scared to ask. "what... what are you doing here?"

"i didn't know where else to go."

wooyoung freezes. the words settle between them, fragile and enormous. you didn't know where else to go. his hands are still on your arms; your skin is cold, trembling faintly, and he only notices when the shake transfers into his own fingers. logan did put you in a provocative dress. short, red, and tight. that bastard.

"what happened?" he asks quietly.

you shake your head before he finishes, shoulders folding inward.

"can i just... stay here for a bit?"

for a moment he forgets how to breathe. inside the trailer behind him is the stale smell of smoke, the torn bag on the counter, the mess of a life he never thought anyone would step into. you stand before it like a question. he swallows, then speaks, voice hoarse. "yeah. yeah, of course."

he crushes the fallen blunt under his shoe and opens the door wider. the hinges groan. you hesitate at the threshold, glitter still clinging stubbornly to your tear-streaked eyelids, bare arms raised slightly against the cold. something tight and protective coils in his chest.

"come in," he says softer.

the trailer feels smaller once you step inside, suddenly aware of itself. peeling wallpaper, cluttered sink, the open bag on the counter. your eyes land on it. wooyoung moves quickly, twisting the plastic shut and shoving it into a cabinet. the motion is clumsy, guilty. you don't comment. you just stand there, looking lost in unfamiliar gravity. he clears his throat.

"you want water? or tea. i think i have tea."

you nod, more for something to hold than from thirst. you sit on the ground, back pressed against the bed where he just laid.

while he fills the kettle his hands shake badly. he wants to give you space, yet he doesn't want to seem like he doesn't care. he picks through his words carefully, all while quietly searching for an appropriate cup and picking a chamomile flavoured teabag. "how... did you find me?"

"i searched for your bike. that's how i knew which trailer is yours." you explain quietly. your voice is raspy, as if talking alone is hurting you. "i... i called. multiple times. sorry for blowing your phone up."

wooyoung stills. his eyes drop on the discarded phone on the counter, the button on the side showing that it has been on silent. a single tap on the screen wakes it up, revealing multiple missed calls and messages from you.

"i'm bored" "i wish you were here" "this dress is so fugly" "logan is talking to the dj i don't know what's going on" "oh god."

there is a twenty minute interval between those messages and a new one.

"i need you, can i come over?"

just what has happened that made you ditch the dance and come seek him in this dark area of the town? behind him, your voice breaks the quiet. "it's over."

he stills, the cup clinking against the counter as he sets it down. slowly, he turns towards you, eyes falling on your messed up hair and smeared makeup as your gaze is fixed on the ground in front of you.

"talking to the dj? he gave him the usb with all my pictures and videos on it. everyone saw." you elaborate, a fresh set of tears escaping your eyes. you sniffle, yet you smile. "i am glad that you weren't there, after all. you didn't see it. i'm free. i think."

he promised himself he would be sober when you called for help. now, when you finally did, he is in the worst state he has been in since meeting you. he feels selfish for being happy that you look for comfort in him. he finds satisfaction in your sadness, and it makes him feel evil.

he pours the tea in the cup, then lets the teabag soak in it as he approaches you, setting the cup on the table beside the bed. he lowers himself to the ground, crouching in front of you. deja vu, he thinks. he remembers crouching in front of a crying girl recently. only this time, his heart aches, and his blood boils as he watches your attempts at wiping your soaked face off. it isn't gentle at all, you start to irritate your skin so bad that wooyoung has to grab your wrists and pull them away from your face.

"hey." he calls, grounding you. "you're hurting yourself."

"i feel dirty." you admit. "i- i want to wipe it all off me. the makeup, the dress, the humiliation."

"do you wish to change? take a shower?" he offers. you hesitate at first, biting your bottom lip as you think. "you can pick out anything you'd like from my humble wardrobe."

that pulls a smile out of you, and you nod. "i trust your judgement."

as wooyoung picks clean clothes for you to wear, you sip on the tea, waiting for his call. he sees you looking at the bag. he wonders whether you'll judge him. you know he smokes, yet you've never made any comment about it, besides telling him about your nicotine allergy. weed? you never cared. he's glad you don't judge him when it comes to it.

he sees you shiver, and speeds up his process of setting the clothes up by the cramped shower, along with a towel. he rummages through a box hidden away in the corner, pulling out micellar water and makeup wipes and leaving them on the sink, but not before checking the date of expiry. seulki rarely wore makeup, yet always had these things laying around. finally, he lets the water run for a while, until steam starts seeping through.

"shower's ready." he calls. you stand, placing the cup on the table and carefully make your way to where wooyoung is guiding you. "the lock is tricky. you'll have to push the handle up."

you nod, and quietly slip inside, brushing against him in the tight space. the bathroom door clicks shut and the lock slides into place with a soft, final sound. wooyoung stands there a moment longer than necessary, staring at the wood like it might suddenly open again. then he drags a hand down his face and turns away, forcing himself to breathe.

the pipes groan when the water starts running. the sound fills the trailer immediately. loud in the small space, steady, relentless. grounding. he focuses on it, on the rhythm of it hitting tiles, because his mind keeps trying to wander where it shouldn't. steam begins slipping beneath the door, thin at first, then thicker. the air grows warm, heavy. he busies himself.

the cup you drank from is still warm when he picks it up. a faint mark of your lipstick stains the rim. he washes it carefully, more carefully than he ever washes anything, thumb tracing the ceramic before setting it to dry. his hands don't stop moving after that. he folds the blanket at the end of the bed. wipes the already clean counter. adjusts the crooked picture frame nailed beside the window. pointless things. anything that keeps him from thinking about you alone in his shower, washing off a night he wishes he could erase for you.

the bag on the counter feels suddenly heavier than it did before you arrived. shame prickles at the back of his neck. he imagines you stepping out into the smell of smoke, into the mess of his life, and something tight twists in his chest. he opens the window a crack despite the cold. lets the night air push in, sharp and clean. he doesn't want this part of him clinging to you. you came for comfort, and he'll give it to you.

the trailer breathes. from behind the door comes the faint sound of movement. the shift of the curtain, the quiet thud of a bottle being set down, the rush of water changing rhythm. small sounds, yet each one pulls at his attention like gravity. he sits on the edge of the bed, listening. his hands remember the feel of your wrists: cold, trembling, fragile. he hadn't meant to grab you that suddenly. he rubs his palms against his jeans, restless.

time stretches strangely. the world outside the trailer fades until there is only the hum of pipes, the whisper of steam, the quiet knowledge that you are here, within reach, trusting him with something fragile. it terrifies him.

he gets up and places a glass of water beside the folded clothes. hesitates, then adds an extra towel within easy reach of the door. silent offerings. the shower eventually quiets. the sudden absence of sound feels louder than the water ever was. wooyoung's shoulders straighten instinctively. he looks toward the bathroom before catching himself, gaze dropping to the floor instead. his pulse kicks, uneven and sharp.

the lock clicks. he looks, despite himself, and can't look away. it is as if you have peeled a layer of yourself. you stand clothed, yet bare before him. no glitter, no gloss, wet hair, and flushed cheeks. his t-shirt falls to your thighs, hiding the shorts which he has outgrown.

"i look silly, i know."

"no, you don't." and he means it. you look safe in his clothes. "you look... pretty."

"thank you, wooyoung." you smile, sweetly like only you know. it doesn't reach your eyes, though. you stand still, fidgeting with the hem of the t-shirt as you wait further instructions from him. you are in his space, after all. when he doesn't speak, you do again. "can i... maybe... sleep over tonight?"

"of course." the words leave him before he can weigh them, before he can question whether letting you stay is wise for either of you. something loosens in his chest the moment he sees your shoulders drop at his answer. relief. he clears his throat, suddenly aware of the smallness of the trailer, of the single bed, of the warmth still clinging to your damp hair. he forces his voice into something steadier. "you can take the bed."

your eyes scan the bed, then him. as if calculating. wooyoung knows what you'll ask. where will he sleep? it doesn't matter. he'll stay awake if he needs to. the only thing that matters is you resting tonight, because lord knows when was the last time you had a proper sleep.

"i slept all day. i couldn't sleep right now even if i wanted to. don't worry about me." he explains. he nods towards the bed, encouraging you to get in. "it's comfier that it looks."

slowly, you sit on it, bouncing slightly. you feel the sheets under your palms, rubbing the mattress as if exploring the new space. he watches you carefully. you fluff the pillow, then lift the covers up, and finally slip beneath. just as you get comfy laying down, you sit up abruptly. "i'm going to soak your pillow."

"oh. right." he looks at your damp hair. "i don't have a hair dryer though. i usually just let mine air dry."

you hum understandingly. "then... i'll keep you company for a little while it dries."

you move towards the side, freeing up space on the bed. when wooyoung doesn't move, you pat the spot, silently inviting him. whether or not it's a good idea, the young man listens. he sits on his bed, and instantly, his senses sharpen. the smell of his shampoo clings to your skin, and the way you are submerged in his clothes and his sheets do not help the fuzzy feeling in his stomach at all. neither does the smile you offer him when you catch him looking.

"hi." you grin.

wooyoung looks away, scoffing while hiding his burning red face from you. "stupid."

there is a beat of silence. a train of thoughts. a grounding heartbeat, reminding wooyoung just why you are here. he looks your way again, only to find you already looking at him. not with a smile this time. you're thinking, biting your bottom lip in the process. "can i ask you something?"

"ask away."

"what are you and lexi?"

wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tightens slightly.

“nothing,” he says. you don’t look convinced. he sighs. “she panicked. in the bathroom. said she’d never been kissed. i just… did it. so she’d stop spiraling.”

you blink. “just like that?”

“yeah.”

“that’s kind of intimate.”

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. “it wasn’t.”

“you can’t decide that for her.”

that hits. you are right. he thought he was doing her a favour. now, he knows it was cruel.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters. “it wasn’t romantic.”

“but you kissed her.”

he finally looks at you. he can't quite decipher the emotion in your eyes. it isn't positive, that much he can see. “yeah.”

you stare at your hands now, avoiding his gaze. “cassie made it sound like it was… something.”

“cassie makes everything sound like something.”

you bite your lip. “did you want to?”

that one makes him frown. “want to what?”

“kiss her.”

he exhales slowly. thinks about it. actually thinks.

“i didn’t not want to,” he says, and immediately sees your expression shift. “not like that,” he adds quickly. “i just didn’t care. it didn’t feel like anything.”

“okay.”

it’s not okay. he can tell. but you’re retreating. folding in on yourself.

“why does it matter?” he asks, softer now.

“because..." you stop yourself, taking a deep breath instead of continuing. "it doesn't matter. curiosity, i guess."

"right." he studies you. the way you’re not looking at him. wooyoung shifts slightly, but keeps distance. “lexi and i aren’t anything. i’m not seeing her. i’m not trying to.”

you glance at him. “are you trying to see anyone?”

he huffs lightly. “i’m barely trying to see tomorrow.”

not romantic. not reassuring. just honest.

“okay,” you murmur again. but this time it sounds steadier.

a beat passes. there is something else on your mind. something bigger than this, he senses. "what's on your mind?"

"there is... more to the story than just nudes." you say it. "if you want to know, of course. i'm ready to tell you."

"speak, cherry." his voice is a mere whisper. "i'll listen. you know i always do."

and you do speak. you tell him about your life before moving here. how peaceful it was. how you waited for summer, and met logan. how your parents liked logan, so much that he managed to convince them to move here. how they started drinking when your father's brother took your house, and you later found out you had to move anyway, with or without logan. how logan gave your parents the money to move, in exchange for you. how easily they gave you up, all for a shed in a different town and a bottle of liquor always full in the cabinet.

wooyoung listens, not interrupting you once. he fidgets with the sheets, and every time your voice shakes and you stop to take a deep breath, he bites his cheek a little harder. every time you mention getting punished for doing something against logan's will, his blood boils. and when he finds out you didn't even send him the nudes yourself, that he took them of you and used them against you, making you do things you didn't want. from things as simple as going to the store and buying him a beer, to having sex with him. his jaw clenches, so hard his teeth squeak under the pressure. he sees red. he wants to make a trip to the scavo house again. nothing would stop him. not james, not police, not anyone. except you, and the sob that escapes you, making wooyoung look at you.

"he was my first boyfriend. i thought," you hiccup, pulling your knees to your body as if to shield yourself, then continue, "i thought that's how it is. how it's supposed to be. meeting you has only made me more confused."

wooyoung swallows, then speaks, voice low as to not scare you off. "how so?"

"you were a friend. yet... i felt more comfort and care from you than i did from my own boyfriend. it opened my eyes, i guess. and at some point, i hated you for it. it was easier when i didn't know any better."

easier before him. his chest tightens at that. part of him aches at the thought of ever hurting you, even by accident. another part, the uglier one, burns with quiet satisfaction that he changed something for you. that you saw something different with him. he pushes that thought away for now.

"you shouldn't have had to learn like that," he says finally. his voice is rough, quieter than before. "none of that was normal, cherry. none of it was love."

"then what is?" you ask softly, fingers still twisting the hem of his shirt.

the question hits him like a blow. wooyoung has no language for love. not the gentle kind. not the kind you deserve. all he knows is protection, instinct, the need to keep you safe even if it ruins him. his hand moves before he thinks. slow, careful, he reaches over and rests it beside yours on the sheets. not touching, just close enough that you could choose the distance.

"this," he says. you look at him, eyebrow raised. "being able to say no, and knowing the other person listens. feeling safe. not scared all the time." his throat tightens. "being able to breathe."

silence falls again. the trailer hums softly around the two of you, the window rattling with a passing car somewhere in the distance. you don't pull away. instead, your fingers shift slightly, brushing against his. the contact is barely there. it feels louder than anything at the moment.

wooyoung freezes, afraid even breathing too hard might break the moment. your hand is smaller than his, warm now from the shower, no longer trembling like before. slowly, giving you time to move, he turns his palm upward. you accept the silent invite, lacing your soft fingers through his rough ones.

something inside him settles. something restless finally going still. you lean your head against his shoulder without asking. he goes rigid for a second, then carefully relaxes, letting you rest there. he can feel the faint weight of you, the dampness of your hair against his shirt, the quiet rhythm of your breathing beginning to slow.

"woo?" you murmur.

"cherry."

"is it too much to say that i've never felt more home?"

"no," wooyoung responds honestly, and rests his head on top of yours. "it's not too much."

"okay." you reply, a yawn following soon after.

he wants to rest, wants to let himself drift too, but his brain won't allow it. he wonders what tomorrow morning will bring. part of him fears that tonight was a dream, and he'll wake to find it was all his imagination. another part dreads the opposite: that the world outside the trailer will demand you back, that this fragile comfort will vanish. he keeps his head resting lightly against yours, listening to your even breaths, feeling the faint warmth of your damp hair against his cheek. there is nothing left to do but wait for the sun to rise, and with it, the truth he cannot yet face.

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘.

at nine in the morning on a sunny sunday, wooyoung wakes up. his neck is stiff, and his back hurts. he feels weight on his shoulder, and when he looks down, a smile creeps up on his lips. you are still asleep, arms wrapped around his bicep as you keep him close, as if scared to be left alone. slowly, wooyoung frees himself, gently laying you down on the pillow and covering you up. you only frown in your sleep, dissatisfied that something has been taken away from you.

he makes a trip to the store, buying toast and two cherry colas. lydia has already told him to not come in after the police encounter, and right now, wooyoung could not be more grateful. he almost flies with the motorcycle on the way to the trailer, somehow feeling lighter. once inside, he sets the bag on the counter and hangs his leather jacket near the door. he thinks of ways to wake you up. until his eyes land on the bed, and he finds it made. you? gone.

his heart skips a beat, and his throat tightens. he walks over to the bed, fingertips brushing the sheets where you laid. fuck, did logan come for you? you wouldn't leave on your own without saying goodbye. shit. he knew he shouldn't have left.

just as he turns around and reaches for his jacket, a poke to his side causes him to gasp. he turns around, his defense falling once he sees you giggling. "who knew you are so easy to scare?"

"why are you lurking in my trailer?" he questions, trying to calm his heart in the process.

"i heard your bike. thought i'd try and scare you for leaving me alone."

"stupid girl." he teases, rolling his eyes. he makes his way to the two cabinets he calls kitchen, unraveling the items inside the bag. "hungry?"

"starving." you admit, walking over to him and peeking above his shoulder. your chin rests on it, breath tickling his neck, and he stiffens slightly, aware of every inch of proximity. "i thought i could make breakfast. as a thank you. you beat me to it."

"you don't have to." wooyoung murmurs, still fixed on the way your head rests near his neck and your breath caresses his ear. "you should've stayed in bed, slept a little more."

"i had enough." you pull away, allowing the man to finally breathe properly. "i... i had bad dreams. i was scared to go back to sleep, especially when i figured out you weren't there."

he sets the toast on the counter, grabbing two plates and a knife. you perch on the crooked stool he never uses, swinging your legs slightly, eyes following him as he spreads peanut butter on one toast and jam on the other. the simple act is almost domestic, and he can't help but notice the way your fingers curl around the edge of the stool, small and delicate. it makes him tense and melt at the same time.

"you really do trust me with everything, huh?" he says, voice low.

"i guess i do." you shrug, a little smile tugging at your lips. your eyes flick to his, then away, shy but steady. "i feel... safe with you."

the words hit him harder than anything else has so far this morning. safe. not scared. not trapped. safe. you've decided to stay by yourself, with no persuasion from anyone. he clears his throat, hands shaking just enough to notice, and sets the knife down.

"good," he murmurs, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, feeling foolishly proud and protective all at once. "that's exactly what you should feel."

you tilt your head, studying him like you're trying to memorize the lines of his face in the soft morning light. he can't help but smile back, though it feels fragile, like it might shatter if he breathes too hard. he hands you your sandwich first. your fingers brush his, and he freezes. the brush is so light, so fleeting, and yet it pulls at something deep inside him. he catches his breath and steps back a little, pretending to check the other sandwich.

"hey," you say softly, reaching for the counter. "don't move too far. i... i like having you close."

his chest tightens, awareness snapping like a string. he swallows, nodding slowly. "i'm not going anywhere."

you laugh quietly, a sound that's still fragile, but lighter than the night before. "good. because i might fall asleep while eating, and then i'd be useless without you here."

"then i'll stay," he says without thinking, and the words hang between you two. he looks at you, really looks, and notices how small you seem in his t-shirt, how soft your now dry hair falls and shines under the morning rays. there's a vulnerability there, and he wants to guard it with everything he has.

you take a bite, then another, and he watches, pretending to busy himself with his own breakfast. every glance is measured, every thought tethered to the quiet rhythm of your breathing, the curve of your jaw, the way your lips purse around the bread. it's maddening, and gentle all at once. for a moment, the trailer is still. just the hum of the refrigerator, the occasional bird outside, and the quiet intimacy of two people who've survived something dark together. he wonders if this is how mornings are supposed to feel: safe, warm, unhurried, with someone who makes the world pause just by being there.

and maybe, just maybe, he thinks about what it would be like if this morning didn't have to end. if it could stretch forever, and he could stay in this small orbit around you, guarding you, laughing with you, and letting you feel at home beside him. he reaches over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. it's a gentle touch, casual, but he swears he feels the air between them hum. you don't pull away. instead, you glance up, and your eyes find his.

"thanks," you murmur, almost a whisper.

"for what?" he asks, voice rougher than he wants it to be.

"for... being here," you say, small but steady. "despite your own troubles you are battling."

so you know. he swallows, and for the first time this morning, lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, being here is exactly where he's meant to be. you don't pry. he doesn't know how much you know. some of it, all of it? the truth or gossip misinformation? he'll tell you himself about it one day. you did open yourself up for him, after all. he doesn't see is as transaction. more like a declaration of trust.

soon, you have to go back home. he drives you to your parents house, this time in his sister's car so that you feel more comfortable. he parks on the sidewalk, then unlocks the doors. you shuffle around, collecting your dress and heels from last night from the back seat. he doesn't look at you. instead, he looks at the small house, wondering what awaits behind the closed doors.

"thank you for driving me. and for everything else, of course." you break the silence.

"any time," he replies, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the wheel. his eyes flick to the windows, and he feels the old spike of worry. it doesn't feel right leaving you here.

before he can think more, your lips press lightly against his cheek. it's quick, almost like a spark in the morning air. if he weren't hyperaware of you, he might have thought it imagined.

he swallows, heart skipping. "what— what was that for?"

you shrug, a soft, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. "i don't know. it felt right."

he glances at you, the words unspoken lingering between you. maybe it's always felt right, but he just hadn't noticed until now. you exit the car, running around it as much as wooyoung's shoes on your feet allowed you. you stop by the window, tapping on it playfully until he lowers it. he doesn't fight the smile on his face. "yes, cherry?"

"what about that makeup date? are you still up for that?"

a light breeze sways your hair, making a few strands fall on your face. he doesn't think twice before his fingertips graze your skin, moving the air out of your face so that he can take a proper look at you before answering. "just tell me when and where. i'll be there."

𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

cosmiclove_99: hey :)

it is the first time wooyoung has heard from you since dropping you off. you're not at school the whole week, and you reach out to him saturday morning. he wastes no time before sitting on the steps of his trailer, the motorcycle and cleaning supplies abandoned.

jungwooyoung: hi, stranger.

cosmiclove_99: sorry for not reaching out. i've done quite a lot of thinking this week.

jungwooyoung: don't apologize for such a thing. especially not to me. what have you been thinking about?

cosmiclove_99: i don't want you to think i've abandoned you after what you've done to me. i just needed some time. and i've come to a decision.

cosmiclove_99: i'm going to james' party tonight.

wooyoung's heart drops. why would you do that? go back to a place where all the guys are a copy of logan scavo and nate jacobs? he doesn't question it, nor does he scold you. he waits for you to continue.

cosmiclove_99: i can't keep hiding forever. i'll face the elephant in the room and move on with my life. try to, at least.

as expected. he admires you for it, truly. it shows that you've grown in such a short time, that your fear of logan is overshadowed by anger. you're starting to realize you didn't deserve anything that has happened to you, and you have a chance to stick up for yourself, or forever be quiet and scared.

jungwooyoung: would you like me to come with you?

cosmiclove_99: yes, please. :)

he spends the rest of the morning in a quiet frenzy. the trailer is cluttered with unfinished chores and the faint scent of lingering smoke, but he barely notices. his thoughts are all on you. on how you'll walk into that party, confident, unafraid, daring the world to look at you differently. by the afternoon, he's cleaned up the space enough to feel like he isn't leaving chaos behind. his sister's car is parked outside, engine humming softly, and he checks the seats twice, hiding the peeling leather under a cushion he found in the trailer, adjusting mirrors, making sure the little details are right. when the clock finally strikes seven, his phone buzzes.

cosmiclove_99: ready! :)

he exhales, heart skipping. typing back feels unnecessary. he just slides into the driver's seat, starts the car, and drives toward your place. when he arrives, you're waiting on the sidewalk, shifting slightly in place, hands fiddling with your phone. the second he steps out, you glance up, and you seem to sigh with relief. did you think he would ditch you?

"hey," he says, breath catching. you are back in your pink attire. a button up cardigan, pale blue jeans, and white sneakers. it feels right. "are you going to a party or a bakery?"

"jerk." you reply, shy smile tugging at your lips. but there's fire in your eyes, something he hasn't seen before.

"ready?" he asks, walking toward you.

you nod. "let's go."

sliding into the car beside him, you brush against his arm as you buckle up. the contact sends a jolt through him. light, but enough to anchor every nerve ending. his hand rests lightly on the gear shift, pretending not to notice your fingers brushing his. he clears his throat. "so... we do this together? or you go on your own and i'll be on standby. whatever you'd like."

"i'll try on my own. you'll be there if i need you?" you ask, eyes flicking toward his.

"i promise." he offers his pinky finger, and you happily accept

the drive is a quiet one, punctuated only by the occasional laugh or shared glance. he watches the sunset light catch your hair, the way your fingers twitch nervously over the dashboard, the way your chest rises with each breath. he feels protective in a way he can't explain, and more than that, he feels... something else, something warm and tangled, tied to every glance you give him. when the house finally comes into view, wooyoung's pulse quickens. the music thumps faintly through the windows, lights flicker, and he can see people moving inside. he glances at you, and for a second, the confident, determined look in your eyes nearly stops him in his tracks.

"you okay?" he asks softly, voice low, nearly drowned by the distant bass.

"yeah," you say, taking a deep breath. "i... i'm ready."

"i'll be right here," he murmurs. you look at him, confidence slightly slipping through your fingers when you hear the music and see the lights. he smiles. "every step."

you nod, stepping onto the porch, shoulders back, head high. he follows, close enough that if you wanted, you could reach for him. the moment is delicate, charged, and he knows it will only get more intense once you cross the threshold and the party swallows you whole. he glances at you one last time before pushing the door open. he walks in first, and just as he scans the room, counting all the familiar faces, he feels your palm slip into his, fingers falling in place between his. he looks down, then at you. he doesn't pull away.

people glance your way, but it's fleeting. a nod, a shrug, a hey. the usual acknowledgments of teenagers who are too busy in their own worlds to overreact. nobody stares, nobody whispers; your entrance is... mundane. ordinary. you blink, slightly disoriented. the anxiety you'd been carrying all week; the rehearsed speeches, the imagined whispers, the self-justifications. it all melts against the simplicity of reality. it's almost anticlimactic, and for the first time, you feel the rush of freedom. you can simply be.

until his figure comes in sight. logan, leaning against the wall, smirk in place like he owns the room. your stomach twists, fingers twitching at your sides, but you don’t step back. you lift your chin, shoulders back, and take another step forward. wooyoung’s hand brushes against yours, strong, grounding, but you barely notice it at first. you can feel the tension radiating off him, the way he’s coiled, ready to intervene if you falter. but you don’t. and you won’t.

“well, well,” logan says, voice carrying over the music, smirk sharper than ever. “look who decided to show up.”

"logan." you tilt your head slightly as you speak, letting your eyes meet his just long enough to let him know you’re not afraid. "i’m done running.”

wooyoung’s fingers tighten just slightly on yours. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. he’s watching every breath you take, every shift of your weight, ready to step in if it goes too far. but he doesn’t. not yet. this moment is yours.

“done running, huh? think you can just walk in here like nothing happened?” logan sneers, stepping a fraction closer.

your hand twitches against his, but you hold it steady. “if you even think of touching me...i will not stay silent,” you say, voice low to camouflage the slight shiver in it.

wooyoung’s eyes flick from you to logan, jaw tight, every muscle tense. he’s ready, waiting, but he doesn’t move. he knows you’ve taken the first step. he knows that right now, it’s your voice, your presence, your fire that matters. logan falters, just a little, eyes narrowing, realizing the confidence he expects to crush isn’t there.

“you really think you can just… walk in here, smiling like nothing happened?” logan smirks, trying to hide the flicker of unease. he takes another step, the music thrumming around you like a heartbeat, daring you to flinch.

you swallow hard, chest tightening, but you force yourself to stand straight, chin high. “i’m here. that’s all you need to know.”

“that’s not enough, baby. you still owe me…” he laughs, low, sharp. his voice trails, and the way he leans closer, the space shrinking, makes your stomach knot. "and unless you've won a lottery... i'd say you are still mine, no matter what scum you have by your side."

wooyoung stiffens beside you. you feel the subtle pressure of his hand on yours. just enough to anchor you. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even breathe too loudly, but his presence presses into the space between you and logan, and it feels like a shield.

logan laughs again, louder this time, edging closer. “oh, i remember how obedient you used to be. maybe i should remind you—”

you can’t stop the tremor rising in your throat. your fists clench at your sides, heart hammering. panic tries to crawl in, and for a moment, the week of courage you’ve built threatens to crumble.

“wooyoung…” your voice is barely a whisper, shaky, but enough that he hears.

he doesn’t wait. in one fluid motion, his body steps slightly in front of yours, shoulder brushing yours, hand tightening around yours until your fingers interlock. his eyes meet logan’s, sharp and dangerous.

“back off,” he says, low, almost a growl, the kind of tone that stops people cold.

logan falters, the confidence in his smirk wavering. he opens his mouth, but the weight in wooyoung’s gaze makes him hesitate. he sees the anger, the protectiveness. still, he speaks. "out of all people, you chose a lowlife stoner."

you feel every word like a slap, and your chest tightens. not from shame, but from the audacity in his tone. your grip on wooyoung’s hand tightens, a silent anchor, and you step slightly closer to him, as if his presence alone could make the world bend in your favor.

logan’s smirk falters again, irritation flashing behind his eyes. “did you plan this all along? being with him while you were still with me? you slutty—"

wooyoung cuts him off with a step forward, voice low, lethal in its calm. “i suggest you leave, scavo. now.”

the music pulses around you, a drumbeat under the silence that falls in your triangle of space: you, wooyoung, him. you feel the heat of adrenaline rushing through you, the panic that tried to claw back last week, but you stand firm, head high. logan laughs, but it’s a hollow thing, more nervous than cruel. he tries one last step, closing the gap, but wooyoung doesn’t flinch. he’s a wall now, iron and calm and ready.

“i said back off,” he repeats, voice sharper this time.

finally, logan hesitates, the smirk gone, replaced by a twitching jaw and a calculating glance. “fine,” he spits, stepping back, trying to hide the shake in his hands. “but this isn’t over.”

you let out a proper breath now. you were scared to even breathe around him. your knees feel a little less like they might buckle, your chest a little less tight. wooyoung’s hand squeezes yours, grounding, steady. he doesn’t let go. he doesn’t need to.

“you okay?” he murmurs, voice low, just for you.

“yeah,” you whisper, and for the first time tonight, it’s real. not shaky. not a lie. “thanks.”

he nods, his eyes still scanning the space, making sure the threat has truly stepped back, but his focus is on you. on the fact that you stood, that you spoke, that you didn’t break. you tilt your head slightly, letting the warmth of that presence sink in, and for a heartbeat, the room feels smaller, safer, yours.

wooyoung steers you through the crowd, keeping one hand lightly on your lower back, guiding you to a quieter corner near the glass doors that lead to the pool. the air here is cooler, the music softened, and he can finally watch you. really watch you. you lean against the cold glass, shoulders back, breathing steady.

"that's over," you huff. "for now. i still need to pay him back somehow."

"we'll figure it out."

"i guess..." you trail.

"you're braver than you think," he says. he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, close enough that his thumb grazes your cheek. the simple touch lingers, sending warmth through both of you. "do not underestimate yourself. ever."

"maybe," you admit, leaning just slightly closer. "but it's easier with you here."

"i'll always be here," he murmurs. his chest tightens, that familiar knot of protectiveness and something more fluttering inside. he tilts his head, lowering just enough for his forehead to brush yours. "even now that this is all over. that is, if you want me, of course."

"don't be silly, woo." you hit his shoulder playfully. "you're my friend. not just an escape from my worries."

it's just you and him, small and private amidst the chaos. your fingers intertwine more deliberately now, and he notices how naturally your hand fits in his. on his end, this still isn't enough. "come."

you don't question it. he guides you upstairs, where you once followed after him when james managed to touch his nerve during a project night. he knows exactly where to go, leading you to the end of the hallway and into an empty room. he turns the key in the lock, and it softly clicks, separating you from the downstairs world and creating one on its own. you sit on the edge of the bed, awaiting his further instructions.

"can i be bad influence for one night?" he asks, dipping his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"what do you have in mind, jung wooyoung?"

he hesitates at first. then, he reveals the item in his hand. a blunt, perfectly rolled. and pink.

"weed?" you ask, casually.

"have you ever tried it?" he sits next to you, holding the pink item up for you to see. "it's not like cigarettes. it won't touch your allergy."

"guess i could try once," you take it, brushing his hand as you hold it. a slow jolt runs up his arm at the contact. you tilt your head teasingly. "you're not going to make me turn into a monster, right?"

"only a little," he murmurs, smirking.

"i've never seen a pink one."

"i know. i made it for you." he lights it, the tip glowing orange. smoke fills the space between you, curling around the tension in the room. he holds it to your lips, fingers brushing against them as you purse your lips.

you inhale, cough lightly, and he chuckles low. "yuck."

"the first inhale is always bad." he explains. "lay down. it'll be comfier."

you fall back, the mattress soft beneath you, and the bed dips under his weight as he leans in to sit beside you. the space between you is tight, electric. you don't move away.

he exhales slowly, smoke drifting toward the ceiling, eyes flicking to yours. "feel... relaxed?"

"a little," you admit. your gaze is stuck to the ceiling, watching the smoke dance in various shapes. "i feel... too much. in a good way."

"like...?" he passes the blunt back to you, this time letting you inhale on your own. it is easier, and you don't cough.

"so sensitive." you say. "like i'm burning up."

"hm." wooyoung hums, then takes the blunt back. it seems that the weed does everything opposite for you. it dulls his senses, while it increases yours. that's interesting to know. "oh, i have a gift for you."

"really?" you giggle, looking at him. he doesn't back, instead shuffling through the side pocket of his cargo jeans and pulling out a recently bought item. you squeak upon seeing it, fingers immediately snatching it from his grip. "you bought me eyeshadow?!"

a lazy smile dances on his lips, body too relaxed to do anything else. "yep."

"can i put it on you?" you sit up, almost too quickly. "please, please, please?"

"now?" he looks at you, slowly exhaling the smoke into your face. "sure. you have no brushes, though. or whatever you use."

you flop on top of him, knees on either side, and the weight of you presses him into the mattress. he can feel the heat radiating off your body, the slight tremor of your hands as they reach for the palette. the smoke curls lazily above you both, soft, hazy, making every movement feel more like a dream.

"don't worry," you murmur, brushing a strand of raven hair behind his ear. his chest tightens, every nerve suddenly aware of how close you are, how gentle and alive you feel atop him.

he watches as your fingers dip into the palette, the colors hitting like a neon burst: pinks, golds, glitter, shimmer. every swipe of the finger against his eyelid is precise but tentative, as if you're exploring more than his skin. he swallows hard, mind short-circuiting at the touch, at the smell of your shampoo and the faint sweetness of cherry cola that lingers around you.

"like this?" you whisper. your voice is soft, almost teasing, and he wants to nod, to tell you to keep going, but his throat feels tight.

"yeah," he manages, voice low, guttural even. "don't stop."

he notices everything: the little smudge of glitter you leave on your own hand, the way you lean forward, the brush of your hair against his shoulder. your laughter bubbles quietly and it wraps around him, something light that cuts through the haze of smoke and tension. when you lean back just slightly, admiring the glitter tracing the corners of his eyes, he can't look away. it's ridiculous, the effect you have on him. he's pinned to the mattress by the simple sight of you. the smoke and the sparkle make this moment feel like it exists outside time.

and then your hand hovers near his cheek, brushing the powder away, and he leans into it without thinking, instinctively. the bed dips beneath him, the smoke thick and curling, the glitter catching the dim light, and he's aware of every inch of proximity between you.

he swallows as your breath brushes his lips, testing. his body reacts before his mind can catch up. the low hum in his chest, the pull of his hands toward your waist, the electric surge running straight to the core of him. everything inside him buzzes, and he knows he's been waiting for this, for the chaos and the quiet and for you all at once.

he doesn't move away when you lean closer. he wants to memorize the taste, the smell, the feel of you here. smoke, glitter, warmth, the daze. it all tangles together, messy and overwhelming, and he'd let it stay like this forever if he could. the blunt is forgotten, put out and fallen to the floor. your lips graze his, soft, a little sticky from the gloss. he doesn't mind. he welcomes it, closing the gap and finally moulding your lips together.

it is warm, sweet. it is everything he has secretly imagined. it is you. his grip on your waist intensifies, squeezing you as he loses himself to the taste of you. cherries melt on his tongue as you part your lips, allowing him to consume you entirely. a brush of the hips against his, nails grazing his jaw and neck tattoo, and sighs of pleasure whispered into his lips, wooyoung is a yearning man beneath you.

he kisses you deeper, one hand combing through your hair while the other slides lower along your spine, drawing you impossibly close. your breath mingles, hot and shaky, eyes fluttering closed, and he can feel the pull between you. the hunger that has been building since you crossed that threshold together. he groans low in his chest, lips parting just enough to swallow your sighs. everything is electric, chaotic, raw. he memorizes every shiver, every gasp, and every curve.

he doesn't stop. it's not enough. he flips you over, hovering above you as his hands slip beneath the cardigan. he listens to your body signals, ready to stop if you show any signs of discomfort. you don't. you tug him closer, grinding slightly against him, hips pressing, thighs brushing, and he lets his hands wander, tracing the lines of your body, up to he outline of your bra. his fingers burn where he touches you, and finally, his senses aren't dull like they usually are when he is high. it's all a haze of sensation and need, and he's drowning in it willingly.

his voice is rough, broken when he mutters, "you feel... so good." your response is a soft, breathy laugh, shaky, teasing, as you press even closer. he groans, teeth catching the shell of your ear, whispering, "don't stop."

you meet him, lips to lips again, teeth, tongues, moans blending with the faint buzz in your chest, hands grasping, holding, needing. every shiver that runs through you sparks through him, every press of your body against his fuels a fire that refuses to die. he knows he's lost to you entirely, and he doesn't want to be found. with a swift motion, he removes his t-shirt, and returns his focus to you. he kneels between your legs, veiny hands grabbing your thighs and pushing them apart.

with a little help by lifting your hips off the mattress, your jeans find comfort on the floor next to the blunt and his t-shirt. wooyoung has to stop. his mouth almost waters, seeing the pink cotton panties sticking to your pussy. he loses his mind, seeing just what he has been missing out on. his nose is soon buried between your legs, and you gasp, hands flying to his hair to grip at the soft locks. he accidentally bumps his nose into your clit, while his tongue tastes you over the cotton material. he hooks his fingers into it, peeling it away from your skin and revealing your glistening core.

"what- what are you doing?" you stutter, raising your head just enough to lock your eyes with him.

"i'm going to devour you." he simply states. there is a flash of panic on your face, and something clicks inside wooyoung. it worsens the flame inside his chest. "have you... have you never been eaten out before?"

"no...?"

"fuck, cherry." he breathes out. "you're in for a ride." and without missing a beat, dives in.

you squirm under him, the touch unfamiliar and intense. he holds you firmly against the mattress, one palm flat on your lower stomach, and one teasing your pulsing entrance. his tongue is hot against your aching clit, flicking, licking, sucking. every now and then he dips his tongue lower, letting his nose take over unintentionally. your voice becomes raspy with how much you whine and moan.

you're warm and inviting as he slips two fingers into your velvet walls, curling upward as his palm presses your lower stomach. he rubs the upper wall, all while his tongue gives full attention to your clit. the pain on his scalp is delicious, your fingers pulling each time he abuses the sensitive spot inside you. your moans are becoming shorter, and louder, letting him know that you are inching closer to release. he pulls away, even though he can't get enough of the way you taste. however, he wouldn't miss your face when orgasming for anything in this world.

your lips part, and your eyes are fixed on him as your breathing is cut short. your features softening, eyebrows furrowing with pleasure as your body twitches beneath him. the look of pure ecstasy on your face is what makes him twitch in his jeans. slowly, he pulls his fingers out, putting them in his mouth and cleaning them until the last drop of you is gone.

"you're telling me nobody else has ever tasted you like this?" he presses a kiss to your forehead, helping you calm down.

"no," you stutter. "never."

"did you like it?"

"again." you respond. "please."

"needy little thing." he chuckles, then unbuttons your cardigan, revealing your matching bra. "i'll eat you out as long as you'd like, as many times as you'd like. but right now, i need to be inside of you, or i'll die."

you nod eagerly, legs already wrapping around him as he unbuttons his jeans. he strokes himself a few times, eyes fixed on your glistening core, almost resembling the glitter makeup around his eyes. he leaks before he even presses himself against you, desire burning up inside him, eating him alive. the tip slips past your folds, and little by little, he sinks inside. your velvety walls hug him, suck him in inside, and don't let go. he finds it hard to move for a moment, too lost in the way you are still pulsing around him.

"you're-" you choke out, tongue peeking out to wet your dry lips. "you're so pretty."

"pretty?" wooyoung breathes out, looking down where he is buried inside of you.

"yes." you nod. "your face, your body. your cock, too."

it's not funny. it hits him right where it shouldn't, in the hottest way possible, making him twitch inside of you before he can barely move. being called pretty is becoming a kink now, and seeing that you are enjoying his reactions, he doesn't have to worry about whether it'll happen again or not. the hazy smile on your lips says it all.

slowly, wooyoung starts moving. he buries his head into the crook of your neck, feelings too intense to do anything else. he subconsciously bites your neck, shoulder, collarbones, all while his hips slowly fill you to the brim each time he pushes himself against you. your nails leave trails of reminders for tomorrow on his back, and lips ghost over his neck and shoulder, leaving behind faint traces of whatever is left of your lip gloss. the bed creaks softly as he picks up his pace, and the headboard rocks against the wall. he feels warm, a thin layer of sweat covering his body as his moves become sloppy and deep.

"you're beautiful, have i ever told you that?" he pulls away to take a proper look at you.

"tell me more." you beg, hands slipping from his back to hold his face. "please."

he swallows, the heat between you making his pulse stutter. "i... i love the way you shiver when i touch you," he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. "how soft you feel... how you taste... how every gasp and moan sounds like it belongs to me."

your breath hitches, and you can't stop the smile tugging at your lips. "keep going," you insist, pressing closer, wanting to drown in the way his voice wraps around you.

he leans in, forehead against yours, low and rough as he rocks against you, hands firmly placed on your waist as he holds you in place. "since-, ha-ah-, the moment you walked in that shop. the way you, ah-, looked at me, with those eyes. like you're looking at me right now. fuck- the way you feel under my hands... the way you let me in. you trust me, and, oh-, you've given yourself to me. look down, cherry."

your gaze follows his, down to where his cock glistens with your arousal every time he pulls away, only to slam his hips back. his moans turn into soft whines, and his movements speed up, chasing release. he feels hot, magma boiling beneath his skin, waiting to spill out. the room is filled with mixed noises from both of you, each moan higher and louder.

"let me fill you up. please." he begs. "let me show you how i can take care of you."

"please do." you pull him against you, body shaking with anticipation of another orgasm. "cum inside me, wooyoung. please."

"fuck, darling," he chokes out. "say my name like that again, and i won't let you go for days."

"wooyoung," you moan out, and his eyes roll back, release finally catching up to him. "make me yours. please, please, please-"

"ah- ha-" his hips stutter, and his cock twitches. he spills inside of you, feeling better than anything he has ever felt. it feels like he's floating for a moment, head up in the clouds and senses overloaded by you. your smell, your noises, your taste. all of you. "oh, fuck."

the warm sensation is a trigger for you, making your spine lift off the mattress as the orgasm hits you. your nails dig into his biceps, desperately trying to ground you. he rubs your sides with his palms, helping you come down from the high as you struggle to breathe. wooyoung plops on top of you, face buried into your neck where he has left countless bite marks.

wooyoung stays pressed against you, chest to chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling in the haze of smoke and glitter. your fingers drift lazily over his shoulders, over the half moon nail marks, over the slick of sweat that clings to his skin. he feels every inch of you, every sigh and shiver, and lets his own body sink into yours, weight and warmth pressing you together.

"fuck..." he breathes, lips brushing against your temple. "you're unreal."

you laugh softly, shaky, fingertips tracing a line down his spine. "we're a mess."

"mmh," he hums, low and guttural, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, then along your cheekbone, soft but deliberate. he nuzzles briefly, teasing your earlobe with the tip of his nose, making you gasp lightly against him. he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, thumb lingering. "god, cherry... you smell like... everything i want."

you tilt your head, brushing your lips against his collarbone. "then keep me here," you whisper.

he hums, letting a finger trace circles on the small of your back, then teasing down to your waist, hand warm and steady. "i don't want to move," he admits, voice rough, head leaning against yours. "i could stay like this forever."

"then do. tonight. just... stay."

he chuckles low, dragging a hand along your arm, letting it rest on your shoulder. a playful nip to your earlobe, a gentle squeeze of your hip, soft grazes along your jawline. they're small touches, but they electrify the space between you. every breath, every sigh, every tiny movement you make is engraved into his soul.

"you know," he murmurs, voice hoarse, "i've never felt anything like this. you're mine, cherry. and i'm not letting go."

"i don't want you to." you press closer, fingers threading through his hair, lips brushing the side of his neck. "stay here. just... be with me."

he smiles against you, teeth grazing your shoulder lightly in a lazy, teasing way, before resting his head atop yours. slow, deliberate caresses, fingers tracing invisible paths along your back and arms, every touch memorized. your body shivers against his, small, quiet whispers brushing against his neck, and he hums, letting it wrap around him, letting the quiet chaos of the night dissolve into the haze of glitter, smoke, warmth, and you.

and for a while, the world outside ceases to exist. only you, him, the smell of cherry and smoke, the heat of skin pressed to skin, and the slow, steady rhythm of two hearts tangled in the quiet aftermath.

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