and ty for all the odxny fanart since release! The artist ( @saffein-e ) decided to use some of it as a celebration. Here is where you can find those pieces tacked on odxny's wall:
⸝⸝ synopsis: You grew up side by side with Lee Heeseung: books carried home from school, stickers pressed to the bridge railing, summers that felt endless. He took pictures of everything, but mostly of you. Years passed. He left for the city, you moved away, and what was once everyday turned into silence. Until the night you walked into a gallery on a rainy street. Walls lined with photographs: your laughter, your childhood, your life seen through his eyes. And suddenly you weren’t just looking at art. You were standing in the middle of a love that had always been there, waiting.
⸝⸝ genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, coming-of-age, slice of life, fluff, angst, mutual pining
⸝⸝ warnings: long stretches of emotional angst!!!
⸝⸝ wc: 9.5k
⸝⸝ a/n: this one’s super close to my heart — i got inspired by fujii kaze’s my eyes adored you and it kind of spiraled into this long, soft, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow burn. btw, way too much yearning 😭 i poured so much love (and pain) into writing this, so i really hope you guys feel it too. pls let me know what you think + reblogs/feedback would mean the world <3 hope you enjoy!! divider by @cafekitsune and @omi-resources
THE FIRST ROLL
The summer that Heeseung turned twelve, the cicadas began earlier than anyone expected. Their chorus poured down from the trees like someone shook a thousand rattles at once, filling the afternoons with a shimmer that made the air feel heavy. Heeseung spent the first week of vacation with his knees stuck to the living room floor, sketching in the margins of his notebooks and fiddling with the second-hand camera his uncle left behind after a visit. It was a small point-and-shoot, the casing scuffed, the strap knotted where it had torn once. But to him it was not junk. It was a promise that he could hold time in his hand, that he could catch a moment and keep it for later.
He took pictures of the ordinary: his older brother snoring with an arm flung across his face, the condensation dripping from a glass of barley tea, the shadow of laundry lines stitching across the wall. He didn’t think of these as art, he didn’t even know the word belonged to him. He only thought: What if I forget this?
That was when he first saw her, again, not the first time in life, but the first time his eyes noticed in the way that camera lenses taught noticing. Y/N, eleven. She carried a backpack that looked too heavy for her shoulders but she dragged it with a cheerfulness that defied the burden, humming to herself in a way that made the sound skip with every step. A thin ribbon tied crookedly around her wrist, the color already faded from too much washing.
The stairwell of their apartment building echoed with the sound of her sneakers. She stopped halfway, dropped her books in a flurry, sighed, and plopped down to reorganize the mess. Instead of groaning, she laughed, loud and careless, like the mistake was a gift instead of an annoyance.
Heeseung, balanced on the landing above with his camera dangling from his wrist, thought: I should take this picture. But he didn’t raise the camera. He just watched, storing it the way a collector placed something on the highest shelf.
The next day, their paths lined up again, both headed to school. He was in sixth grade, she was in fifth, one year apart that felt like an entire kingdom of difference to children. She skipped steps, half-ran to keep up.
“You’re tall,” she announced like an accusation, not even glancing at him before adjusting the straps on her school bag.
“And you’re loud,” he muttered, embarrassed by the attention.
She laughed as if he complimented her. “Guess we’re even.”
Heeseung - long-limbed and soft-voiced, the kind of boy who raised his hand a beat late but knew the answer and Y/N - quick on the turn, a magnet for scraped knees and unlikely luck. The buildings along the bay kept the wind like a secret, and after school the two of them walked the same route because the town didn’t offer many choices. The bridge they crossed was a simple thing: paint flaking, rail cool under their fingers, but children did not need grandeur to crown a place. To them, it was the center of the world. A gull yelped; water panted at the pilings; someone’s radio carried a far-off chorus of something a little sad. They walked, and the day kept going because they asked it to.
On the first walk together, Y/N decided they should trade snacks.
“Trade you for the grape,” She was already holding out the orange, eyes bright with the assumption he would agree.
Heeseung, who claimed he didn’t like grape jelly on principle, surrendered his triangle. He accepted the orange half she pressed back, and, like always, handed her the bigger wedge. No one discussed it. That was just how it had always been. She bit into the wedge, juice spilling down her chin. Instead of wiping it neatly, she tilted her face to the sky and let it dry sticky, laughing when the cicadas seemed to cheer.
During their free time, Heeseung carried his little point-and-shoot. He was careful with it the way you’re careful with small animals: alert, protective, tender. He photographed anything that might evaporate: steam rising from cart noodles, chalk dust hanging like a constellation over the blackboard, a spray of glitter that escaped a crafts classroom and colonized the hallway. And sometimes, when she wasn’t looking, he photographed her. The target of his attention was never startled or posed; the picture found her mid-gesture: fingers worrying the corner of a worksheet, shoe heel tapping a rhythm nobody else heard, head tipped to listen when even teachers gave up.
“Again?” she said the first time she noticed, trying to squint at the tiny screen. “What do you do with all those?”
“Keep them,” he said, as if the notion was simple enough to carry in a pocket. “If you keep things right, they don’t run off.”
“Does it work on homework?” She grinned. “Mine seems built to escape.”
He huffed a laugh he didn’t know was charming yet. “You hand it in. That’s different.”
She gasped. “Betrayal.”
On the bridge, their ritual was a kind of make-believe that returned like a tide.
“We’re married for the next five minutes,” she announced solemnly, “just to cross the road,” always the judge and the mayor and the main actress in this town. He played along without making a face; he had already learned that certain games were not about winning so much as learning where her laughter lived.
“Then I’m carrying the groceries,” he said, nudging her school bag up his shoulder.
“You’re carrying my books,” she corrected, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow like she had seen in a drama once. It fit too easily, which was the first truth neither of them could name. “You have to walk on the outside of the sidewalk too,” she added, a rule she heard somewhere, the kind that pretended to be superstition but was actually a recipe for feeling safe.
“Okay,” he said, and did not say: I would, even if you didn’t tell me.
The bridge became their clock. Some days they ran across it, racing the gulls. Other days they leaned against the rail and spit sunflower seeds into the water, watching the ripples widen. Heeseung found himself carrying her books more often than not. She didn’t ask; she just placed them in his arms mid-conversation, distracted by some other thought, and he took them without protest.
On rainy days, he tilted the umbrella so it covered her more, leaving his own shoulder damp. She didn’t notice at first, too busy complaining about wet socks, but later, when she did, she said, “Thanks,” soft, like she handed him a marble she didn’t want to lose.
On hot days, he bought a popsicle from the corner shop and split it with her, peeling the wrapper carefully so it didn’t drip onto her wrist.
She groaned at the flavor. “Rainbow sherbet? It looks like a clown exploded.”
Heeseung smiled, a shy lift of his mouth. “Tastes like summer.” He offered her the first bite, watching her face tilt toward the sweetness, the exaggerated way she pretended to gag and then admitted, “Okay. Maybe just a little like summer.”
There was a softness to his habits that looks like shyness until you got close enough to feel the intent. Heeseung was not loud about anything. His fondness arrived like light through blinds: striped, patient, inevitable. “Take mine,” she said once, pressing a hair clip into his palm because his fringe kept tickling his eyelids. It was a ridiculous pink, shaped like a strawberry. He wore it all the way to his home, mortified and secretly pleased that the world could hold both states at once. Later, he clipped it to a ribbon loop inside his camera case, talisman beside talisman. Their stairwells smelled like dinner and detergent. His mother’s voice carried upward when she sang absentmindedly; her mother shuffled in slippers with a whispery grouse. Y/N left doorframes crooked with stickers: stars and cats and speech bubbles with no words. Heeseung’s father straightened the mail in the lobby slots as if the act would keep the town decent. People knew each other by the sound of their footsteps. The elevator paused more often when a neighbor’s baby slept.
When the school festival arrived, their classmates and teachers asked for volunteers, she grabbed his sleeve first.
“We’re doing the picture booth,” she said, all decision. “Paper crowns, fake bouquets, and a sign that says ‘SAY SOMETHING TRUE’ instead of ‘SAY CHEESE.’”
He blinked. “People don’t like truth.”
“They do if you make it simple.” She was already drawing a crown in the margins of her planner, points cockeyed. “They’ll like your pictures. You always make things look… the way they feel like they should.”
He looked at her. She was serious in a way that made him forgot how to balance his pencil. “Okay.”
The booth was a hit because it was earnest. Couples piled in; toddlers squeaked; a pair of janitors posed with mops like swords. Y/N made ridiculous faces and then very graceful ones, because she could, because she contained multitudes and refused to sort them by occasion. Heeseung took picture after picture until the camera they borrowed from school smelled faintly of warmed plastic and they had to switch batteries.
When nobody was waiting, she tied a paper crown around his head with yarn. “For the photographer king.”
He groaned. “Don’t.”
“Then take one with me.” He resisted, but she yanked him into the booth. They barely fit on the stool, shoulders pressed together. The flash popped, catching them mid-laugh, mid-lean, mid-breath. On impulse, she tipped her forehead against his just as the shutter snapped.
Later, when he printed the strip, that was the frame he couldn’t stop looking at. Two kids, eyes wide open, foreheads touching like they were testing the weight of a promise they didn’t understand yet. He tucked it between pages of a science book he pretended to understand. The page crinkled infinitesimally, a secret he could find by touch.
He had not named the feeling because he was good at leaving living things to choose their own names. He only knew it made the ordinary part gold around the edges. The way she pronounced his name when she was amused. The habit she had of tying hoodie strings into fishbones when she was thinking. The tiny freckle under her left eyebrow that looked like punctuation. He collected these like currency and spent none of it.
The first time she got into trouble for talking back, they walked across the bridge slower, words gone from her throat like she used them up. He didn’t ask what happened. He passed her his half of the orange without looking, pretended not to notice when she took all the pulp with her tongue and left him the rind. He saved the peel under his shoe for a whole block as if keeping something from falling apart might keep everything else together, too.
“Thanks,” she said, finally. It was a small word that trips everyone, but she said it like she meant to catch him before he hit the ground. “If you were more fun, I’d have to invented you.”
“I’m fun,” he said, insulted on a molecular level.
She barked a laugh that surprised even her. “You’re very serious.”
He tried on a scowl and failed. “I’m… careful.”
“Same thing,” she said, and meant it kindly. “It’s okay. We need one of those.”
He took her school bag and did the sidewalk rule and watched a boat nose into the bay with a stubborn grace he admired. Careful meant steady. Careful meant someone else could be messy and the floor would still be cleaned.
The year turned. They kept being themselves. At a class picnic, Y/N challenged three boys to a footrace she lost spectacularly and announced herself champion of the consolation prize. He photographed the moment she collected it: paper ribbon, crooked, triumphant. On a winter weekday, he learned to thread a needle so he could put a button back on his cardigan; she watched like it was a performance and clapped at the final knot. Spring arrived with ant armies and peonies, and they argued about which was cuter: the ant dragging a crumb larger than its body, or the round-shouldered flower head trying to remember how to open.
“The ant has a mission,” he claimed.
“The peony is shy,” she countered, which was apparently a valid argument in a world as elastic as theirs.
And always, the bridge. The water that did not care about their homework load. The hand that found his sleeve when a dog barked. The books he carried as if they were rare crystals. Make-believe spouses for five minutes at a time, long enough to learn where you’d stand if you had to stand for real.
Time kept moving, messy as chalk dust. Y/N’s father got a job that didn’t pay more but asked more hours; her mother started taking evening shifts twice a week; the building’s elevator broke for half a month and everyone learned new curses. On a humid morning, Y/N’s family packed boxes to shift across town for a better deal on rent and a kitchen window with a kinder view. It was only two bus stops farther, adults said. It was the length of an entire afternoon, children knew.
They stood on the bridge and inventoried what would change. He would be middle school; she would still be elementary for one more year. Their routes would diverge like forked lightning. She placed a sticker under the railing where nobody would think to look: two tiny star outlines, holding hands.
“For cartographers,” she said, as if the drawing could keep the map obedient.
“What if somebody peels it off?” he asked.
“Then they’re rude,” she said, which, in her mouth, was the meanest word she knew. “We’ll put another.”
They crossed one last time together from school like it wasn’t last at all. He carried her books. She tried to balance on the curb with closed eyes, failed, opened them, grinned, tried again. The town looked the same because towns were excellent at pretending.
On the evening before the movers came, she stopped by his door with two things: a folded paper crown and the photo booth print from the festival, the one where their foreheads nearly touch.
“For your archives,” she said, teasing, but the look she gave him was clear, like someone placing a pebble on a cairn so the path stayed visible to anyone who needed to pass. “So you don’t forget what to keep.”
He did not tell her that forgetting would require a surgery he was not eligible for. He took the crown with both hands, because paper was an honest burden, and he tucked the photo under the magnet that held up the electricity bill. His mother pretended not to see. His father hummed approval at the neatness of the magnet, not the picture.
Moving day announced itself with the clatter of tape and the soft thuds of decisions. Cardboard boxes arrived like small blank rooms; Y/N’s mother sat at the kitchen table sorting utensils with the authority of a librarian, while Y/N spun between rooms, promising to be helpful and somehow accomplishing exactly the most and the least at once.
Heeseung knocked at ten, holding his camera in one hand and a bag of bakery buns in the other. The door opened on a rush of warm air that smelled like soy sauce and something sweet. Y/N was barefoot, hair caught up by a pencil, a streak of dust on her cheek like a comical war-paint.
“You brought tribute,” she said, eyeing the buns with reverence.
“For the movers,” he lied, and she grinned because they both know exactly how many would survive her.
Inside was organized chaos. A box labeled ‘BOOKS (Y/N)’ was stuffed until its seams looked like they were practicing diplomacy. Another, ‘KITCHEN,’ was stacked with neatly wrapped bowls, the kind with blue fish swimming around the rim. A third sat empty, a marker lying across it like a baton ready to be passed.
“Here,” Y/N said, thrusting the marker at him. “Your handwriting is nicer. Label ‘IMPORTANT USELESS THINGS’.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Important or useless?”
“Yes.”
He wrote it exactly and drew a tiny cartoon crown in the corner. She noticed and didn’t comment, but the corner of her mouth lifted as if some invisible weight just shifted to a more comfortable shoulder.
For an hour they moved in and out of rooms carrying the past in armfuls. He learned how many hair ties a single person could lose and then find in one morning. He learned that she had a collection of tiny erasers shaped like fruit, each placed in an egg carton with more care than exam papers ever received. He learned that her mother refused to throw away microwave manuals because “you never know when you’ll be tested.”
In her room, the walls were paler where posters once hung. Sun had made silhouettes of her old obsessions: dancers mid-leap, a shelf of famous book covers, an explosion of postcards from places she hadn’t seen yet but had decided to miss in advance. The ceiling sticker constellation she placed above her pillow had shifted north, a galaxy that migrated to the corner after an ambitious breeze.
“Help me with this,” she said, plopping onto the floor beside a box of stickers and washi tapes. “We need to decide what survives.”
Heeseung sat cross-legged, steadying his camera against his knee. He hesitated. “Do you want… pictures? Of the room?” He gestured, meaning: of this exact arrangement of absence and mess.
She considerd. He expected her to wave it off, wind didn’t often stand still on purpose. But she nodded, a small, serious bob of her head. “Yeah. For the exhibition.”
“What exhibition?”
“The one we build when we’re rich and bored,” she said briskly, but there was a catch of something softer below the joke. “Our exhibition!”
He smiled. “Curated by two famous retired—”
“Whatever we want,” she finished, satisfied.
He stood and stepped back, not staging anything, just choosing what to honor: the pale rectangles where posters shielded the paint; the pencil tick-marks on the wall where her height was recorded, inches turned into witnesses; the window that framed the hint of bay like a polite cousin peering in; the sticker constellation, half-migrated, stubborn; the bed stripped down to its bones; the corner where a single bobby pin waited like a secret time capsule. He photographed it all. Softly, not greedy. The camera made a sound that felt a little like permission.
“Take one of my mom,” Y/N said, tugging him to the kitchen. “She won’t pose, but if you tell her it’s for the appliance manual—”
“I’m not scamming your mother.”
“You’d be saving history.” She leaned around the doorway and said loudly, “Mom! Heeseung’s making a manual for the microwave.”
Her mother looked up, suspicious and then amused, and gave a formal nod that would do for both refusal and consent. Heeseung lifted the camera. The frame was simple: a woman at a table, steam from tea curling like handwriting around an unspoken word; hands arranging rubber bands and twist ties with the gravity of someone who had always known how to make little order in a large world. The light from the window sketched a soft ladder up her cheek. She looked right at him for one frame, and in the photo her gaze was not stern, not coy, just exact.
After, she spread an orange peel into a star on the table and said to Y/N, “Tell him to take one of you, too. The helpful daughter.” The last two words arrived with a smile full of theatrical doubt.
Y/N obliged by putting on a bright play of competence: lifting a lamp, taping a box, writing with confident brains. Then, tiredness huffed out all at once. She slumped in a doorway and let her head thud back against the wood. He took that picture: the honesty of the slump, the pencil still somehow on her hair, the dust-streaked cheek, the half-moon of a smile at the corner of her mouth because even exhausted, she met the world like a co-conspirator.
“If you print that, I want two,” she said, eyes still closed.
“Why two?”
“So I can give one to Future Me,” she said, opening one eye. “So she remembers I’ve always been ridiculous and brave.” The eye closed again. “And that doorframes are comfortable.”
He stored the sentence with care. He would not know for years how often he would return to it.
By noon the movers came - men with shoulders like wardrobes who somehow moved like cats. It was funny. Neighbors appeared and disappeared: Mrs. Han with a plate of cut fruit, the twins from 3B who shouted good luck like they were blessing a ship, the student with headphones who nodded as if the beat demanded ritual. Y/N’s mother pressed envelopes of cash into the movers’ hands.
In the hallway, Y/N taped a final label to the Important Useless Things box. She snuck in a last item: the paper crown, folded flat, taped to the underside of the lid with a gentle care most people reserve for heirlooms.
“For luck,” she said when she noticed him noticing. “For the exhibition.”
“You sure?” he asked. “It’s yours.”
“It’s ours,” she corrected, as if pluralizing was the simplest kind of magic, and he decided to let himself be convinced.
When the door closed behind the last box, the apartment sighed. Y/N walked a slow circuit, trailing her fingers along the wall. In the empty bedroom, her sticker galaxy was the last holdout. She tested a corner with a fingernail, and a star peeled up obediently. She paused, then stoped.
“I’ll leave it,” she said. “Let the new kid inherit the sky.”
They stood at the window: just glass now, no curtains. The bay flashed its coins; the bridge hunched in patient blue. He pulled the camera up and lowered it again.
“Not this,” he said, and she knew what he meant.
Some things you kept with your eyes and the place in your chest that hummed.
At the building entrance, the neighbors assembled for the last small ceremony: a chorus of admonitions and blessings disguised as practical advice. “Call when you arrive.”; “Text if you need a trolley.”; “Don’t forget plant food.”; “Remember new bus routine.” Y/N, thrumming with a child’s terror and excitement at once, shook hands like a mayor and then finally turned to Heeseung.
“Walk me to the bridge?”
“Obviously.”
They went. The day had that shine that chose certain endings. The sticker under the rail was still there, slightly smudged. She pressed her thumb over it and then left a cloud of her fingerprint behind, a tiny fog that would evaporate before the end of the hour.
“Proof we were here,” she said softly. “Just in case the bridge gets ideas.”
“Bridges are loyal,” he said, not sure whether it was true but wanting to enroll reality in the cause.
On the other side, the moving truck idled, a beast with cardboard teeth. Y/N’s parents were already installed in the passenger seat like generals surveying a campaign.
Y/N squeezed his elbow once, quick and brave. “Write to me.”
“I will.”
“And send pictures.”
“I know,” he said, as if he didn’t make pictures the way other people made lists.
She hopped into the back seat, leaned out the window, and remembered something. “Hey, married for five minutes?”
He laughed, startled at how relief could sound like laughter. “We have three minutes left.”
They were wed by the road’s indifference and the gull’s unworried stare; then divorced at the truck’s turn signal. The city folded around the absence. Heeseung stood with his hands in his pockets until the truck was a small square, then a line, then a memory the air could carry without effort.
On the walk back, he took pictures of the empty places: the patch of hallway wall where her stickers sunned; the space on the mailboxes where her family name was no longer wedged between the Hans and the Parks; the scuffed corner of the stair where she always clipped her bag. It felt dangerous and correct, like telling the truth did when you were not sure it would be received kindly.
That evening, his mother slid a bowl of soup toward him and said, in a voice that hid smiles inside scolding, “You did a good thing today.”
“I carried boxes,” he said.
“You carried more than that,” she returned, and let him go back to his room.
The next day, the street felt wider. The place her bicycle used to be chained looked undecorated. The stairwell was quieter. He photographed the empty patch of wall where her stickers once clung and was embarrassed by his own sentimentality until the picture developed and the absence looked like a sentence that still meant something.
He walked home from a later bell now, along a route that delivered him to a different end of the same bridge. The water still practiced being the color of pewter. He considered mailing her the photograph of the empty patch and decided not to; it felt like telling on a heartbreak that was behaving itself. Instead, he recorded all the new small things he would want to tell her the next time she was walking beside him: the shop that changed owners and now sold paper lanterns; the cat with three white whiskers and one black who decided the bus stop bench was an altar; the old woman who watered the sidewalk before dusk because she said the pavement slept better when it was cool. He saved it all like a man harvested rain.
That evening, he wrote. Two lines, three, never heavy, never asking. They remained what they had always been: close enough to want to reach, far enough to learn how to speak across a gap. Children, not yet required to call their patience by its grown name.
Y/N,
I forgot to tell you that the ant at the bus stop dragged a whole chip today. It was bigger than its whole body and the wind kept changing direction, but the ant kept going. I took a picture and then I helped it with a breath. (Is that cheating?) The lantern shop is still closed at strange hours but now the owner leaves the little ones lit in the window like they’re guarding the door. I think you would like their faces. Also, your sticker galaxy migrated again. It’s in the corner over the door now. Weather patterns. Write back when you find the new kitchen window. I want to know the view.
—H
He hesitated. Too earnest? Too much? Then folded the paper. He slipped in two photographs: the ant with the chip (a blur, but with heroic intent) and the empty patch of hall wall where a pale square like a ghost of a poster floated. He thought about writing a caption and didn’t, because pictures were better when they trusted the person holding them.
He left the letter on the hall table for the morning post and went to bed under a sky of nothing, comfortable with that for the first time because he knew the new kid would have their stars inside her old room.
Her reply arrived three days later, slanted handwriting careening toward the margins:
Heeseung,
New kitchen window looks at a laundry line. Every day at 3 p.m., the neighbor hangs exactly six shirts and two towels. If it rains, he stands and watches them dry anyway. (My mom says his wife is very patient.) Our living room smells like cardboard and garlic. Every step makes a sound like a laughing cat (floorboards are a comedy duo). Enclosed: one very important photograph. It is the view from our bus stop bench. The bench is pretending to be a ship. You can tell because it is brave and a little splintery.
P.S. Ants accept help. That is a science fact.
—Y/N
Enclosed was a picture she took with a disposable camera bought at the corner shop. It was predictably disastrous. The horizon tilted like the bench was drunk. A stranger’s elbow took up an aristocratic corner of the frame. But the light was generous, and the bench did look like it could set sail if the road ever turned to water. He laughed, then put it on his wall beside the crown’s empty spot and found, to his surprise, that the bench stabilized the whole room.
They wrote like this for months, letters sneaking between texts like older siblings in a busy family. The texts collected small weather: memes, jokes, crisis about a math test, a picture of a sandwich shaped like a dinosaur because her mother was expressive in lunches. The letters held the slow things. In one, he enclosed a photograph of a pair of umbrellas left open to dry, one bent like a knees-out dancer, one straight-backed and new. In another, she slipped in a pressed clover between wax paper and warned him not to eat it no matter how much it looked like a cookie.
He began, without fanfare, to teach himself more than the point-and-shoot would allow. He found an old manual SLR at a secondhand store, its body dinged but sound, and spent a week’s saved allowance on it with the grime-haloed pride of an honest purchase. He learned the hello and goodbye of shutter speed and aperture, how the world changed when you asked it to be slower. He convinced the school custodian to let him into the darkroom after hours, a privilege granted because he always returned things better than he found them and because he once fixed the custodian’s radio by hitting it exactly wrong.
The first time he threaded film onto the reel, he swore softly and dropped it in the developer at an angle that would make a real photographer faint. The first prints were overexposed, the second too shy, the third suddenly right for two frames and then a disaster. But in one bath he saw Y/N’s mother’s hands clasped, veins making rivers; in another, the sticker under the bridge rail glowed as if it generated its own light. He felt unreasonably tender toward chemistry. It gave him back what he loved in a way he could share.
When the town’s youth center announced a small photography contest, theme: “Ordinary Days”, his hands went cold for a moment and then warmed again. He made three prints that felt true and laid them in the submission box like someone laying bread at a shrine. He said nothing to anyone. He hated the way hope made your mouth write checks your heart had to cash.
The results were announced a week later in the community room, in front of a kiosk that still advertised a bake sale from two autumns ago. He tried to look like someone who just happened to be passing. His picture of two umbrellas won third place. A woman with a bright scarf and an opinion about everything made a small speech about how the bent umbrella “reminds one that usefulness and tenderness are not mutually exclusive” and the photographer “has a patient eye.” He heard none of it past the first word: patient. He didn’t know his eyes could be called that; he flew on it for the rest of the day like a paper airplane that accidentally caught a thermal.
He texted Y/N a picture of the certificate, angled so the calligraphy looked accidental. She responded with forty-seven exclamation points, a voice note that was just her clapping too close to the mic, and then: you better put that in the exhibition.
He told her about the lady with the bright scarf; she told him about a plant at their new place that refused to die no matter where they moved it, the kind of stubbornness she respected. He sent her a print of the umbrellas with a penciled note on the back: sometimes bent looks like honesty. She sent him a polaroid of her knee after tripping during a three-legged race, captioned: sometimes bent looks like me.
They see each other as often as bus routes and parents permitted. The first reunion was at the bridge because rituals exist so you didn’t have to invent them on days when your throat was already doing too much. She arrived breathless, higher ponytail, thicker laugh. He arrived with the careful awe of someone who knew how quick a year could be.
“You got taller,” she said, sounding offended.
“You didn’t,” he said, sounding consoled.
They walked across in both directions twice, because some things deserved a repetition. The sticker was gone, peeled by rain, a rude hand, time. She mourned it theatrically for thirty seconds and then dug in her pocket for a new one.
“We bring our own constellations,” she announced, tucking it under the rail at a slightly different angle. He photographed her hand there, the sea making its little clapping sound against the pilings, and tucked the picture away for a day when he would need reminding that newness and sameness could hold hands.
On another visit, they tried to make their old games fit.
“Married for five minutes,” she said on instinct, then hesitated, and he felt the hitch like the car of a train catching. The game was too small and too big at once.
He rescued them both by deadpanning, “We’re getting a divorce in three. I want the orange wedge.”
She laughed till she hiccups, the tension dissolving into pure childish air. “You can have the wedge. I want the umbrella with personality.”
When it rained, he positioned the umbrella to shield her more, and she pretended not to notice in a way that said: I see you, and I will keep your gentleness unwrinkled.
The letters carried them through the school year. In them, she was both the chaos and the apology for the chaos. She mixed up due dates and then threw herself into extra credit with the zeal of a tiny saint. She started leaving herself notes in weird places: taped to the ceiling, rolled into a sock drawer like messages in bottles.
Reminders work better if they feel like surprises, she wrote him, and he considered tattooing the sentence on his brain.
In his letters, he was both observation and the warm edge of judgment that belonged to care. He wrote of the custodian’s radio, of the way the lane lines near the crosswalk got repainted not quite straight, of a flock of sparrows that seemed to hover only around the noodles shop at three p.m. There’s a schedule for everything if you’re patient enough to find it, he told her.
Is there a schedule for wind? she asked.
He wrote back, You. Tuesdays and always.
A winter sat in between them. Snow mad architecture of silence. He photographed children’s mittens left like flags, a single bicycle refusing to surrender its seat, the way breath made the city looked like it had a soul (or little ghosts). She mailed him a drawing so bad he kept it with superstitious reverence, the “bridge” in it warping like a dream, their stick-figure selves with hands that were too big, hearts tiny and ferocious in their chests.
On an early spring afternoon, they met at the photo booth attached to the corner store: a newer machine than the school’s, brighter, ruthless, less willing to let you got away with being earnest. “One frame,” she declared. “Truth instead of cheese.”
“Last time you said that, you invented a religion.”
“Found one,” she corrected, pushing coins into the slot.
They crammed inside, elbows, knees, old comfort. The screen counted down. She put a paper crown on his head again. A different one, smaller, the points soft with use. He pretended to groan and then the flash caught him mid-surrender. In the second frame she stuck a sticker on his cheek; in the third he stuck one on hers; in the fourth she leaned her forehead to his, eyes opened because closing them now would have been a different kind of sentence. The pictures that spat out were chaotic and unkind and perfect. They each took a strip like dividing a treat.
He walked her to her bus. At the curb, she bumped her shoulder against his lightly, the same way she did in fifth grade when the teacher told her to hush and she couldn’t.
“Thanks for writing,” she said. “Sometimes I think if you didn’t, I’d forget how to look.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said, alarmed.
She shrugged. “Maybe. But this way I won’t.”
He wanted to tell her something grand, something that might make her stay in this exact minute, but the bus breathed a hot sigh and the driver lifted a bored hand.
Instead, he said, “Go. The plant that refuses to die needs witnesses.”
She snorted and boarded, waving like a tiny politician. He stood on the curb with the strip of pictures in his pocket, the crown crooked on his head because he forgot to take it off, and the town’s late sunlight tried to gild everything into mercy.
Night found him at his desk, developing in a basin the picture he took of her hand under the bridge rail. As the image arrived: fingers, sticker, a smudge of her thumbprint hovering like a ghost. He felt that specific ache that photography taught him: the moment when a thing turned from proof into presence. He wrote two words on the back: we were.
He could have ended the day there, properly. Instead, he pulled out the print of the two umbrellas and wrote something new: and we are.
Two days later, a letter arrived from her with a napkin tucked inside. On it, in felt-tip pen, in heroic capital letters: THIS IS AN OFFICIAL CERTIFICATE OF OUR BRIDGE. It was stamped with a circle she made using the bottom of a cup dipped in cocoa. I found the town office, she wrote. It is my desk.
He laughed, overjoyed by the kind of governance that let twelve-year-old declare jurisdiction with a napkin. He spent the rest of the evening photographing objects as if they were citizens: the strawberry hair clip, the bench polaroid, the bent umbrella. He pinned the “certificate” above his desk beside the crown, and the corner of the room developed a polite authority.
The final weeks of spring tasted like pencils and promises. Exams loomed. He wrote less, she wrote less, but what they wrote seemed to lean harder toward each other. On the last day of school, he pocketed the camera and walked home alone across the bridge. Halfway, he stopped, leaned his elbows on the rail the way adults did, and let his eyes unfocused until the water became a sheet of moving silver. A finger tapped his shoulder.
“What a coincidence,” she said, sounding like someone who planned a coincidence the way architects planned light.
He startled and grinned and said the thing that was always true: “I was thinking of you.”
“I was thinking of fruit-flavored ice and the law that says you have to share.”
He obliged, buying the rainbow sherbet and watching her made a face before she closed her eyes and took the first bite like a dare she was giving herself. The sky was a gentle disorder of blue, the water a language they didn’t speak but understood the gist of, and the bridge was only a bridge again, no longer a border but a place to stand.
When they parted, he carried the day home in the camera and in his mouth like a secret he was not allowed to say yet. He arranged the prints later in a shoebox lined with tissue from the bakery, because sometimes sacred things required ordinary closets. On the top, he wrote a label for himself and for the future exhibition: EXHIBIT A: OUR TERRITORY.
In bed, he lay awake and listened to new release R&B songs to sleep. Somewhere down the hall, a baby fussed, then fell back into that tiny whistled breathing that he could never quite capture on film. He thought about the napkin certificate and the sticker replaced and the way her thumb left fog that evaporated before he could photograph it. He thought about how some evidences were only for those who were there. He thought: I’m learning the long way to say one thing, and in the meantime, I will keep everything.
He drifted. The camera on his desk caught the first thin light of morning like a coin. In some other part of town, a girl lay under a window that watched laundry and dreamed of a museum none of them could draw yet. Between them, the bridge held the night as if it were holding hands.
Summer arrives like it didn’t know how to whisper. The air was a thick hum of insects, the pavement glimmered like it swallowed the sun, and children’s laughter ricocheted off every stairwell in town. Y/N spent her days making games out of nothing: hopscotch boards chalked on the sidewalk, competitions to see who could spit watermelon seeds the farthest, elaborate treasure hunts that ended with someone’s lost shoelace being declared “ancient relic.”
Heeseung spent his days with his camera. He was taller now, his shadow longer on the street, but he still moved with a kind of gentleness that made him seem younger than he is. He photographed the way the light fell through laundry lines, how the heat warped the horizon into a trembling mirage, how the bridge hummed under the soles of running children. And always, he photographed Y/N whenever they met and he had the chance.
Their letters grew fatter in the summer, since they had more time, each one an envelope swelling with scraps. Y/N sent a pressed flower taped into a notebook margin, a train ticket stub she insisted was “evidence of my first great journey” (though it was only two stops to visit a cousin). She doodled strange constellations that didn’t exist and labeled them things like “The Lazy Dog” and “The Girl Who Refuses Homework.”
Heeseung sent her strips of photo booth outtakes, contact sheets filled with blurred attempts, a folded map of the bay where he circled their secret sticker spot. His handwriting was tidy, but his sentences sometimes trailed off into ellipses, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t yet name.
One letter from her read:
Heeseung,
My parents say heat makes people lazy, but I think it makes me alive. Yesterday I convinced three kids to race me barefoot across the sand near the bay, and we were all slipping and yelling and it felt like the earth was laughing. If you were there, you’d have made us look heroic.
P.S. I miss our bridge. Does it miss me back?
—Y/N
He folded the letter twice, smoothed it, and whispered aloud: “Yes.” He photographed the bridge that evening, the rail glowing red in sunset, and sent it to her. On the back he wrote:
It waits like a chair you never move from the corner, even when guests come.
She replied with:
That’s the fanciest way anyone’s ever called me a guest. I like it.
In July, the sky finally broke. Clouds tumbled in thick and close, thunder sounded like furniture dragged across heaven. The bridge, usually their playground, suddenly looked fragile, like a thread stretched between two hungry mouths.
Heeseung stood under the eaves with his camera, torn between common sense and devotion. Rain thrashed the pavement, washing chalk hopscotch into pale streaks. He remembered her words: does the bridge miss me back? He thought, maybe it will, if I visit it when no one else will.
He ran.
The rain was heavy, drumming his shoulders, sliding down his lashes. By the time he reached the bridge, his shoes squelched like soaked sponges. But the bridge was still there, stubborn and true. He leaned against the railing, snapping photos. Blurred water, ripples like fingerprints, a gull beating itself skyward against the downpour.
And then he noticed something small but insistent: the sticker. Their two-star sticker, half-peeling, but still clinging, water dripping down its glossy face. He knelt, shielding it with his hand as if that could help. His heart twisted with something fierce and loyal. Even if everything peels, we can always put another.
Later, dripping in the stairwell of his building, his mother sighed at the sight of him and pressed a towel into his hands without asking.
“At least tell me you caught something worth it,” she muttered.
He developed the film that night in the darkroom, the smell of chemicals sharp. On the photo paper, the sticker appeared: stubborn, small, shining in the rain like a promise that refused to wash away. He sent the print to Y/N with a single line:
Proof.
She replied with a sketch of two stick figures holding umbrellas, drawn so crookedly the rain seemed to be falling sideways. Underneath, she wrote:
Loyal, like you.
When they met again, late in the summer, it was on a day of cicadas so loud they nearly drowned out their own voices. Y/N came running from the bus stop, hair tangled from humidity, a notebook sticking out of her backpack like a flag.
“You’re taller again,” she accused, squinting up at him.
“You’re still loud,” he countered, but his voice was softer than the words.
They walked across the bridge slowly, no hurry. She told him about her new neighborhood: the old man who fed stray cats at dawn, the girl next door who sang so off-key it made birds scatter, the market stall that sold dumplings too spicy to eat but too cheap to ignore.
He told her about the darkroom, about learning how to time exposure, about how one mistake turned her mother’s hands into ghostly blurs of light.
“It still looks like her,” he said. “Just… the part of her you see when you’re remembering.”
She listened with her head tilted, biting her lower lip the way she did when she was trying not to laugh at something that wasn’t funny.
“You make everything sound like a story,” she said finally. “Even mistakes.”
He shrugged, embarrassed, kicking at a pebble. “I just don’t want to lose things.”
“Then you’ll never lose me,” she said without hesitation. “I’m terrible at being lost.”
The sentence hit him like the strike of a bell. He wanted to take a picture right then, but the camera hung heavy at his side. Some moments, he knew, couldn’t be caught without breaking.
September arrived, and with it the quiet rearrangement of their worlds. Heeseung entered his second year of middle school, Y/N started her first year at middle school. The difference in their ages had never mattered before, but now it felt like a gap: the way his uniform looked more serious, the way his classes piled work on him like weights, the way she was still running down halls with untied shoelaces.
They still wrote. They still met when they could. But the rhythm stuttered. His new classmates teased him for carrying a camera everywhere. Hers begged her to join games and dared her into silly competitions. She started talking about new friends, about teachers she loved and teachers she hated. He listened, smiled, wrote it down to remember later.
One evening, after a long day of exams, he passed the bridge alone. The sticker was gone, washed away or stolen. He stood there for a long time, feeling the rail cool under his palm, the water dark beneath. Then he pulled a new sticker from his pocket, he had been carrying one for weeks, just in case. Two small stars, holding hands. He pressed it firmly under the railing.
Later that night, he texted her, attached an image:
New stars tonight. Our bridge keeps its map.
Her reply came quick:
Told you. Loyal.
Long time after that, on the last night of summer, before the next school year tightened its grip, they met again. The sky was streaked with orange and lavender, the bay mirroring every color like it didn’t want to choose. They sat on the rail, legs dangling, a bag of shared chips between them.
“Do you think we’ll still walk here when we’re old?” she asked, tossing a chip to a gull that dived and missed.
“Yeah,” he said, before she even finished the question.
She grinned at his certainty. “Then let’s promise.”
He hesitated, then lifted his pinky. She hooked hers around it without hesitation. For five seconds, they sat there like that, two kids promising something they didn’t yet know the shape of.
And though he said nothing aloud, in his heart Heeseung thought: I’ll keep you, even if I never get to hold you. I’ll keep every piece of you my eyes can carry.
That night, he developed the photo he took just before the promise: the one where the sunset painted her hair gold, where she looked like she belonged to the horizon. On the back, he wrote: EXHIBIT B: THE DAY WE PROMISED THE BRIDGE.
And he filed it away in the shoebox exhibition, not knowing yet how full that exhibition would become.
By the time Y/N was fourteen and Heeseung fifteen, the apartment stairwell had stopped echoing with her sneakers. She still visited the bridge sometimes, but less often, because she got along well with her new school now and it had clubs, music practices and friends with bicycles. She started to wear her hair differently each week: sometimes twisted up with chopsticks stolen from her mother’s drawer, sometimes in two high ponytails that look like quotation marks around her head.
When she did appear, she arrived in a whirl of noise, telling stories about her day before her feet even reached the pavement.
“They made me class president,” she said one afternoon, dropping onto the bridge rail as if it were a throne. “Not because I’m responsible. I think because no one else wanted it.”
“You accepted.”
“Obviously. Who wouldn’t? It’s the only way to guarantee the good chalk during art period.”
Heeseung blinked at her. “You campaigned for chalk?”
“I campaigned for justice,” she corrected. “It just so happens justice looks like the biggest box of colors.”
He laughed quietly, and she beamed at him as though she had won twice.
At home, Heeseung’s desk has begun to look like a small print shop. The shoebox museum now had a younger cousin: a cardboard folder labeled Developments, its pockets stuffed with photo strips, negatives, failed exposures that looked like ghosts escaping their own outlines.
He tried to capture light more deliberately now. He read about the golden hour, about shadows long enough to drink from. He took the camera to the bridge at dawn, just once, when the town was still curled asleep. The fog rose from the water like breath, and for the first time he felt that looking could be an art, not only an act of hoarding. He pressed the shutter. The sound was soft, but in the silence it felt like a declaration.
Later, when Y/N visited, he showed her the prints. She didn’t laugh at the blown-out frames this time. She held the dawn picture by the edges, squinted at the pale mist.
“It looks like a secret that forgot itself,” she said, and he wrote the phrase down immediately in the margin of his science book.
Something began to shift in her the next year. She was taller, sharper, though still quick to laughter. Boys trailed after her in clusters, laughing too loud, daring her to skip classes, daring her to steal chalk from the teacher’s desk instead of signing it out.
One afternoon, Heeseung arrived at the bridge to find her already there, perched on the railing with her skirt catching the wind. Beside her stood a boy with a mop of black hair, younger than she was by a year. Nishimura Riki. He had that effortless grin of someone who knew he’d get away with anything.
“Heeseung!” she called, waving, not noticing the way his steps slowed. “This is Riki. He’s in my club. He can balance on the rail without holding on.”
Riki hopped up, arms out like wings, and walked the railing as if gravity had forgotten him. The other kids cheered. Y/N clapped until her palms turn pink. Heeseung’s stomach knotted. He raised his camera because it was the only thing he could do, framing the two of them against the sky. The shutter clicked, recording her laughter, recording the shadow of Riki’s arm slung too close.
Later, in the darkroom, the image appeared: Y/N’s face turned toward Riki, open and bright, the wind tugging her hair like it wanted in on the secret. He traced her outline with the corner of a fingernail, feeling both protective and left behind. He labeled the print: EXHIBIT C: GRAVITY FORGOTTEN.
By the following spring, Heeseung was preparing for high school entrance exams. His days blurred into pages and practice sheets, late nights bent over equations that didn’t hold still. Y/N’s messages still came, scattered and sudden: a joke about their neighbor’s singing cat, a complaint about math, a photograph of Riki trying to juggle apples and dropping them all. She wrote letters less often now. They texted more. When she did write, they’re brief, hurried, dotted with doodles of stars that looked rushed but not careless.
Heeseung replied, though not as quickly as he once did. He didn’t want to weigh her down with how heavy his new world felt, so instead he sent her photographs: the reflection of rain in puddles, the lines of his desk lamp cutting across a notebook, the curve of their bridge at night. She responded with “pretty” or “weird” or “what if we climbed it someday,” and he thought: She is already climbing, and I’m just photographing the ground she leaves behind.
On her fifteen birthday, she invited him to a small gathering at the new apartment. He brought film prints wrapped in newspaper: one of the bent umbrella, one of the stubborn sticker, one of her mother’s hands.
She opened the bundle, tilted her head, and said, “You’re going to be famous one day. And when you are, you’ll still owe me an orange wedge.”
He flushed, said nothing, but later that night when he got home, he photographed the folded wrapping paper she had smoothed flat before throwing it away.
The final summer before he graduated from middle school, they met less often. Clubs ate her afternoons; cram school ate his evenings. But once in a while, when calendars happened to miss each other, they found themselves side by side again.
One evening, after a thunderstorm, they walked to the bridge. The air smelled of ozone and wet concrete. She balanced on the rail, arms out like Riki did months ago, but wobbled dangerously. He caught her elbow without thinking. For a moment, their faces were inches apart, the rain dripping from her eyelashes.
She smirked, unbothered. “See? I’m not afraid.”
He let go slowly, his palm remembering the shape of her arm. He didn’t tell her that he was afraid enough for both of them.
At the railing, she pulled out a sticker sheet, now bent and worn. The stars were fewer; she stuck one more under the rail, this time a crooked heart. “To mark the end of the fifth-and-sixth-grade dynasty,” she declared.
Heeseung lifted the camera. The shutter clicked. Later, the heart appeared in the darkroom, a small crooked outline clinging to rusted blue paint. He labeled it EXHIBIT D: DYNASTY, RETIRED.
On the last day before he stepped into high school, they met again on the bridge at sunset. The sky was bruised purple, streaked with orange, and the bay looked like it had been set alight from beneath.
She held out her pinky, bold and certain. “Promise we won’t forget this place. No matter how many bus stops, no matter how many bridges.”
He looked at her, at the streak of light catching in her hair, at the way her face was already sharpening into something less child, more beginning. He lifted his hand and hooked his pinky with hers.
“I promise.”
She grinned, triumphant, and said, “Married for five minutes. But maybe… forever in the exhibition.”
The bus sighed at the curb, and she ran to catch it, hair flying, backpack bouncing like it was laughing at him. He didn’t follow. He stayed on the bridge, camera hanging, eyes burning with something he still didn’t dare name.
That night, he developed the last roll of film from the summer. One frame caught her back as she ran, the heart-sticker under the railing glowing faintly in the corner of the shot. He wrote on the back: EXHIBIT E: SO CLOSE.
He added it to the shoebox. The lid closed with a soft sigh. Childhood folded away like a paper crown, edges creased, waiting.
that's all for part 1 guyss !!! gotta work on and update part 2 soon if people love this ;;
thank you again for reading + supporting!! feedback and reblogs mean the world 💌
SUMMARY: As the ornamental wife to your cold CEO husband, your only "real" moments are at 4:48 AM, watching him sleep. He's a man who saves his true self for another, while you are just a copia da studio. After a devastating confrontation, you finally leave for Florence. You don't expect him to follow, unraveled and desperate, a king with no power in your world, realizing too late that the asset he ignored was actually his masterpiece.
WARNINGS: heeseung!ceo, arranged marriage, heavy angst, emotional neglect, pining!reader, misunderstanding, mentions of emotional cheating (on his part), jealousy, possessive!heeseung, character breakdown, crying, y/n leaves, heeseung grovels, hurt/comfort, the 4:48 AM motif, forced proximity (huddling for warmth), the black card incident, hopeful ending, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
Part 1: The Ornamental Wife
Part 2: The Spectacle
Part 3: The Fight and Flight
Part 4: No Room for Seoul
Part 5: The Man Who Woke Up
Part 3: The Fight and Flight
He didn't sleep in the master suite. He couldn't.
He had ended up in the guest room in the west wing, as far from your new territory as possible, and had stared at the ceiling, the events of the day replaying on a loop. The screaming. The tears. The rage. And underneath it all, that one, incomprehensible, terrifying revelation of your secret, silent vigils.
He was a man whose entire operating system had crashed, and he was staring at the blank screen, waiting for a prompt.
But the 5 AM alarm was a reflex he couldn't break. He rose, showered, and dressed in the guest room, his movements stiff. He had to go to work. Work was logic. Work was control. He would go to the office, he would restore his own equilibrium, and then he would "handle" this... this... emotional crisis.
He had to pass the master suite to get to the stairs. He found himself pausing outside the door.
It was 5:20 AM.
The door opened, and you stepped out.
If he was expecting the tear-streaked, broken woman from last night, he was wrong.
You were dressed in a flawless, severe, charcoal grey sheath dress. Your hair was in its tight, perfect chignon. Your face was a mask of pale, powdered, serene neutrality. You looked like you were about to close a hostile takeover.
You stopped when you saw him. You didn't startle. You simply... registered his presence.
"Heeseung," you said. Your voice was a quiet, hoarse, but perfectly even rasp. "You're up."
"Y/N," he said, his own voice rough. "About last night..."
"Last night was... a lapse," you said, your voice devoid of all emotion. "As I promised, it won't happen again. The house is in order. Your coffee is waiting on the terrace. Your grey pinstripe suit is laid out for your 9 AM."
You were a perfect, high-functioning assistant. You were the copia da studio.
"Y/N, stop," he said, his voice raw.
"Stop?" You looked at him, your eyes as empty as a winter sky. "I'm just being the wife you required. The competent one. Is there a problem with the suit? I can have Minah fetch the blue."
"This... this isn't... I..." He couldn't form the words. I'm sorry. I didn't see you. I was wrong. They were a foreign language he'd never learned.
"Please excuse me," you said, your voice impossibly polite. "I have my own work."
You walked past him, your faint, familiar scent of paper and jasmine washing over him, and you didn't look back.
He fled to his office. But the fortress had been breached. He sat in his towering leather chair, staring at the skyline, and he couldn't see the numbers. He just saw your face. He saw your rage. He saw your pain.
He was a problem-solver.
* Problem: Y/N is hurt.
* Cause: She feels unseen. She feels (irrationally, in his mind) that Minju is a rival.
* Solution: Re-establish normalcy. Minimize irritants. Let her "cool off."
He spent the morning in a state of suspended, agonizing confusion. He was angry. He was... ashamed? He didn't know the word for what he was feeling. He just knew his "upper hand" was gone, and his world was tilted.
He was pacing his office, his jacket off, his tie loosened, when his executive secretary buzzed.
"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but... Miss Minju is here to see you. She says it's personal. She seems... quite upset."
He groaned, rubbing his temples. Not now. But... maybe this was good. He could talk to someone normal. Someone "easy."
"It's... fine. Send her in."
Minju walked in, not with her usual breezy laugh, but with a look of genuine concern. "Heeseung, thank God. I was so worried. You... you hung up on me at the gala, and then you were so cold yesterday... is everything okay? Is your family...?"
He felt a wave of relief. She wasn't demanding anything. She was just... nice.
"It's..." he sighed, dropping into the leather sofa. "It's a nightmare, Minju. Just... drama. At home." He rolled up his sleeves, a gesture of exhaustion. "I... I don't even know. Coffee? I need a coffee."
As he moved to the small kitchenette in his office, he found himself talking. Complaining. Not about you, specifically, but about the pressure. The "expectations." He laughed, a short, bitter sound. "You wouldn't believe the drama at my house right now..."
You spent the morning in a state of suspended animation. The "perfect wife" programming was running on autopilot. You signed off on the household accounts. You rescheduled a foundation lunch.
But underneath, the woman who had confessed her most humiliating secrets and been met with stunned, robotic silence was dying.
He just walked away.
But what if he didn't understand? He was a man of logic, of business. He didn't speak the language of tears and rage.
A last, desperate, stupid idea formed.
What if... what if you broke the routine? What if, for one afternoon, you weren't "Mrs. Lee" (the asset) or "Y/N" (the crying, hysterical wife)? What if you were... just his partner?
You would go to his office. A "real wife" move. You would bring him the quarterly reports you'd just signed. An excuse. You would go to his territory, not as a suppliant, but as an equal.
You changed. Not into a "Mrs. Lee" uniform. You put on a sharp, impossibly chic, black Florentine pantsuit. You put your hair down, letting it fall in a heavy, dark curtain. You put on the dark red lipstick you hadn't worn since your wedding.
This was Y/N. The curator. The aristocrat. The Masterpiece.
You were going to make him see you.
When you walked into the lobby of the Lee Group tower, the entire floor went silent.
"Mrs. Lee," the receptionist breathed, scrambling for the phone.
"Don't bother," you said, your voice cool. "I'll go right up."
His executive secretary, a woman in her fifties, almost dropped her headset.
"Madame! W-we... we weren't expecting you!"
"I'm sure you weren't," you said, your smile small. "Is he in?"
"He's... in a private meeting, Madame! I really must—"
You didn't listen. You walked past her, your hand on the heavy, frosted glass door to his private, adjoining lounge.
"Madame, please—"
You pushed it open.
And the world ended.
It wasn't a "meeting."
Heeseung was on the low, leather sofa, his back to the door. He wasn't in his suit jacket. His sleeves were rolled up, showing his forearms. He was leaning forward, a cup of coffee in his hand.
And he was laughing.
A real, unguarded, deep laugh. The laugh you had only ever seen in flickers, the one you had prayed for.
Minju was sitting in the armchair opposite him, also laughing, her hand over her mouth. "I'm telling you, he was terrified! He just... ran!"
They both froze at the sound of the door.
Minju's laugh died.
Heeseung... he didn't just stop laughing. He tensed. His entire body went rigid. He stood up, knocking the coffee table, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated, guilty shock.
"Y/N."
It wasn't what it looked like. They weren't touching. They weren't kissing.
It was, in every single way, so much worse.
This was it. This was the "easy." This was the "light." This was the man who could roll up his sleeves and laugh about nothing. This was the man you had been praying for.
And he was giving it all to her. He was complaining about you—the "drama at home"—to her.
You didn't say a word. You looked at Heeseung's rolled-up sleeves. You looked at the two half-empty coffee cups. You looked at the "real," easy, vibrant life in this room, a life you had never, not once, been invited into.
You just... turned.
You didn't run. You walked.
You walked out, past the horrified secretary, into the elevator.
You got in your car and drove home, your vision blurring, your hands shaking on the wheel. You had gone to find your husband, and you had found, definitively, that he was not yours.
You drove.
You didn't speed. You didn't cry. You kept your shaking hands locked on the wheel and drove with the precise, lawful obedience of a model citizen. The world outside the car was bright, normal, and utterly alien.
You saw it all now. You had been a fool. You'd been so obsessed with the ghost of Minju, the idea of her, that you had missed the entire point.
Minju wasn't the "other woman."
You were.
Minju was the "easy." The "real." The "friend." She was the life he retreated to. You were the cold, contractual, high-stakes obligation. You were the job. She was the comfort.
You had walked into his office, a place you had no right to be, wearing your red lipstick and your armor, ready to make him see the masterpiece. And you had found him, with his sleeves rolled up, laughing. You had gone to find your husband, and you had found, definitively, that he was not yours.
You walked into the house. The staff, Robert and Mrs. Han, saw your face and froze. The mask was not just cracked; it was gone. You were a woman made of pale, cold, aristocratic rage.
You said nothing. You just walked up the grand staircase.
You went straight to the master suite. Not your office. Not the guest room. You were done hiding. You walked into the dressing room and pulled a small, leather overnight bag from the top of the wardrobe.
He burst into the room not five minutes later. He must have broken every speed limit.
"Y/N! Y/N, wait!"
He was breathless, his tie undone, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated panic.
He stopped dead when he saw you. You weren't crying. You were in your cashmere robe, methodically pulling your scuffed Florentine flats from the shoe rack.
"Y/N! Stop! What are you doing? You don't understand!"
You didn't look at him. You just kept folding.
"It wasn't what it looked like!" he said, his voice high with panic. "Minju just... she stopped by! I... I didn't even... She was upset! It was nothing!"
You finally laughed. That same, dry, broken, terrible laugh.
"You're right, Heeseung," you said, your voice hollow as you laid your poetry books on the bed. "It wasn't 'nothing.' It was everything."
"What are you talking about?"
You turned, and your eyes were not empty anymore. They were blazing. "It was you, with your sleeves rolled up. It was you, laughing. It was you, being the easy, light, human man I've been waiting for all year! You weren't 'Mr. Lee.' You were just... you. And you were giving it all to her. You were complaining about me... to her."
"She's just a friend!"
"I DON'T CARE!" you screamed, and the sound was ripped from you. "I don't care if you're sleeping with her! What I care about is that she gets the man I've been waiting for, and I get the 5 AM robot! She gets the masterpiece, and I get the cold, empty, copia da studio!"
"Y/N, stop this!" he shouted, his own panic rising. "Stop... stop packing. Let's just... let's sit down. Like... like a husband and wife. Let's just talk about this. We can fix this."
You stopped. The rage, the fire, was gone. It had burned you out. You looked at him, at his desperate, confused face. You looked at the half-packed bag. You were so tired.
"...Fix what, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice suddenly quiet. You sank onto the edge of the bed. "Okay. Let's talk. As a husband and wife."
He saw this as an opening, a negotiation. He sat, not beside you, but in the armchair opposite. He was still trying to "handle" the situation. He leaned forward, earnestly.
"This... this is a misunderstanding. You're... you're being overly sensitive about this. Minju is just... easy. It's not real. It's just a laugh. It doesn't mean anything."
"That's the entire problem," you whispered. "She gets the 'easy.' She gets the 'laugh.' She gets the man with his sleeves rolled up. What do I get, Heeseung? I get the 5 AM departures. I get the man who doesn't come to bed. I get the polite, empty 'good morning.' She gets your... your humanity. I get the CEO."
"That's not fair!" he said, frustrated. "My life is... it's complicated! The pressure I'm under... you don't understand it!"
"I don't?" you asked, your voice still quiet. "I understand the pressure of running this house. I understand the pressure of your mother's expectations. I understand the pressure of smiling at galas when I'd rather be... anywhere else. The difference is... I was doing it for us. You... you were just doing it. And you were escaping... to her."
"I was not—"
"You were, Heeseung. And it's fine. I... I get it. I'm... I'm not... 'easy.' I'm not 'fun.' I'm the woman who runs the house and reads about art."
He saw an opening. "Y/N, I don't... I don't know you! You're always... distant. You're always in your office. You're the one who's cold! How am I supposed to... to... connect with you, when you're... you know... you?"
This was it. The final, devastating, wrong-footed move.
You looked at him. And a small, terribly sad smile touched your lips.
"You're right," you said softly. "You don't know me. You're married to a stranger."
"See?" he said, relieved. "So we can... we can fix that! We can... get to know each other."
"Tell me one thing about me, Heeseung," you asked.
"What?"
"One thing. That's not a job function. Not 'organized' or 'efficient.' One personal thing about... me."
He stared at you, his mind a total blank. "...You... you like flowers. Peonies."
"My mother-in-law likes peonies," you corrected, your voice gentle. "I just... arrange them. What do I drink in the morning?"
He... he knew this. He'd seen you on the terrace.
"Coffee," he said, confidently. "Black. You... you drink it on the terrace when you're reading your tablet."
Your smile didn't waver, but your eyes... your eyes broke his heart.
"No, Heeseung," you said, so quietly he had to lean in. "You drink black coffee. You read the paper on the terrace. I... I hate coffee."
"I... I drink tea. Earl Grey. With milk. Every single morning, in my office, before you even wake up. I have, every day, for a year."
He was floored. He stared at you. All those mornings... all those performances on the terrace... he had never, not once, seen you. He had just seen a reflection of his own routine.
"You see?" you whispered, the first tear slipping down your cheek. You wiped it away, not with anger, but with a profound, weary sadness. "There's nothing to save. There's nothing to fix. There was never... an 'us' to begin with. You're married to a ghost. And she's... she's just so tired of haunting this house."
He was on his feet now, crossing the space between you, finally, finally panicking. This wasn't a negotiation. This was a verdict.
"Y/N... I... I didn't know." He knelt in front of you, his hands hovering, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you. "God, I... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I've been... I've been blind. Just... tell me. Tell me what to do. I'll... I'll... I'll stop seeing Minju. I'll stop everything. I'll come home. We'll... we'll... go on a date. A real one."
You looked at his desperate, confused face. His "solution" was so... small.
"A date? And then what? We come home, and you retreat to your study? Or do we... do we sleep in that bed together? That cold, empty bed?"
You put your hand over your mouth, a sob escaping. "We've been married for a year, Heeseung. And you have never... you've never once... touched me."
"I... I thought..." he stammered, his face ashen. "I was respecting you. I thought you wanted the distance! I... I didn't want to... to... pressure you. It was... it was a... a contract, I thought..."
You flinched at the word. "A contract. Yes. You're right."
You stood up, your movements slow, deliberate. The decision was made. The sadness was gone, replaced by cold clarity.
"That's what this was. A contract. And I've fulfilled my end. I've been the perfect Mrs. Lee."
You zipped the bag.
"But I... the woman who drinks tea... the woman who... who waited for you in the dark... she wasn't part of that contract. And she is leaving."
"No!" he said, standing, grabbing your arm. "Y/N! Don't... don't say that! I want... I want that woman! The one at the gala! The one who... who laughs! I... I want you! I just... I didn't know how!"
You looked at his hand on your arm, then at his face. "It's too late, Heeseung. You... you don't even know what you want. You want the 'easy' girl, but you want the 'dutiful' wife. You can't have both. And I... I can't be either anymore."
You pulled your arm free, gently but firmly.
"I'll be discreet. It won't be a 'spectacle.'"
"Y/N," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't. Where will you go?"
You picked up your bag. You paused at the door, your back to him.
"To Florence. Or Paris. Or just... away."
You turned, just your head. Your face was calm, clear, and utterly devastating.
"And maybe, after this... I'll find someone."
He froze. His hands, by his sides, clenched into fists. A dark, possessive, cold rage, different from any anger he'd ever known, seized him. The image of you... laughing... with another man. A man who knew what you drank. A man who would touch you. A muscle in his jaw jumped, a violent, spasming tic. He was boiling. But he was silent. He had no words. He had no right.
"Someday," you said, your voice a wistful, broken whisper, "I'll be everything to somebody else. They'll... they'll get the woman who loves cartoons and arranges flowers. The woman who drinks tea. And they won't find it 'suffocating.' They'll... they'll think that I'm exciting."
He was completely silent. He just stood there, his fists clenched, vibrating with a silent, primal fury he couldn't name.
Your smile was watery, but final. "Goodbye, Heeseung. I'll have my lawyer send the papers."
You walked out of the room. He didn't follow. He just stood at the top of the landing, a king in his castle, watching you go.
You reached the front door. You opened it. And you didn't look back.
The click of the heavy front door was a sound of profound, deafening finality.
It was not a slam. It was a soft, final, perfectly engineered sound. The sound of a vault being sealed.
Heeseung stood motionless in the foyer, the echo of that simple click reverberating through the cavernous marble hall. He was still half-running, his hand outstretched from his last, desperate plea.
He watched through the bevelled glass as your silhouette, ramrod straight, moved down the steps. You didn't look back.
Robert and Mrs. Han were frozen by the newel post, their faces pale, their professional masks shattered. They had been witnesses to the entire, brutal, final act.
A sleek, black sedan he didn't recognize pulled up to the main gates, pausing. You hadn't called a taxi. You had arranged this. This wasn't a flight of passion. This was a planned, strategic extraction.
You opened the back door, slid inside, and were gone.
He was left standing in the open doorway, the cool afternoon air swirling around his ankles, mocking the house's perfect, climate-controlled stillness. Slowly, as if moving through deep water, he turned back inside.
The grand foyer felt like a stadium. Robert and Mrs. Han were still there, paralyzed.
His face, which had been pale with panic, hardened into a mask of cold fury. His default setting. Control. Appearances. "What are you looking at?" he snapped, his voice a low growl. They both flinched. "Get back to work. And tell the staff that what happens in this house stays in this house. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Robert whispered, and they both practically evaporated, fleeing his presence.
He was alone. He didn't go to his study. He couldn't. He walked, his steps heavy, back up the grand staircase. He went to the master suite. The room was a violation. Your overnight bag was gone. The empty, hollowed-out spaces in the dressing room—where your Y/N clothes had been—felt like a wound.
He stood in the center of the room, his fists clenched, his entire body vibrating. He wasn't thinking about the contract. He wasn't thinking about his father, or your family, or the "spectacle."
He was hearing one sentence, on a loop, a sound like a siren. "...someday I'll be everything to somebody else."
He saw it. A mental image so sharp and so violent it made him flinch. You. In a small, sunlit apartment in Florence. You, wearing that damned grey cashmere robe. You, laughing—that bright, unguarded, real laugh. And a man. A faceless, formless man. The man was making you tea. He was touching your hair. He was... he was...
A low, animalistic sound of pure, possessive rage tore from Heeseung's throat. He strode to the empty vanity and swiped his arm across it, sending the one remaining bottle of your perfume crashing to the floor. The glass shattered, and the scent of jasmine and paper—your scent—instantly filled the room, suffocating him.
He was boiling. He had never felt this. Not jealousy. This was... theft. How dared you? How dared you speak of another man? You were his. You were Mrs. Lee. You were his wife.
His hands were shaking. He pulled out his phone. This wasn't a CEO fixing a problem. This was a man losing his mind. He had to get you back. He had to fix this. His fingers, clumsy with panic, typed.
Where are you? Please, Y/N. I'm worried. Are you safe?
He hit send. It was good. Concerned. A husband's text. He waited, his heart hammering. No reply. He typed again, the façade of concern already cracking.
Y/N, please. Answer me. I'm... I'm sorry.
The word felt like swallowing glass, but he sent it.
I didn't mean it. What I said. "Suffocating." It was... I was just... I was panicking. I was wrong.
He was pacing now, a caged animal. Still nothing. He hit the call button. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. It went to voicemail. Voicemail. You had declined his call. He saw red. He called again. Voicemail.
Just... come back. Please. We can talk. I'll... I'll... I'll book a dinner. A real one. Just us. We can... we can fix this.
He stared at the sent messages. It was a good offer. A solution. A date. That's what you'd said you wanted. He waited for the ellipses to show you were typing. Nothing. He called again. And again. Missed Call (1) Missed Call (2)
The panic was morphing, twisting back into his default, cold rage. His texts became sharper. Y/N, I'm serious. This is not the way. Pick up the phone. We need to discuss this like adults. Stop being childish.
He stared at the screen, at the string of his own pathetic, unanswered messages. He looked at the shattered perfume bottle on the floor. He was alone. And he had never, ever felt so completely out of control.
The city lights blurred past the window. You were in a void, a bubble of quiet, anonymous leather. The adrenaline that had fueled your rage, your confession, your final, brutal honesty, had evaporated all at once. It left a vacuum. You collapsed back against the seat, your entire body beginning to shake, a violent, uncontrollable tremor.
It was not from the cold. It was from shock. It was done.
The car pulled up to the discreet, elegant entrance of the Shilla. Not a Lee-owned property. "Mr. Lee, thank you. Please wait. I'll just be a moment." "Take your time, Madame," he said, his voice gentle.
You had to compose yourself. You sat for a moment, breathing. You wiped your face with a tissue from your bag. You put the mask of the aristocrat back on. It was not the "Mrs. Lee" mask. It was an older one. Colder. Stronger.
You walked into the lobby. It was a blur of quiet, beige luxury. "A suite, please," you said to the front desk clerk. Your voice was a hoarse whisper, but it was steady. "For... one week." "Under what name, ma'am?" You paused. This was it. The first step. "Kim," you said. "Y/N Kim." The name felt strange on your tongue. It was light. It was heavy. It was the sound of a ghost reclaiming its own body. You paid with a credit card from a private Florentine account. A card he didn't know existed. The 'asset' had her own assets.
The bellboy unlocked the door to your suite. You tipped him, and he left, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You were alone. The room was beautiful. High-floor. Panoramic views of the city. A massive, king-sized bed, impeccably made. It was utterly, terrifyingly empty.
It was the master suite, but without the lie. It was the blue guest room, but without the hope of him being down the hall. This was the reality. You dropped your bag. You kicked off your flats. You walked to the window and just... stared. You had done it. You were free. So why did you feel like you had just stepped off a cliff?
Your handbag vibrated. A sharp, angry, alien sound. The "Mrs. Lee" phone.
Your heart—that stupid, traitorous, un-killable muscle—leaped. A final, pathetic jolt of hope. Is it an apology? Did he... did he finally... see? Did he understand?
Your hands were shaking so hard, it took three tries to get the phone out. The screen was bright. A string of messages. From Heeseung.
Where are you? Please, Y/N. I'm worried. Are you safe?
You stared at it. Worried. Safe. It was... a start. It was more than you'd expected. Your throat tightened. You kept reading.
Y/N, please. Answer me. I'm... I'm sorry.
You actually gasped, a small, choked sound. He... he was apologizing. The word looked so foreign next to his name. I'm sorry. Your phone buzzed with an incoming call. Heeseung. You flinched, your thumb hovering over the green button, and hit silence. You couldn't. You couldn't hear his voice. Not yet.
I didn't mean it. What I said. "Suffocating." It was... I was just... I was panicking. I was wrong.
The tears you had refused to shed in the car now welled, hot and fast. He was... he was... trying. Maybe... maybe he... Another call. Heeseung. You silenced it again, your heart hammering. And then, the next text. The "solution."
Just... come back. Please. We can talk. I'll... I'll... I'll book a dinner. A real one. Just us. We can... we can fix this.
The tears stopped. Instantly. They didn't just stop; they froze. You read the message again. I'll book a dinner. A real one. We can fix this.
You laughed. It was the same, dry, broken, terrible sound from the bedroom. He thought... he thought a dinner... would "fix" this? He thought he could book a reservation, and that would erase a year of profound, structural, emotional neglect? He thought he could "fix" the fact that he didn't know you, that he didn't see you, that he'd been giving his real self to another woman... with an entrée?
It was so much worse than his anger. It was so much more pathetic than his "contract" talk. His best attempt at reconciliation, his grand "I'm sorry" gesture... was to schedule an event. He was, and always would be, a man who saw love as a line item in his calendar.
He didn't just not get it. He was incapable of getting it. That, more than the anger, more than the cruelty, was the gut-wrenching, final truth. There was nothing there to save. You couldn't fix a man who didn't even understand what was broken.
The phone buzzed. And again. And again. Missed Call (3) Missed Call (4) A new text. The mask of his apology was gone.
Y/N, I'm serious. This is not the way. Pick up the phone. We need to discuss this like adults. Stop being childish.
There it was. The shift from panic to annoyance. The "adult" was the CEO. The "child" was the woman with the broken heart.
Your finger, no longer shaking, moved with purpose. You pressed the power button. And you held it down. You watched the screen go black, extinguishing his name, extinguishing "Mrs. Lee," extinguishing the entire, wasted, suffocating year.
You slipped the dark, silent phone into your bag and zipped it shut. You turned back to the window. The city lights were a galaxy of possibilities. And you were utterly, completely alone. The tears didn't come. You just felt... empty. The final, terrible peace of a war that has, at last, been lost.
You picked up the hotel phone, your voice steady. "Mr. Lee? Thank you for waiting. I've had a change of plans." You paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath of the clean, sterile, hotel air. "Take me to the airport. The international terminal."
The phone in Heeseung's hand was silent. Dead. He hit redial again, a desperate, reflexive action.
A single, sterile beep, followed by an automated voice: "The number you have dialed is not available or is currently switched off."
Switched off.
She hadn't just declined. She hadn't just silenced him.
She had disconnected. She had, with a single, deliberate press of a button, erased him.
The panic, the fleeting hope of his "solution," the frantic "I'm sorry"—it all evaporated, sucked into a vacuum. And what rushed in was cold.
It was the pure, undiluted, elemental rage of a king whose most prized possession had not only spoken, but had walked itself off the chessboard.
He was still standing in the master suite, the scent of your shattered perfume bottle thick in the air. It was the only part of you left. He looked at the bed, at the dent in the pillow where you'd sat, at the cashmere robe still clutched in his other hand.
"...someday I'll be everything to somebody else."
The words were a siren in his skull. The image of you, laughing, in Florence. A faceless man making you tea.
He strode, not to his study, but to the secure intercom on the wall, the one that bypassed the household staff and went directly to his security team.
He slammed the button. "This is Lee."
A voice, crisp and alert, came through. "Sir."
"A black Mercedes sedan, license plate..." He rattled off the numbers Mr. Lee's car, a car he had seen a thousand times but never truly registered. "It left the main gate approximately... twenty minutes ago. My... Mrs. Lee is in it. I want to know where it is. I want to know where it's going. Now."
"Yes, sir. And... credit cards?"
"Track them all." A thought, cold and sharp, hit him. "Not just the household cards. Track... track her personal accounts. The Kim family accounts. Whatever you have access to. I want to know every move she makes."
"Understood, sir."
He let go of the button. He was no longer a panicked husband. He was a CEO. He was a man with unlimited resources, and his most valuable asset was in unauthorized transit.
He stood in the center of his empty, silent room, and he waited.
You sat in the back of the car, a ghost in a bubble of quiet, anonymous leather. Mr. Lee drove with the smooth, unobtrusive skill of a man who had ferried your family for decades. He did not ask questions. He just drove.
You watched the city lights blur past, the skyline of a life you had just surgically excised. The trembling had subsided, leaving a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. You were hollowed out.
Your "Mrs. Lee" phone was a dead, useless brick in your bag.
But there was another one.
You reached into the hidden, silk-lined pocket of your handbag and pulled out a different phone. It was a slim, older, European model. You hadn't turned it on in over a year. You pressed the power button.
The screen flickered, and a familiar, foreign welcome screen lit up. You swapped your Korean SIM for the Italian one you kept taped inside the case.
It chimed, connecting to a new network. A flood of old, dormant notifications began to pour in. Emails from galleries. Texts from Florentine numbers. A life, paused, waiting for you to press play.
Your hands were shaking again, but for a different reason. This was... real.
You scrolled through the contacts, your thumb hovering over a name.
Luca.
You hit the call button. It was the middle of the morning in Italy. He would be at the gallery.
It rang once. Twice.
"Y/N?"
The voice was just as you remembered—warm, a little chaotic, laced with a familiar, artistic energy.
"Luca," you breathed, and a single, hot tear, the first tear of relief, escaped and ran down your cheek. "Ciao, sono io." (Hi, it's me.)
"Y/N! Dio mio! Are you... where are you? Are you alright? I've been... we've all been... Gesù, it's good to hear your voice."
"I... I'm okay," you lied, your voice cracking. "I... I'm just... I'm done, Luca. I'm done."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. He didn't need details. He had known, from your single, polite, sterile wedding announcement, what this was.
"You're coming home," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," you whispered. The word was a release. "I'm on my way to the airport now. I just... I needed to know... my old apartment? The one near the Pitti Palace?"
"The landlady? She'd kill for you to come back," he said, his voice becoming practical, grounding. "I'll call her. I'll get the keys. I'll... I'll stock the fridge. I'll get you tea. The good kind, from the shop on the corner."
You choked on a sob. He remembered your tea.
"Luca, grazie. Davvero. I just... I need to know there's a place for me to land."
"There's always a place for you here, Y/N. Always. Vola sicura. (Fly safe.) Call me when you land."
You hung up.
You were Y/N Kim. And you had a place to land.
The car pulled up to the sweeping, glass facade of Incheon, Terminal 2.
"Mr. Lee," you said, turning to the driver.
"Madame... Y/N-ssi," he said, his eyes in the mirror kind.
"I'll be gone for a long time. Thank you. For everything."
"Be well," he said, and that was all.
You stepped out, your small, leather overnight bag in your hand. You walked through the sliding glass doors, a single, anonymous figure in a sea of thousands.
Heeseung was staring at the wall when his private line buzzed.
"Sir. We have her."
He was on his feet. "Where?"
"The black Mercedes dropped her at the Shilla Hotel. She was inside for approximately ten minutes. She paid for a suite... under her maiden name."
Her maiden name. The words were a slap.
"But she didn't stay, sir. She got back in the same car. We... we have a problem."
"What problem? Where is she?"
"The car just dropped her at Incheon. Terminal 2. International departures."
The floor dropped out from under him. International.
"And... sir..." the security chief's voice was hesitant. "She... she just purchased a ticket. At the counter. One-way."
"WHERE?" he roared, his voice cracking.
"Florence, sir. Flight AZ759. It boards in forty minutes."
Florence.
The name was a death knell.
He saw it all. The faceless man. The tea. The laugh.
"...they'll think that I'm exciting."
He was grabbing his keys. He was running. He didn't have a plan. He wasn't a CEO. He wasn't a husband. He was just a raw, exposed nerve of possession.
He was not going to let you go.
He was not going to let you win.
He slammed the button for the elevator, his knuckles white. He didn't even have his passport.
It didn't matter. He was Lee Heeseung. Airports stopped for him.
And he was going to stop that plane.
He was a blur of raw, unadulterated panic.
Heeseung didn't take the elevator. He ran down the service stairs of the mansion, his footsteps echoing a frantic, uneven rhythm. He burst out of the side door and into the garage, bypassing the waiting drivers, and threw himself into his personal car—a low-slung, black Aston Martin. The engine roared to life, a mirror of the chaos in his chest.
He was out of the gates in under thirty seconds.
He didn't have his passport. His wallet was still on the dresser in the master suite. All he had was his phone and the keys in his hand.
It didn't matter. He was Lee Heeseung.
As he tore through the late-afternoon traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other held his phone to his ear. He wasn't a CEO. He was a man unraveling. He was commanding, but his voice was tight with a fear he had never known.
"I don't care what it takes, do you hear me?" he barked at his head of security. "You call the chairman of the airline. You call the goddamn Minister of Transport. Cite a family emergency, a security threat, I don't care. Hold that plane. AZ759. Do you understand me? Hold it."
He was weaving through lanes, ignoring the blare of horns around him. His mind was a storm. Florence. She was running to Florence. The word itself felt like a betrayal. It was her city, not his. It was the place the "Masterpiece" was from.
And she was running toward the faceless man. The man who would find her "exciting."
"...someday I'll be everything to somebody else."
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the car swerving. The image of you, laughing, in another man's arms, touching another man's face, being touched by him... it was a physical, searing pain. He wasn't just losing an asset. He was losing his wife. The woman who had been lying in the dark, loving him, while he... while he...
"No," he growled, a desperate, broken sound. "No... no... no... You don't get to do that. You don't get to... to... leave."
This wasn't about winning anymore. This was about loss. This was about the terrifying, gaping, suffocating void that had just opened up in his life. He was terrified.
You, Y/N Kim, were anonymous.
You stood in the security line at Incheon, Terminal 2. It was not crowded. You were just another traveler with a single, small, leather overnight bag. You had no checked luggage. You were a ghost.
You felt... light.
The weight of the Lee name, the heavy silk gowns, the judgment of your mother-in-law, the crushing, silent expectation of the house... it was all gone. You were just you. You were terrified, but it was a clean terror, not the suffocating, dusty kind you had lived in for a year.
You thought of Luca's voice. Warm, chaotic, real.
"I'll get you tea. The good kind."
A small, watery smile touched your lips. He remembered.
"Next," the agent called.
You stepped forward. You placed your bag on the belt. You slipped off your Florentine flats, the ones you had just saved, and put them in a grey plastic bin. You walked to the metal detector.
It beeped. A loud, demanding, accusatory sound.
You froze. A flicker of the old "Mrs. Lee" panic—I've done something wrong.
The security agent, a woman, motioned you back. "Your wrist, ma'am. A watch, maybe?"
You looked down.
You were still wearing it.
The Patek Philippe. The six-month "anniversary" gift. The one he’d called a "kind gesture." The one whose precise, automatic movement he had admired more than the sentiment.
It was the last shackle. The last piece of the contract.
Your hands were perfectly steady. You didn't fumble. You unhooked the complex, expensive clasp. The watch felt heavy, cold, and impossibly dense in your palm. It was the weight of a year of your life.
You placed it in the plastic bin.
You stepped through the metal detector.
Silence.
You were on the other side. You collected your bag. You picked up your flats. You looked at the watch, still lying in the bin, its secondhand sweeping, oblivious, still keeping his perfect time.
You picked it up. You held it for a moment.
Then, you walked to the nearest trash receptacle, a simple, round opening for refuse.
And without hesitating, without a single backward glance, you dropped it in.
The quiet, expensive thud as it hit the bottom was the most satisfying sound you had ever heard.
You were free.
You put on your shoes, your bag over your shoulder, and began the long, quiet walk to the gate.
Heeseung abandoned the Aston Martin at the curb of Terminal 2, leaving the door open, the alarm already beginning to blare. He ran.
He didn't just walk. He ran through the sliding glass doors.
"Sir! Sir, you can't leave your vehicle—"
"Lee Jongseong!" he barked, not at the guard, but at the two men in dark suits who were sprinting to meet him from inside. His personal security team.
"This way, sir," one of them said, already moving, flashing a badge at the stunned airport police. They weren't going to the main line. They were moving, fast, toward a diplomatic and crew checkpoint.
"The plane?" Heeseung demanded, his breathing harsh, his lungs burning.
"Gate 112, sir. Boarding has commenced. We... we tried to get a gate hold, citing a passenger manifest error. The airline is... resisting. They won't hold it for more than a few minutes."
"And her?"
"She's past security. We have her on CCTV. She's... she's walking toward the gate."
Walking. Not running. She was strolling away from him. The audacity of it, the calmness of it, fueled his panic.
They burst through the security checkpoint, alarms blaring, the guards shouting, his security team just yelling "Lee Group! Security! Move!"
He was in the main concourse. A blur of duty-free shops, bright lights, and travelers.
He saw the sign, a lifetime away. GATES 110-125.
He just ran.
You were calm. You were walking. You could see it.
GATE 112: FLORENCE (via ROME) - FINAL BOARDING.
The line was small. Just a few last-minute passengers.
You felt the first, real, true, giddy sLee of hope. You were going to make it. You were going to be on that plane. You were going home.
You pulled out your new boarding pass. The name on it was KIM, Y/N.
You were next. You smiled at the gate agent.
"Y/N!"
The voice was not in your head.
It was a roar. An animal sound. It ripped through the sterile, polite hum of the terminal.
It was him.
Your blood didn't just turn to ice. It evaporated. You froze, your foot halfway through a step.
It couldn't be.
It was impossible.
You turned. Slowly.
He was there. At the far end of the concourse. He was a vision from a nightmare.
He was a mess. No suit jacket. His shirt was untucked, his expensive tie gone. His hair, always so perfect, was wild, plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was being flanked by his two security men, but he was outpacing them.
He was sprinting.
And he was yelling your name.
"Y/N! STOP!"
The entire terminal stopped. Everyone. The gate agents. The passengers in line. The people in the lounges.
A hundred faces turned to you. Then to him. Then back to you.
He had, in his final, desperate, possessive act...
He had made you a spectacle.
He was closing the distance, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and pinned only on you. He wasn't a CEO. He wasn't an heir. He was a man drowning.
He reached you. He skidded to a stop, his hands grabbing your arms. His grip was bruising.
"Y/N," he panted, his voice a raw, broken plea. "Don't. Please. Please... don't do this."
You just looked at him. This unraveled, panicked man. This was the man who, just an hour ago, had called your love "suffocating" and your solution "a dinner."
"Let go of me, Heeseung," you said, your voice impossibly quiet. "You're making a scene."
"I don't care!" he cried, his voice cracking. And you knew he meant it. He didn't care about the contract, the appearances, the hundreds of people watching him fall apart. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm... I'm sorry. I was... I was wrong. 'Suffocating'... I didn't... I didn't mean it! I was just... I was scared. I was a fool. Just... don't go. Please."
He was begging. In public. Lee Jongseong. He was begging.
The gate agent, her face a mask of polite panic, said, "Ma'am? We are closing the gate. Ma'am?"
This was it. The choice.
You looked at this man, this desperate, broken man who was finally, finally seeing you.
And you felt... nothing.
Just a profound, weary sadness.
"It's too late, Heeseung," you whispered. You looked at his hands, still gripping your arms. "Your 'sorry' doesn't fix it. Your 'panic' doesn't erase a year of being invisible. You... you don't love me. You're just... scared to be alone. You're scared of losing."
"No!" he insisted, his eyes wild. "No, it's... it's you! I... I need you! I—"
"Ma'am, now," the gate agent said, her voice firm.
You looked at him. "Goodbye, Heeseung."
With a strength you didn't know you possessed, you unpried his fingers from your arms.
He let you go, his hands falling to his sides, limp. He looked... lost.
You turned your back on him. You handed your passport and your boarding pass—KIM, Y/N—to the agent. She scanned it. It beeped.
"This way, Ms. Kim. Welcome aboard."
You took your first step down the jet bridge.
"Y/N!" he roared, one last, desperate, soul-tearing cry. "Y/N, DON'T!"
His security men had to physically hold him back as he lunged for the door.
You didn't stop. You didn't look back. You just kept walking, one foot in front of the other, down the long, quiet tunnel, toward the rest of your life.
He was left in the terminal, his cries echoing, a king in his conquered, empty, silent kingdom.
Well, I hope you know how proud I am you were created.
Summary: Ever since you rejected Jungwon's feelings back in high school, he swore to his life that he'll make you regret it by beating you at every competition that he can possibly see — and you're not one to back down either
Four years into college and your unwavering rivalry with Jungwon never stopped and it's leading you to insanity, wondering if this is a battle of one's wit or pride, or just a pay back for breaking your best friend's heart.
✰ Song inspiration: Hope Ur Ok by Olivia Rodrigo, Colossal Loss by Niki, Teenage Dream by Olivia Rodrigo
✰ Word Count: 22.6k
✰ Tags: Childhood friends to best friends to academic rivals to lovers or enemies? Or a third thing? We don’t know, infuriating angst, miscommunications? no communications at all, hurt no comfort, denial of feelings, betrayal, a bit of fluff ig, smut! cursing and banters, college setting, classmates, bands, house parties (jungwon had the party 4 u moment), Yang Jungwon is in a band (and he’s a petty asshole,) reader is also petty (also has pent-up feelings for Jungwon). They were young and immature, let them slide, mentions of enhypen members, mentions of kpop idols, oc characters. Minju as your best friend. Open ending.
✰ CW: smut! Plot with little porn, unprotected sex (pls don’t) oral (f receiving), clothed sex, dom! Jungwon, sub! Reader, nipple/breast play, degradation, dacryphilia, implied somnophilia.
✰ Asul’s note: fifth installment of arcanum series!! FINALLY Jungwon’s story is here! I know you guys are waiting for this one, and I hope you guys enjoy this one. I didn’t hold back with the angst in this one so yeah. Also shitty smut ahead, I’m not great with the degradation and mean stuff lol. Inaacuracies once again, and not proofread enough, but enjoy it though.
Also if you have read Heeseung’s story, his gf is also the reader, but I gave her a name here in Jungwon's story since she has a huge role in this one lol. (They’re still considered as y/n in their own story.)
You can check the other member's stories here: Heeseung | Jay | Jake | Sunghoon
The classroom was filled with noises. Bustling whispers and groans as the midterm papers are being returned by their professor. The woman in front, Atty. Yoon has a small smile on her lips as she hands out the papers one by one.
“Congratulations Jungwon! You’ve got a perfect score,” a round of applause filled the classroom. All eyes were on Jungwon who had a small smile as he accepted his paper from the midterm exams.
As Jungwon sat on his chair, he quietly observed his answers after not seeing it for a week. It wasn't his best arguments but it still got him a perfect score, he doesn’t have the right to complain about whether he could’ve done better.
“Y/n, perfect score too, congratulations!” his head lifted immediately as soon as your name was called. Jungwon watches you stand up from your seat and walk towards the teacher’s table. You mouthed your thanks to your professor before going back towards your seat — catching the way Jungwon was staring at you, and giving him an eye roll before sitting.
You began rereading your paper. Seeing the small comments and remarks from your professor made your smile even wider. The perfect score was just a small thing, but hearing feedback from your professor was a different praise for your intelligence.
After returning all the papers. Atty. Yoon began her lecture. The class fell into silence, unable to ask their peers their results. You listened to her diligently as you wrote down notes and observations from her lectures, until the clock strikes at three-thirty.
“Okay! That’s all for today, remember to pass your activities tomorrow and — oh! May I request those who got a score of ninety-five and above to approach me? Class dismissed.” she smiled as she watched her students scramble from their seats.
You stood up from your seat, walking straight towards the teacher’s table along with some classmates of yours — including Jungwon, who only gave you a small glance.
“The Supreme court is opening their office for interns this year, but only one will be given to this section since limited slots will be open,” the professor explained, looking at each student one by one.
“This isn’t mandatory but it will be a great experience. I am giving you all the opportunity to apply for it. It’ll be open next month, just wait for my further announcement, but for now, think about it and its merit on your future” with that, she grabs her things, smiling at them as she bids, “that would be all, goodbye!”
As she exited the classroom, your classmates were surprised by the news, they began conversing about the internship while you’re still sinking in the news.
An internship in the supreme court? It’s a great starter to know more about the court trials and hearing of laws. — it’s not just a great opportunity, it might be a stepping stone for your future as a lawyer.
“You’re going to try?” you turned to your classmate who you only replied with a smile.
“Of course she will! Y/n, I think you’ll be a great candidate for it!” another one complimented, and you only chuckled.
“I do think it’s a great opportunity,” you simply answered, not missing the way Jungwon glanced at you.
“What about you Jungwon? You’re going to try?” someone asked, and Jungwon didn’t say a word for a moment.
“I’ll think about it,” Jungwon replied, glancing at you who’s smile faded. “I might be busy with Arcanum too.”
“Oh really? But I bet you can multitask it, you’re not Yang Jungwon for nothing!”
As soon as their attention shifted on Jungwon, you excused yourself and returned to your seat. A thinned line formed on your lips as you grabbed your bag when you felt a presence approaching you.
“You seem relieved,” Jungwon stated. “That I’ll think about it.”
“What makes you think that I’m relieved? It’s like you’re saying I’m scared that you might steal the slot from me.”
“Your words, not mine,” Jungwon nonchalantly shrugged.
“Because I know you Jungwon, your ‘I’ll think about it’ will just take a day and you’re going to do it eventually,” you sassed.
“And I know you y/n, this opportunity is a great kick for your law school essays,” Jungwon smirked at you as he reached his hand. “May the best student win.”
“Fuck off Jungwon,” you snarled at him, glaring before leaving the classroom. The heavy feeling in your heart followed you not long after as you exited your department building.
You and Jungwon used to be two peas in a pod. Growing up in the same neighborhood, you two became close the moment your parents knocked on the doors of the Yang residence and introduced themselves.
You remember five year old Jungwon peeking behind his mother while his older sister was just right beside him. He quickly introduced himself to you, smiling despite lacking one upper front tooth, and inviting you if you want to play their wii station.
From there, you and Jungwon grew up together along with Jiwon. You assumed that you’ll be closer with Jiwon, playing dress-ups and dolls, but Jungwon always makes sure that you’ll get to play with him — which resulted in the two of you becoming best friends. He always clings to you, talks to you with the most random thoughts which usually catch you off-guard, and gives you the most random things just because it reminds him of you.
Your friendship with Jungwon didn’t stop when you returned to your original address during high school. You know that texts and chats won’t suffice, that’s why you begged your parents to continue your study at Decelis University’s high school department because you know that Jungwon is there — and you don’t want to be separated from him.
With the condition of maintaining good grades, your parents allowed you to study there. During high school, you and Jungwon were considered as a genius duo. Always on the top two of the whole department, but none of you see it as a rivalry. It’s more of a support to each other. He helps you with math and science, while you help him in history and language.
You two spend most of the time studying, frequently in his house or sometimes in a random coffee shop. It was tranquil, and you loved every moment with Jungwon. You considered him as your bestest friend, and you were looking forward to continuing it during college especially when both of you got accepted into Decelis University.
Then came your high school graduation. That moment was supposed to be a celebration for both of you. You were ranked second while Jungwon’s the valedictorian of the batch. Everything felt so right, not until Jungwon asked you for a favor.
“What are we doing here Jungwon?” you asked. The hallways were empty, students were inside the small convention hall of Decelis, lining up for the ceremony. Your parents will be here any moment and so are his, but Jungwon asked to accompany him — having to get something in their locker.
That’s how you two ended up inside your empty classroom, you stood there while Jungwon fiddled his locker. Opening it, grabbing something, and then as he faces you. Jungwon looks so nervous and you’re confused, never in your life would you see your best friend this nervous.
“I’m going straight to the point but I like you y/n, not as a best friend, but as a woman,” he confessed boldly. He then stretches his arms, showing you the object that he was holding: a small white paper bag with a delicate blue ribbon wrapped on the side. You eyed the logo of the paper bag and knew that it was an expensive jewelry brand.
“Jungwon —” you stopped. Words couldn’t get out of your mouth. Your heart starts beating fast because you don’t know what to say. You were flustered — surprised on top of that. You didn’t expect Jungwon to boldly confess to you.
You didn’t expect that Jungwon has feelings for you, or maybe he’s not subtle and you’re just too oblivious about it. That’s why you stood there frozen as you tried to stitch some words to say to Jungwon.
“I’m sorry Wonwon…” you managed to stutter. “But I can’t accept your feelings — my parents, they told me to focus on my studies first. They think relationships will just be a distraction.”
As those words fell from your mouth, Jungwon felt his ears ringing. Heart dropping as he slowly brings back the paperbag he was holding. He couldn’t believe what you just said to him.
Bullshit. Jungwon called it bullshit. He can feel his heart shattering into thousands of pieces as he processes every damn word that you said. You watched as the hopeful look on Jungwon’s face distorted in a confusion then slowly, his face became bitter and betrayed.
“I see how it is,” Jungwon bitterly laughs. “Really? That’s your reason? Alright, if that’s really your reason then prove it to me.”
Your forehead creased at his words, confused by Jungwon’s reaction. “Prove it to you — Jungwon, what are you talking about?”
“Prove it to me, show me that your reason really is the truth and now just some excuse,” Jungwon challenged.
“Are you seriously throwing away our friendship just because I rejected you?” you couldn’t believe it. Years of friendship all crumbled down just because you couldn’t reciprocate your feelings to him.
“Your reason is shallow y/n,” he pointed out instead. That’s when you realized that the Jungwon in front of you isn’t your best friend anymore. That the Jungwon in front of you was a guy who you just rejected but couldn’t accept.
You scoffed in disbelief, “shallow!? You’re the one who couldn’t accept that I rejected you!”
“And you’re going to regret rejecting me.” Jungwon warned with a serious tone. “Prioritizing studies? You think I’m going to believe that?”
“Think whatever you want Jungwon,” you snarled at him. “We’re done, I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”
“Oh no, we’re not done yet,” Jungwon smirks at you. “We’re just getting started.”
Your years of friendship with Jungwon vanished that day. Ever since that day, Jungwon looks at you like a competition that he needs to beat — and he sticks true to his words.
You know how petty Jungwon can be. But you didn’t realise that he was that petty and prideful enough to challenge you. It even led him to transferring to the same college program as you which is legal management. You were surprised to see him in your classroom on the first day of class. You thought that he’ll stick with Physical Therapy but he chose the same program as yours just so he can prove to you that he’s serious about his words.
You weren’t going to take it seriously, but when the first debate was exchanged between the two of you a week into your freshman year, you decided to play along with his games.
It wasn’t those typical, my grades are higher than you so suck it up! type of rivalry. Both of you are equally intelligent, gpa and grades are always 1 never falling under 2. Jungwon doesn’t care if you aced an exam and he got three mistakes. What he cares about is competing with you at anything that will be worth your pride and academics.
Recitations, rankings, organizations and contests. Those are his targets. If you joined a club, he’s joining it too. If you’re joining a contest, he’s joining it too. He’ll argue with you at every chance he could get, he doesn’t care if it ends up illogical, all he wants to see is the pissed expression on your face as he never stops rebutting all your arguments.
The tallies of the winner and losers are always equal because you’re not one to back down either. You’re not going to let him win. After ruining your friendship, you want Jungwon to regret ruining his friendship with you.
No one was tallying but the first one to quit loses, and so far, no one has ever forfeited. Both of you are fueled with pride and intelligence, eager to prove the other party that they’re wrong. Everyone knows that tension between the two of you. Some are wary of it, but others brush it off, thinking that it’s just a stupid college rivalry — not knowing the history you two had.
The only thing that Jungwon didn’t join was the Decelis Publications because for once, he admits that he’s not that creative when it comes to writing articles. He’s not going to burn his creative juices in that area, so instead, he ventured on other things — which is joining a band.
During his freshman year, Jungwon was roped into joining a university band along with three of his seniors. Arcanum was created and they became widely popular during their years in Decelis. Jungwon was their drummer and it didn’t surprise you since Jungwon has always loved playing drums ever since he was a kid.
So while he’s out there making noise as a band member, you find peace in Decelis Publications. An area that only you can touch. A place where there is no Yang Jungwon breathing against your neck and you can move on your own. Everything about it was worth it especially when you were appointed as the paper’s Editor-in-Chief in your last year in college.
“Excuse me, you want me to do what?” you repeated, an offended look on your face was written.
“Not me, it was Ma’am Jo, she wants you to do an exclusive interview with Jungwon,” Minju, your best friend slash assistant editor of the publication repeated.
“I know Minju, but — are you serious!?” you whisper-shouted but Minju could only give you a knowing look. She knows about your rivalry with Jungwon, and she knows how much you hate that boy but the order came from the paper’s adviser.
No way. There’s no fucking way. You already interviewed Arcanum back then during the year-end concert. Why do the publications need to write an article about them — specifically Yang Jungwon.
“Listen, they’re popular now, they’re going to go mainstream especially when they’re gearing up for their debut single, every eyes is on them, and Jungwon, being the youngest and still in college, managed to multitask his studies and playing in a band, he’s the pride of Decelis at the moment.” Minju explains calmly.
“Wouldn’t that offend the other members who just happen to be ahead of him? Isn’t it better to just interview the whole group since all of them are from Decelis?” you justified, and Minju nods in agreement.
“You just don’t want to interview Jungwon alone, don’t you?” Minju laughs, making you roll your eyes.
“You know me Minju,” it’s the only thing you could say.
“Then, tell that to Ma’am Jo, I’ll think she’ll understand your reason,” your best friend suggested.
“She should or else I’ll have you interview them,” you threatened, leaving the club room with Minju laughing at your remark.
The walk towards the faculty room was short. Knocking on the door, all heads turned as you gave the teachers inside a smile and small greeting before approaching your adviser who focused on her laptop.
“Yes, y/n what is it dear?” Miss Jo brightly asked, beaming at you.
“Ma’am, regarding your request to interview Yang Jungwon,” you started.
She seems delighted with your words, “yes! What about it?”
“Why is he the focus of our article just because he’s still a Decelis student? Wouldn’t that be unfair for the other members of the band? They only graduated last year too,” you explained.
Miss Jo hums for a second, nodding as she seems to understand your sentiments. “Well, I only suggested Jungwon because he’ll be easier to be reached unlike the other three — unless you have connections with them? My original plan was to cover their whole journey. Starting from being a university band up to where they are now. I’m a bit intimidated to reach the others, that’s why I only suggested Jungwon.”
“That’s a lot Ma’am,” you commented shortly.
“Yes, it’s a bit hectic too, that's why I suggested that you handle it, and just ask Jungwon a short interview — unless you know how to reach the whole band.”
“I can do that, I just want to ask for the deadline,” you asked, hoping that it won’t clash with the internship. You know that you can multitask but at the same time, priorities should also be ranked, and the internship is a huge deal for you.
“It’s up to you, just be there during their release of their single debut and their showcase, we’ll put them in the paper’s front page and we’ll post them on the university’s official page,” she explains.
“That seems to be a lot of work,” you mindlessly commented.
“Don’t worry, I’ll ask for merit points on your extracurriculars, how’s that sound?” she suggested.
“Deal,” you said without any hesitation.
As you exit the office, you lightly skip your way back towards the club room. It’ll be an easy task, you know someone who’s close to Arcanum and is willing to set up an interview with them. There’s no need to go through Jungwon because you know that he’ll immediately reject your request for the interview.
Good for him though, you don’t have any plans of involving him on your plan too.
-
The daycare center across the street of Decelis University was filled with noises and kids running on the playground. The afternoon’s windy and cool with dark gray clouds filling the place and yet, it didn’t bother you as you went inside one of the classrooms where she was waiting for you.
“Of course babe! When do you need it?” the older girl said with a smile. You watch as she cleans each table of her students, while you’re following her from behind.
Yang Jiwon — Jungwon’s older sister, has known Arcanum for years. The Yang residence used to be the band’s spot for practices during their college days and Jiwon had witnessed Arcanum starting from their humble beginnings.
When you and Jungwon broke up your friendship, Jiwon was the first person you ran into — despite knowing that Jungwon probably had run into her too. Jiwon was both your middle ground and pacifier. She fully understands both sides and instead of interfering, she lets you two play around the rivalry — hoping that one day, you two fully understand that you two have been dancing around your feelings instead of properly communicating.
Jiwon is still a close friend of yours. You were also there to witness her college love story that revolved around her delusional crush with Arcanum’s vocalist and how they eventually became a couple — which leads to where you are right now.
“As soon as possible, is it a busy week for them?” you asked.
“Just a couple of gigs, and band practices as far as I know, I’ll ask Hee,” Jiwon hums. “You know I was going to ask you why you approached me in reaching out for Arcanum when Jungwon’s there, but then again, never mind.”
You ignored the older girl’s teasing tone, rolling your eyes as you darted your attention somewhere else. “He won’t agree to it even if I approach him first.”
“Hey, why would he reject it? You know it’s big news that Decelis will cover their showcase, it’s rare for universities to support their students — it’s good exposure too, it’ll benefit both of you,” Jiwon pointed out.
“Because I’m writing it, it’s going to be under Decelis publications, which is being handled by me,” you explained.
“You and Jungwon’s rivalry,” Jiwon could only breathe. “Seriously, it’s been four years, you two aren’t going to call it quits? Have you ever thought of just giving up and properly explaining it to him? I graduated, got a job, and everything and you two are still fighitng.”
“Yeah, I think we both would rather die than properly communicate,” you shrugged, making Jiwon let out a sigh before grabbing her bag, and the two of you exit the classroom.
“What am I going to do to make you two go back to being friends,” she murmured, massaging her temples like it’s stressing her out.
“Nothing at all, so don’t worry about us,” you smiled, but the older girl didn’t buy it.
“I’m just scared y/n, that things might go too far,” Jiwon sincerely said.
You only laughed at her worries, “it won’t. It’s just an academic rivalry, plus I like the competition.”
“Enough to outweigh your feelings for him?”
You didn’t answer Jiwon. The whole minute of awkward silence was enough for her to not pry further and just continue walking. She knows that you’re holding back your feelings because of its irony. Up to this point you still won’t accept the fact that you had developed feelings for Jungwon even though he’s a jerk and ruined your friendship.
Jiwon knows your conflict and the only way to fix it is to tell Jungwon the truth but your pride says otherwise — there’s no use when you know that Jungwon doesn’t see you that way anymore.
-
A week later, Jungwon approaches you. He’s not even near your vicinity and yet you’re already aware of him and his intention to ruin your Monday.
“An interview with Arcanum, that’s so sweet of you, you know?” he coos and you only let out a gruntled sound.
“Did Jiwon tell you that?” you asked, not even raising your head to look at him.
“Not noona, but Heeseung-hyung did,” Jungwon pointed out, and that makes sense to you too. Jiwon had informed you that she had passed the message to her boyfriend, they agreed but last week they were swarmed with gigs, that's why they weren’t able to meet you. “Which hurts me because you know I’ll agree if you asked me to interview us.”
“I don’t want you shoving it to me that you did me a favor.” you justified. The last thing that you want is to be in debt to Jungwon.
“How about we drop that act and be professional on this one?” he offered, and that’s when you raised your hand. Glancing at him who only stood there with a small smile on his lips.
“Professional — you’re shitting yourself Jungwon? Since when did you even become professional with everything that involves me,” you mocked.
“Don’t you want it? I’m lowering myself down for you.”
“I don’t need you to.”
“I want to,” Jungwon insisted, his tone becoming serious. “How about this, you’ll get the full inside scoop of Arcanum’s preparation for our debut, even a free media pass for our showcase, but you have to make sure that it’ll give us good publicity.”
“What’s in for me?” you quickly interjected.
“I’m not going to participate in the internship,” Jungwon boldly said, and that made you raise an eyebrow. “I’ll be busy with Arcanum, our schedule and bookings are full by the end of the year, I might not be able to balance a heavy internship.”
“You really mean it?” you asked. You don’t know why but you felt something odd with Jungwon approaching you all of the sudden and striking a deal with you — like he didn’t just tell you, “may the best student wins.” last week. It’s like he has a deeper intention than what he proposed to you.
“It won’t even benefit me, it’s not like I’m going to continue taking law,” he casually shrugs. Right. You did remember that legal management wasn’t even his choice of career. “Do you even want it or not?”
“Fine,” you said in defeat, it’s not like you’ll immediately get the slot, but since Jungwon’s forfeiting it meant less competitors for you.
You raised your pinky finger and Jungwon only stared at it for a minute.
“What are you twelve?” he mocks.
“You know I take pinky promises Won,” you told him. “If you really mean it, swear it on me.”
Jungwon heaves out a sigh before intertwining his pinky finger on yours and touching your thumb with his thumb to secure the deal. As you broke out from his touch, you only gave him a small glare.
“Keep your promises Won,” you told him.
“When did I even break my promise?” he said, and you didn’t rebut because you know it yourself that Yang Jungwon doesn’t break promises.
-
You had prepared yourself for meeting Arcanum. Listening to their old songs, and asking Jiwon for some information about them. You wanted to make sure that you have a deep knowledge about the group before properly interviewing them.
Jungwon told you that he’ll let you know when the interview will be, but the following days there has been a radio silence. Classes continued. Quizzes, recitations, and small debates that always had your section witnessing your endless banters with Jungwon occured.
The internship for the Supreme Court was also posted on board, and it seems like the slots really are limited this time — only five and that’s for the whole one-hundred and fifty senior students under your program. Atty. Yoon had handed the requirements and while you had spare time, you completed everything that’s needed.
“Let’s go,” Jungwon said one fine Wednesday afternoon, startling you who’s still sitting in the chair.
“Don’t scare me like that,” you snarled at him.
“Come on now, you said you want a glimpse right? You’ll be joining us at our practice tonight,” Jungwon explains and that only made you roll your eyes.
“Fine, just a minute —”
“Faster, I don’t want to be stuck in the rush hour —”
“Damn it Jungwon, just wait!” you shouted at him who only had a teasing smile on his lips. He crossed his arms as you hurriedly shoved everything inside your bag before carrying it on your shoulder.
God you wonder how you’ll be able to spend the remaining day without Jungwon taunting you. You’ll probably go nuts before the article ends.
You followed Jungwon towards the parking lot where a familiar red car is parked. You know that car, you remember the first time Jungwon drove it and how you two almost ran over a cat crossing the street. Both of you were so traumatized that he didn’t drive it for a whole week — and he managed to overcome it when you stayed late at night in their place one time, and he offered to drive you back to your house instead of booking a car.
You hate how nostalgia is rushing through your mind especially when things aren’t the way it was before then. A bitter smile escapes your lips as you step inside the car. Everything is the same, even that nose-prickling strawberry scent is still there.
Jungwon didn’t teased further, he only opened the bluetooth speaker and played a song on shuffle before he drove away from the university in silence. Daydream Records — the label that took them in was thirty minutes away from Decelis, with additional ten minutes due to the rush hour traffic, you and Jungwon arrived at the building before the sun had set.
“What do you even want to know about us,” Jungwon asked the moment you two entered the elevator. “We’re barely starting with our career.”
“Everyone’s eyeing on your debut,” you only said leaning against the wall. “Stop being so humble, you know it yourself that Arcanum is getting popular.”
The elevator stopped and Jungwon exited first while you only followed him. Turning towards the right hallway before going inside a door. He opens the door without any hesitation and soft strums of keyboard welcome you.
“Hi guys,” Jungwon greeted casually.
“Hey —” Heeseung wasn’t able to finish his sentence when his eyes darted on you.
“This is y/n, Decelis publication’s editor-in-chief,” Jungwon introduces and you only gave them an awkward smile as their stare darted at you.
“Oh! Your so-called archnemesis,” Sunghoon spoked, grinning as he waves at you.
“Yeah, that’s me,” you chuckled. “I’m here to interview you guys and observe your daily routine before your showcase. If it’s your practice time, I won’t disturb you at all. I’ll just be here to watch you.”
“For the papers right? So glad that you were able to convince Jungwon to do this,” Heeseung jokes.
“We made a promise,” you nonchalantly replied. “If I wrote a bad article, blame it on him.”
“Woah, you really had Jungwon on chokehold,” Jay laughs, while the youngest couldn’t do anything but to glare at his bandmates.
“Since you’re here, want to hear our debut single? It’ll be released in two weeks, so consider yourself lucky that you’ll hear it before the whole country does,” Heeseung suggested, before he led you to sit on the couch nearby.
“So you’ll only be releasing a single?” you asked while you took a seat.
“Already on the interview part? Yeah, we want to check whether we’ll reach our target audience through our music, although some of our original songs are still on streaming sites, they can listen to it — but this one establishes our name in the mainstream,” Heeseung explains.
You only nod as you continue your conversations with them. They seem chill to talk with, like talking to a friend who’s a band member. After that short interview, they began practicing for their song.
Their debut single, “Helium” was ear-catching. Jay produced the song and out of all the fifteen songs they’ve composed, they opted for Helium since it’s catchy and it’s like starting their career with a bang. Jay and Heeseung eventually became the vocalists of the band, with Heeseung taking the main parts.
While Sunghoon and Jungwon remained on their instruments, the band was planning on making everyone sing on the l0ng run. They shared that all of them can sing — which surprises you.
“You don’t know? Jungwon can sing,” Sunghoon teases during their short break, taking it as an opportunity for you to ask questions again.
“I just haven’t heard him sing,” you answered.
“I guess, it’s time for Jungwon to sing,” Jay pats Jungwon’s shoulder who rolls his eyes.
“Keep on dreaming y/n,” he sticks his tongue out.
“I’m not requesting you to sing bitch,” you sassed.
“No fighting in this room so stop it you two,” Heeseung claps his hand, immediately stopping the fight before it could go longer. “Break time’s over, let’s go back to practice.”
The three of them stood up from their place and returned to their instruments, with Jungwon turning his back and giving you a middle finger, you scoffed in disbelief and did the same to him, even mouthing “fuck you.”
This is going to be a challenging article for you.
-
You’re not sure how you manage to hold on to your sanity everytime you’re with Arcanum — actually, it’s just Jungwon.
The article’s still in process. Miss Jo seems to be happy with the progress and has pitched some of her ideas. You’ve interviewed the members one by one then as a group. The three older members were easy to interview with. Casual and fun to talk with. They’re very passionate with the band even though none of them took music as a college program. It amazes you how their passion outweighs everything.
While Jungwon? Jungwon’s making it hard for you. He’s there with his smug grin and arms crossed as he tilts his head teasingly while you’re trying your best to give him questions about his journey as Arcanum’s drummer.
Professional my ass.
Your phone recorder had witnessed your hour long banter with him. Even the snarky remarks and name calling was there. Of course you’re not going to transcribe that in the papers, you’ll get suspended. Still, it frustrates you that Jungwon’s making it hard for you.
“What happens to being a professional?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I am being professional,” he shrugs.
“Sure because answering “it’s cool” and “i’m having fun” to my questions is professional,” you sarcastically replied.
“Well, I’m a man of few words,” Jungwon smiled, and there it was — that shit-eating grin.
“Okay, fine, that’s how you want it? I’ll take note of that,” you said before standing up. “I think I’m done for today, just tell your bandmates I’ve left.”
“Already? You’re easy to give up y/n,” he mocked, and you only rolled your eyes.
“I have to prepare for the internship,” you reasoned out. “My life isn’t all about the article just so you know.”
“Oh, I thought your life revolved around our rivalry.”
“Maybe it’s you who’s revolving around it, since you started it.”
“And yet, you’re not backing out of it.”
“Jerk.”
“Only for you.”
You didn’t answer Jungwon, but instead you made your way out of the room, halting your walk mid-way when you felt your phone vibrating. Your pent-up frustrations died a bit when you saw that it was your mother who’s calling.
“Hey mom,” you greeted.
“Hi sweetie, how are you? I’m just checking on you because it’s been a while since you called,” she started with a worried tone.
You heaved out a sigh. All the stress and workload had made you forget to make a call to your parents. “I’m fine ma, I’m at outside at the moment, I just finished an interview with Arcanum —”
“Oh! Jungwon’s band! How is he? Is he still there?” your mother asked excitingly.
You only closed your eyes before smiling bitterly. “No ma, I mean — I just finished the interview and I’ll be going home now, I have to finish the requirements for the internship, you know, the one for the supreme court.”
“Have you ever thought about your aunt’s offer? It’s a good deal y/n,” your mother changes the topic suddenly.
“Ma, it’s too far, I can’t, it’ll be a huge adjustment for me,” you argued. There it is again. Your mother has been bugging you about your career decisions. Your aunt was also a lawyer, but she’s currently residing in the states. She was nice to give you a scholarship under their firm, along with an internship. The offer was huge and it’ll even give you a bigger stepping stone to your dream.
But it was too soon. Too rash for you and as much as it’s a huge opportunity, you find it hard to leave everything behind in a short time.
“But we will be there y/n, you’re not going to be alone, we’re here to support you,” she softly said and that assured you, but still.
“I know that ma, but I’m just not ready to leave yet,” you only said.
“Oh that’s right, you couldn’t leave Jungwon alone,” she laughed and that made you wince. “But the offer is still open y/n, I asked your aunt to send you details through your email, looked into it okay?”
“Okay ma,” the call ended and you only laughed ironically at how your parents still think that you and Jungwon are still friends. Oh well. Things are better unexplained.
“Hey y/n,” that’s when you turned to your left, noticing that the other Arcanum members were there. That’s when you remembered where you are right now, hopefully, they weren’t able to hear your call with your mother.
“I just finished my interview with Jungwon,” you lied, smiling awkwardly at them. “I’ll be going now, bye guys!”
You didn’t even let them bid you goodbye, you hurriedly went past them and went straight to the elevator, confusing the three but they had a small hunch.
The moment they returned to the room, Jungwon stared at them innocently.
“What?” he asked, like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Jungwon, come on take this seriously,” Heeseung reprimanded.
“If she seriously wrote us in a bad light, we’re blaming you,” Jay pointed out and it only made the younger boy laugh.
“She won’t, don’t worry,” Jungwon assured.
“Okay, but you shouldn’t make it hard for her,” Heeseung shared. “I get that you guys have some rivalry, but in the end, she’ll be the one who’ll get in trouble if she won’t be able to pass the article before the deadline.”
“You’re nagging me aren’t you?” the youngest only said.
“Just — don’t make it hard for her to do her job,” Heeseung added, patting Jungwon's shoulder lightly. “You’re too old for this childish shit Jungwon.”
“Yeah, holding onto a grudge won’t bring you good too,” Sunghoon added.
“You guys worry too much,” Jungwon commented.
“Don’t give her a hard time Jungwon,” Jay crosses his arms. “We didn’t mean to pry but we heard her call earlier with her mom, she seems to be going through something.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t know the context,” Heeseung answered. “But for her sake, don’t give her more stress, can you?”
“Fine.” it was the only thing Jungwon could say. Mind filled with curiosity about your call with your mother.
-
You’re all alone inside the club room.
You’ve been staring at your laptop for a few minutes. The tab of your microsoft word where your article is is left untouched. You’re deep in thoughts as you stare at the email that your aunt sent you a few days ago. Fingers tapping on the mousepad as your mind becomes afloat.
Decisions are being made inside you, weighing the pros and cons, and internally, all you wanted was a sign.
And as if, someone heard your prayers. A knock on the door echoed inside the whole room. Startled, you immediately close your tab before turning around to see Jungwon standing in front of the door.
“Do you need anything?” you asked with a serious tone.
“I’m just here to inform you that the showcase will be next Friday,” Jungwon said. “Heeseung hyung will be giving you a media pass, you can bring another one too. Ma’am Jo has a separate one because she’s handling the livestream.”
“Alright,” you only nod.
“How’s the article,” he asked, sounding more genuine than usual.
“It’s great actually,” you replied with a casual tone.
Jungwon didn’t stop despite the whole fiasco.
The good thing was that his members were there during his solo interview. Watching him like a hawk that he was left with no choice but to answer your questions properly. Thank God they subtly helped you or else you might just have to write him out of the article.
Days passed and your articles almost finished. All you need is the coverage of their debut showcase — at a small theater hall yet it sold out in minutes. Highlighting their popularity and the public’s anticipation of their debut.
“The internship?” he asked, sounding curious rather than mocking.
“Interview’s will be at the end of the month,” a week after the showcase. It’ll give you more time to prepare for it. You’ve already submitted your resumè to them, along with the required documents. All you needed was to prepare for the interview.
Somehow you couldn’t help but to feel nervous about it. Even though Jungwon, your biggest rival, isn't going to participate, the chances of you getting picked are still small. That’s why you’re eager to finish the article so that you can focus on preparing for the interview.
“Good luck to you,” he said, making you glance at him.
With his smile, you felt a faint skip on your heart. You can feel your cheeks heating up as the two of you stood there in silence.
“Make sure to get the slot so that my promise won’t go to waste,” he added and that immediately crashes your assumptions about his words.
You only rolled your eyes as you focused on your laptop screen. “Can you even be genuine for once, Yang Jungwon?”
“You really want that from me?” he asked, and there’s a bitter tone on it that made you realise.
“Right,” you only chuckled, remembering that you and Jungwon are still rivals despite helping each other. “If you don’t need anything else, you can leave now.”
“They heard your phone call with your mom,” Jungwon started, halting your actions. You knew what he was talking about. “You had a fight with her?”
“That’s none of your business,” you answered him back.
“You never fought with her,” Jungwon pointed out.
“Maybe they should’ve added more context about my call,” you said with an annoyed tone. “I just haven’t called her in weeks, that’s why she called me worried.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, so there’s nothing going on with me at the moment,” you glanced at him. “Don’t act like you’re suddenly concerned for my well-being, Jungwon.”
For a moment, the two of you only stood there in silence. Jungwon didn’t move. He only stared at you who’s eyebags are heavy underneath the glasses. You’re not really great at hiding everything, and even with snarky remarks of yours, Jungwon still won’t buy that excuse.
But who is he even anyway? Jungwon remembers that there’s no use of him being concerned about you, it’ll only leave him confused — and so do you. So he only turned around and left. The door closes and it reminds you that your friendship with Jungwon had been gone for long — and no amount of redemption and battles of wit would ever mend it.
You opened the mail tab once again, staring at it — the opportunity and the final step towards achieving your dreams. It’s right there in front of you. It’s chasing after you and it’s appalling because it’s begging for you and not the other way around. You’re just playing hard-to-get in this game.
But you know that you’re not ready for a big change. That’s why you shut down your laptop instead. Choices are being thunked as you exit the club room, walking towards the empty hallway as you make your way outside the building.
You were welcomed by the golden sky, and you only smiled at the sky because you’ve been used to it as someone who’s been in Decelis since her high school days. It feels hard to say goodbye to it. You thought as you started walking towards the university gate.
You didn’t even notice Jungwon’s who’s sitting by a nearby bench. Watching you disappear from his sight. Mind still bugged about you and what’s going on with your life.
“Jungwon!” his thoughts disappeared when a tap on the shoulder startled him.
“Don’t scare me like that!” he snarled at his friends who laughed at his reaction.
“We’ve been calling you from afar but you’re busy ogling at y/n,” Sunoo teased, glancing at the direction where you went.
“You know we still have a lot of months for our senior year, it’s not too late to talk to her,” Riki suggested.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jungwon replied sharply.
“Still in denial I see,” the taller man laughs.
“Not in denial,” Jungwon refuted. “I just don’t see why there’s a need to.”
“Why, afraid of getting rejected again?” Sunoo rolls his eyes. “You know, if you swallow your pride and be persistent to her, maybe the second time’s the charm, you know?”
“Not going to follow you Sunoo.”
“Okay fine, hold onto your pride, but who has a girlfriend between the three of us?” Sunoo smirks, and the other two groans in response.
“You two don’t have a label yet!” Riki justified, and the three of them only laughed as they decided to leave their place and find a place to eat dinner.
-
The theater hall is bustling with people. Fans, media, and reporters are busying themselves as the showcase will start around six in the evening.
You sat on your designated seat beside Minju who served as the paper’s photographer. She’s busy fixing her camera’s settings while you only sit there, waiting for it to start.
The first segment will be the interview. An hour segment wherein they’ll be answering questions from the press and their fans. While the other half will be their performance. It’ll run for an hour and a half along with a short hi-touch for the fans. Just like what they’ve told you.
You’re busy doodling on your notebook while Minju quietly captures the stage. Slowly, the place is getting crowded. Miss Jo is beside the tech booth along with some general staff, preparing for the livestream.
The program started exactly at six. The crowd became loud and flashes of camera started to flicker as the mc of the showcase announced the arrival of Arcanum.
One by one, they entered the stage, wearing casual and sporty attire. They’re also wearing light makeup and heavy accessories — their usual get-up whenever they have a gig. The screams became louder, almost like whistles of whales, and it shows that they’re currently a fan sensation.
“Wow, they all look so handsome,” Minju said and you only nod at her words. They’re all visually-appealing, which is one of the reasons why they can easily attract fans.
“Hello, we are Arcanum,” Heeseung leads the greeting, waving at the crowd enthusiastically before introducing themselves one by one. As they busy themselves with their greetings and introduction, you open your laptop where you have access on Decelis Publication’s social media page, preparing for a live update and multitasking on writing short captions about them.
They started the interview lightheartedly. Sharing their thoughts and journey starting as a university band to an independent one, and eventually, signing under a label, everyone expressed their sentiments and how they’re honored that their label took them in and hone their talent.
They also mention their goals and expectations this year, Jay wished to have their own solo concerts while Heeseung wanted to meet their fans all over the country. The question then darted to Jungwon who’s still finishing his studies, the boy only smiled at the question.
“Time management is the key, also it’s not only me who’s studying, Sunghoon hyung is doing it too,” Jungwon answered. The mc noted that their dedication and discipline is on the next level especially when their college program is far from their current career.
“Always choose your passion, that’s what strives us to work harder,” Sunghoon added.
“Actually, none of us took music as a college program,” Heeseung shared with a laugh. “But after Jay and I graduated last year, the four of us talked about our future deeply and we realized that we couldn’t let go of Arcanum, that’s why we’re here.”
“And you guys made the right decision,” the mc said genuinely, making the four smile.
They continued the segment, changing the topic about their music, their debut single, and old songs. The members were able to answer the questions with sense and well-thought, sharing the process in their music composition and how they find inspiration on writing lyrics.
Eventually, they moved onto the segment where they can answer their fan’s questions. The staff pulled a whiteboard with tons of sticky notes stuck to it, surprising the group with the amount of questions they received.
“How did Arcanum form?” It was the first question Heeseung picked, which surprised them.
“We haven’t told anyone this one right?” Jay shared, and the other two agreed.
“To start, Jay and I met during freshman orientation, we became close because we learned that we love playing guitar and singing. We actually tried joining Decelis Chorale but we got rejected,” Heeseung started, laughing at his freshman self who was deflated when he didn’t get to be part of the chorale.
“So out of spite, we thought that we should form a band, but we need to recruit members,” Heeseung added.
“While Sunghoon has been an acquaintance of mine since our parents knew each other, we met again in Decelis and I asked if he still plays the piano and he doesn’t anymore but he rekindled it when I asked him that,” Jay added. “Sunghoon was interested in playing in a band, so it’s slowly coming into pieces, we just need someone who plays the drums and Jungwon popped out of nowhere.”
“Jay hyung posted an instagram story asking if there’s any Decelis student who’s interested in playing drums, I thought it was just a one time thing but now I’m stuck with these useless hyungs,” Jungwon jokes, making the whole theater laugh.
“We were sophomores back then while Jungwon’s still a freshman, we tried practicing our chemistry together and it worked, we performed the first time at The Rabbit Hole and there, Arcanum was born,” Sunghoon stated.
“And here you are guys,” the mc concluded.
Heeseung only smiles, “right, here we are now.”
After the question, they moved to another one. Jay picks a random one and as he reads it, he laughs at the question.
“Oh this is interesting, what is the member’s ideal type,” Jay shared, earning screams from the fans.
“Seems like everyone’s curious, who knows maybe their lucky girl is someone from the audience,” the mc teases, making the crowd scream louder. You only laughed at their reaction, looking at each other, they’re probably contemplating on whether they’ll expose their relationship or not.
“Who should go first? Jay? Since you picked it?” the mc gestured, and Jay only hums for a moment.
“For me, my ideal type would probably be someone who’s confident and has a kind heart,” he smiled and tons of screams filled the place.
“Anyone that comes to your mind?” Heeseung asked, and the screams became louder. Jay only laughed before he looked at the vocalist.
“How about you tell us your type Heeseung,” Jay changes the topic instead.
“My type?” Heeseung thinks about it for a minute, even though there’s someone on his mind right now. “My type is someone who’s mature and independent, but at the same time, I want to take care of her too.”
“That’s cute, it’s like you want her to be dependent on you,” the mc complimented, and Heeseung could only shyly nod. “How about you Sunghoon?”
“Mine is someone who’s hard-working and goal oriented, a little hard-headed but she’s cute when she’s too stubborn,” Sunghoon smiles.
“That’s oddly specific hyung, it’s like you’re describing someone,” Jungwon commented.
“He is actually describing someone,” Jay teases, and Sunghoon’s smile never fades as he looks at Jungwon.
“It’s your turn Jungwon, tell us your ideal type,” the keyboardist asked.
“My type?” Jungwon asked, grinning before he looked at the audience.
And for a minute, you’re sure that you and him made eye contact for a second. He smiles before shifting his gaze back to the crowd.
“I like someone who can put up with me,” he explains. “Someone that I can consider as my other half.”
“Yeah, we know someone who can put up with you,” Heeseung commented, and before you could even react Minju’s slapping your shoulder, scowling at her.
“What the fuck Minju,” you whispered-shout to her.
“Don’t deny it bitch, he’s talking about you!” your best friend teases, the same way Jungwon’s friends are teasing him on the stage.
“And? I’m not going to jump into it,” you rolled your eyes, but Minju’s laughter still lingered.
The segment continued on. The questions were random, like ranking their visuals or what they do if they weren’t in the band. You only follow through their interview as you tap away on your laptop, until they wrapped the interview and they went backstage to change.
A five minute break was given, which gave you subtle time to stretch your legs. You looked at Miss Jo’s message and she was happy because there’s a lot of engagement about Arcanum’s showcase. You searched for her at the tech booth, and as you made eye contact with her, your adviser only smiled and gave you a thumbs up.
Arcanum returned with their outfit changed, earning cheers from the crowd as they went to their respective places. It means that their performance showcase will start.
On Heeseung’s cue, he raises his right arm, a silent countdown to three, and the first strike on his guitar made the crowd scream loudly. You only sat there, astonished how they can control the crowd with such ease.
Each member has their own charisma. It’s hard to not focus on just one member, but your eyes always end up on Jungwon who’s behind Heeseung, in his little world with his drums, playing along with the beat as their vocalist sings his heart out.
He’s truly born to perform on stage. You thought as your hands typed the sentence on your word file, eyes never leaving him.
They started with some of their old songs like “XO” and “Give me your forever.” They also covered a few songs, old covers that they’ve done back then.
They end their showcase with “Helium.” Everyone was screaming their hearts out. Heeseung and Jay were a great duo and their voices complemented each other. After the end of the song, they proceed to the center and do a final bow as a sign of gratitude. Waving goodbye to their fans before they move to another hall room where the hi-touch will be held.
You watched as one by one, everyone left the hall. You and Minju stayed there for a moment, not wanting to squeeze yourself at the crowd. You and Minju were busy looking at the photos she captured when you felt your phone vibrating.
“Hey Jiwon, what’s up?” you asked as soon as you answered the phone.
“You’re still in the theater hall? We're backstage, you want to carpool with us?” she asked.
“If there’s space sure, I’m with Minju by the way,” you answered.
“Of course she can come — oh right! We’re having a house party at our place after this, want to come?” Jiwon said with excitement.
You glanced at Minju before separating your phone from your ears. “Hey, they’re having a house party at Jiwon’s place, you want to come?”
“Yeah I’m good, but can we please change our outfits? I want to look presentable,” Minju begs. She was wearing a baggy shirt and black slacks, a semi-formal combination which made you chuckle softly.
“Yeah, I think I need to take a short shower too,” you commented before returning to Jiwon. “Hey, we’ll just meet you at the party, I need to take a short shower while Minju wants to drop her camera at our dorm.”
“Alright, just let me know if you guys are on your way, the party’s exclusive, so a pass is required.” and with that, she hangs up. You let out a small chuckle before glancing at Minju.
“Let’s go have dinner first, I’m kinda starving,” you suggested as you two decided that it’s not crowded for you to leave.
“Yeah, so do I — anyways, let’s just drink moderately tonight.” Minju added, in which you agreed.
-
True to Jiwon’s words, the party was indeed exclusive.
You’ve noticed the small crowd of people outside. Some are complaining how the party is for “Decelis Students” only. You didn’t even know that there was a party not until an hour ago. The details were probably given in secret.
You’ve texted Jiwon earlier that you’re on your way to their place. As you reached their gate, she was standing outside, holding her phone. You called out her name hoping that it’ll reach her despite the loud noise inside.
Jiwon immediately notices you and smiles, approaching you two, and giving you and Minju a hug.
“I’m glad that you two are here!” she excitedly said, eyeing you and Minju. “Nice outfit by the way.”
You only gave her your thanks as she ushered you two inside their house — and there it was.
A party to celebrate Arcanum’s debut. A house party filled with loud music, alcohol, and heat. The decorations were on point. Neon lights filled the place along with some balloons and party strings. You know that their parents are always away, so it’s not a surprise that they manage to throw a house party.
“You really went all out Jiwon,” you told her, who only smiled as you followed her towards the kitchen where the food and drinks were placed.
“Cocktails? Beers? What do you want? Food? We have pizza and chicken poppers too!” the older girl excitedly said, making you glance at Minju.
“We’ll have the beer, thank you so much,” Minju only said. Jiwon grabs some cold bottles from the cooler, opening it for the two of you.
“Arcanum will perform around eight, you guys can wander anywhere and I’ll give you guys the privilege to go upstairs, just tell Sunoo and Jake that you’re with me,” Jiwon winks before leaving you two there alone.
You and Minju decided to just stay in the kitchen, stuffing yourself with food and beer while talking about the most random topics that you two could ever think about while judging the strangers passing by. Despite being an exclusive party, the place was still pretty crowded.
Suddenly, the music stopped in the middle of your conversation. Both you and Minju glanced at the living room when you heard screaming from the crowd.
“Hey Decelis, we’re back,” a familiar voice echoed through the huge house. That’s when you and Minju decided to go to the living and there they were.
Set up in the middle of the living room was Arcanum. A smile on their face as they greet their fellow students. They’re met with nostalgia and fulfillment as they stand in front of the crowd.
“First of all, let me just give you all a short trivia about Arcanum and this place,” Heeseung started. “Let’s just say this place holds a lot of memories for our band. This place served as a space for us to practice our gigs and songs. Not only that, we laughed, cried, composed songs, and got passed-out drunk in this place. So it’s right that we celebrate our debut with a homecoming party here.”
A few “awww” and claps enamored in the crowd, they were cheering for Arcanum and the members only smiled at the thought that there’s an overwhelming support from their alma mater.
They all feel fulfilled. From performing earlier at the theater hall up to performing in front of their schoolmates inside the house that served as their practice room for years, the band couldn’t help but to be grateful for everyone.
“Yeah, yeah, enough with the sappy shits, we’re here to party!” Jay interrupted, and the first strum of his electric guitar earned cheers from the crowd. They immediately controlled the crowd with a familiar song that hit the students with nostalgia.
You and Minju only stood there watching them despite having to watch them earlier at the showcase. Compared to their performance back then, the Arcanum in front of you is much more laid-back. Chill and free like it’s just their typical gig at The Rabbit Hole. It made sense that they’re more free when it’s just them performing in front of their fellow students.
Your eyes focused on Jungwon who’s too focused with the drums. Eyebrows scrunched yet expression laid back as he syncs along the beat, heavy and loud making him tilt his head upwards like he’s feeling the music.
“I want you guys to sing along!” Heeseung shouted before he started singing the chorus. The crowd follows him, even Minju was screaming along the lyrics while you stood there, eyes never taking Jungwon off.
The heavy feeling of seeing him earlier at the showcase, debuting as a musician, you couldn’t help but to feel a soft hitch on your heart. He’s out there finally achieving your dreams while you’re still far away from yours.
You’re not thinking about your rivalry with him at those moments. All you knew was that your heart was screaming how much you’re proud of him. Despite all the chaos you had to endure of interviewing the band the past few weeks, you couldn’t help but feel a small win — their article also felt like a big break for you.
That’s why for once you let loose. You sang along to their songs, danced along with Minju, and drank as much beer as your tolerance could handle. It’s not surprising that you ended up a little bit tipsy by the end of Arcanum’s performance. Everyone was applauding for them as they took a final bow before greeting the crowd.
You and Minju decided to escape the crowd, the music started once again and the living room’s became pretty too crowded, partygoers had entered more than what it’s capacitated, so you and Minju went back to the less crowded kitchen to stuff yourself some food once again while talking about Arcanum’s performance.
“I’m glad that we went here,” Minju said, making you glance at her.
“Yeah me too,” you only smiled.
“We seldom have time to party, and now that we’re going to be much busier this year, I don’t know if I can handle more,” Minju started, making both of you fall into silence.
“Right, it’s going to be a hard year huh?” you laughed, making your best friend laugh too. Minju only raised her beer and so you clanked your beer against her before chugging it until the last drop.
“Should we try their mysterious cocktail drinks?” Minju suggested, eyeing on the huge pitcher towers that’s color red and blue.
“Why not?” you agreed, grabbing clean red cups and pouring you two some drinks.
“Minju, hey,” the two of you turned when someone tapped your best friend’s shoulder, only to see a co-senior of yours, you forgot his name, but he looked nervous, almost embarrassed by the thought of standing in front of you two.
“Hi,” your best friend greets, you can see how Minju’s expression softens, almost blushing — you raise an eyebrow as you observe them.
“Uhm…can we talk? Maybe somewhere not noisy?” he mustered up the courage and you almost laughed on the spot because of how he stumbled on his own words.
“Well,” Minju glances at you, and you immediately catch it.
“It’s okay! Go on, I’ll be here Minju, or maybe upstairs, just text me okay?” you assured.
“You sure?”
“Babe, I know this place like the back of my hand, I’ll be safe here,” you assured, then you leaned against her and quietly handed her a sharp knife keychain you keep in your pockets. “Just making sure you’re safe.”
Minju only smiles at you before agreeing to him. You watched as Minju leaves with the boy. He seems to be really interested in her, so you let it be. Smiling because it might be your best friend’s potential love life.
It left you standing there awkwardly by the kitchen counter, sipping on the mysterious cocktail that tastes like sweetened pineapple with a tequila aftertaste. For a moment, you let the silence engulf you, too much overwhelmed by the crowd in the living room but when silence has been too noisy for you, that’s when you decided to step out of the kitchen — only to be bumped by someone.
“Y/n?”
Your eyes widened in surprise before a smile formed on your lips, “oh my god, Dohoon! How are you?” you excitedly said as you hugged Dohoon who only reciprocates your action.
“Good, all good, how about you Ms. Editor-in-Chief?” he smiled as the two of you broke out of the hug.
“Well I’m doing great too, Mr. Soccer Team Captain,” you teased back.
“I can’t believe that this is where we’ll see each other,” Dohoon said in disbelief and you only nod.
“Yeah, me too,” you only said, smiling at him as you took a sip from your cup.
You decided to stay inside the kitchen to accompany Dohoon who ditches his friend in the living room because he was hungry. You two ended up catching up after years of not seeing each other, which is funny because you two go to the same university but never saw each other. But it feels nice to hear how he has been, and it relieves you that he managed to save you from the awkward loneliness inside the party.
You’re too busy talking to Dohoon that you failed to notice that Jungwon has been standing from afar, watching as you and Dohoon laughed and talked to each other like you two didn’t have a past.
His sight darkens. Jungwon couldn’t believe that you had the guts to do it in his house. His eyes blinding with jealousy as the red cup on his hand tightens, almost spilling juices on his hands.
Jungwon gulps the cocktail from his cup, hoping that his jealousy might be washed off from the thirst, while his eyes never left yours — stomach knotting in an indescribable yet annoying feeling.
Jungwon knows he doesn’t have the right to feel that way, but he can't help it when his feelings have a strong control over him. He even tried to look away, but when he noticed from his peripheral vision that Dohoon leaned against you, his feet moved out of instinct.
“Excuse me —” you two stopped when Jungwon stood in front of you two. “You two are in the way.”
Dohoon was the first one to realise that you two are by the cocktail counter. “Oh, sorry about that dude, congrats on your debut by the way.”
“Thanks,” Jungwon only said, not even batting an eye at the other male.
“Rude,” you mumbled under your breath.
“What’s rude is that you two are on the way to the cocktail counter,” Jungwon fumed.
Dohoon seems to be taken back by Jungwon’s tone. Not trying to push further, he only gives you a small smile before he said, “it’s good to see you y/n again, let’s catch up sometime? Maybe have some tacos and burritos?”
“Just like before? Of course!” you excitedly said.
“Great, great, just set the date, and we’ll make it work,” Dohoon smiles before he bids goodbye to you. You waved back at him and as you watched him disappear into the crowd, Jungwon laughed mockingly which made you glare at him.
“You’re not a great host aren’t you?” you mocked Jungwon.
“And you’re flirting at my house,” Jungwon pointed out, taking a sip on his cup. “This is my party, you know? Why are you even here?”
“Jiwon invited me, you think I went here for you? Keep dreaming Won.”
“Well, I was hoping that you’ll show a little gratitude for me since I saved your ass by letting you interview the band for your article.”
“Oh right, almost forgot that, now if you excuse me, I’ll go look for Heeseung and thank him for agreeing with the interview.” you sarcastically replied, and before you could move, Jungwon had cornered over you.
Your heart started beating fast, surprised that Jungwon’s almost an inch closer to your face. His eyes were dark and glaring, and you only stood there, not knowing where to go as the counter against your back was cold.
“Can’t believe you have the audacity to flirt with that guy,” he blurted out and his words struck you.
“Holy shit, are you jealous Yang Jungwon?” you snickered, smiling devilishly. “Why would you even be jealous of Dohoon? You don’t have the right to be jealous of him,” dainty fingers pointing at his chest until you shove him out of the way — and surprisingly, he lets you be.
You exit the kitchen, ignoring Jungwon’s stabbing glare, as you enter the overcrowded living room. There weren’t enough to even pass by. Hot, sweaty bodies stuck together like glue, touching your arms and making you wince as you excuse yourself from the crowd. Some were still sane to give way while others were too rough to care.
“Shit!’ you cursed as someone’s drinks spilled on your blouse, they didn’t even notice that they bumped into you, probably too intoxicated. The cold, sticky alcohol spread on your body made you groan in annoyance.
You managed to squeeze your way out of the crowd, just one second of bursting out of frustration because it was your favorite blouse, now it’s stained with red juice and it’ll be hard for you to remove it.
“Oh my god, y/n are you okay?” you didn’t notice Jiwon approaching you, eyes glued on your disastrous blouse.
“Yeah, the crowd's too rough and someone spilled on me,” you only replied, not even batting an eye at them.
“Go borrow some clothes from my closet, you can stay there too if you want I don’t mind,” she suggested, and you only nod to her words.
“Thank you Jiwon.” you defeatedly said.
“No worries! I saw Minju is still talking with some guy outside, want me to tell her your whereabouts?” she offered and you only shook your head, not wanting to ruin your best friend or Jiwon’s night.
You climbed upstairs, greeting the guys that were there. You’re familiar with them and they seem to know that you’re close with the Yang siblings so they let you further down the hallway.
You went inside Jiwon’s room. The walls painted baby pink and clean, smelling like the floral perfume she wears, and the silence only made you heave out a relieved sigh.
You began unbuttoning your blouse, discarding it and going towards the small bathroom inside her room. Washing off the stickiness that stuck on your skin as your eyes darted on your white bra, stained with red juice too. Great. Not only your favorite blouse is ruined, but also one of your newly-bought bras too.
As you exit the bathroom, you jump out a mile when you see Jungwon sitting on Jiwon’s bed. Turning around and looking at you — noticing how his eyes darted down on your chest.
“What the fuck — get out!?” you shouted, covering your bra but Jungwon seems to be unfazed by it.
“Quit acting like I didn’t see you in a bikini top,” Jungwon teased.
You only rolled your eyes, “yeah that was five years ago when we were still friends — what the fuck are you even doing here? Get the hell out?”
Jungwon tilts his head amusingly, “we’re in our house, I can do anything I want.”
“Jungwon, seriously, get out or —”
“Here,” he said, and in a split second you managed to catch the thing he threw — a shirt of his. You only stare at it, cheeks heating up as you find the gesture sweet.
“You okay? You look like you’re about to cry earlier,” Jungwon said with a teasing tone, and the flustered feeling was immediately replaced with annoyance.
“If you’re here to make fun of me, just get out,” you said. Throwing his shirt on the floor and going towards Jiwon’s closet. You opened the door where hundreds of shirts are folded neatly, you chose to pick up the first one on top when you felt a figure hovering over you.
“Jungwon,” you warned, feeling his body way too close to yours. “Whatever you’re doing, fuck off.”
“You’re the one who’s assuming that I’ll do something,” Jungwon taunted, and slowly, he leaned down near your ear. “If you want me to, you’ll have to beg for it.”
You only rolled your eyes, but you can’t deny that there’s a heavy tension between the two of you. Jungwon’s right arm stretches on the side, trapping you one-sided which means he’s giving you the chance to walk away.
But you didn’t. You stood there frozen as you clutched on the shirt tightly. Deep inside the fire’s burning, your curiosity is fighting your pride along with your yearning. A simple touch from him, and you’ll feel like your knees will weaken.
“Beg?” you mockingly asked, turning around to face him with a prideful expression. “I’d rather die than to beg.”
“But you’re blushing babe,” Jungwon pointed out and that’s when you pushed him away. Large strides going towards the door when the male pushes it close. You didn’t even stand a chance against his strength.
“Come on, I’m just playing with you,” and you don’t know what’s got into Jungwon, all you know is that he reeks of alcohol and probably tipsy with his words. He’s close again. Way too close. And that only hitches your breath. Heart beating fast as the tension between you grew heavier.
“What do you even want, Jungwon,” you shouldn’t have said, you know what it meant. An invitation, a rhetorical question because both of you know where it leads.
“You.”
You froze there when his lips landed on the side of your neck. Nibbling and leaving trails of his soft lips, both of his hands made their way to your waist, holding onto your soft skin as you held onto your breath.
“I’m not going to play with your games Jungwon,” you only said, eyes closing as you pray internally that he leaves you be.
“Who said I’m playing with you?” he taunted between his kisses.
“You just fucking said it earlier.” you said with gritted teeth.
“And what if I’m serious right now?” Jungwon answered with a serious tone.
You weren’t able to say anything, you only stood there as Jungwon’s lips continued playing around your shoulder area.
“You want this too, you know?” he smirks behind you. “Because if you really don’t, you would’ve pushed me away. Cursed me, and left me hard and wanting for you.”
You didn’t answer his words, because he’s right — you’re just too prideful to admit it. You let him be, let his hands explore your body and lips leave marks on your skin.
You don’t know what happened, but the next thing you knew, he turned you around and his lips were on yours.
Hungry. Craving. Jungwon’s devouring your lips like he’s been thirsting it for years. The years of his lingering feelings for you all burst out that night.
And so was yours. Because you kissed him back. Your lips locked on that infuriating asshole who used to be your other half now turned rival in everything because fuck, you’ve been yearning for it too.
Your heart and mind were battling each other while your lips produced soft noises against Jungwon’s. Everything about it feels wrong, especially when you shouldn’t be going down with him.
You should’ve pushed him away, cursed at his face and left the place — but instead, your hands found its way on Jungwon’s hair, tugging on it harshly as his lips bites down on your lower lips, sucking at the skin while his hands squeezed your waist tighter.
“In the end, you’ll give in too,” Jungwon smirks, both hands lifting you as he carries you towards the bed. Slamming you down with a soft thud, back hitting against the mattress while Jungwon quickly crawled over you, pulling you to another aggressive kiss as his knees pushed in between your thighs.
“Fuck you Jungwon,” you could only breathe.
“We’ll get to that babe,” Jungwon taunted before he pressed his lips against yours once again.
Eyes closed, you lost yourself to Jungwon as the male started exploring your body. Rough, calloused hands feeling every exposed skin of yours until it drafts on your face, cupping your jawline as he separates from your lips.
His lips trailed down on your neck, tilting your head for space as he began sucking the soft skin of yours. A breathy moan escapes your lips as Jungwon never stopped. Neck, collarbone, and even above your chest. Until everything is purple and marked like he has always wanted to do you for years.
“Mine,” he mumbled, barely hearing it before he lifted you to reach your back and unclasped your strap, only hovering it upwards and started fondling your firm breasts, fitting on his hands like a glove.
“You should see yourself, writhing underneath me,” Jungwon spoke before he latches his mouth on one of your hardened nipples. Biting harshly making you yelp in pain as his hot, warm tongue played around it.
“Asshole,” you mumbled against your moans as Jungwon continued the act. Sucking harshly on your nipples.
“This asshole is going to fuck you hard tonight,” he taunted. “Going to make you forget everything we had, until the only thing you can remember is how my cock fits inside you perfectly.”
And those words only made you whimper as Jungwon’s hips moved against his own, grinding his clothed cock against yours. The rough friction of his pants against your panty were harsh yet it threw a tease for you two.
“You want it?” he teased. “You're gonna need your words babe.”
“Dream on Jungwon,” you replied with a gritted teeth. You’re still holding onto your pride. Your mind trying to rationalize that this is still wrong but fuck, your arousal’s starting to heat and the way Jungwon’s hips grind against you just gives you the urge to give in.
“Your body says otherwise,” he grins, hands in between your thighs as he cups it despite the layered clothes. Whistling teasingly as his thumb somehow finds the spot, making you let out a small mewl which made Jungwon chuckle deeply.
“Jungwon —”
“Come on, while I’m still being nice babe,” he coos, hand pressing against it. “You don’t want me being mean don’t you?”
And despite all the teasing, you still won’t give in. “Go. Fuck. Yourself.”
The next thing you knew, his hands were cupping your face tightly while the other hand landed a harsh slap in between your thighs, making you let out a loud yelp.
“What do I expect, you’ve always been a brat y/n,” he sneered. “But don’t worry babe, I’m going to fuck that attitude out of you.”
Jungwon didn’t waste any time. Harshly, he lifts up your skirt and kneed your legs wider, thanking you internally for giving him easier access. He looks at your clothed cunt, seeing the wet patch in the middle, he couldn’t help but to chuckle darkly as the tent inside him became more visible, begging to be freed.
He leans against you once again, cupping your cheeks harshly as his lips crash on yours once again. Rough and forcing as his tongue swipes down your lips, fingers pressing the side making you whine loudly — giving Jungwon the opportunity to insert his tongue at you.
A shaky breath was all you could do as your hands finds it way towards Jungwon’s hair, tugging it harshly but instead of pulling him away from you, you could only hold on his hair for leverage, because as much as you know that this is wrong, you eventually gave in and want more of it.
Your words fell flat the moment you let yourself indulge into the act. You find yourself moaning as you kiss him back, tongue battling against his as you tug his hair harder, making Jungwon moan against your lips.
“See, you want this too, don’t you?” he laughs as he breaks out from the kiss. Calloused hands finding its way in between your thigh once again, just its light feathering made you let out a loudest sound inside the room. His finger fiddled with your panty’s waistband, tugging it until he had access to your cunt.
“Fuck already wet for me? You’re getting wet for your rival? See that, what will your pride say about you?”
You didn’t response to his words, but instead, you tugged his hair harder that he pulled away backwards — and he only laughs at your action because Jungwon fucking loves how you’re too prideful to not give in so you let your actions speak.
And so does Jungwon, because he’s planning to make you give in to him that night. His fingers trailed against the lips of your core. It's wet and pulsating and it only sends chills towards the man. Hearing you holding back your moan, as he dips it further, sliding in and out like he was teasing you.
Jungwon finds your entrance, fingertips swirling against it and you unknowingly bucked your hips against it.
He slid one finger inside, curling and pumping inside as your walls hugged his finger, eager for pleasure while his curiosity lingered so much. Pumping twice before he removes his finger and decides to lick your musk out of his fingers.
“Fuck,” Jungwon moans loudly, he wanted it. He can feel his dick twitching at your taste. He wanted to taste more of you that in a second, he’s kneeling in front of you, removing your panties completely and throwing it somewhere.
It didn’t occur to you that Jungwon had dipped his head in between your thighs. Not until he licks your pussy in one large stripe, and fuck, Jungwon groans heavenly. Why do you taste so fucking good? He couldn’t help but to bury himself against your pussy as he continued to lick your entrance. Tongue protruding as he sucks it harshly, moaning against it while his hands grab both your thighs to stabilize you.
“Jungwon!” you let out a scream as he focused on your clit. That little bud that had you writhing under his touch. Jungwon grazes his teeth against it, a curse escapes your lips as you look down and makes eye contact with Jungwon — leaving you in daze.
He stared at you like a curious cat while he busied his mouth on your clit. Giving it kitty licks slow and teasing that it had you holding onto your breath.
“Look how easy you fell for me babe,” he smiled, giving your pussy soft kisses before devouring you once again.
“Stop — Jungwon,” you mewled as you can feel your stomach tightening, your grip against the bedsheets tightens as Jungwon didn’t stop but instead, he became faster and rougher that another moan escapes your lips.
You can feel your orgasm building up, you couldn’t help but to cry as you buck your hips upward to meet Jungwon’s tongue. It’s right there, everything just feels so good and you’re just in the right momentum —
Not until Jungwon stops, separating himself from your cunt dying down your orgasm, and leaving you sensitive and wanting. A whiny cry was all you can do as you watch him unbuckle his belt.
“You think I’ll let you cum babe?” he smirks at you. You can see his messed up face filled with your slick. “I’m not that easy.”
And instead of fighting back, your mouth lets out a small whine making him chuckle harder.
“You’ll get to cum with my dick, you want that?” he said and you weren’t able to say another word. Jungwon frees his huge dick. Angry red and twitching, almost sensitive as he strokes it lightly while he approaches you like a predator.
“Come on, use your words,” he ordered.
“Yes,” you whimpered in defeat, and that obviously had glistened something lustful in Jungwon’s stare.
Jungwon hovered against you, breath steady as he aligned his hard cock on your entrance. A soft whimper escapes your lips as his tip glides up and down on your sensitive cunt. You hold onto his shoulder as Jungwon pushes his cock inside, sliding with ease as your walls welcome it.
“You’re so tight,” Jungwon moaned before he started moving his hips. “So fucking tight for me, your pussy’s sucking me like it doesn’t want my cock to leave you.”
Tears started to fall from your eyes. Breathy moans escaping your lips as Jungwon continued to thrust harshly, rough almost bruising your hips, holding it with his firm hands. You could only take his cock whole, filling you full and reaching your deepest parts.
“Oh my god — Jungwon —” you stifled a moan when Jungwon reached down and started playing with your tits once again. Fondling and biting the erected bud while his hips never stopped its movement. It only led you to becoming more sensitive. Too fucked-up to sink in that Jungwon, your sworn rival is fucking you hard.
“Look at you babe, already fucked-up? Whoever thought you'd be dumb when a cock’s pounding inside you?” Jungwon teases, thrust sharp and calculated, every slide stabs your cervix, gliding through your spot that tears continue to flow.
“What a gorgeous mess,” he whispered to himself as Jungwon wiped the tears trailing down your cheeks. “A crying mess for me, want me to ruin you more?”
You weren’t able to answer his question when he started to pound inside you once again, earning shaking whines from you, legs wanting to escape his hold but Jungwon’s too strong for you. He holds you tightly underneath, expression proud and ego swelling to see you ruined under him.
“Answer my question,” Jungwon commanded. “Come on, you can still make up some words slut, or are you too fucked out to say because of my cock?”
You writhe from his touch, “please —” you stuttered out. It’s the only thing you could think of, especially when you’re on the edge of orgasm. As much as you hated your situation, you also wanted to at least get something from it.
“Beg harder babe, I’m not that easy.”
“Fuck, ruined me Jungwon! Do whatever you want!” you shouted, and that only gave him the signal to thrust harder, harsher that his fingernails are dipping hard on the flesh of your thighs.
“Oh don’t worry babe,” he grins at you. “I have every intention of ruining you.”
“Jungwon —” a whimper escapes your lips as you can feel your stomach churning, “please I want to cum.”
“That’s what I want from you,” Jungwon sneered. “Begging to cum? Can’t do that without me? Since I’m being good, you can cum babe. Show me that you’ve cum because of me.”
His thrust became sharper, stabbing the right spot endlessly that it’s slowly coiling your insides, your walls becoming tight, hugging Jungwon’s cock and making him groan out of pleasure. Your warm flesh trapping his dick as he fucks you continuously.
You cum silently. Body shaking, tears falling as a muted cry escaped your lips, eyes shut as Jungwon continued his movement. Fucking you through orgasm until your pushing him away.
“Stop — please,” you only begged but your words didn’t even reach Jungwon’s ears. He mercilessly pounded on you until he could feel his dick twitching, and body becoming hotter.
“Fuck —” Jungwon pulls out in a second, hands stroking his dick as he washed through his orgasm. Painting you with his cum, traces of semen tainting your body just like what Jungwon had intended.
You took deep breaths, body slowly coming down as you felt yourself weary and tired, eyes drowsy like Jungwon had sucked all your energy out. It didn’t help that you had a tiring day too, that’s why you couldn’t help but to close your eyes for a moment.
But in a minute, you felt Jungwon’s arms grabbing you by your hips, too tired to fight back you only let out a small whimper when he flipped your body, stomach pressing against the sheets as you felt his body hovering over you.
“Tapping out so early? Come on, we only had one round,” Jungwon taunted, before slapping your ass cheeks, making you moan quietly.
“Fine, get some rest babe,” he defeated, planting a kiss on your temple before he moved near your ears. “But I’m not done yet with you, we’re just getting started.”
-
You woke up with your head throbbing and body aching.
A loud groan escapes from your lips as you sit up from the bed — that’s when you realized that the walls were navy blue and the interiors were different.
You’re in Jungwon’s room alone. You remembered last night’s chaos, and you find yourself wearing the shirt Jungwon had given you along with some large boxers. You glanced at the bedside and saw your ruined clothes folded, that’s when it reminded you of last night’s disaster.
You couldn’t even remember what happened after. All you know was that you and Jungwon had sex, and if he had fucked you again after, you didn’t care at all. All you wanted was to get the hell out of his room.
You grabbed your phone beside your clothes, opening it to see any notifications. But one notification stands out from the rest. A few missed calls from a classmate of yours. You couldn’t help but to press her number once again and after a few rings, she answered it.
“Oh my gosh y/n, please tell me you’re on your way!”
You furrowed your eyebrows, “on my way? what do you mean?”
“Did you read the groupchat? The interview was moved to today at 10 am! They had a last minute announcement last night. I know the party was last night but did Jungwon inform you?”
“Wait — are you serious?” you asked, stumbling down on your own feet, you can feel your heart rapidly beating fast. “Why — why would they even move it to today!?”
“I don’t know either! It still hasn’t started yet, but I feel like you can make it, just go!”
The call ended and you can feel your heart beating fast. You glanced at your phone and it’s nine-twenty am. The supreme court’s half an hour away and if you’re fast, you can make it with just a few minutes of tardiness.
But you’re unprepared. You haven’t had practice yet, and you know you couldn’t go to an interview unprepared. It’ll mess up your mind. You don’t even have any of the requirements with you. Your mind’s still throbbing and the remnants of last night’s alcohol is dried up on your throat.
Yet, you’re desperate. You need to get on that interview — you badly need to secure it or else, your future will crumble.
“Fuck it,” that’s the only you could say as you left Jungwon’s room. You didn’t care to find his whereabouts. Hurriedly, you went towards the room in front of you, knocking so loudly that you know you’re disturbing their sleep.
“Y/n —”
“Jiwon, I’m sorry, I know it’s too early in the morning but they moved the interview for the internship today and I need to go there right now! I just need some clothes and can I borr—”
“Calm down yn, calm down, I’ll lend you some of my smart casuals and heels. Do you want to wash up for a few minutes? Or —”
“I just need to be there before ten or maybe a few minutes late, Jiwon, you know how important this is to me.” you cried, voice almost pleading.
“Don’t worry babe, go! Wash up at least, I’ll wake Heeseung up to drive you to the supreme court, I’ll prepare the clothes,” Jiwon instructed, giving you the signal to go to the bathroom.
After washing up for a short time, patting some light makeup, and changing into clothes Jiwon lent to you, the two of you scrambled downstairs. That’s when you noticed that their other friends stayed over to sleep in the living room. All are in their daydream, not even noticing the chaos you brought so early in the morning.
On the way towards the supreme court, you couldn’t help but to bite onto your nails. The music coming from the speaker wasn’t helping at all. You’re nervous, and it’s stressing you out. Your heart is going to burst any moment and it’s no help that it’s already ten in the morning.
You don’t know what to blame. The program for the sudden change of schedule or you who didn’t bother opening her phone last night because you’re too busy with Jungwon. You wanted to curse yourself too. If you have pushed him away, then maybe you could’ve seen the announcement.
“No you will not,” the older female assured. “You can ace this one!”
“I hope so,” you only said with a worried tone. “This is a life and death situation.”
You arrived at the Supreme Court an hour later. It didn’t help that the traffic was jam-packed that day. Parking on the side, you could only scream your gratitude towards the couple before scurrying your way inside the building.
“Good luck!” Jiwon shouted, not minding that you didn’t turn around to wave back to them.
Heeseung drove away as soon as you entered the building, passing by the hundreds of cars parked outside, as Jiwon darted her attention on the view outside.
“Babe, isn’t that your family car?” Heeseung asked out of blue. Jiwon glanced at the direction of Heeseung’s stare and was surprised to see a familiar red car parked nearby. Jiwon’s eyes followed through it, squinted hard to read the plate.
“Huh?” Jiwon muttered. “What the hell is Jungwon doing here?”
You were walking fast inside the empty hallway. Catching your breath as you turned left and you immediately saw your classmates by the waiting area. As soon as they saw you, they were surprised but a sorry look was all they could give — that’s when you knew.
“It’s finished,” it was the only thing they could say as soon as you approached them. That’s when you felt your heart crashing into thousands of pieces.
“Seriously?” you asked, hoping that it’s not true and the interview is still on-going. You were begging inside. Please. Just one chance.
“Yeah, they had deliberated who they’re going to choose, it was a quick process that’s why it’s a bit unfair too.” another one commented.
“Is it really finished? Seriously? What the hell, that’s unfair!” you frustratedly shouted, and they could only agree with you.
They explained to you that the other sections also weren’t able to get the interview. What all they can agree on is that the court was busy, that's why they couldn’t spare time interviewing interns.
“If that’s the reason, why did they even open the program in the first place?” you complained, and they could only agree with your worries. Exclaiming their frustrations while you’re still processing the thought.
“Who got the slot?” you asked suddenly.
All of them looked at each other wary, before answering. “Jungwon got it.”
There it was. Like a bullet straight to your heart. You can feel yourself tensing up, mind blanking as his name came out of their name.
No way.
“He told me…he’s not going to try because he’s going to be busy —” then it hit you. Like a knife deepening on your chest.
Jungwon lied to you. He cheated his way towards the internship. He made you confident that you’ll get the slot when he forfeited.
He swore a promise to you and he broke it. Yang Jungwon broke his promise to you.
He probably knew last night that the schedule was changed, but he didn’t tell you about it, and instead distracted you and lured you to where you are right now. He sabotaged everything that you’ve prepared for.
“Where is he?”
“I think he went to the restroom, it’s on the other side of the hallway.”
“Excuse me.”
Your footsteps were heavy, heels clicking and making noise against the marbled tiles. Your heart was fuming with anger and betrayal, your mind was filled with nothing but a mouthful of curses and thinking how big of an asshole Jungwon was.
And beneath those, your hands are shaking and lips are trembling. You can feel your eyes starting to get watery and you’re holding it back — you’re not going to cry because of Yang Jungwon. No fucking way.
And there he was. You can feel your heart stop as he looks at you, bored expression and relaxed with his hands on his slacks pocket — and that pisses you even more. Hurriedly, you strided over him, grabbed him by the collars and pushed him against the wall as your raging eyes stared at him.
“You told me, you’re not going to join the internship — you promised me!” your shout echoed against the empty hallway. Your tears started to flow while Jungwon remained cold with his stare.
“How does it feel? Getting betrayed by your best friend? Getting lied to by them? Hurts right?” Jungwon asked instead, tone filled with bitterness. Like he’s been bottling his years of resentment to you.
You looked at him confused. For a moment, you didn’t understand what Jungwon meant. Too stunned with the fact that he broke his promise — then it hit you. The years of him beating you at every competition. Your rivalry with him, the neverending game of each other’s pride. It all makes sense now.
“Is this because I rejected you? You’re still hung up about it? Jungwon, that was years ago!” you shouted at him.
“It’s not about the fact that you rejected me, it’s the fact that you dated Dohoon weeks after you rejected me!” Jungwon shouted back, and that made you freeze.
The hand on his collar loosened, realizing that he had found out. Jungwon looks at you with the same stare that he had given you when you rejected him. Eyes wide and angry, while the bitterness dripped on his tongue, like he was holding it back for years.
“You think I don’t know? You think you can hide from me that Dohoon asked you out a week before graduation? Why didn’t you think I confessed to you all of the sudden? And then you fucking lied to me that you’ll prioritize your study — only for you two to officially become a couple a week after graduation.” Jungwon argued.
“Jungwon, I don’t want to hurt you —”
“You hurt me more when you lied to me, I can accept it y/n if you don’t have feelings for me!”
“I’m sorry Jungwon, I was young and I was just so scared of losing you.”
“Well, you already did. I’m your best friend y/n, I’ll understand if that’s all you see in me, but you chose to hide it from me,” Jungwon sighed.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I’m sorry that I was so oblivious about your feelings to me,” you confessed. “I’m sorry Jungwon, I really am. Whatever Dohoon and I had, it’s just a passing feeling. It didn’t even last that long, because throughout, all I could think of is that I hurt you.”
“It’s too late y/n, the damage has been done.”
“Did I really hurt you that much? Were you hurting so much that all you can think of was competing against me?” you bitterly asked.
“Yes,” Jungwon coldly replied. “You think this is just something silly? I have loved you since we were kids y/n, don’t you know that? Why are you so oblivious to my feelings for you?”
“I don’t know!” you shouted back. “And I’m sorry if I was too oblivious to notice, but did it really have to go this far Jungwon? You promised me! And I know you Jungwon, you never break promises but all for it was just an act so that you can get back to me!”
“Maybe you don’t know me anymore y/n, we’re not friends anymore y/n, have you forgotten that?”
You stopped. Realization hitting you that he’s right. You two aren’t friends anymore. He’s your sworn rival now. Nothing more, nothing less. The small hope that you’re holding on — the one that you wanted to hold on until your hands bleed finally decided to let go at that moment.
“So, this is my karma for breaking your heart.” you started, looking at him with glassy eyes and trembling lips. “Happy now? Seems like you're satisfied that you’ve ruined the only opportunity for me to get into law school.”
You saw how Jungwon’s eyes widened. Of course, he doesn’t know about this part, and it felt just right not to tell him — even if it means ruining some opportunities for you. Jungwon didn’t say a word. For the first time ever, he wasn’t able to articulate words when tears started to form on your eyes.
“I quit Jungwon, you won, congratulations, I hope you got what you wanted,” you only said. And with that, you walked away from him. While he stood there, watching you disappear from his sight — just like before.
-
Quietly, Jungwon went home with a heavy heart.
The once noisy and crowded house is now filled with silence that felt so eerie as he entered the living room. Everything’s clean now and back to the way it was. Except, Jiwon’s by the couch, watching some series and as soon as her younger brother is within her vicinity, she closes the television.
“Yang Jungwon,” Jiwon said with a serious tone, standing up which made Jungwon stop.
“Not now noona —”
“What you did was wrong,” she crosses her arms, tone cold and serious, and Jungwon hates it. It was rare for his older sister to be this angry. “So wrong, you destroyed y/n’s dreams, are you happy now?”
“So you’re siding with her?” Jungwon scoffed.
“I am siding with no one, but what you did was too much,” Jiwon pointed out. “You could’ve just — I don’t know, break her heart the same way she broke yours but this one? You don’t even care about law school! You’re in a band Jungwon, but y/n? She needs that internship because it’s her stepping stone on becoming a lawyer, and you just stole it from her.”
Frustrated, Jungwon could help but to shout. “Rub it on my face, go on! I was a jerk, an asshole I admit it!”
“Oh I will because I didn’t teach you to be a selfish jerk Jungwon!” Jiwon shouted back. “I didn’t mind that petty competition you and y/n have, I thought that it’s just an academic thing but this has gone too far! Why do you have to do that Jungwon?”
Jungwon falls under a deep silence. He doesn’t know. Really. He doesn’t know why he did it. He thought it’ll ease the grudge that he was holding against you. But it only felt like he had broken your heart once again.
“She hurt me noona.” That was the only thing he could say.
“Unintentionally, she didn’t know about your feelings, and you’re the one who walked away first from your friendship.”
“She lied to me, how many times do I have to tell you that? She told me that she’ll be prioritizing her studies only to find out that she’s dating someone.” Jungwon argued back.
“And she regrets it,” Jiwon countered. “Everyday, she wished that she didn’t date Dohoon because she realized that she’s just infatuated with him, and all she can think about is how it ruined her friendship with you. Do you even know that there’s not a day where she still wishes to be friends again with you?”
“You think that’ll make me feel better?”
“It should be Jungwon, because I’m giving you reasons, but you, you’re still holding onto your grudge and pride. Jungwon, nothing will happen if you keep holding onto that. You’ll just keep on blocking every opportunity for you to mend your relationship with y/n,” Jiwon lets out a deep sigh before approaching her younger brother.
“You’re not blocking her because you don’t want your feelings to get hurt again. It’s just that you don’t want your pride to be stepped on again.”
Jungwon didn’t rebut his sister’s words. Too frustrated to answer back because Jiwon’s right. It’s not about his feelings anymore. It’s about his pride — it’ll only ruin him to lower his pride especially when he’s the one who started it in the first place.
Until the very end, he chose his pride but after everything, it didn’t feel like he won at all. It felt useless for him.
“I’m going to y/n, just stay here and don’t do anything stupid.” Jiwon excuses, glancing at Jungwon who only had his head low.
With the small shut of the door, Jungwon was met with nothing but utter silence that killed him slowly.
Outside the house, Jiwon lets out a breathy sigh. Disappointment written all over her face as she hugged on her jacket lightly before walking towards your dorm. This is what she’s afraid of. Your rivalry going too far that it’ll end up hurting someone.
Jiwon hates it. She could’ve prevented it, but she chose to be a bystander, because she thought you two are mature enough to handle it. But it looks like she’s wrong.
As she turns right to your dorm, Jiwon immediately notices that you’re outside your dorm. Talking to someone over the phone. Your eyes and nose were red from crying, streams from your tears dried on your cheeks while you’re still wearing the clothes she lent you.
Jiwon approaches you quietly, enough not to disturb your call. She was about to tap your shoulder when she froze to hear your words.
“Y/n,” it was the only thing she could say, and that stopped you. Turning around and surprised to see Jiwon standing in front of you shocked.
“Jiwon,”
“Tell me it’s not true?” she asked in disbelief. “You’re moving to the states?”
And the only thing you could do was smile at her bitterly. “I’m sorry.”
-
You and Jungwon became strangers ever since that day.
No more rivalry, no more competitions, or nonsense banters. The results were obvious — Jungwon won. He got the internship and instead of being grateful about it, it only left a heavy pressure on him — especially when he’s going to balance it along with his career and studies. All for it so that he could get back to you.
You, on the other hand, blended within the walls. Jungwon had observed it. How you become eerily quiet, listening to the professors, and only answering questions when called. You tried to distract yourself, spending more time in the club room, finishing the article along with your other duties.
It’s ironic but Jungwon wondered how you were. There was one time he saw you talking to Atty Yoon. It was serious talk and his curiosity itched, he wondered what it’s all about. He wanted to badly ask you, but he knows that he doesn’t have the right to — and this time, he distanced himself for you.
The rest of the members noticed how Jungwon’s out of his mind during practice. He insists that he’s fine, but the three older members know that he’s hiding something, and it probably involves you.
So they took it upon their hands, and cornered him.
“Okay, what the hell is this?” Jungwon asked, crossing his arms as he looked at his friends one by one.
“It’s an intervention,” Sunghoon stated, and Jungwon groaned in response.
“Not you three too,” he could only complain.
“I think it’s the right thing to do because we don’t hurt girls here Jungwon,” Heeseung pointed out.
“I don’t even know whether to take you seriously or not.”
“No, seriously, we’re here to give you advice, man to man,” Jay said in a serious tone before looking at the younger male. “What you did was an asshole move, but before we dive into that, we want to hear your side first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh come on, open up! Just tell us everything starting from the very start.” Jay gestured. “No judgement, no opinions until you finish your story, we’ll listen and we don’t judge.”
“He means it,” Heeseung added.
Jungwon could only let out a sigh. Frustratedly, he brushes his hair before telling his side.
“I love her,” he started, surprising the three with his words. “When we were kids, it was just a small crush, an infatuation. She was pretty, kind, and she stands up for what's right. We were together almost all the time. It surprises me that we’re closer than she and noona, but we’re just inseparable. She — she even convinced her parents for her to study in Decelis High School because she doesn’t want to be separated from me.”
He looks at his band mates who are attentively listening to his story. “Is it bad that I gave meaning to it? She stayed because she didn't want to be separated from me. She didn’t mind traveling an hour and half back and forth just to study at Decelis, and that’s because of me, how can I not give meaning to it?”
Sunghoon was about to speak up but Heeseung had clasped his hand on the keyboardist’s mouth. Jungwon didn’t seem to notice as he’s too deep into his worries.
“That made me love her more, and I thought I stood a chance on her. I thought it’ll be those cliches that we were friends who like each other but are just too afraid to ruin their friendship, so no one confesses.” Jungwon lets out a deep sigh. “But in the end, she only sees me as her best friend.”
Jay winces at the words, while Sunghoon could only comfort his hurting self. Heeseung being the one who’s serious at Jungwon’s story, gestures to him to continue.
“I made a mistake, I was wrong, that’s all I know. When I learned that Dohoon confessed to y/n a week before graduation, I was scared that he’ll take her away from me.” Jungwon then remembers that day. That afternoon in the empty classroom, his confession, your rejection, and the fact that the bracelet is still hidden deep in his closet meant that he’s still holding on to you.
“My confession was sudden, I know that. That’s why I am prepared for rejection, I just want to dump my feelings on her. But hearing her excuse, I couldn’t help but be angry” the frustrating feelings washes over him again. “First, it’s because she didn’t tell me that Dohoon confessed to her, we’re friends right? Why did she keep it a secret from me? Second, because she gave me a shallow reason why she turned down my confession. Studies first? Who the fuck will believe to those?”
“I do,” Heeseung couldn’t help but to butt in, earning glares from the three. “Look, sorry I know we don’t judge in this intervention, but some people do prioritize their studies and think that relationships can be a distraction.”
“You’re missing the point hyung,” Jay rebutted. “She lied to Jungwon, it’s a white lie because she didn’t want to hurt Jungwon, she doesn’t want to reject him with the reason that she doesn’t feel the same way.”
“And instead of accepting it like a real man, you decided to be petty and turned her reason for you two to become academic rivals?” Sunghoon asked, a scoff of disbelief following afterwards.
“I felt betrayed,” Jungwon defended. “I don’t need her to think about my feelings, I can accept it if she doesn’t like me back! Why did she need to lie to me?”
“Jungwon, you mean so much to her that she doesn’t want to lose you, that’s why she did that,” Heeseung explains calmly. An assuring smile forms on the eldest lips. “Maybe a part of her thought that you’ll understand if she said that reason.”
“But instead, you made it into a rivalry,” Sunghoon butts in. “Did it ever cross your mind why you resorted to that plan?”
“I was immature, I want her to prove to me that she was telling the truth even though I know that it’s just a lie,” Jungwon huffs out. “I was hurt, and seeing her getting frustrated and angry because I beat her at every competition, it fuels my pride. It just proves to me that I was right, but —”
Jungwon freezes midway. “Back in there, in the supreme court, I know I crossed the line. I know it was too much. We made a promise, that she’ll give us good publicity in exchange, I won’t participate in the internship. I lied, I cheated, and I got the slot, the thing that she was aiming for. I thought she would just be mad at me, curse me like she always does but she cried — she cried because of me.”
“Okay maybe this is the part that we judge,” Jay interrupted. “Jungwon, you broke your promise to her.”
“I did,” Jungwon said in defeat. “I did, I lied just like what she did.”
“She lied because she doesn’t want to hurt you, you lied because you want to hurt her, there’s a difference, Jungwon,” Sunghoon pointed out, and that only had sunken Jungwon’s shoulders.
“Well, you finally beat her right?” Heeseung sarcastically interjected. “Are you happy with it now? Is the grudge on your heart gone now?”
No. It never left. In fact, the pain became deeper. He felt guilty. His grudge never left and it only left Jungwon mad at himself, especially when he knew that he had gone too far.
But he couldn’t do anything about it. Not when he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t know how to approach you either. It’s like the more you two meet, the more you two hurt each other — and that thought pains him. You two used to be glued together, but now? You two can’t be in the same room anymore.
“It just hurts me more,” Jungwon could only say. “I don’t know what to do anymore, noona’s mad at me, and I’m sure you guys are disappointed with me.”
“Yeah, you did too much Jungwon,” Jay heaves out a sigh. “But we still wanted to be there for you, the only thing you should do is to turn things right.”
“Talk. You two should talk and just communicate,” Sunghoon added. “It’s important to clear things up.”
“How can I? She’s avoiding me.”
“I think she had enough of you Won,” Heeseung defeatedly said. “I think you need to give her space, let her heal the wounds. It’ll just hurt you two more if you two immediately talk to each other.”
“I wish it’s easy,” Jungwon said. You’re like a breath of life for him. He couldn’t stand being away from you despite the anger he’s holding on to. He knows he’s conflicted, but deep inside he is still yearning for you.
“If you really love her, you’ll let go of her Won,” Heeseung shared. “Right now, your pride and heart are fighting with each other, you have to let go of one thing.”
-
The newspaper fell flat on top of the coffee table. Jungwon, who seems to be busy with his task, stops and glances at it.
There they are. Front page of the university newspaper. A whole page on page four will be dedicated to them, and only about them.
“I hope you’re happy now Jungwon-ah,” Jiwon said with a serious tone while the younger male focused his attention towards the article.
You stuck to your promise that you’ll give them a good exposure — and you did. The article was concise and catchy. You highlighted their journey starting from being a university band shifting into an independent one, and now here you are, a mainstream band.
Despite being the youngest in the band, Yang Jungwon from the Department of Law seems to be able to catch up with the older members. Impressively, he’s even ahead of them. He controls every song and beats with his drums, a huge backbone of the band, considered as the last puzzle piece of Arcanum.
He continued reading his section — realization hitting him like being poured with a bucket of ice. Even after everything he had done to you, you still made sure that Arcanum’s image won’t be in a bad light.
Why would Jungwon be happy? Two weeks had passed and his sister’s mad at him, his friends were disappointed with his actions, and he broke your heart, again. He still doesn’t know how to approach you. The only thing he could hold on was his pride. But what’s to hold on when you two are strangers now?
“I am not,” it was the only thing Jungwon could say.
“Good,” Jiwon spat. “You deserve it.”
“How long are you going to villainize me?”
“Long until y/n forgives you,” the older girl said, before grabbing her phone. “But I guess that won’t happen because you still couldn’t face her like a real man.”
“Quit it, you’re just like Sunghoon-hyung,”
“Then stop moping around and face her,” Jiwon nagged. “Before everything is too late and she’ll be gone for good.”
Jungwon halted, his ears deafening at his older sister’s words.
“What do you mean?”
Jiwon didn’t answer.
“Noona, what the fuck do you mean?”
“She’s leaving Jungwon,” Jiwon stated, and Jungwon felt his heart dropping on the floor. “She’s continuing her studies in the states, and she doesn’t know when she will return or not. It depends on the future.”
“I don’t know that — she didn’t told me that.”
“Why would she tell you that Jungwon? Why would she tell the guy who she lost her internship to, that she’s migrating to the states? She’ll be scared that you might do it too just to beat her out of it,” Jiwon sarcastically replied, and that deepened the stab in Jungwon’s heart.
“When was this?”
“A few weeks ago,” Jiwon shared. “It’s a great scholarship deal but she’s hesitating because it’s in the states, she’ll struggle to adapt. The internship was her sign, if she doesn't get in, she’ll accept it.”
Jungwon didn’t say a word. No wonder you reacted that way when he got the slot. You need it. It’s the only thing that will make you stay here.
“She doesn’t want to leave you Jungwon,” Jiwon bitterly smiles, thinking about her friend who’s leaving for good. “Even if you were an infuriating asshole, she didn’t want to pursue it, but you outdid yourself this time Won.”
Shit. Jungwon curses. There’s no way. He’s not going to let you leave the country. He has to do something about it.
“I got to go,” Jungwon could only say, standing up from his seat and leaving the house in an abrupt manner.
Jiwon knows that she’s not in the right position to tell but she knows you two. She had witnessed your friendship grow and crumble throughout the years. She was there, watching your rivalry unfold and quickly be ruined again. She’s not going to let you leave with a heavy heart — and her younger brother wondering why you suddenly disappeared.
Jungwon stood outside your dorm apartment. He’s been constantly bugging you, calling you nonstop, almost begging for you to talk to him. He stood there for an hour before you decided that he’s not going to leave unless you show up, so with the remaining pride you had in you, you decided to go down and face him.
“What did I hear from noona?” Jungwon angrily asked, the moment you're near him.
You didn’t say a word but instead, you stood there as Jungwon stared at you like you had betrayed him once again.
“You’re leaving for states? You’re not going to wait until graduation? Do you really hate me that much?” he asked almost in disbelief.
Of course. You only think. Jiwon’s going to tell him. You don’t know whether to be mad at the older girl but you let it slide. You know that she told him so that you two could finally talk, to clear things up and perhaps, for you to leave the country without holding any grudge against Jungwon.
After all, everything about this is about you now — not about Jungwon, not about your rivalry with him. It’s not to shove to him that you’re going abroad to study and he couldn’t. No more games and petty competition that was created due to an immature reason. Everything about this is for your future.
“This isn’t about you anymore Jungwon, nor is it about whatever competition we have,” you only exhaled. “This is about me and my future, and I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you.”
“Why? So you could continue our rivalry? Jungwon, you’ve won, you got the internship! Is that not enough for you!?”
“I don’t want to lose you,” Jungwon answered instead. “Please, don’t go, please stay…stay with me, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize now that everything you’ve done caught up to you. If I stay, what good will it become for us? We’re only hurting each other Jungwon.”
“We can start all over again, please, I’m sorry —”
“Jungwon, it’s not easy for me to just get over it and start over again,” You let out a deep sigh before looking at him. “I made some mistakes too, I’m sorry for breaking your heart Jungwon —”
You weren’t able to finish your sentence when Jungwon pulls you to a tight hug, arms wrapped around you that you freeze from your place. “I don’t care about that anymore, please, just don’t leave me.”
You could only close your eyes, tears falling as Jungwon’s warmth engulfs you. You hate it. You hate how despite everything Jungwon has done to you, you still miss your best friend so much. You missed his touch, his warmth, and the comfort his hugs gave you.
“This is for my future Jungwon,” you repeated. “I wouldn’t have done this if only I got the internship.”
“I’m sorry, please —” Jungwon stuttered through his words. All his pride crumbled down in a snap, he was almost kneeling in front of you as the guilt had become heavier than the anger he had towards you. “Please don’t leave me, I’ll decline the internship, I’ll make sure you’ll get the spot.”
“It’s too late Jungwon,” you only said, and before he could say anything, you broke out from the hug. “I don’t see a reason for me to stay, my parents are moving too. We had already hurt each other. I think it’s best that we keep our distance from now on.”
“I’m sorry,” Jungwon apologized. “I’m sorry for ruining our friendship. For being an asshole to you, and stealing your internship after I made a promise. I’m sorry.”
“I have forgiven you a long time ago, Jungwon,” you consoled. “But the more I see you, the more I’m hurt because I regret not reciprocating your feelings for me — and it took me a year to realized that I love you, and I miss my best friend so much, and I was holding on to our petty competition because it’s the only way I could get close to you again, even if our pride is getting in the way for us to communicate properly.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Jungwon breathes. “Why now? When you’re leaving?”
“Because even though I love you, I’m still hurting Jungwon,” you explained. “And I need space, I need a place on my own — a life without you.”
“There’s nothing I can do to make up your mind?” he pleaded desperately.
“Nothing.”
Jungwon became quiet. That’s when he knew that your decisions were final. Nothing can change your mind, not even if he kneeled there and bled himself dry. He had hurt you deeply that you had to distance yourself from you.
“What happened to us Jungwon?” you asked. It was the question that you’ve long to ask him for years. “Why did everything lead to this?”
“It’s me,” Jungwon said in defeat. At that moment, he chooses his love over his pride. “It’s my fault, I was immature — scared that the only person I love will be gone. The funny thing was, she did, but it’s because of me.”
“Now, you really are going to be gone, I pushed you away, again, just like back then,” Jungwon mumbled. “I never thought it'd happen again.”
You only stared at him, “it’s for the best Jungwon. Maybe, it’s meant for us to end up this way.”
“Don’t say that,” Jungwon huffs. “We were inseparable back then, we…we could’ve been more than friends —”
“If only I'd realized it sooner,” you bitterly smiled. “I’m sorry Won, I’m sorry because I was too dumb to realise that my best friend’s in love with me — that I’m also in love with him.”
“Is your love for him not enough to outweigh the hurting feeling?”
You only nod, defeated, Jungwon didn’t say a word.
“Can I hug you?” Jungwon pleaded, thinking that tonight will probably be the last time he’ll get to talk to you. “Please, one last time?”
“Okay,” it was the only thing you could say before Jungwon pulled you to a bone-crushing hug. You rested your head on his chest as he tightly held you, not wanting to let you go, head resting on your shoulders.
“I’m sorry, I love you so much,” Jungwon cried. “I’m sorry if I hold onto my anger and pride, I’m sorry —”
“I’m sorry too, Jungwon.”
“Please, stay…I’ll distance myself from you, just stay here.” he persuaded once again.
“I’m sorry, my decision’s final.”
And the only thing you could hear was Jungwon soft cries as he buried himself to you, muffling his cries on your shoulder as tears fell from yours too.
-
Epilogue.
“You’re listening to 101.3 mixed up radio station, here we are with the hottest band in the scene, Arcanum!” the voice echoed through the radio station.
Behind the scene, the camera director signaled that the cameras were rolling. The DJ, Boo Seungkwan nodded as he smiled at the four guys sitting in front of him. Huge microphones in front of them, as they smiled nervously.
They introduced themselves one by one. Smiling despite being deep inside, they’re nervous for their first live radio guest. The DJ was cheerful and light to talk with. He makes sure that every member gets to answer, darting topics from their journey up to their music. The segment was going well and the longer the talk was, the tension on their shoulders lessened.
“Alright, so we’re here to ask you guys some burning hot questions. Everyone’s curious, what’s your relationship status? Some say that you guys are in a relationship while others aren't, it’s also a hot topic that you guys describe your ideal type during your showcase.” Seungkwan asked, glancing at the members one by one.
The boys laughed at the question, before quietly looking at each other. Gesturing the oldest to answer the question. “Alright, uhm — we’re not going to deny it anymore, but we’re in a healthy relationship, well except for Jungwon, he’s still single and ready to mingle if anyone wants him,” Heeseung teased, making the youngest glare at him.
“Oh this shouldn’t surprise me given that you guys are so handsome! It’s kinda controversial you know? It’s rare for singers to debut while maintaining a relationship and exposing them immediately to the public,” Seungkwan stated.
The members only agreed with the DJ’s words. One of the things they negotiated with the label is their private life outside their career. Daydream Records wasn’t strict with romantic relationships, and gave them the decision to reveal their relationship in public. While they weren’t the type to flaunt their girlfriends at every chance they have, their fans are quick to stalk their personal social media accounts.
“Well, they’ve been supporting us from the start, it’s fundamental that we also have trust in each other,” Sunghoon explained, smiling as he remembered his girlfriend.
“That’s true, plus they’re also the inspiration to our music, our fans love it to be honest, they think it’s romantic that we dedicated our songs for them,” Heeseung added.
“That’s right, from what I heard, your first ever composed song was dedicated to your girlfriend right?”
Heeseung only laughed at the DJ’s words but the obvious red ears gave off the answer. They remember the first time they performed it — in front of thousands of Decelis students at the year-ender concert. One of the biggest crowds that they had performed.
“That’s true, I’m going to say that the lyrics aren’t that deep and it’s a bit cheesy but that’s how I feel for her,” Heeseung explained, smiling wider than ever.
“If you want a small fact, Heeseung’s dating Jungwon’s older sister,” Jay chuckles.
“Oh! Seriously? Jungwon, what are your thoughts about it?” Seungkwan asked.
“Well,” Jungwon lets out a disappointing sigh. “I had no choice, they love each other.”
The talk about Arcanum’s relationships continued, gossiping about how they met and where, the DJ seemed to be impressed how they all have different love stories. Commenting at how their listeners are probably gushing at how cute their relationships are.
“You guys seem to really love them,” Seungkwan sentimentally said, and the members only smiled. “And I can see that they’re also a bunch of sweet and genuine girlfriends, that’s why we prepared a surprise for you guys!”
The members were surprised with Seungkwan’s words that they started looking around, wondering if their significant others are present in the set. Jungwon only laughed as the only single member, but his eyes wandered too, curious what kind of surprise the DJ had presented.
“Hello love,” a voice echoed through the speaker.
“Oh my god,” Sunghoon blurted out, surprised by a familiar voice that’s always been a tune to his ears.
“Oh it’s a voice message,” Jay said in relief.
The members decided to become quiet as they started listening to their voice messages. Sunghoon was smiling wide as his girlfriend made the call after her hospital shift, soft voice encouraging him and telling him that she’ll be there to support him no matter what — and she’ll be waiting at their home no matter what, making the keyboardist hold onto the ring on his ring finger, smiling wider that his eyes curved into crescent moons.
Jay laughs when he hears the bubbly tone of his girlfriend. Excitedly, she first shares anecdotes of their relationship, remembering that one time she kissed him in front of the crowd at the Rabbit Hole, a memory that seems to be a core memory not only for them, but also for the band. She then explains how lucky she was to have Jay as her boyfriend, a huge green flag she added. She warmly wraps it up with the sentence, “I’ll be cheering for you my rockstar.”
“Hi Heeseung,” Jiwon’s voice came last. Just from her voice, Heeseung can see her smile and that thought made him smile wider.
Jiwon expressed how she was there from the start. From their first band practice in their house up to now, and she’s proud of what they’ve become. She’ll be supporting them from afar and reminding them that the Yang residence can still be a place for their band practice. Her message wasn’t just solely for Heeseung — but for the whole group, touching everyone's heart, while the vocalist only smiled at the thought of Jiwon caring enough for his band members.
“For Jungwonnie, I’ll leave a message to you too,” Jiwon spoke, a teasing laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t be hard-headed to your members just because you’re the youngest! I won’t be there to nag you all the time! But noona will always be here cheering you on, I’m proud of you always. I love you kiddo.” From there, Jiwon’s voice stops. Jungwon’s smile never fades, heart touched by his sister’s words.
“At least I got a short message from my sister,” Jungwon jokes, making the other three laugh.
“Are you sure about that?” Seungkwan asked teasingly, “because while we’re listening to the voicemails, we suddenly received a message from someone. It says it’s from your best friend.”
Jungwon stops, confused and wondering who it was. His heart started beating fast, and there’s a small hope inside him that hopes it’s from you.
“Would you like to hear it?”
Jungwon only nods. Eager, even leaning against his microphone like it’ll make the voicemail louder.
“Hi Jungwon, congrats on your debut and your radio interview. It seems like life has always been in your favor,” there it was. Your soft tone that Jungwon immediately recognized.
“You have always been so perfect in so many ways Wonwon,” a laughter escapes your lips, making Jungwon smile. “Do you still hate it? Calling you Wonwon? But the nickname stuck with me ever since, so you have no choice about it.”
“I’ve known you ever since we were kids, you always love playing music, I never got to beat your guitar hero high score.” a faint laugh escapes your lips, and Jungwon swore that your laugh was the prettiest thing he had heard today. “It makes sense that you’ll be in a band, Wonwon even though you can do almost everything.”
Then, a deep silence followed after. From the other side, you stood in front of the glass wall, watching the planes take off while you waited for your boarding time. Your heart filled with regret but also relief as you clutched on your phone tightly.
“I just want to tell you that I’m proud of you, for everything that you’ve achieved. You deserve it, and I’m pretty sure that there’s more to come with you and Arcanum, and that makes me even more proud.”
“I hope you’re okay now Jungwon, I love you so, so much, don’t you ever forget that,” you only said, lips trembling as you choke back your tears while an announcement echoed in the background.
“It’s time for me to go, I don’t know what the future holds, but I’ll be here supporting you and Arcanum. Goodbye Jungwon.”
The call ended. Jungwon was quiet as he thought of you. He doesn’t know what to feel hearing your voice. But somehow, he felt closure with it, and he was glad to hear your voice one last time before you leave the country.
“Wow, that’s such touching words from your best friend,” Seungkwan softly said, touched by your message. “And of course! From your girlfriends too, before we close this segment, how about you guys give a few words for them?”
One by one, the members sent their love and short messages for their significant others. Hoping that it’ll reach them. All smiles and sweet words were given before it darted to Jungwon who gave the message last.
“Hi, thank you for the message. I don’t know if you’re still listening to this interview, but I hope you’ll be okay there in the states. It's a lot of adjustments, but I know you'll handle it strongly. Take care always. I love you so much, don't you ever forget that,” Jungwon deeply exhales before smiling.
“I'm doing okay now. I'm glad that we're were best friends y/n."
pairing . jungwon x fem! reader (ft. sunghoon)
about . 16.2k+ words, angst, unrequited love + hanahaki
synopsis . jungwon doesn't think there's anything scarier than watching his best friend, who he's secretly been in love with his whole life, get married to another. however, as he coughs up blood and tries to ignore the ache in his chest, he starts to believe that maybe, there just might be something worse: death.
warnings . major character death, blood, throwing up, alcohol/drinking, cursing, themes of suicide and death overall, this is a hanahaki au so i cannot stress enough how much grief there is in this, miscommunication, heavy angst, depression, sickness, there's like 1 suggestive line, its barely implied reader is shorter than jungwon but it doesnt matter too much, if you are reading this hoping for a good time there is none ok
playlist . flowers in december by mazzy star, bonfire by wave to earth, no one noticed by the marias, romantic homicide by d4vd, space song by beach house, favorite crime by olivia rodrigo, beaches by beabadoobee
notes . first fic on this account hello!! also this was written for @hoonigiris i hope you enjoy my grad gift to u! (let's ignore how this was supposed to be done by last august.) also thank you to @sungbeam for dealing with me crashing out every single time and for beta-ing, i love u so much. genuinely writing this has ruined me i'm so sorry jungwon for putting you through this much pain but at least i finished the fic yknow 😭
The light that streams in through the blinds is unbearably bright today.
Usually, Jungwon can ignore it. He can reach over to tug the blinds shut or bury his face into his perfectly fluffed pillow. He can pretend he has no other obligations and surrender to the slumber that consumes him once more. At least, until his alarm rings, he can exist in a world of peace where his only soulmate is the quilted pattern of his blanket.
Unfortunately, though, he cannot replicate this sequence of actions today. Mainly because no matter how hard he tries, the ever-so-persistent buzzing of his phone doesn’t seem to quell.
Jungwon reaches for his bedside dresser unquestioningly, not wanting to open his eyes, which currently feel weighted down by dumbbells. His fingers fumble around the hardwood until they land on something smooth, and he grips his phone with whatever strength he has this early in the morning. With one eye, he peeks at his phone screen to see a flashing call appear on the glowing screen. With a grumble, he picks up.
“Hello?” he whispers. Only then does he register the dryness of his throat, that scratchy, aching feeling he gets after one too many vodka shots at the club.
“Jungwon, finally!” he hears from the other end. It takes him a little bit to recall your chirpy voice from the other end of the phone. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you? This is–”
“Y/n,” he starts, his eyes scanning the clock hanging across his room. “It’s seven in the morning. I never wake up this early. You never wake up this early.”
Jungwon hears a rustle of sheets next to him, a soft whine echoing out from his sleeping hyung. Jay’s tired eyes blink open, and he throws an arm over his eyes as if the light streaming in personally insulted him.
“Fuck, my head hurts. What time is it?” Jay mumbles.
“Seven.”
Jungwon’s headache makes its presence known on cue, and flashes of last night’s misadventures spring through his memory. He groans, already regretting tagging along with Jay to the bar near his house, the one with Jay’s bartender friend that always gives them half off on drinks. Nights like these are ones he always regrets, never too fond of the aftermath of a raging headache, but sometimes he just needs a little something after a long day of work.
“Are you with Jay?” Jungwon hears on the other end, and he hums softly. “Good, because I have something important to tell you both!”
Your voice is wispy, full of breaths and almost-stutters as if you landed in some sort of unescapable trouble. Jungwon’s heart picks up, worry pounding through him as he puts your call on speaker and climbs out of bed. He fumbles around the room, tugging on a shirt and searching for his keys as he responds.
“What’s wrong? Did you miss your bus again? I can come pick you up–”
“No, Won, nothing’s wrong.” Your breathing staggers on the other end, as if you were controlling every inhale and exhale, and he finds himself not believing your words.
“Are you sure?”
“Jungwon. Listen to me.”
He stops, pausing for a beat, and listens. He listens, just like he always does.
“He proposed, Won. Sunghoon proposed.”
And suddenly, Jungwon feels like he’s suffocating.
He doesn’t register much after that, only Jay expressing a small ‘congrats’ as you both continue talking. His knees buckle, and he’s forced to sit back down on the bed with his shirt half-on and shaking hands. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he hears shuffling across the room and finds his tears staining Jay’s bare torso, pressing into his chest as Jay brings him in for a hug.
Jay doesn’t say anything at first; he just rubs circles into his back with a touch so delicate that it barely registers. When Jungwon cries harder, he breaks, whispering apologies into his ear as if they can do anything to crush the tidal wave of anguish that just swept over Jungwon.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats, over and over again like a mantra, but Jungwon doesn’t understand why. Did he do something wrong? Did you do something wrong? Is loving someone who isn’t him wrong?
Or is it he that’s wrong, loving you irrevocably despite your heart belonging to another? Loving you and lying to everyone about his true feelings with only a selfish desire to keep you close. Was it so wrong that he just wanted to be with you, even if it was as your best friend and nothing more?
All the memories of you suddenly resurface, handpicked moments where he could’ve confessed at any moment, but instead remained silent. Moments where he watched you chase your happiness, even if that didn’t involve him. A small, gnawing feeling in his chest makes itself known, crawling its way up his intestines and up his throat.
“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers. Jay pulls back, searching his eyes and anticipating any sort of grief-filled reaction that comes Jungwon’s way. “I… I think I’m going to throw up.”
Jay frowns, already reaching for the pink Hello Kitty bucket in the corner of Jungwon’s room, reserved for hangovers, rough nights, and maybe in rare cases like this, heartbreak. Jungwon’s eyes flutter shut as he heaves, and heaves, and heaves, all his yearning leaving through his mouth until nothing remains and he’s pulling the bucket away with a slight cough.
“Won, you need to rinse your mouth,” Jay starts, patting his back. Jungwon stares into the bucket, his face contorting into something of confusion.
“Won?” he hears again, but this time he rubs his eyes in disbelief, blinking three times before tilting the bucket towards his hyung.
“Look, hyung. Petals.”
White, curled petals, sitting against the baby pink interior of the bucket. A sight so unrealistic that it doesn’t even look real until Jay shakes the bucket and the petals flutter to the bottom. Jungwon can only stare in shock, almost in wonder, until he throws up again.
(He finds out later, after he’s calmed down and the tears on his cheeks have become one with his skin, that Sunghoon proposed to you on that mountain. The one that you and Jungwon discovered first together, back in high school when you ventured off the trail for your senior pictures and stumbled upon the view of a beautiful sunrise studded with pine trees. The mountain that you’d revisit with Jungwon every summer, dragging him, and later Sunghoon, along because it became something of a tradition, sitting at the top of the world with the whole forest spread beneath you.
You would stare at the view. Jungwon would stare at you.)
In retrospect, it’s not like Jungwon didn’t see it coming.
He’d anticipated it for a while now, or at least started expecting it after Sunghoon had pulled him aside during a house party months ago and shyly asked him for his photographer friend’s number, the one who specialized in weddings and surprise proposals. Sunghoon had stared at him so cutely from behind his thick-rimmed glasses that Jungwon had no choice but to ignore the sinking feeling as he forwarded his friend Riki’s phone number, tapping him on the shoulder and wishing him good luck.
(That sinking feeling that he’s always had when he sees you with Sunghoon, as if he doesn’t have a Pinterest album of his ideal wedding that he’s imagined you walking down the aisle in. As if he hasn’t daydreamed about sliding a ring on your finger since he was seventeen, mourning the distance between you two as you headed off to college without him. As if he hasn’t imagined how he’d get down on one knee in the midst of a rainy afternoon and ask to be yours forever.)
It’s just that Jungwon didn’t expect it to be this soon. He thought he’d have more time to bury his reverence for you, to pretend as though you really just were two best friends. He’d wanted to imagine himself cradled in your arms one last time before he lost you for good.
Instead, he has to settle for watching you from a distance. He glances at you one too many times today, admiring the flowy sundress you have on as you sit in the wicker chair next to Sunghoon. It’s like his body knows that you’re slipping from his grasp, because his eyes flicker over to you like it’s second nature, and he has to fight to regain his focus.
It’s the first time he’s seen you, physically, in a long while. You look different, almost as if you’re glowing, so giddy with every movement that Jungwon feels it radiate off you. Conversely, Jungwon feels as though there’s a storm cloud brewing in his stomach, twisting and turning and flipping over and over again as though he’s sick. The complementary croissant from the restaurant lies untouched on his plate, and he busies himself with his phone, reading through the influx of messages from Jay about what’s supposedly wrong with him and his newfound ability to throw up petals.
“Jungwon,” you start, abruptly enough that he almost drops his phone before his eyes glance back up towards you, “and Jake. Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome? What is this, an announcement?” Sunghoon’s best friend chimes in, stifling a laugh at your formal behavior.
“Sort of, actually,” Sunghoon responds, observing Jungwon’s confused expression. “We, um,” he clears his throat, the pink rising to his cheeks. “We’re getting married. In two months.”
Time seems to hate Jungwon. It trickles down at moments where Jungwon’s impatient, watching the clock tick as he taps his foot in rhythm, and it crashes through like a tsunami when he craves some peace and quiet. Time seems to slide through his fingers like sand from a broken hourglass, escaping through every crack as if it's running away from something. He never seems to have enough of it, either too much or too little, and right now, he wishes that it was more friendly to him because he knows that getting over you will take a lot longer than two months.
(Really, he’s had a lifetime to do this, but he’s deluded himself into thinking that getting over you is measurable. A process he can start once he needs to. It’s not. Getting over you is an immeasurable entity that he will be battling for the rest of his life. It’s not time that’s unfair to him; it’s himself.)
“That’s so… soon,” Jungwon finds himself saying lamely.
“Yeah,” Jake echoes. “Didn’t you guys just get engaged?”
“Sunghoon has a work trip early next year, so we thought it’d be best to tie the knot before he goes off,” you explain. Your ring glints from the soft sunshine as you meet Sunghoon’s gaze, like a cheesy romance scene in a movie Jungwon wishes he’d never seen. “And we’d like you both to be part of the wedding party.”
The swirling in Jungwon’s stomach intensifies.
“Like, I’d be your maid of honor?” Jungwon lets out, drinking a glass of water to calm the weirdness in his chest.
“Or like, a dude of honor,” Jake comments. Jungwon’s too preoccupied waiting for your reaction to notice Sunghoon’s eye roll.
“Yeah, basically.”
He can’t stop his brain from overthinking, trying any way to get out of something he’d regret. Something you’d regret.
“Are you sure about this? I mean, like, what about Wonyoung?” he asks, knowing how close you are with your college roommate. “She probably knows more about this wedding thing than I do. Or what about Ningning–”
“Won,” you interrupt, placing your hand over his. Your touch is delicate, like always, but he finds it scathingly hot today, as if you’ve set him on fire. “You’re my best friend. Why would I want anyone other than you by my side?”
Oh, how he wishes he could be by your side, not just as your best friend, but as your lover. Sometimes he thinks you know this gaping secret he’s hiding, choosing to say innocent little musings about him and you as if they have no effect on his sanity. He feels sick again, that same sickness from when he gripped Jay’s shirt tightly as tears cascaded down his face, and all he had was the overwhelming urge to get it out. He can’t necessarily do that now, though, not when Sunghoon’s stare is piercing into the side of his head, waiting for a response.
No matter how fucked up this all is, how you unknowingly take and take from him until he has nothing left to give, he still prefers this over not knowing you at all. So he agrees, just like he always does.
“You’re right. Okay,” he says numbly, watching your face light up in a grin as you clutch his hand a little tighter, as if his skin hasn’t been burnt off enough. Even though the whole table radiates with joy, infectious from your laughter, he feels like his heart is being ripped to pieces with every smile you throw his way.
He excuses himself to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, the urge to vomit becoming unbearable with every word he watches you say. He watches the petals float down into the toilet basin, scoffing as he slumps down on the gray tile and wipes his mouth. His hands are finding Jay’s contact before he can even register it, and he tries his hardest not to cry and make a fool of himself in front of you as the phone rings.
He wishes he could go back to a time when he wasn’t in love with you. When all you were to him was just another friend, when he didn’t feel guilty for staring at you a little too long or wanting you more than he wanted anyone else. He wishes he could go back to that time, even though he knows that it never existed, because all he’s ever known is how to love you. He knows he’s been put on this Earth to love you, and to wish otherwise would mean he’d cease to exist.
“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers when the call goes through. His throat is raw and scratchy again, aching just like his feelings for you.
“It’s called hanahaki disease, Won,” Jay whispers slowly, as if it pains him to say. “It’s rare, but it happens when you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. You’ll keep coughing up petals until eventually you die from it.”
Jungwon laughs bitterly because somehow, death doesn’t seem that bad compared to losing you for a lifetime. In the end, death seems better than this sick and twisted fate of his.
Jungwon has always known that you wanted to get married in a garden.
He knows that it’s been a dream of yours to get married with the river flowing behind you and the dandelions peeking through the blades of grass. Early enough that the morning dew still prickles beneath your feet, but not too early for you to complain about your heavy eye bags from lack of sleep.
Jungwon hates that he knows little details about you like this. He hates that he has the ability to read you faster than he’s read himself, as if you’re a book filled with annotations and dog-eared pages from a life well-lived. If Jungwon were a mere acquaintance, crushing on you from afar, he thinks it would’ve been easier to distance himself emotionally. It would be easier to stop loving you without the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders.
To his dismay, however, Jungwon is not a random nobody to you. He’s your best friend, your other half, the one who completes your sentences and ties your shoelaces. Jungwon knows you like to think of yourself as a star, a tiny, twinkling star that somehow found its place, but to him, you are the epicenter of every universe. A universe where he handpicked all the stars and galaxies, painted the darkness behind you with a soft brush as if it barely exists in comparison to your glow, because he sees you for all that you are. A universe where he settles for being a small planet that orbits you because he is bound to you by heart and soul, and he won’t be able to escape that, no matter how hard he tries.
Your relationship is so tightly knit that he’s the one helping you pick out flower arrangements today instead of Sunghoon. He adjusts uncomfortably in the too-smooth leather couch in the floral shop, watching your fingers flick through the guidebook and trying not to stare at the ring that has now become a permanent placeholder on your body. He subconsciously makes note of the flower arrangements that you linger on for too long, knowing that you won’t remember them until you retrace your line of thought.
(It’s okay, though. He’s always been there to remember things for you. Like the time you forgot your notecards for your sociology presentation, and he printed out spare just in case. Or when you forgot to ask for mango sago in your drink, so he pulled the cashier aside after to let her know. Even if you’re not aware of how much he does for you, he’ll still continue to do it just to see that glow on your face. That same glow that spreads slowly, the one that barely appears, but the one he still notices because he loves you.)
“They’re all pretty,” you murmur, flipping back and forth through a couple of different arrangements. “What about the petunias?”
Jungwon eyes the multicolored flowers in the photo, his brows arching skeptically. “You didn’t want flashy colors, though,” he reminds you gently, taking the book from your hands.
You sigh, slumping against the couch as if you’re over this whole ordeal, even though it’s only been thirty minutes. Jungwon flips to the next page, ignoring your disinterested gaze because even though your eyes glaze over, he knows how important this is to you, and therefore how important it is to him, too.
He scans the pages until his fingers pause, pressing indents into an arrangement with white colored flowers and pretty green springs. His heart rate spikes as his mind races with every intention to turn the next page, to forget about the same flowers that continue to plague him, but you’ve already noticed his silence and leaned in curiously to examine the page.
“Those are pretty, aren’t they?” you echo, your fingers tracing over the white crysanthemums. Even in the picture, they look delicate, as if one harsh gust could blow away the petals, and all Jungwon can think about is how much they remind him of you.
(They’re the same white flowers he wanted to ask you out with. He’d preordered the bouquet weeks in advance, waiting until the cherry blossoms bloomed to plan the perfect date. The collared shirt he picked out matched how pure the flowers looked in his hands, and he purposefully waited to get his hair cut because he knew you liked to run your fingers through the silky length.
The date never happened, though, because you told him about your crush on Park Sunghoon three days later. The cute barista who always drew hearts on your coffees and added extra boba to your tea. Jungwon smiled back at you as if every word didn’t pierce through his chest, and the bouquet stayed in his dorm, shriveling up until the color became unrecognizable.)
“They are pretty,” he whispers. “Are you sure, though? White flowers tend to wilt faster.”
“They’ll only be for the centerpieces, Won. Besides, the color is versatile enough to go with everything, so it’ll be easy to make a theme around it.”
He wants to tell you that he won’t be able to bear seeing you walk down the aisle with white crysanthemums, a pointed reminder of what could’ve been if you had reciprocated even an ounce of his feelings. He wants to tell you that he’ll die because of this very flower, that the petals he throws up because you don’t feel the same way are the same ones you want to center your entire wedding around.
He wants to tell you that white chrysanthemums mean death, not for you, but for him.
He can’t say any of that, though. Not when you speak so happily to the cashier, discussing logistics and deciding this is the one you want. He can never say no to you, because denying your happiness is like denying his whole existence, even if it causes every part of him to wither away until all that remains is a singular white petal.
The wind whips through Jungwon’s hair as he peeks his head out of the car window, but even that is not enough to stop the ever-so tumultuous feeling in his stomach.
His disease is getting worse. Initially, he’d only throw up after being close to you for prolonged periods of time, or when you sat a little too close for comfort, a little too close to even function. The petals were annoying, and it felt hard to breathe at times, but it was bearable enough that he could deal with it. He could pretend everything was fine when you stared him in the eyes or when your voice fluttered through his ears.
It’s harder now, though, because even the mere thought of you is enough for him to find solace in the Hello Kitty bucket again. There are more petals, too, stained with blood at the tips as if they really are a part of his body and not some figment of his imagination. He chokes on his words more often, always accompanied by a cough and wheezing. He’s gotten paler, enough that he has to apply copious amounts of foundation to resemble his usual self, and his lips are chapped from the number of times he’s had to throw up in the past month.
Jay has moved into his apartment indefinitely, treating him like a sick patient because, well, that’s what he is. There’s no cure, no medicine that can make him feel better, and he has to suffer with this terminal illness until he either dies or kills himself at your altar. Jungwon just hopes he dies after your wedding, while you’re blissfully aware on your honeymoon with Sunghoon. He hopes that when he dies, your last memories of him consist of nothing but happiness.
The Hello Kitty bucket joins him on the way to the cake shop, becoming a permanent fixture in his hands as Jay drives in the seat next to him. Jay’s fingers grip his thigh every time Jungwon coughs, but he manages to make it to the store in one piece.
At least, until he sees Sunghoon’s car parked outside, and all that he has tried to hold back spills out (all the secrets he has buried, one flower at a time).
“It’s okay,” Jay says, wiping the blood from the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, “I’ll be here. I’ll come up with dumb excuses when you need a break.”
The soft aromatics of the bakery waft through Jungwon’s senses as he steps out, and he just prays that he’ll be able to hold on for long enough today in your presence. He wonders how he’s supposed to survive your actual wedding if he can barely even make it through cake testing today, but he knows he’ll have to figure out a way without making you suspicious of what’s going on.
As much as he hates that Sunghoon loves you, it’s hard not to see why. You’re incredibly perceptive, even having noticed the lack of color in Jungwon’s skin despite his best efforts to try and hide it. You’ve seen how much he’s been coughing recently, even calling him more often to check in on him. You make him chicken noodle soup when he feels notably worse, and even if he doesn’t have the heart to see you, you deliver little gift baskets to his door with medicine. If anything, the question is, how could someone not love you?
The doorbell jingles when you walk in, and your eyes immediately light up when Jungwon walks in. Already, you’re skipping over to him and shoving some flavor of cake in his mouth. Knowing you, you’re probably on some sugar rush from all the sweetness, but if anything, it just makes you seem even more adorable in his eyes.
“Red velvet,” he says through bites and shaking his head, “It’s good, but it’s a hit or miss for a wedding cake.”
“Back to the drawing board,” Sunghoon sighs behind you, picking up another slice of cake and sliding it over to Jungwon. He shovels it into his mouth, already grimacing at the sour lemon taste and glancing over to see your reaction.
“God, I hate this,” you say, and Jungwon hands you the water glass before you can even reach for it. You thank him before taking a big swig, finishing the water in the cup, and you step aside to refill it with Sunghoon in tow.
“Can you be any more obvious?” Jay whispers from his side, and Jungwon quirks an eyebrow.
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, man. You look at her with googly eyes. You have to be a little more subtle with these kinds of things before Sunghoon catches on.”
“Yeah, but,” Jungwon sighs, running his hands through his hair, “that’s how we’ve always been.”
“You have to understand that it can’t be like that anymore.” Jay rests his palm on Jungwon’s shoulder, gripping it to emphasize his words. “They’re getting married. You can’t take care of her forever because that’s Sunghoon’s job, not yours.”
Jungwon already feels it crawling up his throat before Jay can finish, and his feet fly towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he empties his stomach. Jungwon watches in horror as the once white petals are now blood-stained to the core, soaked in deep red as they make their way down the drain. One look in the mirror shows the blood coating his lips, and he tries his best to wipe off the residue so he doesn’t leave the bathroom looking like a vampire.
Loving you is destroying him, he admits to himself with a bitter laugh. He’s living in this sick, twisted version of fate where he’s punished for wanting what his heart desires.
(When in reality, loving you has always been a form of punishment for him. Watching you at your college graduation as Sunghoon pulls you in closer with your purple graduation stole, leaving featherlight kisses on your cheeks as if you two were the only ones to exist in this world. Knowing that, as he recorded you throwing your graduation cap high in the air, he’d never be enough for you. The sleepless nights when he’s agonized over you, haunted by being in your shadow because he’s simply not worth it, have already burned his soul to ashes. His heart is already a decayed, shriveled version of what could’ve been; he’s just too late to realize it.)
Jay is waiting for him by the door as he steps out. One look at his face, and Jay can already tell how much worse his condition has become, but he chooses not to comment on it as they walk back into the room.
“Are you okay?” you ask, scanning his face in worry as he walks over to you. “You were in there for a while.”
“Yeah. My stomach was kind of acting up from the lemon flavor.”
“I didn’t like that one either,” Sunghoon responds, eyes trailing over Jungwon before his brows furrow. “Hey, you have something on your lips.”
Jungwon’s thumb runs over the corner, pulling back to reveal a smidge of blood he’d missed in the bathroom. He pales, and Jay tenses up next to him, trying to think of an excuse so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.
“It’s probably from the dark chocolate raspberry, right?”
Jungwon laughs, dry and hollowed out. “Yeah! I had a lot cause it was pretty good.”
“I wanna try,” you say, scanning the tables for the flavor. Your fingers reach for the cup, and Jungwon watches your eyes light up as the fork disappears behind your lips. “This is pretty good,” you say between muffled bites, “not too sweet and not too tart.”
Sunghoon grips your shoulder, and you turn slowly, facing him with wide eyes. Your eyes lock, and he blinks once, twice, a silent exchange passing between you both before he pulls back to disappear behind the cake counter.
(Jungwon can’t help the bitter taste in his mouth that spreads when he looks at you. Once, that was you and he, sharing secrets between your eyes in a language you both could only understand. Now, he has to watch his form of love being exhibited by another. A love that he’s now a bystander in front of.)
“Thanks for the save,” Jungwon whispers to his hyung when the noise has settled down.
“Don’t mention it.”
Jay passes him a leftover cake slice, and Jungwon shakes his head. The back of his throat burns, and he can’t tell if it’s from throwing up earlier or the raw intensity of his feelings pounding through his chest every time he looks at you. And even though his heart echoes in his ears, he knows you can’t hear it.
He has always been on mute for you, just static background noise in a world where only you and Sunghoon exist.
Jungwon doesn’t like looking at his reflection in your mirror.
It’s not that he hates how he looks, per se (although he does look like a shell of his former self, vampirish with how pale his skin is and how chapped his lips are). He’s just constantly reminded of how out of place he is in your apartment, all long legs, floppy hair, and that constant nagging feeling that he doesn’t really know you anymore.
He feels a little more disconnected every time he visits. Even though he’s seen it evolve from beige walls and empty floors, even though there are remnants of him everywhere he looks, he’s always felt like an outsider looking in.
From the stain on your carpet when he spilled beer in a drunken stupor to the cat magnet on your fridge, which he’d bought at an Asian market years ago, physically, he knows you. However, Sunghoon’s things scattered throughout the apartment remind him that, emotionally, you are not the same person you once were. A casual hoodie draped over the bar stool is enough to make his stomach stir.
(These days, he has to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. However, so many ins and so many outs cannot help him hide how left out he feels in your presence. He hates to bear witness to you and Sunghoon sharing glances, as if he is the only one that matters to you. He hates the thought of Sunghoon trailing kisses down your stomach, of whispering breathy words against your thighs like a poem made just for you. He hates knowing that no matter how much Sunghoon loves you, he could love you better.)
Jay was right. Your eyes don’t search for his anymore. They search for Sunghoon’s.
“Stop thinking,” Jay chastises. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”
He can’t, though. To him, you’re second nature, a permanent fixture in the back of his mind like an itch that won’t stop bugging him. It’s so irrevocably easy for him to think of you because he searches for you in everything. In every flower bouquet he passes by at the market, in every banana pudding recipe he finds on the internet, in every gray cat he sees running by on the street. Asking him to stop thinking of you would mean losing the very thing that’s been keeping him going.
He hears Jay sigh beside him, turning to place an envelope and a wedding invitation card in his hand.
“Focus on this first. You can think about her when you cry yourself to sleep at night.”
Jungwon nods, slipping the card inside the pocket absentmindedly. His heart is never really there during your wedding preparations, or really anything that has involved you lately, but he hopes you appreciate the effort he puts into trying to show up. It’s hard, especially when he feels the blood swirl in his stomach after seeing your name carved next to Sunghoon’s on the envelope, but he’d rather sacrifice his happiness for yours instead of being apart from you.
He’s gotten better at training himself, though. Focusing on his breathing and counting down from ten seems to do the trick most of the time. However, it comes with a heavy price tag. The blood gets worse when he holds back, and it almost feels like he’s hyperventilating once he does find a chance to empty his stomach. It’s always worse in your presence, too, but good thing you’re not here today, leaving your friends to mail out the invitations as you figure out the decorations.
“Jungwon,” Jake calls out from beside him, “do you think the white stamp or the gold stamp looks better?” He flashes both colors in front of Jungwon’s face, the lights glittering from the clear reflection of the gold one.
“Gold. She’ll like that it’s shiny.”
Subconsciously, his eyes flicker toward Sunghoon, looking at him for approval. He nods, not looking up from the table, and Jungwon’s eyes linger before turning back to his own task.
Jungwon doesn’t really harbor any resentment towards Sunghoon. He’s always viewed him through your eyes, always your boyfriend before anything else. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong other than being the unfortunate human being that you happened to be in love with, the person that took everything away from him. It’s hard to see why not, too, because Sunghoon loves in that silent, caregiving way that you don’t realize until you really get to know him. Sticky notes you find on the counter after you come home from work, dishes cleaned if you’re feeling particularly down, holding your hand in his jacket pocket because he loves deeply, not openly. In many ways, Sunghoon is everything Jungwon has ever wanted to be for you.
Jungwon has always wondered if Sunghoon knows about the extent of his feelings towards you. He always stares into Jungwon as if he’s reading his soul, with that piercing gaze that’s not harsh or unkind but rather, telling. They’re not ridiculously close, but they play video games together sometimes and share a cup of coffee after a long few weeks. Sometimes, late at night, when Jungwon gets roped into Jay’s drinking escapades and doesn’t want you to know, Sunghoon will pick him up and let him sleep over. He’s always gone by the time Jungwon wakes up, but he never leaves without leaving fresh hangover soup and painkillers on the bedside table next to him.
Sunghoon is not a bad person, which makes everything incredibly difficult. In fact, he’s the ideal boyfriend, and the guilt eats Jungwon alive whenever he interacts with you and Sunghoon stares a little too long.
“Jungwon,” he hears. It takes him a moment to register that he zoned out, staring at Sunghoon’s face. Sunghoon smiles awkwardly before asking him if he’s alright.
“Sorry– I was just lost in thought.”
Sunghoon hums, and he feels Jay’s stare burning into him as Sunghoon continues.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the orchestra arrangement.” He stands abruptly, beckoning Jungwon to follow him into the kitchen.
Already, Jungwon has that sinking feeling in his stomach because he knows this conversation will be about anything but the orchestra arrangement. He wipes his sweaty palms against his cardigan, and Sunghoon frowns.
“Look, Jungwon. We’re all excited for this wedding, and I’m sure you are too, but if it’s too much, we’ll understand, okay?”
Jungwon looks at him with a blank stare.
“I– I just mean, you just look exhausted, Won. And I know that,” Sunghoon sighs, running his fingers through his hair as if he’s bracing himself, “I know that I’m not exactly your best friend, but I’m here if you want to talk about it. I care about you, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”
Jungwon feels horrible. In his mind, it’s always been him and you, or you and Sunghoon, but he’s never really considered how Sunghoon thinks about him. Sunghoon is genuine, caring about Jungwon’s health, even though he’s five seconds away from ruining his marriage.
(Jungwon doesn’t deserve any of the good around him. Not Jay, who loves him more than he loves himself. Not Sunghoon, who has always tried to be there for him when no one else was. Not even you, who cares for him even when there is nothing left to care for.)
“I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, hyung. I’m feeling a lot better, so don’t worry about it.” He coughs, and Sunghoon looks unconvinced. “I promise.”
“Are you sure, I mean–” Sunghon starts, reaching out with his fingers in an attempt to graze his cheek. Jungwon flinches, and his fingers pause midair. “Sorry, you’re probably right. I’m just overthinking.”
Sunghoon has that shyness to him, the one that makes his cheeks pink. He looks guilty, and Jungwon’s heart breaks.
“Thank you for checking up on me, though, hyung. It means a lot.”
Sunghoon smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jungwon turns to leave before the room feels too suffocating, before the walls close in on him and taunt him for how much of a horrible human being he is, but he pauses once he feels Sunghoon’s palm on his shoulder.
“Wait, Jungwon, I–” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “I know, Jungwon.”
Jungwon stills.
“I know that you love her.”
It feels like his heart is decomposing, burning alive from just the mere mention of you. It hurts a little too much, and he doesn’t even register that he’s crying until he sees the droplets staining the floor. He’s not standing in your apartment anymore, crafting wedding invitations with his friends and debating what color looks better under your cheap lighting. All that he now knows is himself, the tears that slide down his face, and the weight of Sunghoon standing behind him.
“I’m sorry, Jungwon-ah. I’m so sorry,” Sunghoon chokes out. Sunghoon’s fingers grip his shoulder tightly, and Jungwon can distinctly feel the way he trembles underneath Sunghoon’s touch.
He can feel the cool metal of Sunghoon’s rings through his thin shirt. The tears fall too freely now, silently as if he’s afraid to make himself known, and a singular teardrop finds its place against the smooth skin of Sunghoon’s hand.
“Why are you apologizing?” Jungwon whispers so quietly that he’s not even sure Sunghoon hears it. His chest feels too tight, as if he’s curled into a cocoon. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault.”
Jungwon has been hearing a lot of apologies lately. Apologies for loving too much, apologies for loving not enough. He doesn’t really know whether he deserves these apologies, if they really mean anything, or are just words that are intended to fill that gaping hole in his heart, but what he does know is that he’s sick and tired of hearing them. These apologies symbolize that there is something to blame, someone who is guilty, when really, there is only one culprit here.
When really, everything is his fault. Jungwon is the one who learned to love, and now he has to learn to forget. The apologies that fly around his head, whether of pity or sorrow, are worthless to him because, if anything, he is the one who should be saying sorry. Sorry to Sunghoon, sorry to Jay, sorry to you, and sorry to the universe for loving so much that it hurts even to mention it.
“I was too selfish,” Sunghoon whispers. The word sounds foreign in his voice, too unassuming and soft, as if Sunghoon doesn’t even know what it really means.
Jungwon laughs bitterly. Right then and there, he realizes exactly why you fell for Sunghoon and not him.
Sunghoon is too kind to the world. He cares about everyone and everything, from the little caterpillars in the weeds to the dandelion waiting for its dying wish. Jungwon is the opposite. His heart is blood-stained. He feels only for one person, you, and only you. His heart beats too fast because his love for you is like that, someone who feels too much and too intensely. Jungwon’s love is ruination, destroying everything along its path until it’s just the two of you in this universe.
Maybe Sunghoon is selfish, but at least he knows moderation. Jungwon’s love has no limits. He only knows how to take, to take and suck you dry until all you know is him.
“You’re not the selfish one, hyung. It’s me. It’s always been me.”
After he goes home, he throws up. Jay brushes his hair out of his face, and when Jungwon pulls back, all that meets his eye is dark, soul-crushing blood. No more petals. Just blood.
“Maybe you should tell her,” Jay suggests off-handedly as Jungwon drinks water. “It might be good to let it out of your system.”
He can’t, is what he tries to tell Jay. He can’t because admitting he loves you is like confessing the worst of his mistakes. Speaking it into existence will only force him to confront the horrifying truth that you always viewed him as a best friend, or worse, a brother, and he would rather live with the what-ifs and the daydreams than let you leave because of one stupid confession.
Instead, he finds himself nodding. “Sure,” he squeaks out miserably, with every intention of not doing what he’s told. And then he throws up once more.
Jungwon wakes up from a nightmare.
He doesn’t remember what exactly it’s about, only that he’s now dehydrated and his phone is buzzing on the counter next to him despite how late it is.
He sees your name flashing on the screen, and he’s already tugging on his jeans as he answers. It’s like clockwork to him, answering your calls, worrying about you even though you’re probably fine, but he still can’t stop his racing heart or his trembling hands.
It’s as if his brain is hardwired for you. Every beat of his heart, every blink of his eyes, every twitch of his legs, it’s all for you. Jungwon has never lived a single moment without being reminded of your existence in some shape or form. He has never lived a single moment without knowing how to love you.
“Hello?” he asks, almost tripping over his keys.
It takes him a few moments to recognize you crying on the other end.
“Where are you?” he whispers, gentler this time, so as not to scare you away.
“Practice room,” you mumble, so softly as if you don’t want to say it.
He finds you slouched on the ground as he walks into the studio a couple of minutes later, tears staining your light-washed jeans as you furrow into yourself. You’re not crying anymore, not visibly, but somehow knowing that this is the aftermath makes him feel ten times worse.
He’s never really heard you cry before. He knows you’re a private person, someone who likes to share your happiness but keep your sadness to yourself. So, the fact that he could hear your hiccups over the phone meant you were holding back too long, trying to do it all and ruining yourself to the point where you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.
He hates that you never recognize he’s right here for you. All he’s ever wanted was to be the person you could lean upon, the chest you could curl into as you cried your heart out. He wants to be that person that you share your sorrows with, the one to take hold of your burdens and shoulder them himself, but you never let him do it.
(So it brings him, with sickening greed, a small amount of satisfaction to be the one that’s here for you tonight. Even though his mind tells him not to, even though his body physically forbids him to be near you, his heart only beats your name as he slides down next to you.)
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s stupid,” you mutter. Your fingers pick at the dry skin near your fingernails, and he can see the redness of your eyes as you look up at him. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I won’t judge,” he says, repeating himself when you don’t respond. “Please.”
You sigh. “Hoon and I had dance practice today. You know, for our first dance. But I–” you laugh, wiping away the tears that make their appearance, “I can’t seem to do it right. He moves so effortlessly, and it feels like I’m stumbling and picking up the pieces. It’s dumb, but I can’t stop thinking about not being good enough.”
One thing Jungwon has learned about you, so subtle that he doesn’t even think Sunghoon knows it yet, is that you’re fragile. He knows you hold your heart in pieces, begging the universe to glue you back together, even though he knows it can’t. So, in lieu of the universe, Jungwon tries. You never give him direct liberty to, but he holds you. He holds you and your broken pieces, and even though it eats him alive that he can’t help you more than this, somehow, it works. It always works for you because he treads carefully, gently, never pushing too hard to keep you grounded.
Right now, as you stare up at him with glossy eyes and the world in your hands, Jungwon knows he has to prove to you that, truly, you are enough. Just as he always has, like when you failed your physics exam in ninth grade, or when you didn’t get that promotion at work even though you tried so hard for it. All he knows in this life is how to be there for you, even if you’re not there for him.
He takes your hand in his, pulling you up from the floor as he turns on the music. “Let’s practice. I’ll help you until you get it right.”
A soft melody floats through the air, spinning around the two of you until he’s clutching your waist. His touch is so light that he’s pretty sure you can barely even feel it, but already he’s regretting being in such close proximity with you as the blood swirls throughout his stomach. Your hands clasp each other behind, wrapped around his neck, and you can’t see the way Jungwon stares at you because your eyes focus on the ground with staggered steps. You stumble as he moves you left, and then right, and the concentration in your gaze wavers as you try not to step on his feet.
“I can’t do this, I–”
“Shh,” he whispers. Your arms loosen, and he grips your waist a little tighter. “This isn’t a performance. It’s just a dance.”
You’re still unconvinced, a frown working its way onto your face. One of his hands comes up to cradle your chin, tilting your face up so that you can meet his gaze.
“Just focus on me.”
You let Jungwon lead you, your eyes never leaving his as the music flows between you both. A slight blush makes its way across his cheeks, but he reminds himself to focus on the steps, back and forth, as if you’re not right in front of him. Jungwon moves like magic, flitting across the dance floor as if he has wings, and you quickly learn how to soar with him, to match his pace and create a rhythm of your own. He notices how relaxed you’ve become when he dips you, a little too low, and you just giggle and hold onto him tighter.
“Thought you were going to drop me,” you gasp after he lets you up. He shakes his head, twirling you around before bringing you in.
“Never,” he murmurs. “I would never drop you.”
He’s so close that he can see the texture on your skin and the light reflecting across your hair. Your irises seem to swirl, lulling him in, and your lips have the curve of a faint smile that he’s worked hard to bring back to your face. He’s so close that he could kiss you, so close that every inch of his curiosity could be satisfied if he just leaned in, but the music behind him slows to a stop as you pull away from his grasp.
“Thank you,” you say, breathless. Then, teasingly, “It would be easier if it were you up there with me instead of Sunghoon, right?”
And suddenly, Jungwon remembers his nightmare. It wasn’t really a nightmare, not something that was frightening enough for his heart to race in fear. Instead, it was a dream tinged with blurred lines and all his what-ifs, a dream of him kissing you after your first dance and how brightly you’d smiled. It was a dream tinged with his blood, a dream that could never be true because you would never think to look at him the way he looks at you.
You busy yourself with packing up your stuff, too focused to see the absolute pain on Jungwon’s face as he clutches the barre next to him. The world caves in around him, and he has to try his absolute hardest to wave goodbye to you as if he’s not crumbling on the inside. Of course, his feelings are nothing but a joke to you, as if they’re not the very reason he’s currently on his deathbed surrounded by a pool of flowers.
He wishes it were him, too. As the blood spills from his lips, dripping down his face, his arms, down to the very floor he stands on, all he wishes is that it could be him dancing with you, being in your arms legitimately, instead of yearning from afar as he twirled you around today.
Maybe, if it really were him dancing with you at the end, this wouldn’t be his last dance alive.
You look happy.
It’s the first thing he notices as you climb into the car, already a little tipsy from the alcohol you’d consumed at your pregame. Your friends, not faring much better than you, help you keep your balance as you buckle your seatbelt and motion for him to start the car. You look genuinely happy. Not just in the way a drunk person looks, but in the way that it’s infectious. You radiate with that kind of energy that makes him want to tug close and kiss the life out of you.
The streetlights twinkle through the window as he drives, filtering out the loud bass of your music and your friends singing along in the backseat. The club you’d chosen for your bachelorette party was a little far from your apartment, but your group doesn’t really seem to mind as they control the aux on his phone and queue another Britney Spears song. The air is charged with that upbeat feeling, the kind that has him drumming his fingers along to the music as he steps on the gas.
He notices your silence in the front seat, watching your head tilt out of the window and the wind whipping through your hair. Usually, you’d be singing along, especially after a little bit of alcohol in your system, but you seem lost in thought today, and it makes him a little worried.
“You okay?” he asks. He wonders if you even hear him over the loud karaoke of your friends, but you turn back to him with a soft smile.
“Yeah. It’s all just kind of hitting me right now, you know?”
“What, the alcohol?”
There’s a soft pause before you look back at the window, pressing the button and watching it roll up.
“No, the wedding,” you say, playing with your engagement ring absentmindedly. “It just feels so surreal.”
Jungwon chooses to say nothing, turning up the volume of the music instead. He feels your eyes on him, but he doesn’t know what to say as he grips the steering wheel tighter. He’s glad he chose to stay sober tonight because maybe he would’ve responded with something not particularly appropriate. Perhaps he would’ve decided to tell you that he does wish this wedding were just a figment of his imagination. Maybe, he would’ve told you that he’s scheduled to die soon because of your surreal wedding, your surreal love for Sunghoon, and his not very surreal love for you.
He doesn’t say any of that, though. He keeps his emotions in check and drives, watching the headlights of the car next to him race by. He drives until the bright neon lights of the bar flash through the mirror, and he barely has a chance to park before you and your friends clamber out, giddy with excitement.
The club has this dizzying sort of atmosphere, the flickering lights from the dance floor and the loudness of the music hitting him all at once. He feels like he can’t breathe, he really, really can’t breathe, and he’s already making his way to the bathroom before you have a chance to drag him to the center.
I can’t do this, he texts Jay. The multicolored ceiling tiles blur before his eyes as he slumps against the bathroom stall door. He hears someone throwing up next to him, and he wonders briefly that if everything were normal, that if he weren’t dying because you loved him back, maybe he’d be a drunk idiot throwing up in his Hello Kitty bucket too.
He’s not normal, though. Every time he inhales, it feels painful as if something’s stuck in his throat. His voice has become too raspy, and he swears he can feel the weight of his lungs through every breath, pounding against him particularly hard whenever he’s near you. Every ticking moment reminds him that you are genuinely content with all this. Content with Sunghoon, content with this wedding, and content living a life Jungwon may not even be in.
He doesn’t know how long he stays in the bathroom stall, pouring his feelings out, but he wipes the blood off with a tissue and leaves the stall. His eyes look bloodshot in the mirror, and his heart pounds with every beat of the EDM music reverberating through him. He hasn’t had a sip of alcohol, but this is the sort of effect you have on him, world-spinning and regret seeping through his every vein.
His eyes scan the dance floor for you, and he relaxes slightly when he finds you swinging your arms in the air to a Charli XCX song. You’re in your own little world as your friends dance around you, and Jungwon feels like he’s standing on the edge of it, one foot in and one foot out. It's as if he’s almost there, but not quite.
(Lately, though, he’s been choosing to stay out. Choosing not to get devoured by the force that is you, all-consuming and leaving him with no room to breathe. Once upon a time, he would choose to drown every time, to feel the burn in his lungs as he swam towards you.
Now, there is no more burning left in his lungs. There is no more you. It’s just him and his thoughts, floating endlessly in the ocean until the point of no return.)
He’s scrolling on his phone, slouched against the bar stool, when he hears two taps on the marble next to him. He looks up to find the bartender sliding over a glass of fizzy liquid, topped with a sliced lime and a salted rim.
“Oh, I didn’t order this,” Jungwon sputters, reaching to push it back, but the bartender clasps his hand and wraps Jungwon’s fingers around the glass.
“It’s on the house, and it’s non-alcoholic, so don’t worry about it.” The bartender smiles, a contagious sort of grin that makes Jungwon want to smile too, and he leans over slightly to speak closer to him. “You look like you need it.”
Jungwon thanks the bartender, sipping at his drink slowly and feeling the bubbles fizz down his throat. It’s a Sprite, mixed with something a little fruity, and already it has him feeling lighter than a couple of moments before.
“I’m Sunoo, by the way,” he hears. Sunoo’s nameplate flashes from the strobing lights, dancing from all the colors around him. “So, tell me, which girl is it?”
Jungwon coughs, the drink going down the wrong pipe, and Sunoo merely blinks, watching him.
“What? What girl?”
“The girl that’s you’re heartbroken over, silly!”
Jungwon sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Is it that obvious?”
“You’re like a dejected puppy. Even a five-year-old could probably tell.”
Jungwon sips at his drink, carrying it while peeking back over his shoulder. His eyes search until they land on your figure, now at the far left near the DJ.
“That one, over there,” he says, pointing at you. “The one in the white.”
“She’s pretty,” Sunoo says absentmindedly, and Jungwon finds himself agreeing before turning back to face him. “Did she reject you?”
“No,” Jungwon starts. His throat feels parched, suddenly, despite his dedication to sipping the drink in his hands. “I– I never told her. She’s getting married next week.”
Sunoo’s gaze softens. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
The drink tastes bitter now, prickling in Jungwon’s mouth. His lips press into a line as his fingers play with the straw in his glass. He swishes it, around and around, watching the little cyclone that appears when he moves the straw too fast. He wants to tell Sunoo that it’s okay. There’s no reason to apologize, and he’s sick of every sorry that comes his way because it’s fine. In a normal world, Jungwon would have moved on, slowly but surely, and he’d have come back to this bar in the future as a healed person.
It’s not okay, though. It’s not okay because how can Jungwon move on when you make up every inch of him? How can Jungwon move on when the reason he lives and dies is because of you? You pour life into him and take it away from him all at the same time. You are the one to poison him and you are the one to heal him, and Jungwon just has to stand there and take it until he physically isn’t able to anymore. Jungwon will never be able to find someone who loves him just as much as he loves you, because he only has space in his heart for you and no other. So even if it means that Sunoo’s last memory of Jungwon is right now at this bar, pining after you from afar, he’s forced to accept it.
After all, there is no him without you.
There is only you without him.
Jungwon should be at the venue already. Instead, he’s lying against his mahogany rug, fingers twisting in the strings that are woven into it as he tries to reach for his phone.
He was having a good day, or at least, he thought he was having a good day. He woke up early to run some errands before work. His presentation proposal went spectacularly well, and there was barely any traffic as he sped home. He got a free hot chocolate today with the welcome of a new month, a new December, and he didn’t have to spend any portion of today hunched over a sink waiting for his guts to spill out.
He was having a good day until, well, everything started to go wrong.
He was searching for his keys as he straightened his suit tie and fixed that annoying strand of hair that kept falling in his face. He was on call with Jay, who had offered to drive him to the restaurant where your rehearsal dinner was being held. It was all fine.
He was fumbling around for his suit jacket when suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He doesn’t know how he ended up on the floor, or how the sharp, radiating pain spread from his lungs to his heart. All he knows is that he’s crying, and Jay’s voice is somewhere distant, telling him to stay calm and to wait for him. He can’t respond, every hoarse attempt to speak failing miserably with a cough. His insides feel like they’re being burned alive, and distinctly he can feel the tears drip down his cheeks, or maybe the blood spill from his mouth.
He can’t seem to move, not when he tries to reach for his phone, not when Jay shows up and shakes him by the shoulders, not when the paramedics show up at his apartment and shine a bright light in his eyes. He can’t move when he’s hooked up to the oxygen mask, or when the ambulance shudders beneath him and Jay’s tears drip down his arm.
Somewhere along all of this, he fades in and out of consciousness, dizzy from the bright lights and the emergency siren. He can’t tell if the pain gets worse or if it gets better, but he tries to focus on the beeping of his heart rate and how grounded Jay’s hand makes him feel.
And throughout all of this, despite his best efforts to ignore it, he thinks of you. He thinks of how you’re probably at your rehearsal dinner right now, holding hands with Sunghoon. You’re probably talking about how you met him, how you fell in love with him, and how you will continue to love him just as he loves you. You’re probably talking to all your friends and family and serving your homemade banana pudding recipe that you worked hard to make. He knows you probably have that stupid little grin on your face, the one he sees in his daydreams of you and him, and other words that don’t belong together.
He’s still dreaming about you when he wakes up, barely registering the pain from the IV needle as he scans the room. His eyes land on Jay in the chair next to him, who’s already rushing over as soon as Jungwon’s eyes open.
“Where am I?” Jungwon says groggily. His free hand clutches his forehead, aware of the dull headache that rests on the sides of his forehead. “Is this the hospital?”
“Jungwon,” Jay breathes, cradling Jungwon’s face. “You’re awake.”
“How long was I out for?”
“Not long,” Jay says, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers clutch Jungwon’s hand tightly, as if he’s still in disbelief over Jungwon breathing and talking right in front of him. “A couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours?” Jungwon shrieks. He tugs the needle from his arm, wincing from the sharp pain as it rips out. “We’re so late. So late. She’s probably waiting for me! I told her I was gonna help set up the decorations–”
“Jungwon,” Jay whispers, gripping his wrist. Jungwon sees the frown lines etched on his face and pauses. “I sent her a text about us being late. She never even responded.”
“No– that’s– she would never,” Jungwon scoffs. His fingers reach for this phone on the bedside table next to him, dialing your number before Jay can even stop him.
The line rings, once, twice, too many times before the sound of your voicemail filters in. He tries again, and again, and each time feels like a stab to his freshly wounded heart. His eyes fog up, and he can’t stop the tears that escape him as he dials over and over again. His tears fall on his phone screen, staining the glass until he can’t even click on the call button, and the phone slips from his grasp.
His body pulses in his hyung’s hold as he hugs him, heavy sobs erupting from him as he finally lets go. He lets go of all the pain and misery he’s faced from you, about you, like an asteroid that burns up when it reaches too close to the sun. No matter how hard he tries, it’s impossible for him to accept that he’s just another person in your orbit, fading in and out when you need him.
He remembers all the times he’s centered himself around you. Every moment when he thought he was wanted by you, even if it was just as a friend. Now, all he can see is how convenient, how easy he is for you. How pathetic he is to fall in love with you, to keep loving you even though he knew you would never love him back. And yeah, he’s always there when you need him, but even now, as he sits inches away from his death, you’re never there for him.
“You always put her before yourself,” Jay murmurs in his shoulder. “Even if she’s the reason you’re dying, you’re still addicted to her.”
“I can’t help it, hyung. I love her.”
Jay exhales, pulling away from Jungwon. Even though Jungwon is stupid, the never-give-up kind of stupid, he appreciates Jay for still trying to save him, even if there is nothing to be saved.
Jay reaches over to grab a folder from the table, the bright blue color matching the print of his hospital gown. He flips through a few pages before pulling out a black, semi-translucent slip of film, flipping it over for Jungwon to see.
It takes a few minutes for Jungwon even to register what he’s seeing. The scan is zoomed in on his upper half, centered on his lungs and vertebrae, but what’s in his lungs is anything but typical. Flowers bloom through every crevice of his lungs, sprouting, growing as if they’re meant to be there. They’re still small, but Jungwon can already see the buds and even tiny flowers that have sprouted. There’s not an inch of space left empty, every alveolus filled with a leaf or a stem or a flower.
“Is this what I was coughing up?” Jungwon asks, fingers tracing his chest where his lungs reside. “That’s inside of me?”
“Yeah. The doctors said that as the disease progressed, there were too many flowers to cough up, so they started growing in you.” Jay speaks with incredulity, as if he can’t even believe it’s real.
“What do you mean, progressed? Is it not still progressing?”
Jay turns to him, and only then does Jungwon register his bleary eyes and the tear stains that have dried on his cheeks. His fingers tremble as he holds the page, and he speaks so softly as if he refuses to solidify the statement’s existence.
“You’re in your final stages, Wonie. You have a week left at best until the flowers bloom fully and you’ll die of oxygen poisoning.”
Jungwon thinks that if he weren’t so adamant about making it to your wedding and seeing you at the altar, he would’ve killed himself a long time ago. Maybe the day you asked him to be your maid of honor, or maybe even as early as when you got proposed to. Killing himself would’ve rid him of all this yearning, yearning that presented itself in the form of this disease that takes and takes until his very last breath. This disease, that no matter how hard he tries to avoid, reminds him of you.
You with the soft fingers that he wishes he could intertwine his with. You with the eyebrow you always arch expressively when you dislike something. You with the back tattoo of a sparrow that’s a little chubby, just the way you wanted it. You with the soft voice that he’s blessed to hear through the little song covers you’d always send him. You who’d never notice the cherry blossoms that fell in your hair, the ones that he’d have to pick out imperceptibly every time.
You who he’s so irrevocably in love with. You, who despite having a heart full of love, have never loved him back.
And then, there’s him. Jungwon. That same Jungwon, with a heart full of love to give only to you. Jungwon, who stays by your side even if you never notice it. That same Jungwon, who worries about you when there is nothing to worry about. That same Jungwon, who kept a mental list of your favorite foods so you won’t feel indecisive at restaurants. That same Jungwon, who holds your hair when you drink a little too much and whispers that it’s okay in your ears, that it’ll all be over before you know it.
They say moles are marks of where your soulmate kissed you in your previous life. Jungwon knows where all of yours are: the one on your eyebrow, the two on your lower torso, the ones on your hands that he noticed when he interlocked fingers with you, and even the one on your forearm that he memorized as he watched you fall asleep during a sleepover. He doesn’t know if he was your soulmate that kissed those moles into existence in a previous life, or in any life at all, but he’s tried his hardest to be the one for you, even if you’re destined for another.
And even now, knowing that you two are never fated to be together in this life, he’ll still try. Because who is he, if he doesn’t even exist to love you?
And distinctly, he remembers the time he did confess to you. The time that he tells no one about because it’s a moment too pathetic to remember.
It was during break, the summer before his senior year of college. You and a couple of others, newly graduated seniors, were at a karaoke bar five minutes away from campus. Jungwon had to watch as you cozied up to Sunghoon from the other end of the couch, a little too drunk and a little too loose. His heart had simmered beneath him, tinged with jealousy every time Sunghoon had pressed a kiss to your cheek or pulled you closer.
He didn’t really mean to avoid you that day. He just didn’t want to third-wheel you and your boyfriend, especially since he was a little tipsy and didn’t trust himself to remain sane around you. You looked so happy, with a giddy voice and a bright smile, and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt your mood.
So, he stayed on the other side of the room. Even when you wanted him to join you in a karaoke battle, to that one song you always queued while he drove you around, he shook his head and remained in his spot. He didn’t drink too much, just enough to feel the buzz, but he still couldn’t shake off how pretty you looked in that dress, or how much you laughed as you curled into Sunghoon’s side.
After some point, the lights in the room and the loud bass of the music start to get too suffocating. He excuses himself for some air, grabbing the empty boxes from the food you’d ordered to throw them away. He doesn’t notice your eyes on him as he balances the carts and slides open the door.
The hallway is long and winding, and by the time Jungwon finds the trashcan and a water fountain, he’s a little out of breath. The walk has sobered him up a little bit, so he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he was when he walked here on the way back. He turns, wiping the corner of his mouth from the dribble of water that slid down, but he finds you standing right behind him instead, with a frown on your face and a bottle of Pink Whitney in your hands.
Already, he knows you’re more shitfaced since the last time he saw you. Pink Whitney has never treated you kindly, and as he sees you struggle to stand upright with your heels on, he knows you’ve passed that limit of tipsiness and charted into dangerous, drunken territory, the kind that he knows you’ll regret the next morning.
“That’s enough of that,” he says, grabbing the bottle. You protest weakly, attempting to snatch it back, but he holds it behind his back so you can’t reach. “Why did you leave the room? You can barely walk.”
“I missed you,” you hiccup. He notices how your tears pool in your eyes, as if you don’t want to cry but can’t really stop it. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
“What?” he breathes. He didn’t really think you’d notice the distance that he’d tried to maintain, assuming you were too preoccupied with Sunghoon to even care that he made no effort to talk to you.
“You refused to share your fries with me. You always share your fries with me.” You’re full-on sobbing at this point, and your fingers find home in his jacket lapel as you sniffle. “Did I do something wrong? Why do you hate me?”
His heart hurts seeing you like this, being the reason that you’re reduced to this mess. His arms curl around you, pulling you in closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. Your fingers grip his jacket tightly, and he’s too focused on your feelings to notice how your tears stain his shirt.
“Why would I hate you?” he murmurs against your ear. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”
And he means it. Not one inch of his body could feel any sort of resentment towards you, no matter how hard he tried. He wishes it could, so he could hate you peacefully and move on from all the grief he’s been shouldering, but there’s some invisible string tied between you two that he can’t seem to break, no matter how far he goes.
“Then why haven’t you talked to me today?”
He sighs, thumbing the strands of your hair. “I was just giving you space since you were with Sunghoon.”
You pull back, and through your glossy tears, he sees your lips pull into a pout.
“But, I want you too.”
You say it so simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him in your life, even though you already have the world with Sunghoon. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to admit that sometimes you love unfairly, and he doesn’t have it in him to seek anything otherwise. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him even though you have no more love left to give.
Like a puppy on a leash, he glows after hearing those words, even if they hold no weight coming from you. He cradles your face, brushing away the tear streaks across your cheeks.
“You already have me,” he says honestly. “I’m already yours.”
You smile with your eyes closed. It’s the kind of smile that’s earnest, one that stretches across your whole face. Jungwon would run to the ends of the universe if it meant he could see it again.
“I love you.”
The confession slips out of his mouth, raw and unfiltered, as he stops breathing. He didn’t mean to admit it, especially not in front of you like this with your boyfriend a few rooms over. It was supposed to be a secret he carried to his grave, not some abrupt confession he said in hushed tones in front of a karaoke bar water fountain. He was supposed to say it on that day, the day when the cherry blossoms bloomed, and he wore that white shirt to match the flowers in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to say it like this, holding an uninhibited version of you and taking advantage of the fact that you’re not sober enough to process his words.
He stills, like a frame paused, in time waiting for your reaction. He knows you’re going to hate him, not want him anymore, even if it’s selfishly, and he knows this is the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this. His heart pounds against his chest, erratic as if it’s escaping, and he can’t seem to find the words to apologize or take it all back before you slip from his grasp.
You don’t do any of that, though. You remain in his hold, with his fingers holding you like a porcelain doll, and that soft smile. Instead, your hands wrap around his, your fingers sliding between the crevices as you open your eyes.
“I love you so much, too, Wonie. You’re the bestest friend ever. My best friend.”
His lungs release the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, but it’s not loud enough to disguise the sound of his heart breaking. You don’t hear it, of course, oblivious to the tumultuous storm that rages inside him, and you just pull him tighter as you hug him again.
He cries. He cries against you just as you cried against him, only stronger with the weight of all his unsaid confessions pouring out of him. It’s silent enough for your drunk self not to notice, but the droplets plink against your hair, and he has to wipe away the tears rapidly before you catch on. It hurts so, so much. It hurts more than anything else he’s ever felt because, while you’re the center of the universe to him, he means nothing to you. While you’re everything to him, he’s just a fleeting moment to you.
Unmistakably, he wonders if anything would’ve even changed had he confessed to you properly then. Or if anything would’ve even changed if he confessed to you now, mere days before your wedding. If maybe the pain in his lungs would’ve eased away, if maybe the flowers would’ve withered and died right inside him.
Deep down, though, he knows that confession wouldn’t have healed him one bit, because you have never felt anything for him in return. From the very first time he laid eyes upon you, sculpting castles in the sandbox alone, to now, he has always cared for you and your impression of him. Even when that impression is anything but what he really is, what he really wants to be, he still cares.
He knows that even if he confessed to you, the flowers in his heart would still continue to bloom, unconstrained without the very thing he desires from you: love.
The air is a little breezy today.
Not breezy enough that Jungwon feels cold (although his suit jacket provides him plenty of warmth already), but just enough to make the blades of grass sway softly, as if they’re dancing along to the faint melody of the music in the background. It’s early in the morning, a time when he can still hear the birds chirping and the sun rays peeking above the horizon.
On a regular day, he’d still be in bed waiting for his alarm clock to ring. Or maybe he’d be hungover from a long weekend with his friends, choosing to sleep in and ignore a headache. Today, though, he stands under the drapes of the altar, next to the podium where Sunghoon shifts nervously.
Waiting for you.
Jungwon’s fingers fumble with the flower in his pocket, a singular, white chrysanthemum against the black of his suit. Your bridesmaids have the same flowers as corsages, but Jungwon’s is different because the flower rests right in front of his heart, beating, echoing with every pulse.
And already, Jungwon knows today is his last day alive, because today is your wedding. Today is the day he’ll lose you forever, the day that you step out of every daydream of his and into another man’s. Standing here, as your man of honor, is the most twisted punishment the universe could make him face. On the day of his reckoning, instead of wishing him away with peace, you’ve decided to make him bear witness to the very act that caused his ruin.
Sunghoon stares at him knowingly. He can’t tell if it’s with pity, or even worse, with pride.
All Jungwon wants is to get this over with. He’s agonized over this moment for months now, from the beginning of autumn to last night as he wrote his man of honor speech. Once upon a time, he had hoped he would be able to accept your marriage with a healed heart. Now, as the music shifts into something slower and the audience hushes, he knows he will leave with nothing but pain. With nothing but pure, raw desire simmering through his heart and burning every flower that grows inside of him until he no longer remains.
He feels like he’s dreaming when he finally sees you.
You, in your long, white gown, with handwoven patterns of silk and thread stitched across the front. A dress with patterns of all kinds of flowers, patterns of every stem and leaf that glimmer against the white cloth. The flowers sprout against the exterior of the mesh, with petals that sway with every step as you make your way to the altar.
And beyond all that, you’re wearing that smile. That same smile that he’d give up everything for. That same smile he’s yearned for his entire life, from the very first moment up until now. That same smile that he’s now dying for.
He doesn’t recognize his breath staggering until he feels lightheaded, hands finding purchase on the decoration behind him as he steps back. I’m so close, not now, is all he can think as you step even closer to the platform. He starts to see spots in his vision, black circles dancing around, and he’s thankful enough that everyone’s eyes are too focused on you to see him stepping off to the side and rushing to the bathroom.
Jungwon doesn’t make it that far, though. His eyesight blurs around him, and his fingers grip some random door handle before he stumbles inside. Faintly, he can recognize the mess of your makeup room around him, but he trips over a spare piece of clothing and falls before he can fully register his surroundings.
Sharp, dull pain blooms on the side of his head, but he can’t seem to move his arms to feel for any blood that might’ve been triggered from his fall. The pain in his head is nothing compared to the strain on his lungs now, though, as if every breath of his is poison. His senses are painfully aware of the weird, cracking noise inside him, but he can’t seem to figure out what it’s from. His ribcage? His neck? His throat? Or maybe even everything? He feels like he’s choking on air as the blood spills from his lips. His speech, the man of honor speech that holds everything he wanted to say to you one last time, falls out of his jacket pocket, and blood drips across the corner as if it’s ink. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t even think anymore as his vision fades out into nothingness.
And even in his final moments, like this, he remembers you. This universe is so, so unkind to him, to his soul that hoped to see you like this one more time before he left forever. Oh, how he wishes he were still alive to watch you recite your vows. To hear what it’s like to be loved by you, to be cherished until death do us part. To hear what maybe, in another life, what was meant for him instead of Sunghoon.
As it all comes crashing down before his eyes, all he wishes is that you will find peace. He hopes the flowers that bloom in December will treat you kindly, and every white chrysanthemum will be a poignant reminder that you are always loved. Even if he is not physically present with you on Earth anymore, he will love you through the gentleness of the breeze, through the swaying of the grass blades, through the sun rays that appear before the horizon, and through the smiles of everyone you hold dear to your heart.
And with this clarity, he is able to let go. To let go of all that he’s known of you through every flower that blooms in his heart. To let go of a timeline in which you and he coexist.
To let go of you, and therefore, him. Because without you, there is no him. And without him, there is only you.
Jay has never understood love. Or rather, the unbecoming of it.
But he has never seen it ruin someone so wretchedly as it did Jungwon.
It’s Jay who finds Jungwon first, lifeless in a pool of his own blood and tears. The world blurs around him as he kneels down, shaking Jungwon’s shoulders in every effort, every plea for him to wake up. The words fall on closed ears. Dead ears. Jungwon is long gone, from misery only his heart could produce. He’s long gone from the flowers that surround every inch of him, buried in his own, sickly love for you.
His fingers clutch tightly onto Jungwon’s man of honor speech, one he refuses to read because he can’t justify that torture. It’s you who needs to read it, to recognize the consequences of your actions, of how greedy you were to have the most wonderful human being beside you and still yearn for another. He needs you to read this speech in all its glory, tear-stained, blood-stained, flower-stained, until you recognize the extent of how much Jungwon truly loved you.
Of how much he truly still loves you.
The funeral happens on a Tuesday evening. The once forgiving December now releases its inhibitions, pouring from the sky as if it has been holding back this entire time. The universe thunders with anger and rage, and every strike of lightning is a furious reminder of what’s all been lost in the process.
Jay stands before Jungwon’s coffin. He has no umbrella to shield him from the fury of the universe, but he doesn’t care. He deserves this form of retribution for not trying harder, for not being able to save him, even though there was nothing more he could do for him.
You stand next to him. Sunghoon holds an umbrella above your head, and it sways with the sudden wind gusts and cracks of lightning. You haven’t said a word all day. You haven’t said a word since you found your best friend dead, veins protruding and eyes rolled to the back of his head.
(Your fingers trembled as you brushed his eyelids shut, watching as they carried him out with a stretcher. Even with his eyes closed, he still looked like he was in pain, shouldering it all upon himself, no matter how hard you’d tried to get him to open up. You’d wanted to shake him open, for him to let go of everything he’d held back, but he stayed in place, eyes boring into yours as if he had nothing more to say. Closing his eyes felt like finality, like he was finally gone from every memory you’ve had together and every memory you were supposed to have together in the future.
Now, all that was left was the remains of him and his soul. You cried against the pool of blood he’d left behind, letting it stain the pearly whites of your gloves until you drowned in his essence.)
Jay watches as you grab something from Sunghoon’s hold, walking over to the edge of Jungwon’s grave. The freshly buried dirt sinks slightly under your steps, and you place a bouquet at the center before you walk back under the protection of the umbrella.
Jay cracks when he sees the familiar white chrysanthemums against the dirt.
“What the hell is your problem?”
Your head twists sharply toward him, not expecting him to say anything of that sort, or anything at all. The wind whips through your hair as you stare at Jay with bloodshot eyes, and it’s only then that you recognize the single tear that’s slid down his cheek.
“What? What did I do wrong?”
Jay laughs, sharp and twisting. You feel it through your bones, the hatred seeping through you until you, too, start to cry. Sunghoon stares at Jay from behind you, begging him with wide eyes not to say anything that could ruin you even more, but Jungwon’s unsaid confessions rush out of Jay’s lips like the roar of every lightning strike behind him.
“What haven’t you done wrong? Were you that fucking stupid to see that he died because of you? Because of how you never loved him back?”
His words hit you like a truck, slamming into you with the impact of the wind behind you. You stumble back, one, two steps before you’re rushing forward and grabbing the lapels of Jay’s jacket.
“What are you talking about? What do you mean, he loved me?”
Jay gives you a stare that is almost murderous, his voice dropping octaves as he responds. “He loved you. He’s been in love with you since the day you two met. He died from a disease caused by unrequited love, you fucking asshole!”
Your tears stain the edges of Jay’s jacket, and although he tries to push away from your grasp, away from you and everything you stand for, your grip on him remains tight.
“God,” he continues, laughing bitterly, “he loved you. He loved you so much that in the end…”
He can’t even finish his sentence because his voice breaks and he can’t breathe. And in that moment, he wonders if this is how Jungwon felt, if he was experiencing even a fraction of the hurt, the suffocation he had to endure on a daily basis.
“Jay, please,” Sunghoon echoes from behind him.
Your fingers finally release themselves from their grasp as you turn back to look at Sunghoon. His eyes never leave yours, and although he tries to lean forward to shield you from the rain with the umbrella, you push him away.
“Did you know about this?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. The rain seeps through your hair, wetting your eyelashes and streaming down your face, but even it cannot hide your cries as you sob in front of him. “Did you know he loved me?”
Sunghoon swallows so audibly that he doesn’t even have to say any more, and you start laughing. Ballistically, without any form or reason, you laugh with that crazed look in your eyes, your hands swaying against the wind as you turn back toward Jay.
“So you all knew about this and decided not to tell me?”
“You don’t get to act like the victim in this.” Jay’s words feel like a harsh slap in your face, but he continues. “How were we supposed to tell you months before your wedding? Oh, hey, by the way, Jungwon is in love with you, and he’ll die if you don’t love him back. Jungwon was an idiot for loving you, for sure, but he wasn’t stupid.”
He hates that he has to speak about Jungwon in the past tense now. He hates that he has to talk about Jungwon to someone who never reciprocated his feelings, someone who never saw him for who he truly was. He hates that he can’t put into words the extent to which Jungwon loved you, even if it meant putting you before himself and committing to death.
“What– what was I supposed to do?” you whisper. Jay has to restrain himself from telling you that you don’t have the right to cry, that you’re a murderer in his eyes, and he can’t even bear to look at you.
“You were supposed to love him back. All he ever wanted was to be loved by you.”
And, as if the universe is responding, the rain picks up. It drowns you, completely, as you stand in a sea of graves for the one person who maybe loved you more than anyone else ever could.
You remember meeting Jungwon for the first time. How he tapped your shoulder politely after watching you play in the sandbox alone, asking if he could build sandcastles with you, even though his other friends waited for him beside the playground. He always did that, putting you first before anyone else, and you can’t believe it took you so long to realize truly how much Jungwon really cared for you.
Even in all the little things, you’re reminded of him. From the buttons on your coat jacket that he thrifted to your shoes that he scrubbed clean after a long hike, Jungwon has always been that stagnant reminder that life keeps going. Even during your darkest days, when all you wanted to do was hide from the rest of the world, he sat beside you and nursed you back to health, piece by piece. It’s taken you so long to realize how Jungwon is your center, the gravity that pulls you back to Earth and keeps you grounded, the star that orbits around you in every universe.
How Jungwon has always been yours.
As Jay leaves, his footprints tracking through the dirt as a permanent reminder he was always there, he presses a slip of paper into your hands. The corner is speckled with blood, and your eyes flicker up to Jay’s gaze, already knowing what it is.
“Have fun on your honeymoon,” he mutters. He’s gone just as quickly as he came, the wind sweeping him away until he is no more.
As you sit in Sunghoon’s car, shivering underneath the heater from your wet clothes, you find your fingers opening the paper in your hands, smoothing out the crinkles from Jay’s rough grasp. And as you read, the warmth is not enough to stop the frigid cold that suddenly rushes through you, that crazed feeling that you can’t shake off, no matter how much time passes.
As you read, you cry. You cry for what lived, and now, for what you’ve lost, because this piece of paper represents all of Jungwon in his entirety, all of what’s left of the boy who paved the Earth so that you could walk on it. Of Jungwon, who sacrificed himself just to sustain a world with you in it, even while knowing that he and you are two parallel lines never meant to intersect.
Of Jungwon, who didn’t know what love meant if it wasn’t made of you.
Dear you,
First of all, you know I have performance anxiety. So, making my speech come last feels like some sort of specially-inflicted torture that you and Sunghoon designed for me (cue the audience laughter. I hope they laugh).
I wrote many drafts of this. They’re all sitting in my trash can right now, because coming up with a speech to summarize everything I want to say about my best friend just isn’t something that can be done in one sitting. No amount of words can describe the extent to which I feel for you, of how much joy you’ve brought into my life and everyone around us.
I should probably be talking about Sunghoon and how he’s perfect for you, which, I mean, he kind of is (let’s hope the audience laughs again). I should probably be wishing you a happy married life, where you get that gray cat you always wanted. And I genuinely do want to convey all that to you, and so much more, because you deserve everything good in the world.
But I wanted this speech to be about you. For you to realize how much I, and everyone in the audience around us, care for you. I’ve been your best friend since childhood, watching you grow from that awkward little kid to the beautiful person you are today. You have uplifted and supported me in so many ways that no one else has, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we are so grateful to have you in our lives.
Sunghoon, you are so blessed to have the most wonderful wife in your life. Cherish her, adore her, lift her up with all your strength, and twirl her around until you hear that beautiful laughter and see that beautiful smile. It’s so worth it. So, so worth it. As her best friend, I resign all my duties to you, for you to be her new best friend and her life partner. Love her wholeheartedly, with every fiber of your being until it hurts, and then a little more.
And you. No matter what comes your way, never lose your energy, your resilience, your joy, and everything that makes you who you are. I love you, and I can’t wait to see where life’s journey takes you, one step at a time.
⭑.ᐟ Roommate to Lovers - Park Sunghoon
Somehow, in the middle of your semester break, you ended up with a new roommate. Your landlord rented out the second room in your flat without telling you, and now you’re living with Sunghoon. At first, your paths barely cross – you’re buried in work, and he’s always at the rink. But slowly, he slips into your routine in ways you never expected. Then one night, everything shifts. A blurred memory, a moment of fear—and Sunghoon catching you before you can fall. Suddenly, it’s not awkward anymore. You start looking forward to him coming home. Maybe—just maybe—home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person.
ᝰ genre.
Figure skater!Sunghoon, college sports, angst, hurt/comfort, SO MUCH FLUFF!!! FINALLY!!! ᐟ₊ ⊹
ᝰ warnings.
Swearing, partying, consumption of alcohol, hospital visits, mentions of rape, mentions of date-rape-drugs, mentions of the police, panic attacks, eating disorder, psychologists .ᐟ₊ ⊹
ᝰ features.
Mark, Johnny, Taeyong & Jungwoo from NCT, Woonyoung and Rei from IVE
ᝰ word count.
25.k .ᐟ₊ ⊹
--⟢ PART 1
--⟢ PART 2
series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ
Flowers.
There were flowers.
You bought flowers.
That was the first thing Sunghoon noticed when he came home after class a few days after the break ended. He dropped his bag onto one of the chairs in the kitchen and took two big steps towards the window. A small bouquet of purple flowers was standing in the vase he bought you at the market. The scent of the flowers was sweet and hardy, filling the kitchen.
The next thing he noticed was how full the kitchen was. The basket you used for fruit, which was standing on the kitchen table, was usually empty since fresh produce is quite expensive, but today it was filled to the brim with apples, bananas, mangos, and tangerines. The fridge was full of vegetables and two cartons of eggs.
He blinked into the fridge. This was a lot of food. You were barely able to eat a plate of eggs and cucumber, so why did you buy so much? How did you carry all of this upstairs? The elevator was still broken, and he had noticed that just walking up the 4 flights of stairs without a bag was already hard for you, so how did you…
“Sunghoon!”
A warm palm clapped gently against his back, and Sunghoon turned with a quiet jolt. Mark was standing in front of him with a big grin adorning his face.
“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, a little breathless. “I didn’t know you were visiting today.”
Mark shrugged with a smile, sitting down on a kitchen chair. “Y/N asked me to go to the market with her and I didn’t want her to carry all of the stuff alone, so I just came along.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing again at the overflowing fruit basket and the fridge. “This is a lot of food.”
Mark laughed under his breath. “Yeah, I kinda went overboard. She let me pick up too much stuff. She said you two eat together sometimes, so I figured—why not get enough for both of you? Johnny and Taeyong gave her money for groceries anyway. I just made her spend it.”
Sunghoon gave a soft huff of laughter, eyes still on the fridge. “It’s just… a lot. She usually doesn’t—”
“I know,” Mark cut in, voice softer now.
Sunghoon turned to look at him, but Mark’s gaze was fixed on the fruit basket.
“She’s trying,” Mark said quietly. “But it helps when someone’s eating with her. Even if it’s just rice and cucumber. Even if she can’t finish everything. Just... not doing it alone makes it easier. So I thought maybe if we bought enough for the two of you, you could start cooking and eating together? I know you aren't really that close with Y/N, or well, I don't really know, Y/n and I haven't exactly been talking a lot, she was kinda avoiding us all. But I was hoping you could maybe just…help a bit.”
Sunghoon swallowed thickly. He didn’t know you were avoiding your brother. He was wondering why Mark was never over. When he first met Mark, it seemed like you two spent a lot of time together. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to help.”
“You are.” Mark looked up and met his eyes, serious for a moment. “She told you what’s happening. That’s big.”
Sunghoon nodded. “I’ll cook with her.”
Mark smiled again, this time smaller. “That always worked when we were teens. Even if I was eating three servings of curry, and she was barely finishing her salad. It was still better.”
Footsteps echoed down the hallway and both of them looked up just as you stepped into the kitchen, towel still around your neck and damp hair brushing your collarbone.
You were wearing one of Sunghoon’s shirts.
He said nothing and tried to not react outwardly, but something fluttered low in his chest. Sometimes, when you had all the shirts you used as pyjamas in the wash, you took one of Sunghoon’s. He had so many shirts from training camps or competitions that were in his pyjama drawer that he didn’t really care if you stole one once in a while.
“Hey,” you said, blinking at the two of them. “You didn’t put the mangoes in the fridge?”
“You didn’t say where you wanted them,” Mark shot back easily.
“Cold mangoes are elite, and you know it.”
You moved toward the fruit basket, pushing your towel back from your shoulders. Sunghoon moved a step to the side to let you open the fridge door.
As you opened the door, Mark’s eyes landed on the meal calendar you’d stuck on the fridge. His expression twisted into a grin.
“Are those the monkey stickers from Taeyong?”
You froze. “Mark—”
“Oh my god, you’re actually using them.”
“They’re cute!” you defended, cheeks a little pink as you grabbed the sheet and stuck it to the fridge underneath Sunghoon’s new magnet from the aquarium in Busan. He was quite touched that you thought of him while you were at home. He imagined being home, visiting doctors, even if they were people you knew, wasn’t the most pleasant thing to do, and when you did something nice, you thought of him. He felt all giddy thinking about it.
Mark laughed and threw his hands up. “You know what? You’re right. They are better than the strange dinosaurs Hyuck bought you. I am still haunted by the T Rex that had the head of another dinosaur in its mouth. You really didn’t have to use them.”
“But Donghyuck Oppa bought them for me. And I didn’t want to be ungrateful.”, you huffed and leaned onto the counter next to Sunghoon. Your arms were touching, and it sent a warm sensation up his arm.
Then Sunghoon’s stomach grumbled. Loudly.
The sound broke through the room like a slapstick sound effect, and you both froze. Then slowly, so slowly,you turned to look at him.
His ears turned pink immediately.
“…I guess I’m hungry,” he admitted, voice sheepish.
You blinked at him, something gentle dancing behind your eyes. Then, very softly you asked: “Do you want to eat?”
There was a pause. Not a long one. Just long enough for him to meet your eyes and realize you weren’t just asking him if he was hungry.
You were asking if he wanted to eat with you.
Sunghoon swallowed. Cleared his throat. “Spaghetti?”
Mark, silently watching from the other side of the kitchen, perked up. “You two want me to chop something?”
You nodded without looking away from Sunghoon. “Only if you’re okay staying a little longer.”
Mark grinned. “I’m not moving unless you kick me out.”
Sunghoon smiled too, just a little. “We could use the veggies for the sauce. One of my friend’s girlfriends makes a protein bolognese for Jake all the time. Like, shredded carrots and lentils with beef.”
“I’ll get the cutting board.”
You moved to the cabinet and started pulling out the dry pasta. Sunghoon turned on the stove, filled a pot with water, and placed it on the burner.
“Hey, could I turn on some music?” Mark asked after he washed a bell pepper.
“Sure.”, you hummed beside Sunghoon, who was busy cutting the beef he still had in the fridge.
You looked up at Sunghoon. “Can we use your speaker?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon said, a little distracted as he trimmed the fat from the beef. “It’s on my desk.”
He blinked a second later, realizing what he’d just said.
Wait.
His room.
“Shit,” he mumbled to himself.
Mark, hearing him, raised a brow but didn’t comment.
Sunghoon had just started mentally cataloging the chaos in his room when you returned, speaker in hand, looking completely unbothered. You handed it to Mark.
He blinked. “Did you… find it okay?”
“Yeah. It was right where you said.” You nodded and just turned back to the stove and stirred the sauce.
Mark hooked up his phone, and music started playing—something upbeat and chill, some indie R&B track.
Sunghoon stared at you for a second longer. The soft sway of your hair, the way your head bobbed gently to the beat while you stirred. You looked calm and so soft. A strand of your hair was falling forward, and he had the impulse to tuck it behind your ear. Somehow, he really had a thing for your hair. Whenever you were watching TV together, he somehow had a strand of hair between his fingers.
He blinked and quickly looked away before either of you could catch him smiling.
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Mark left after dinner and took the music with him.
You stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, drying a plate while Sunghoon rinsed the next one. He passed it to you without a word, hands brushing for the briefest second.
“Thanks for cooking,” you said softly, folding the towel around the plate. “That was really good.”
He gave a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks for helping. You ate a full portion.”
Your eyes flicked up to his, surprised for a moment.
“Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I did.”
And then, with a little breath of something like pride, you turned and padded to the fridge.
Sunghoon watched as you peeled another monkey sticker from the sheet tucked into the side of the calendar and pressed it beside today’s date. It joined two others already in a row, little grinning faces in cartoon yellow.
He couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his mouth. His chest went warm, gentle, and a little achy.
You glanced over your shoulder. “It’s kind of dumb, I know.”
“It’s not,” he said quickly.
You turned fully, arms crossed lightly over your front. The corners of your mouth twitched. “It’s a little dumb.”
“It’s cute,” he corrected, flicking a bit of water off his fingers in your direction.
You huffed a quiet laugh, your gaze dropping for a second.
Sunghoon picked up the last pan and scrubbed at it slowly, the tension in the room softening. The silence between you felt different now. Not awkward. He couldn’t really name the feeling, but he started to really like feeling like this. Comfortable.
You leaned next to him a few minutes later, hip brushing his. A little closer than you would’ve stood a few weeks ago.
He liked that.
“You want tea?” you asked.
He turned to you. “Only if we drink it on the sofa and watch people get dramatic over nothing again.”
You grinned. “It’s not nothing. Their friend literally faked a pregnancy and then ghosted the guy.”
“Yeah, but like. He kind of deserved it.”
You snorted and went to fill the kettle.
Sunghoon turned back to the sink and finished the dishes.
He didn’t say it yet. Not out loud.
But he was proud of you.
So proud he felt like his chest couldn’t quite contain it.
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The sound of blades scraping against the ice echoed sharply and hollowly through the near-empty rink.
Sunghoon skated to the barrier and braced his hands on it, chest heaving. His reflection in the plexiglass was sweaty, flushed and scowling. He squeezed his eyes shut.
He hadn’t landed a clean jump all morning.
Two weeks ago, he’d flown. His legs had been light, movements clean, choreography crisp.
Today he couldn’t even get through the first half of the routine.
He slipped on a stupid step sequence and landed hard enough that his shoulder still ached.
He pushed away from the barrier, gliding back to the center of the rink. His Coach wasn’t watching right now. He was yelling at one of the juniors on the other side.
Sunghoon exhaled. Focus.
The music started again, low and distant through the speakers. He took off, arms slicing through the air, each push of his skate a little too forceful. Too much.
He turned into the first jump.
And hit the ice again, hard. Flat on his side.
“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth, clutching his elbow as the cold bled through his clothes.
He stayed down for a second too long, his breath fogging up in front of his face.
“What the hell is wrong with me,” he muttered, sitting up slowly. He could see a smear on the ice where he landed.
His heart felt like it was rattling in his ribs. Anger, embarrassment, frustration.
He pulled off his gloves, hands shaking slightly, and ran them over his face. The cold stung his skin. His eyes burned too.
He climbed to his feet, teeth clenched.
He didn’t know why he thought today would be better.
──────────────────────
The figure skaters had cleared out half an hour ago. He could hear the ice hockey players in the rink's changing room. They would be out here in a few minutes.
But Sunghoon didn’t move.
He was sprawled on the ice, limbs spread in all directions, his chest rising and falling quickly. His program music played on repeat, louder now that the other skaters were gone.
He barely twitched when a sharp hiss of skates sounded beside him, followed by a spray of snow that landed all over his glove.
“Dude,” Heeseung’s voice rang out over him. “What happened to you?”
Sunghoon blinked up at the ceiling. “I won’t pass the tryouts.”
Heeseung stared down at him. “That’s funny,” he said flatly. “Because you said the exact same thing before Nationals and you second.”
Sunghoon’s laugh was more of a groan. “Yeah, and I still don’t know how I pulled that off.”
Heeseung crouched beside him on the ice, propped on the butt of his stick, brows raised. “Are you falling again or just giving up entirely?”
Sunghoon didn’t move. Just sighed and stared at the rafters overhead.
“I’m not giving up. I just can’t land anything today. It’s like my body forgot what edges are.”
Heeseung let out a low whistle. “I didn't know you're that dramatic.”
“I’m serious,” Sunghoon muttered. “Tryouts are in two weeks, and I can’t even make it through one clean run. I barely made it through the warm-up jumps today. What if I already peaked?”
“You said the same thing before Nationals.”
“Yeah, and maybe I did peak there. Maybe that was it. My fluke moment.”
Heeseung rolled his eyes. “You always say that. Then you pull a quad out of nowhere and land it like it’s nothing. Maybe you're just stressed. I mean the Olympic team is crazy. I would be stressed.”
Sunghoon finally sat up, resting his arms on his knees. His gloves were wet from the ice, fingertips numb. “I am stressed, but I was stressed before the nationals too,” he said, quieter. “But it was different. I was worried about Y/N. And now she’s doing better. She’s eating. There’s a monkey sticker on that stupid meal calendar every single day. Sometimes even two. So I shouldn’t feel like this anymore.”
Heeseung studied him for a second. “But you still do?”
Sunghoon looked away. “I guess. It’s not her. She’s fine. I’m just… off.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything for a beat. Then, softly, “You sure it’s not still her?”
Sunghoon’s head snapped up. “I’m not—no. I can’t—she’s my roommate, Heeseung.”
Heeseung shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you don’t care. You’re just not used to caring this much about someone off the ice.”
“I care about you,” Sunghoon shot back defensively
“Yeah,” Heeseung deadpanned, “but you don’t glue monkey stickers to a fridge for me.”
Sunghoon’s ears went pink.
“I’m just saying,” Heeseung went on, “You’re still you, Hoon. Just… someone else has your whole focus now. Someone who glues Monkey stickers to calendars.”
Sunghoon didn’t answer. Not because he disagreed. But because he didn’t know how to say that the idea scared him just as much as it warmed him.
He picked at the edge of his skate and stood. “Tryouts are in two weeks.”
“And if you play your cards right, monkey stickers are forever,” Heeseung grinned, skating backward.
“Shut up.”
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The apartment was dark when Sunghoon finally stepped inside.
He dropped his bag quietly by the door, the soft clink of his keys the only sound in the quiet.
He slipped off his shoes and let the door close behind him with a soft thud.
It was close to midnight. You were asleep. Probably.
Sunghoon padded into the kitchen on socked feet. He felt a little sore from the extra reps and the weight session in the gym. He'd showered at the rink, taken a half-hour nap on the office couch while Heeseung’s girlfriend typed away at her computer. Sunghoon really liked her. Heeseung and her have been dating for almost a year now. When he first met her, she was sitting in a wheelchair. Heeseung told him that she had gone through several surgeries after a car crash when she was younger.
The crash cut her career short.
He often had to think about that. How sometimes he wished he had a reason to just stop skating and get a normal job, have normal hobbies, but he also saw the way Heeseung’s girlfriend looked at the ice, with so much longing, it made his heart heavy.
The kitchen was cool, the scent of whatever you ate for dinner was still faint in the air. The sink held one plate and a fork, rinsed off neatly. His eyes went to the fridge without thinking.
To today’s date.
A shiny monkey sticker was pressed next to it. Not one, but two.
He smiled slightly.
You must’ve had a good day.
Sunghoon walked over and pressed the tip of his finger to the little monkey face. The sticker crinkled slightly under his touch.
There was a note, too. Scrawled quickly, in your handwriting, on a Post-it note just under the sticker.
"Spaghetti with mushrooms and carrots, and that protein powder.
Bon appétit!"
He huffed a quiet laugh, even as something tugged tight in his chest. He reached out, brushing his thumb gently over the corner of the sticky note.
Sunghoon heated the rest of the pasta you'd portioned out for him, plating it carefully despite the hour. He sat down at the kitchen table with it, elbows on the wood, bare feet tucked up under the chair.
A part of him wanted to go peek into your room just to see you. But he didn’t. He sat in the kitchen eating his dinner, letting his heart slow, his breath even out, his shoulders finally drop.
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You were in a good mood when you left the house.
The sun had been out when you stepped onto the pavement. You’d remembered to bring your water bottle and the playlist you’d put on during the bus ride was perfect for the mood outside. Even your coffee hadn’t tasted like dirt.
You slipped into your lecture seat and pulled out your sketchbook. You’d started your last assignment over, more organized this time, cleaner. It felt nice to look at your own work and not instantly hate it.
And for once, you weren’t behind. Not truly.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Sunghoon:
Y/N do you want new stickers?
Daiso has cute ones rn
Im gonna bu them even if yo say no
buy* you*
sorry i was rushing a bit.
You smiled. Today made it twelve days in a row. You’ve used almost all of the monkeys.
And honestly? You were kind of proud of that.
The stickers made it feel like you did something, even on the days you were just eating plain rice and steamed broccoli. You were up to almost 1000 kcal a day now, pushing toward 1100 kcal. Taeyong had sent you new stickers in the mail, cats, and you’d shown them to Sunghoon like they were the best thing he had ever seen.
He looked so happy.
His face had lit up in this quiet, surprised way. You weren’t even sure if he knew how tired he looked lately. He’d been home late almost every night this week, his shoulders tense and a frown was living permanently between his brows. But when you pulled out the little cat sheet and told him you wanted to try eating just a bit more each day, he smiled so wide.
That thought carried you halfway through class. Until the professor flipped the slide and reminded everyone, “Final sketches are due on Tuesday. Don’t forget we moved the deadline up.”
Tuesday?
That was four days from now.
You stared at the slide for a second longer than necessary. Then you flipped back through your notes. You started the sketches. You had a clear idea, the concept was solid, and if you pulled a long night today and a longer one Saturday, you could do it. You didn’t have to work this weekend, and you’d already done your weekly session with Ten, which meant the next few days were yours.
You could absolutely do this.
Lately, things have been different.
You were different.
Bit by bit, like someone had found the dimmer switch on your brain and slowly started turning it back up.
You hadn’t even realized how much the party had stuck with you. It wasn’t just the throwing up. It was the way your chest clenched when someone offered you food or drinks. The way you hated opening your inbox. The way you could cry over a spilled coffee, or absolutely nothing at all.
Ten had helped you with that.
You weren’t fixed after the first few sessions.
You were still tired. Still got this dull ache behind your eyes or your ribs some mornings. Still, sometimes whispered a quiet sorry to the mirror when your shirt hung too loose.
But you were getting there.
You were okay.
And if you weren’t okay yet, you would be.
You caught Renjun’s question a few beats late.
“How’s your draft going?”
You gave him a half-smile. “Good. I’m almost done.”
Which wasn’t a lie. You would finish it. You knew you could.
Because you’d done harder things already. You had done this in the first semester so often, this should be easy.
──────────────────────
You were adjusting your grip on three oversized rolls of paper, trying not to let them knock into your knees, when you saw Sunghoon. Headphones on, walking with his shoulders slightly hunched.
You brightened instinctively, smiling at him, but your smile dipped, just slightly, when he got close enough for you to see the set of his jaw. He looked… tired. And tense. Maybe even upset.
You shifted your weight, hugging the paper tubes a little closer, and offered a quiet, “Hi.”
His gaze flicked up.
And like magic, it all softened. The furrow between his brows, the stiff set of his shoulders. He gave a small exhale, like just seeing you let out some of the tension.
“Hey,” he said, low and tired, but warm. “What’s with all the… paper?”
You let out a laugh. “I stayed in the studio after class. I’m doing a huge concept draft this weekend. Guess who’s pulling an all-nighter?”
He eyed your supplies, then you. “Please don’t say you.”
You bit your lip. “It’s due Tuesday, and I was kinda distracted during the break. But I think I can make it work. I have a plan.”
He reached out and gently tugged one of the rolls from under your arm without a word.
You didn’t stop him. Your fingers brushed his in the exchange, and your pulse jumped.
The bus rolled up, brakes squealing slightly, and the two of you climbed on. You found a mostly empty seat toward the back and sank into it with a small sigh. The paper was bulky, and created a barrier between your legs and his. Still, your shoulders brushed.
He didn’t move away.
The ride started in silence.
You were about to reach for your phone when Sunghoon spoke, voice quieter than usual.
“I’m not skating well,” he said.
You looked up, surprised at the sudden honesty. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what happened. Two weeks ago, everything worked perfectly. I almost got a perfect score. And now it’s like my body forgot how to do everything. Every run-through ends with me on the ice. It’s… embarrassing.”
You frowned, brows drawing together. “You think it was just luck that day?”
He gave a soft laugh, more bitter than amused. “Maybe. I don't know. I was really stressed in the weeks leading up to it. You know, with the party and everything. I was kinda busy worrying about you and didn't really worry about the nationals that much."
You didn’t answer right away. The bus rumbled around you. A neon sign from a passing corner shop spilled red light across the floor.
Your hands were resting in your lap. You stared at your fingers for a second.
You hadn’t hidden it. Not really. The skipped dinners, your barely touched plates. You knew you weren’t subtle.
You just didn’t know it had sat with him like that.
“I’m not saying that to guilt you.” He leaned his head back against the bus window, sighing. “You’re doing amazing. You've put those monkey stickers on the calendar every day for almost two weeks. Sometimes even two.”
You ducked your head, shy under the praise. “They’re cute. And I like making people proud.”
“You are,” he said softly. “I am.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just nodded.
“Two weeks ago,” you said quietly. “At the nationals. You were incredible. You had so much fun.”
Sunghoon turned to look at you then. His eyes were soft. Tired.
And maybe a little surprised.
“I don’t know how I did that,” he admitted. “And now I’m not sure I can do it again.”
You hesitated. Then, a little nervously:
“Do you… still worry? About me?”
There was no pause in his answer.
“Yeah.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to carry the strange warmth that bloomed under your skin.
You wanted to reach out and touch his hand. Or maybe say thank you. Or maybe… both.
A few moments passed in silence before you felt his head tilt, his chin gently resting on the top of your head.
You froze for a heartbeat.
Then slowly, shyly, you let yourself lean into his side.
Just a little.
The bus bumped along, and the rolls of paper rolled slightly against your knees.
“I’ll be okay,” he murmured. “Eventually.”
“You will,” you whispered back. “But you don’t have to be right away.”
His hand brushed against yours for a second.
And neither of you moved away.
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Your keys clinked softly as you unlocked the apartment door. The hallway light flickered to life, casting a warm, golden hue across the wooden floor. You slipped off your shoes, turning to look at Sunghoon, who was still moving slower than usual, dropping his bag by the door with a sigh.
You hesitated.
“…Are you hungry?” you asked gently.
He looked up at you with that unreadable expression of his. Not annoyed. Just...thinking.
Then he tilted his head. “Did you eat enough for a monkey?”
You blinked, caught off guard and then let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “No.”
He didn’t scold you, “Then… unspicy dakgalbi? From the place I always drag the guys to?”
Your eyes lit up immediately. “Oh? The one we ordered from a few weeks ago?”
He nodded. “They do extra cheese now.”
Your stomach actually rumbled a little at that.
Fifteen minutes later, you were both perched on either side of the low sofa table. You sat cross-legged at the low table, sketchbook to your right.
Sunghoon was on the other side of the table, sleeves pushed up, his hair still damp from his shower. He passed you the tongs wordlessly, letting you serve yourself first. The cheese pulled in stretchy, stringy lines between the chicken pieces.
You quietly divided things up. One bowl for you. One for him.
When you finished cleaning the living room, you placed a sticker onto the calendar and held it up toward him with a tiny smile. You’d already picked out the sticker for tonight, a little orange cat holding a rice ball.
“Tada!”
He squinted at the calendar and took a step closer, “The cat is cute. I am proud of you, Y/N. Look, even your little kitty is proud of you for eating so well.”
You laughed, cheeks a little warm.
The two of you returned to the living room. You had your legs tucked underneath you on the floor, one of the giant papers resting across the coffee table. The living room was dim except for the glow of the TV. The new drama you both half-followed played in the background. You had your pencil in one hand, your sleeve bunched in the other as you leaned over the page.
You didn’t even realize how quiet it had gotten until you looked up and found Sunghoon stretched out on the couch. One arm tucked under his head, hoodie soft and rumpled. His other hand rested over his stomach, rising and falling with each breath.
He wasn’t watching the drama. He was watching you.
You immediately felt the heat rise in your face.
“What?” you asked, trying not to smile.
He looked away quickly. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He didn’t argue.
You shook your head and looked back at your sketch. But your heart was still doing something weird. Something soft and fast at the same time.
You didn’t say anything else. Neither did he.
You weren’t sure when Sunghoon stopped watching the drama and started watching you again but you noticed when his eyes started slipping shut, his head slowly lolling to the side against the arm of the couch.
He insisted on keeping you company while you worked.
Which, apparently, meant curling up on the couch behind you, one arm flung over a pillow like a makeshift hug, and promptly dozing off halfway through episode two.
Your pencil slipped from your hand somewhere around 3:30 a.m..Your first sketch was about 3/4 done, but your eyes were getting too heavy to shade anything right now. You stretched your legs out slowly, bones creaking, spine stiff from being hunched over the coffee table for hours and looked over your shoulder.
Sunghoon was still out cold. His hoodie had ridden up just slightly, revealing a sliver of his lower back. His mouth was parted in the tiniest way.
You tried not to laugh as you reached over and touched his shoulder gently.
“Sunghoon,” you whispered.
He groaned.
“Sunghoon,” you said again, a little softer.
His eyes cracked open, all bleary and confused. “Huh.”
“You fell asleep.”
He made a tiny noise of protest and flopped further into the couch. “You’re loud.”
You laughed. “C’mon. Go to bed.”
He mumbled something unintelligible, then blinked blearily at you. “You wanna sleep in my room tonight?”
You blinked. “What?”
“You said… before.” He rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand. “That you sleep better when someone’s there.”
You stared at him for a second. Something in your chest tugged, a quiet, strange warmth.
“I did say that,” you murmured. “Do you?”
He stilled. For a breath. Then said quietly, “Yeah.”
You nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”
The apartment was cold outside the blanket nest you’d built on the couch and on the floor, but his room was warm, dim with only the soft glow of his lamp in the corner. You slipped into his bed first, still in your hoodie and sweats, pulling the covers up as he turned off the hallway light and climbed in beside you.
You didn’t even think about where to lie. You just curled toward the same place you always seemed to find: his side, just beneath his collarbone, right over his heartbeat.
His arm came around you automatically.
For a long moment, neither of you said anything.
Then he whispered into your hair, voice rough with sleep, “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.”
You let out a breath. “Me too.”
Another beat.
“…Also. I’m never letting you work until 3:30 again.”
You smiled into his hoodie. “I don’t really think that’s possible.”
Sunghoon didn’t answer, already asleep again.
His breath, steady and warm, brushed over the crown of your head every few seconds in a lazy rise and fall.
After a few minutes you noticed a sound.
Soft. Rhythmic. Not loud, but steady enough to be unmistakable.
Sunghoon was snoring.
Just lightly.
You didn’t move. Didn’t dare to.
And then – there it was again.
The faintest little snore. You stifled a smile into his hoodie.
You shifted a tiny bit, just enough to glance up at him.
His mouth was parted slightly, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. He looked so different asleep. Softer. Younger, somehow.
You reached up slowly, brushed his hair off his forehead. He didn’t stir.
And then, quietly, you whispered, “Thank you.”
For the food. For the stickers. For staying up with you. For holding you like this.
The snore came again. You almost laughed.
──────────────────────
At around 15 o’clock, they called his name for warm-ups, and he felt like walking toward a storm he couldn’t stop. He spent almost 5 hours in the rink at this point, watching other people skate and perform on a level that was Olympic.
Sunghoon knew.
The moment his skates hit the ice, he knew.
This wasn’t going to work.
His legs were already too tight. His lungs didn’t feel like they had room.
He ran through the motions anyway.
Went through the warm-up.
But with every movement, he felt it tightening. His chest, his hands, the panic he’d been choking down for days.
When they called him out for his actual performance, he wasn’t even nervous anymore. Just…numb.
The music started. He pushed off.
And he fell.
Not dramatically. Just a slip, a wrong edge on a spin he could do blindfolded most days. His shoulder kissed the ice, and the sting of it went all the way to his ribs.
He got up.
He always got up.
But the rest of the routine blurred. He didn’t even know what he was doing by the end, only that he’d finished.
Bowed.
Skated off.
Not once did he look toward the seats.
Not once did he meet the eyes of his coach or the team watching from the tunnel.
He ripped off his gloves the moment the door to the rink closed behind him. Tugged at the zipper of his costume like it was suffocating him. Stormed past the lockers, past the benches, up into the viewer area.
You were sitting on a seat near the middle of the bleachers, your laptop balanced on your thighs, fingers curled gently around the stylus as you focused on the screen. Your hair was braided now.
Something about it made his throat go tight.
And then you looked up.
You didn’t ask if he was okay. You didn’t say anything right away. You just stood up and stepped in his direction.
Sunghoon didn’t even stop to think. His arms wrapped around you before any thought even formed. Tight and desperate.
He felt the first sting of tears when your hand touched the back of his neck. Your hands slid up his back and into his hair.
“I messed up,” he choked out. His throat felt like it was closing. “I knew I would. The second I stepped out. I just—”
“You looked beautiful,” you whispered, voice soft by his ear. “I’m proud of you for trying.”
His chest lurched.
“For going out there. Even if you knew.”
That broke a little sob out of him, and he buried his face in your hair.
You didn’t say ‘You never know what the judges think’ or ‘You weren’t that bad’.
You just held him.
“Thanks,” he whispered, lips brushing your hairline.
He stood there with you for a while, forehead resting against your shoulder, your hand moving slowly over the back of his costume–up, then down, and up again.
Eventually, he stepped back. Not far. Just enough to breathe.
“Do you wanna leave?” you asked gently.
He nodded, jaw clenched. His mouth was too dry to speak.
You packed up without another word, slipping your laptop into your tote and looping your jacket over your arm. You didn’t ask if he wanted to drive. You just walked beside him back to the car, shoulders almost brushing, quiet like you understood there wasn’t anything to say.
The drive started in silence.
He didn’t turn on the radio.
You didn’t try to fill the space.
But a little ways down the highway, you cracked the window open and let the breeze in. And then you kicked off your shoes and curled your feet up on the seat, twisting to face him slightly.
“Do you want a candy? I still have to eat some to earn a kitty. I have watermelon, apple, that weird Chinese one with the rabbit from Renjun or strawberry?” you asked.
He glanced at you, brows tugged together.
You were holding out a box filled with different-sized and colored candies.
He blinked. “Weird Chinese rabbit ones? That’s… weirdly specific.”
You gave him a small shrug. “It’s sweet. I figured you might need something nice.”
He took a piece.
It helped a little. Especially when he saw that you ate three pieces.
After a while, you shifted again.
Your voice was quieter now. “I wish I could do something. I know I can’t fix it, but…”
“You being there helped,” he said, staring at the road ahead. “A lot.”
You were quiet for a beat.
“You know, if you don’t want to be alone tonight… you could crash in my room.”
He turned his head slightly, trying to read your expression. You looked a little shy, like you weren’t sure if you were overstepping.
“It’s just… it feels better with someone there,” you added. “You said that too, right?”
His chest tightened, but not in a bad way this time.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”
You nodded. Then leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes.
He didn’t know if you were actually sleeping, but he let you rest anyway. He kept his eyes on the road and didn’t say anything else.
──────────────────────
Sunghoon heard the faint clatter of a pan as he stepped out of the shower, towel still clutched around his hair. He padded down the hallway barefoot, his limbs heavy from the day, and found you in the kitchen, barefoot too, stirring something in a pan.
You glanced over your shoulder when you heard him. “I’m making egg rice,” you said, voice still soft. “There were leftovers. And I put in a ridiculous amount of oil, I am sorry.”
He nodded, throat tight again. “Smells good.”
You plated up the food and passed him a bowl. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the first bite. The table was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Your foot bumped his once, then again, and instead of pulling back, you let it rest lightly against his.
Afterward, he watched you shuffle to the fridge, humming faintly as you peeled the backing off another little sticker. This one was a cat with a sleepy face. You smoothed it onto the day’s square on your meal calendar and painted a pair of ice skates next to it. Sometimes, if something special happened, you drew a small doodle next to the date. He didn’t feel like today deserved a doodle.
Sunghoon swallowed.
You smiled faintly to yourself, then turned toward him. “I’ll brush my teeth first.”
By the time he joined you in your room, the lights were low and the sheets were already pulled back. You scooted over without a word, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He laid down beside you, on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow.
For a while, you didn’t talk.
Then he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what to do now.”
You shifted slightly, not away but towards him.
He stared at the ceiling. “The Olympics... that was always the goal. Since I was a kid. Everything’s been about that. Every second I didn’t spend skating, I spent thinking about skating. And now…” His voice faltered. “Now I’m just—I don’t know who I am if I’m not trying to get there.”
He felt you look at him before you said anything.
“You know,” you said, soft and slow, “you’re still young. There are so many other things to achieve. This isn’t the end.”
He let the words settle between you, watching shadows play across the ceiling.
“There’ll be another Olympics,” you continued, “another try. And even if not… there’s always something else, right? Something new. I think–I think that’s the part no one tells you when you’re a kid. How your dreams can change.”
Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh. “Yeah. They always made it sound like it’s one dream, one shot. Do or die.”
“But it’s not,” you whispered. “It doesn’t have to be.”
He turned his head to look at you, even though the room was too dark to see your face clearly. “What did you want to be? When you were a kid?”
You were quiet for a second, like the question caught you off guard. Then you chuckled softly. “Van Gogh. I used to think I’d become the next Van Gogh and travel the world to paint.”
He smiled. “That’s adorable. But I think Picasso would be more fitting for you, Y/Ncasso.”
“Shut up.” You nudged his foot under the blanket. “What about you? Always skating?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Since I was like five. I saw Yuzuru Hanyu win gold and thought he was magic. I wanted to be that.”
You shifted closer slightly, and he felt your breath against his neck.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be magic,” you said. “Just… enough.”
Something about the way you said it tugged at him. He turned his body toward you now, propping his head up just a bit on his arm.
“You are,” he said.
You went quiet again.
“Do you ever think about the future?” he asked, voice soft, unsure if you wanted to keep on talking.
You were quiet for another beat, then you hummed. “Sometimes. Not often. It feels kind of… scary.”
He nodded slowly, even though you couldn’t see it.
“I always imagined mine very clearly,” he said. “Even when I was a kid. I’d make it big in skating, maybe get to coach later. Have a place near a the olympia park. A dog, or two. A supportive wife, who loves me. Whom i love back. And maybe… a daughter. I don’t know why, but I always pictured a daughter.”
He let out a small laugh, a little embarrassed by how much he was sharing. “Someone tiny who’d sit on my shoulders and call me her favorite person.”
Your silence stretched for a little too long. He turned his head.
When you did speak, your voice was quiet.
“I don’t think I’ll ever have that.”
Sunghoon’s chest tightened.
“Why?” he asked gently.
“I just… don’t think that’s in the cards for me. A family. Love like that.”
He wanted to say something immediately, but he waited. Let you say what you needed.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” you continued, not quite looking at him. “Not because I don’t want love,” you added quickly. “I do. I just… I think I’ll disappoint him."
His fingers curled slightly in the sheets.
“Sometimes I wonder,” you whispered, “if I’m just not enough.”
The words knocked the air out of him.
He sat up a little, his voice low but fierce. “Don’t say that.”
You blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in his tone.
“You are,” he said. “You’re more than enough.”
You looked away, eyes shining faintly in the darkness.
“I don’t want to be someone’s burden. When I relapse. When I can’t eat again or when I start hating myself again. I don’t want anyone to have to deal with that.”
Sunghoon felt the breath catch in his throat. His fingers flexed slightly against the sheets.
“Don’t say that,” he said, gently but firmly. “You’re not a burden.”
You let out a shaky breath. “But I could be.”
“No,” he said again. “You could have bad days. Weeks. That’s not the same thing.”
You didn’t answer.
Sunghoon pushed up a little more, his face now just inches from yours, even in the dark.
“If someone really loves you… he’ll stay. He’ll help you when things get hard. Especially when things get hard.”
He reached for your hand without thinking.
“I don’t want to ruin someone’s life,” you whispered.
“You won’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “You’ll be part of it. And the right person will be lucky to have you in it.”
You let out a shaky breath, squeezing his fingers just once.
“You say that so easily.”
“I say it because it’s true.”
You didn’t speak after that. You just shifted closer, close enough that your foreheads nearly touched, close enough that he could feel the way your fingers curled slightly toward his.
He stayed awake for a while after that, listening to your breathing. Thinking about love. About disappointment. About the way you looked at him today like he hadn’t failed.
──────────────────────
You saw the light pour through the tall windows of the studio, casting soft, slanted shadows across your desk. Someone’s model fell with a quiet clatter in the background.
You saw your hands working, but your thoughts were still with Sunghoon.
It has been a few days since the tryouts. Sunghoon and you had been sleeping either in your or in his bed. Just to comfort each other.
The step up in calories was hard. The bigger portions made your stomach upset, no matter what you ate and he was feeling a bit down. He didn’t go to the rink, instead coming home or to the studio, when you stayed longer. He and Renjun were getting along really well.
You had to think about the softness in his voice when he talked about the future – about his daughter, his dogs, his house. The way he had said he wanted a wife who he could love and who loved him like it was a given he would find someone like that. Like someone could love him so honestly, and he’d love them back just as deeply. You really believed that he would find such a girl. He deserved to be loved. Deeply.
You remembered the way his fingers had curled around yours under the blanket.
You’re more than enough.
You saw the way he looked at you when he said it. Like he meant it.
You thought about how he stayed, even when it got bad.
You thought about how he asked if you’d eaten.
How he quietly cooked two portions when you hadn’t. How he let you talk when you needed to, and sat beside you when you couldn’t find the words.
Wasn’t that… what love was supposed to look like?
You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you ever would.
But if you ever let someone love you–really love you–you hoped Sunghoon was right. That they’d stay. That they’d hold on through the bad days. That you wouldn’t just become some slow-motion heartbreak in someone else's story.
Because right now… it almost felt like he was already doing it. Loving you in all the ways you didn’t know how to ask for, that you didn’t know how to give back.
And that thought made it hard to breathe in the best, scariest kind of way.
Your professor’s voice cut through the air.
“I hate to do this,” he said, and you already knew it was going to be bad, “but due to scheduling conflicts, the deadline for your final submissions has been moved up.”
You blinked.
“To next week.”
A collective groan spread across the room.. Someone cursed.
You looked around. Every table was covered in half-finished foam models, scattered tools, and messy sketches, yours included. No one was ready. Not really.
Your heart dropped, just a little.
You saw your own model–barely halfway there. The pieces didn’t fit right yet. Some parts still needed refining, carving, painting.
It wasn’t impossible. Not quite. You could stay all weekend. Pull a few all-nighters. If you mapped it out just right, you might be able to pull it off. You would have to bring your stuff back to your apartment, take over the kitchen for a few days.
Your stomach sank anyway.
Because now you’d be tired. Because now dinner would be rushed. Because now the quiet bubble of comfort you’d made with Sunghoon would pop, even if just for a while.
You exhaled through your nose and refocused your attention. Grabbed your pencil. Sketched out the next adjustment.
You could still do this.
Sunghoon was making curry tonight.
You’d get your stupid kitty sticker and then draw a sad smiley next to it.
──────────────────────
Sunghoon saw you before he even heard the door shut.
You came in looking like a zombie. Bags digging into your shoulders, a roll of foam sticking out under one arm, your jacket halfway falling off, and your model clutched precariously in your hand.
The look on your face said enough.
He column’t remember seeing you like this, ever. He has seen many different facial expressions on you but he has never seen this one. Your mouth was tight and there was a crease in between your eyes.
He stepped away from the stove. “Hey- wait, I’ll help- ”
“It’s okay,” you said, breathless, dropping your things by the shoe rack and then pressing a hand to your forehead. “My deadline’s been moved up. Again. A week earlier.”
He blinked. “Oh, shit.”
“Yup.” You weren’t even angry about it. Just exhausted. You gave him a fleeting smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll be out in a sec, just need to… change into not jeans. Or something.”
Then you disappeared into your room.
Sunghoon finished setting the table. Curry, rice, the salad you liked lately. Two bowls. Two glasses of water. The usual. He waited a few minutes. Then a few more.
You didn’t come out.
He stood up and made his way to your door, the polaroid of you with your name under it mirroring the one of him on his door. He knocked, gently. “Y/N? Food’s ready.”
You opened the door a minute later with the same drawn expression, hair tied up in a messy knot. You slid into your chair across from him and mumbled a quiet “thanks.”
But you didn’t eat.
Sunghoon watched you poke at the rice. Push the curry around. You were quiet so he started talking and told you about how Jay and Heeseung were invited to a gala for the new recruits of their teams and how they were panicking today. You barely reacted and only chuckled.
When he stood to clear the dishes, you looked up.
“Oh,” you murmured. “I’m so sorry- would you mind cleaning? I swear I’ll do it next week, I just-” You gestured vaguely toward your room, then vanished again before he could even nod.
Sunghoon blinked. “Okay…?”
He collected the bowls. Yours was still full.
His eyes flicked to the calendar.
No sticker.
You didn’t get out the sheet with the kitten and glued one onto it.
That was the first night in over two weeks there wasn’t one.
You didn’t eat. Not really.
You also didn’t stop to get a snack from the fridge either. Usually you would eat a yogurt with berries after dinner. Not immediately after but you did prepare it immediately after.
He washed up slowly, trying not to overthink it. But failed to do so. A part of him told himself you were tired. That it was just one night. But another part reminded him of the way your voice sounded when you were trying not to worry him.
Just tired.
That’s what you always said when you didn’t feel like eating before.
Hours passed. He showered. Got the laundry and folded his clothes. Worked on one of his essays. Brushed his teeth.
At 11:42 p.m., he knocked on your door again holding a bowl with yogurt and mangos, voice muffled slightly through the wood.
“Y/N? Do you want a joghurt?”
No answer for a second. Then, softly, “Not really. Thank you though.”
He opened the door anyway.
You were sitting cross-legged in front of your bed on the floor, the model in front. In your right hand was a cutter and the other hand was holding a ruler, but they weren’t moving. They were just floating a few centimeters over the styrofoam.
He walked over without a word and sat next to you. Your shoulder brushed his and you relaxed a bit. Letting your hands rest in your lap and looking at the small bowl Sunghoon was holding.
Then your head rested on his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” you said eventually. But your voice cracked a little at the end. “Just tired.”
Sunghoon nodded.
Then he leaned closer and spoke gently. “Let’s eat something, mhm?”
You didn’t answer.
So he pulled you up.
Your hand slid into his. He held it without needing to say anything else.
He sat you down at the table, went to the fridge, and reheated a bowl of curry and rice in the microwave. It was a smaller portion that you were supposed to eat, but he figured you probably couldn’t really eat much. So he made sure there was at least something in your stomach. When he set the bowl and spoon in front of you, you glanced at it with tired eyes, then picked up the spoon.
You didn’t say anything. Just started eating slowly.
When you were halfway through the bowl, he asked, just as softly as before:
“Do you think you earned a kitty today?”
You paused mid-bite. The spoon hovered for a moment before you set it down gently. You didn’t look at him. You just shook your head once, small and quiet.
His chest tightened. It hurt to see you like this.
You weren’t crying but you looked so upset.
But you were eating. Slowly. And he could work with that.
He just nodded his head a little and sat with you while you finished your bowl.
Afterward, you helped rinse the plate. Even dried it. And then you returned to your room after muttering a “Thank you Sunghoon.”
He just smiled and watched you retreat into your room. Only to follow you a few seconds later. By the time he reached your door you were already sitting on the floor again. Sunghoon walked over quietly and crouched down beside you. His eyes scanned the mess of paper, foam board, tape, notes scribbled in pencil. Then he looked at you.
“I’ll help you,” he said.
He grabbed the extra cutting board from the shelf under your table and started slicing the leftover foam you hadn’t touched yet into 1,3 cm thick stripes, like you told him. Sometimes you asked him to hold down corners for you when they curled up.
By the time the clock on his phone read 3:47 AM, your hands had slowed down significantly.
The model looked more like a fancy opera now.
He glanced at you.
You were blinking slowly, mouth slightly parted in a yawn.
“You should sleep,” he said softly.
You didn’t argue this time. “I should.”
He stood, offering his hand. You took it. Wobbled a little on your feet.
“Let’s sleep in my bed,” he hummed.
You mumbled something like “okay” and shuffled into the bathroom.
Sunghoon turned off the lights, checked the stove, and brushed the foam dust from his sweatpants.
When he reached his room he stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of you curled into his bed, on what has become your side.
It looked like you’d been here for hours, even though it had only been minutes. The quietness in the room, the soft rhythm of your breath under the covers, made his chest feel tight again. Not from worry this time, but from something much warmer.
He closed the door quietly behind him and tiptoed over to the bed. He didn’t want to wake you in case you fell asleep in the three minutes you were lying in his bed.
Sunghoon slowly climbed into the bed, sliding under the covers and shifting closer to you.
Then, before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from your face. You barely stirred, but a tiny little sigh slipped from your lips, and he smiled to himself.
“You good?” he whispered, careful not to startle you.
You mumbled something incoherent but soft, and adjusted your head to put it onto his chest.
Sunghoon chuckled quietly, not knowing what to say next. So, he just snuggled into his pillow.
──────────────────────
You blinked awake slowly, the dull gray light of morning filtering through the blinds in Sunghoons room. Usually sleeping in the same bed as Sunghoon meant that you were sweating in the morning, but today you were feeling a bit cold. Your hand reached across the bed where Sunghoon should have been instinctively.
His side of the bed was no longer warm. You hand brushed over the soft duvet cover.
It was strange, wasn’t it?
Feeling that someone was missing after waking up alone was not a thing you usually did.
You know people complain about it, when their lovers slip out of the bed too early, leaving them alone in their shared bed.
But Sunghoon wasn’t your lover.
So why did it feel like that?
You sat up slowly, brushing hair from your face, the blanket slipped down your shoulders. It wasn’t like he disappeared. He was probably brushing his teeth or something. You dragged yourself out of bed, bare feet padding lightly against the floor.
The moment you cracked open your door, you were engulfed in a sweet smell. And a slightly burned smell.
You frowned, blinking toward the hallway, and then made your way into the kitchen.
Sunghoon was standing in front of the stove. His hair was standing up in different directions, the bleach damaged it enough to not fall softly unless he used the right hair care products.
He was holding up a spatula and his phone at the same time, frowning at something on his phone.
You leaned against the doorframe to the connected kitchen and living room, eyes flickering over the kitchen.
Your model was laying on the kitchen table. All of the tools and scraps and papers that were spread around on the floor in your room had been organized neatly on the table. Your laptop was charging on the kitchen island. Your pens lined up in a little row.
“Good morning Sunghoon”, you greeted him, your voice still rough from disuse.
You couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips when he turned around and you noticed the apron he had hanging around his front. He looked cute.
He turned around, startled, and blinked. “ Y/N. Morning.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Are you making pancakes?”
“They were supposed to be,” he said, flipping one that was definitely more black than brown. “You didn’t eat enough yesterday. So I’m bribing you.”
You walked forward, your feet freezing when you reached the tiled kitchen floor. “Bribing me with... questionable pancakes?”
“They’re not questionable,” he said. “They’re just... well-loved by the stove.”
You laughed softly and slipped into a chair at the table. The sight of your model, a little lopsided now that you weren’t looking at it in sleep-deprived haze, made your chest ache a bit again.
“Thank you Sunghoon.”, you said after a beat of silence. “For everything. I don’t know how I could ever repay you for everything you are doing.”
He turned around, a soft smile adorning his lips. Your chest flustered a bit at the sight. “Always, Y/N. If you ever need help I’ll always be there to help. No matter if its slightly burned pancakes or your weird opera thing we are building together.”
Your eyes stung a bit and you had to break eye contact with him to not start crying.
He turned back around and cleared his voice slightly. “The others are coming over later. They want to help.”
Your head lifted, a frown already forming between your brows. “Help? With the opera?”
He glanced over from the stove, eyebrows raised like he knew this reaction was coming. “Yeah.”
You blinked at him. “But… why? I didn’t–.”
Sunghoon flipped a pancake gently. “You don’t have to. They just want to do something. Jay, Jake, Heeseung… they all felt a little responsible. About the party. And everything after.”
You were quiet for a long moment.
Somehow you felt touched. Really touched, in a way that made your throat tighten. And also a little ashamed.
How did you manage to be a burden to someone you barely knew. Why would they worry about you? Yes they invited you, but it wasn’t their fault it escalated like that. So why were they feeling bad about it.
“I didn’t mean to make anyone worry,” you said softly.
Sunghoon turned again, his hands still holding the spatula. “I know you didn’t. But it’s okay if people care about you anyway.”
You looked away quickly, chest tight. “That doesn’t mean they should have to fix anything. Or help. I was just… not okay for a while. It’s not their problem.”
“They’re not trying to fix anything,” he said gently. “They just want to help now. In any way they can. If that means spending the afternoon cutting foam and toothpicks, that’s what they’ll do. Also—” he turned back to the stove with a quiet laugh, “—they think you’re cute.”
Your breath caught. “What?”
He hummed. “I quote: Sunghoon your roommate is so cute, I swear i want to put her in my pocket. Quote end.”
You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips, even if your face was burning. “Oh my god, who said that?”
Sunghoon just grinned and plated the last pancake. “Jake. He said you were so cute when we went to the nationals. You felt so bad for everyone that just looked minimalistically sad after getting off the ice. He wanted to pet your head.”
“Oh my god.”, you buried your face in your hands.
He placed the plate between you both on the kitchen counter, grabbing the Nutella with one hand and a butter knife with the other. “Sorry they’re not perfect,” he murmured. “Kind of questionable in terms of color.”
You stood up and walked over to the counter, a soft smile playing on your lips. “They’re not questionable. They’re just… well-loved by the stove.”
That earned you a quiet laugh, low and warm. He drizzled more Nutella on top, spreading it with way more care than necessary. “Alright. Chocolate makes everything better. Maybe we won’t taste the love too much with the Nutella on top.”
You picked up your fork, the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder. The pancakes were a little uneven, a bit too crisp at the edges.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything when you slowed down halfway through. He just offered you another bite every now and then, and when you accepted, he smiled without a word.
“I really mean it,” you whispered after a while, when the plate was nearly empty. “Thank you, Sunghoon.”
He looked at you for a long moment, his expression soft and unreadable. Then he said, quietly, “You don’t have to thank me. Just… let me stay. Let me help.”
Your eyes stung again. You glanced toward your model on the table and back to your plate.
You didn’t know why he did all of this for you. You didn’t think you deserved it.
But it made your chest ache in the kindest way.
──────────────────────
You and Sunghoon sat shoulder to shoulder at the table half an hour later. He passed you a glue stick without needing to be asked, and you handed him the little foam piece he’d marked earlier.
You were listening to a podcast, the only sound in the kitchen being the hosts voices and sounds of paper being cut. There were flecks of foam on his sleeve and your hair. Your knees bumped under the table more than once.
You were just finishing the reinforcements on the roof when Sunghoon finished assembling the first tiny tree for your landscaping section. He looked more proud of it than he had of his last competition medal at the nationals.
“That’s actually so cute,” you murmured, leaning over to inspect it.
“Thank you,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I'm naming it Gerald.”
You snorted. “Gerald looks very sturdy.”
Just as you repositioned the front wall, the doorbell rang.
You straightened, wiping your fingers on your pajama pants and giving Sunghoon a quick glance.
“That’s them,” he said, already heading to the door.
A moment later, you heard the greet Sunghoon and Jake walked into the kitchen holding up a tray of drinks from the cafe on the campus and a bag of baked goods.
“Y/N! Good morning! We bought coffee and tea and those weird cookie croissants! ”
You stood a little awkwardly in the kitchen, unsure what to say.
“Hi,” you said quietly, wringing your hands together. “Um… thank you for coming and the food. You really didn’t have to. I… I’m really sorry if—”
Jay cut you off with a wave of his hand, already moving toward the table where your model was set up. “Don’t apologize. We are here because we want to be..”
“Yeah,” Heeseung added, grinning as he peeked at the foam trees Sunghoon had started earlier. “This is fun. It’s like arts and crafts.”
Jay slung his hoodie over a chair and raised an eyebrow at you. “So. Where do we start?”
You stared at them for a second, something soft and confused blooming in your chest.
Sunghoon brushed past you, placing a gentle hand on your back as he nudged you back to your chair in front of the model. “We’ll show you. I can make banger trees but I need like 20 more and someone has to help me do that.”
“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”, Jake said and dropped into the chair next to you.
You swallowed down the lump in your throat and nodded, pulling out the extra materials you’d prepared earlier. “Okay. Um—Jay, can you help with the glueing? It’s a bit tricky, you have to hold the pieces for a few seconds until they set. You spray this stuff on, to like kinda immediately harden the glue. Someone has to cut the foil? I don’t know if i want to use it yet tho, we will have to try around a bit and-”
They listened to your explanations with surprising focus. Sunghoon switched the background noise from your true crime podcast you'd both barely been listening to, to a soft, upbeat playlist.
They started talking about something trivial but after a few minutes someone started complaining about the last match they played and they have been explaining the rules of ice hockey to you for the last fifteen minutes.
“So basically you can crash into someone just because you feel like it and it’s okay?”, you asked, handing Sunghoon another strip of foam to hold up.
Jake grinned. “Yeah. Sometimes. You should have seen Soobin. He was our captain until he graduated last semester and one of the best defense players we ever had.”
“Oh. That’s crazy.”, you said, nodding at the way the edge you and Sunghoon had just glued together.
“Yeah. Crazy if you want to have a fifty-fifty chance to get a concussion each time you go onto the ice.”, Sunghoon huffed.
“Sunghoon, I’m just saying,” Jake was saying as he carefully pressed together two model walls, “if you ever joined a hockey game, you’d cry the second someone shoved you.”
“I’ve literally skated through a concussion before,” Sunghoon replied, unfazed. “Try doing triple jumps with whiplash.”
“Triple jumps,” Jay snorted. “That’s just jumping in the same spot but fancier.”
You looked up from the hot glue gun. “I do think figure skating is harder? I mean if all you do is try not to die because someone slams you into a wall?”
Sunghoon smirked quietly.
Jake gasped like you’d betrayed them. “Y/N! We do more than a figure skater. I might not be able to touch my toes but I must let you know that we have to strategize and you know work as a team and react as a team. Quickly.”
“I still think ice skating is more impressive. It looks very elegant.”, you hummed.
Jay chuckled. “I think we look very graceful in our uniforms. At least we don’t have to wear glitter while skating, right Elsa.”
“Fuck off Jay,” Sunghoon muttered.
“I’m ruggedly graceful and elegant,” Jake said.
You giggled, caught between amusement and slight awe. “So… do you guys always argue about which is better?”
“Absolutely,” Heeseung said, handing you a fresh strip of cut foam.
“It’s not a competition,” Sunghoon said under his breath. “Not one they’d win anyway.”
“Oh my god,” Jay sighed.
Heeseung looked at you. “You could come to a match if you wanted to.”
You raised a brow. “And then what? Watch you get pushed around and then decide if I enjoy ice hockey or ice skating more?”
They all looked at each other like that was exactly the idea.
“If Sunghoon goes to the next one, I'll come along,” you said, quieter now.
You felt Sunghoon glance over at you, his fingers stilling for a second on the model.
“I really don't want to go alone,” you added, more softly this time.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. But when you turned to look at him, he was already watching you, eyes gentle, mouth tipped upward just enough to make your heart flutter.
“Okay,” he said, that same warmth in his voice he always got when talking just to you. “I’ll take you.”
──────────────────────
An hour later Jay was standing in the kitchen chopping onions. He decided to cook steak and potatoes for the four of you, apparently craving it enough to spend half a fortune on meat. After a while the kitchen started to smell intensely like food.
It didn’t smell bad, but somehow your stomach was tightening up a bit at the smell.
You glanced at the stove.
“Jay?” you called gently.
He looked over immediately, knife still in hand.
“I think my stomach’s gonna hate me if I eat that much red meat,” you admitted, a little unsure. “I haven’t really had a lot of it lately.”
He blinked once, then shrugged. “Alright. Yours’ll be dry, no blood, as unred as possible. Would you like more potatoes instead?”
You stared at him for a second. “...Yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”
“Gotchu,” he said simply, already turning back to the pan.
You sat back, feeling weirdly relieved. Just… okay, more potatoes it is.
Heeseung had taken over tree production by now and was giving each one increasingly ridiculous names, while Jake and Sunghoon were helping you with the decorative beams along the walls of the building.
──────────────────────
When the other three left your apartment late in the afternoon your model was almost done. It was almost perfect and you had just a few things on your to do list to finish up. Which meant you could dedicate Sunday and Monday to drawing and working out the details. And get a healthy amount of sleep.
The door clicked shut behind Heeseung, and the sudden quiet that followed felt strange.
Sunghoon stretched and groaned when his back made a rather satisfying cracking
You heard him plop down onto the sofa and turned around to a rather funny view.
He had let himself drop over the backrest, one of his long legs was hooked over the backrest, along with one of his arms. The other arm was resting over his eyes and he groaned again: “Y/N I don’t get how you do this. My fingers hurt and my back feels like I sat for 80 years instead of 8 hours.”
You laughed slightly. “I try to not work 8 hours in a row unusually but desperate situations demand drastic measures.”
You hesitated for a second but stepped in front of the sofa. “I think I'm going to make a snack or something. You can nap and I’ll wake you when it’s done if you’d like?”
Sunghoon just hummed and nodded.
So you padded slowly and quietly into the kitchen, rolling your shoulders out with a satisfying crack of your own before pulling open the fridge. There were still a few cherry tomatoes left, a cucumber, some bell pepper slices in a container from the day before, and the rest of the cream cheese dip Sunghoon liked. That would do.
You arranged it all with more care than you meant to, piling the sliced vegetables and a bit of fruit on a small plate and spooning a generous portion of the dip into a small bowl. When you were done, you stood in front of the calendar hanging on the fridge and carefully peeled one of the glossy cat stickers from the sheet. It was a grey tabby this time, curled up asleep. You pressed it down next to the date with a quiet smile.
You’d eaten today.
You’d eaten well today.
The steak had gone down with barely a protest from your stomach and stayed down. You weren’t quite sure how that had happened, but it had.
So you deserved your little cat sticker.
Sunghoon was still in the same ridiculous position when you came back. His mouth slightly open and he was snoring slightly. Completely wiped out from cutting and glueing some cardboard.
You didn’t want to wake him. So you set the plate carefully on the table in front of the sofa and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back resting against the bottom cushion. Your phone buzzed with a message from Johnny asking you how you were doing. You send him a selfie of you holding up a piece of bell pepper and sunghoons sleeping from behind you, telling him you had steak today. He replied with a selfie of Dukoo laying on his chest and Taeyong sleeping on his shoulder, his mouth wide open. You snickered quietly.
After a while you were bored by your phone, so you got up to get the book you were currently reading and your headphones from your room.
You were halfway through a chapter when fingers brushed through your hair. So light, so gentle, you almost thought you imagined it.
But then it happened again.
You turned your head slightly and looked up.
Sunghoon’s eyes had blinked open, still a little hazy with sleep. His hand was still resting lightly on the back of your head, tangled just barely in your hair, and when your eyes met, he didn’t pull it away.
He just gave you a tiny, sleepy smile and petted your hair again.
A strand had come loose from your braid and he twirled it between his fingers.
You swallowed slowly, heart thudding louder than you liked. “You’re awake,” you said, barely a whisper.
He hummed, low in his chest, and his hand slipped a little lower, brushing behind your ear. “I felt you leave,” he murmured.
You didn’t move, fearing that he would stop playing with your hair if you did.
“Did you eat?” he asked softly, finally glancing at the plate in front of you.
You nodded. “Yeah. Just-just vegetables and fruit.”
His eyes flicked back to you. “Enough so you could put a kitty on the calendar?”
You nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah.”
He sat up a bit more, leaning forward slightly so his knees nudged your back. His voice was even softer now. “I’m so proud of you.”
You turned toward him at that, just enough to see him clearly. He looked so warm, hoodie slightly bunched at the collar, hair tousled from sleep.
You swallowed and whispered a quiet “Thank you, Sunghoon.”
He leaned back and closed his eyes again so you went back to reading.
You didn’t hear him sit up behind you.
But you felt it when the warmth of his body shifted closer. The sofa cushion gave in under his weight as he slid down to sit beside you on the floor.
Your breath caught, just for a second, when your shoulder touched his.
He reached for the remote and a second later, the TV lit up the room in a soft blue glow. He switched channels to find KBS.
You glanced up. Sunghoon was lazily chewing a piece of carrot, reaching for another from the small plate you’d left on the table. Without looking at you, he nudged it a little closer to your side, silently offering.
You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips.
Sunghoon leaned back, propping one arm up behind him on the couch. And after a moment of hesitation you let yourself lean too. Your head found his shoulder, slow and soft, the way it always did now. His hoodie was warm, soft beneath your cheek, and smelled faintly like his perfume.
He didn’t move.
The low sound of the show played on. A laugh track. A bit of dialogue. But neither of you laughed. Neither of you spoke.
You felt him breathe.
You listened to the rhythm of it, right beneath your cheek.
The two of you stayed like that for a while.
He shifted slightly, just barley. His head moved a bit and his temple brushed against your hair, his breath ghosting across your skin. You tilted your head instinctively, and suddenly you were looking at him.
He was already looking at you.
Your breath stuttered.
You froze.
You looked at his mouth before you could stop yourself.
Then back to his eyes.
And again.
Your chest pulled tight.
His lips were parted slightly.
He didn’t look away when your gaze wandered back to his eyes.
You couldn’t stop the flicker of panic that swelled in your chest.
You turned your head slightly, just slightly, without really thinking about it. Your nose grazed his cheek.
And then he turned his head too. Slowly. Gently. His temple brushing yours as he moved.
Your foreheads touched.
You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath.
You closed your eyes.
Just for a moment.
Trying to slow the pounding of your heart.
His fingers grazed your knee, just barely. You wanted to say something, to move, to...kiss him.
But your whole body locked up with nerves and want and a fear you couldn’t name.
So you didn’t.
You sat there.
Still.
Almost.
And then, after one long heartbeat, he leaned back the tiniest bit. Just enough for the space between you to widen again.
You opened your eyes.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did you.
──────────────────────
After the episode ended Sunghoon stood up, slow and silent, his fingers brushing the blanket beside you.
You stayed still, heart still racing in your chest.
“Should we...” he didn’t finish the sentence, but you knew what he meant.
You nodded, your body slow to follow.
The quiet buzz of the TV filled the space between you as you both moved, soft-footed and wordless. He picked up the now-empty plate from the table. You turned off the lamp.
In the bathroom, you stood shoulder to shoulder while brushing your teeth. His elbow bumped yours lightly once, and you bumped him back, the corner of your lips curling around the toothbrush. You caught his eye in the mirror. He was winking at you.
His white hair almost reflected the harsh bathroom light, as it softly fell over his eyes. The whole scene felt so domestic your heart was aching.
You finished first. You washed your face and used the ridiculous amount of skin care products Sunoo insisted made your skin better. He gave you a lot of the stuff that didn't work for him and you were just accepting the free skincare.
You lingered in the hallway for a second too long after brushing your teeth. The light behind you still hummed softly from the bathroom, casting your shadow long and thin across the floor.
You expected Sunghoon to disappear into his room with a soft goodnight.
But he didn’t.
He paused in his doorway, hand resting lightly on the frame. Then he looked at you,not directly. His tired eyes flicked toward you. And then, with barely a movement, he tilted his head. A silent question without words.
You didn’t answer with words either.
You just followed.
Your steps were quiet as you crossed the space, the air between you charged in that gentle, quiet way. You slipped into his room, your hoodie sleeves tugged down over your hands. He let the door close behind you.
The room smelled distinctly like him.
He crawled into his bed, pulling the blanket back slowly as if giving you a moment to change your mind. But you didn’t.
You slid in beside him, your shoulder brushing his briefly before you turned onto your side, facing the wall.
You couldn’t handle sleeping on his chest today. Somehow the thought alone made your heart race.
It shouldn’t.
This was so wrong.
Sunghoon was your roommate.
During the episode of running man you had enough time to conclude that the racing of your heart and the desire to make him, especially him, proud was based on a crush. A very inappropriate crush on your very nice and hot and caring and sweet and attractive roommate.
A few seconds later, you felt the mattress shift behind you. He carefully adjusted behind you. Not touching you, but being close enough you felt the heat of his body though your hoodie.
A quiet part of you ached just a little when he didn’t wrap himself around you, like he sometimes did on the sofa.
──────────────────────
You lay there for what felt like hours, eyes open in the quiet dark, watching the way the dim hallway light pooled faintly across the ceiling.
Sleep wouldn't come.
Your thoughts were running wild and you didn’t know what to do.
So you rolled over.
Carefully. Slowly.
You didn’t even fully realize what you were doing until you were halfway into the movement, your hand lightly brushing the comforter between you.
He didn’t move.
So you went further, tucking your head gently onto his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t wake up.
Still nothing.
Just the quiet sound of his breathing.
And then, after a beat–his arm moved.
Not abruptly.
But his hand came up in a slow, sleepy motion and started tracing a soft pattern against your back.
Your chest felt too tight for this much softness.
"Were you asleep?" you whispered.
He made a small noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. "I was," he murmured. "But this is better."
You stayed quiet, listening to the rhythm of his breath and the way his fingers still traced your back, up and down, in lazy, tender lines.
After a long moment, he spoke again.
“I’m so glad I moved.”
Your throat tightened. You blinked at the ceiling.
“I’m glad you're here too,” you whispered. “But…”
You paused, already regretting saying anything. But you couldn’t stop.
“But it must be kind of awful, right? Having to take care of me like this? We didn’t even know each other. I probably made everything way harder.”
His fingers stilled just for a second.
Then he exhaled, hand moving again. Slowly this time, his palm almost resting between your shoulder blades.
“Y/N,” he said, like he was saying your name to soothe you. “It’s not like that.”
You didn’t reply.
You weren’t sure you could.
“I know it feels like you’re a burden sometimes,” he went on gently, “but I promise you-you're not. Not to me.”
You stared at the vague outline of his neck, blinking quickly. “I just… I don’t want to be someone people have to carry. I want to be someone people want around.”
He was quiet for a beat. You thought maybe he didn’t know how to respond.
But then his hand stopped moving entirely and slid around your back, anchoring you closer, just a little. Not too much. Just enough that your forehead nearly brushed his collarbone.
“I don’t feel like I’m carrying you,” he said.
Your heart thudded so loudly you were sure he could feel it.
“I like being here,” he said. “I like helping with the model, and grocery shopping, and seeing you put stickers on the calendar. I like listening when you rant about your professor or whisper that you're tired. I like it when you fall asleep on the sofa next to me.”
His voice was steadier now, but still low.
“I like it,” he said, “because it’s you.”
You blinked hard.
Your throat burned.
“But I haven’t even done anything for you,” you murmured. “Not really.”
He made a soft sound at that. “You really think that?”
You nodded a little. His shirt brushed your cheek. “I feel like I’m just… needing all the time. And you just give.”
“That’s not true,” he said firmly. “You’ve done more for me than you know.”
Your brows pulled together before you could stop them. “Like what?”
There was a pause. Not silence, not really, but a moment held so carefully you didn’t dare breathe.
“You made this place feel like home,” he said finally. “You make me laugh when I’ve had a bad day. You believe in me when I don’t believe in myself.”
The lump in your throat nearly doubled in size.
You couldn’t speak.
So you just… leaned in.
Laid your forehead against his chest, eyes burning, heart twisting.
He didn’t say anything after that. Neither did you.
But his arms pulled you in slowly. Gently.
You weren’t sure how long you laid there, folded into the warmth of him, listening to his heartbeat and the way his breathing slowed. You could feel his hand resting lightly against your back, not moving anymore. Just there. Steady.
You should’ve tried to sleep. You should’ve just closed your eyes.
But instead, you felt your mouth part.
“Sunghoon?” you whispered, barely audible.
His chest shifted with a breath. “Yeah?”
Your hand curled against the fabric of his shirt. “Can…can I kiss you?”
You weren’t looking at him. You couldn’t.
He was silent. Even his breathing had stopped.
You instantly regretted asking.
You’d never kissed anyone. You didn't know how to do so. Asking was the most logical thing to your head.
You could feel your whole body tense. “I’m sorry, I just—forget it, I don’t—”
He let out the softest sound. A breath that sounded like laughter, barely there, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just asked–but not in a mocking way. In a stunned, almost reverent kind of way.
Then he shifted.
You felt his hand move. He brushed your hair back, careful and slow. His fingers tucked the strands behind your ear, and his palm settled gently against your cheek.
When you finally looked up, he was already watching you.
Eyes soft.
Warm.
The corners crinkled in that way they always did when he smiled without really smiling.
His thumb brushed the curve of your cheekbone. “Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”
Your breath caught.
For a second, you forgot how to move.
And then, slowly and carefully, you leaned in.
You weren’t sure where to put your hands. Or how close you should get. Your heart felt like it might combust from the pressure alone. You tilted your head, eyes flicking to his lips and back to his eyes, over and over, waiting for some final confirmation.
And then, your lips touched.
It was soft.
Softer than you ever imagined it could be.
There were no fireworks in your chest. You didn’t feel any butterflies. Just warmth. Gentle warmth. The steady beat of your heart slowing for the first time all week.
His lips moved slowly against yours, careful. Guiding, but not pushing. Letting you take the lead, letting you pull away whenever.
When you finally did, it was only by a few centimeters, and you stayed there. Your foreheads almost touching, your hand still pressed to his chest, his softly caressing your face.
Your cheeks were glowing. Your lips tingled. You couldn’t look at him.
“I didn’t… know it would feel like that,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.
His voice was barely above a whisper. “Like what?”
You blinked, breathing softly. “Good? Right?”
And when he smiled this time, you could hear it in his voice.
“Yeah,” he said, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. “Right.”
His forehead rested against yours, noses brushing.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. Breathing the same small pocket of air. His thumb brushed once over your cheekbone, then again, as if he couldn’t believe that you were here. That you had kissed him.
That you had wanted to.
And you had. Still did.
Your fingers flexed slightly in the fabric of his shirt. He shifted, just barely.
He pulled back only enough to look at you again.
Your face flushed under the weight of his gaze, but you didn’t turn away this time. You let him look. Let yourself be seen. Your chest ached in that strange, unfamiliar way—half-sweet, half-scary. The way it always does when something is too good and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to keep it.
But he just smiled.
So softly it made your breath catch.
And then, he leaned in again.
Slower this time.
His lips brushed yours so lightly.
You kissed him back.
His lips were soft and tasted like the mint toothpaste he used earlier.
When he pulled away this time, he stayed close.
His nose brushed yours. Your breath mingled. He whispered, barely audible, “I really like you.”
You didn’t say anything.
You didn’t know what to say.
Your hand slid up, fingers resting over his heart. You felt it beating, fast and steady beneath your palm.
You must’ve dozed off like that.
Curled into his chest, legs tangled gently under the covers, the heat of his skin lulling you deeper into calm with every slow breath.
When you stirred again, it was because he shifted a little, barely more than a sigh against your hair.
“Still awake?” His voice was quiet, hoarse with sleep.
You nodded against him. “Mmhm.”
He pulled you in a little closer, resting his chin carefully against the top of your head. “You’re warm,” he mumbled.
Your smile was tiny. “You’re comfy.”
A pause. Then, “You drool.”
You shoved at his chest with a muffled groan, and he let out a quiet laugh that vibrated through you.
You went quiet again, pressing your nose into his hoodie and breathing him in. You wanted to say something–to tell him how unreal this felt, how scared you still were, how good it felt too. But the words got stuck somewhere behind your ribs.
Instead, your fingers curled against his side, and you whispered, “Thank you.”
He didn’t ask what for.
He just held you tighter.
Somewhere between his warmth and the comfort of the quiet, you felt your chest ease.
He kissed your forehead a moment later and you just…melted a little.
You would let yourself have this. Just this one perfect thing.
This time, you were the one to whisper first. Just barely audible:
“I like you too.”
His hand stilled where it had been gently tracing over your spine. And then, he whispered, just above your ear:
“I know.”
You smiled again.
This time, when your eyes closed, you didn’t fight it.
──────────────────────
Sunghoon woke up first, the quiet morning light spilling softly through the curtains. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he just lay there, completely still, taking in the sight of you. Your face was relaxed in peaceful sleep, your hair spread out over the pillow like a halo. He could feel your breath against his chest, slow and steady, and the weight of your body pressed against his side, warm and comforting.
He didn’t move. He didn’t want to.
Sunghoon could hardly believe what had happened the night before. Everything felt like a dream.
He had somehow been waiting for this moment without even knowing it.
His head replayed the moment. How you had been so close. How you asked him to kiss you and, how carefully, how gently, you had let him kiss you. And then you kissed him back.
Your breath hitched lightly in your sleep, and for a split second, he thought you might wake up, but you only shifted, pressing your cheek further into his chest.
He smiled to himself, unable to stop the soft warmth blooming in his chest.
He wanted nothing more than to hold you like this forever, to keep you safe, to keep you with him.
His fingers lightly brushed the back of your neck, tracing the soft line of your skin.
He glanced down at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest, listening to the peaceful rhythm of your breath.
Sunghoon wanted to savor this, savor you, in the quiet morning light. He didn’t know what exactly this was yet, where it was going, but he also kinda didn’t care.
He was just so glad that you were here. With him.
He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek softly. You were so beautiful, even in the quiet stillness of the morning, so perfect that it almost didn’t feel real. He just wished you could see that too.
He remembered the night you had laid across his chest on the sofa the first time, your body was so close. He remembered feeling the soft dip of your ribs through your shirt. It wasn’t so bad anymore. The meal plan was working better than he had thought it would.
Your ribs weren’t as sharp now. You were still tired and freezing but it was getting so much better. Even your migraines seemed to lessen.
He was so proud of you, of how far you had come, even though he knew that there was still a long way to go. He just hoped you would let him be part of that, you would let him help until you didn’t need help anymore.
Sunghoon had to fight the urge to wake you up, to kiss you again. To pull you even closer. But he decided to let you rest for a few more minutes, knowing that your alarm would ring at 10 am, like it always did on the weekend.
For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to wake up like this every day. Next to you, your head on his chest, your body curled into his. Of being able to kiss you stupid if he wanted to.
You shifted. Your face was still soft with sleep but your eyes fluttered open.
“Good morning,” he murmured gently, brushing his fingers over your hair, pushing a strand away from your forehead. He really loved your hair. “Do you want breakfast?” he asked softly.
You barely cracked one eye open and a sleepy hum escaped your lips as you nodded slightly in response, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Mm, yes.”
His heart melted at the sight. He had seen you wake up only a handful of times. Usually if the two of you slept in one bed together you were the first one to wake up.
You sounded so out of it.
“Alright,” he said, trying not to smile too much. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, feeling the softness of your hair beneath his lips. “I’ll get breakfast started then.”
But just as he started to move, you whimpered, the soft, almost pained sound stopping him in his tracks. He froze, unsure of what to do for a second, his heart skipping a beat.
“Stay...” you murmured, your voice low and drowsy, your body still nestled against the warmth of his chest.
He smiled, shaking his head lightly. “You need to eat, Y/N. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
He didn’t want to be away from you, but he knew you needed to get up. You had to eat and probably start drawing whatever you still needed to draw for your assignment.
You groaned in response, squinting your eyes closed again. But then, you slowly allowed him to shift away, the tiniest sigh escaping your lips. You looked at him for a moment, your gaze still clouded with sleep, before you gave him a lazy smile, still blinking away the sleep in your eyes.
“Okay…” you mumbled.
“Alright, I’ll be back soon,” he said softly, sliding out of bed. As he moved towards the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder at you, still lying there, all tangled in the blankets.
He couldn’t help but smile.
──────────────────────
Sunghoon felt your presence behind him before he saw you. He heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him and paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow, not expecting you to follow so quickly.
Before he could react, you pressed your body gently into his back, your face nestling against his shoulder blade. He froze for a moment, feeling your warmth against him, and a quiet laugh bubbled up from deep within his chest.
He knew you were kinda clingy, when you liked someone. He had seen how you liked to be close to Mark, how you sometimes followed Sunoo or Renjun like a lost duckling in the hallways of the university and has had the pleasure of you somehow clinging to him as well. Coming to the kitchen to work in silence while he was cooking, sitting down on the sofa to watch whatever he was watching, even if he knew you weren't interested, cuddling on the sofa or one of your beds when one of you felt down.
But it wasn’t like you to be so forward.
When he turned around to face you, he was met with your eyes, they were wide and a little uncertain, and that small, shy smile you always wore when you were feeling bashful. It made his heart soften even more.
His hand instinctively reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers grazing the softness of your skin.
"You okay?" His voice was low, a soft question, as he studied you, the tender expression on his face betraying his own racing thoughts.
“I... didn’t think it would feel like this,” you finally muttered, almost shyly, your gaze flickering to the floor before meeting his eyes again. “I mean... it’s... different than I thought it would be.”
Sunghoon smiled, his thumb brushing over your cheek again. "It’s okay," he said softly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
He saw the hesitation in your eyes before you carefully placed your hands on his chest, looking up at him, slightly clumsy in your movements but so endearing. "I just... want to know how," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t really know what I’m doing."
His heart skipped a beat, a quiet warmth spreading through him. Sunghoon couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound of it light and full of affection. “You’re doing just fine,” he reassured you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss.
This time, when your lips met his, it was softer, slower. There was no rush. His hands gently found their way to your back, pulling you closer but not forcing anything. He just wanted to be close.
You kissed him back, your lips tentative at first but gradually growing more confident as you moved with him.
It wasn’t perfect.
There were moments of awkwardness, a little shifting as you both figured out the rhythm, but it felt right. It felt... new.
When you finally pulled away, your breathing was a little heavier, and there was that nervous little smile on your face, making Sunghoon’s chest ache with affection.
“That wasn’t so bad, huh?” he teased gently, his thumb brushing over your lips before he smiled down at you, his gaze soft.
You looked up at him, your cheeks flushed . “I- no- no it's nice. I like kissing you.”
Sunghoon couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. It was a little silly, maybe, how happy he felt about something so simple.
"I’m glad," he whispered.
──────────────────────
The days after your first kiss were somehow weird. Nice. But weird.
Your and Sunghoons dynamic didn’t really change after you kissed.
What changed were the small things. Like how Sunghoon had developed a tendency to press a kiss to your forehead or the crown of your head whenever he walked past you. At first, it startled you. Then it became something you looked forward to.
Sunoo teasingly claimed it was because Sunghoon didn’t want to overwhelm you by kissing you all the time. Since you really didn’t have much experience there and maybe Sunghoon was afraid you would be uncomfortable.
You wouldn’t have been.
You wouldn’t have minded at all if Sunghoon kissed you more.
In fact, you wanted him to.
You liked the way it felt, his fingers slipping into your hair, the warm pressure of his mouth against yours, the way your breath always caught for a second b. You liked being close to him. That simple.
It was a Thursday evening, the day you handed in your final model in Sustainability, when you surprised both of you.
You were standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands still damp from rinsing a cutting board, when you heard the familiar clink of keys and the quiet creak of the front door.
Sunghoon padded over behind you, still smelling faintly like his perfume, even after training. He must have brought it to the rink and sprayed it on again. You felt him lean in to press a kiss to the crown of your head.
But this time, you moved first.
You tilted your head up on instinct. The angle was a little off, his nose bumped yours, but it didn’t matter. Your lips caught his, quick and soft, before you could overthink it.
You surprised yourself.
And him.
His eyes were wide for half a second, startled, and then they softened.
You whispered a quiet, breathless, “Hi,” against his lips.
Sunghoon smiled softly, his hand reaching up to caress your face. He really liked doing that as well.
“Hi,” he whispered back, eyes still on yours.
Then, with the other hand against your jaw, fingers brushing just under your ear, he tilted your head up a bit and kissed you again. Slower this time. Deeper. And everything in you went quiet and full, like a held breath exhaled at last.
Sunghoon's thumb brushed along your jaw as he pulled back slightly, breath still warm against your skin. His eyes, gentle and a little tired from training, crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Sorry," he murmured, voice low. “I didn’t shower in the rink, I’m a bit gross. I just came to check if you ate.”
You blinked up at him. Right. Eating.
You wordlessly lifted a finger and pointed toward the calendar hanging by the fridge.
He turned, followed your line of sight and laughed softly. A new sticker sat under the day's date, small and shiny. This one was a tiny white puppy with a floppy ear and a pink tongue sticking out.
"New pack?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
You nodded, and he reached up to brush his thumb once under your eye, so softly it barely counted as touch.
“You’re too cute,” he said. His voice was so warm, so fond. You were so happy you got to see Sunghoon like this.
He leaned in again, just one more press of lips to yours.
“I’m gonna shower, okay?” he said as he pulled away, slowly, reluctantly.
You nodded again, feeling lightheaded in the nicest possible way.
As he disappeared down the hallway, you stopped for a moment, the soft overhead light casting a golden glow on the counter and the fruit you had forgotten about entirely.
You were giddy.
Your knees felt a little weak and your lips tingled.
You popped a grape into your mouth and padded to the couch with the plate in hand, settling into the cushions like you had a secret folded under your skin.
You didn’t even pick a show right away - just sat there for a while, nibbling fruit, listening to the sound of water running through the walls, your fingers pressed against your lips.
──────────────────────
When Sunghoon padded out of the bathroom, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, hoodie sleeves pushed up over his forearms, the first thing he noticed was how quiet the apartment had gotten. The radio that was playing in the kitchen when he came home was quiet and he didn’t hear the TV making any sounds.
Then he saw you. You were curled up on the sofa, blanket sliding off your shoulder, the plate of fruit halfway eaten empty on the table.
He chuckled under his breath, ruffling his hair with a towel before tossing it over his shoulder. “Didn’t you say you wanted to watch the episode?” he asked gently, kneeling next to the couch.
You whined softly, not bothering to open your eyes. “I did…” your voice was muffled by the cushion. “But I'm too tired. I don’t want to get up.”
Sunghoon smiled, shaking his head fondly. “Come on, sleepy. Let’s get you to bed.”
When you didn't move, he sighed and simply slipped one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifted you with surprising ease.
“Sunghoon!” you protested faintly, eyes fluttering open now.
But he just grinned down at you, walking toward his room with careful steps. “You didn’t move to get up, so now you don’t have to.”
You buried your face in his shoulder, hiding your flushed cheeks. “I didn’t mean you had to carry me.”
He set you down gently at the edge of his bed, grabbing his laptop to queue up the episode again. “Go get ready, yeah? You’re not sleeping in jeans again.”
You pouted, fingers curling around the hem of his hoodie
It took a moment before you finally shuffled off to the bathroom. When you returned your hair was pulled back in a neat braid and your eyes were half-lidded with sleep. He was already under the covers, the screen glowing with the paused episode.
You climbed in beside him without a word, immediately curling into his side, arm around his waist, cheek to his chest.
“Better?” he murmured, adjusting the blanket around you.
You nodded sleepily, lips barely brushing against the fabric of his shirt. “Mmhm.”
He kissed the top of your head, soft and slow and started the episode.
You were asleep before the second scene.
──────────────────────
You pushed the broccoli on your plate to the side.
It wasn’t even that much food. Not really. It should be more.
But it even the small dinner portion felt like a mountain today
Your stomach felt full from breakfast and lunch and the little snacks you ate in between.
Your mind had started counting again the second you sat down. Like a reel stuck on loop.
210 for the rice. 130 for the chicken. The oil? 40? 50? That made…
You stopped.
Didn’t want to know.
Wanted to know so badly it ached.
The numbers didn’t add up right. Or they added up too much. Or not enough.
This week was supposed to be better.
You were supposed to try harder.
You upped your calorie intake goal last monday.
Just like you had done a week before and a week before that one. You meal prepped your breakfst and lunch, your snacks, cooked with Sunghoon, when both of you were home and not stuck in the academy to prerp for exams.
Your did best to eat it all.
You couldn't.
Not once.
But somehow your stomach rebelled every time. Either you felt too full, too fast, or just sick at the thought of finishing a full plate.
You hadn’t filled in your calendar once. Not a single dog. Not even the tiny one Sunghoon said counted “just for trying.”
You felt like you were breaking your own promises.
Like you were letting everyone down.
However that wasn't the worst thing.
You were lying.
You got home before Sunghoon today. He had group work again, most of the people in his classes being athletes meant that most meetings started late and dragged past 10. He texted you “Dinner together?” and you’d typed “Already ate! But I’ll sit with you :)" before you could overthink it.
Then you tossed the leftover broccoli and chicken into the trash can, tied the bag up and brought it downstairs. You rinsed your plate and the one you usually used for your fruits and set them in the sink.
And you hated yourself a little for it. Not only for wasting food. But for even knowing what to do to make it believable you ate. And did so, for the third time in a row now
You knew Sunghoon would be supportive even if you couldn't eat today.
But maybe he would be mad you lied.
Sunghoon never got mad.
But because he’d be kind.
He’d be soft.
You were disappointing him.
You blinked hard and wiped your palms on your thighs.
It’s just food.
It’s just dinner.
It’s just one stupid sticker.
But it felt like proof.
Proof that you failed.
That you weren't getting better, no many how many people helped you.
──────────────────────
You heard the soft click of the front door unlocking before his familiar footsteps padded down the hallway. You sat up straighter on the couch, quickly grabbing your phone to pretend you hadn’t just been staring blankly at the floor.
He stepped into the living room, hair a little damp from the evening drizzle, eyes tired but bright when they landed on you.
“Hey,” he said softly, and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.
You were grateful–so, so grateful–he kissed you there and not on your lips.
You weren’t sure what your breath might smell like after hours of nothing but water and mint gum.
But you weren’t hungry.
That was the worst part.
You were feeling so full even if you didn't eat enough for your dog. Even if the thought of doing so made your stomach lurch.
Sunghoon dropped onto the couch next to you with a tired exhale, stretching out long beside you. “Group work is the worst,” he muttered, tipping his head to the side to look at you. “I swear half the time is just arguing over who’s doing what. And I got roped into designing the slides again.”
You smiled faintly, nodding. You wanted to ask him more, about the project, about the annoying guy in his group he always complained about, but the words didn’t make it to your mouth. Everything was muffled behind a thick, dull fog.
His voice softened. “You okay?”
You blinked and forced your lips into a gentler curve. “Yeah,” you said. “Just… think I’ve got a migraine coming on.”
His brows pulled together in quiet concern. “Do you want me to get your stuff?”
You shook your head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. I took something already. I just—” you leaned a little into the couch cushions, “—need to rest, I think.”
He nodded slowly, eyes scanning your face like he didn’t quite believe you but wasn’t going to push.
“I’ll be right back,” he said after a second. “Gonna wash off real quick.”
You nodded again and watched him disappear down the hallway.
And then you were alone again.
You curled your fingers into the hem of your sweater and exhaled.
You weren’t even sure what you needed to do to feel better.
To eat?
To cry?
To stop feeling like this?
But the only thing you were sure of was this:
You didn’t want him to know.
A few minutes later Sunghoon rounded the couch and dropped down beside you. The cushions dipped under his weight, his familiar warmth filling the small space between you both.
You kept your smile in place, the same soft, practiced curve of your lips. But you felt too aware of your body–of the weight in your stomach, the lingering guilt simmering under your skin.
He stretched his legs out, leaning his head back against the couch, exhaling like he was finally able to breathe again. "I swear I am so glad when my exams are over," he groaned.
You nodded, letting out a faint hum in agreement.
But his gaze flickered to you almost immediately.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.
Your breath caught, and you stared at the screen of your phone, forcing yourself to keep your tone light. “Yeah, just… tired.”
He didn’t say anything right away.
You could feel his eyes on you, lingering like he was searching for something you weren’t ready to give.
The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten.
A beat passed.
“Did you eat something good for dinner? I'm going to make myself something, do you want to eat a bit with me?” he asked, softer this time.
Your heart stuttered painfully against your ribs. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, nodding with a small smile you hoped looked convincing. “Mhm. I’m fine, I already ate dinner.”
Another pause.
He shifted closer, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind you. "Did you get your little dog sticker?" His voice was light–teasing–but you could hear the quiet worry threaded beneath it.
Your stomach dropped.
You didn’t look at him, just stared at your hands in your lap as your smile faltered for a split second.
And that was all it took.
His hand gently brushed over your arm. "Y/N," he said softly, "you know you don’t have to lie to me, right? It's okay if you're not feeling okay."
Your throat tightened painfully.
“I’m not—” You stopped yourself. The words tangled. Lying felt worse when he said it like that.
He shifted again, moving to face you fully this time, his knee brushing yours. “It’s okay if you didn’t reach your goal today.” His voice was quiet, careful. “I’m still proud of you for trying.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes before you could stop them.
You shook your head, blinking hard, unable to look at him. “I just… I thought you’d be disappointed.”
“Hey,…” His hand found yours, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Why would I be disappointed?”
“Because I couldn’t…” You swallowed, the guilt finally pushing its way to the surface. “I couldn’t do it right. Not today. Not this week. I wanted to-but it’s just-” Your breath hitched. “It’s not enough.”
He was quiet for a moment before his hand squeezed yours, grounding and warm.
“It’s always enough,” he said softly. “You’re always enough.”
You finally looked up, and the warmth in his eyes nearly broke you.
“And you don’t have to prove anything to me to make me proud,” he added, voice softer now. “Just… let me be here with you, okay? Even on the days that feel hard.”
Something in your chest cracked open at that.
You nodded, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill. “Okay.”
He pulled you into his side without another word, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.
──────────────────────
You waited until his breathing evened out.
Soft and steady. His arm was draped loosely around your middle, like it always was.
Your chest felt tight. Like the air in your lungs wasn’t settling right. Like you couldn’t breathe.
You slid out from under the covers carefully, inch by inch. His body shifted a little, but he didn’t wake up.
You hoped he didn’t.
The kitchen was mostly dark when you padded in barefoot. The city outside glowed faintly through the sheer curtains, casting pale golden lines across the calendar hanging on the fridge. The little dog stickers stared back at you, soft and silly and so stupidly kind-looking it made something inside your chest twist.
None for the last week.
You’d tried.
You really, really tried.
But every time you sat down in front of a plate, something clenched in your gut. The idea of eating more made your throat tight. You felt full already. And not in a satisfied way. In a sick way.
But still you told Sunghoon you had eaten.
You even rinsed off the plate and put it in the sink so it looked like you had.
You had lied to him.
Your eyes burned, staring at that empty row on the calendar. You hugged your knees to your chest, curling up on one of the kitchen chairs like you used to do when you were younger.
Everything felt too big and too loud and too much.
You didn’t hear him at first.
But then there was the softest creak of the floorboard behind you, and you turned, startled, to see Sunghoon standing at the edge of the hallway. His bleached hair was messy from sleep, a faint crease on one cheek. He was just in sweatpants and a t-shirt, the sleeves pushed up. His eyes locked on yours almost immediately.
“Y/N…” he said softly, his voice thick with sleep and something else.
Concern.
You looked away.
He walked toward you, bare feet making almost no sound and crouched down beside your chair, resting one hand on the armrest, the other lightly brushing your calf.
“You okay?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You shook your head, then nodded. You weren’t sure which one was truer.
He followed your gaze to the calendar, to the bare stretch of empty squares. You felt your lip wobble and hated it.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“Don’t,” he said immediately, quietly. His hand slid up to your knee, warm and grounding. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I just… I wanted to do better this week.”
“I know.”
“I thought if I just told you I ate enough you wouldn’t be–” You broke off.
He didn’t flinch. “I’m not disappointed in you. I’ll never be.”
You finally looked at him.
He held your gaze for a long moment. And then he stood up slowly, his hand reaching out toward you.
“Come back to bed,” he said, so gently it made your chest ache.
You hesitated.
But then you let him pull you up. Let him wrap your hand in his and guide you through the soft dark of the apartment. Back to the bedroom, back to the bed still warm from where you’d left him.
He pulled the covers up around you, then slid in behind you, arm curling around your waist again.
You exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.
And he didn’t say anything else.
Just pressed his lips to the back of your neck, and held you close.
──────────────────────
You woke up to the warmth of his chest against your back, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. His arm was still around you, hand resting lightly beneath your ribs.
You blinked at the soft light filtering through the curtains.
It was still morning.
Late, maybe.
Sunghoon was awake.
You knew it before he spoke. You felt it in the way his thumb was tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your side. His lips brushed your shoulder.
“Good morning.” he said softly.
You swallowed. “Morning, Hoon.”
“You slept in today.”
You turned slowly onto your back, the sheets rustling as his arm shifted with you. He was looking at you. His hair was a mess, and you could see the stubble of his bear along his chin.
“I’m sorry,” you said again, voice small.
“Y/N.”
You bit your lip. “You skipped training.”
“I texted my coach,” he said. “It’s fine.”
“But it’s not fine. I didn’t mean to make you-”
“You didn’t make me do anything,” he cut in gently. “I wanted to stay.”
You looked away, blinking fast.
“I wasn’t trying to hide things from you,” you whispered. “I just… I thought if I could at least pretend I was okay, you wouldn’t have to worry.”
His hand came up, warm and solid against your cheek, guiding your gaze back to his.
“I’m never disappointed in you,” he said quietly. “And I’d rather worry than be lied to.”
Your throat felt thick.
“I wanted to get that stupid sticker,” you mumbled.
“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “But not eating enough to earn it doesn’t make you a failure. It just means we’re still figuring things out.”
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
After a long pause, he sighed through his nose. “Hey… remember I told you my friends were thinking of grabbing dinner tonight?”
You glanced at him, brows knitting together.
“You said I could come if I wanted to.”
“That’s still true. I know crowds aren’t always your favorite thing, but maybe having a few people around could… I don’t know. Make eating feel less like a thing for a night.”
You thought about it.
After a few seconds you nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s try that.”
A small smile tugged at his lips, warm and proud and relieved all at once.
He leaned forward to press a kiss to your temple. “We’ll take it slow.”
And you believed him.
──────────────────────
Sunghoon saw you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you smiled at something Heeseung’s girlfriend said, your fingers fidgeting slightly beneath the table.
The grill in the center hissed with grease and heat, smoke curling in slow spirals above the sizzling slices of pork belly. He sat beside you, tongs in one hand, quietly turning the meat, brushing it with marinade. Mark told him you used to love samgyopsal.
Now, he watched you hesitate before picking up a piece with your chopsticks. You chewed slowly, nodding as Jay’s girlfriend offered you some of her favorite dipping sauce. You thanked her softly. Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
Sunghoon knew. He knew that you were feeling off a bit today.
Yesterday.
Probably the whole last week, since you told him you’d try to eat another 100 kcal more every day now. Since you failed to reach that goal every day for a week now.
He hoped that being around people that you enjoyed hanging out with would make it easier. You’ve told him before that you really liked his friends and you ate almost an entire steak the last time when Jay, Jake and Heeseung were over.
But you were quiet tonight. Not withdrawn, just…watchful. You laughed here and there, made conversation, but you weren’t fully with them.
He glanced across the table at his friends, who were animated and loud, clinking soju glasses and stacking lettuce wraps with an alarming amount of garlic. And then he looked to the left - at the two girls from his training crew who’d shown up last minute.
You hadn’t said much to them. You’d made the effort, Sunghoon had noticed that too, but he could see you pulling back. It was like the two of them were making everything worse. He just couldn’t understand why.
Sunghoon saw Wonie shift in her seat beside you, tucking her napkin onto her lap before leaning a little closer.
"You’re in architecture, right?" she asked, her voice bright. "I think that’s so cool. You must be, like, crazy good at drawing."
You smiled, he saw that, but it was that careful, polite kind you used when you were feeling awkward. The one you gave him when he just moved in. When you didn’t know how to answer. “Sometimes,” you said softly, and your fingers toyed with the rim of your glass.
Wonie laughed, unbothered. “Oh! The paintings in your apartment are clearly showing that you don’t just sometimes draw crazy good. They are so beautiful.”
You nodded, still smiling, but Sunghoon could see how your shoulders had crept higher, your posture a little too stiff. You were trying so hard.
He wished so badly it would be easier for you.
Sunghoon made sure to keep your plate from going empty, not pushing too much meat, because he knew that was hard. But sweetened pickled radish. A few rice cakes. Rolled omelet. Tiny bites of manageable food, colorful and easy to chew.
After a while you excused yourself to go to the restroom. When you got up, Wonyoung waited until you were out of earshot before turning to him and Heeseung, a crease forming between her brows.
“Is she okay?” she asked, low enough that the others couldn’t hear. “I was trying to talk to her, but she seemed kinda… out of it.”
Heeseung leaned back in his seat, mouth already full of pork belly, and shrugged slightly. “She’s probably just having a rough day. She’s not always super talkative, but she usually warms up. It’s not personal.”
He and Heesueng often talked about you. Sunghoon has told him how you were doing, kept him updated because Heeseung himself asked quite frequently how you were doing. He assumed it was because Heesung knew what it meant to love someone who was struggling. Sunghoon was aware that Heeseungs his friends' girlfriends has had a hard life as well and even if she didn’t let it shine through too often, Heeseung had told him that she was often struggling as well.
So he guessed Heeseung kinda knew what was going on with you tonight.
He knew Heeseung, even if he was getting giggly and drunk, would never tell a stranger about it though.
Wonie nodded, but glanced back toward the hallway. “She seems really sweet. Just... quiet.”
Sunghoon didn’t say much. He just hummed, his eyes fixed on the bathroom door.
Because yeah. You were sweet. You were quiet.
And that was okay.
When you came back to the table, Sunghoon’s eyes went to your face first, like they always did, and then, almost unconsciously, drifted down to your hands.
Your knuckles looked normal. No redness. No telltale signs.
But he still looked. Every time.
He told himself he wasn’t being paranoid. Not really. Just… cautious. Just watching.
Because he knew you. Knew how hard you tried, how strict you could be with yourself. He’d seen your calendar, the quiet pride on your face when you stuck a little dog sticker onto the square. But he also knew the days you didn’t.
He knew that when you missed a sticker, sometimes it was just a few calories but sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes it was an entire skipped meal. Sometimes it was trying too hard. Always trying too hard.
You’d raised your goal last week. He knew that too.
And you were so strict about it, like one missed calorie was failure. Like one sticker not earned meant you'd let everyone down. Like he would be disappointed.
As if that could ever be true.
Sunghoon leaned forward and turned the grill down a little, just to give his hands something to do. He watched you nudge a piece of sweet pancake around your plate, like you were trying to convince yourself you wanted it.
When you caught his eye, you gave him the smallest smile. A tired one. But real.
He gave you one back and reached for your hand beneath the table, just brushing his fingers over your knuckles once. Soft. Gentle.
──────────────────────
When you got home, it was late and cold outside. The scent of grilled meat clinged to your hair, your clothing. You toed off your shoes in the hallway and padded into the kitchen without a word.
Sunghoon followed a few minutes later after locking the door and flicking off the hallway light. The only glow now came from the small lamp you kept on the kitchen counter, casting a soft golden pool across the room.
You stood in front of the calendar.
He saw the way your shoulders dropped before you even spoke.
“I can’t put a sticker up, Honnie,” you whispered. “Again."
His chest tightened. He didn’t answer right away, just walked up slowly behind you until he could place a gentle hand on your back.
You didn’t flinch, but your head dipped forward like the shame was heavy.
“I tried. I really did. But it just… I couldn’t.”
He didn’t ask how much you missed it by. He already knew it didn’t matter to you, it would still feel like failure to you, no matter the number.
So he spoke softly. “Do you want to lower the goal again? Just a bit?”
You turned to face him slowly, your eyes glossy but dry. “I thought I could handle more,” you said. “I thought it’d make me better. I just wanted to be- I wanted you to be proud.”
His heart cracked a little more at that. He stepped in, arms slipping around your waist, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
“I’m already proud of you,” he murmured into your hair. “Every single day.”
You didn’t reply, just stood there in his arms, arms wound tight around his middle. And maybe he felt the tiniest tremble in your fingers when you finally clutched the fabric of his shirt.
“Let’s change the goal tomorrow,” he whispered. “Not because you failed. But because we’re learning. Okay?”
You nodded against him.
“Okay.”
──────────────────────
You stared at your phone in disbelief.
You had done it.
You had eaten enough today. You could finally glue a sticker to your calendar again.
You reached for the sticker sheet with slightly trembling fingers. Sunghoon bought another pack of dog stickers a few days ago. These ones were pale yellow puppies with pink cheeks. You peeled one off carefully and placed it onto the day’s square, softly pressing it down.
A breath broke out of your chest, and you felt lighter. Then a laugh. Then, without thinking, you were calling Sunghoon.
He picked up halfway through the fourth ring, a bit breathless, the shouting of his coach over someone's music locker muffled in the background. “Hey, Y/Nie—what’s up?”
You sat down at the kitchen table, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.
“I did it,” you whispered. “I get a dog today.”
There was a pause, half a beat, before he made a soft, stunned sound, full of joy.
“You did?”
“I did.”
“Wait – hold on,” he said, voice muffled as he must’ve turned to cover the receiver. Then clearer, “I’m so proud of you. Wait– wait, I have something, too.”
Your smile grew impossibly wider. “What?”
“I qualified,” he said. “For the invitational next spring. My coach just told me.”
Your hand flew to your mouth. “No way.”
“Yeah. I don’t know how that happened but it seems like my lucky streak is back!”
You felt like bursting. You felt full. In the best way.
You whispered, “We did so good today.”
He chuckled, soft and low. “Yeah, we did.”
As you hung up, a warm, calm feeling settled over you. You had decided to lower the calorie goal and that was okay. You had listened to Ten, to Johnny, to Mark and to Sunghoon.
They all told you it was okay to stagnate for a little while.
Recovery wasn’t meant to be linear.
It was okay to take a step back. You weren’t giving up, you were just being kinder to yourself.
You still had work to do, but you weren’t trying to run a marathon when you weren’t even sure how to walk yet.
Without thinking, you picked up your pen and reached for the calendar again.
You drew two tiny stars next to the dog sticker. Then three more. Then a few sparkles in gold.
One for him.
One for you.
One for both of you.
You smiled at the sight, your heart swelling just a little bit.
You stared at the stars, the gold dots gleaming in the soft kitchen light.
You had earned this.
It felt good to say that.
When Sunghoon came home, he paused at the door, eyes falling on the calendar before he even took off his shoes. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You really did it?” he asked, his voice warm with a mixture of pride and affection.
You nodded, suddenly feeling more confident than you had in a long time. “I did. And… I’m okay with it. I think I made the right choice by lowering the calorie goal.”
His eyes softened as he walked closer, lifting his hand to brush his fingers through your hair and cradle your face. “I’m proud of you. I’m really proud of you.”
Your heart swelled. You had no idea what you would’ve done without him, without this space where you could grow. And even though you didn’t have all the answers, you were beginning to understand that it was okay.
Sunghoon smiled at the calendar again. “I think I might need to get you more dog stickers,” he teased, pulling you into a closer.
You laughed softly. “You’re gonna spoil me,” you said, a playful glint in your eye.
“I’m gonna spoil you because you deserve it,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making your chest warm, before he pressed a kiss to your lips.
──────────────────────
The wind was a little too chilly and you buried your face in Sunghoon's scarf.
It smelled so distinctly of him.
Of home.
You’ve just handed in your last model for this semester and were walking back home instead of taking the bus. It was a forty minute walk, but you enjoyed seeing something else than your apartment, the studio or the rink.
You found yourself walking aimlessly, when something caught your eye.
An elegant, minimalist hair salon with a large glass window showcasing sleek, shiny haircuts and smooth blowouts.
You paused.
You had been thinking about cutting your hair for a while now. It was brittle and thin and you had it in a braid more times than not, since it was long enough to annoy you.
Maybe it was time for a change.
You walked up to the door, hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open. The salon was warm, and the air smelled faintly of floral-scented hair products. A stylist greeted you with a smile.
"Hi, welcome! How can I help you today?"
You smiled, trying to sound casual, even though your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. "Uh, I was wondering if you had any slots available today?"
She checked her schedule, her fingers tapping lightly on the screen. "We do have one opening in an hour. Would that work for you?"
You nodded eagerly. “Yes, perfect. I’ll be back then.”
She handed you a quick form to fill out and you wandered out of the salon, mind buzzing. What were you even doing? You didn’t even have a clear idea of what kind of cut you wanted. You only knew that you needed to change something.
You strolled around the nearby shops, your thoughts running wild. You ended up spending most of the time in a arts and crafts store, trying out different new pens and materials and buying new stickers. Snowmen, since winter and christmas was right around the corner.
You glanced at the time on your phone and hurried back to the salon. When you returned, the stylist was ready for you, and she smiled at you warmly as she led you to the chair.
“So, what are we doing today?” she asked, setting the cape around your shoulders.
You took a deep breath and smiled shyly. “I’m not really sure what I want, but I think... I want to go shorter. Maybe above my shoulders? Something that will make my hair look fuller and give it some life?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Got it. I think going shorter will help with volume. Do you want layers, or just a clean chop?”
You hesitated for a moment, then decided, “Layers sound good. Something soft, but not too much. I want it to feel light, not too heavy.”
The stylist smiled and gave you a reassuring nod. “Sounds perfect. Let’s do it.”
As she began cutting, you sank into the chair, your thoughts running quietly in the background. It felt good to take control of something for once, to make a change without worrying about the consequences
By the time the cut was done, you looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled softly. It was shorter than you expected, but in a good way. It framed your face, the layers adding a bit of volume and movement. You ran your fingers through it.
When the stylist finished, she spun the chair around so you could get a full look. “How does that feel?”
“Good,” you said, feeling a rush of confidence you hadn’t had in a while. “I think I love it.”
She smiled. “Great choice. It’s always refreshing to try something new.”
You paid for the cut and thanked her profusely before heading back out into the city streets.
As you stepped out of the salon and walked back toward your apartment, your mind started to race. Would Sunghoon think it looks good?
He had always liked your hair. Loved it, really.
He loves to run his fingers through it whenever he had the chance to. He always told you he loved how long and pretty it was.
It wasn’t long anymore.
More of a bob, just above your shoulders, with soft layers framing your face. It was fresh, bouncy, and definitely gave off a different vibe.
Would he think you were still... pretty?
You chewed your bottom lip, glancing at your reflection in the windows as you passed by the shops. The bob looked great, but you were still unsure if it was exactly what he would expect or if he would even like it.
But it’s not about what he expects, you reminded yourself.
It’s about what you want.
──────────────────────
Sunghoon’s arms were overflowing as he fumbled his way through the door, balancing a grocery bag precariously in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. His key clattered noisily onto the side table as he shoved the door open with his hip, barely managing to keep the apples that were laying on the top from rolling out of the bag.
"Hi Y/N! I am ho-" he stopped mid sentence.
You were standing in the kitchen preparing dinner.
And your hair—
He blinked, stunned, trying to process what he was seeing.
It was shorter.
Soft waves curled just beneath your chin, brushing against your neck in a way that made his stomach flip violently.
God, you looked so beautiful.
Sunghoon didn’t even remember letting go of the bags, only registering the soft thump of them hitting the floor a second later.
All he could see was you.
All he could think about was you.
Before he knew it, he was crossing the room in three big strides, almost tripping over himself in his rush to get to you.
You turned around at the sound, eyes widening slightly at the sudden movement, and gave him the shyest, tiniest smile.
Without thinking, Sunghoon cupped your face in his hands, his fingers immediately finding their way into the soft strands of your new haircut.
It felt so different.
Lighter.
Softer.
“Do you like it?” you asked, voice so small he almost missed it.
“Like it?” he repeated, his voice hoarse. He huffed out a laugh, disbelieving, awestruck. “Baby, you look–”
He didn’t even finish.
Instead, he dipped his head down and kissed you, hard.
You let out a startled little squeak against his mouth, hands flailing for half a second before settling against his chest.
His mouth slanted over yours desperately and a little clumsy, like he couldn’t get close enough fast enough. His fingers slid into your soft, feather-light hair, brushing through the strands at the nape of your neck, cradling you to him.
For a second he feared that overwhelmed you and that you wanted to stop kissing, that you wanted to pull away.
You didn’t.
In fact, you tilted your head up, chasing after him just as eagerly, your giggle bubbling against his mouth.
He pulled back a fraction to breathe, but didn’t even make it a full second before diving back in, kissing you again. His hand slipped from your hair down to your waist, tugging you flush against him.
He savored the way you melted against him, the way your fingers slipped up to tangle in the fabric of his hoodie.
He could feel the way your heart raced against his chest, matching the frantic beat of his own.
He should have stopped there.
He should have.
But Sunghoon was completely, hopelessly addicted to you.
He kissed you again, and again, and again.
Each kiss grew deeper, a little more desperate.
He couldn’t help it.
Couldn’t help the way his hands slid down to your waist, couldn’t help the way his thumb traced the line of your jaw, memorizing every inch of you.
You broke apart, gasping, and he caught a glimpse of your flushed cheeks and the wide, dazed smile you gave him.
“Sunghoon–” you started, laughing breathlessly.
He cut you off with another kiss, just because he could.
This time slower, more deliberate, his lips teasing at the corners of your mouth before fully capturing them again.
His hands roamed, stroking your sides, feeling the way you trembled just slightly under his touch.
You weren’t exactly passive either. Your hands slid up his chest, fists bunching in the front of his shirt to pull him closer. When he flicked his tongue lightly against your lower lip, testing, you gasped, the sound shooting straight through him like a live wire.
He pulled back again, barely, resting his forehead against yours, panting a little.
“God,” he muttered, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a kind of reverence. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?”
You smiled, all shy and giddy, still half in his arms.
“I just got a haircut…” you whispered, almost like you couldn’t believe the reaction you were getting.
Sunghoon shook his head, pulling you impossibly closer.
“It’s not just the haircut. It’s you. It’s always been you.”
He laughed breathlessly, pressing another quick kiss to your nose, your forehead, your cheeks, until you were giggling uncontrollably and hiding your face in his chest.
God. He loved you so much it hurt.
He nuzzled into your hair, breathing you in, and mumbled, “I think dinner’s gonna have to wait a little longer.”
You only laughed harder, and Sunghoon smiled so wide it made his cheeks ache.
He held you there for a moment, your heart beating against his, his hands stroking gently through your freshly cut hair before you pulled back, looped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss him again.
His mouth moved against yours with slow, heady urgency, coaxing little gasps from you that made him grin against your lips. You shifted, standing on your toes to kiss him back harder, and he groaned quietly in approval, his fingers flexing where they held you.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sunghoon knew he should slow down, but it was so hard when you were right here in your shared kitchen, wrapped around him.
He kissed you until both of you were dizzy, until your giggles had melted into soft whimpers against his lips.
And even then, he only pulled away reluctantly, trailing kisses along your jaw, your temple, savoring every second, every inch of you.
When he finally leaned back enough to look at you, your cheeks were flushed, your lips kiss-swollen, and your eyes shining up at him like he hung the stars.
You both just stood there, breathing each other in, hearts racing, faces so close he could feel your every exhale.
“I guess… you like the haircut?” you teased softly, breathless.
Sunghoon laughed, low and breathy, his thumb brushing the edge of your smile.
“Like doesn’t even cover it, baby.”
He kissed you again, gentler now.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered into your skin. “You’re so perfect it’s actually unfair.”
And when you hid your face in his chest, giggling and overwhelmed, Sunghoon just held you tighter, knowing in his bones that he never wanted to let you go.
Not now. Not ever.
──────────────────────
The jewelry store was quiet except for the soft hum of the lights above and the occasional muted conversation between staff and customers.
Sunghoon stood at the counter, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, his heart hammering against his ribs.
In front of him, under the glass, sat dozens of glittering rings, each one more beautiful than the last.
And somehow, none of them felt good enough.
“She’s gonna love whatever you pick, you know that, right?”
Heeseung’s voice cut through his swirling thoughts.
Sunghoon looked over at him, managing a weak laugh. “Yeah. I know. I’m just-” He shook his head, exhaling sharply. “I want it to be perfect.”
Heeseung leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a little half-smile.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said, nudging Sunghoon lightly with his elbow. “You’ve been together forever. She’s already picked you, dumbass. She would probably marry you in a paper ring.”
Sunghoon huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
He was right. You probably would.
Heeseung tilted his head, that familiar glint in his eye. “Remember what I told you? Way back when? If you played your cards right, those monkey stickers would stay forever?”
He grinned. “Guess what, bro? You played ‘em right. Your little monkey’s still around.”
Sunghoon’s chest tightened at the nickname.
You didn’t need the sticker charts anymore, not for years now.
But somehow Heeseung still teasingly called you ‘monkey,’.
Sunghoon still has that calender with the many different stickers in a little box in his closet. He took it out from time to time. Years had passed, but in Sunghoon’s mind, it felt like time had both flown by and stood still all at once. He was no longer just the aspiring skater, chasing a dream. He had made it. His name was known in the skating world now. He had won the olympics, not once but twice. And through it all, you had been there.
Sunghoon smiled down at the glass, a lump growing in his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She’s still here.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His mind drifted back to those small moments he spend with you. Those quiet nights on the sofa, wathcing silly dramas, talking, sleeping together, first in your small shared student apartment, then one in Busan, and now the one in your apartment near the olympia park. He had seen you blossom–recovering, becoming the strong, beautiful woman you were today.
He cleared his throat and glanced over at Heeseung. “I don’t think I ever really thanked you for everything back then.”
Heeseung shrugged, but there was warmth in his eyes. “You don’t have to. Just watching the two of you… that’s enough, man.”
He nodded at the rings. “You’ve both earned this. All of it. It’s about time you made her your forever. Now hurry up and pick one so you can make it official already. Before I start crying or something, and then we’ll both be embarrassed.”
Sunghoon laughed, and leaned closer to the glass, his fingers tapping nervously against the edge.
One particular ring caught his eye.
Simple. Elegant.
Not flashy, but quietly beautiful.
Just like you.
He pointed at it. “That one.” His voice was firm, certain. “That’s the one.”
Heeseung whistled low under his breath. “Oh it's pretty. Monkey’s gonna lose her mind.”
Sunghoon grinned.
He could already imagine it, your hands trembling as he slipped the ring onto your finger, your watery smile, the way you’d throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest.
He could picture every second of it.
“She’s my everything,” Sunghoon said quietly, almost to himself.
Heeseung clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And you’re hers. Always have been.”
This was it.
The start of your forever.
A forever he had fought for, that you both had earned with every smile, every late-night talk, every sticker on that old calendar.
Thank you so much for reading!
Lots of Love,
Patty
all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ
⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ
ᝰ taglist. @firstclassjaylee @enhaprettystars @vantxx95 @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @jaylvrsworld @xylatox @bluxjun @sumzysworld @outroherrr @50-husbands @ikeumina @softchannie @sirens-dreams @schmocolateschmchip @vviolynn @nishiimuraka @enhalxvr @ijustreallylike2read @enhastolemyheart @wintereals @planetmarlowe @baeeeeah @wonzzziezzzz @mochamvgz @lovtaesunu @makeme1cream @stars4jo @vviolynn @lylaloopsie @meimeiyh @motherscrustytoenailclippings @haerni @sooberriesx @nishiimuraka (did this actually work? Somehow I can’t use any of the links from the tags?)
ᝰ an. Its done. 87.583 words later. I am so happy with how this turned out. I also did infact not sleep or do my uni stuff for the last week, because I so desperately wanted to finish this and see what my brain would be coimng up with. The quality probably suffered a bit under my sleep deprived brain working on this... I actually forgot to write a few scenes I planned to include, but I'll probably release them as one shots at one point. Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story and waiting for the final parts. It has been a long ride. ₊ ⊹
summary — after your last relationship, you swore you'd never fall for anyone again. that is, until you met a certain yang jungwon.
pairing — friend!jungwon x fem!reader
genre — angst and fluff, university!au, slight crack, slow-burn
wc — 5.1k
warnings — tbh nothing i think
a/n — based on a true story 👍🏽 just finished uni! so here is a present for u all. also i feel like there are a few slightly niche references in this too so apologies if they confuse u but i promise they have nothing to do with the overall plot. i tried a slightly different approach to writing with this one but i hope u enjoyyyy
your last break up broke you. after it ended, you had rebuilt your walls brick by brick, vowing to never let anyone in again. the world shattering experience of your ex leaving you for the person they said “was just a friend” was too much for you to bear again. ever since then, you steered clear of anyone you found even remotely cute, in fear that you would get hurt again. that was until a certain dimpled boy came along.
it’s the third week of your senior year of university and you were walking to class, half asleep due to your heavy lack of rest (average uni student activities). just as you check your phone for the time, a firm body bumps into you, knocking you to the ground.
“oh my god, i’m so sorry! i didn’t see you there,” his voice, as sweet as honey, calls out to you. you only notice his appearance once he reaches his hand out to help you up. his golden locks were flowing in the wind while big worried eyes stared down at you. with the way he was glowing, you could only assume that he was tapped by King Midas himself. your heart speeds up just by looking at him--god, is it even possible to look this adorable when worried? a couple of seconds pass and you realize that since you got lost in your little marvelling session, you had forgotten to answer him. immediately, you get right up and brush yourself off. “i’m fine, thanks.” you brush past him, hoping you don’t come across him and his gorgeous face again.
what you don’t realize is that the cute stranger himself has plans of his own.
you finally get to your class, proud of yourself for successfully dodging that bullet of a boy. just as you’re settling into your seat, a wave of vanilla and musk fills your senses. when you turn to face the direction of the scent, you’re met with a familiar face.
“hey. you ran away from me pretty quick back there.”
this cannot be happening right now.
there he is, the mysterious stranger that brought you to your knees (literally and figuratively). the shock mixed with the rapid increase of your heart rate has you staring at him with your jaw slack. your silly reaction induces a small, boyish giggle to fall past the stranger’s lips. “what, cat got your tongue?” he asks with a slight lilt in his voice.
“what, no-- what? no! wait, how did you get here? were you always in this class? who are you?” as the jumble of words keep tumbling out of you, his teasing grin grows wider and wider, causing his dimples to peak through.
“okay, let me stop you right there so you don’t embarrass yourself.” he chuckles. “to answer your questions, i got here by walking, which you would have seen if you didn’t run away so fast. yes, i have always been in this class, but i usually sit at the back. and my name is jungwon. i’m a senior, but i’m taking this class as an elective.”
forcing yourself to stop gawking at him, you foster up the courage to respond.
“oh.”
alright, maybe you were being a bit overzealous. you try to think of something else to say, but jungwon beats you to it.
“oh? is that all i get in return?” he asks with a mocking pout. there’s no malice behind his words; at this point he’s just teasing you for the fun of it. however, his reply helps you realize that there’s no reason for you to be acting like a shy little schoolgirl right now. jungwon is literally just a boy. you roll your eyes at him before responding, causing him to raise an eyebrow as his teasing grin returns.
“if you let me finish, i would’ve asked you why you decided to sit up front today, instead of sitting at the back, like you usually do,” you bite back at him.
“i saw you sitting here at the front, and after knocking you over, i thought it would only make sense for me to sit next to you and make sure you were alright.”
“well, i’m fine. you can go back now,” you say without looking at him.
after a beat passes, he responds. “no. i want to sit here. you intrigue me.” with how quick it happened, you almost missed the way his gaze fled to your lips for a split second. key word: almost.
you’re about to tell him to just go to the back when your professor starts their lecture, cutting you off. jungwon smiles cheekily at you as he opens his laptop, getting ready to take notes. it’s okay, this is only a one time thing, you tell yourself. tomorrow, he won’t even remember this interaction, and you’ll be back to sitting by yourself. all alone. which is how it should be. right?
on the other hand, jungwon is having the time of his life. he’s seen you in class before, and with a face like yours, he knew you would cause him trouble. lucky for him, he loves a little bit of chaos. accidentally bumping into you gave him the perfect opportunity to get closer to you.
after class, jungwon goes up to your professor to ask them a question about the upcoming midterm, which you take as an opportunity to leave without having to talk to him again. as you’re rushing out, you hear him call out a loud wait!, which you effectively ignore.
jungwon hastily packs up his things to go after you, but to his dismay, you’re already lost in the sea of post-class students. he doesn’t mind though. tomorrow is a new day.
---
the next day, you sit in the front row of the class, prepared to listen, take notes, then leave without having to speak to anyone, just as usual. but, your plans are once again fumbled by the same blond haired boy.
when you hear the seat next to you being taken, you don’t even need to look. the scent of vanilla and mischief gives him away instantly.
“hi, pretty.”
still not looking at him, you answer back coldly while getting your laptop ready, “what are you doing? what happened to sitting at the back?”
jungwon fakes hurt at your comments, clutching his chest like he was freshly wounded. “i told you, you intrigue me. so, i want to sit with you. also, you still haven’t told me your name.”
refusing to let this conversation go on for longer than it needs to, you give him your name.
jungwon smiles at you. “y/n. hm. suits you.” the fondness in his eyes catches you off guard, so you avert your eyes as subtly as possible, pretending to focus on your professor preparing to start the lecture. what you don’t see is jungwon still looking at you with a small smile on his face.
the lecture starts and ends just like any other class. you gather your belongings, ready to leave when jungwon stops you.
“wait, y/n! don’t go yet,” he says hurriedly before you take your first step out the door. “yeah, jungwon, what’s up?” you reply apathetically.
“come with me.”
you blink at him, completely thrown off. “huh?”
“the midterm is next week, come study with me.” his tone is casual, as if you guys were best friends and this was normal. usually, you wouldn’t be opposed to a study session with a friend. that being said, you’ve had a weird feeling in your gut ever since you met jungwon yesterday. it’s the same feeling you had when you first met your ex. and if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that you would do anything not to let that situation occur again.
“i don’t know…”
“pleeeeease. i need to study and i know i’ll be more motivated to study if i have you there with me! we can study together and help each other with the modules, pleasepleasepleaseplease” he’s practically begging at this point. those brown expressive orbs of his are so dangerous, but you won’t let them faze you…after this one time.
“fine, let’s go.” jungwon’s face lights up. deep dimples form on his cherubic cheeks, causing a strong bright blush to form on yours.
oh yeah, this was a mistake.
---
the two of you reach the campus café and start the study session. everything was going normally, until jungwon needed help with a specific module.
“it doesn’t make any sense! if DNA polymerase can only add nucleotides in one direction, how does it replicate both strands?” you let a smile slip at his endearing confusion, before moving closer to explain the concept to him. while pointing at the textbook diagrams, your fingers brush against his. your hand twitches before you move it away from jungwon’s own warm hand. as you finish clarifying everything, you glance at him to ensure he’s following. as you were so immersed in the topic, you didn’t realize how close you two had gotten. when you turn to him, your faces are only mere centimeters away. your eyes widen as you move back immediately and clear your throat. “uh, does that make more sense now?” you ask, averting your eyes. jungwon chuckles at your awkwardness. he leans back in his chair, tapping his pen. “that sounds… complicated. i don’t think i get it, you’re gonna have to explain it again.” he smirks at you.
you roll your eyes at him. “shut up, i know you understand now.”
“no, i don’t. i really need you to explain it to me again. just one more time, i swear.” good thing he didn’t swear on anyone important because jungwon is lying through his teeth and he knows it. he understood the material ten minutes ago. he just likes the way your voice sounds when you’re focused, the way you get all serious and smart. it makes his heart beat a little faster. not that you need to know that.
“alright, once more, and then i’m going back to my module.”
“sounds good, pretty.”
you feigned indifference at his words and explained the concept one more time, just as jungwon asked you to. after you finish simplifying it for him, you look at him and are shocked to see that he’s already looking at you. again, you pretend you don’t notice. “do you get it now? if you say no, i know you’re lying.” you tell him sharply. his eyes are still fixed on yours, his gaze feeling like a weight on your shoulders, making you fidget.
“yeah. i get it now,” he says, voice softening. “thanks for explaining.”
you nod, eyes flitting everywhere but on him. you clear your throat. “yeah, no problem.” the air around the two of you had you feeling claustrophobic with how thick the tension was. it doesn’t lessen even as you move back to the other side of the table. continuing with your module, you reflect on the past couple minutes. what the hell was that? you decide not to address it, as that’s the safest option. if you start thinking too deeply about this, you’ll fall down a rabbit hole that you cannot deal with right now.
jungwon doesn’t think anything of it--he’s actually enjoying the underlying current between you two. however, as much as he’s interested, jungwon was raised a gentleman. you’re not reciprocating the flirting, and he’s alright with that. he decides that although he won’t actively pursue you, there’s no harm in a little friendly banter flirting every now and then.
for the rest of the session, you two sit in silence and study, with jungwon occasionally lightening the mood with a joke or complaint about the course content.
---
eventually, these study sessions become a regular thing. months go by, and you’re now nearing the end of the year. by now, you and jungwon are attached at the hip. yes, you were originally terrified to get intertwined with him due to his sweet, boyish charm, but it’s fine now. you two are friends…that’s all. duh.
it’s friday afternoon and the two of you are currently laying on the floor of jungwon’s room. what started as a study session quickly turned into you and jungwon leaning against his bed and watching stupid little tiktoks on his phone. after hours of doom scrolling, you both get up to do the “seeing if we dance the same while blindfolded” trend. you both sit on his bed to rewatch the tiktok you just filmed and while the whole thing had you guys uncontrollably laughing, you absolutely lost it when jungwon started slut-dropping to stereo love.
“what the fuck, jungwon, in what world did you think i would do all that to stereo love?” your eyes are spilling tears as you cry laughing at his weird antics.
whoever said laughter is contagious was onto something because as you laugh harder and harder while rewatching the video, jungwon starts unconsciously mimicking your amusement. he can’t take his eyes off you right now. sure, to anyone else, you’re just laughing at something stupid. to jungwon, there’s a bright, vibrant aura radiating off of you. say he has skin damage the way your rays are seeping into him. seeing you like this, jungwon knows he would do anything for you to be this happy all the time. but, he knows he can’t let you know that. he knows you don’t see him that way, and that’s alright. he’s alright. no, it doesn’t eat away at him at all. and he definitely doesn’t think about it every night before bed. in all honestly, he’s more than delighted to keep his feelings to himself, as long as it means he gets to keep you near him.
“what do you mean? the trend is “seeing if we dance the same” not “trying to match each other’s freak!”” jungwon responds to you, matching your mirth.
his reply has you laughing even harder (if possible), with both of you collapsing onto his bed. jungwon’s eyes are still on you, and the laughter dies down and fades into something else, something warmer. scarier. you’re facing each other, eyes locked on one another with soft smiles gracing your features. the room gets quiet--the only things filling your senses are the ticking of the clock and the faint scent of vanilla coming off of him.
time stops. as you’re lost in each other’s gaze, you both instinctively lean in. it’s so slow, almost as if you’re not even moving. like if you move too fast, it’ll ruin whatever is happening right now. just as your lips are about to touch, the clanging of your phone falling off the bed snaps you out of your haze.
your eyes widen and you frantically sit up. frozen in your spot, you say nothing while attempting to get your thoughts together. what was that? you guys are just friends, how could either of you let that go so far? that was so wrong but the strangest and most terrifying part of it all was that it felt so right. so safe. and if you know one thing for sure, it’s that safe is the most dangerous thing of all. this new, confusing atmosphere takes you back to your past relationship. everything’s all happy and fun at the beginning, but as soon as things go further, it all falls apart. with jungwon, you can’t let that happen. you can’t allow yourself to get hurt again. but, that won’t happen, right? because you’re just friends. yeah, that sounds about right.
jungwon, still laying on the bed, stares at the back of your head for a bit before sitting up next to you. he felt it too--the simmering tension, the ache, the want. did he misread that? probably. again, he knows your feelings about him, or lack thereof. he mentally slaps himself for even letting that happen. unable to decipher what’s going on in your head and also not wanting to know, he sits quietly with you for a second before breaking the silence.
“wanna go get ice cream?”
“yeah.”
weaved into that short interaction is the unsaid vow to never speak of this again.
a vow that you both took very seriously, especially considering that if it wasn’t seared into the front of your brain, you would’ve forgotten it even happened.
a few days pass, and still, neither of you bring up the elephant in the room. it’s almost like a cruel, mentally taxing game--the first person to crack loses.
just like any day before the incident that shall not be named, the both of you stroll into class together and take your seats in the front row. you’re both engaged in your daily extremely stupid pre-class debate (today’s topic: is water wet? yes or no + provide a thesis statement), when your TA walks by to hand out some worksheets. “make sure this is finished by next class, alright? you two make an adorable couple, by the way.” jungwon smiles at this, but for you, it’s not a compliment. in fact, your blood runs cold the second your TA’s words hit your ears. jungwon’s playful shaking of your arm wakes you from your trance.
“y/n, did you hear that? we make a cute couple, oooooh,” jungwon says, still wiggling your arm around. feeling conflicted and terrified, you snatch your arm away and bolt out of the room. jungwon sits there for a second, completely dumbfounded.
you throw yourself into the first empty room you find and press your hands onto the cool surface of one of the tables. your heart is beating in your ears and everything feels so, so overwhelming. being called “a couple” freaks you out to no end. a couple??? no, that’s not what this is. we’re friends. just friends. right? your mind is everywhere right now, the drawers in your brain are overflowing with thoughts and emotions, and you just can’t keep up. god, y/n, get it together. it’s just a stupid little comment. minutes pass, and after you finally calm yourself down, you go back to your class, where your lecture has already started.
“hey, everything okay, pretty? that was really sudden,” jungwon whispers to you as you take your seat, concern laced all throughout his tone.
you don’t even look at him as you respond with, “yeah, all good.”
“you sure? you can tell me if something’s up.” his eyes are almost glued to the side of your face.
“nothing’s wrong. just, uh, girl problems.”
slightly taken aback, jungwon replies. “oh, okay. you promise?”
why is he still asking? “yeah, just y’know. periods, cramps. tampons. menstrual cups. all that good stuff. pads.” you stumble out more feminine hygiene products in hopes that he stops asking, and to your satisfaction, it works.
what you don’t realize is that jungwon is no idiot. he knows you’re lying. obviously. his heart drops knowing that you feel as if you can’t tell him what’s going on. but, he can’t even blame you, because he knows he’s the problem. every since your almost-kiss, he’s been beating himself up about the fact that he let that happen. because now, the distance between you feels impossible to cross. and he can’t help but think that maybe he deserves that.
after a seemingly endless class finally ends, jungwon asks if you two are still on for your study session that day. as much as you want to go to it, you know you can’t. much to your dismay, you can’t deny anymore that whatever is between you and jungwon is more than friendship. and that terrifies you.
“uh, i think i’m gonna pass. just because, y’know. cramps.”
“oh, okay. yeah, no problem, y/n. i hope you feel better soon.” he says with a soft smile. if you didn’t know him any better, you wouldn’t give that response a second thought. but, you know him, and you know there’s an underlying inference hidden between his words. you just can’t tell what it is. and honestly, you’re not sure if you want to know. you give him a polite smile before heading home.
ever since that day, you’ve found a new excuse for everytime jungwon asked you if you were down for a study session. it was clear through his texts that it was starting to bother him, but he never explicitly said anything. you even stopped showing up to classes to avoid him. you know it’s wrong because he hasn’t necessarily done anything wrong, but you can’t help but be selfish here.
by using these tactics to avoid him, you’ve successfully had two jungwonless weeks. unfortunately for you, you forgot that you and jungwon have each other’s class schedules. meaning that he could find you at any other class whenever he wanted. he wouldn’t do that though… he’s not that insane, you think to yourself.
but oh, he is.
you’re the last one in the classroom after your lecture ends, as you were still gathering your things. your back is facing the entrance while you pack your last item. just as you’re about to leave, you hear it. the slow, soft footsteps walking towards you. that could be anybody, right? that’s what you told yourself until it started surrounding you--the gentle waves of vanilla and musk. the scent that always adorned jungwon’s skin and clothes whenever you were graced with his presence. however, right now his presence didn’t feel graceful at all. this time, it felt suffocating. you had to leave immediately.
you turn around and try to walk out as quickly as you can without even doing so much as looking him, but he’s quicker. he grabs your arm before you can leave the room. just as you’re about to protest, jungwon breaks the silence.
“don’t.” he means it to be stern, but it only comes out sweetly. he can’t help it--he can never be anything less than kind to you, even when you’re not mirroring that sentiment.
“let me go,” you spit out.
“no. not until you tell me what’s going on right now. don’t you think i deserve that much, y/n?” he sounds off. sad. defeated, almost. you know you’re the reason for it, but you know you have to put yourself first. you swore not to let anyone in again. and that’s a promise you have to keep.
“why did you come here, jungwon?” you continue to avoid looking at him as you still haven’t built up the courage to.
“oh, c’mon. you’ve been ignoring me for two weeks now. i could’ve found you way earlier but wanted to give you the space you needed,” his shoulders slump as he continues, “but this, y/n, is just too much. just tell me what’s up, that’s all i’m asking, pretty.”
your heart breaks at the sound of your pet name, so heavy with sorrow it barely sounds like him. at last, you look up at him only to see a shell of the boy you once knew. his cheekbones are the slightest bit more defined and purple skies have made their way under his lash line. his eyes bore into yours, silently pleading for you to just talk to him.
you break away from his intense gaze to give him the answers he so clearly needs. “this is the problem, jungwon. you can’t just… say that to me.”
his grip on you loosens slightly. “say what?”
frustration begins creeping into your tone as you yank your arm free. “you can’t just be all sweet to me, and call me pretty whenever you want as if it doesn’t--” you stop yourself before you say too much. “you just can’t do that, jungwon. we’re friends. that’s all.”
“no, wait, finish your sentence. as if it doesn’t what? what could be so bad about me being nice to you? tell me.” he says, voice raised a bit. he can see them--the cracks in your carefully built exterior are starting to show. with you standing in front of him, spewing all this bullshit, it’s clear as day: you like him too. so, why can’t you just admit it?
“friends aren’t supposed to act the way we do.” you say with forced indifference.
“well, maybe i don’t just want to be friends. don’t you get it?” jungwon closes the gap between you, gently holding your shoulders. “god, y/n, i’ve been in love with you since the moment i met you. i didn’t want to tell you to avoid ruining our friendship, but at some point, we have to be honest with ourselves. what we have was never just a friendship. and i know you know it too.”
this is officially too much for you. you pull away from him once more. “okay, jungwon, i really can’t do this right now,” your voice trembles as you spiral through a roller coaster of emotions. you have to get out of there. just as you’re about to leave the room, jungwon says something that stops you dead in your tracks.
“why can’t you just let yourself be happy?”
his voice is barely above a whisper, but it still manages to knock the wind out of you.
you turn right back around. “what?” you are enraged. fuming. “do you really think it’s that easy? you think i want to be the way that i am? sorry to break it to you, but i can’t fucking help it, jungwon. you think everything is so simple, so happy and colourful, but you will never understand what it’s like to be trapped in your own mind.” jungwon can see the white, hot steam blowing out of your ears. he should be scared, yes, but right now, he’s relieved. relieved that you’re talking to him. relieved that you’re still here. relieved that you’re not hiding from him behind a wall of apathy anymore.
“y/n--”
“no. you don’t get it. i’m fucked up, jungwon.” your eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. “i don’t get to just choose happiness. some days i can barely breathe, but you?” your voice falters. “you make it feel easy. and that scares the hell out of me.”
jungwon takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “but i want to help. you don’t have to go through this alone--”
“no, but i do!” you cut him off, voice sharp and shaking. “because the second i let someone in, they leave. and who am i left with? myself! i can’t keep letting myself fall apart just to be the one who has to pick up the pieces again. i won’t.” every word falls out faster than the last. “you say you love me, but love doesn’t fix people. it’s just another way to get hurt.”
jungwon stays silent, absorbing every syllable like a punch to the gut.
“so, yeah, maybe you’re right, and i don’t let myself be happy.” you finally say, your voice quieter now, bitter around the edges. “maybe i’m the problem. maybe i ruin everything before it even starts. at least that way, i’m the one in control.”
“but, y/n, it doesn’t have to be like that. yes, you’ve had some tough experiences, but you’re not broken. everything you’ve gone through, everything you’ve shared with me, it’s all part of what makes you you.” jungwon moves closer and delicately takes your face into his warm hands. “i know it’s hard to see it this way but your past experiences are not predictive of your future ones. you can’t live your life trying not to get hurt, y/n, you deserve to be happy. that’s all i want for you, whether it’s with me or without me. even if i’m not on the field with you, i’ll be on the sidelines, cheering you on. always.” he says while tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. the way he looks at you is so soft, his eyes overflowing with love and care.
“i don’t want to do it without you, jungwon. i always want you right next to me, but i’m scared.”
“i understand, pretty. and i know it’s scary, but you’re just gonna have to trust me, okay?” he says while wiping some fresh tears from your cheeks, which are now coloured with raw emotion. huh, you didn’t even realize you were crying. “i’ve never let you down before, have i?” you sniffle and shake your head no, the faintest smile adorning your face. “exactly. and that will never change.”
your eyes are trained on his face as you process his words. your expression is a mixture of fear, relief, sadness, and hope. jungwon doesn’t say anything either. he silently continues wiping your tears, his thumbs ever so slightly grazing your cheeks as he gives you time to digest everything.
“okay.” you muster out a whisper as loud as you can manage, but as quiet as a mouse.
“okay?” he asks, needing a confirmation about whether you mean what he thinks you mean.
“yeah. okay. i love you, jungwon. and i want to be with you. i trust you.”
jungwon’s entire face lights up at your statement, his elation causing him to pull you into his strong embrace. maybe a bit too strong.
“jungwon, i can’t breathe,” you giggle out.
he lets go as soon as he hears your words. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i just can’t believe this is happening right now.” his ears turn red with embarrassment, and you giggle at his endearingness. the sound of your laughter, no matter how slight, makes his heart soar. he loves you so much. it’s the kind of love that makes his heart ache, in the best way. once again, his hands come up to cup your cheeks, as he gazes at you. he might as well have had hearts bouncing out of his pupils. “can i kiss you?”
“yeah.” your smile mirrors his as he tilts your chin up, pressing a short, tender kiss to your lips. when he pulls away, it’s like the whole world goes quiet. just the two of you beaming at each other, like nothing else matters. and truly, in this moment, it doesn’t. as long as you have each other, nothing else matters.
for the first time in a long time, you believe that love doesn’t have to mean pain. no guilt, no fear, you can finally just be happy, and it’s what you deserve.
a/n: to all readers, no matter who u are, u always, always, deserve happiness! please do not ever think otherwise and make sure u always do what makes u happy :-) i love u all and i hope u love urself just as much
✮ synopsis: years after your friendship with heeseung has begun crumbling, you ask him to be part of one of the biggest days of your life - your wedding day.
✮ genre: estranged best friends to ??? ; semi-unrequited lovers au ; angst ; fluff
✮ pairing: singer!lee heeseung x financial advisor!fem!reader ; sim jaeyun x reader
✮ word count: 10.4k (yikes...)
✮ rating: nc-17.
✮ warning(s): ...kissing? lol? a lot of hurt with no comfort, semi-unrequited lovers, wedding superstitions, mentions of having kids.
✮ playlist: off my face - justin bieber ; are we still friends? - tyler, the creator ; your eyes only - enhypen ; this is why i need you - jesse ruben.
✮ a/n: i'm a yapper sorry, but happiest birthday to heeseung <3 that's my pookie! i love u.
four months ago.
"you're getting married?"
you and heeseung had been best friends for nearly twenty years. the two of you met at a park during a winter storm, both of you having begged your mothers for a chance to go see the snow. a coincidence really, the two of you having somehow lived the same experience (one that heeseung was convinced was fate, while you just boiled it down to two four-year-old kids giving into the natural urge to plunge their grubby little fingers into cold, unforgiving snow.)
however, in the last few years, you'd grown apart.
you were freshly out of university, and heeseung had recently taken a job as a backup vocalist for one of the local entertainment companies. he'd been a singer his entire life, something you never allowed yourself to pick up because your mother had always taught you that safety nets were better. while heeseung openly explored his talents, eventually learning guitar and slowly, piano - you buried yourself in mathematical equations that made your brain hurt but forced yourself through it all because, after all, you needed a plan.
heeseung lived life on the edge. he didn't care if he had money, if he had belongings - life was more than that to him. he ventured out into the city with nothing but his headphones sometimes, not even so much as bothering to bring an umbrella if it looked like rain. "if i get soaked, i get soaked! life is more than staying inside with your head heavy from studying." he told you once, and you had just shaken your head.
"come on, y/n! don't you want to dance in the rain? don't you want to risk getting sick and having your mom make you that soup you really like? live a little, life is too short to waste away in our bedrooms." he tugged you out of your house that day, making you leave your phone behind as you trekked the entire city by foot, and once the rain did start falling, you were a mile from your house. "heeseung, i can't get sick! i have a presentation–"
"screw that presentation! live in the now!" he held you close as the rain pelted your backs, spinning you around as your laughter echoed in the neighborhood. "isn't this fun! aren't you enjoying this newfound freedom, no expectations? no logarithms, no polynomials!" he exclaimed, making you only laugh harder. "hee, i'm a finance major. that is fun for me!"
"and i'm a y/n major, i know you fucking hate math!" he giggled as he set you down, his fingers brushing your wet hair off your face. "i don't have things like you do, hee! i need a plan, i need something to fall back on. you work to make money to invest into yourself, you don't follow dreams!" you say as the two of you make the route back to your house, making him scoff.
"are you saying i'm wasting my time living the way i do?" he asked, a twang of hurt in his voice going unnoticed by you as you nodded. "i do. i think you are wasting your potential." your words pierced him, but he said nothing more as the two of you reached your mom's house. "see you later, hee."
"see you later."
that had happened three years ago. heeseung noticeably distanced himself after that day, limiting your hangouts to once a week instead of dropping by whenever he felt like it. soon, what were weekly hangouts became biweekly, before you were only meeting him for dinner on a random wednesday night in the middle of the month. you never asked so he never explained, and he simply assumed your silence on the subject meant that your puzzle of a life no longer had a need for a lee heeseung-shaped piece.
it pained him to think that you were outgrowing him.
heeseung was taking classes while working, having finally let your words get to him. you were right, in a way - he couldn't live his life on the edge forever, but the fact that you actually said that to him after constantly reassuring him that you believed in him was...unexpected, to say the least.
"she's just worried about you, hee." his older brother rattled, and heeseung shook his head. he had long told him about that day, and continued to try and decipher it for the years after. he didn’t really understand why it bothered him so much, but his only guess was the same — you had pretended to have an interest in his life, but yet, just like everyone else…
…you had no faith in him.
“yes, hee, i’m getting married! focus!” you tapped your pen on the notepad in front of you, the ice in your matcha long melted. heeseung was gripping his mug of hot chocolate for dear life, wondering where he missed the fact that you were even in a relationship to begin with. “i didn’t even know you had a boyfriend, forgive me for being curious.” he scoffs, making you roll your eyes.
“you would know if you answered any of my calls.” you say pointedly, making him groan. “okay, sorry i’ve been so absent from your life. what’s this guy’s name anyway?”
“sim jaeyun. you can call him jake.” you scribble something onto the notepad, before tearing it off and handing it to him. “this is his number, you’re going to have to talk to him at some point for what i’m about to ask you.”
your smile is mischievous, one that heeseung could never forget. it was engraved in his memory, it lit up his dreams and haunted his nightmares. the same smile he’s written endless lyrics about, the same smile he’s fallen in love with but refused to admit it.
“y/n, i haven’t seen you in six months. how can someone possibly gauge if a person is marriage material in such a short time?” he argues as he folds the scrap of yellow paper. you huff with a frustrated look on your face, “jaeyun and i have been seeing each other for a year! we made it official nine months ago, and we’ve been engaged for three months! i told you this already!”
“when the fuck did you even mention him!?” he groans, and you click your pen angrily.
"hee, if you hadn't been so focused on your own life, you'd be up to date with mine." grimacing, you reach into the knapsack you brought with you. pulling out a pink binder, you set it on the table, facing him. the paper sheet behind the vinyl reads the sims - may 2026.
he snorts inwardly, before you open the binder. "i know we haven't been as close as we'd like the past few years." you start, clearing your throat as he glances at you. you pull apart the binder rings, pulling out a folder as you continue to speak. "but, i know that you're still doing the singing thing, and i wanted to offer you a gig."
sliding the folder across to him, he glances down at it. it's thick with pieces of printer paper, lyrics typed neatly in times new roman. he recognizes the first song as he slips it out of the folder, his eyes scanning the sheet over and over.
"you want me to sing at your wedding?" he asks incredulously, and you take a sip of your watered down matcha. you press your lips together as you nod, staring at your fingers. "i showed jaeyun some clips of yours from a few of your other gigs, and he really liked it. this is our song, and we want you to sing it for our first dance." you tap the paper with your pen, and heeseung sighs.
"then why are we here alone? why isn't he here, showing face and asking me with you?" he accuses, and your frown is deep enough that he's sure you're about to throw your drink at him. "he's at work, if you must know. he's busy."
"and what does he work in that he can't come with his future wife to a measly two-hour lunch?" he taps his finger on the table, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any sign of the best friend he'd become estranged from. you weren't there.
"he's..." you bite your lip, staring at whatever was behind him in order not to meet his eyes. he looks at you pointedly, brows raised in expectation - a look he'd always hated from other people. you grimace before responding. "he's a singer, he's recording his album right now."
heeseung blinks slowly, something you knew meant he was about to either get up and leave, or he was going to scold you once he processed the information. your best friend was nothing short of an open book, but as he looked down at the sheet in his hand and shook his head, you suddenly couldn't read him anymore.
"after all the shit you gave me." his tongue drips with poison before he shoves the sheet of paper back in the folder, tapping it with his hand before grimacing. "when is the wedding? do i have to be there for the whole thing?"
his eyes are full of fire as he stares at you, and you can feel yourself shrink under his gaze. heeseung was rarely ever mad at you, even during these years of estrangement. you were never really on the receiving end of his anger, so you never handled it. "may second. you don't have to stay, if you don't want to. but i'd love for you to be there." your words are softer than you intended, and you can really feel the tug on the invisible string that ties the two of you together.
he nods, pressing his lips together as you watch his eyes brim with tears. "okay." he looks away as the first tear falls, wiping it away quickly before getting up. "just…send me the address when the time comes." he tucks the folder under his arm as he quickly walks away, trying not to let any more tears fall as he exits the cafe.
he can't help but hold everything in as he walks to his apartment, his mind spinning with potential thoughts. when did you get so far? how did he let you stray so deeply, and where did you even meet this guy? why didn't you tell him sooner? or did you, and he just blocked it out? he can't remember, no matter how hard he skims his memory. "fuck!" he screams as he slams his door shut, throwing the folder onto the table in the foyer.
he slides down the door, a sinking feeling taking over his stomach as he hits the cold tile. he can't help but sob into his hands, his shoulders shaking violently as he does. you're getting married and he missed the entire thing, he's missed the past year of your life and has no remorse in doing so. he only feels sorry now, now that he's realized he's too late.
april 30.
heeseung was increasingly stressed.
you had told him over text (because he wouldn't answer your calls) that he had to take the week off so he could participate in bonding activities with your fiancé's groomsmen. he'd been reluctant, and said he'd get there the thursday before the wedding, nothing sooner – making you upset. he didn't care, he wouldn't lie to himself – he felt betrayed that you were getting married to someone else. it was childish of him and he knew it, but as he aimlessly wandered jeju island alone – it only sank deeper into his bones that he had truly fucked up.
he didn't bother to bond with any of your bridesmaids, either – despite their starry eyes and warm smiles, he could only see the dread in your eyes, the twitch in your lower lip as you greeted your guests with your fiancé. he kept his hand on your lower back at all times, and heeseung wonders if jake knows that he did that in the past. heeseung wonders if jake knows that he held your hand as you both skipped through the sand on family vacations with your families, heeseung wonders if jake knows that he shared a bed with you on nights where thunderstorms would scare you out of your sleep and heeseung would run the three blocks to your house to comfort you.
heeseung wonders if jake knows that he was your first kiss, in the back of heeseung's '96 civic when you were both juniors in high school. heeseung wonders if jake knows that he is in love with you, and that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop.
not that jake knowing any of this would matter, because come saturday night, you'd be out of his grasp forever. he would never place his hand on the small of your back to ease your nerves, he would never hold your hand, he would never share a bed with you. he would never kiss you again, and he'd rather never see you again if it were up to him.
but it wasn't, was it?
"heeseung! you made it!"
heeseung turns to see park sunghoon walking towards him with his hand shielding his eyes from the sun. "oh shit, hey! i didn't think you and y/n kept in touch after high school, it's great to see you." heeseung greets him, and sunghoon snorts.
"we didn't, actually. jaeyun and i go way back." sunghoon nods. sunghoon had been a friend of the two of you, but it was hard to keep in touch due to his prominent ice skating career. he was always busy, and it was easier to cut ropes than continuously make promises to see each other only to fall short.
"i'm sorry i didn't reach out more." heeseung starts, but sunghoon shakes his head. "don't even worry about it! my life was too crazy to keep tabs on everybody." sunghoon shakes his head, and heeseung tilts his head at him. "was?"
sunghoon shifts in the sand, picking his cuticles as he sighs. "i had to quit, i got injured pretty badly during the finale of my last competition. i won, though, so at least i went out with a bang." he shrugs, and heeseung can see the disappointment in his eyes before offering a hug. "i'm sorry, hoon. that really fucking sucks."
sunghoon rejects the hug with a shake of his head. "it's fine, i'm doing other things now. i work as a backup vocalist for jake, me and jay. oh, jay's here, too! have you seen him?" sunghoon gestures to the air, and heeseung offers a small smile before shaking his head. "haven't seen him yet. to be honest, i don't want to be here."
heeseung's confession, if surprising, doesn't seem to faze sunghoon. instead, the younger boy nods. "i figured you wouldn't. you're singing for them, right? i heard through the grapevine." sunghoon smirks, and heeseung rolls his eyes before lightly punching his arm. "stop lying, you brat. you read it on the wedding program."
sunghoon gives him a soft pat on the back, before leaning closer. "she wasn't going to wait forever, heeseung." with a curt nod, sunghoon continues down the beach towards the resort, leaving heeseung with wide eyes and a heavy heart. what did he mean by that?
the night was heavy as the last of your guests straggled in, and your feet were swelling in your shoes from standing for so long. jake had offered to take over as you went up to your room to change them, and you were internally thanking him as you hobbled to the elevator.
only for you to arrive and see your best friend waiting there calmly, headphones over his ears as he softly nods along to whatever is playing. he looks up when the elevator finally opens, completely oblivious to your lingering presence behind him. it's only when you get in after him, feeling the shift of the elevator's floor, that he looks at you.
his eyes are unreadable as he skims them over your face, a soft tilt to his head before he presses button six, hand hovering over the button as he waits for you to speak. you put up five fingers, and he presses it carefully as the doors close. it's silent, and for the first time ever since you were four years old, heeseung feels like a stranger. a polite stranger that presses the elevator button for you, that has come all the way from seoul on a ferry to sing at his estranged best friend's wedding.
except he's not a stranger, and you're the estranged best friend getting married this weekend. you're the estranged best friend who lied about your fiancé being excited for him to sing your first dance song, and you're the estranged best friend who wants it to hurt him. you want it to hurt, seeing you dance with your soon-to-be husband all night, you want it to burn in his chest when the two of you kiss at the end of the aisle.
you want him to ache as badly as you did when he basically abandoned you for no good reason. you want him to stay up all night in tears like you did when he wouldn't answer your calls, you want him to rant passionately about you to whoever gets the privilege of being his girlfriend like you did to jake when the two of you first started dating, and you want him to ignore the questions of if you're in love with each other.
just like you did.
loving heeseung was a thing of the past. he was out of your heart and out of your head, for the most part. you only ever thought of him when you'd talk to jake about old high school stories, skipping over the parts where you and heeseung shared loving caresses that the two of you convinced yourselves were nothing more than platonic. it didn't matter now, though, because there was no piece shaped like you in heeseung's puzzling life anymore.
you love jake. he's your endgame, and you're glad to be marrying him.
"are you excited? big day soon." he says gently, and you can feel your stomach turn as he nudges you with his elbow. you nod, a small smile on your lips as you glance down at your engagement ring. jake had it custom made, a marquise diamond nestled onto a thick gold band. it was a little tight, but you promised yourself you'd get it resized after the wedding.
"very excited. are you nervous? about your performance, i mean?" you ask, genuine concern in your voice as he shakes his head. "just another gig, really. it's special to you, though, so i've been putting my all into the rehearsals." he itches his neck, a nervous tick you'd picked up on through the years. you nod, patting his shoulder gently. the conversation stops as the elevator does, the number five on the elevator's neon sign.
"my stop. i'll see you at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, right? you need to be there."
your eyes are pleading, and heeseung can't help but sigh. "i'll try."
the answer doesn't seem to satisfy you, but you nod anyway, turning on your heels to go to your room. the doors close, and he lets out a shaky breath. you're very excited to marry sim jaeyun in less than thirty-six hours. you're very excited to be mrs. sim, you're very excited to have your first dance with your husband to the sound of your best friend's voice singing the song that reminds you and jake of your relationship.
a song that insinuates the two of you are unbelievably high off each other in every which way, and how ruined one of you has made the other for anybody else. but this song doesn't take into consideration how he is ruined for anyone else, how he is in pieces at the mere thought of you wearing white while meeting someone else down the aisle.
he doesn't want to feel like that anymore.
may 01.
"hey! you must be heeseung, i've been waiting forever to meet you!"
heeseung doesn't recognize the voice as he turns, eyes swollen with sleep when he looks to see you, and who he presumes to be sim jaeyun. he nods absently, before glancing at his cup of hot water. he'd stumbled down to the hotel's complimentary lounge, a packet of fennel mint tea in his hand.
"give me a moment, i'm sorry. i'm barely here." he apologizes sheepishly, tearing the bag open and dipping the bag into the cup. he wipes at his eyes once more, before turning to face a smiling jake. "you're jaeyun, right? nice to finally meet you man, y/n has said some awesome things about you."
lies. heeseung doesn't remember a single thing you have ever said about jake, just that he's a singer. but out of courtesy, and jake's business-like grip on his hand, he smiles through it anyway. "i heard that you asked for me specifically. your wedding song is beautiful."
heeseung sees you wince out of the corner of his eye as jake looks a bit taken aback. he tilts his head slightly, but goes along with what heeseung now knows is a lie. "i'm glad you could make it. y/n talks a lot about your singing skills, are you working on any projects right now?"
your face is pained as heeseung looks you dead in the eyes, "no, i'm just a backup vocalist. i gave up on that dream a while ago." he looks back at jake, who has a sad smile on his face. "the fame, the money…i was never suited for that life, anyway."
"i'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out for you." jake sounds genuine, a flash of sadness in his eyes as he shakes heeseung's hand again. "i hope to see you at the rehearsal tonight. have you got a girlfriend? there'll be quite a few people at our singles' table." jake wiggles his brows and heeseung wonders when you're going to speak.
"actually, heeseung won't be able to stay. he's got another gig on sunday." you lie, and jake's eyes widen. "oh, you'll be missing our reception?"
"i'll be leaving right after your dance, i do sincerely apologize." heeseung gives jake a sheepish grin, to which jake nods slowly. "that's unfortunate, there's a lot of people you could network with here! take advantage of it, dreams are meant to become reality." jake finalizes, before giving heeseung another warm smile.
"i will do my best! thank you for having me." heeseung says, and you can feel the fake tone of happiness in his voice seep into your bones. you'd been the only person to ever recognize it, and heeseung knows you're aware he used it as he takes the tea bag out of his mug. "i will see you both tonight."
he spins on his heel as he hears jake whisper to you.
"you asked him to sing our song? when? why didn't you tell me?"
"we can talk about this later, okay? he's really good, i promise."
your mother had been staring at heeseung for the last fifteen minutes, and heeseung was almost sure she was trying to figure out if he was who she thought he was. he gave her a small smile and waved, and the moment her eyes lit up, the person in front of her turned.
jake. he frowns as she walks away from him mid-conversation, stumbling over only moments before the rehearsal dinner is set to start.
"sorry, sweetie. i didn't know you and my y/n finally made up! it's so good to see you!" her embrace is crushing, and heeseung doesn't have the heart to tell your mother that you're a horrible liar. you hadn't 'made up' – he was simply doing you a favor, something else you'd lied about. he just smiles as she pulls back, ruffling his hair gently. "love the red, it really suits you."
"thank you, auntie. it's nice to see you again." he remains relaxed as he sees her eyes soften. "what's wrong? not ready to see your little girl walk down the aisle?" he teases, and the older woman sighs inwardly. she turns, her shoulder brushing his as they stare into the room full of tipsy bridesmaids and boisterous groomsmen.
"if i admit something to you, you'll keep it quiet, right?" she murmurs, and heeseung suddenly feels like this conversation isn't going to be one that favors his unruly feelings for you. "of course, auntie. who am i to tell?"
"i always thought you'd be the one to marry my y/n." she sighs, clasping her hands in front of her as her eyes watch jake speaking to you gently as he hands you a glass of wine. heeseung's eyes follow hers and the two of them can see as your face falls and jake quickly moves to hide you from any lingering gazes. "i should go see what's wrong. it's nice to see you, heeseung. please enjoy the wedding!"
he nods as your mother quickly crosses the room, her arm around you as jake gets pushed to entertain the guests while you get taken care of. jake looks nervous, and heeseung can't seem to stop his body as he also crosses the room, a small smile on his face. "good evening, jake."
"oh, hey! how are you liking the venue so far?" a small flash of relief passes onto his face, and heeseung feels guilty as he shrugs. "it's what i expected for someone like y/n. so floral, so bright. are you sure you had any part in this?" he snickers, and jake laughs genuinely.
"she wouldn't let me even look at the flowers with her. babe, you're going to pick the wrong ones!" he imitates you, and heeseung shakes his head in amusement. you'd always been a bit of a control freak when it came to your visions, and now that your life revolved around financial decisions, you were wound up extra tight. "yeah, she's always been like that." he sighs, and jake doesn't miss the slight tone of sadness.
"listen, i don't know you very well," jake starts, reaching for a bottle of cabernet across the table. he grabs two glasses, uncorking the wine as he leans to pour. "but i want to say thank you." he holds the wine out to heeseung, and he tries not to look curious as he takes it.
"thank you for what?" heeseung asks, and jake gives him a pointed look as he blindly pours his own glass.
"for taking care of y/n all these years. i know you and i probably won't be the best of friends, i'm the first to admit that i'm not very good at sharing her attention." jake grimaces to himself as he replaces the cork into the bottle. "but i'm glad that she has someone as reliable as you, that can just… be there for her. it's a beautiful thing, your friendship."
heeseung almost feels nauseous as jake continues talking about how sweet your lifelong friendship with him seems. it just confirms that you told jake everything and anything you could about it, and based on his mention of jealousy, that includes the first kiss you shared. he can barely hear jake over the sound of his heart beating in his ears, but understands enough when jake pats his shoulder.
"...and i figured i'd be honest. y/n didn't say anything about you singing our song, we had originally planned for sunghoon to sing it with the band we hired. i guess she thought you'd be better for it, and i trust her judgment." jake says, pulling heeseung back in. "oh, i'm sorry."
"don't even worry about it, man. hey, why don't you just relax, enjoy the dinner tonight. tomorrow is going to hit us like a fucking train, we should be well rested today." jake nods, and heeseung reciprocates with a gentle smile as someone else calls for jake's attention. "remember, just chill! network!" jake gestures to the room as he walks backwards towards the people looking for him.
heeseung can't shake the nausea from his throat, setting down the glass of wine to wander to the bathroom. but, the hall seems to get longer and longer, the temperature changing from the cold air conditioning to the humid spring air. he can feel a breeze in his hair, and then he realizes he's on the beach. his feet are buried in the warm sand, shoes in his hand.
sighing, he reminds himself he can't zone out like that all the time. it's not healthy, you had told him once. what if you end up in the middle of nowhere?
he reaches into his pocket, pulled out his spare headphones. he was supposed to bond with everyone at your stupid rehearsal dinner, but he didn't care to do so as he stared at the crashing waves. plugging the headphones into his phone, he gently speaks to siri as he lays on his back, looking up at the cloudless sky.
"hey, siri. play are we still friends? by tyler, the creator."
he stares into the water as the song pours into his ears. he doesn't know where things went to shit, but he knows it's his fault. he should've told you that what you said hurt his feelings. he should have communicated, then maybe it'd be him sitting next you in the private jet your mother rented solely for your honeymoon escape after the reception.
maybe it'd be him spinning you around in your beautiful wedding dress, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you dance the night away. maybe it would be him, like your mom had hoped. maybe it would be him, like he had hoped, too.
his fingers dig into the sand as he swallows the lump in his throat. there is nothing in hell, heaven or earth that would stop you from trekking the aisle tomorrow afternoon. nothing would stop jake from kissing you tenderly right in front of him, and doing it for the rest of your lives. it would taunt him, it would haunt him like the ghost of your friendship. you weren't friends anymore, the two of you knew it. things would never be the same between you, and yet, neither of you was brave enough to ask the question.
why?
"heeseung! are you out here?!" he can hear sunghoon's voice over the fourth replay of the song, lowering the volume as he tilts his head to find him. "over here, what's up?"
"what's up? they're waiting for you, man!" sunghoon is standing in the doorway of the resort, the soft breeze blowing his hair back as a bridesmaid also peers over his shoulder. heeseung sighs as he stands, wiping his pants of sand and shoving his phone into his pocket. he walks quickly, humming quietly to himself to semi-prepare his voice for the perfect delivery of the song you wanted him to sing.
everyone is chatting quietly around the tables as heeseung steps inside, running his fingers through his hair as he walks forward. your mother catches his eye, a concerned look on her face, but he can't hold eye contact. he faces the floor as he reaches the small stage the venue has set up for the band, jay perched on a stool holding a guitar.
"hey, hee. you ready?" he asks as he tucks in his in-ear monitor, and heeseung shrugs as he takes his place behind the microphone. only then does he notice that the chatter he heard was just two bridesmaids, kim sunoo, riki nishimura and yang jungwon – all friends of yours and jake's that he hadn't bothered to meet further than reading their names in the program.
he watches silently as you and jake take the center of the dance floor, your eyes slightly reddened as you gingerly drape your arms over your fiancé. your smile doesn't fill your cheeks as jay begins playing softly.
heeseung takes a deep breath, and your eyes catch him as he begins to sing.
one touch, and you've got me stoned. higher than i've ever known…
you were both thirteen.
he remembers the way you held onto him the night that you lost your first mathletes competition. you cried so hard that you'd almost thrown up, and heeseung could only soothe you by dragging you to the nearest convenience store and shoving a melona popsicle in your hand. you went silent after that, gripping his hand tightly as he walked you home. you'd squeezed his hand three times that night, something he'd always done but you'd roll your eyes at.
"why would i squeeze your hand when i can just tell you, hee?"
you call the shots and i'll follow. sunrise, but the night's still young…
you were both seventeen.
he remembers when you called him to come over while it was storming, because your mother was out of town. your house was a little over a mile away and normally, he didn't mind the walk. it was almost three in the morning, and he'd been sleeping when your ringtone went off for the third time. "hello?"
"hee, please come over. it's storming so bad, i'm so–"
he hadn't even let you finish before ripping his bedsheets off his body and sprinting for the door. his clothes, his shoes, everything was soaking wet by the time he got to your house. you'd embraced him anyway, your own clothes soaking through as he trudged into your home – only for the storm to stop a few moments after his arrival.
no words, but we're speaking tongues. if you let me, i might say too much…
you were both twenty.
he remembers when you asked him, in the middle of your kitchen during your graduation party, if he could kiss you. the house was empty except for the two of you – his parents and your mom had decided to throw a joint party, using the excuse that two best friends should always stick together. your mom had sent you inside for more hor d'oeuvres, and you'd dragged him inside with the excuse that you couldn't carry them all yourself.
"you don't have to, hee. i'm sorry." your eyes were full of embarrassment as heeseung stared at you, a bit in shock at your question. only as you begin to move further into the kitchen does he register what you've said, and grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. "ask me again, i'm sorry. i zoned out, i thought you asked me to kiss you."
"i did." you repeated quietly, and heeseung blinked twice before nodding. "o-okay. yeah, i can do that." he cleared his throat, looking over your shoulder into the foyer to ensure no one was opening the door.
"are you sure? i mean, it's your first kiss, wouldn't you want to have it with someone special?" he's rambling, and your gentle laugh pulls him right back.
"you are special, hee."
without another word, he backed you up against your kitchen counter, his hands on your hips as he softly kissed you. your hands were on his biceps, and he could feel your nervousness seep through your locked lips. he carefully circles your thighs to lift you onto the counter, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck before he breaks the kiss.
"how was that? okay?" his eyes searched yours, a shy smile playing on his swollen lips as you blinked. "uh, i'm not sure. i think–"
"you want to try again?" his head tilted to the side, a habit you loved and eventually also caught. you nodded silently. his smile was wide as he closed the gap between the two of you, the hands on your thighs squeezing softly. once, twice, three times.
i love you.
your touch blurred my vision. it's your world, and i'm just in it…
you're both twenty one.
he remembers how he stared at his bedroom ceiling, clothes soaked in rain from prancing around the city with you. how piercing your words were, how he thought for so long that you believed in him. how all of these events he can't stop thinking about, are about you. how proud he was of you, how lucky he was to have you, how insane it was that you wanted him. you wanted him at one point.
how he didn't care that he got sick, but certainly didn't understand why your sore throat and stuffy nose didn't make him feel a pang of distress. how he didn't care that no one else was refuting his talent, because they weren't you. he didn't care about anyone else in this world, but you.
even sober, i'm not thinking straight…
you're both twenty two.
he remembers his birthday going abhorrently wrong. you weren't there, per usual – you were too wrapped up with school to give heeseung a second thought. he'd long realized that he didn't want to lose you, but it seemed that you no longer cared to keep the friendship alive. he still has the messages he sent you, and is still amazed at the lack of typos despite being absolutely shitfaced.
message to: my y/n <3
[2022.10.15 | 11:23pm] it's my birthday, baby.
[2022.10.15 | 11:24pm] you can't be here for me today?
[2022.10.15 | 11:24pm] i miss you. i miss our friendship.
[2022.10.15 | 11:26pm] i can't believe you're missing my birthday. i never miss your birthdays.
[2022.10.15 | 11:30pm] is this it? are we done?
[2022.10.15 | 11:34pm] when will you come back to me? when, how much longer?
[2022.10.15 | 11:35pm] when you graduate? i can wait. (not delivered!)
[2022.10.15 | 11:47pm] just tell me how long. i'll wait. (not delivered!)[2022.10.16 | 12:02am] i'd wait forever for you (not delivered!)
he changed his number after that. he still doesn't know how you got his new one. he doesn't care to ask, either.
cause i'm off my face, in love with you…
you're both twenty five.
he's watching you slow dance with your fiancé, fingers interlaced behind his neck as jake's hands rest on your hips. he hates the jealousy that boils in his stomach, but doesn't bother to break eye contact with the tile on the ceiling with water damage.
i'm out my head, so into you…
he can feel his fingers tightening around the microphone stand, but can't seem to stop his eyes from averting as jake spins you gently, before your soft giggle hits his ears. you look up at jake with what he can only assume is adoration, before resting your cheek on his shoulder. you're looking right at heeseung, mouthing along to the song.
and i don't know how you do it…
you're fixing your posture instead, still staring at heeseung as jake takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles. you instinctively smile at the feeling, and heeseung's eyes zero in on your fingers as you squeeze jake's hand.
once, twice, three times. i love you.
but i'm forever ruined by you, ooh, ooh, ooh.
"i love you." your eyes haven't left heeseung as you whisper the words, and you can see the way his eyes fill with fire as he looks away. you get a twisted feeling of satisfaction in your gut, before finally averting your eyes back to your fiancé. jake is smiling softly at you, and you quickly close the gap between you as heeseung continues to sing. your lips press against jake's smoothly, before he swiftly moves away. "i can't wait to marry you tomorrow." he whispers.
"me, too."
liar.
may 02.
the wedding is in twenty minutes.
your pantyhose has ripped, you tripped going up the stairs. you're not even wearing your dress yet. there are storm clouds gathering, and you can’t help but feel like everything in the universe is working against you. the only thing holding you together is your mother, her arms are wrapped tightly around you.
“are you sure we can’t just run away and elope?” you mumble into her shoulder, and your mother laughs. “not anymore. but,” she pulls away from you, cradling your face in her hands gently. “i love you, honey. everything will be okay.”
you hate the churn in your stomach at the word everything. because if everything were okay, it'd be sunny. if everything were okay, you'd be staring down an aisle full of people and only see heeseung at the end of it. if everything were okay, you would've never said yes to that first date.
“i love you.” you repeat, your hand resting on her wrists as you nod robotically. “i’ll see you out there, okay?”
“okay.” you breathe out shakily as she presses her lips to your hairline, lingering slightly before pulling away and leaving your room. you were alone now, and you glanced out the window at all the guests gathering on the beach. everyone is dressed so brightly, bunches of pinks and lilacs scattered across the sand. jake is waiting patiently at the end of the aisle, the forest green of his suit making his skin glow slightly brighter. how he does it, you don't know.
and then you see heeseung.
he’s dressed in black, despite the theme of the wedding being floral and natural. you grimace, forcing yourself to look away before spotting your dress hanging on the back of the door. you'd have to shimmy into it on your own, having sent everyone out in a fit of anxiety.
sighing, you unhook the heavy dress from the door, carefully letting the skirt pool on the floor as you step into it. it slides on perfectly, and you can't help but lose your breath at the sudden weight of the world on your chest. you're getting married, and you love jake.
but he'll never, ever be heeseung.
"tighten up, y/n. you've got this." you shake your head, reaching back and forcing the zipper up as high as you could. you had a hook-and-eye closure at the top, something you'd simply have to forego if you wanted to make it downstairs on time. groaning to yourself, you attempt to pull up the zipper just a bit more, before giving up and covering it with your veil. grabbing your bouquet, you give yourself a final glance in the mirror.
"you've got this. everything will be okay."
your voice is shaky, but you swing your room door open anyway – only to be met with heeseung on the other side. his eyes widen, mouth slightly agape as you come into his view. "wow, you look…"
"what are you doing here? you're supposed to be downstairs." you scold, shoving your keycard into the pocket of your dress. oh yeah, you've got it like that. "your mom asked me to come see what was taking so long. i told her you'd be down soon, but she insisted." he shrugs, so nonchalantly.
like none of this is eating away at him.
"ugh, whatever. come on." your tone is angry, but your face shows nothing but fear. his eyes follow as you storm towards the elevator, seeing the zipper of your dress slowly sliding down as you reach the doors. "here, hold on."
his fingers move your veil carefully as you step into the elevator, before pulling the fabric tighter together and pulling the zipper to the top. he carefully clasps the closure, and you swear you feel every hair on your body sticking up when his fingertips gently graze your back. "don't touch me, heeseung."
"i'm trying to help you. otherwise, you'd flash that entire crowd." he scoffs, pressing the floor button. you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself as the elevator becomes silent. the tension is thick between you, you know it. your eyes never leave the neon sign, watching the floor numbers go by before heeseung reaches over and pulls the emergency lever.
"what the fuck are you doing?! i'm already late!" you gasp, hitting his arm with your bouquet when he stands in front of the lever. "i can't let you do this unless you hear what i have to say."
"heeseung, i'm getting married. this is the biggest day of my life–" your whining is cut short by his hand on your mouth, and only then do you see the unshed tears in his eyes. "the biggest day of my life was when i met you on that stupid playground. i never, ever in my life thought our friendship would end this way, and you know what, it makes me kind of sick."
he breathes deeply, removing his hand from your face as he sees the shock in your eyes. "you're saying you're already late to your big day, well i just want to say i beat you in that department. i've never had a problem with punctuality, but i really missed the mark on this one." his chuckle is dry, humorless as he looks at the bouquet in your hand. "i don't think i'll get over this, ever. i'll never get the chance to be in his place. but,"
he steps back, fingers gripping the emergency lever in his hand.
"i want you to know that it should be me. i should be the one waiting for you at the end of the aisle. i should be the one who gets to love you until the end of my days, and even then, you'd never die. you'd be loved by me forever, the evidence strewn all over the world in compositions and lyrics. i would never let you die."
he pushes the lever back, before moving back to his original spot next to you. the elevator doors open, revealing an empty lobby. the storm clouds are no longer that far away, and you can feel the humidity through the open plan of the resort.
"i am foolishly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you. and i hope you realize this is the biggest mistake of your life." his voice is soft, as is his smile when he offers his hand. "here's to your forever, my love."
if heeseung was anything, it was a sick bastard. a sick, rat bastard who had no shame. your mother took you from his arm at the end of the aisle, and you didn't even realize you'd allowed him to lead you there. jake's eyes shone with what could only be identified as jealousy.
he smiled the entire ceremony, clapping and whistling alongside your other guests through the vows. the sappy vows jake had penned were poetic compared to yours, but he knew what you meant anyway. you felt several fat raindrops plop onto your head and shoulders, while heeseung had come prepared and shared his umbrella with your mother.
he even helped her inside once the rain really started pouring, just after your first kiss as a married couple. your stomach was boiling over in fury as you watched him laugh with her, his eyes only meeting yours once with a soft smile.
you and jake slipped away to change into your reception clothing, his suit jacket abandoned and sleeves rolled up, showing off the watch you got him for his birthday. your ballroom white dress, now stained with sand, was traded in for an a-line style. jake met you in front of the resort, his fingers curled in yours when he finally spoke.
"we really did it, huh." he says quietly, his eyes scanning the shut doors of the reception venue. you nod, your breath caught in your throat when he takes a step back, his hand squeezing yours. "two years."
your ears twitch at this. "what?"
"all i ask for is two years. we can have a kid. we'll have an heir to our wills. we can get divorced after two years, and you can be with him." he breathes, eyes following the pattern on the heavy wooden door. you choke out a scoff of disbelief, your throat burning. "what the fuck are you talking about, jaeyun?"
he winces at the use of his name, so used to gentle baby and sweetened honey. a sigh escapes his lips as he turns to face you. "i know you love him, y/n. you don't have to hide it from me. you wouldn't have brought him all the way out here, you wouldn't have gone behind my back and changed the plans for the band. your mom loves him, for crying out loud. i never stood a chance." he chuckles sadly, and your tears are hot as they flow down your face.
"how can you say that, jaeyun? i'm married to you, i've chosen you, over anything and anyone in this world! how can you say such things?!" your hurt is evident, but he can't figure out if it's because of the little blame game or if it's because you truly, deeply love him. he doesn't know what to say, but reaches to wipe your tears. you jerk away, a frown etched on your glossed lips as you wipe them yourself. you take a deep breath, grabbing the door knob.
"fix your face." you mutter, a tone jake had never received from you as he sighed, painting a smile of everything's okay on his face as the two of you threw the doors open in unison. your crowd of guests cheered loudly, rice flying everywhere as they welcomed you in. the band was loudly playing got to be real by cheryl lynn, and you almost forget jake's painful words behind the door. you almost forget that heeseung will be queueing up to sing for you and your husband, for free, on the very stage you're now standing in front of.
jungwon hands you a microphone and two champagne flutes, before slinking away to his seat. you hand one to jake, who swirls it nervously.
"wow, it's such an honor to have all of our loved ones here today." your voice is shaky as you take them all in, dozens of eyes staring you down. "i mean, i've waited for this day since i was a little girl. it's a blessing to finally see it in color, in person. thank you."
jake breathes in deeply, before looking away to blink back tears. "i'm not crying, my eyes are just sweating." he speaks into the microphone, earning an empathetic laugh from the guests, your hand ghosts over his back, and he stiffens at it. "i'm so…so terribly in love with y/n. i can't believe this day is real."
a soft aww echoes in the room, your chest tightening as you see heeseung sitting next to your mother. he's cooing with everyone else. "and i can't wait to be a man that is continuously worthy of her love. to y/n."
you almost burst into tears as everyone raises their drinks to you, the clink of glasses adding to the emotion as you and jake find your seats at the end of the hall. you sit gingerly, holding jake's hand under the table tightly. "i love you, jake."
"i love you, y/n."
the speeches were a mess. jay was a mess of tears, and minjeong spewed bullshit about the two of you being like sisters. heeseung hadn't met her until five minutes after the ceremony, and if you had been close to anyone enough to consider them a sibling, he'd know them. no one knew you like he did.
"and now, for the newlyweds' first dance! we have a very special guest singing for us today, please give a warm welcome and round of applause to y/n's longest friend, lee heeseung!"
he smiled nervously as he took the stage, a puffy-eyed jay sitting behind him as he tested the microphone. "thank you for having me, and congratulations to the newlyweds. y/n, i'm eternally proud of you and so grateful to be here on your special day. i love you."
none of the guests know it means something more to him, to you, as they let out an aww. how heartwarming, that your lifelong best friend was here for you. how lovely, that he was supporting you every step of the way.
he sang carefully, watching as you and jake held each other tightly, swaying to the song. he can hear your sniffle, a soft sob into jake's shoulder as he lovingly strokes your back. he looks away.
it should be him.
it should be heeseung, that gets to see you wear white. it should be heeseung, that gets to plan a tedious wedding at your instruction. it should be heeseung that gets to take you on a romantic honeymoon and spend all day in the sun and all night glued to your bed. it should be heeseung that gets to shampoo your hair for you when you're feeling too tired, it should be heeseung that gets to watch you put lipstick on in the morning just to ruin it before you're out the door.
it should be him. and everyone knows it, no matter if they know your history or not.
"thank you, everyone. let's hear it for the newlyweds!"
october 15.
"hey."
it's been over a year since your wedding. you and jake had happily posted tons of wedding photos, piled over with honeymoon flicks. you and heeseung hadn't spoken since the wedding. he left right after the first dance, catching the first ferry back to seoul. he didn't bother contacting you to see if you'd made it back safely, he didn't bother to message you a happy birthday when it came around. he just didn't care.
he dropped out of college for the second time, and spent the summer going around seoul auditioning for companies. decelis entertainment finally gave him a break, and only after he got his contract did he find out that jake and all of his friends were also at this company.
he was polite in the hallways. he smiled, he waved, he engaged in small talk and perused the past. he didn't ask questions, he didn't initiate. he spent his time holed away in the studio with a producer named yeonjun, recording for hours on end without a break. he was set to debut in two weeks, having dropped his first teaser just two days prior.
all without you to cheer him on.
"what are you doing here?"
his voice was cold, nothing you weren't used to at this point. his hair wasn't red anymore, now a natural chocolate brown. it suited him. "came to visit, heard from jake that you've been training for a year."
"what's it to you?"
he's being harsh, he knows he's being harsh.
"hey, y/n. nice to see you." jake calls from across the hall, exiting his studio with jay and sunghoon in tow. the two of them seem to say nothing at the sudden casualties between you and jake, or the insinuation that he hadn't seen you in a while. heeseung gives you a glance, your hands holding a gift and a grocery bag. "may i come in?"
"i'm busy, at the moment." he coughs, ignoring the way your eyes roll. "too busy for a slice of cake?" you hold up a bag in your fingers, and his eyes narrow. he leans back into the studio, his eyes scanning the calendar for any potential special dates. he's not even flipped to the right month, the calendar reading july.
"shit, did i miss something?" he whips out his phone, which you simply cover with your hand. a soft laugh escapes your lips as you lift your other hand, the gift bag screaming happy birthday in gold glitter flashing at him. "oh, man."
he moves away from the door, allowing you to walk in. you look around, and although the studio doesn't belong to him, it sure smells like him. it looks like him, it's covered in him, it feels like home.
"happy birthday, hee." you say gently, setting the gift down on the couch and slowly sitting down to unwrap his cake. "i know it's not much, but i'm barely here." you chuckle, tapping your temple as he takes a seat in his desk chair. he's wary, you can tell.
"something on your mind?"
"why are you here? i debut in two weeks, i don't need any bullshit." he rubs his temples, and you only frown. "you know, once upon a time, you would've been happy to have me here." your tone is pointed, and heeseung sighs. "fine, fine. i'm sorry."
"i'm the one who should be sorry." you murmur, and heeseung says nothing. he knows you're right.
you're both quiet, before heeseung notices the candle next to the cake. he rolls the chair over, his fingers carefully centering the candle. "have you got a light?"
you shake your head no, a sheepish look in your eyes. "i'm sorry. we can pretend, if that's okay?" he hates the way his lips twitch into a smile at your wide eyes. "yeah, we can pretend."
you sing for him softly, your cheek squished into your hand as you lean on the armrest. he closes his eyes, making a wish and blowing the makeshift flame out. "what'd you wish for?" you yawn, and he shakes his head.
"won't come true if i tell you." shrugging, he rolls back over to his desk, leaving the cake on the table. you just make a noise of agreement, before a sigh slips past you. "i heard your teaser, you know."
he doesn't care to react, only giving you a short sound. "mhm?"
"is it about me?" you ask, and he straightens in his chair before spinning around to face you. "all my songs are about you. every single one of them." he gestures to a tattered journal on the soundboard. it's covered in stickers, and…a taped photo of you and him as toddlers. "oh."
"i mean what i say, y/n." he rolls his eyes, before spinning back around. "if it were me, i'd never let you die."
but it is you, you think. it's always been you.
"why did jake say it was nice to see you?" he asks, too cowardly to look you in the eyes. he hears your sigh, before hearing you shift around on the couch. he spins around again, only to see you have removed your shoes and tucked your legs beneath you. his eyes scan you, before looking at your fingers. your ring is gone, replaced by a chunky painite stone in silver. your eyes are gently burning into him, and he shivers in the warmth. "well…why?"
"before the reception, he told me he knew." you shrug, "he knew how you felt about me, and how i allegedly felt about you. he brought up my mother, and how he felt like he'd never stood a chance."
"but he did. you married him, after all." heeseung rolls his eyes as you shrug, blinking slowly as you speak again. "we gave it a good shot. maybe i should've listened to all those superstitions, they're not such bullshit. the tripping, the rain, god, the way my ring was too tight." you scoff sadly, before glancing back up at him.
he seems to understand. if he doesn't, he doesn't say anything. sighing, you reach over to rustle the gift bag with your fingers. "you've got to open this, you know."
"y/n, i can't do this." he breathes out, eyes screwed shut. "i can't sit here with you and pretend like we're all good, like you're not married to the same guy i share a company with. we stopped being friends a long time ago, what are you trying to do here?"
"i'm not trying to do anything but reconnect. i fully accepted the fact that whether or not you're with me, you're still someone i love. i spent years trying to figure out why you drifted away from me, and then jake and i sat down at our dinner table a few weeks ago after meeting with the lawyer and he asked me about our friendship. so i told him everything, from the very beginning."
heeseung can't breathe as you get up, walking towards him and slowly sinking into a squat. your hands are on his knees, giving a gentle squeeze before you speak.
"i'm sorry i made it seem like i had no faith in you. i said horrible things to you, even if they seemed right to me, and i'm so sorry that it took someone else to tell me that i'd treated you so badly that day."
his eyes are brimming with tears, but he looks away from you. he can't cry, not now, not in front of you.
"you've always been like that, though." he murmurs, picking at his cuticles when you carefully take his hands in yours. he suppresses a sob as the warmth of you envelopes his fingers, "i was projecting. i thought that everyone had to be like me, that everyone had to have a plan. some people are just better at flying by the seat of their pants, i mean, look at all you've accomplished despite me saying such shitty things to you. you're about to debut, you're going to see great success. everyday i'm rooting for you, even if i'm not the person you go home to."
you give his hands a firm squeeze. once, twice, three times. i love you.
"are you divorced?"
you scoff out a soft laugh, looking down at his jeans. "jake and i haven't been together since the wedding. we spent the honeymoon playing mermaids and crying over whiskey sours."
"i can't forgive you right now." he confesses, making your head snap up to look at him. he swallows hard, "i can't forgive you right now, because i'm still mad at you. for saying those things to me, and…and you hurt me, when you asked me to sing for your wedding. it hurt me a lot, y/n."
"i'm sorry, hee." you whisper, your thumbs wipe at the tears spilling from his eyes. he leans into your touch, before pulling away. "i know you are, y/n. i know."
he gently pushes away, offering his hand to help you up. you take it, and he waits for you to put your shoes on before leading you back to the door. "i'll call you, okay? when i'm ready."
you step out of the studio, peering up at him with sad eyes. "you promise?"
synopsis ⦂ au in which an innocent, shy, and faithful sunghoon takes a summer job as a farmhand. he’s never indulged on his desires until the farmer’s daughter shows him a taste of sin. although riddled with guilt, he cannot deny or escape the new rousing feelings that impurify him. especially when she's set on ruining him every chance she gets.
genre ⦂ smut, slow burn romance, strangers to lovers
word count ⦂ 29k
tags ⦂ fluff and angst, repressed desires, innocence loss, guilt and shame, exploring relationships, falling in love, southern gothic vibes, summer au, clingy down bad sunghoon, ‘mean’ morally gray reader, both are weirdo loser freaks
content advisory ⦂ mdni ! dark-ish content ⚠︎ sexually explicit content in four scenes: handjob, oral (m. rec.), dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, virginity loss, corruption!kink, degradation!kink, praise!kink, switch!hoon, he whines whimpers and cries; religious themes, concepts, corruption, and criticism; manipulation, animal death, blood, intense scenes, abusive parenting, gun mention and use
note ⦂ poured my heart out. i hope you love it as much as i do. dedicated to my other evil, off-putting, and/or weird girls┊reblogs and feedback encouraged ⇀ playlist ⸝⸝ masterlist 🌾
You’re not sure what life in your small town was like before you were born. You can imagine it’s not too different from what it is now though. The thing about old country towns is they never seem to change. Open fields and miles of farmland. Two gas stations, one grocery store, a few family owned vegetable stands or in-home produce product shops. Only one notable neighborhood where the majority of the townspeople lived if not hidden somewhere else in the countryside. And too many churches to keep track of if the abandoned ones were included in the count.
You like to think your parents were happy before you too. Hopeful and optimistic when offered to take over your uncle’s farm. Excited for the next step in their relationship after their marriage. They were the ideal family dream coming to life: high school lovers, engaged after graduation, married, a career handed to them through family with a large property of land and lovely farmhouse. All that was left was to grow that family. To have children to not only help tend the fields and animals but run around barefoot, all smiles, and wide eyed.
You were positive that it was something they wanted.
But life couldn’t have been that easy for them; it would’ve been too gratuitous of a blessing.
The day you were born, your father knew there was something greatly wrong with you. He claimed that on the day you ripped your mother open, screaming and crying, that God spoke to him for the first time. He called it divine intervention. Believing the birth of your soul was a red-herring of all that was set to come but God would show him the light, the truth: that you were nothing short of evil and needed saving.
That year on the farm there was nothing but death. It only furthered your father’s harsh thinking of you. The crops and produce either died or rotted before it had the chance to grow or ripe. The animals were dropping dead from unknown illnesses. Every female livestock that gave birth passed in doing so. Barely any profits were made that year. Taxes were rising and so were the prices of nearly everything. It was a huge toll for your family, especially when raising their first child. Before you were even conscious of the situation everything was already deemed your fault.
Through the harrowing struggle, your father’s optimism turned to resentment. He claimed that bringing you to the farm was not like bringing a daughter home, but a corrosive parasite. He believed that you were the reason for the life being sucked away from their perfect farm life. So, he turned to the only thing that he could trust to save the family from your curse: God. Begging and pleading through prayers every morning and night to the sky for a better season.
He studied religion here and there before taking over his brother-in-law's farm but with the farm failing for the first time, he took a change of career paths. He was already well known among the locals, close with the church goers in the community. And somewhere along the way, he managed to start preaching himself. Nearly every christian in your town moved churches to follow where he went. Like sheep to a shepherd.
If only they knew what you did, what he was truly like behind the closed doors of your home. How his devotion was turning to violence. Day by day, becoming uglier.
While your father busied himself with his new found family, often away from home on the farm, the crops and animals began to thrive again. Slowly but surely, growing and regaining health. He would say it’s God’s doing, a small taste of His salvation.
Your early years were mostly troubled by the relationship of your parents. Too young to fully understand their disputes, drawing at the kitchen table with their yelling sounding the house. It was always about you, that much you knew. Because you watch and you listen. Quick to learn that they tried for another child but never had any success. They wanted someone else to be their baby. Something that felt more like a blessing than you. Your father constantly spitting in your mother’s face that you were the rot to the fruit of her womb. And then he would always end up leaving by slamming the door and your mother would always join you at the table with tears and a bottle of wine. You always just watched, listening in silence. Perhaps just born resilient.
Growing up was different for you compared to most of the kids in your town. You never had the opportunity to make many friends being homeschooled. The only time that was spent around others your age was kindergarten. Kindergarten was short lived because of your behavior; the teachers at school were concerned about you. How you were mean, rough, and sinister with your actions towards others. Picking on the kids you were simply interested in because of how different from you they were. Drawing pictures of gutted cattle or dead, half developed baby chicks still in their shell and giving them as gifts to the teachers. Sharing to classmates the cruelty of farm life and why it was pretty with a smile.
Your father loved to find out about this, you could see it in his eyes. The way they were wicked and screamed I told you so to your mother. You didn’t understand why it was bad or caused trouble. You were only having fun for the first time. The way the kids ran away crying or the teachers wore faces of shocked horror, it made your insides light up in joy. A new feeling—a sense of excitement. You didn’t know it was sick. And of course, it was taken from you. You were removed from school and your mother became your teacher. Your classmates became stuffed animals and the real ones in the barns. It was hard for you to find that joy you briefly felt with others.
Sometimes you had a glimpse of it again when your father would punish you. But even that you grew sick of. The mess, the stench of it all. Sticky and red, worse in the heat of summer. He drilled the sick moto for his actions into your head, “I know no punishment, only mercy.”
Father took you both to church more often after that. He had a false image to uphold afterall, one of a happy, God loving family. In his ego he had to prove that his preaching and prayers could fix you, save you. But that was only admitted at home, loud and scary to your mother. Your poor mother, weak and defensive of you, eventually waved her white flag. You wished she kept fighting for you and that she wouldn’t begin to see you the way your father did.
Childhood and adolescence was a string of questions about yourself. Never quite finding out what made you so bad to be seen as devilish when all you thought of yourself was curious. Perhaps just unlucky to be correlated with negative happenings on and off the farm, always gone without a chance of understanding. Despite it all, you knew well enough the way your parents talked and looked at you was without unconditional love.
On your 17th birthday, the family dynamic made the biggest shift to be experienced.
At this age, you had such a strong sense of independence and with the lack of parental guidance and monitoring, you would leave town when you could. Ride your bike down the long road to the bus stop at the center of town and take the bus into the city over. Your mother was generous with allowance and you saved your money well, only spending it on books or trips to the movie theater. A form of escape that allowed you to learn more about the world and all the things your parents tried to keep hidden from you. A way to learn how to be human.
So when your father was tearing your room apart in search of the same gift he re-gifts you every year, he found some things that made his stomach churn. Every year for your birthday he rewrapped the same, first ever, bible he’d given you. Funny enough that he gave you anything at all considering he never even referred to it as your day, only his day of revelation. And to his disgust, on his sacred day, he found books and journals of explicitly detailed copulation and debauchery.
He almost fainted. Stumbling over his own feet, hands shaking as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words on the pages. That was the only time you smiled on that day. Just for a second. And then a glimpse of hell broke loose.
In a rage, he destroyed everything. Your mother stood next to you in tears, telling him to stop and stop. Her hands covered her face but she saw everything through her fingers. You only watched in silence, hands balled in fists by your side. A silent hatred and anger coursed in you. He called you names that no man of God should, especially to his own daughter.
“You’re a disgraceful deviant of Satan! I should’ve known. My own day of revelation is a curse!” You watched him rip pages apart, his voice booming through the house. “Years spent praying for you and this is how you turn out?! Succumbing to nothing but a dreaming whore?!”
A part of you liked his mean words. It was so rare for him to use such colorful language.
You knew what would come next. He was going to have you ‘cleansed’. Something he always did when he discovered something new and sacrilegious of you.
But it didn’t come. Because there was no dying, old sheep on the farm at the time. He did make a promise to not forget though. A promise to have you washed in sacrificial, blessed blood on a day you least expected.
Your father left after that, leaving you and your mother behind. He moved to the city to continue his preaching at a larger church. He became known as the closest reverend to God for miles and miles. Lost in his ways, he only made visits when he needed to sort things out for the business of the farm.
You were content with his departure, yet couldn’t quite understand why your mother missed him. As far as you’ve seen, he was never kind towards either of you.
But now, it’s several years later. And although you’re free of your father’s heavy presence and homilies, he still makes his trips to the farm. You can feel the air change whenever he does, as if you’ve gained a sixth sense for his coming. Naturally intuitive to things having spent your childhood walking on eggshells in your own home.
And today, the air feels particularly chill for summer. The breeze sweeps in through your open window. The forecast called for nothing but sunshine all week, yet there’s an angry, dark cloud hanging over your farm. A foreboding feeling shivers through you, and you know he’s going to fulfill his promise today. You sigh and slide out of bed. “Let’s get this over with.”
You spend the morning doing your usual routine. Brushing teeth, washing your face, then dressing in farm work attire. Your breakfast consists of tea and your mothers homemade strawberry scone. Next is tending to the animals. Your mother usually takes care of the crops and gardening. It’s a quiet and early morning, as most are. The both of you keep to yourselves, just doing what needs to be done day by day.
The sound of a car is heard coming down to the long dirt road and you know who it is by the sound. It’s a fancier vehicle than the one he left this property with years ago. A meaner part of you likes to think his greedy hands got into that mega church’s donations but you’re too self aware of the successful farm your family owns.
Your father parks in front of the house and your mother is quick to rush over to him, presumably with many questions: How have you been? Are you hungry? Thirsty? What brings you here so early in the month?
You roll your eyes at her desperation to cling onto the relationship that clearly ended when you were a child.
You place a hand on your hip, leaning your weight to the side that isn’t carrying the heavy bucket of chicken feed. Walking away from the coops and back towards the shed by the house, you make eye contact with your father despite only taking a glance.
He watches you with narrow eyes from the lowered window of the car he’s still sitting in, very much not listening to a word your mother is saying.
He calls your name before you can open the shed. Spinning on the heels of your boots, you turn around with raised brows of questioning.
He mouths the words sacrificial tree as he exits the car. Your mother sees this. She wears pained disappointment as she scurries away. Presumably to the barn where the sheeps and lambs are kept. She might as well be a sheep too, you think.
The bucket slips from your fingers and drops to the patchy dirt grass by your feet with a thud, spilling over in a mess that will be cleaned later.
You don’t bother giving him a nod of understanding. You just turn around and begin your walk to the tree line where the man made path is. Knowing it would take some time for his preparations, you walk to the lake that’s hidden behind the farmland.
It’s a brief walk through your familiar woods. Once at the short wooden dock, you sit down at the end, taking in the gloomy summer scenery. A light fog hugs over the water. You bring your knees to your chest, in your sitting position, and hug yourself the same way.
This is your favorite place out of all the land your family owns. It’s serene, mostly. Always quiet. You’re the only one who comes here. And it’s nice to swim with when the weather warrants it. There’s a feeling here that’s hard to feel anywhere else you find yourself. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like with someone else, but you doubt it would be as nice. Trouble has a way of following you, it seems. You frown at the thought.
It’s silent like this for a few minutes, just you trying to find a sense of calmness before the impending chastisement. Then you hear some rustling of leaves, heavy footsteps following. You don’t turn around yet, you only wait for the call of your name. Your time of tranquility is too brief. You sigh before giving yourself a squeezing hug.
“It’s time,” the reverend calls out loudly, “quickly now, we have new farmhands arriving soon.” The sound of his feet walking away is when you stand. You wave a goodbye to the foggy lake before parting ways. Your feet move unconsciously, taking to where your body knows to go.
Leaves crinkle underneath your boots and twigs snap. The trees’ branches sway in the gentle morning breezes that pass.
In the mix of the small forest, man made crosses of sticks or plywood are spaciously scattered. Like a graveyard to all your bad doings. Most small but one large. Old rotted wood that stands crooked and begging to fall over right next to the largest, strongest tree. Your eyes, that are trained to ground, move upwards the cross and then to the tree. Your father stands there with a large knife in hand. Your mother waits cautiously not too far away. Her demeanor is frightful as if this is the first time. Coward.
An old sheep hangs by its hind legs from a sturdy tree branch. Unmoving and defenseless. Big beady, dumb eyes look in all directions but you. You think it must feel the same guilt as yourself, sorry that its life purpose is to embarrass you, make you hate what you are.
“God told me to make a sacrifice to prove my faith. He guides my hand in washing your soul clean of sin. So here I am with our blessed, dying lamb.” He’s said this every time. His voice is always miserably rehearsed and preacher-esque.
You thought long ago that this was their, the lambs, only use on the farm. It’s a shame. All that devotion has made him so ugly and violent.
You make small steps closer to the lamb. It’s whining in bleat baas and mehs. Does it know what’s happening? Is it scared? You like the lambs, sheeps. Pure white, soft, and docile. They never fight back. They just take it. I doubt they need restraints. You could hold them above me just the same and they’d never resist.
“Move faster, for the love of God. Yeah, stand right there underneath like you know how to.” He instructs you, annoyed. His patience running thin as the distant sounds of a truck makes way down the dirt road to the farm property.
“Okay…” You don’t fight him, with arms crossed behind your back and a hand squeezing around your own wrist, you move closer. Maybe you’re a lamb too.
Maybe all your father really was is the executioner.
He raises the knife as he begins to speak, it slides over its cotton, white throat but does not cut, “Revelation 7:13-17 Then he told me, ‘These are those who come from the great tribulation, and they’ve washed their robes, scrubbed them clean in the blood of the Lamb. That’s why they’re standing before God’s Throne. They serve him day and night in his Temple. The One on the Throne will pitch his tent there for them: no more hunger, no more thirst, no more scorching heat. The Lamb on the Throne will shepherd them, will lead them to spring waters of Life. And God will wipe every last tear from their eyes.’” He slits its throat in a quick, harsh movement. The blood spills just as fast, squirting spurts of red before it comes pouring down onto you. “Face up,” you obey even though it brings you rage, “it ought to cleanse those unholy thoughts I know that are still in there.”
Head raised to the sky with eyes and mouth squeezed shut, you let it consume you. Warm, thick and wet washes down from your head onto your clothes then down to your feet. The smell of animal, metallic iron covers you. It’s sticking to your hair, eyebrows and lashes. You can already feel your clothes clinging to your skin in the dirtiest ways.
You stand there, drenching in the its blood. Your father speaks again, firm and slow, “Say it with me now, ‘I know no punishment, only mercy.’” All you feel is the animal’s rain of life flooding you.
You open your mouth to speak but are quick to spit and cough out the blood that manages to get into your mouth. Smack.
“I don’t have time for this,” his voice sounds like an echo, your head is ringing from the harsh swing of his hand. The skin of your cheek stings. He hits like a bitch, you think. “Say it with me now, dammit!” You can feel him wipe his bloodied hand on the side of your shirt.
You step back from under the red shower. “I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your words align with his in the perfect paced harmony you’re trained to do so. Enunciated, slow and strong, through gritted teeth.
There’s a beat of silence before the sound of your parents footsteps walking away.
Standing there in red, yet to open your eyes, you breathe out a shaky sigh of defeat. It sounds more like a growl. With the mostly clean hands you kept safely behind you, you bring them up to wipe the blood from your face. You don’t dare to look at the dead animal in front of you. Being covered in it is enough alone to make you feel sick.
You think of going back to the lake, jumping in and letting the blood wash off you there, but knowing you’d either walk back with further drenched clothes or naked didn’t seem like options you wanted to deal with either. So you just head back to the house. It’s a slower walk than need be, but you just felt like avoiding the eyes of the newcomers, hoping they’d be off in the fields or in a barn by the time you walk through. You feel numb.
You’re wrong though, by the time you’re passing the barns and coops, the group of new farmhands are already lined up outside the horses’ stable. Your mother is talking to them, although not all are paying attention. Only a few pairs of wide eyes follow you. Catching the sight of you must really shock them but you can’t blame them. Something about this makes you excited. You stop in your tracks and look around to see if your father’s car is gone. It is. The realization feels like a wave of relief and it suddenly feels brighter outside already.
You take a glance down to your disheveled appearance. Shirt, pants, and boots painted like the barns. You look back to the group, brushing the soiled hair back from your face. Some pieces stay stuck, in the early stages of drying against your skin.
It’s safe to have a little fun.
You begin a slow walk over to the group. You take a headcount and there’s five of them. Two younger men, closer to your age. The other three look a bit older, not by much but definitely older. Your mother is yet to turn around from whatever rundown she’s giving them. Too dense to even recognize that now none of them were paying any attention to her.
You creep up beside her and open with, “Hello,” your voice is louder than even you’ve heard it be in a long time. It’s nice to be heard, noticed. You usually avoided the farmhands, but this summer was going to be different. You decided this on the walk over.
Being cooped up on the farm for so long made you different, it’s obvious to anybody. Not properly socialized in your developmental years caused you to be an anomaly to the ones who did come across you. Enigmatic from far away and up close. Now isn’t the greatest example though, the situation is too clear as to why.
Your mother turns to you, gasping and jumping back slightly in the shock of your gross state and sudden introduction. “My goodness, girl, whatta ya doin’ here like this?” Her voice is hushed, clearly unsettled with the situation.
They all just stare at you, open mouthed and bewildered. You take the time to get a good look at each of them up close. Your eyes follow their faces individually down the line. And then they stop.
At the end of the line is a man more beautiful than the ones you’ve seen in the movies. You feel stuck in time, left with parted lips, staring at the man before you. And far too intently for your character. He stands tall, sharp, pale, and elegant. What is a boy like this doing here? He averts his eyes from you, clearly uncomfortable by what’s before him. He looks uneasy, shifting his weight foot to foot with his hands behind his back. His pretty eyes glance around from you to your mother to the other men and the ground. He simply doesn’t know what to do with himself. You find it dangerously darling of him.
You don’t even realize the small smile that takes your lips. You step closer to him and he steps back, now looking at you with wide eyes of small fear. You extend your hand to him, it’s coated in drying blood. He gulps and the sight, his adam’s apple bobbing in such a biteable neck stirs something in you. This will be far more fun than you intended.
You say your name softly for introduction and step a little closer, “Nice to meet you," you feign cuteness as much as you can, looking up at him through your blood clumped lashes. It’s clear to everyone there is something off; there’s little to no real emotion behind your voice and face.
Your mother eyes you suspiciously as you corner the handsome man, but she says nothing. Sometimes she fears you too.
He looks from your eyes to your hand, having an internal battle with himself on what to do, “Ah, I am Sunghoon... Nice to meet you too.” His politeness must be stronger than his frighteness, because he takes his hand in yours and shakes it gently. His hand is large in yours, nearly covering it entirely. You squeeze it hard, your eyes never leaving his, trapping him in the scene.
He wants to look away, to hide somewhere. The way his skin crawls tells him he’s a prey already in the mouth of a predator. And you know he’s nervous under your intense gaze because your hand feels like a lamb is still bleeding above you. His palms are sweating, and it’s nowhere near hot enough for that yet. Your smile grows to a smirk.
Although you’re wearing the lamb, having Sunghoon’s hand in yours made you feel like a wolf.
Sunghoon’s first day of his summer job starts off duller than he imagined. The sun isn’t out this morning and it only intensifies his anxiousness, as if the grey skies reflect his inner emotions. He’s already new to the area, away from home and staying in an apartment not far from his college in the city. A private, christian school that he studied hard to get into with his friend. He wishes his best friend and roommate, Jake, was joining him in this job, but Jake already had plans to teach at a summer soccer camp for kids through their school.
He found this opportunity through the college church they attend together. A reverend from another church in the city came to visit one Sunday, handing out flyers to the young men in hopes of finding farm help. The pay is good and the bus fairs to the small town over where the farm’s located is covered. He’s never done work like it before, nevertheless was he going to let a simple offer pass him up.
Things are going smoothly to start, being told how to care for, clean, and feed the animals to crop preservation. Everyone would have their own specific roles on the farm. Sunghoon was assigned the easier of the tasks, either feeding animals or watering and fertilizing the vegetables and fruits crops. He learns there are already regular farm workers that would come throughout the week to collect produce, material, and use the machinery for the more laborious work. And if she wasn't around when needed then they could ask any of the regular employees for assistance or find her at the house.
As the farm owner is about to give details on the horses’ maintenance, a girl saunters in. And the anxious feelings become of Sunghoon all over again. His eyes are wide, taking in her appearance. The smell of the farm dissipates and putrid copper takes over. The worst part is how calm she appears, and the fact that she’s unbothered with all that she wears.
He thinks his brain short circuits, everything seeming muffled and unreal. He doesn’t even realize he introduced himself or touched her. It all was too quick and unfamiliar for him to grasp.
He watches as she walks away, back to the house that sits slightly over the hills and valleys of the property. His expression is blank, blinking slowly at the strange girl then down to his hand that’s stained red too.
“Don’t pay her no mind,” the woman speaks up, she sounds as if she’s warning them. “Just get yer work done and when everyone’s finished y’all can head back home. I won’t ask too much of ya in yer first month here, alright? That might be a different story later.” She tries to end the statements in humor with her forced laugh.
Sunghoon nods but his eyes don’t leave his dirty hand. The other men nod along too and give their ‘yes, ma’ams’ in return.
The woman continues walking them around the farm, listing rules and guidelines they must follow, along with advice and tips for the work they’ll be doing.
The day flows as easy as it can for Sunghoon. He doesn’t talk much with the other farmhands. He also doesn’t know them well enough to be comfortable in their conversations, so he just exists in awkward silence, sometimes reacting. While they can joke around and find fun in the work, his mind keeps wandering off to the girl from earlier, to you. How your empty eyes held onto his and small hand even tighter. He thinks the palm of his hand still burns from the interaction.
Around the afternoon time, Sunghoon and the guys are sitting around a picnic table near the house. The sun is beating down on them all now while they chug down water and eat their lunch. The owner was kind enough to provide their refreshments and meals. They were all thankful.
She adds that there’s a small lodge up the dirt road. It’s a little old but homey and has space with two spare bedrooms if they need to wash up or rest at any time. It was originally built for the farm workers that worked late and needed a place to stay if need be.
Once done, the boys stand up and talk about what they have left to do. The next bus back to the city isn’t running for another two hours so they speak of taking some leisure time and exploring the farm property. Meanwhile Sunghoon is still sitting, watching them huddled in conversation. He wipes some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as they begin walking towards the fields.
Sunghoon, taking what the farm owner had mentioned previously, decides that he’d like to stay inside to get away from the beating sun for a while. So he gathers his trash to throw away in the bin by the road near the house’s mailbox and begins his walk to the lodge.
Once inside he takes in the rustic, outdated furniture. It’s a little dusty and the floorboards creak beneath his feet but he finds it somewhat comforting. The living space has two couches by an old stone fireplace, a center table with board games and cards, a kitchenette, and a large dining table with enough space to seat six people.
The decor is very farmers-life-esque. From a cow print rug in the small kitchen area to the antlers mounted on the wall near the dining table. There’s scenic southern paintings hung up along with antique crosses and prints of bible verses, all adoring the faded and peeling floral wallpaper. Above the fireplace hangs a painting depicting Jesus healing a blind man.
He walks down the only short hall in the lodge to find the two spare bedrooms the woman had mentioned along with a bathroom. He takes this time to wash his hands thoroughly and splash some cold water on his face. With his hands resting on the sink, he stares at himself in the mirror. The cold drops of water slip down his face, jaw, and back into the sink.
In his mind he’s questioning whether or not he’s sure of this job. It’s all too different from what he knows and he can’t help but feel out of place here. With a sigh, he drops his head and watches the water slip down the sink.
He jumps slightly at the sudden sound of the front door opening and closing, not expecting the others to join him here quite yet. No noise follows the action for a moment, not even footsteps. Then there’s the sound of a click, like the door is being locked. He straightens his posture and peaks out the bathroom door, listening for their voices or any sound other than silence. It offers nothing to him so he begins to feel tense.
“Hello?” Sunghoon calls out skittishly, but there’s no response. His heart rate picks up a little and he starts to think the boys are trying to pull some sort of childish prank on him. He leaves the room and makes slow steps down the hallway to the main area of the lodging house.
As he rounds the corner he doesn’t find any of the boys there though, he just sees you. His heart jumps at the realization. Sitting on the couch, in overall shorts and nothing else. Bare legs crossed and hands against the couch by your sides as you watch him peer around the corner with apprehension. You’re just sitting there, leaning forward and waiting for him to come find you.
Cowardly, Sunghoon makes a half turn. He presses his back against the wall of the hallway as if he could hide away or disappear into it. He even closes his eyes, thinking of a quick prayer to save him from this circumstance.
“Are you pretending to be shy or are you really this cute?” Your voice is teasing, and he can hear the wicked smile in it without seeing.
Feeling caught, he just sighs and slowly makes his way to the living area. He tries not to look at you, thinking you are too revealing. So he looks everywhere else and then to large windows that give view to the farm; none of the guys are in sight. Most likely somewhere goofing off. All he can see is the fields and farm buildings standing large in the distance.
He doesn’t move and speaks softly, “I should probably go find the others-”
You speak before he can finish his attempt of an excuse, “Come sit with me.” You pat the space on the couch next to yourself. Your voice sounds welcoming but he knows there’s an undertone of mischief.
He makes a quick glance to you and sucks in a breath at the view of your body that’s exposed from your overalls. The glimpse of the curve of your breast disappearing under the denim already makes him feel like he’s seen too much of you. And he has. He’s never seen such bare skin on a girl and he’s never been alone in a room with one either.
“Come sit with me, now.” You’re more stern this time, demanding in a gentle way. Your hand makes small movements, soothing over the material of the couch like you’re warming the space for him.
He visibly swallows as he makes his hesitant steps over to you. His heart is racing and with every beat there is a question of his strength. He sits down on the same sofa but not directly next to you like you want. You smirk nonetheless and turn to face him, sitting with your legs criss-cross now.
With your elbows to your knees you hold your head in your hands, watching the side of his face. You’re again realizing how sculpted his features are. Dark thick hair on his head, eyebrows and lashes too. An array of moles sprinkle his pale face. A sharp nose that sits above pink, full lips. You wonder if he knows of his own beauty. It’s fascinating to see such a person like him in front of you.
He’s sitting with perfect posture, not relaxing into the couch. Alert like a deer that’s waiting for too sudden of movement to pounce away. His eyes just watch the table, reading through the names of the board games that lay there as a way of distracting himself. He’s awkward.
“Uhm… d-does your family own this farm?” he tries for small talk to break the silence. His bottom lip finds itself between his teeth as he makes one quick look over to you. Luckily your overalls sit high up or he’d have a full view of your chest. He can’t help but think of the fact and it makes him shift uncomfortably.
“Do I make you nervous?” you question, seriously so. Brows pulled tight in a furrow with a straight face. You lean in even closer to him, watching for every change on his face.
“Yes,” his response is honestly quick and ends with a tight lip, like he’s holding his breath. He is yet to comprehend what is happening, still in a whirlwind of thoughts of what could—will—happen.
“Why?” Your head tilts slightly to the side, it makes him think of his roommate briefly. And man does he wish he were here to ease the tension.
He doesn’t want to admit that he’s never been in such close proximity with a girl alone before, so he just clears his throat and remains quiet after doing so.
Curiously, you bring a hand up with a pointed finger and brush the tip of it over the mole on the side of his nose. He jolts back at the sudden touch, his cheeks flushing a warm pink. His eyes now watch you with gentle confusion. He touches the same spot you did with a trembling hand.
“You have a constellation on your face. So many moles… Do you have a girlfriend?”
His face burns a little more, both from the observation and the question. He shakes his head, sitting himself further into the couch and further away from you. He can’t quite understand the situation. Are you messing with him? You seem too serious for such. Maybe you’re just weird like he initially thought. Either way he can feel his faith slipping; he is cupping holy water in hands during an earthquake.
“Did I do somethin’ wrong? Am I not pretty?” You pout to be playful with him, acting as if his actions are offending you. He takes it literally though.
“No!” his hands rest on his knees and he holds them hard, trying to find stability despite sitting down. “Y-you are… pretty,” his words grow quieter, like he’s sharing a secret. “I just don’t know you or why you want to talk to me.”
“Hm.” You lean your head back against the couch. With your eyes still on his face, you speak just as quietly, “I’m still trying to figure that out too.” After some beats of muted air you speak up again, but with more presence, “You came to work here. Why?”
“A man was handing out flyer ads at the church. I wanted a summer job.”
Is he always this direct and boring? And church, of fucking course. You roll your eyes, pushing yourself off the back cushion and even closer to the man. Your knees touch the side of his body and his thigh. He looks like he’s trying to control his breathing, to feign lack of disturbance, but his face says everything you need to know.
You place a hand on his thigh and his whole body stiffens at the action. Your smirk to yourself. It’s only resting there on the top of his jeans. “You act like a girl has never touched you before.” You give him a soft squeeze and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Well? Has a girl ever touched you?”
He shakes his head quickly, “No,” he breaks, feeling overwhelmed and wrong, “and I don’t think you should be. It’s against the churches values-”
“At your age you still follow the rules?” Your hand slides lower and back up his thigh, it’s a slow and teasing motion. There’s enjoyment in how scared he’s becoming.
Sunghoon knows that this is only going to lead him down a path he swore to God not to take. And if his parents were to know that in his first year away from home in the summer since college was locked in a lodge with a promiscuous girl he’d have it handed to him. The thought of their wrath makes him shiver all the more.
“I just don’t want to sin.” His eyes close and he bites down onto his lip again. He no longer cares if a stranger sees him as a loser or prude. His virtue is being tested in real time, and he’s feared facing this battle many times in the night because even in his dreams he loses.
“I’m only touching you. How is it a sin?” The tone of your voice changes, it’s soft like the hand that moves closer to in between his thighs. Your fingertips press into his clothed skin here and there, curiously feeling him up. You just try to get a reaction out of him. There’s a warm feeling in your stomach that you don’t recognize; it’s faintly familiar.
“Your hand isn’t supposed to be… there.” He makes a strained sound, something like a low whine, as your hand ghosts over his cock.
You look down to your movements for the first time and realize he’s sporting a half chub. You snicker quietly, cupping him in your palm. “Then why are you getting hard, Sunghoon? Do you like the way I’m touching you? I bet you’ve thought about doing this before too.”
He makes another noise, a whimper. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes and accept what’s happening. He also can’t find it in himself to stop you, or get up and leave. This wasn’t just a struggle with evil’s temptation but his own biological nature. Something yet to be explored, something that’s been scratching at his ribcage for years to be fed.
There’s too much he can’t admit in this moment. Starting with how he enjoys the sound of your voice, the slight accent and dialect difference he picks up. How the way his name leaves your lips makes him want to crumble like a burning church. And how he silently likes the fact he can’t control the way his body is reacting to your hands on him.
It’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. And he is weak.
“Answer me, Sunghoon.” Your hand presses down on him, feeling the growing hardness under your palm. You give him a small squeeze, massaging over the bulge. To your surprise he feels big. Your eyebrows quirk at this and then you look back to his face. A single tear runs down his face and you find satisfaction in it. “Lying is a sin too,” you remind him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hands fist the couch cushions at his sides. He grips the material so tight that his knuckles turn pink through the pale of his skin. His chest rises and falls through slow and deep breaths.
“You shouldn’t feel sorry for something that makes you feel good.” You palm over him a few more times, drawing out little moans and whimpers from him. He’s struggling to sit still. You can even feel him try not to push his hips back up into you; if only he would admit that he wants it. He’s practically pulsing beneath you, like there’s never been such a rush of blood to his cock in his life. You sigh dramatically and pull your hand away from him, sitting back to give him space. “That’s too bad. A good dog will always be loyal, huh?”
His eyes shoot open when he feels your hand is gone. He looks at you desperately with wet eyes, a small pout to his lips. You make him feel sick for wanting to ask why you stopped, or if he did something bad for you to take away his short-lived pleasure.
You smirk at his expression, so pitifully beautiful with want. “Have you ever touched yourself?” you ask, placing your hand over his that hasn’t let go of the couch. It takes you back when he flips his hand around to hold onto yours, clingy and wretched. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. Repulsed, you react quickly and take your hand away from him at his impulsive intimacy. It makes him frown with a meek whimper.
He shakes his head slowly, looking down to his lap. “I can’t.” He knows he’s not allowed to. His father was adamant through his puberty that he mustn’t succumb to his body’s natural taste for sin. He was told that sometimes the devil had a funny way of sneaking into a man’s mind. That Satan would haunt boys in their sleep to wake them up with guilt of uncontrollable lust to be like him.
“But you like when I do it, right?” You rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. His eyes look from your face to the thin opening of your overalls where your chest can be seen from the angle. He bites down hard and nods slowly. You coo, moving your hand back to his still hard, clothed cock. “I can make it go away if you want. You want that?”
He’s battling all the repressed things he’s been too afraid to explore; fearful of the swing of his parents belt he felt once long ago after being caught in a misunderstanding. In spite of it, he nods again. “It hurts.. Please, help me.” His voice is so quiet. Even he doesn’t want to hear his own pathetic begging.
Your fingers find the zipper of his jeans then you tug it down slowly as you stare at him. “You have to pull them down for me, okay? I can’t help you with just this.”
Sunghoon freezes for a second knowing he has control over being the one to take out his own cock. Yet apprehension leaves in a breath. Then he’s pulling the clothing down to his knees with frantic haste. You didn’t expect him to take everything off so fast but there’s a sense of pride in how eager you’ve made him become in such a short time.
You weren’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. His cock is as beautiful as him. Pale and raging pink, crying at the tip much like his eyes. He’s also big, bigger than you knew dicks could be. You thought they’d be ugly, gross and worm-like. But his is clean and pretty. It’s your first time seeing one in person; you wouldn’t let him know that.
You take him bare in your hands, feeling him like a foreign object. More curious of his body than in his pleasure in the moment. His body tenses then relaxes against the couch. A shaky, breathy moan leaves his lips. His eyes flutter at the contact of skin.
You squeeze him, making his moan weakly again. It’s heavy in your hand. Truly just a stick of warm flesh. A part of you wants to squeeze him as hard as you can just to see if it can break, but you withhold on hurting him for now. Not wanting to scare him too much in hopes of exploring him further through the summer.
Your hand wraps around the length as much as it can, pads of fingertips brushing over every vein and curve as you slowly move your hand up and down. When your thumb circles around his tip and flicks the leaking hole, his body lurches forward with a loud cry of a moan from him. You wonder if he’ll cum in the next few seconds of simply touching him.
“I think you’re a slut for a little pleasure, Sunghoon.” You use your palm to gather his precum, circling over the tip to smear the thick cream around. Then you drag it back down himself, wetting his cock in his own prerelease. It slides easier now, your hand. You move faster, jerking him off in lazy, inexperienced motions. Not that he would know anyways. “You gave into lust so easily, didn’t you? Must’ve wanted this for so long. Your body’s nasty, eager for it.”
In his ears, you make the nasty words sound delicious. And he wants to devour more and more, like the starved man he is. His hips snap up into your hard, sudden and rough. You wrap your free arm over his shoulders, a hand sneaking up into his hair to tug aggressively on the thick dark locks. You’re pulling his head back, forcing him to look at you. “Don’t be a whore. I’m helping you. I didn’t say fuck my hand.”
“Ahsh- I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he whines, tears burning his eyes, “it, it f-feels good. I feel so good.” His head falls to lean against yours, face burying into your hair. His head makes little shakes as he begins to cry, telling himself no, no.
“Shut up...” You don’t like how close he is to you. You only like doing so to tease him, but when he does it, it makes you feel a fiery anger in your chest and belly. Uncomfortable. Smothering.
Your hand works in sloppy motions. Pumping his pulsing cock to reach his orgasm. At the tip your wrist makes flicks with your thumb, working him up further and further.
He stutters out incoherent apologies into your hair throughout his sobs of wanton, whimpering moans. Everything about his body is sensitive to the new sensations. He can’t help but move his hips up into your hand, humping the small fist that’s fucking down onto him.
Confused by the warm, tight feeling flexing of his abdomen he whines against you, “I can’t- I can’t take it. My body feels weird now. Mmph, ‘m sorry. I don’t know what’s h-happening.” His body feels volcanic, ready to burst.
You continue your movements, jerking his reflexing length until he’s cumming into your hand. It’s a heavy load of thick, creamy mess. His voice is too close to your ear as he moans a drawn out needy sound. Your face remains plain while you pump him until he’s milked dry. His body flinches and curls into yours through the aftershocks, clearly overstimulated and over-sensitive. His arms snake around your waist to pull you against him.
You stare down at your hand that was earlier covered in the blood of a lamb and now the cum of a virgin. It looks like fucking snot, you realize with repulse. Without thinking you bring your hand up and lick the strange release. Your face scowls at the unknown taste so you just wipe the rest on your overalls. “You are disgusting,” you mutter.
Sunghoon remains silent aside from his sniffles, eyes peeking through his bangs to watch what you’re doing. He still hasn’t stopped clinging to your side, as if you could save him from his first lustful sin.
You push yourself up and off the couch, his body slightly falls to the side where he was leaning on you but he catches himself. He watches you with sad, scared eyes. You stare blankly in return then look out the window to see the group of men walking around the picnic table they ate at earlier.
“Farmhands will be leaving soon. Clean yourself up in the bathroom.” You don’t spare him another look, you just walk to the front door, unlock it, and leave. You ignore the way he looked like a sad abandoned puppy. Something about it angered you in the same way he was being clingy.
You walk back to your house with a slight skip to your steps. As you step through your front door, you’re about to head upstairs to your room but stop in your tracks because your mother speaks.
“Hate him all ya want,” your mothers words slur, she speaks slowly and tired-like, “but he was a good man. He used to love me… And then you came along.” You turn to the living room on your left where your mother lays on the couch, wine glass in hand and eyes heavy lidded. “I know what yer capable of. I’ve seen the things ya do on this farm, in this home.. When ya think no one is watching.. He just might be right about you.” You glare at her now. “There is something evil in ya, child. Leave that boy outta yer wickedness.”
Her wine glass falls to the floor from her fingers and she groans, turning to her side. You stare at her for a moment before walking up to your room.
Meanwhile Sunghoon spends his next 20 minutes in a spiral of guilt and shame. He cleans himself up in the restroom like you told him to. Then waits, watching outside the window for when the boys are gathered around the truck they drove in from the bus stop to leave in. It was hard for him to get the tears to end. He fell right into sin’s lustful trap and it made him feel so- No, it only made him feel hurt. Stupid. Bad.
On his bus ride back into the city he prays. Sitting in back, alone with his indignity, and head bowed low so no one could see his red rimmed, glossy eyes. Time goes by so fast that he nearly misses his stop to get off.
He ignores his roommate when he’s home. Jake, excited and curious of Sunghoon’s first day, is left cold. Sunghoon showers for longer than usual. He scrubs so harshly at his skin he turns red; unable to feel clean no matter how much he washes. He doesn’t eat dinner because he feels he doesn’t deserve to. He gets into bed earlier than most days too. He tries to sleep but the day haunts him, keeping him awake.
He’s up all night in tears, face in his pillow with the blanket thrown over his head, trying to hide from He who watches. The begs of forgiveness seem endless.
“Dear God,” he whimpers, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” He doesn’t sleep much that night because he can’t find it in himself to stop humping into his mattress in hopes to chase and achieve the feeling you gave him earlier. His hips rock his aching hard cock into the bed, anguished yet titillated. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He continues to cry, drowning in his pillow, knowing he will do it again.
The next day on the farm is an early morning for everyone. Sunghoon sits quietly in the truck with the other summer volunteer farmharms. They talk amongst each other about the day’s schedule of duties and tasks. He struggles to keep his eyes open, head leaning against the window despite its bumps from the uneven dirt road. He thought about calling it quits on the whole job after yesterday, but couldn’t bring himself to. It’s for selfish reasons too. The ones that deepen his guilt.
The arrival to the farm is quicker than anticipated. Sunghoon forces himself to be more alert and awake, starting to pick up on the conversations between the others as he exits the parked truck.
“Do you think it’s still hanging there?” One says. “The lamb of slaughter?” Another dumbly asks with a snort. “Well yeah, dipshit. You guys think that girl did it? She was weird as hell.” A third voice chimes in, “Being covered in blood and then leaving a dead animal hanging from a tree is creepy as fuck. The lady was right, stay the hell away from her.” He laughs. The others walk away in continuous chatter, leaving Sunghoon by the truck.
Sunghoon is confused by this conversation and deeply disturbed. He doesn’t follow or press them with questions though. But it will give him much to think about for the day. He’s so exhausted from the lack of sleep, he wonders if he even heard them all correctly at all. Yeah, your whole introduction was strange but killing an animal and acting like nothing happened and then toying with him on the same day? Was all that really something a girl like you would do? He can’t say for sure because he doesn’t know you.
He goes about his morning tasks lazily. His mind is too busy with the thoughts of you. He thinks of when or if he’ll see you today. You haven’t shown around the farm all day. It’s only an hour before noon, he tries to rationalize with himself. He still ponders throughout his work. What time will you come? Will you mysteriously show up like yesterday? Will you touch him again? Will you let him feel good? Is he forgivable or going to burn in hell for wanting more?
He shakes his head to rid it of the thoughts. Perhaps he’s too hopeful. After lunch time he goes back to the farmers lodge to take a nap. At least that’s the realistic excuse he used. He struggles to even fall asleep because he’s so anxious about listening for any sound of you possibly coming back here.
His eyes, sullen and tired, just can’t stay open after half an hour of waiting. So eventually he does fall asleep. You never show up. When he wakes up from his long needed nap he somehow feels worse knowing you didn’t visit than he did committing his first sin.
The following day of work is a repeat. He doesn’t see you at all yet you occupy all of his thoughts. He thinks badly of himself for many reasons.
On the fourth day, you finally decide it’s time to check up on the poor boy. You watched Sunghoon mope around the farm for two days and it was cute at first but you’re getting bored again. You did like how his eyes were always searching around, hopeful that every sound he heard from behind or around corners was you. Knowing you had such an effect on him made you wonder how much more you could do to him.
From the window of your room, you watch when they all arrive. Your mother greets them like she does in the mornings and gives them all tasks that need to be completed for the day. It’s Thursday which means she’ll be out for a few hours to go into town and sort out business for products: cow and goat milk processing for cheeses and soaps. At least you assume considering you overheard her phone call about such the day prior.
You spend the morning around the house, reading and snacking on fruits, waiting for your mother to leave so you can proceed with your plan. There was some effort into your appearance today. You wear a spaghetti strapped white babydoll dress, lined at the bottom with sewn embroideries. It’s simple and flows nicely above your knees when you walk. You hate it because it alludes to soft purity but at least it feels good to dress light in the summer heat. And it might make you all the more approachable to feeble Sunghoon.
After about an hour, your mother finally leaves. You give it about 10 minutes before you’re shoving on your boots and leaving the house. Some of the blood from earlier in the week still stains the brown leather; you did clean them off but clearly not to the best extent. You’re okay with that though, it seems prettier this way to you.
Looking and walking around the property, you see the scattered farmhands busy with different things. The sun isn’t kind today, it’s piercing in brightness and temperature. The sweat begins to seep from your pores in a matter of minutes, making you feel sticky. You run a hand through your tangled hair, fingers getting caught in unbrushed knots that you yank through anyways. You don’t see Sunghoon anywhere that’s directly under the sun. You continue to search around the farm, gaining a few cautious looks from the other workers. As you walk past their gazes you wear a wry smile with a tilt to your head. They look away quickly after being caught staring.
Some wandering in and out of the different barns and coops are done. He wasn’t in any of them though. You greet the animals you pass by and give pats to some of the cows. “Have you guys seen him nearby? I’m not a fan of hide and seek.” You mumble to one of the goats, scratching lightly beneath its chin while it chews away at grains and hay. It maas in return. You pull your hand back out from the stable then leave to continue the manhunt.
It’s when you’re walking by the horses’ stables that you see they’ve already been cared for, telling you that someone was here already. You glance to the smaller shed nearby, having a suspicious inkling that it's where Sunghoon is. You walk to the shed and see yourself inside. And he is. He has his back turned to you, standing at a work bench table and cleaning something off.
You walk up behind him, the sound of your footsteps being dulled by the scattered hay on the wooden floors; he doesn’t notice that you entered the space, clearly lost in his own thoughts. You tap his shoulder which makes him spin around in surprise, dropping the brushes he was cleaning.
Sunghoon’s eyes are wide at the sight of you standing so close to him. You can tell he’s lost sleep by the dark circles around his eyes and how his complexion is impossibly paler. His mouth is stuttering to find words, opening and closing.
You step closer to him and he steps back, his backside now pressing against the table. It wobbles on the uneven wooden stilts that hold it up. Reflexively, his hands reach back to hold onto the table, but he’s using it for his own stability. You simply stand there in between his legs, staring up at his face and taking in all the details that differ from the last time you saw him. He swallows, quietly watching your face in return.
“I haven’t seen you around.” Sunghoon speaks first, his voice a soft surrender. You feel his breath on your face.
“I know. I saw you though. You missed me.” You state bluntly, taking note of the little fangs he has for teeth. He probably bites good, you think, licking the back of your own teeth.
“If you saw me then why didn’t you…” he trails off into a quiet again, closing his eyes for a moment with a sigh. “I wouldn’t call it that.” His eyes open again as he feels your hands on his chest, sliding up his white tank and underneath the sleeves of his denim jacket to his shoulders. He bites down, suddenly stiff.
Ignoring his response you continue, “How can you wear this when it’s so warm out?” Your hands slide over his shoulders and down his toned arms, the jacket slips down to reveal the toned limbs. Your eyebrows raise at the sight yet your face remains relatively blank. “You’ve got muscle. Good for farm work.” Small hands continue to run over the smooth milk-like skin, learning every curve of his lean built physique. It’s not sexual, just exploratory.
Sunghoon sucks in a breath, watching you inspect him. He begins to feel flustered, relishing in the contact of skin on his. You notice his tense body and ask him if it’s okay, to which replies a raspy stutter, “Y-yeah.” Your hands slide down his arms and back up to his shoulders. Then down his chest and body to stop at the waistline of his jeans. He has a nice body; he must be athletic. You don’t care to ask in what ways. Your fingers dip into his jeans just slightly to pull him in closer to you, he gasps, his growing cock pressing against your stomach.
“Sunghoon,” You ridicule him, tsking under your breath at the pressure you feel of his arousal. “Already?” You look up at him but he can’t meet your eyes, feeling embarrassed. You play with the waistline, your fingertips running back and forth between the denim and his skin. “Is this sinning?” It’s a soft question yet mocking. He only shakes his head, nervously gnawing at his bottom lip. “Do you want to?” He whimpers, slowly nodding his head. You take your hands off him, crossing your arms. “You have to tell me. Look at me and tell me.”
He looks back at you dispirited. He knows that you know what he wants. And here you are making him admit it outloud, both to you and God. “Please.” He begs quietly, hoping it only reaches your ears and not the sky’s. “I want you.”
There’s that feeling again. The lit match that falls from your throat to the gasoline of your stomach that erupts in flames. Fire to your abdomen and loins; it’s an angry feeling, sparked by his honest admit of want, and for you specifically. You watch him with narrowed eyes while mumbling, “you revolt me.”
He doesn’t reply to your venomous insult. It stings to hear the degrading words in both his heart and pants; he thinks himself disgraceful too.
You drop to your knees, hands finding place back on his jeans to undo his zipper. He stares down at you in bated breath, hands still gripping tight on the table behind him. His are pulled down slowly, purposely so. You watch him writher, body and face. “Did you do it again?” you question, looking up at him from below. He would never avow to how the sight of you on your knees alone makes him ache all the more.
He wants to tear his eyes away from you but he can’t. The image of you in your white dress on the ground before him needs to be burned into his memory. He stutters a mumble of words but you don’t catch anything, if he even said a coherent response at all. You ask again, pinching his thigh. He tries to hum over the strained noise in the back of his throat, “Yes.. I mean no! B-but I didn’t touch myself.”
You try not to giggle, biting the inside of your cheek. Knowing he wanted to feel that way again but couldn’t on his own gave you a funny sense of power over him. One of your hands traces the outline of his hard cock through his boxer briefs. “You make a mess?” He shivers at the feeling of your breath on his suffocating length. He breathes out a ‘no’ while you lick a strip over the material. “Why not? I showed you how.”
He moans softly, trying not to let his hips chase after the feeling that he’s been after for days. “You know I can’t,” he exhales. You roll your eyes, mouthing and licking at him languidly. Your hands are still half tugging at the material that keeps him hidden. A faint pool of precum quickly stains his boxers.
“Sunghoon,” you look up at him with your chin resting on the bulge. He swallows hard, acknowledging you with a hum. “You will never be free from it. The sin I let you taste will forever linger on the tip of your tongue, begging and licking to taste more in crave. No holy blessed water can possibly cleanse you even if you drown in it.”
His bottom lip pouts out with a little droning whine. He should defend himself, say that his faith is stronger than he is and that his soul is saveable by mercy. But a part of him also feels that doesn’t want to be. His eyes begin to well with tears.
“Not even a god could make you pure again,” you give him a small smile and pat his naked thigh before pulling down his underwear. His cock now free slaps his stomach to which he breathes out heavily. You grab him with both hands, giving him one last look before taking the leaking head into your mouth. Hands working on him steadily.
“T-that’s dirty!” he leans forward with a low sounding moan, his hands on your head and in your hair. Your eyes go wide at this. “Why would you put that in your mouth?!” he gasps, the warm wetness around his tip making him dizzy. “This is so vulgar, oh God, forgive me.” he cries, not pulling your mouth off of him but holding you there.
You circle your tongue around the tip and over his leaking slit, licking the beads of precum that leak out. It makes your grimace before you lean back, a wet pop as your mouth leaves. “Enough of your penitence, and take your hands off me.” It sounds like a warning to which he complies without question, only a hushed apology. He’s the one who wants to be touched anyways, not you.
You take him into your mouth again, your lips wrap around him in a painful stretch to accommodate his size. He sits heavy on your tongue that lays flat underneath, doing what you can with it. Your hands at the base work around him, jerking and squeezing him like you did before. You weren’t really sure what you were doing, mainly just mocking the actions you read about in books. It seems to be working for Sunghoon regardless because he can barely hold himself together. Whining and whimpering through fat tears, whole body shuddering from the overwhelming wet heat of your mouth.
His jaw goes slack, mouth hung open only to elicit a breathless moan. His head rolls back on his neck and his eyes flutter to a close. The feeling of your mouth wrapping around him is hot heaven. His body trembles with the new, sweeping sensation. Stomach already tight with contracting muscles. He thinks he could pass out.
Watching his face, him, discover and feel pleasurable sin is slightly euphoric to you. You’ve seen it in movies and read of it in books, but it was something you never quite fully explored yourself. There’s been a few instances that you did touch yourself; it always felt empty or like something was always missing. There’s little to no excitement when doing it alone in shameful hiding. Witnessing, causing such debauchery is different somehow. Safer in ways you didn’t dwell in thought on. You do wish he would stop crying about it, you find it pathetic of him in a provoked way.
Involuntarily, he thrusts himself down your throat with a guttural groan. You gag and cough around him, tears sting your eyes that make you squeeze them shut—refusing to let a single one dare to escape. Now it felt like a challenge. One to which you wouldn’t back down in fear of looking weak.
Your hands hold his thighs roughly, bruisingly so if you had the strength. You move his body in a small back and forth motion, encouraging him to continue his movements. You’re looking up at him with glazed over eyes and a slight nod. He chokes a sob at the sight, you on your knees not to pray but to devour him.
“Ah, I- I’m sorry. Your mouth is so wet, so warm.” He starts off with shallow thrusts, dragging his cock along your wet muscle. His hips stutter while his world seems to be crashing down. “This is so dirty. You look so dirty. And—ngh—it’s.. it’s so good. It’s so good,” he babbles, pushing himself as far down into your mouth as he can. His tip kisses the back of your throat making you gag around him. Your nails digging into the flesh of his strong legs. He can’t stop moaning and whimpering, becoming a slave to pleasure.
He watches your face. Hollowed cheeks sucking and swallowing around him, the tightness of your throat around him hugging and contracting through chokes that reverberate your body to his cock. The spit that leaks from your lips and all over him is obscene, such a sinful mess. He so badly wants to grab your head and force himself down further, but his nails dig into the wood of the table instead.
“Hm, I can’t—” he moans your name, thrusting rougher now. His whole body crumbling in on itself, chasing the feeling of release.
Then there’s the sound of footsteps and a few voices that follow. Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath, taking a fist to his mouth to bite down onto. He looks at you in fear because of the proximity of the other farmhands right outside. This only makes you smirk around him, a glint of evil in your eyes. He shakes his head hurriedly, stopping his movements—as if that would make you both disappear.
You push yourself off his cock, licking over your cracked and saliva covered lips. You bring a finger to your lips and shush him. “Be quiet or they’ll find out what a nasty whore you are. Unless you want that.” Your voice is quiet and raspy from the abuse of him fucking himself down your throat. You stare into his eyes intently before taking him back in. He glances from you to the door of the shed, his body shaking.
You slurp and suck him up, purposely loud and sloppy. A hand jerking off the base that doesn’t quite fit in your mouth. He cries quietly with his mouth open, meek and desperate sounds escape that he can’t withhold. “Please…” He’s whimpering, begging for something that he doesn’t know the context of.
“Do you think the extra feed is in this one?” A voice questions, the door being opened just a crack.
Sunghoon quickly tries to bend down for his jeans but you slap his hand away, pushing him back into the table. You grip his thighs and force yourself to take all of him down. You gag around him, eyes never leaving his panicky and fucked out face. His face silently begs for you that enough is enough but you don’t stop, because a part of you knows he doesn’t want you to either.
“It doesn’t hurt to check, does it?” The other replies with a light chuckle. “Could take a break for some shade too while we’re at it.” The door opens slowly with an agonizing creak, sunlight barely pouring.
Each passing second feels like an eternity to him. The door is still only cracked, not enough for them to see inside but it’s cutting it close. His cock twitches at the thought of being caught with his dick down the throat of the farmer’s daughter. A blazing adrenaline rushes through him.
Sunghoon can’t bear it any longer. His hands find purchase on the back of your head, pushing himself completely into your mouth. His hips stutter with a whimper on his lips as the hot cum pours down your throat. “Ah, sh- ngh!” You smack at his legs for him to release the hold, choking for air to breathe. You instinctively swallow around him, consuming his load of sin.
“You dumbass! The horses are already fed, let’s just go for a water break.” The door slams back on itself to a close. Their footsteps can be heard walking away.
Sunghoon breathes heavily, letting go of you. His body instantly relaxing back with his elbows on the table to support him. Meanwhile you fall onto your ass, a hand around your throat while you gasp for air through rough coughs. “What the fuck did I say about putting your hands on me?” You rasp before coughing again. The taste of him sits on the back of your tongue no matter how much you swallow.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “we shouldn’t get caught.” He pulls his pants and boxers back up then extends a hand to you, an offering to help you stand back up.
You scoff, ignoring his hand and stand up on your own. You brush the dirt and stray strands of hay from your knees. “Whatever. We both got what we wanted.” You start to turn for the door to leave the shed with the thought of brushing your teeth in mind.
Sunghoon, confused as to what you could’ve gotten out of helping him, just reaches for your hand. He grabs you and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are sad, maybe even a little afraid by your haste to leave. “Y-you’re just going to leave me again?” He sounds broken by the fact.
“What?” You can’t help but breathe a laugh, “Did you expect me to do more?” You ask with raised brows.
“No! No, not like that.. But..” He swallows his pride, “I- I don’t know. Just don’t leave yet. Please.”
You blink at him, scanning his features like a robot in calculation. The pleading of his expression and his words aggravate you. A fiery burning to your insides and the skin that he touches, that he reached for. You look down to his tight grip on your hand before yanking it away. You don’t say anything more, and neither does he. He wipes his eyes from whatever salty wetness is still there.
A moment of silence solidifies your decision. You beckon him to follow you out and he does.
For the rest of his work day you remain. You try not to think about why. But subconsciously you know it’s because for the first time someone willingly wants to be by your side. At first you imagine it’s because of what you’ve done for him—gave him what any man desires: pleasure. A man falling into temptation is far too easy.
Though he doesn’t ask for more and he doesn’t bring it up. Almost like it never happened.
It seems like he really just wants to be around you. There’s little said between each other. It’s just idle farm work with company. And it’s more peaceful than you expected it to be. He didn’t touch you, question you, or do much at all to bother you in general.
Sometimes he stares at you, but you do the same to him. He even gives a sheepish smile when he catches you; it doesn’t get returned. That doesn’t bother him though. He thinks you look beautiful on the farm in your dress with dirt covered hands and hair messy from the wind. He hopes to tell you that one day but for now he stays shy, still weary and afraid.
The sun shines relentlessly unless a cloud mercifully passes by. The breeze is rare yet kind. The animals make their sounds to sing a collective song. The trees and crops sway like waving hands of hellos and goodbyes, depending on where you’re headed to or from. It’s not so bad.
Two weeks go by. Time flies by for both you and Sunghoon. He comes to work during the week, and he spends his weekends missing you. He doesn’t know what you two are to each other, and he’s too scared to ask. There’s definitely been changes to the dynamic, however. Subtly so. You still don’t smile, or let him touch you. You roll your eyes and insult him if he’s too emotional. But you’re there.
Certainly not everyday, but most, you spend his work days with him. It’s easier to be around one another. There can be small talk, usually about the farm or the weather. Still much to be learned about on a personal level, but he’s fine with the pace of the relationship (outside of the unholy acts that are committed). Sometimes you even end up helping him. Or at least he thinks of it that way. In reality you don’t like how he does things and take over to do it yourself.
You still tease him in your cruel ways. Always ending with him in a mess because he’s easily worked up by your handsy curiosity. He caves into you every time because he can’t fight the divinity that you show him.
There are other times where you confuse him. You suggest a water break knowing he’d gone hours without hydration under the summer heat. You insist on having him take a break under a roof away from the sun when his skin gets too sweaty or red. Which is followed by a reminder that sunscreen is important if he wishes to keep his milky complexion. It’s critical statements that you provide him, but he can’t help to think it’s a weird way of showing you care.
Sure, it could be seen as you selfishly saying these things because it’s what you want for yourself, but in the back of his mind he’s very aware of how you watch and cater to him. It makes his heart jump every time and butterflies swarm his stomach. He can’t help it. The little things, the small acts of kindness—that you might not even intend—make him delusionally overthink.
On the third weekend since starting his summer job, Jake can’t help all the questions he’s been building up and dying to ask. Jake doesn’t understand what Sunghoon has been going through, especially when his moods change so drastically. At first, Sunghoon was self isolating and pouty, clearly in his own head and sulking. But then he would come home from work beaming with an afterglow to his aura. And then on the weekends he was back to his reclusive, depressed state.
Sick of being left out of Sunghoon’s inner turmoil, Jake finally pesters his friend.
“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Jake stands in the doorway of Sunghoon’s room, staring at his friend who’s laying face down in his bed.
“I don’t know…” Sunghoon’s words are muffled in his pillow.
Jake walks in with a sigh and sits at the end of the bed. He playfully slaps Sunghoon’s leg. “Dude, just tell me. You’re obviously going through something. You know I can keep a secret. I won’t judge.”
Sunghoon rolls over on his back, his hands clasped together over his stomach as he stares up to the ceiling. He confides in Jake, telling his story from the beginning of when he first met you. He stutters over his words when he admits to the sinful acts he partook in with you. He tells Jake of his guilty conscience and how he enjoyed indulging in the feelings. Then he tells Jake about how he simply likes your company even without the sexual circumstances involved. How he’s mystified by your complex personality and only wishes to know you more. However, he does leave out the viciousness of your nature, since a part of him doesn’t quite believe in it.
“It seems like you’re starting to develop a crush.” Jake laughs lightly, “And if it’s about religion, don’t overthink it too much. Nobody dies completely pure.” He reassures him. “You should show her more of you. That you like her too.”
Sunghoon groans and covers his face at the terrifying suggestion. If only you were that easy to approach in such a vulnerable way. “I guess… I’ll consider it.”
The next day is Sunday. Jake and Sunghoon attend church as normal. Sunghoon participates less in his prayers and songs than usual. His mind is too preoccupied with all he has going on in life. He feels guilt and frustration.
Sunghoon, lost in his own world, fails to realize that his best friend—Jake—battles something similar internally.
You’re never as alone as you think you are if you take a better look around. Everyone is riddled with their own self disgust, guilt, or shame. How else would the churches be so full?
Entering the fourth week of summer should feel easier than it does for Sunghoon. The work seems to be picking up regarding responsibilities. The weather is only becoming less forgivable. The peak is yet to hit, but that only means the seasonal storms are right around the corner. More care is needed in the fields and barns in terms of protection in case of unpredictable weather.
Aside from the work, Sunghoon is anxious because of you. He hasn’t seen you yet today and he feels nervous about it. Perhaps he has grown too clingy, finding close comfort in knowing you’re there with him on the farm. There’s a sense of safety when you’re in the line of sight; you make things easier for him and he enjoys the presence.
While he’s watering plants and checking the sprinklings through the fields, an older man approaches him. It’s a familiar face that he’s seen around a few times over the past month. The man waves with a smile and Sunghoon does the same.
“It’s amazing what you’ve done, boy.” The man begins, Sunghoon questions where he’s going with the start because he’s just an extra hand of help and doesn’t feel he’s accomplished or improved the farm in drastic ways. “I’ve worked here, hm, well I’ll be damned! Nearly 15 years! And I’ve never once seen that farm girl talk to anyone. Much less spend time.” the man chuckles.
“Oh!” Sunghoon blushes and hopes it’s only mistaken as feverish from the summer. He smiles small and stares down to the bundle of plants he brought with him to the farm today. He feels special knowing this much of you. “She’s something…”
“Sometimes I’d see her talk to herself and the animals.” The man pulls out a cigarette and lighter to smoke. “She’d walk around aimlessly like a ghost. Used to scare the hell outta me.” As he laughs, smoke escapes his lungs. He wheezes a little before continuing, “But now she follows and watches you like she’s worshipin’. If only she did the same with her daddy. Although with a face like yours, I can’t blame the girl.”
“Pardon? What do you mean by that?” Sunghoon, bemused, watches the man smoke and laugh between weak coughs. “She has a dad?” His last question is overroad by the man who speaks over him.
“You keep up your work, kid. I outta get back to mines too.” And then he’s walking away with a low chuckle, shaking his head to himself.
Sunghoon’s aware of your mother. He always thought it was just the two of you running things. He’s never once seen a man, your father, leave the house or so much so be around it. This gives him more to think about, especially on the fact that he still doesn't know much about you at all. You’re still an enigma to him, but he wants everything.
By the afternoon when all the guys are finishing up their break, you finally come out of the house. With the sound of the front door opening, Sunghoon is quick to straighten his posture and find your eyes. You’re already looking at him, watching him and his surroundings with no expression. His cheeks burn and he can’t help the smile forming on his lips.
Two and a half days without seeing you feels like so much longer.
He stands up from the picnic table, grabbing his newspaper wrapped bundle of greenery and shyly hiding it behind his back. He walks over to you, tripping over his feet as he approaches the porch steps to the house. You stand there in front of the door but at the top of the few stairs, arms crossed and amused.
He’s diffident, arms behind him and modestly attempting to hide how nervous he feels on the inside. His stomach is doing flips, his heart racing. On top of already sweating. He feels like he could throw up his lunch right in front of your feet. He swallows thickly before slowly bringing his hands out in front of himself.
“I,” he clears his throat, “ehem, I got these for you.” With outstretched arms, the bundle of flowers shake in his trembling hands. He suddenly feels he’s too nervous to even meet your eyes, so he watches the chipped paint wood of the front porch steps.
You just stand there, watching him with wide eyes and your heart in your throat. Your mouth is lost for words, glancing around at the few farmhands who haven’t left yet and are staring at Sunghoon’s exchange in a similar bewilderment. Some are trying to keep themselves from bursting out into laughter.
“Are you some kind of stupid?” You whisper harshly for only him to hear, snatching the flowers out of his hands. “Why the hell would you do this?” Your words like your tone are mean, but in your chest there’s a raging pounding. It’s a seething raw emotion that doesn’t know how to be dealt with. You’ve only just stepped out of the house and your body feels like it’s inside a furnace.
Sunghoon’s head shoots back up to look at you, his face and heart drop. “I-I’ve never had a girlfriend before so I wasn’t sure what to do.. This is what boyfriends do, right?” He takes a hand to scratch at the back of his head. Inner turmoil takes over and he thinks he’s fucked up. He bites at his lip, doing his best not to instantly cry in regret.
You notice this and sigh, irritated. You look from the neatly wrapped white roses and tulips and back to Sunghoon. “So you are stupid,” you mumble before taking your own bottom lip between your teeth. A part of you wants to sneer, but you spin on your heels to hide the warmth that floods your face in substitution. “I’m throwing them away,” you announce, opening the door and walking back inside your house.
Sunghoon, broken, just drops his head and turns back. A few of the farmhands are snickering from not too far away, chattering among each other and eyeing Sunghoon. He wishes God would smite him on the spot from the humiliation.
Wanting to avoid everything for a little while, he thinks of heading to the lodge to lay down in hiding. But before he can walk away, the front door of your house swings open once more. He glances back at you, meeting your eyes like he always seems to do.
“Done for the day already?” You call over to him, now leaning over the banister of the porch with crossed arms.
Sunghoon, unable to refute you, offers a weak smile and shakes his head. “No.”
He walks back over to you and you meet him halfway. You don’t say anything else. You don’t bring up the fact that he had bought you flowers or confused the odd relationship you share for dating. It’s cute in all its blind innocence, but that just goes to show you that you have more work to do with him.
You don’t think of messing with him today. He’s distinctly grown too clingy with how much time you’ve spent with him. Yet you can’t ignore him either. The two of you carry out the rest of the day’s farm work in silence. The inner fury you feel with him doesn’t seem to go away, despite how he hasn’t said much or even brushed skin with you.
You don’t know how you’re remaining pacific by his side. The rampaging of your heart strings tug like a screaming instrument just from being next to him. How he can keep walking tall, stare at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, or even smile at you is beyond what you know is capable of humans. Men like him only existed in books and movies. You wonder if he’s perhaps playing a game like you.
By the time he’s in the truck to go back to town to catch a bus into the city, you’re sitting at the lake dock. Criss crossed legs, a bouncing knee, and fingernails being ripped at by your teeth. You stare blankly at the water, hoping for that sense of serenity to encapsulate you. It never seems to come. It just feels cold.
So you decide on punishing him for making you feel this way.
You don’t leave your house for the next three days. You don’t make yourself known, heard or seen. However, you’re peeking out every window of your house to get any chance of a view of him. You hate yourself for being so curious of him in the first place. What was supposed to be good fun has only left you feeling angry. Taking his innocence was never going to heal you, or even make him like yourself. In fact, it’s making you sicker.
And on the night of the fourth Thursday, you’re laying in bed staring at your ceiling. A stuffed animal is hugged tightly to your chest. You can’t sleep and you can’t stop thinking about someone for the first time in your life. No amount of tossing and turning, counting sheep, or button presses to your distorted singing, stuffed bear made it easier.
Somehow, you ended up punishing yourself. You always had a knack for that, historically, but this time felt different. It actually kind of hurt. Being alone came naturally to you, but tonight it hits you just how lonely you’ve always been.
Friday, the farmhands are huddled on the front porch of your house. All the animals are safely away in their designated homes thanks to their help. It started to storm in a heavy downpour only minutes ago. What started out as a dark gray gloom and windy rain quickly turned into an early flooded property, illuminated by strikes of flashing lightning and roaring thunder.
You stand dry under the protection of the porch roof by the front door. Watching and listening to your mother suggest the shaking cold, soaked men take shelter in the lodge until the sky lets up so they can head home.
Sunghoon hasn’t spared a look to you all day, but you know that he feels his eyes on you. It’s in the way he shifts awkwardly amongst the men that ignore him. How his eyes are trained low and unfocused yet always trying to move in your direction. His wet hair falls over his face, concealing his emotions you wish to dissect. He comes off as stoic but you know he wears his heart on his sleeve; how his body language speaks volumes.
Your mother pushes past you to get back inside, saying she’ll check the basement for a spare heater that the boys could use at the lodge. There’s something in you that makes you move without thinking. Suddenly a hand is tugging at the bottom of Sunghoon’s damp jacket for his attention. The material is too thin for this weather and the thought of him becoming sick crosses your mind.
“It’s warmer here,” your words, for once, came out soft. Too much so, being lost in the cracking sound of thunder. He looks at you through his bangs. The wave of alleviation from whatever he was dealing with is palpable. His eyes and body almost look relaxed. You tug him towards you once more, insinuating that he follows you.
He does. Like whatever subconscious emotion made you approach him also made him follow you in. As he steps in, he notices the indistinguishable vibes of the farmer’s lodge. It’s updated and cleaner, but similar in aesthetics. A shotgun sits leaning up against the wall by the front door. His brows furrow and eyes narrow. “Those aren’t safe to have lying around…” he mumbles.
You tug him towards the staircase to walk up, “It’s protection. Only my mother and I are here,” is mumbled back as you lead him up the wooden, creaking stairs. Your feet move light and quick, like a mouse in a home not theirs. If your mother saw you, there would be unnecessary consequences. And the possibility of your father’s involvement would only worsen such.
Sunghoon cautiously steps into your bedroom, his body tenses at the sound of you shutting and locking the door. He feels on edge, wrapping his arms around his shivering body and soaked clothes. You move around him to sit on your bed, telling him to remove his sopping attire. He does so with shaking hands, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He shyly looks around the room while using his hands to cover his manhoon.
His eyes scan over you, sitting quietly on your bed with a look of contemplation that stares past him. A wooden cross hangs on the wall above your bed, the dark wood matches the decadent bed frame. The nightstand nearby has a pile of books and journals with a low light lamp and unlit candle.
The large window has sheer white curtains drawn open and a vase on the windowsill. A glass vase filled with the flowers he gave you earlier in the week. His heart aches at the sight of the still healthy white roses and tulips, and a smile graces his lips. You liar! You kept them! Is what runs through his thoughts.
Without Sunghoon realizing, you got up to grab a towel and drape over the back of his shoulders. He’s taken aback by your ghost-like actions, but offers you a small smile of appreciation. “Thanks…”
You nod for response and glance from him to the vase of flowers he was lost in thought over. You didn’t have it in to explain yourself, mostly because you didn’t understand why you had done so either.
He dries himself off and finds a place to sit at the end of your bed. You’re on the other end with your back pressed to the headboard, watching him, counting every mole you can find on his pale canvas. The stuffed animal you sleep with is being mindlessly fumbled around in your hands.
Sunghoon turns to face you directly, he reaches a hand out, eyes shifting from your face and the winged bear. You shoot him a mean look at first, only holding it closer to yourself before your face softens to slowly extend it out to him.
He takes it with careful hands and looks down to inspect the old toy. Its cream colored fur is dirtied and matted with age. The holographic satin wings on the back have loose stitching and its halo is crooked. Across the chest of the bear reads ‘Jesus Loves Me’ but it’s obvious the sewn name Jesus has been ripped away at. One paw has a red heart embroidered saying ‘press me’. His thumb brushes over the button heart before pressing down. The bear sings in a distorted happy voice the lullaby of Jesus loves me.
“His name is Saint Michael,” you say quietly and he almost doesn’t catch it. Sunghoon can only breathe a laugh because he finds the dichotomy cute. You almost laugh too, but bite your tongue and look back to your empty hands. You don’t know it but he can see you try to fight your little smile. To him, this moment means more than anything; he’s starting to see you’re more tender than you realize. It brings him a sense of surety in knowing that he can break you like you to do him.
Silly as it may seem for a troubled girl, the bear was the only comfort you had throughout childhood. There was no kindness from your father, no solace from your mother, no guide in knowing life or love. But there was Saint Michael, the stuffed angel bear; he may not have defended you in battle but he hugged you back, and that was enough to cherish him like a deity.
Sunghoon crawls across the bed and sits himself next to you, too close for your liking, but you don’t push him away. He hands the stuffie back to you and you place it on the nightstand to face away from you. You lower yourself in the bed, shuffling under the covers of the blanket and he does the same. His skin naked bare yearns for more warmth, yours specifically.
You feel him turn on his side next to you, pressing up against you despite there being enough space on the bed. His movements are awkward and nervous like he is. You feel a certain pressure against your thigh that isn’t his bones or limbs. You spare him a glance, he doesn’t know if it’s a warning or dare.
“...Have I ruined you?” You wonder aloud, looking back to the ceiling.
“No,” he answers quickly, shaking his head against your shoulder. The way he’s missed you in his desire to touch you, hands tingling with want to snake around your waist and pull you in tight. “I think I just want you all the time now. I can’t help it, m’sorry.” He sounds ashamed in his soft mumbles.
“I’ll only keep stripping all that purity from you. Once it’s mine it’ll remain mine, you know that right?” You look back at him before brushing some of his drying hair from his eyes. He tries to lean up into the touch but your hand is taken back. “And I will pretend it’s healing all that’s missing from me. Do you really want to be mine, Sunghoon?” Your words are so gentle yet laced with threat.
“Yes,” he exhales, “I want to be yours. Let me be yours please.” It’s hushed, a secret prayer with hope. His hips push further into the skin of your leg, where the hip meets the thigh. He wouldn’t mind going to Hell if it meant more time with you.
“You beg like a needy barn animal in heat.” You use a hand to cup his face, he sighs into the hold as he eyes flutter to a close. You push your leg in between his, terribly close to his exposed and vibrating body. “So hump me like one.”
“W-what?” he stutters out before licking over his lips, his thighs squeezing around the plush of yours now trapped in his. His eyes already wet with desperate want, staring back at yours.
“Do it. Like it’s mating season and you want to claim me before anyone else.”
A cracked voice whine falls from his lips and he begins to roll his growing bulge against you. You watch as he sucks in breaths between quiet breathy moans. His pink, plump lips pursing and falling open. His eyes try to stay on your face, how close you are to him, but they fall shut sometimes in his basking of rapture. It’s a slutty sight of a faith-sickened boy.
He loves the little to no proximity that there is. His hands find place on your waist, and he’s aware of how that makes you feel, but he can’t stop it. He wants more and more of you. His hands slide up under your shirt, the feeling on your bare skin in his hands makes his body shudder. Untouched, warm flesh for his large hands to explore and learn every curve of.
Even you stiffen at his exploration, holding in your breath as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe. Your shirt lifts up more with his hands and the exposure is daunting like you’re revealing your insides.
The pit of your stomach lights up and you're frozen under his clutch. The pads of his fingers hold you so tight as if he’s scared you’ll disappear. His cock is raging and you can feel every pulse of blood that his heart beat floods to. He’s humping into you desperately, chasing the euphoria that he could never find on his own. Such a delicate, shy boy now driven by lust and longing.
“You’re pathetic and disgusting. You’re practically fucking me through our clothes,” you murmur while you try to push his hands down off you, but his grip won’t let up. Instead his nails dig further into you, a barely sounding broken noise escapes you from the pain. This makes his body collapse further into you, his head dropping between your shoulder and neck. His movements are sloppy and rushed.
“N-no, I’m still good. You make me feel good, I am so good,” he whines, tears beginning to fall from his eyes to your shoulder. You try to imagine his holy water is washing you clean but it only singes.
“Tell me that only I make you feel good, that you’re only good for me.”
“Only you—can only be you to make me good,” he cries against your warmth, rocking himself into you roughly. His leaking cock begins to twitch against you and his hips won’t quit their stuttered jerks.
You hum lightly and run a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He looks up at you with those desperate, wet, dark eyes and you can’t help but acknowledge how pretty he is like this. His puffy cheeks are flushed pink as the tip of his nose. “Only for me,” you mumble.
“Yes, thank you, I am yours. Yes.” His breaths are jagged and heavy. There’s a coiling in his abdomen that feels borderline explosive. You were right, he craves this feeling. It’s surreal to him how he’s gone so long without it. His arms wrap around you completely now, holding you down while his body rolls on top of yours, situated between your legs. His heart hammers against your chest; he wants to mold into you, to become a singular rot.
You squeak a gasp, being caged down by him. Your heart beats with the same veracity. One of your arms wraps around his waist to hold his back while the other holds the back of his head that hasn’t left the safety of your neck. He continuously sobs through meek moans. His hair tickles your skin like sparks while his lips brush over your jaw and neck making the tingle feel like crackling flames.
Under his weight you feel yourself slipping in both confidence and dominance, your body wanting to sink down in submission from the unknown comfort of his control. Your heart aches and you feel something you’ve never felt before. You think you’re scared of it, yet your body pulls him closer. Hand in his hair, tugging with fearful aggression. Nails piercing the skin of his shoulder blade. You’re pliant under his heavy thrusts and sounds of sin.
The rain pours harder outside with whips of harsh winds smacking the window. It’s almost like God’s wrath is screaming to be seen, to shout that He is watching.
Sunghoon’s hard cock is relentless against your core. The rough grind of him is stimulating in ways you’ve never felt before, your body sensitive and starving for more. You squeeze your eyes shut and moan within your closed mouth, hating yourself for feeling this way because it was never supposed to be about you. You are betraying yourself more than your fathers.
The sounds you try to withhold make Sunghoon weaker. He feels uncontrollable, only becoming needier and hungrier with his movements, “I can’t stop. I can’t stop.” He whines, begging for you to vocalize how you feel it too.
You feel like you’re breaking underneath him, and it feels shameful. Like every harsh word your father ever spat at you was true now that you’re a part of the experience and not just the cause. Everything is too much. It takes every ounce of strength you have to turn both of your bodies over. Now sitting up on top of his lap, you can finally breathe again, sighing in relief. He whimpers at the distance between you both but also from the view of you.
He moans your name softly as he grips your hips, pushing himself up into your clothed pussy like he’s fucking you. Your hands push down on his shoulders. You stare into his eyes with a plain expression and contrasting sharp eyes, grinding your hips back down on top of him. It’s hard to ignore the way it makes you feel, watching him fall apart beneath you as his pulsing cock fucks against you, but you manage.
“Cum for me,” you demand quietly, “make a mess and imagine it’s inside me.”
“Holy fu—ngh,” his entire body spasms and shudders with a low groan falling from his open lips. His movements slow down only to become lazier and uncoordinated. You can feel the warm wetness he spills soak through your thin pajama shorts and underwear.
“You’re right. You are good for me,” you coo softly, cupping his face and using your thumbs to wipe away the tears. Your hips circle and swivel slowly on him until his quivering cock finishes cumming.
Sunghoon has a sparkle to his wet eyes. The way the gentle praise left your lips makes him melt, and he can’t stop the flickering glance between your eyes and lips. He breathes heavily through his post clarity. Still he basks in your touch with a hopeful look in his eyes. His tongue slides over his lips before he’s leaning up towards your face, hands affixed to your waist to pull you closer to him.
This makes a wave of panic wash over you, knowing what he wants to do. You shake your head no and pull yourself away, slipping off of his lap only to turn away from him.
“None of that. It’s not what-”
And then there’s a press of lips to your cheek. Your face burns as if a hot coal was what kissed your face. Your eyes go wide, turning to see the boy sitting up next to you. He only wears a shy smile as he sees your reaction.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a week now,” he admits with a small laugh. “Not exactly there but that’s fine. I wish you would let me help you feel good too.” he whispers, looking back to the windowsill where the gifted flowers stood in their vase with the raging storm as their backdrop.
“That’s dumb and I don’t need to,” you reply, still watching him stare forward. Your chest feels painful; it’s an ache like shattered glass trying to piece together in the wrong ways. Stabbing but trying.
“I think you deserve to,” he argues. “But I understand if it’s not what you want. I was really touchy and I shouldn’t have been because you don’t seem like it. I was too caught up in the moment.” His mind goes to the mess he’s still sitting in and he feels self-conscious all over again. “Is it embarrassing how much I need you?”
You blink at him, swallowing the words that were never going to come out because you didn’t even know what they should or would be. So you settle with a simple, “No.”
You think it would kill you to admit how much you actually always wished to be wanted, needed, or loved. A bigger part of you didn’t think you were worthy of it, let alone capable. The world had such a way of saying otherwise. Until it brought Sunghoon to you; the boy who showed you feelings and experiences you never thought possible.
As if he could read your mind, he asks, “Why did you choose me out of everyone?” He falls back onto the bed, laying down and pulling the blanket over himself.
“I think you reminded me of a lamb.”
“Pardon?” His brows furrow.
You lay back down next to him, facing him like he is to you. “Pretty, white, and docile. You were so nervous when I first saw you—sometimes you still are.” You even laugh a little. “When you shook my hand I knew I could do anything to you because you’d let me.”
“You think I’m pretty?” He smiles wide, scooting closer to you.
You scoff with an eye roll, leaning further away from him. “Oh shut up, you’ve seen a mirror.”
And then it’s his turn to laugh a little. He looks at you like you’re the reason the sun rises and falls. It kind of hurts you to see him like this because it reminds you of your initial rotten intentions and how they’re dissipating the more you’re with him.
Time passes faster than the two of you realize. There’s light banter and easy conversations. You learn more about Sunghoon. Where he goes to school, what he studies, and who his friends are. He tells you of the sports he used to do and what he does in free time with his best friend. The more you learn about him, the more you understand his naivety and how despite what you’ve done, he won’t change. There’s something lovely about it.
You don’t have much to share about your life the way he does, at least not in the same light. But you show him your favorite books, drawings you made over the years, and share the stories of movies you found interesting. He savors the moment of you simply confiding, enjoying the more he can know about you.
The storm passes later in the evening. So caught up in borrowing time, the rain has slowed down to a simple pitter patter. The clouds dispersed and the setting sun only came through to say goodbye to the day.
The sound of the truck that the farmhands use to take back to town is heard roaring to life, signalling you and Sunghoon that it’s safe and time to head out.
Sunghoon jumps out of bed but by the time he’s shoving himself into his still damp jeans and looking out the window, the truck is already speeding down the dirt, now mud riddled road.
“They just left without me,” he breathes out. “I’m used to them leaving me out, but t-this is.. How am I going to get home?” He looks back to you with sad eyes, not the light they had earlier. He’s not shocked by their actions, but he is disappointed. A hand runs through his hair in his stress.
“Should I kill them?” Your question is brazen, body and voice eerily still in your seriousness.
“W-what?!” he whispers in shock, freezing for a moment.
“I’m joking.” You sit up and watch Sunghoon resume getting dressed. “I think you should head back to the lodge for the night. There’s a washer and dryer for your clothes. And spare food for dinner too.”
Sunghoon nods slightly, “your jokes are weird, but okay.” He looks like he’s thinking of something, taking his bottom lip between his teeth in thought before speaking again. “Can you stay with me for the night at least?” he asks shyly.
“No,” comes out quicker than you intended. “...But I guess I can walk with you there.”
He nods again but now with his signature small dimpled smile. You almost forgot about being angry at the other farmhands for taking it away.
You have to make sure the coast is clear before leaving the house. You tiptoe down the halls and stairs, weary of where your mother is inside the house. To your luck, she’s in her usual state. She’s passed out on the couch with two empty bottles of wine on the floor. The television volume is low, playing a rerun of the reverend’s sermon; the devil himself of your childhood, preaching about how he lost his child to the otherside.
With a finger to your lips, you silently signal for Sunghoon to be quiet and to follow you out.
Once safely out of the front door, you take his hand in yours and start running for the lodge. The tall boy is behind you, so you don’t get to see the bright smile on his lips or in his eyes as you run through the light run towards the lodge.
Now standing in the front doorway of the farmer’s lodge, wet from the sky all over again and still hand in hand, Sunghoon bravely speaks up.
“I don’t like it when you disappear on me,” he breathes out shakily, honestly. “Nobody else sees me like you do,” he squeezes your hand tighter in his, feeling you begin to pull away. “Come with me into the city tomorrow. We can- I’m not sure yet, but I’m sure I want more time with you.”
His eye contact is unwavering, begging. Both of his strong hands hold onto yours. You glance from your hand then back to his pleading expression. He will always remain so sweet, no matter what you do to him.
“I felt less lonely before I met you,” you confess, eyes unblinking as you stare up at him for a long pause. “I’ll meet you here in the morning.”
In only seconds, he’s pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap around you so tightly as he holds you to his chest. You go stiff in his arms, forgetting how to breathe for a moment. What feels suffocating at first turns into a warmth you’ve become all too familiar with, and it was never anger. The indignation you always wear is just a hand me down from your parents; it doesn’t fit you right even though it’s comfortable.
With a shaky exhale, you wrap your arms around him too. The hug surrounds you like a blanket of unknown comfort. Your ear pressed to his chest listens to the sound of his racing heart. You can feel the pound throughout his entire body too. Every emotion held within is trying and fighting to be seen. It’s still so cold from the rain but he feels contrast, only warm. His lips press a kiss to the top of your head, making your body burn even more and your hold all the tighter.
True to your word, you meet Sunghoon at the farmer’s lodge the next morning. He seems happier than usual. Very giddy to be spending a weekend day with you without work in the way. No distractions or excuses to leave. Just the two of you and a new day with zero obligations.
Because you had a spare bike, you both are able to peddle towards town to the bus stop together. Having made these frequent trips alone, you’re familiar with the owner of the gas station at the stop. He’s a deaf older man, and it surprises Sunghoon that you know how to sign and ask him to hold onto the bikes until you’re back. You tell Sunghoon that you learned some basics from reading a book you bought a long time ago.
Stunned, Sunghoon realizes that you went out of your way to do so for one man who watches your bike while you endure solo trips. You, the odd girl who was mean and sinful, used your money and learned a language for one man who did a simple favor. He’s learning more to admire you for by the day, and it’s crazy to him how you don’t see your own charm.
Sunghoon pays your bus fares even though you insisted on being capable of doing so yourself. Sat in the middle of the bus that’s only barely half filled, he asks if there’s anything you’d like to do for the day while in the city. Nobody has ever asked you such an effortless thing, and you like it more than you imagined. Just uncomplicated curiosity of your wishes.
“The book store. The small yellow one on main street. Maybe see a movie if anything is worth seeing.” You shrug, spewing out the usual things you do. Looking around the taken bus seats, you notice some familiar faces.
“That sounds nice,” he smiles, “our first real date! I think there’s a cafe near that book store too. Do you like coffee?”
Your cheeks burn as you stare at him in bewilderment, “you think we’re going on a date?!”
“Of course we are,” he laughs like it’s obvious and wraps an arm around your shoulder, looking out of the window. All that the town can offer him other than you passes by. “I’m a fan of americanos. You seem like you’d take your coffee black.”
“I don’t even like coffee,” you mumble, turning your attention out of the window as well. “Tea is nice though.” You add in, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Hm. I can see that too,” he hums as he pulls you closer into his side.
So much can change in such little time. You’ve experienced this many times in one life. How one day can open a new door to a path otherwise not taken. Showing Sunghoon more of you has made him bloom into a larger ray of light. He seems more comfortable, and now you’ve become the awkward one.
The ride to the city doesn’t normally take this long, or at least you don’t think it does. Every second with him by your side makes the experience feel brand new. The theme of time being unreal is common with him, you’ve discovered. It’s when you’re in the bookstore and see a holiday sale that you realize it’s not even June anymore.
While Sunghoon looks for books for his upcoming college semester, you find yourself in genre sections you never really cared for before. The dark and racy ones were fun to bring home, sure. But innocent, cliche romance was always something cringey to you. Now if you change your perspective to that of research then it’s less daunting, right? Perhaps you’d make sense of all the things you’re discovering about yourself and him. Yeah, that’s convincing enough.
He teases you at the checkout counter when he sees what you picked out. Your face flushes in embarrassment and you can’t even bite back at him or defend your choices. So you smack him with the book on the way out while he laughs and makes jokes that aren’t very funny.
The two of you do manage to catch a movie. You honestly didn’t care to see one, but having to sit silently in a theater for at least an hour and half seemed like enough time for him to, hopefully, forget and drop the whole book situation. It’s a summer slasher film. A group of teens go camping and the plot is very ‘who done it’ style. Overall, it’s a fun choice. You have your turn to laugh and joke when Sunghoon gets jumpy or scared.
After the movie, you both end up at the cafe Sunghoon mentioned while on the bus. There was something painfully intimate about everything today. But especially sitting down to eat with him. Not even your mother could meet you at the table anymore.
“You seem softer today,” Sunghoon states, setting his half-drunk coffee down. “Almost nervous. Is it because we’re out together for our first date? Or just the people in general?”
You raise a brow at his brazen curiosity and observation. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” you play with your fork to move around the barely touched food in front of you. “Or maybe it’s a bit of both.”
“If you come to the city enough to know sign language for the man who watches your bike, do you like it better than the countryside?”
“Don’t know. I’m used to the quiet life, but leaving it behind and pretending it’s not there is nice too.”
“What keeps you there?”
“The scenery. The air. The lake. Being friends with the animals.” You look up from the plate to Sunghoon who is watching you like a lecture: attentive and learning. “I’m not very good with people, so I think it suits me alright.”
“You’re good with me though,” he argues softly.
“No, not really. I wish I was more like everyone else,” you inhale deeply as your eyes wander around the bustling cafe. There’s a choir of laughter, conversations, and social dynamics you would have to study to master. “If I were a good person, everything would be easier.”
“...but I like you as you are,” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear, watching you shift in your seat. He doesn’t think you’re not a good person, and it hurts that you see yourself as such.
As Sunghoon speaks, there’s a chime that follows as the front door of the cafe is swung open. A disheveled man stumbles inside, heavy feet stomping the tile floor to attempt to stabilize his disorientation. The man burps obnoxiously loud, and many eyes find him with the grand entrance.
He scratches at his lengthy, unkept beard as he looks around. When his sunken eyes find you sitting at the table nearby his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open. His hand shakes with a pointed finger in your direction, “y-you! The girl from the reverend’s sermon!” He’s loud, capturing the attention of everyone now. His sloppy movements make way towards you and Sunghoon; you feel everything within you freeze, and your heart knocks at your chest fast and hard with anxiety.
He slams his hands on the table, causing your plates and drinks to rattle. He reeks badly of alcohol and his crazed eyes never leave yours. You swallow thickly, fight or flight mode still trying to understand the situation before you. Meanwhile Sunghoon, worried and confused, slowly begins to stand up and grab your bags.
But you, you’re frozen staring at the messy man who talks of your greatest hate. Your hands tremble on the table.
“I thought the reverend made you up for stories, but my God! You’re the real living thing just like the pictures; his only sin,” he laughs boisterously in your face and you try not to gag. “I saw him a little whiles earlier, ya know,” his voice goes quieter, it’s taunting even. You wish to remain calm but your eyes tremble and a frown takes your face. “I should go find him and tell him you’re here. He really-”
Sunghoon takes your hand, practically dragging you away from the table. You almost fall from your seat, like a baby deer just learning to walk, there’s little strength to your legs.
“It’s not too late! You can be on the right side of things!” his voice ricochets off the walls of the now quiet cafe. “If I can be saved by his preaching, so can you! Look at me!” His mad laughter follows you and Sunghoon outside.
Sunghoon watches you stand on uneasy feet, zoned out staring at the sidewalk. It didn’t take much to put the pieces together that the drunken man was talking about your father. Your father being a reverend who’s not in the picture gave him much to wonder about, but now isn’t the time. He just wanted to get you somewhere away from this memory.
He crouches down in front of you. You slowly blink back to reality, now looking down at his back. You don’t want to speak so you poke his shoulder in questioning.
“Hop on. Let’s go somewhere else.”
“What if I’m heavy?” you look at the bags he’s already holding, feeling that you too are a burdened weight he doesn’t need to hold.
“I’ve got good muscles, remember? Good for farm work,” he’s patient and calm with you while his eyes watch the man from outside the glass cafe windows. “Come on, baby.”
Without thinking, you end up on his back. He carries you on his back, strong arms holding your legs while yours are loosely around his neck. Your insides are a flared up hurricane but at least that allows your body to forget the empty ache you left at the cafe. With your chin hooked over his shoulder, you watch the many people and downtown stores that pass by.
Sunghoon doesn’t exactly know where he’s walking, but thinks it’s best to end the day here and return you to the bus stop. He’s never seen that look on your face before—the one you had when the man was loud in your face. He didn’t like it, and he’s sure you hated it. You looked intimidated, or afraid.
“Would you kill him for me?” you watch the side of his face, “the reverend, I mean.”
He stops in his tracks and turns his head to look back at you, “w-what? I can’t kill someone… and you should joke like that.” he panics, looking around to see if someone was listening to the wild conversation and request.
“Yeah, I know. I’m fucking with you,” you look away to hide your smirk, “and only half joking.”
“Did you believe him before?” He starts walking again, but this time at a slower pace knowing the bus stop isn’t too far now.
“Who? My dad or Our Father?” There’s a use of air quotes at the end of your question.
“Both?” his head tilts.
“Neither,” you confirm. There’s a pause for thought and Sunghoon waits for you to further explain. “My relationship with both is too similar. They’ve both known me my whole life, right? Seen all of my wrong doings and in return shown wrath through unnecessary punishments called forgiveness. In what good world is tolerance violent?”
“What do you mean? What did he do?”
“Sometimes, after my mother set the table for dinner, he would knock my plate to the floor. Tell me to eat off the ground like the animal I was or starve.” Sunghoon frowns at this, coming to a slow stop when he sees the bus shelter bench. “Sometimes I had days and nights locked in the barns, but he switched it up to the basement when I was too close with the animals.” You laugh a little, but he senses the pain behind it. “I watched him kill the animals, too, only to smother me in their blood. Beatings were rare, but I think only because he despised the thought of even touching me.”
Sunghoon slowly sets you down to the ground and breathes out your name safely, taking your hands into his. He looks at you with sorrow, like he was the one who endured it with you.
“God’s orders, am I right? My father, the church goers, speak of God like they’ve seen his face and heard his voice, but they haven’t. I would’ve by now too.”
If He was really in everything, all around, why did He always turn a blind eye? Why does He pretend to not know you? It only made it harder to believe in—something that would bring you here, torture you then watch you suffer for not living how it pleases. God wants to be believed in, but so do you. Only you would never beg for compassion.
Sunghoon squeezes your hands in his, “I don’t think you should stay there. You never deserved that… even if you’re volatile and strange… because you’re also kind and caring. It’s why I like you. It’s their fault for not seeing that,” he reassures. “I haven’t been through what you have, and I can’t understand. I-I mean I can try to, ya know… it’s not like I’d leave if I didn’t.” His words begin to stumble nervously, not confident in its sympathy reaching you where needed.
You laugh nervously, trying to tug your hands away from his grip that doesn’t let up. “Okay sure whatever, this is really embarrassing now…” You swallow hard and find difficulty in meeting his eyes.
That’s all that matters, what he said to you, but you didn’t have it in you to say it. He already knows it though, smiling small and holding your hands still. Without words or excessive displays he can still see it in your eyes, the subtle comfort of acceptance.
He could never blame you for your nature. He sees your anger as you just trying to be strong all while being sad. Whether you are his lover or executioner, he would accept you as you are every time with open arms, receiving hands. Even more readily, now.
Even more time has passed since knowing Sunghoon. Summer has never flown by so fast. The calendar doesn’t exist to you anymore. It’s only the days you see him and the days that you don’t. The season will be wrapping up in the next few weeks, but only for him. He has to return to his regular scheduled routine of pursuing education while you will stay here, on the farm. It’s rare for you to feel this emotion: fear. You are scared of losing him. And the concept is something you do your best to avoid thinking about because it makes your skin itch with anxiety. It crawls over you like something that needs to be cut out.
And then an idea hits you. Something far more deep-seated than everything else you’ve done with Sunghoon that would solidify that this summer is real and yours. Something that will always stay; a reminder that good things are possible despite how the world has made you.
It’s a damn near perfect day. The sun is so bright, and only peers down onto you both through the gaps of the trees. It’s just warm enough. Just quiet enough aside from the sound of Sunghoon’s gentle breathing and natural composition of the nature that surrounds. Rustling of leaves, chirps of birds, and scurrying of whatever life that wishes to not be seen.
You both sit criss cross at the wooden dock by the lake, simply enjoying the scenery and all it has to offer. His large knee is affixed to yours. If this was early June, you would have moved away. But now it’s a week into August and you wouldn’t have it anywhere else. Just like you always imagined, and secretly wanted, the view is nicer with someone else.
He didn’t bother asking why you never brought him here before, or why it is that you chose to now. He’s just happy that you decided to at all.
You slip a hand into your boot and pull out a pocket knife. You flick it open and do a brief inspection of the cleaned blade. The sun glints off the metal as you turn it.
“Sunghoon, do you trust me?”
His eyes flicker from your blank face to the blade. He nods slowly with a swallow, “of course.” There’s a subtle apprehension to him. You hand him the small blade and leave your palm facing up, open to him.
“Cut a diagonal line down my hand,” you point and draw a line down the middle of your palm.
“Huh, seriously?” he takes the blade confused and concerned with what you’re asking of him. “Why? I can’t hurt you.”
“Do it. Don’t think of it as hurting me, but still do it deep enough to leave a scar.”
He struggles to understand the situation, but you’re so serious and clearly waiting for him to do as you asked. He exhales deeply, taking your hand in his while the other holds the knife just above the bared skin. Hesitant and slow, the tip of the knife pressed down into your flesh. You wince a little, which makes him pause. You nod, encouraging him to continue and he does despite hating the act. He slices the palm of your hand open just as you wanted. You hate blood, but it’s not so bad when caused by him.
“Shit, it stings,” you swallow through the pain. The feel of open flesh burning and stinging. “Your turn,” you exhale while taking the knife back with your free, unharmed hand.
“My turn,” he agrees as if all logic has left him and readily displays his palm to you. Deep down, he feels guilty for hurting you, so to make it even he wants to feel the same.
Just as hesitant and careful, you create a matching wound in his hand. A deep enough, bleeding, lesion in his left hand to match your right one. He cringes at the sight and the pain before looking back to your face. Your expression is so soft yet attentive, almost awestruck.
“Even when you hurt me you’re gentle,” he remarks, watching you in amazement with a meek smile.
“I am not gentle. I have sullied you,” you remind him, your eyes attempt to glare but they’re too bright in his.
“In the softest way, why?” His voice is delicate and still like the lake that sits before you. You blink slowly at him because there are no words to be found. He continues, “I never thought of you as a bad person,” he pauses as you drop the red stained knife, unsure if he should continue at first but does regardless. “And, uhm, I’ve thought a lot about this summer. What I've learned from you. Purity is constructive—like something made to bring shame.” You don’t move, watching him. “I don’t have to be clean to be good…and your hands never made me dirty. Because they never were either.”
Like an excavator to your tall, strong built walls Sunghoon has knocked your shield down. The facade of your character is breaking down, crumbling into the broken pieces that made it. A single tear escapes your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s rare for you to cry and you’re disgusted with the reality as to why it’s now that you break. Simply falling apart from kind words.
You try to use everything in you to ignore the heat in your body, to show the anger you think you’re feeling inside. So your eyes remain sharp and strong, boring into his, as they still water. You swallow the dry lump in your throat and without a word, you take his hand into yours to join in a mix of blood.
At first, you had one goal; one similar to murder. The sparkle he had in his eyes, you wanted to eat—to make them empty—and see the world ugly and godless like you. Yet somehow, somewhere along the way, his eyes shone even brighter. You only wanted to take and take of the innocent boy, but in this moment you realize, maybe I just wanted to give him some of me.
You wipe the wet drop away from your face with haste, pretending as if it was never there. Whatever blood oath you’re making with Sunghoon allows you to feel something indescribable. You don’t know if it’s deserved, but you smile anyways. Because the indescribable feeling feels like it’s an unknown, unspoken promise.
He’s seen you smile before with insidious malice, but this time, for the first time, you are really smiling. It’s a raw expression of surfacing emotions, and he returns the emotion like the sun. He thought of you beautiful before but with your brightness finally peering through your clouds, he believes you to be heaven sent. A part of him always wanted to see you cry—usually it was him with tears in his eyes; which is funny, because he wasn’t much of a cryer himself. You just had that way of breaking him down. He knows now he does for you too. And he can tell that you’re probably the type of person who needs to cry the most.
His hand squeezes yours tighter, a grip so loving, as you bind in one. Neither of your eyes or smiles leave each other until the bleeding stops.
A week later, Sunghoon asks you on a date. The summer fair is in town. It’s something like a festival where all the locals from towns around the city come to visit and join in on festivities from carnival games, rides, food, and uncommon entertainments. You think of being mean, denying him the acceptance of the date, but you have always wanted to go. So you said yes without your words: took his scarred hand in yours and nodded.
The evening sky is a watercolor of warm tones as the sun begins to lay down for the night. The bright lights of the fair illuminate the large open field turned carnival. There’s a sea of people here tonight, and although it makes you nervous inside, having Sunghoon by your side makes the ordeal easier to handle.
The line for the ticket booth is lengthy but it passes by. You approach the booth, standing a little behind Sunghoon who takes out his wallet to buy your entrance wristband passes and tickets. You look around at the many people: families, friends, and couples, all immersed in their own experience as the music and sounds blend in the background of conversations.
“Oh wow! You’re really handsome,” the girl at the ticket booth gawks at Sunghoon. She straightens her posture and fixes her hair from her face, “one ticke-?”
Catching this, you step forward and snatch Sunghoon’s wallet from his hands, “he already knows that. Do your job or I’ll feed you to pigs.” You slap the cash amount for what you need down onto the table top with a straight face and mean eyes.
Her eyes go wide and she hushes an apology, quickly giving you both wristbands and tickets for the evening. She even threw in extra tickets as you stared her down.
Sunghoon watches you with a flushed face, even the tips of his ears burn red at your jealous threat. You both walk off into the fair, a sheepish smile on his face as he leads you through the crowd with an arm wrapped around your back and hand to your waist.
“Was that one of your jokes too?” he grins down at you.
“Nope,” you glance at him with a small smile. You weren’t sure what came over you in the moment, but it was something internally deep, and territorial. An innate reaction to someone trying to appeal to something that belongs to you. It felt ugly and you didn’t like it.
The idea that he could possibly be taken from you was a phenomenon you’ve thought of for a while now. Knowing he has an existing life outside you, outside of this summer, that he would return you made you sick. You’re far from perfect, or the right thing for him, and he could find a safer option if he ever pleased. Pushing the thoughts away is harder than you imagine, so you cling to his side even more.
You and Sunghoon use up your spare tickets for carnival games. You toss rings around bottles, shoot water guns into the mouth of a clown frame, and throw darts at balloons. The both of you aren’t very skilled at any of the games, but it's fun enough to enjoy the time without winning a prize to show for it.
Eventually, Sunghoon does find frustration within the ‘rigged’ set up of the games. He even pulls out his wallet for cash when the tickets are gone. You’re surprised at how competitive he is; his determined nature is something that stirs your insides around. You don’t know if you’ve ever smiled so much in your life.
After 3 rounds of throwing a ball to knock over a moving target, he does manage to win. Going 3 for 3 and not missing a single shot. The excitement you feel when he succeeds takes over and you’re proud, doing little jumps in place and clapping your hands together.
“You did it! You won!” you exclaim, hugging onto his side.
He can only smile down at your joyfulness. A fire burns in his heart and he hugs you back, kissing your forehead. “All for you. Which prize do you want?”
“It’s yours, you should pick it,” you blush, elbowing his side with a shy smile while your eyes keep looking up to the stuffed white lamb with a lace ribbon around its neck and a cushion gold bell adoring the throat.
Of course, that’s the prize he ends up choosing. It might not be Saint Michael the stuffed bear, but it’s something far happier, cleaner, and softer.
The stuffed animal never leaves your hold throughout the rest of the evening. It rides the many rides you and Sunghoon do. And sits at the picnic table with you both as you share fair snacks. Popcorn and cotton candy was never so sweet for either of you. Like contentment melting on your tongues.
Cliche as ever, Sunghoon wants to end the night there with a round on the ferris wheel. The line moves quickly and when it’s your turn to step into the carriage, he takes your hand and sits you down the seat next to him.
It moves slowly and rocks back and forth with shaky movements that have you gripping the side handles. With an arm around your shoulder, he holds you close to him. The array of flickering colorful lights and people below you feels almost magical.
Taking your eyes from the heightened difference between you and the ground, you look back to the boy beside you who is already looking at you. The reflection of rainbow luminescence glistens in his eyes. It’s even prettier than the view from the top of the little world you’re in. You give him a shy smile, finding it impossible to look away.
He says your name in a whisper, taking your chin between your fingers. “Thank you for choosing to let me in.”
Confused and wide eyed, you watch him lean into your face. You gasp when his lips meet yours before returning the notion. With eyes closed, you melt into his kiss. It’s sweet as all the things you’ve experienced today because of him.
It’s also as clumsy and messy as a kiss can be for two people who’ve never done so before. However, human nature and desire take over and ease the rest for you both. Lips move over another in a gentle waltz, careful and slow.
And as if the situation couldn’t get anymore cliche, fireworks light up the sky. At first you thought it was just your imagination and all the books you’ve read flooding your consciousness, but the booming sounds and cheers of the crowd are too loud to not be real.
You pull away from him first, and he’s already wearing a shit eating grin so wide that you can’t help but roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile back at him. Your face burns in both embarrassment and adrenaline from the kiss.
After that, you don’t leave the city like you should. The bus takes you both back downtown but neither you or Sunghoon feel it’s time for goodbye. So, for the first time, he takes you back to his apartment. You’ve never been to anybody else's home before, and it’s nerve wracking to say the least. The complex is large and somewhat modern, housing many of the second and third year private college students.
When you step inside, it’s quite plain but at least clean. You’re immediately greeted by a boy shorter than Sunghoon. He has a big mouth smile and shining dark eyes. His hair is shaggy but it suits him. He’s practically bouncing on his toes. You shift yourself behind Sunghoon and hold onto his shirt, hiding slightly from the excited puppy-like roommate.
“How did it go? Oh, and nice to finally meet you,” he rambles out quickly, “I’m Jake. The best friend and roommate. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He shoots Sunghoon a wink before grinning back at you. He extends a hand for you to shake but you don’t reach out. Something about his eyes doesn’t sit right with you.
“She’s shy,” Sunghoon laughs a little as he guides you past Jake and towards his room. “It was fun though. I recommend going before it’s gone.”
“Ah, you got yourself a nice little angel, huh?” Jake leans over the kitchen island, watching you both. His smile falters. “I’ll have one of my own some day.” For some reason, you think of him as a secret pervert.
Sunghoon laughs his comment off and tells Jake goodnight before showing you to his room. His room is neat and as simple as a college boy’s room can be. A bed, desk, dresser, closet, and bathroom. One poster of a musician you’ve never listened to and a window with unopened blinds.
You sit yourself at the end of his bed and he sits down next to you. There’s some awkward silence as you look around, unsure of what you’re supposed to do. He feels similarly to your internal dilemma.
“I-I’ve never had-”
“It’s okay,” you cut him off. Of course he’s never had a girl over. And of course you’ve never been over to a boys house.
“Are you tired?” he asks, and you lie by nodding your head. So you both get ready for bed. He gives you a shirt to borrow for bed that change into in his bathroom while he changes into sweats and a t-shirt in his room.
In minutes you’re both laying in his bed under the covers and staring up at his ceiling in the dark room. Not a word is said as you both lay there wide awake and untouching. But you know he’s wanting to by the way his body is shifting and turning, inching closer with every minute movement.
And before you know it, although expected, his body is nestled closely to yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into an embrace. For the most part, he usually does keep his space. Knowing how you are when it comes to physical touch that feels too sudden or invading. But with barriers breaking down more over time, he thinks you’re learning to handle the comfort better.
“I thought you were tired?” he mumbles, head on your shoulder. His hands trace up and down your arms that are wrapped around yourself like a guard.
“I lied,” you whisper. Your eyes can’t look at him yet, so they remain aimless to the ceiling. Some moonlight slips through his cracked window blinds, giving you enough view of the spinning ceiling fan.
“I had fun today. Mostly because you did. I like seeing you happy,” he smiles after kissing your shoulder that’s exposed in the neckline of his shirt too big for you. “And… I liked when you kissed me back,” his voice is quiet and shy-like.
“Do you want to do it again?” Your eyes shift to him and you can barely see the warm flush to his cheeks. He’s cute.
Taken aback at first, he just blinks at you with a parted mouth. Then he nods his head slowly, licking over his lips.
You turn over onto your side to face him and his hands don’t leave your waist. Unsure of what to do with your own, you wrap them around his neck. Good thing they sit behind him and it’s dark in the room because it would kill you for him to notice the slight tremor in your fingers.
With a scarily racing heart and stiff, trembling body you surge forward to kiss him. His lips are quick to capture yours. Soft and pillow-like, they mold into yours in waves. What starts off as clumsy and unskilled turns into hunger. Something desperate and needy. His grip feels bruising to your hips but in a nice way. In a way you want it to hurt more.
His nails digging further into your flesh to keep you impossibly close make your lips gasp, or maybe it’s the lack of air, or just both. And instinctively his tongue is licking its way past your lips and into your mouth. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His wet tongue drags over yours, and your teeth, then as far as it can inside of you. He whimpers, pressing his already hard cock to you as he licks and kisses you open.
Your stomach has never burned this way before, and you feel the hot sensation all over then down to your core that aches like it’s hungry too. You feel disgusted by yourself but can’t fight the hum you make as you devour him right back. You’re getting wetter every second he’s in your mouth.
This time, he pulls away first. Panting for air and staring at you with glazed over dark eyes. He licks over his wet lips again, savoring the taste of you on himself. He bites down onto it and a part of you wishes it was you he sunk his teeth in.
“Can I do what I did last time?” he breathes out, his hips involuntarily jerking up against you at the thought alone.
While trying to act like you’re not catching your breath too, you say quietly, “do whatever you want.”
He kisses you again but with more desperation. You try to do the same but you can feel your heart and your head preparing for battle. The way he’s feeling you up and grinding himself on you is in no way unwanted, and that’s part of the reason you’re struggling to maintain presence.
It’s so much happening so quickly, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t imagine this happening eventually. Sex was inevitable. The way his body yearns to be one with yours makes you feel special almost. He’s already engraved into you but in his mind he has to be inside of you and it hurts so badly how you think the same.
But is the last thing that keeps him pure really yours to take? You’ve stripped so much away from him for all the wrong reasons before and now it feels strange. You are no good and that’s all he is.
The only thing keeping you here, in the moment, is him. His exploratory and gentle yet rough hands, his body grinding into you, his lips that can’t leave yours or your skin for even a second, and the weak wanting sounds that leave them.
“I need more, please. I want- I need to feel good with you. Please,” he’s whining into your ear. Then pressing kisses along your jaw and neck that are all so tender, slow, and deliberate. Large hands caress you like you’re breakable, as if not already just a body of fragmented pieces made whole and called a person.
Your still shaking hand reaches down between your two bodies and slips past his sweats. He had the nerve to go commando and you wish you could tease him, but you can’t. You’re lucky you’re even here right now and breathing his air. Your hand wraps around his aching length and gives him a few tugs to which he’s quick to moan. He kicks off his sweatpants while you bring him closer to you. The plush of your thighs trap him; he whimpers against the soft heat of your flesh.
Your hips grind up into him once, showing him what he should do too. He’s slow to start, rocking himself between your thighs. Slutty and hopeless sounds leave him in a string of his want. His leaking hard cock is so close to your core. Only the thin layer of your underwear keeps him from feeling your clear need for him too.
Wrapped in each other's arms, you bury your head to his shoulder. You can feel the pulse of his aching desire rubbing and grinding against you. It makes you shiver in sensitivity and cower further into his neck. You don’t bite down onto your lip, but his neck. There’s a sting to your eyes because you hate it—the wet warmth that pools out of you. Your sin sticks to your underwear and your skin like the red raining life of all the animals you made leave the earth; your haunting subconscious correlates with your growing pleasure.
You know you’re not religious yet every time Sunghoon touches you there’s a divinity to it and it makes your hands want to join in prayer to thank the universe for sending someone like him to you. Because his hands roam your body as if they have in every world; as if there is not one timeline where you have not been made for him. Like you were carved from his rib every time.
Your body smolders in that angry way it always did whenever Sunghoon got too close to you. Whenever his words were too kind, his touch too gentle, or god forbid when he just smiled at you. That fire is just the divine nature of your relationship, lighting up everywhere he touches and leaving flames in the wake. You thought it was your body rejecting his purity, but you were only denying the likeness. He made you feel good. And in the most ironic way possible. You just didn’t think you deserved it.
Yet an anguished moan leaves you, rumbling against his skin as you bite down harder. Regardless of it all, he is yours right now.
The feeling of your sinking teeth in him, the sounds you’re now making, and the damp heat between your legs he can’t stop chasing all makes his head spin. He bites down onto you just the same and it only makes you moan louder.
“Please,” he’s whining again through the bite. His voice a needy tremble while his hips stutter and thrust between your legs that only squeeze tighter together. The way the fat of your legs hug his raging cock through his desperate grinds makes him chase more and more for that feeling he just can’t seem to reach. The crying tip kisses and pushes up then past your leaking folds every time. It drives you both insane.
If your body is the fiery lake of creation's deepest pit, then he is the cleanest ocean of earth’s highest point. If anyone could extinguish you, and possibly make you feel whole, it was Sunghoon.
This is the most horrifying reality you’ve come face to face with. Not just intimacy, but a stronger driving emotion. You have to open yourself, rip open your chest and bare your beating heart in all its naked vulnerability. Let it scream out I like being with you. You have allowed this person into your world that nobody else has dared to step foot in. To see you in such ugly ways yet still extend their arms for you. It’s a terrifying level of closeness that you’ve never once experienced and you don’t know what to do with. You’re beyond perplexed by what he’s done to you, in both terror and awe.
You pull back from Sunghoon and he pauses everything for a moment to look at you, noticing your wet eyes. Before he can ask what’s wrong you reach down and slip off your underwear. You shift your body and maneuver him as best you can until he’s on top of you. Rattled with concealed embarrassment you remove his shirt and toss it somewhere to the floor, and he does the same.
You take a deep breath and reach back down to his cock, lining it up with your pussy. You blink and swallow away all the things trying to stop you from allowing yourself him. Pliant beneath him, you grab his shoulders and pull him down to you for a quick kiss. Foreheads now pressed together with lips ghosting over the others, you tell him, “I hate you.”
Sunghoon only smiles down at you before kissing you once more. With his arms caged around you, he slowly pushes himself forward. The fat tip of his cock fails to go through you, only sliding up and past the wet folds. He whines feeling the warm slick coat the head; his entire body shudders. He nearly cums from that alone.
He looks at you confused, and nod once while trying to shift your hips around for a better angle. It’s not like you to be so quiet during things like this. It only tells him that for once, you’re nervous about new things the way he was.
So he tries again, this time a little rougher. He thrusts his hips forward, the tip pushing past the tight walls but still barely in. You whimper at the intrusion and the feeling of you being stretched open. Your hands squeeze hold onto his biceps for purchase.
The tight sensation of your pussy squeezing his tip feels otherworldly to him. He can’t help but need to sink deeper into you. His cock pushes in further at an agonizing pace until he’s as deep as he can possibly go. His arms shake while he tries to maintain his strength and keep himself from collapsing onto you completely. The wet walls that surround him flutter and try to pull him further inside, making him feel lightheaded. His moans are so needy it’s almost like he’s crying from the feeling.
“Oh, f-fuck!” you whimper. Having Sunghoon completely inside of you feels so full. You’re stuffed with him and it hurts so good. “You gotta move, Hoon. Feels like you’re splitting me open.”
“You're so tight, mm.” His hips stutter from your words alone and he whimpers again. He pulls himself out halfway while your gummy walls kiss around him in an attempt to suck him back to be filled again. He begins to rock himself in and out of you. It’s inexperienced and awkward, but he gets the hang of it quickly. Doing what feels best for him and what seems to be the best for you too.
“I hate you. I fucking hate you,” you whisper harshly, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. It all burns while feeling like heaven. Never have you been so full, held so gently, or seen than this summer. You bite back the breaking moans and whimpers. You claw at his skin. You even begin to cry when your hips can’t stop chasing his thrusts.
“I love you too,” he whispers back. A kiss is pressed to your forehead as his cock pistons you. Sunghoon is smart enough to know you’re a liar. Your mean words that used to hurt him, he now understands. You’re not really a bad person. And you don’t hate him. You were just really damaged and if he’s damned for trying to heal that then he’s fine with that too.
“I mean it,” your body shudders, feeling his tip pound so far and deep in places inside you that you didn’t know reachable. His fat cock drags out and forces through your tight hole, making you cream all over him more and more. The sounds that leave your body, the sounds your bodies are making, it’s so obscene. Fighting off the disgust and focusing on how he makes you feel is war. It’s so hard for you to win.
“No you don’t,” he shifts himself to sit on his knees, taking your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He leans forward and kisses both of your cheeks before fucking himself into you again, only harder and faster than before.
“Ngh,” you moan again through broken sobs, blinking away the tears as you stare up at him. “I’m t-trying to.”
“I know, baby.” he mumbles before capturing your wobbling lips into a searing kiss. “It’s okay, haah, don’t cry. You’re good. You’re so good for me,” he says against your wet lips. You can only sniffle and try to turn your head away from him in your embarrassment. “No, no.” he takes your chin with his thumb and finger, forcing you to look back at him. His thrusts never letting up during his care. “Look at me. You’re so good to me.” He reminds you over and over. “We’re so good together. I’m yours. you’re mine.”
“Say it again,” you sniffle through little sounds of sin. Your hand finds a place on his cheek, and your thumb rubs over his lips that wear a smile.
“You’re so good, good for me. We are so good together. I am yours. And you are mine,” he says softly. His eyes are so filled with love, and if you could see your reflection in his then you would know yours are too. “Say you’re good, baby, it’s okay.”
“I’m good,” you sob through your whimpers, “I’m yours.”
To Sunghoon, the idea of sex was always sacred. Something that’s only done and shared between lovers bound by marriage of the church. But now, he thinks differently. He knows that there is no shame in him loving you now or years later. And he was more than happy to make love to you all night until you believed it too.
Perhaps there was a thing such as divine intervention and if God’s timing was alway right, he knew how to be evil with it too. Because the next day, when Sunghoon takes you home, he’s met with your maker.
Your mother, aware of the frequent trips you’ve been making and how close you’ve grown to the summer farmhand boy, is quick to make a call to your father the night you don’t return home. It wasn’t necessarily because she cared for your well being. You’re more than capable of handling yourself. But it was an excuse to try and get him to come back. Only it doesn’t go how she wanted.
When you see the reverend’s car parked in front of your house, your heart drops. Sunghoon picks up on your tension, He sees how you go blank at the sight and slowly turn back into the empty girl he met months ago. He tries to hold your hand but your fingers can’t move, can’t return the embrace.
When the reverend walks out of the house with his infamous weapon of sacrificial forgiveness, you know what to do. Your body moves on its own, leaving Sunghoon to reach out for you that walks towards the woods. He goes to follow you and the desolate man that stalks behind, but your mother stops him. She’s hysterical as she drags him towards your house saying, “it’s going to be okay.” But she’s crying.
Once out of their sight, the reverend takes you by the hair. He yanks your head around, pulling you towards that cursed tree. He’s uncharacteristically rough and your scalp screams for a release but you don’t show it. You don’t even look at the man. Not even when he’s tossing your body to the ground.
“So you’re whoring around with my employees now, huh? Was ruining this farm not enough for you?” His words mean nothing to you. You dust off the dirt and go to stand again, but he kicks you back down. You tsk under your breath as he speaks again, “I’ve seen all the things you’ve done. Seen you leave my barns with red hands and smile. Cut heads off chickens like an anatomy project. Is he next? That church boy?”
Now you look up to glare at him. Seeing the reverend was aggravating enough, but to say something about Sunghoon was infuriating to you. “I am not a killer. You are! And those animals were already dead.” You spit at his black leather church shoes.
“Oh, you disgusting little devient,” he laughs lowly, untying the rope from the tree. “Your cruelty shouldn’t bring you joy. Sick and twisted, I should’ve dealt with you sooner regardless of what your drunk bitch mother protested. I can save the boy when you’re gone.”
“What?” you shuffle backwards from him, angry and confused as he stalks closer to you until you’re backed against the tree. “All those things I did was because of you. Your righteousness made me rotten!” Your hands shake, gripping at the dirt ground for anything to make the fear stop. You glance up to the empty tree branch then the rope in his hands. Where is the lamb? You think briefly before it hits you. “You’re crazy,” you whisper, “I will not be your martyr… not now what I’m finally-”
“Condemn me to Hell for all I care,” he crouches down in front of you, “This is the last time I’ll be a killer.” He throws the rope to your lap and tells you to tether yourself.
“Why do you hate me?” The words scratch at your throat. When you were younger, you did want the reverend to hate you. It was when he noticed you most, and it’s all you really knew. But now you’re older, and his disdain never made sense.
You can’t bring yourself to move even if you wanted to. Was this His plan? To allow you one good thing in life before ending it? Was ruining Sunghoon your final sin?
The rope shakes with your fingers as you stare down at it. The twine of the rope burns over the palm of your hand where Sunghoon carved his promise. Your throat feels dry, tight and suffocating; choking on everything you’ve ever done. And your eyes still puffy from the night before well with tears all over again.
“I just do,” he thinks of slicing your neck open right there. So fuck tying you down, you were always secretly another lamb anyways. He raises his knife and the metal sits cold under your chin as he lifts your head up to look back at him.
“Okay…” you swallow.
Your eyes squeeze shut and so does your mouth, as you raise your head to the sky with an exposed throat. Why isn’t this easy? Unlike the animals, you do know what’s coming. And it’s scary. Scary not because of death, but because you aren’t ready. You haven’t told Sunghoon goodbye or that you love him back. And the thought of him finding something in this world to hate, is such an ugly feeling to die with.
And then there’s a loud noise. A booming bang, followed by unsteady feet falling back and the ground rumbling with a thud.
You open your eyes and your father is on his back clutching his abdomen. He coughs and gasps before raising his hand. It’s dripping in deep red. And you can’t help but smile with tears in your eyes as you exhale a jagged breath.
You turn your head and Sunghoon stands there with the shotgun in hand, open mouthed and wide eyed.
“Sunghoon!” you scramble to your feet and run over to him, taking the gun from his hands as he’s frozen in shock.
“H-he was going to- he was about to hurt you. I had to-!” he stutters, his eyes already crying and hands shaking, still feeling the weight and recoil of the gun.
“It’s okay,” you coo softly. “Just- go back to the house and I’ll be right there, okay?” You rush out. Still in shock and dazed, he blindly trusts you and does as you say.
When he’s no longer close by, you walk over to the reverend with a blank face. You stare down at him as he tries to crawl away, dirty and bleeding. The smile you make doesn’t reach your eyes.
You point the gun back down at him, and place your foot over the shot wound Sunghoon created. The man gasps and tries to swat at your leg but you only press the gun further into his face, making him surrender.
“Divine intervention, huh? Say it with me now. I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your voice is quiet, calm, and mocking of his tone. With the barrel to his forehead, you watch him writhe in pain and cough up a little blood.
“Go to Hell,” he spits his words like venom.
“If you say it, I’ll let you live. But if you show your face to me or Sunghoon again, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.” Your foot presses down harder. You can feel that angry little girl inside of you jumping with joy.. Knowing his God demands to be bled for, and making him know the sacrificial suffering, well it feels good to say the least. “Say it. With me. Now.” Each word pronounced with the growing applied pressure to his shot wound. And then he begs for forgiveness. He’s never seen you smile the way you did when he was below you with those words. Empty eyes were never so alive for him either. He cries and chants ‘I know no punishment, only mercy’ over and over. It was like the most beautiful hymn.
There wasn’t much to be said about that day. Sunghoon and you just pretend you shared a nightmare. Neither of you talked about it. It was just another thing that tied you together.
Sitting there in the peak of summer’s heat. A day before Sunghoon returns to college classes. Birds chirp. The leaves of the tall trees thistle in the light breezes that pass by. Sunghoon sits criss crossed and while you have your feet hanging off the edge of the dock, kicking in the water.
“I’m sorry,” you break the silence. Shocked, he looks over to you. He never would have expected you to apologize for anything. “I was selfish when I approached you. I wanted to take all that goodness out of you and keep it for myself. I thought I wanted to hurt you, but after sharing all this time with you, I realized I was wrong. It’s weird to say it out loud,” you laugh small, awkward, “but I really am sorry. I love you more than even I know.” You stare down to your feet in the water that has gone still. A tear falls from your eye, and down to your cheek.
“I know. I love you too,” he wraps an arm around your waist. “But now the same sins bind us.” You hiccup silently and turn to look up at him. “Harvest all of my purity, farmer’s daughter.”
For the first time, you really laugh. It’s bright and loud like the big smile he’s seeing for the first time on his favorite face. It’s morning sunlight that whispers through trees to kiss the forest floor. Birds that sing songs of hope to awake life into a new day. Nostalgic, expansive days of childhood where the concept of time doesn’t exist. To him, you look like the epitome of summer; he doesn’t want this season to end.
You were never the lamb. Or the wolf. Not an animal at all. Nothing like the ones you grew up with. You were just a girl, scared and alone. But not anymore. Because it’s your last day on this farm, and tomorrow is the first with only Sunghoon.
“Your humor is poetry.” you continue to laugh until tears prick your eyes all over again. You love it.
“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.” he looks away shyly, blushing. It only makes your giggle more, but you stop to press a kiss to his cheek. He blushes harder.
“I’ll keep doing it, harvesting all of your purity, for as long as you’re good.” you say with a smile.
“Do you promise? I am always good, especially with you, so it could be a long while.” He bumps your shoulder playfully with a laugh.
You take his scarred hand in yours and you laugh like he did, pure and true, “I do.”
IM BACK FROM MY HIATUSSS (nobody cares) it's great to see how many people have joined us and I'm glad you're all liking my work!! I have quuuiite a few wips so watch out for that!!! Feel free to chat with me hehe I wanna be more active on here :3
Epilogue: Dear Lord When I Get To Heaven Please Let Me Bring My Man (p. sh, l. hs)
banner credit: @simpjaes🩷
pairing. step-brother sunghoon x female reader x step-brother heeseung
genre. I Would Give Up Heaven If I Had To.. AU, pwp, M/F, heavy on the angst in this one, fluff💀
warnings. morally grey characterizations(mostly Sunghoon), profanity, toxicity, sibling rivalry, mommy issues, daddy issues, anxiety/depression, Phantom of The Opera references, death, time jumps, pregnancy, no smut warnings *gasp*. minors DNI.
wc. 16.8k+
now playing. Young & Beautiful//Lana Del Rey
for @ncdeeh, the biggest fan of this series out there🖤
———————————-
Germany.
It feels like a movie when you arrive and get off of the train. Smoke blows around, different accents sing through the air, and your breath visibly shudders in front of your face.
Heeseung’s cheeks deepen with color, he insists on carrying your bags. He knows you’re still in some state of shock, too stunned by everything that has unraveled in the last 48 hours.
“The hotel my dad booked us isn’t too far from here, I’ll order a cab for us.” He nods, directing you to follow him.
Innate instinct takes over, it’s time for him to be a man. To embody the role his father has the past few years of his life. He needs to serve and protect you now, because would you really be running off if not for him? Is he not partially to be blamed for drastically altering your life?
“We’ll only be here for a couple of weeks, then we can head back to France if you want. My dad said he’d cover everything.” Heeseung is really trying to make this as easy as possible for you. Maybe he’s feeling more guilty than he anticipated, especially after seeing your solemn expression.
“Yesterday was so fucked up.” You barely mutter, throwing yourself onto the hotel bed. “Can’t believe I did that.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.” In fact, he’d prefer not to…
“I feel like such an awful person right now.”
You shouldn’t, given Sunghoon’s track record but this isn’t you. You would never go out of your way to use your body to manipulate and hurt someone this way..
“Don’t worry about it, alright? You don’t need to worry about me forgiving you. It’s like it never happened.” Heeseung grabs a hold of your hand, smiling softly. “Today’s a new day.”
Worry about forgiveness? Forgiveness for what. You contemplate asking, opening your mouth only to receive a gentle kiss. His lips pressed to yours with a tinge of fear. He’s afraid, probably as scared as you are.
“We need to talk Hee,” you shove at his shoulder, sitting back up. “About your mom, Jian, even Miyeon.. I don’t know, I feel so unsettled.”
“Whatever you want to know, I’m an open book for you.”
And you talked, for hours and hours. Ordered room service as you paced around the hotel room and delved deeper into his life. Picking up the small hints and marks of Sunghoon scattered throughout each memory and story. Late into the night you wore each other down to an empty bottle once full of emotions.
Heeseung cried, told you everything. How his mother offered him his first drink. He fought tooth and nail to make her stay home, to stop entering the local bars and waste her life away. She was never the same after the divorce, never explaining to him why or how it happened. She couldn’t after some time, couldn’t speak more than slurred speech, could barely keep her eyes open for longer than a few hours.
“My brother was jealous of that.” He nods, interlocking his fingers. “He has no idea that I was living through my own personal hell. I was living with a fragment of who my mother once was, by the end.. that wasn’t her. She would call me by my dad’s name a lot, yell at me, throw all types of insults at me.”
The more you listened, the more your heart broke. Sunghoon had no one, and Heeseung didn’t either. They could have at least had each other..
“My grandparents were too old, tired. Grandma was showing signs of early dementia and grandpa could hardly walk without hurting himself.” Heavy pain laces his tone, blinking back tears without looking at you. Not wanting to see the pity or hurt on your face for him. “Mom died in my arms, at the hospital. I didn’t want it to be real, sometimes the memory hits me out of nowhere and I feel so empty. I feel as useless as my dad says I am.”
There’s nothing to be said after he spills his soul wide open for you. Everything makes sense, the jealousy between him and Sunghoon. The unspoken truth that neither of them could even begin to see past their blind hatred for each other.
“He’s right, I should have done more.” Heeseung trembles, failing to fight his tears any longer. They roll down to his chin, shaking off with the chatter of his teeth. “I should have helped her somehow.”
“You were a kid.” You try to help, knowing this is above your capabilities. You hold him, clean his tears, scratch through his scalp, and he lets it all out. Every fear, every thought that plagues hik, the root of his pain that started the day his parents tore apart their family.
“I wanted to be above this, try to have a normal life when I moved back home to live with my dad.” He sighs, sinking deeper into your hold. “He hates me. Maybe I remind him too much of her.”
Even the richest of rich shouldn’t always have kids, even if they are more than able to afford to. Mr. Park clearly had a detachment from his sons, most especially Heeseung..
“I told you, he wanted me to ask Miyeon out first. I don’t know why Sunghoon took that bullet for me. I kind of hoped that it was because he doesn’t hate me, but after this..”
“I think if he knew everything, he would have never put you through all of this again Hee. Not that he deserves an excuse, but I want to believe your brother isn’t actually as evil as he wants us to perceive.”
“I hope he’s not.” Heeseung stares off into the void, sniffling. “If only because I still feel bad, that he grew up without us. Especially after living with my dad again, he’s such an emotionless prick.. it’s no wonder my brother always made fun of me when I’d cry. Moving back home without my mom was hard for me. I felt like a stranger in my own house, as if I didn’t belong there.”
Nothing can excuse Sunghoon’s behavior and actions of course, even if you questioned everyday what his experience was living alone with Mr. Park throughout his primitive years. How did all of that time without a motherly figure alter his life? The way he thinks? That stone cold heart of his you’d come to know.
How could the two of them be so different and yet the same. Heeseung who handled his feelings by expressing his emotion and pain, never scared to shed a tear. Who would lay his head on your lap and kindly ask you to hold him, to stroke his hair the way his mother used to. Who walks around with the open wound in his heart proudly displayed.
Sunghoon, for the little amount of time you had him in your life, he couldn’t do the same. Couldn’t bring himself to open up, to tell you how he really feels. He held back, masked his feelings with anger and harshness; a shield, really. He needed someone to be there for him, to help him understand himself..
And as you lived your life and settle into your loft in Paris, you slowly let those thoughts get to you. Each day he crossed your mind, and you shoved those thoughts down deeper, kicking dirt over the growing pile to keep them buried alive. You could not feel guilty nor sorry for him, or you’d break.
Many nights came and went by staring at his name in your list of contacts, blocked by his brother the day you got on a train to get away from him. You knew that reaching out to him would only lead to your demise, because maybe when Heeseung kisses you, you shut your eyes and can taste Sunghoon’s lips.
Maybe you have to bite down on your tongue to not moan his name. Maybe when you’re extra tired, you swear that your boyfriend resembles him too much, that you can almost picture him being the one walking through the front door of your loft.
Maybe you can’t stop yourself from imagining the other side of the coin, how everything could have gone if you had given Sunghoon a chance.
And despite how perfect your relationship has been, you can’t ward away those curiosities. Can’t fight your mind when you shut your eyes and begin to count the different beauty marks dotted around Sunghoon’s face.
You try to ignore those thoughts, to replace them with only new memories of Heeseung, but maybe you give up one day.
Maybe you allow the fantasy of what could have been to infiltrate your head, and maybe you enjoy it more than you are willing to admit.
———————————-
~one year later~
Three hundred and sixty-five days to be exact. But who’s keeping count?
Sunghoon is. He bought a physical calendar at the airport before flying back home with your mother and father.
That flight had really been excruciating for him. The one upside is that the seats next to him were originally reserved for you and his brother. He could at least wallow in his misery alone.
And he did, for a few hours at first. The long flight home spanned for over half of a day and time ticked by more slowly than usual. He tried to read, paid for the wifi to use and distracted himself with some games, browsed through the movies the airline had to offer. Nothing could stop his mind from racing, stuck in the idea of you.
Because that’s all this was right? The idea of you.
That idea that you could fix him, because maybe that’s what he wants. He wants to be fixed. Sunghoon knows all of his social problems, his dad didn’t pay for an overpriced therapist for nothing. After the divorce, he hadn’t handled the situation so great.
Mr. Park had never wanted to be a father, he was very successful straight out of university after earning his degree rather fast thanks to his own father’s name. Generational wealth had done its due diligence to breeze him through the educational system. The last thing he wanted was to share the money consistently expanding in his bank account with children and a wife. Not when he was having a blast playboying around from country to country on private jets, schmoozed and bribed with free luxury alcohol, grand dining experiences only ever allowed for the wealthy and famous.
His father, Sunghoon’s grandfather, had other plans in mind for him. That's where his mother came in. She was an intern at his grandfather’s company, a girl with a squeaky clean reputation. He set them up on a date, insisting that his son lock in a wife before he cut him out of his will. Growing tired and furious with each new headline of his son out and about partying with celebrities.
It was time for him to get serious. That's business, investors would take him more seriously as a family man as opposed to some messy international playboy.
So, he got married.
Was he in love? No, absolutely not. But then along came the birth of first son Heeseung and he had no choice but to accept his title as a wed father. This was his new life.
A miserable life of work, countless business trips, screaming baby cries keeping him up all throughout the night, and a nagging wife constantly accusing him of cheating.
Things were bleak compared to his world only a year prior, and then Sunghoon came along and everything only seemed to grow worse with time.
The boys—his boys, had no way of knowing and understanding their parents' unhappy marriage. They were given every toy, playset, console, and every shiny new expensive device on the market without question.
Sunghoon had always been closer to his mother given his father’s packed schedule. He loved her, always lit up and giggled when she’d pick him up from school and ask about his day. He can still remember the scent of her perfume, soft and sweet like a batch of fresh cookies. Her loving hands would pinch his cheeks, hoist him up onto her hip until he became too large to do so.
They’d chat for hours into the evening after school, all about his day, what activities he did in class. Any new friends he made, helping him to complete his homework. Heeseung would usually whine for dinner first, rubbing his stomach with big eyes directed at their mother. She really really never failed to show them how much she loved them both.
That’s what hurt and confused him the most for years after the last time he saw her. His father dragged him away from her at the airport, and he kicked, he screamed, he cried and threw a tantrum.
‘That is enough Sunghoon.’ His dad said to him firmly, gripping his shoulders and standing him back onto his feet. ‘No son of mine will embarrass this way.’
He was a kid, not even a teenager yet. Dealing with an explosion of raging hormones while losing his mom and brother. None of it seemed fair, and he cried, he cried for months, for over a year. Screamed at by his father in return, the only parent he had left to care for him. He would throw money at Sunghoon, tell him to wipe his face and go buy himself something to cheer up. That was always his answer to dealing with his overly emotional distressed son.
He tried to keep in touch with Heeseung, but his dad forbade it. Didn’t want him to be influenced by his siblings' new life or manipulated by whatever false narratives his mother would be likely to create.
After a good year of dropping his grades, teachers contacting his father full of concern, and a son that barely opened his mouth to speak, Mr. Park slid a pamphlet across the dinner table.
‘Therapy, son.’ He cleared his throat, setting down his fork to sip his glass of wine. ‘It’s high time you grow up and become a man. No son of mine will enter high school with below average grades. I have expectations of you.’
Therapy. That was his father’s next plan to fix his broken heart. To grant him emotional relief of all his pain.
It helped, at first, to understand why he feels what he feels. Why he acts out the way he does, why he hurts so deeply, why he can’t fathom having hope.
It worked until it didn’t.
Maybe Sunghoon had reached a certain point of maturity that snapped his mind out of his misery. Maybe he never let it go, maybe it became a part of him. One with his misery, embracing it and not allowing it to ruin his life anymore.
‘I don’t think I need this anymore.’ He told his therapist after two years with a thin smile on his face.
He tried to talk him out of canceling his future sessions, tried to explain that this was more beneficial for him than he realized but Sunghoon had opted for another form of therapy.
Years of being spoiled instead of nurtured and loved by his parents led him to sports. He took up weight training. Started to see his arms build muscle, the lines in his stomach grow deeper, his stamina strengthened.
His depressed thoughts lessened by the dayc more focused on how built and lean he could get. Visiting a trainer and nutritionist to change up his diet to nothing but protein to make him stronger, bigger, more intimidating.
His dad couldn’t call him weak anymore. In fact, Sunghoon hasn’t cried a day ever since he cut off his therapist. That damn croc of shit tried to get him on a prozac prescription, often spoke of stronger antidepressants.
He didn’t need any of that bullshit.
No.
Sunghoon knows exactly what he needs.
Three hundred and sixty-five days and he hasn’t missed one gym session. It’s the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up. Craves the burn in his muscle, the pain and soreness he experiences after. He needs to lick off the sweat that lines his upper lip, shake off any before it can reach his eyes and clump his dark eyelashes together.
He’s been working out like a maniac ever since that fucking family vacation. Spending countless hours in the basement gym his father and your mom never step foot inside of. They’re hardly ever home anyway, too busy frolicking around traveling the world in luxury.
He can’t complain, except for days such as today when he enters the kitchen to make himself a protein shake and his step-mother beams the largest smile at him.
“Sunghoon! Come say hi!”
“Oh mom, no please, I really have to go. I’ll be late for class!” The line cuts immediately after before he can even answer your mother.
It’s always the same, you always have to go. You’re busy, your connections bad, you have plans with Heeseung.
“Aw shoot.” Your mom sighs, closing her ipad. “Next time.” She gives him a wary smile on her way out of the kitchen.
There is no next time, you’ve successfully avoided him for a fucking year now. His brother never contacts him, the texts he tried to send you bounce back, his phone calls never go through. He tried at first to contact you somehow, emails, embarrassing phone calls attempted in the middle of the night when he knew you’d be awake given the time difference. Even fucking carrier pigeon would be a useless option.
You obviously want nothing to do with him. Both of your parents are too oblivious to understand the amount of effort his own fucking brother has made to avoid speaking with him. How neither if you ever ask about him, how he’s been, if he’s healthy.
Sometimes it hurts when he allows his mind to drift deep enough into those thoughts. That’s when he really takes it out on the gym punching bag. Lunging his shoulder so hard into it one day that he had to wear a sling for the rest of the week.
It’s times like this he wishes he could be anywhere but here. That he could get away and go back to a safe place that felt more like home than whatever this bullshit is. Days like this stir up old memories of his mother, how she would cradle him and read him bedtime stories. How she carefully held his hand while grocery shopping even though she had to bend at her waist to do so and strain her back.
How he never got to say goodbye to her. Has never even visited her grave. He never got answers, how could she so easily abandon one of her kids. Maybe she never loved him..
And now he asks himself different questions, about another woman he thought, perhaps even hoped, could love him. Was he a fool to believe that you might actually have feelings for him? Fuck if you didn’t play with his emotions and mess with his head enough.
He let you, he let you dog walk him like a fucking idiot. It hurts of course, especially when he’s laid in bed and can’t sleep a wink even after tiring himself out with some midnight cardio. He stares at the ceiling, ponders the time he spent with you. How much you changed and unraveled right before his eyes.
It’s not that he wants to have feelings for you. The truth is, he gave his father an ultimatum for the first time in his life. He’d finish school, collect his degree, and run whatever fucking sector his dad needed his face plastered across as the CEO. Young Sunghoon Park, the next generation of power.
But he did not want to continue his fraudulent relationship with Miyeon any longer, he refused to fall down that same path his dad had. To grow old with someone who only stayed with him by force.
Needless to say his father was disappointed, of course. The old man reprimanded him and argued about what a waste of time it’s been to build a relationship with Miyeon’s father to merge their companies. The real end goal was really to take down his competitors and buy them out, not merge shit. Sunghoon held his guard, he relented and stuck to his word.
He’d be his father’s working bitch, work harder than any asshole that graduated from Harvard and Yale, but the decision of his future wife would be his own. The one thing his dad could no longer have control over- the mother of his children, his partner, the woman he’d walk down the aisle towards.
He hadn’t thought too deeply on the matter until you came into his life and turned his world upside down.
He never felt an emotional tie to Miyeon even when they began dating. They tried at first, too young to comprehend why they were being made to meet up at Dave N Busters with limitless funds to play games all night and order as many fries as they could manage to eat. She had let him know real quick that he simply wasn’t her type.
‘Pretty boys like you do nothing for me.’
And if he was being honest, she didn’t quite spark his desires despite her good looks and charm. They got along better as friends and made a pact to continue on with their relationship to keep their parents equally satisfied.
‘My father keeps dragging me to these business ventures to meet his colleagues' sons. I need my weekends back.’
Their agreement worked out great for both of them. Sunghoon would use those alleged dates with Miyeon to hit up parties and clubs. He started to gain a reputation around campus for having a great body and an insatiable need to fuck like a beast. With his dad remaining none the wiser to his weekend escapades, he felt as if life couldn’t get any better.
And then you came along. You showed up and gummed up the works.
It’s hard to say if Heeseung really saw you first, not that he can stake claim off a look.. but Sunghoon knows that he wanted you first. It’s possible he had only planned to add you to the enormous growing list of girls he had conquered in just the past year. Maybe he just wanted to fuck you to say that he did. To soothe his raging ego with the knowledge that he can and will always get what he wants.
It was too easy really, you needed a tutor. And if Sunghoon knew how to do anything, it’s to pass a class with the highest scores and grades. He wasn’t valedictorian for nothing. Years of his father talking down to him about failing Physical Education of all classes after the split with his mother never allowed him to hit that low again. He studied and worked his ass off day and night to earn better grades, to be the teacher's favorite, to get a spot on the dean’s list.
Sunghoon hadn’t planned to keep fucking you. A few times maybe, for fun, to piss his dad off even if he never found out. But when he heard you inside of Heeseung’s bedroom..
When he saw the way the two of you looked at each other. When his older brother swept you away and off your feet cosplaying as some fucking humble prince to help you escape from an awkward first meeting with Miyeon; that—that pissed Sunghoon off.
Not Heeseung who also forgot about him for years, who got to live with the one parent they had that could give a fuck about either of them. That likely came home after school to home cooked meals. He’s sure their mother still brushed his hair even as a teenager. Still woke up the house on Sunday mornings loudly singing along to her favorite songs as a teenager. That motherfucker really had the audacity to portray himself as a saint in front of you.
And that truly made his blood boil. For a moment, no more than a few seconds.. he felt a tinge of jealousy.
Not only did Heeseung get to have their mother’s love in the end, but he was also going to have you.
Call him a monster for reacting the way that he did, but seeing his brother happy for the first time since he’d moved back in with their father; that made his blood pressure spike.
Why should Heeseung have it so fucking easy?! Why does everything work out for him?? Sunghoon’s sick of it, he’s been sick of that waste of space moping around the house. Taking up time in the living room playing his stupid fucking video games, never even bothering to ask him if he’d want to join him.
Not that he would, never wanting to hold a conversation with that moron he’s forced to call his sibling. His feelings may have been superficial, greedy and childish.. at first, but maybe that’s why he never fucked a random hook-up more than a handful of times. He never permitted himself to grow attached, to release those emotions that could weaken him. He tried so hard to protect the vulnerable shattered boy that grew without love, that he nearly forgot he even once existed.
That’s why this has hurt more than anything he’s felt in years. Because he hasn’t been able to feel. He hasn’t poured anything from his cup in so long that just one splash spilling out was enough to leave him empty.
He finds himself alone in the gym again. Glancing around at everything he’s left in place. The way his equipment shines thanks to the maids that clean up around here. How his mini-fridge stays stocked with energy drinks and electrolytes without him being required to lift a finger.
Easy. Such an easy life. Why would he ever want to leave this? Why would anyone.
Would you have ran off to Germany if not for him? Would you have stayed with Heeseung all of this time if he had just let you be? Thousands of questions with no answer swarm his thoughts when he zones out deep enough. A good vigorous workout can typically cure that, grunting through the burning pain that shoots up his back and arms.
Sweat pours and he twists side to side to spray the droplets away from his eyes. Too fearful of ever catching himself in the mirror again with any type of wetness rimmed so close to his iris. The one time he did had him dropping to his knees, scrubbing a small towel at his face until his skin turned an angry red and not one bit of sweat remained.
Crying is for weak little bitches like his older brother. Always crying to get his way instead of putting up a fight.
Hearing your voice today for only a few seconds, the line beeping when you ended the call.. the thought wrinkles his eyebrows, burns inside of his nostrils. Twitching his nose to make that feeling go away, that hallowing in his chest. Not even a year apart had softened you? These days of nothing, you weren’t at all curious?
Pain. Pain squeezed at his lungs. Subsiding it as over exerting himself by lifting weights that are too heavy. He drops them abruptly and goes to chug water. Dragging a towel across his forehead, leaving his hair sticking up in different directions.
Heartless, a heartless girl with no compassion. Unless his brother had really manipulated you to act this way.. he had his suspicions. That Heeseung had fucked you up as much as himself.. took advantage of the sweet soul he’d come to know. Refusing to believe that what you shared had meant nothing..
It certainly hadn’t meant nothing to Sunghoon. He tried to fuck other girls, even went on dates and forced a smile on his face through each boring one. He couldn’t forget you, everything around him led back to the memory of you.
Perhaps even who he wanted you to be for him.. and time and time again he failed to convince himself that this was your choice. That you chose his brother..
There was just no way.
Sunghoon came to workout to get away from his mind. To shut you off for an hour or so. He can’t deal with this right now. Why did you mom have to be on a video call with you right now?!
Stomping over to the ipad, he scrolls through different playlists in search of something to blast the echo of your voice away. Something obnoxiously loud to drown out his mind.
He should have hit shuffle and gone back to his reps. The universe couldn’t taunt him any harder as your name shows up in bold letters on the screen, recommending him a playlist you must have saved on here when you’d use his gym.
He would have deleted it by now if he had noticed, and he should. He should tap the screen to remove your shitty playlist for good. But he doesn’t, he hits play instead and the room floods with your screamy tortured emo crap. This woe is me wah wah wah music that you and his brother bonded over. Teenage angst at it’s finest as some grown man wails through his sound system and his hands fall limp to his sides. It’s the same shit he’d hear coming from your now unlived in bedroom. The muffled guitar from your headphones.
Why didn’t he just hit delete? Now he can’t stop his nostrils from flaring, his teeth gritting together, the tremble running down his forearms to his hands.
It’s been so long since Sunghoon last shed a tear. It happened last on that flight while he sat alone, about six hours up in the air. He put on some cheesy romcom movie to watch, fully expecting to fall asleep 10-15 minutes in. He should have chosen something else, of course he landed on some ridiculous movie with a love triangle plot.
‘I like you just the way you are.’
Sunghoon had to hit pause, fighting the tears filling up his eyes as he struggled to not blink. If he blinks, the one singular tear dangling near the corner will spill down his cheek. He’ll have shed an actual fucking tear.
Stupid fucking Bridget Jones Diary, he’ll never watch this crap again! Instead he shut off the movie and dabbed away the tear that managed to get past his cold will. No one saw that happen anyway, only he has to know that some sappy romance film brought him to tears.
That won’t happen again. Except that when he landed and finally got home, took a shower and laid in bed; he couldn’t stop thinking about that dumb movie. Who did Bridget fucking pick?!? She couldn’t have chosen that asshole Daniel Cleaver..
Not after Mark Darcy told her he liked her embarrassing ass just the way she is. He threw a fit that night learning that there was 3 Goddamn movies he’d have to get through to find out who this woman ends up with. Not a wink of sleep was had that night as he sat at his computer and found streams of each one go watch in order from start to end.
Sunghoon.. Sunghoon couldn’t stop repeating that line.
‘I like you just the way you are.’ What a load of shit..
Maybe his heart tightened and his pulse slowed down for a minute, everything on the plane went still, his ears popped, and he felt something he didn’t believe to be possible..
Love.
This has to be why girls watch this crap..
What he would give up to be liked just the way he is. That’s how you made him feel, accepted. You saw his darkness and still let him in. That cut him deeper than anything. Losing you to his brother hardly mattered compared to the thought that you accepted him, you liked him for exactly who he is without needing change..
“Stupid stupid stupid.” He slaps at his skull, crouching down by the speaker to tuck his chest into his knees and take shallow breaths. He chose to ignore these panic attacks and nights without sleep, lying to himself that he’s fine. He’s completely fine. That these unanswered questions and intrusive thoughts don’t consume him. That he doesn’t scream in the shower and punch at the tile out of anger, frustration and deep pain that he continues to shove down.
Taking a few minutes to shut off his kind and recuperate himself, he drags his weight up by gripping onto the speaker stand. Slamming his palm down to power off the machine before anymore of your playlist can shake the gym walls and stab the knife lodged in his chest even deeper.
He limps slowly to sit properly, patting around his sweats for his phone. Taking another minute to catch his breath he unlocks the device and searches through his contacts to make a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Yeah.” He licks at his dried lips, rubbing his chest to help his breathing return to normal.
“Sunghoon? What’s going on?”
“Miyeon, I need to see you.”
———————————-
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Sunghoon opens the front door wide for Miyeon, ushering her in toward the living room. His parents aren’t home meaning he won’t have to deal with his father’s pestering questions or wishes of them getting back together. That’s not why she’s here.
Miyeon’s as pretty as ever, her hair shines and bounces as she walks. The scent of sweet cotton candy trails behind her, and her mini-skirt flicks up with each step she takes ahead of him. She’s beautiful, she always has been, and still he feels nothing for her.
“Alright, what was so urgent that you needed me to weasel my way out of the annual tennis finals at the country club? My dad’s not happy.” She huffs, smirking and rolling her eyes. “Not that I’ve loved spending my summer paraded around a bunch of rich spoiled frat boys.”
“How’s your boyfriend?” Sunghoon asks, sitting down next to her.
“Sad, he misses me.” She pouts. “I miss him more.”
“And when will you tell your father about him?”
Miyeon’s lips tighten, hiding a grin. “When will you tell your father that you left me for your step-sister?”
Of course Sunghoon told her, he had to. He had to tell someone and in many ways, Miyeon may be his only friend. It wasn’t easy but he needed someone to understand, to reassure him that he’s not going insane.
‘You can’t possibly be losing your mind Hoon, you never had it to begin with.’
She wasn’t the best of help, but she listened, and she told him that he’s a freak. But a valid freak nonetheless.
“I can’t tell him.” Sunghoon nods, nervously playing with his hands. “Haven’t been on his good side ever since I told him that we broke things off. He’s been on my ass about internships and school. Nepotism must skip a generation.”
“You’re going to inherit his company, don’t be so crass. It’s unbecoming, tarnishing your cold stoic vampiresque image.” She teases, flicking his chin. “You’re definitely a shell of the man I knew. She did a real number on you.”
He hates that she’s right. He knows that his confidence has been rocked, his mind drowned beneath the thoughts he can’t escape. He wouldn’t even know how to keep his guard up anymore to block Miyeon’s sassy jabs. “I guess she did.”
“What is it, Hoon? You could have anyone. Why did it have to be your step-sister?” She crosses her legs, head tilted to the side observing him. All she needs now is a notepad and pen to tap her chin with. She should study to psychoanalyze, really.
“She could have been anyone.” Sunghoon agrees with that. Step-sister or not, he can’t pinpoint the exact reason you caused him to spiral. “But I like her.”
“Why? What’s so special about her?”
It’s not one thing, but a bit of everything. If he could really take away the superficial and shallow reasonings beyond you being his type physically, sexy and alluring, it would come down to the energy between you. The tension and heat. He often questions if that would fade with time once you stop fighting him. If you would ever stop fighting him even if he was able to call you his.
The back and forth with you really does turn him on not only sexually but emotionally. Awakening feelings he forgot could exist. Even now without contact, with no way to reach you, he feels that pull. He feels taunted and defeated, and it’s pitiful how much he loves it. He loves that between him and his brother, you may have been the victorious one after all.
“Would you judge me if I said I feel a connection to her?” He sighs, slumping into the couch seat. “That sounds stupid, right?”
“Not at all.” Miyeon shifts to look at him, offering a small smile. “Sounds normal. You’re crazy about her because it’s more than sex, if it wasn’t you wouldn’t still be hung up on her. A guy like you doesn’t have it hard, you wouldn’t even know what it is to struggle even if you were slapped across the face with it.”
“I have it hard.” He grumbles, glaring at her. “You know what I’ve been through.”
“No you don’t Hoon.” Miyeon laughs, pointing a finger at him. “You think that because your life hasn’t been perfect, everything hasn’t gone your way, that other people wouldn’t sell their soul to live the way you live? We’re so incredibly out of touch with the real human struggle, our biggest hassle is seeking love.”
“So what? I’m not worthy of love because I’m some fucking wealthy brat?” He snaps, getting angrier by the second.
“We’re all worthy of love. You’re just not used to having to try hard, to earn what you want..” Miyeon reaches for his hand, breaking his rage for a moment. “If you expect love, you have to give love. She’s not your mom, she’s probably just as scared as you are of all of this.”
“She loves my brother just fine.”
“From what you’ve told me, he loves her too. I didn’t know back then, but the way he rescued her from having dinner with us would have swept me off my feet.” She shrugs, frowning at him. “And do you know where he is now? In Paris, with her. He gave up his life for her.”
“Because he hates me.”
“Or because he loves her.”
Sunghoon’s mouth twitches, he refuses to believe that. Heeseung isn’t capable of loving anyone other than himself, he’s selfish..
“And you? You’re here, sitting on a couch talking to me as if I am your therapist.” Miyeon continues, cocking an eyebrow at him. “What’s your excuse?”
“What? I’m supposed to go to Paris and stalk her?!”
She shrugs, raising her hands and nodding. “How could that be any worse than everything else you have already done to her? Listen,” fully turning to face him, she grabs both of his hands. “You need to talk to her, tell her how you feel.”
“She won’t speak to me.”
“Don’t give her a choice.” Miyeon says, grimacing. “It’s not the best advice but you don’t have time for this anymore. You’ve been moping around for a year still hanging onto old memories of this girl. She may not even be the same person you felt a connection to anymore. Aren’t you tired of not knowing?”
“You think I should go to Paris? Corner her when she’s not with my brother?” A light flickers behind his eyes, staring ahead deep in thought.
“I didn’t say all of that but, you need to do what you need to do.. get your girl or lose her forever.”
She’s right, isn’t she? How could Sunghoon not realize this on his own? He thought giving you time, that you would come around on your own and realize how much he loves you. That he only did what he did because he wants you. That his brother would never compare to him..
“Poor girl.” Miyeon mumbles, smacking Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Don’t let your greed to win overshadow what you feel for her. Put her first, for once.”
Maybe he needs more friends, perhaps another opinion could have talked him out of this. His father couldn’t complain when he approached him with the idea of finishing up his company internship(aka bitch work) in France, given that he would be taking over the European sector of his father’s company.
So he packed his bags with nothing else planned. No place to call home, no thoughts other than finding you. The flight was long and lonely once again, but he made use of his time and brushed up on French, repeating key words and phrases he’d likely use often.
It was crazy, all of this has been crazy. Miyeon told him to not stress much on his outlandish behavior, it’s not as if falling for your step-sibling sounded normal to begin with.
And maybe, he could fall out of love. He could go on with his life without another thought of you, without another painful grip around his heart.
At least he hoped for an outcome close to that, of discarding his heartache. Of forgetting your name. But that couldn’t be the case.
No. He sat in the hotel lobby where he’d overheard you had taken on a summer job, and he saw you. He stayed by the corner, in the shadows, pretending to wait for his taxi driver's arrival. He watched you walk through the front doors, and he gasped. His chest caved in, his grip on the chair's arms tightened, and he leaned forward. He watched you move like slow motion, as if you were never real, and his stomach fluttered.
He knew right then this may never be over.
Maybe it’s for the best that only Miyeon knew of his plan. To lure you up to his suite and get you alone at your place of work. You can’t leave if he does that.. and sure, maybe it’s not the most ethical approach. Maybe it’s invasive and even deplorable, but what choice have you left him?
Phone number, blocked.
Emails, ignored.
Your living space? Shared with Heeseung.
How else is he supposed to get to you?
This makes sense, planning out a way to trap you alone in his suite with him. Sneaking up on you, showering you with outrageously expensive gifts, and getting on his knees to purpose.
Now Miyeon had not made that suggestion, but Sunghoon concluded no other statement could make it clear how serious he is about you. How much he wants to prove his love to you, that’s why he hopped off of his flight and immediately rushed to one of the most luxurious reputable jewelers in all of Paris. A fat diamond rock to adorn your finger would be the perfect way to express his love, right? It’s not as if he even knows your ring size, having to take a wild guess and make note to adjust it later if necessary.
Everything about this plan is very *him* if he thinks about it, and you should expect no less from him. He’s eccentric like that, always pulling something ridiculous. He’s sure you recall when he purchased that pearl necklace for you simply because you’d been admiring it. How else would he make a grand comeback into your life?
Maybe he is crazy, or maybe you made him crazy. He smiled as he spoke to you, his palms grew sweatier the more his pocket weighed down with the leather box encasing your future engagement ring. The gloves were a real nice touch to not leave any of his grubby fingerprint marks on the silver band, nothing to ruin how pretty the ring would beam from your ring finger. You didn’t seem to like the gloves, but ah well..
‘I won’t give up on what my heart believes is real.’
He couldn’t believe the words leaving his lips, really. Could hardly hold himself together with how loud chest was pounding.
‘Please, say yes.’ He begged, and his tongue felt so heavy dragging through his pleading. The backs of his eyes burned, his stomach churned, his knees trembled on the ground. If not for the cool breeze of air conditioning swarming through the hotel room, he’s sure he’d be sweating enough to soak through his suit.
It’s been so long since he’s touched you, since he’s seen your eyes focused on him, since he’s held you. Nervous hands clutch at your waist and bring you to stand. The look of awe and disbelief written across your face fills his chest with warmth. This could be worth all of his waiting and suffering, if you open your mouth and say that one word that can bring you together again.
“No!” A firm slap flies across his cheek. Snapping his neck to the side and nearly dislodging his jaw, he blinks for a minute to regain himself. Shifting his mouth muscles around to stop the lower half of his face from going numb.
More than the pain scorching through his face, he couldn’t turn off the ringing going off between his ears.
NO?!?!?!??!
Sunghoon’s cheek burns, his chest muscles twitch, and a searing pain erupts in his heart. He can feel it this time, no denying that his heart is literally in severe pain, causing him to reach for the area. He turns to glare at you, dropping the box with the ring from his grip.
“What is wrong with you! You come here, to my job!!” You shout, shoving at his abdomen. “And you fucking ask me to marry you?!? Are you insane! Are you God damn kidding me! You can’t be this crazy, you just can’t be!”
He hears you, he does, but not really. Because the pain in his chest blooms, he steps back with each shove you deliver, and more of his internal hurt spreads. The butterflies flapping inside of his stomach lose their wings, they collapse to their death and he grabs a hold of your wrists before you can push him away again.
“You left me.”
It’s hard to look at him, harder to hear his voice. To feel his large hands wrapped around your delicate wrists. It’s harder to look away and find the ring by your feed, the ring he seriously thought you’d accept and wear on your finger? That you’d say yes?
“I was never with you.”
“Tell me,” he swallows, lifting your arms up and crossing them over your chest. Holding you in place. “Tell me that I mean nothing to you then. Let me fucking move on and forget about me, let me go.”
“Sunghoon.”
“No.” He grits, bottom lip trembling. “You don’t get to do this. You want to be with my brother? Then fine, go fucking be with him. But at least let me go.”
“This was all in your head.” You struggle to rip out of his hold, shaking yourself away. “Y-you think you can have whatever you want because of daddy’s money. You can’t have me just because you stomp and jump around like a bra—“
He should have known you wouldn’t give him a clear answer, you’re too weak for him to deny him. He’s too weak to stay away from you. So he cuts you off with a firm kiss, slotting his lips between yours. He’s been craving, dreaming of this kiss for months, to savor your taste once more.
There’s no push or pull, only tension leaving your body as his soft pout moves against yours and he takes a step closer until the backs of your knees hit the hotel bed.
He deserves this kiss and some, more than anything. For waiting, for staying patient and not losing the little bit of his mind he still has left. A shudder runs up his spine when he drops his hands to your waist and squeezes you, pulling your chest to his. You feel right against him, smell so good, and your lips couldn’t be more heavenly.
Slowly blinking his eyes open, he takes a few seconds to linger by your lips and take in your softened features. The dreamy look that’s taken over your face. The breaths that fan across his mouth heavier than before. He knows in this moment that you’ll never let him go, because he won’t let you.
“Y-you shouldn’t have done that.” You stammer, reaching for his hands on you. “Think you can just come back into my life and mess everything up again?!”
“Yes, I mean, no.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head in disagreement. “I’m not here to mess up anything, I’m here to make this right.”
“There’s nothing to make right.” Loosening his hold on your waist, you manage to move around him. “I have to get back to work, please do not follow me.”
“Please.” He knows he sounds pathetic, reaching for your hand to stop you from leaving. He drags along with you toward the suite entrance without letting go. Stopping when you do and your shoulders slump, letting out a long-winded sigh.
“What do you want from me?”
“A chance.” He says confidently, interlacing his fingers with yours. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it when we’re together. Call me insane and crazy all that you want, but I know what passes between us isn’t nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter—“
“No, it does though.” Sunghoon cuts you off, using your moment of surprise to loop his arms around your waist again. “Because I’m here, I came here for you. I will not leave until you give me a chance.”
“A chance? I don’t understand, I can’t even begin to understand why you’re still trying. Why won’t you give up?!”
He knows that nothing he says to you will make sense, that even if he admitted how his feelings began to develop you may not like his full explanation. “I’m a lot of things, I’m sure you’re aware. I’m nowhere near perfect, and I haven’t shown you anything impressive really. If you deemed me a monster, I couldn’t argue with that.” He nods, rubbing up and down your sides. “But when it comes to you, I really do believe that you like me despite all of that. I—“ he stutters for a second, looking away to recompose himself. The same rush of heat he loathes finds the backs of his eyes. He can’t cry, not now.
“I think we get each other, you’re scared.” Clearing his throat, he eyes your face for any change in expression. “I’m scared. I’ve been scared. Terrified of how strongly I feel about you. I’m done being afraid.”
“And what do you think I’m scared of?” You ask sternly, tilting your chin up.
“Me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m a monster.” That’s who he is to you. He’s the evil brother, the one with malicious intent. Spoiled rotten, crazy enough to do just about anything. He knows what you’ve built him up as in your mind, good or bad, there’s too much to repair and no amount of love you may harbor for him can do the job. If it could, you would have said yes. “That’s what you think of me, right?”
“No, Sunghoon.” You whisper, freeing yourself from his hold yet again. “I prefer to not think of you.”
“Why? Why is that?” He questions quickly, moving around you to barricade the door to exit. “Why are you pretending that I don’t exist? That none of this mattered to you.”
An air of defeat settles over you, dropping your head back with a sigh. You shrug and glare at him, unable to stop your gaze from roaming down, back up, and down again to take in how much more masculine and mature he’s become in just a year. Physically, and obviously emotionally. “Do you want me to tell you that I once had feelings for you? That I felt so guilty for months after leaving you alone in that hotel room. That I beat myself up over it, for feeling bad in the first place. I couldn’t even figure out how to feel, if you even deserved my sympathy after what you did.”
“Did you feel bad? For trying to break my heart?”
“No.” Pressing your lips into a thin line, you blink fast to push down the moisture finding its way to your eyes. Confused and annoyed by the look of disbelief that crosses his face, you clench your fists. “My heart let go of the idea of you after I found out about what you did to your brother. You played in my face and tried to manipulate me, I’m not even sure I know who you really are.”
Sunghoon has to fight to not roll his eyes, resting his back against the door he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m exactly who I’ve shown you, never seemed to be a problem before.”
“Are you? Are you the same nice guy that took me to the Vatican? Or are you that asshole that threatened me in your bedroom?”
“Both.” He shrugs, pushing off the door to get in your face. “Tell me that you didn’t love both, that you didn’t like it when I fucked you the way you deserved.”
“I don’t think you’d be able to handle the truth if I told you what I loved most.”
Sunghoon squints, licking the backs of his teeth with a hint of annoyance flickering across his face. He shakes his head and scoffs under his breath. “Don’t start.”
“Why? Because you hate to accept that side of yourself? That you can actually feel basic human emotion?” You ask brazenly, reaching for his jaw to drag one of your digits down. “That this sharp cold image is just a facade to hide how broken you really are?”
His neck twists away, snapping his face away from your touch. “Whatever bullshit my brother has told you is a lie. He doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know shit about what I went through.”
“He hasn’t told me much, only what I asked. I know about Miyeon.”
“Pfft,” rolling his eyes, he sets his jaw tight and pins you in place with a furious look. “What about her? I already told you, we broke it off. We never had a real relationship.”
“I know.” Softening your expression, you reach for one of his hands. Not too surprised when he allows you to lace your fingers between his. “I know about that, how your father wanted Heeseung to date her first. And I know that despite everything you’ve pulled, you still have love for your brother.”
Sunghoon lifts your hands, turning from yours to his to admire the size difference between you. How you perfectly fit against his palm, and how much nicer hand would look with a gorgeous ring on your finger. “Even if I did, it’s not enough to stop me from getting what I want. No amount of love for him or my father can stop me anymore, you do realize that, don’t you?”
“I think you’re looking for someone that I am not.” You frown, pulling your hand away. “I’m not the girl that can erase your past or heal you..”
“I don’t need to be healed.” Cupping your face, his thumbs stroke over your cheeks. Eyes dropping shut for a moment as he contemplates kissing you again. He knows better now, than you won’t listen to him if he tries to capture your lips again. “I just need you.”
“No, Hoon..” you sigh, lightly squeezing his wrists. “You’re in pain, whether you understand that or not. And it’s beyond me, above what I am capable of helping you deal with.”
Sunghoon’s fingers tremble against your jaw, slowly dragging his hands down to your throat. “Is my pain all that I am to you?”
“No, but.. I don’t know if your pain is something that I’m ready to handle.”
Dropping his hands, he takes a step back away from you. No longer standing before the door, leaving you with a clear escape. “Yet.”
Perhaps he’s right, maybe it’s hope, delusion, something along that route. But you can’t find it in yourself to deny him. Only stiffly nodding your head as you make your way to leave the suite. He stops you one more time, licking his pink lips.
“Don’t leave me this way, after all of this. After a year of replaying every memory I have with you.” He says desperately, blinking away tears he’d never allow to pour down in front of you.
“What do you want from me?” You ask nearly as pitifully, fearing how much longer you can stand being around him. Your resolve can only stay so strong, even if you won’t admit that the memories of him have never once left your mind.
“A kiss.”
“I’m with your brother.”
“One kiss.”
“One kiss and you’ll let me go back to work?” You ask hesitantly, already sensing thick tension building up around you. There’s nothing to stop you from opening the door and walking out, except Sunghoon could grab you.. and knowing him he would. He’d keep you holed up in here for another hour until you crack under his pressure and give into him. That’d be the worst case scenario, knowing in the back of your mind that you’d absolutely succumb to him if you stay in here alone with him much longer.
A small smile plays on his lips, nodding shortly. “One kiss and you’re free to leave.”
“But am I free of you?”
“No promises.” Sunghoon doesn’t bother to ease into the kiss. Making the first move to cup your face. He presses in, leaning his head in to align your lips.
This kiss that he’s allowed to run rampant in his mind. This kiss that he’s craved for, pictured all of the different ways it would go. How you’d run into his arms, and he’d scoop you up. Maybe even some rain would fall from the sky, because surely even the Gods of the universe had to rejoice in this moment.
Only this is nothing as he dreamt of, this is better.
This is real. The barely there breathy moan that escapes your throat. The heat radiating from your mouth to his. The soft plush of your lips applying pressure against his as you kiss back. And you do kiss back, allowing the tip of his tongue to skim across the seam of your lips. He boldly takes the chance to push in more, eyebrows raised as your mouth parts open around him.
This kiss is more passionate, more intense, blooming life between his thighs. He feels mad once his tongue makes it past your lips, and he licks the roof of your mouth. Licks through the crevices, laps at your tongue. He can’t get enough, moaning as the taste of your saliva meets the back of his throat. He needs more, needs to know how swollen your pretty mouth can get if he keeps going. Pulling back his tongue and slurping, he latches onto your bottom lip. Sucking the plump juiciness between his, biting down harder than intended.
Excitement builds fast, rushing through him at light speed and his hands. His hands slide down, they land at your chest, teasing the buttons of your blouse. And just like that your lips are gone, leaving him puckered up midair. Dreamily blinking open his glazed over eyes.
“H-huh?”
The sight of the back of your hand dragging across your mouth is the first thing he sees. Drawing yourself away from him with a firm nod. You hold out a finger toward him and make your way to the door. “Stay right there.”
Sunghoon can’t ignore the way his chest swoops down to his stomach. His groin aches and throbs. Fuck if it isn’t taking every bit of his restraint to stop himself from chasing after you only to slam your back against that door before you can go anywhere. With clenched fists he listens to you, gritting his teeth.
“Will you allow me to call you now?”
“No.”
Sunghoon chuckles sarcastically to mask his pain. Having to hold himself up by clutching onto the entrance table. Practically knocked off of his feet after getting a small taste of you. “I figured as much. Well I always have your address.”
“Hoon.”
“What?” He acts stupid, blinking dumbly with a shit-eating grin. All of this is fake, an act to keep his tears under control.
“Do not show up at my home.”
“Oh don’t be so dramatic, that’s not my style..” he motions around himself. Indicating that he’d much rather track you down at work where he can at least enjoy a luxurious hotel suite. “I’ll be writing to you.”
“Writing??”
“Letters.” He nods surely, playing with the door handle. “I hope you’ll read them.”
Giving him a suspicious eye, you shake your head and begin to turn around to head back to your manager’s office. Scoffing and muttering under your breath. “Whatever.”
“Don’t be a stranger! Alright?” He calls out from behind you. Sighing to himself and dragging two digits across his bottom lip.
Maybe you didn’t say yes, and sure, you didn’t seem as excited to see him after an entire year as he had hoped for; but one kiss held more than hope. Confirming that you still want him, still think about him. He’d cherish that kiss until you come around and finally accept to let him in. It’s not as if you’ve kicked him out, yet..
———————————-
‘I remember my first time in Paris, I thought to myself city of love? And wondered if I simply did not understand what love must really feel like. Dad had brought me along for a company trip, he wanted me to meet some investors, get my face recognized before I joined his side someday. I watched these old fat bastards chain smoke all night, rave about Parisian women dancing topless at Crazy Horse, drink as if tomorrow would never come. I felt no sense of love, only disgust as I sat there amidst wealth being mindlessly thrown around.
And now I sit here in the city of love, and I sip on cappuccinos every early morning. I order the same flaky butter croissant from this adorable quaint café near my hotel. I take my time to people watch, relax and soak in the morning sun that has just risen, and I think of you. I think of love.’
He really did write you letters. Every week a new one would come in, addressed from one of your favorite aunts. The first to arrive initially had you excited, hoping she had shoved in a few hundred dollar bills after hearing that you’d been working. Maybe your mother had informed her that she hadn’t been transferring you quite as much anymore. The last thing you anticipated was a handwritten letter from Sunghoon.
Choking on your coffee as you began to read, you cleared your throat and peered around for Heeseung’s presence. Thankfully, he was too deep into his game to notice your wide eyes and the paper in your hand. Sunghoon had really sent you a Goddamn letter.. pen and paper.. what a fool.
You tried to hold back a smile as you continued to read upon realizing this was no mail sent from your beloved aunt.
‘I think about you and how nice it would be to wake up by your side. To share my morning coffee with you, to cut a croissant for you. To simply take a stroll before I head into work and hold your hand. How much I’d love to see your face glow under this sunrise. I’d buy you flowers from the local vendors, take you on shopping sprees every weekend. We’d be regulars at the opera house, try out all the fine dining Paris has to offer. And when we’re up to it, we could go to the South of France, take the train out to Sweden, Denmark, wherever you wish to visit. That must be love, to enjoy and live through this life with someone who fills your heart.
-SH’
Thousands of feelings swarm around your head as you fold up the paper and tuck it into your pocket. Already planning to stuff it away inside of the jewelry box you only ever open to look at, to remember.
“Babe, did you check out any of those listings I emailed you?” Heeseung calls out, not moving his eyes away from the computer screen. He leans in too close, jabbing at his keyboard. “Found some really good plots of land and houses that could benefit from a lot of refurbishing in Seattle. I think you’d really like the area.”
It’s been a couple of weeks now since your anniversary, since Sunghoon’s unwelcomed arrival back into your life. You never mentioned your night time visitor at work to your boyfriend, maybe out of fear. Worry and guilt as to how he would react knowing that his younger brother’s booked a suite at your place of work..
Heeseung likely wouldn’t have taken the news well, given your past and how sensitive the topic of his brother always is. You don’t walk on eggshells anytime he’s even alluded to in conversation for nothing.
“Uhm, no, haven’t had time, baby. You know work has been so crazy. Peak tourist season and all.”
You’re not lying, work has been slammed. You’ve come home night after night completely exhausted. Also tense from looking over your shoulder, afraid and hopeful of the possibility to see a familiar face. It’s not that you want to see him, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. You’re curious more than anything.. if he’d rear around the corner. If he’d try to bother you while working, what his next step could be..
It’s better this way. Keeping Heeseung clueless to his brother's current location, avoid any possible altercations, and there’s of course no need to mention the kiss. It didn’t mean anything.. you just needed a way out.
“Babe, our lease here ends in a few months. I really want to start planning for the move back.”
This has been happening nonstop for the last week. Even when you’re fucking he brings up moving, rubbing your stomach and mumbling about having kids. Reassuring you that he’ll land a high-paying job once you move. It’s a near guarantee thanks to his last name and father’s connections..
“We could go month to month..” you mumble, pretending to clean up around the kitchen. “You know, if we can’t find a place we agree on.”
The sound of his game pausing fills your living space in silence. Slowly turning to look at you, he tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “But then we’d be here even longer, and I thought—“
“I don’t want to move.” You should have let him know immediately. But impending fear of losing him kept you quiet. Nodding and agreeing to whatever he said as you went on ignoring his texts and emails about moving. Skirted around the subject whenever he brought it up again. Yawned and waved off the conversation in favor of getting to sleep, or taking a shower, anything to make him stop until he came to the realization on his own.
“You don’t want to move?..” moving to stand, he slowly walks over to you. Lips pulled down in a frown. “But I thought we were planning our future—“
“You.” Interrupting him, you anxiously ring your hands together. Knocking your nail beds against each other. “You were planning..”
“Are you—“ he breathes shallowly, reaching for his chest. “B-breaking up with me??”
“No! Hee, no! Not at all!” You fret, running around the kitchen island to grab his arms. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this! I don’t want you to be upset!”
“So, you lied to me?” He sighs, head dropping. “You never wanted to move?”
“I didn’t lie.. I never told you that I wanted to move.”
“Then, then—why? Why not?” He sounds genuinely confused, tearing your heart apart. You tried to avoid this, didn’t want to have to ruin the peaceful relationship you’ve become accustomed to, too comfortable with.
“I love living here, in Paris..”
“But it’s—we always complain about so many things! The sewer system, how fast the groceries go bad, the lack of convenient transportation!”
“You, you complain about those things.” Rubbing his arms up and down, you trail down to place your hands in his. “I’m sorry for not being honest. I don’t want you to leave me..”
Heeseung looks as overwhelmed as you feel, forehead wrinkled, lips tightened into a thin line. He sighs and shakes his head, pulling you into a hug. It’s not that you couldn’t make it work.. a long distance type of relationship, but for how long?
There’s a chance you could wake up one day tired of this, missing your life back in the states. But there’s a higher chance you’ll regret letting him slip from your arms to start a new life without you in America.
Silence and a tight hug consumes you for the next hour. Calming each other with soothing rubs up and down each other’s backs.
“Now I feel bad, like I’ve been pressuring you..” he mumbles into your shoulder. Squeezing you closer to his front. “God I feel like such a dick.”
“It’s my fault, seriously. You have nothing to feel bad about.”
No. The only one who should feel bad is you. Giggling over some stupid letter that you should have tore up once you realized who it came from. You should feel bad whenever you’re by yourself, when your boyfriends at work, when you lock yourself in the bathroom alone; and you think about him. Replaying the kiss, the touch of his hands on you, the desperation in his voice. You’re the worst girlfriend, undeserving of a man as good as Heeseung.
“We don’t have to keep talking about this. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Pulling away to look at you, he really tries to force a smile to comfort you. “I was getting home sick, I don’t know.. it was stupid.”
“Not stupid.” You say apologetically. Sorry for things he’s not even aware of..
The rest of the day goes by awkwardly, needless to say. As much as you both continue to assure each other that everything’s okay, and everything will be okay; you know that everything has changed.
Heeseung drops the topic of moving for the next few weeks, and he tries, he tries so hard to be the best boyfriend to you. Only setting in what a piece of shit you really are for holding him back, for keeping him here with you for your own selfish reasons.
He’s your first love and the thought of losing him keeps you up at night. Staring blankly out into nothing as you quietly debate with yourself over and over again. Weighing out the pros and cons of moving, of giving up your dreams to satisfy his.
And through your inner turmoil, the letters continue to come. Never questioned by your boyfriend when you explain that your favorite aunt once lived in Paris when she was about your age. You’ve become pen pals sort of, sharing your experiences back and forth.
Another lie.
‘I told my French instructor about you, or well, perhaps I fibbed a little. Told him that I moved here for my girlfriend. She loves Paris, enchanted with the city. He’s really helped me out to improve the little bit of French I had learned back in high school.
There’s this saying he spoke of when I told him about us.
Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point
It means: The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.
Again, I think of you, I think of my heart when it comes to you. The reasons I think that I love you, how they run so deep that I am not sure I will ever begin to understand how we ended up here..
I hope you are well, and that someday you will understand that love is not one dimensional. Our hearts are stronger than we realize. Love you.
-SH’
These letters, they could be another way to manipulate you. Going on two months now, he sends one every week sharing tidbits of his life here in Paris. How lonely it is, how he’s used to being alone, and how even though you are not with him—he is with you.
And then he writes about her, and you have to ask yourself how far Sunghoon’s willing to go to mess with your head. How much of himself is he willing to open up and spill out for you. He claims to love you, shouldn’t he pour himself empty for you?
‘My mom passed away September 26th. The days coming up again. I don’t talk much about her, I know. I am sure my brother has told you enough, how I bawled my eyes out everyday as a child. How much I hurt all by myself. Maybe it’s true that people like me are some of the loneliest.
Someone like me who seems to have it all. That’s what a lot of the employees under me now say behind my back. I hear them, I listen to their snickering words. To their quiet whispers when I arrive and walk through to my office without acknowledging their feeble existences. They think I’m a fucking dick, they’re probably right.
I don’t blame everything on my mother. I pity her the same way I pity my brother. Both too weak to handle their emotions in a way that doesn’t ruin others lives.
You told me I have love for my brother, that I don’t hate him, and you’re right. I don’t know how you read me so easily, but you do. It drives me crazy, the way you make me feel seen. I go through life with all these eyes on me, but none of them really see me. None of them are actually looking at me.
Ah, I am speaking nonsense, aren’t I? You probably haven’t read a single one of these. Maybe I’m starting to lose my last attachment to this fleeting hope. Not that this hasn’t been worth everything to me. To be able to see you again even if just once, to taste you one last time. I can’t believe I allowed love in only for it to hurt me.
I wouldn’t take any of this back. I don’t believe I have ever let go of myself this much, the invisible armor I keep up. Thanks to you, I have learned to bring down my defenses.. I really do hate that.
Talk soon, I hope.
-SH’
Each letter dug a deeper hole inside of your chest. Sunghoon never gave you a return address, both of you know there were more than enough ways to reach him. You know exactly where his father’s company is located, his email, his phone number that remains blocked.
He poured more and more of himself into each one. And as much as it pained you to read, you felt the same butterflies or excitement each time another letter arrived in the mail. Hiding yourself at your computer desk to read every new one, muttering to Heeseung that you had some work to wrap up.
This couldn’t qualify as cheating if you remained contactless on your side, right? Not that repeating that to yourself helped any with the guilt that continued to suffocate you.
If only you could run to your mother with this problem, let out all of your anguish. How much you’ve been stretched apart by these two men. How they’ve split you down the middle and made you forget yourself.
If they weren’t your step-brothers she’d likely soar to the fucking moon after hearing news of your rapturous love life. Not even your mother had enough faith in you to believe that two Park men could possibly be battling to a bloody pulp to claim you as theirs and only theirs.
As fast as fall came, so did the crushing weight of reality.
Heeseung’s smile rarely graced your days anymore. His laughter hardly filled your loft. And the uneasy strain between you never subsided. His sadness was hard to ignore and trying to only made you feel worse, guiltier, like such a terrible person.
“Hee, I checked out some of those locations you sent me before.” You mention over dinner. Feeling extra tense after reading another new letter from Sunghoon.
He’s officially moved into Paris, no longer residing at a hotel. His writing was full of excitement this time, cheering happily about finding a place. Insisting you come visit him one day to at least compliment him for hiring a fantastic realtor and scoring a decently priced house with a perfect view of the Eiffel tower. Decently priced for a millionaire, of course.
“Huh?” Heeseung asks, half paying attention. Half distracted by a game on his phone.
“Seattle, right? It’s nice and cold out there..”
Nothing like a humid sunny summer day in Paris, no..
“Wh-what? I thought you didn’t want to move.”
You don’t. At all.
“Worth looking at.” You shrug, biting down on your lip nervously.
It’s not actually, and you’re being tortured by your own subconscious that won’t shut up about this. It’s all you can think about even while you fuck and have great sex. Heeseung’s accepting a future he doesn’t desire for you. And you? You’re greedy, selfish, benefiting off of his pain to fulfill your needs and dreams..
“You don’t want to leave Paris.” He nods firmly, reaching across the table for your hand. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
All you seem to do these days is lie. Lie after lie, failing to convince yourself that you only choose to lie to protect him.
You have to lie, because worse than losing him, you’d hate to be another person that’s let him down. Another comparison to his mother, father, brother, all those who have failed him before you..
“I don’t.” You struggle to say, throat welling up with tears. “But I’m scared. What does this mean for us?”
“N-nothing, I—“
“You’re unhappy.” Saying those words out loud rush tears to brim your eyes. Blinking the first batch out, they scold your cheeks on their way down. “You don’t like it here, you’re only here because of me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He appeals, sitting up. The game on his phone forgotten about. “I love you, I want to be wherever you are.”
“I know.” Sniffling, you squeeze his hand. Getting up to sit down on his lap and wrap yourself around him. “I love you, and I don’t want you to choose a life that was never meant for you.”
I’ve put you through so much Heeseung. That’s what you wish you could bring yourself to say. That you released his inner demons, went behind his back, selfishly expected him to fix all of your fucked up life himself..
“We can make this work, can’t we?” Heeseung’s first cry makes your heart sink. Clutching onto him, burying your fingers through his hair. You don’t want to ever let go, don’t want to accept the reality of your situation. That he may just be your very first heartbreak.
“Of course we can, baby.”
Lying isn’t always a bad thing, right? Sometimes we lie to spare others feelings. Like when your mother lied to you about cheating on your father, she knew you’d figure everything out in time. But you were too young to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation. She lied so that you wouldn’t hate her or blame her. You lied for the same reasons..
By October, Heeseung had packed up his belongings. The two of you agreed that this wouldn’t be permanent, only until you finish up school and get at least a year’s experience of work. After that was all done, you could revisit the whole moving back to America conversation. Of course you cried and suffered in silence, keeping yourself as calm as you could around him as the days went by. The second you locked the bathroom door to shower, tears would find their way out. You’d sob and cry into your palm. Hoping the shower was louder than your aching chest to drown out the sound of your sadness.
Your mother only side-eyed you when you begged her to not make Sunghoon aware of Heeseung’s departure back to the states. She didn’t pry too much, only clicked her tongue disappointed by the lack of a close relationship you had with her preferred brother.
The goodbye before Heeseung got on the plane to leave you spiraled you into a depressive state for weeks. Only forcing yourself to appear normal when he’d video call you appearing equally miserable. This was the promise you made to each other, to keep your relationship alive. Update each other daily, phone calls, scheduled video chats, texts throughout your days, photos, anything.
And that worked, at first. Even forcing you both to learn how to get each other off in new ways. Video calls often turned steamy, positioning your cameras to enjoy the view of your private areas as you touched yourselves and moaned. Of course, it was never enough and you’d crawl into the bed he shared with you only 3 weeks ago to cry yourself to sleep
“This was for the best.” That’s what you continued to tell yourself. He was miserable here, already back to smiling big as he used to whenever he answers another video call from you. He’s doing better mentally despite missing your warmth by his side, and that’s what matters.
If you love something, let it go, right?
That’s what Sunghoon did.
Sunghoon.
His letters have piled up, the fourth one coming in today. You stare at them stacked on your kitchen counter sometimes. Trembling hands tempted to open each and swallow down each word like a crisp sip of wine.
They felt similar. Addicting, butter, sweet, euphoric. To be let inside of someone that not many, if any, have ever been able to know so well.
Maybe this was the right decision for you and Heeseung, as much as it ripped you to shreds to go through with. He once gave up the only life he’d ever known for you, and here you are.. only giving him up.
There are times you listen to the sound of your heart beating only to make sure it’s there. You’re not a heartless monster for choosing yourself first. Neither of your parents were pleased with this news, especially your mother who has been urging you to move and follow along with your step-brother.
‘At least Sunghoon lives out there now too. I don’t understand you kids, Europe is great for vacation.’
She also pestered you to contact him, to not forget that he is also your step-sibling. That you also should build a healthy strong relationship with him as he will be the one to likely inherit all of Mr. Park’s wealth when his time comes.
‘Heeseung’s wonderful, I was wrong about him.’ She mindlessly chatted with you, holding a yogurt covered spoon by her mouth. ‘I’m so grateful that he took all of that time to look out for you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he had a crush on you or some type of liking.’
She giggled over the silly idea, finishing her yogurt and ending the call. Not before scolding you to text Sunghoon.
You wouldn’t. Instead, you shoved his unopened letters inside of a drawer and decided to attend your job’s annual Halloween ball. Something that could help to lift your spirits, dressing up a little, dancing and drinking with your coworkers. Why not?
Heeseung encouraged you and helped you pick out an outfit over video call. Leaving your room a haphazard mess of tops and skirts, all types of tights and fishnets thrown about as you tried on various looks for him. The two of you agreed upon a deep blood red coat you purchased sometime last year at a street market that resembled a cape.
“That should be good enough to cover you up on your way over.” He gulped, nervously taking in the skimpy black minidress you chose. Cut low to enhance your breast shape, the fabric clung to your skin tightly showing off all of your shape.
“Good thing I work with a ton of girls, right baby?” You winked, blowing him a kiss. He pressed in closer to the screen whimpering.
“Send me a lot of pictures?”
“Of course, don’t have too much fun handing out candy without me?”
The two of you chatted for a bit longer before you had to let him go. It was already after 8pm and the party had been well on its way by the time you arrived. Many of your coworkers had been hitting the open bar hard, dragging you onto the dance floor right as you arrived.
Halloween tunes from Monster Mash to Thriller blasted through the speakers and everyone had fun dancing. Exactly what you needed, not some grungy Parisian club filled with men attempting to grope you all night. Just a good spooky time with the closest thing you have to friends in this lonely city.
This lonely city that you could run into just about anyone in.
Brava. Brava. Bravissima.
That jawline, those eyes, his curved lips. You’d recognize him regardless of the mask covering half of his face. He’s standing there across the floor, beneath the balcony creating a shadow down his face. Sharp gaze laser focused on you, unblinking, licking his lips when you finally spot him.
How long has he waited? How did he know, and why.. why is he wearing that.
The world really stops, slows down, becomes mute when you see him. That’s Sunghoon’s power over you and he knows it. Floating across the floor to you, he bows forward. The cufflinks on his wrist gleam, the white gloves covering his hands strike visually in contrast against his black suit.
And that mask, that mask hiding half of his handsome features. This has to be a joke.
“Phantom.”
“Ah, you did not read my letters.” His tongue clicks, and you’re sure a hint of blush spreads across his one visible cheek.
“I did.” You stammer, squeezing your eyes shut. “N-not the past few, been busy..”
“Well,” reaching out his hand, he smiles. “Trick or treat?”
“Is this not enough of a trick for you?” You can’t help but sneer, rolling your eyes as you take his hand. “What happened to not stalking me at my place of work?
“I’ll have you know I stayed at this establishment for a month. I was invited because I’m now considered a platinum club member guest.” Sunghoon leads you away from the drunken crowd of girls you’d been amongst all night. Head towards the center of the dance floor, his sharp canines shine under the low lights that scatter about the room. “Didn’t think you’d be here, job requirements I’m guessing?”
“Yeah.”
Not necessarily, but that’s none of his business.
“Not allowed to bring a plus one?” He questions. Making his true curiosity very clear.
“Felt like doing a girls night.” You shrug, lifting his hand to look over his costume. “So, why this get up?”
“Why not? I’m in Paris. Felt like an appropriate costume.” He shrugs back, cocking his visible eyebrow. “Not a fan?”
“That’s hilarious..” you mutter. Falling in line with him as he leads you to dance. “Me? Not a fan of Phantom of The Opera?”
“Let me guess, you’re my angel of music?” He grins, turning you around. His free hand creeping onto your waist beneath your cape. “The mask I wear?
“Good guess.” Sticking out your tongue at him, you snort. “I’m a vampire, obviously.”
“Ah, well, your fangs seems to be missing tonight.”
“Oh? You must be a human to think so naive.”
“Could always bite me if that’s the case?” His smile widens, bending in closer. “Right on the jugular, suck me dry to the bone.”
“You’re too insufferable to pull off Phantom, you know.”
Sunghoon can’t stop himself from smiling. He even laughs, pointing out a table nearby. “Join me? I do miss this back and forth with you, you know.”
“My coworkers are waiting for me.” You lie, beginning to turn away.
“Come on, I won’t try anything. Promise.” Holding out his pinky toward you, he nods at the table again. “We can’t chat? Like old time friends?”
“We’ve never been friends, Sunghoon.”
“You’re right, whatever we are is so much worse.” He chuckles. Seemingly amused just to be in your presence. “Please? For a little bit?”
“Fine.” You know better than to give him an inch. Sunghoon only knows how to take more and more, but you can’t deny how human he seems now. Those stupid letters go to you.
“Honestly, had no idea you were a fan.” He holds out his hands in defense. Lips dragging down at the corners. “I thought about being a ghost and the Paris opera ghost came up while I googled. Tell me that’s not too perfect.”
“Well, I’m a big fan.” Easing up around him, you stir a tepid drink around. Mostly nursing it instead of drinking. He has to sit close to hear you as music blares, and you try to ignore how good the cologne he’s wearing smells. “It’s probably weird.”
“No no no! Tell me all about it.” Sunghoon couldn’t look happier to be talking to you. Crossing his arms over his chest proudly, he motions for you to continue. “I’m familiar enough to understand.”
“It’s just a really good romance. A tragic one, but good nonetheless.” You shrug, looking over his costume again. “Maybe I’m a sucker for love triangles.”
“I think I’ve caught onto that.” He snorts. Drinking the last sip of his beverage. “Is it like a team Edward or Jacob thing for you?”
“Pfftt.. don’t compare Phantom to that.”
“Well? You must have been on the good guys side. Raoul, right?” Sunghoon taps his chin. “I mean, you know, he was no Edward if you ask me.”
“Can’t stand Raoul.” You mumble. “He wasn’t really that good of a guy.”
“Pftt, tell me about it.” He scoffs under his breath. Lifting both eyebrows at you. “And Phantom, he’s just one hell of a man, huh?”
“You see, I get it. I understand why it’s only implied that Eric and Christine got it on.” You begin to explain, over-using your hands to distract from how awkward this conversation has become. “But, like—it wasn’t enough.”
Sunghoon grins, eyebrows mockingly bouncing up and down. “You little trollop.”
“Trollop?!” You guffaw, rolling your eyes. “You clearly have got to get back to America.”
“No no, don’t try to change the subject.” Snapping his fingers in your face, he nods for you to continue. “Go on, tell me about how you wanted Gaston Leroux to go into extreme detail about Phantom clapping Miss Daaé’s cheeks.”
“Ugh, it’s not that vulgar.” His smile only increases the more you lie and brush around the topic. Blowing out a long gust of air, you stomp and pretend to whine. How the conversation took a flirty tone is beyond you. “Fine! Fine okay! I dabbled in reading a few erotic Phantom of The Opera novels.”
“Do tell darling.” Sunghoon leans in, highly amused. “Got your shit off to some freaky phan-fiction, did you?”
“You’re seriously annoying.”
“I have to know,” he pouts, humming. “How was it?”
“I mean, Christine..” you trail off, bypassing his gaze. “She never really wanted it, I mean she did. But she didn’t—like she..” the tightness budding in your throat causes you to pause, locking with his gaze. “She did, but she acted differently. He really had to make her his..”
His head tilts, cheek dimpling with an arrogant glimmer in his eyes. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”
“Oh yeah? Since when has your style been the difficult type?”
“Sometimes you need to meet the right one to know what you’re looking for.”
Sunghoon smiles, nodding toward the exit when you don’t keep the conversation going. “The nights still young, want to check out the Halloween parade?”
No. You shouldn’t, but you want to. So you nod and follow him out, keeping your arms pressed tightly against your sides.
Reading letters was definitely a form of emotional cheating, but this, this had to be worse. And deep down inside you knew after this night that Sunghoon Park would never leave you alone. He’d lurk in the shadows, haunt your dreams, chew away at your heart until he could swallow the last beatz
Maybe the darkness that surrounded him reached out toward you for the hundredth time, and maybe you let him in to finally meet yours.
———————————-
~seven years later~
The Eiffel tower is a magnificent sight at night. Lights glow all over the city, reflecting off of the water around. These days you spend a lot of time simply absorbing, taking in the grandiose landscape.
When morning comes you sit down with a cup of coffee, decaffeinated tea as of late. Stirring a cube of sugar until it melts with the hot water, and you take a deep breath. Paris is romanticized in the media, in reality it’s nothing too special. What makes the city special is the people. From the different street vendors, cafe owners, angry bike riders shouting curses, the snooty designer brand employees bustling and rushing to work. There are certain quirks to the city of love that at times make you laugh.
Because here you are, reminiscing on these last few years.
Heeseung had moved back after some time, and you couldn’t have been happier. Taking advantage of the short period of time he had no job, you would venture off to other parts of Europe. Finally visited the Swiss Alps during the Winter season. Everything was as beautiful as you always dreamt of, even more with him by your side.
“What are you thinking about right now?” Deep warmth vibrates against your throat. Pressing soft kisses up the side of your neck, he nips at your ear. Complimenting the diamond earrings he’d gifted you on your last anniversary.
“How much I love it here.”
“Can you believe that you almost left?”
That’s right, the flight to Seattle had even been purchased. Making it all the way to your gate before you broke down and cried. The life you’d made in Paris was everything you ever wanted growing up. And he was everything your heart needed.
“I don’t think you were ever supposed to move back.” Wrapping around your waist from behind, he flattens you back to his chest. Large hands gently resting on the top of your stomach. “I knew ever since that first time, the way your eyes lit up when you stepped off the plane.”
“I hadn’t even left the airport yet.” You scoff, layering your hands on top of his. The sturdy build of his chest eases some of the weight off of your knees, utilizing his strength to lean against. “And I never wanted to leave after that.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Squeezing your hands, he slides them lower to cup around your protruding stomach. Slowly easing your interlaced fingers beneath your bump. “That’s why we’re here.”
Ah yes, there’s three of you to consider now.
Now, how did this happen? How did you get here? What do your parents think?
For one, they don’t know.
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.’ He shrugged, ever the type B personality. He never stressed much about anything the way you did. His only stress ever seemed to be you.
‘We hardly ever see them anyway. A few holidays that they make their way over here. What’s my father going to do? Disown me?’ He spoke arrogantly as ever. Smiling cockily and spinning you into his arms to follow him through the living room when you ran in holding a positive pregnancy test.
You’re not even married.
‘You’re having my baby. It’s about damn time.’
God knows he’s been trying to get you knocked up for months now. And maybe he’s right, you’ve worked despite him insisting he can afford to take care of you without your paychecks. But now seemed like the appropriate time to relax, be a stay at home mother.. buy fancy strollers and baby Chanel ballet flats. If you have a girl, of course.
“You ready darling? I know how much you love to stand out here and admire the pollution but we do have dinner reservations.”
“Do we have time to walk?” You ask hopeful, batting your eyelashes.
“Ahh—“
“Please?”
He’s been such a hard ass ever since you started showing. Making new rules everyday of what you can and cannot do. “I know it’s not far, I saw the confirmation email.”
Clicking his tongue, he playfully glares at you. Rubbing your stomach. “Can’t ever just let me surprise you, can you?”
“Please? Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to see my own feet, let alone walk without waddling.”
Busting into a smile, he nods and directs you to follow him off of the balcony back inside of the house. First, you have to put on a coat, of course, it’s too chilly outside for you to only walk around in a dress. The baby could catch a cold, that’s what he says while getting your arms into a peacoat.
“Already miss wearing my high heels.” You frown at the flats that have begun to take over your closet. Led down the elevator to exit onto the street. His large hand finds yours, taking slow steps to not rush you. Making more effort with his longer legs to keep a light pace.
“Hey, those are $7000 shoes you have on.” He scoffs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “They’re cute.”
“Yeah, they’re cute.” You pout, watching your feet walk down the cobblestone toward the center of town. The convenient location of your ridiculously expensive house was prime real estate, located close enough to everything you’d want walking distance to.
“They’re cute, you’re cuter.”
“Ahh, you little—“
“Hey.” A nervous smile plays on his lips. Coming around to take a few steps ahead of you, he reaches for the front of your coat and stops you. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Sunghoon.” You say flatly. Sensing heat climb up your chest despite the crisp night air. “You know I hate when you do this.”
His smile trembles more, biting on his lower lip. “Do you love me?”
“God, I wish I didn’t.” You sigh to hold back a smile. Turning away to not look at how the tip of his nose reddens. The Eiffel towers not too far now, right to your side.. a near perfect spot for..
Him to get down on his knees as he has when you turn back to look at him.
“I asked you once before if you’d marry me.” His teeth chatter, not from the cold breeze. Blinking at the moisture that rapidly fills his eyes. “You said no.”
“Hoon..”
“And I kept that ring.” The same box from years ago opens up in his hand. The ring he thought screamed your name from the first moment he spotted it in some outrageously priced jewelry store. “I meant what I said back then as much as I do now.”
“You’ve always been crazy.” You manage to say through the wetness filling your throat. Clasping your hands to your face as a sob comes out.
“Is that why you love me?” Sunghoon’s icy complexion flushes pink. A single tear trickles down his cheek, and his eyebrows scrunch together. Chest beating wildly waiting for you to deny him once again.
“One of the reasons.” You nod, draping one of your hands under your stomach to hold your dress down. “One of many.”
“Do you think that this time, I’ll get the girl?” He asks wearily, holding the ring up. “Will you say yes? Will you spend your life with me?”
“I think that you’ve always had the girl.”
“Good, because I’m nothing without her.” More tears pour down his face. Digging the ring out of the jewelry box, he takes a hold of your hand.
“Marry me?”
After all of this time, all of this running away, all of these feelings you denied. There is only one answer.
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