Groups I Stan: πΈππ£π’, ππ πππ, ππππ ππ ππππ, ππππ’πππ, πππππ’ ππππ, πππ πππππ, πππ°ππ², π»π΄ πππ΄ππ°π΅πΈπΌ, πππππ, ππ‘π (I listen to more but just donβt know them well enough to stan them!)
ΰ£ͺ Λ π¦ΉΒ°β nishimura riki βthis is so fucked."
ββ HOMEWRECKER
π£²β β (π¬) Youβre the kind of girl who gets peonies for breakfast, so Riki Nishimura would really like to know why youβre buying weed from him.
θ₯Ώζ ε riki nishimura x cheer captain! reader
ΛΛΛ riki as a plug, i promise its not as bad as it sounds, romcom, fluff, crack, profanity, homewrecking but not really, cheating (not really) but not on riki dw, explicit content, smut, oral sex, m receiving, porn with plot, unprotected sex, dom ni-ki, size kink lowk, weed, toxic, mdni !
wc: 20 766
p: d.a.m. - fetty wap ; homewrecker - sombr ; i get lonely - drake ; lowkey - niki (fcking hilarious)
Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means possible, and even prides himself as a law-abiding citizen to the normalized standards.Β
He does think some fractions of the government system can totally be tweaked, but he isnβt some reformist that would go out of his way β he actually really likes the stability of society and how itβs structured. Heβs comfortable with the status quo.
That includes knowing who to follow on Instagram, who not to approach in the hallway, who to invite in group projects, and who to sit with in lunch. He goes by what makes sense and knows who the hell doesnβt belong in his circle, who rightfully has his phone number, and who can comment on his Instagram posts.Β
Except when it comes to substances. Heβs not a drug addict but he does enjoy good weed.Β
He did listen during chemistry lectures, which basically means he knows a thing or two about pharmaceutics β at least the important parts like which produce larger surges of dopamine and intense euphoria. So while they get drug orientations every start of the school year and the addition of the entrepreneurial mindset of a businessman his father has passed down to him; Rikiβs a fucking a jackpot. He simply believed every structure had blind spots, and if someone was smart enough to notice them, then maybe they deserved to profit a little.Β
Maybe that made him a hypocrite. He knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of his own judgment, the thought would occur to him that he was not exactly living inside the moral boundaries he pretended to respect.
So with all of these in mind β weed-seller and social scale follower β imagine his surprise seeing a text from you.
You, an A-tier cheer captain with perfect grades and perfect friends and a perfect boyfriend and someone he doubts even has ever touched weed within a 10 feet radius because of how goody-two-shoes and slightly more socially-conformed you are, texted him:Β
you:
hi
you sell right
The kind of surprise a priest might feel if the Virgin Mary asked to borrow a dildo.
Riki stared at his phone for a full thirty seconds. Not because he was shocked by the question itself β heβd gotten worse, far more incriminating messages from people with nothing to lose β but because of who it was from. Your name sat there, attached to a profile picture he never thought would sit on his chat log. Someone who followed the rules so well she barely seemed to touch the ground and practically flew up the school field with the school banner.
This was not how the structure worked. Nope.
He knew you didnβt look at people like him unless it was to borrow a pen or unwillingly get assigned to a lab partner. You definitely werenβt supposed to be asking him this.Β
Riki leaned back in his chair and rethought the logistics. He wasnβt paranoid β paranoia implied irrationality. This was risk assessment, youβre high visibility, youβre a liability, youβre a cop in disguise, youβre a prig whoβll ruin his cloak and dagger, youβre holier-than-thou. Youβre interesting.
riki:
????
is this a test loll
you:
?
its a question
riki:
u fr????
you:
js tell me if its a no
i have money
riki:
3pm behind the science building
you:
ok thanks
But more than whatever you are, he knows this was stupid. This was the kind of deviation that got people caught and into the most flouting position heβll ever be, therefore ruining his very wish to stay within a lawful system. It was, unequivocally, a very bad idea.
And yet he finds himself at the back of the building while he reevaluates the measures of bad-ness in the idea. If math really has been on his side along with his really athletic stature, he can run when you pull out as witness to his little dissenter mood. It halts when he sees you rounding the corner in your cheer uniform β ponytail perfect, knee tape slightly crooked, eyes darting like you werenβt sure you belonged back here β he realizes something his knees will give out before he can even try to walk away.
You stop a few feet away from him, awkward, out of place, glowing like a wrong answer circled in red. You stare at him with your arms crossed, hyperaware when his eyes follow the silhouette of your frame like heβs finding a covert surveillance device underneath your pleated skirt.
Riki talks calmly, like this wasnβt insane at all, like he hasnβt been in his head for the past hours: βSo,β he starts, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. βWhat do you need?β
The question shouldβve been easy. Youβd rehearsed it in your head on the walk here, timed it with your steps, told yourself not to sound like an idiot. But standing this near β near enough to notice the faint, clean smell of cologne and something green and earthy β you blank.
You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest. βUm. Weed.β
Riki blinks once, and immediately he knows what this is. He studies you the way he did with lab results that didnβt line up with the predictions β or maybe it did exactly, and he canβt believe it was that easy.
ββ¦Okay,β he said. βWhat kind?β
Your mouth opens. Then closes.
βWhat kind.β he repeats.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. βJustβ¦ normal?β you say, immediately hating yourself. βLike. The kind people use?β
A corner of his mouth twitches before he can stop it. Then he licks the inside of his cheek, shaking his head when he realizes that yeah, his guess is right. βYou donβt know what youβre doing.β he says.Β
You bristle. βSo?β
βYou donβt even know dosage. Or strain. Or why you want it.β His eyes flick up to yours. βDo you?β
Your confidence wobbles, the polished composure you wore so easily in hallways cracking just a little now. He pulls out a small, neatly labeled bag and holds it between his fingers instead of handing it to you. βThis is low THC,β he explains. βWonβt make you freak out. But I need to know what you specifically need so you donβtβ¦ panic.β
This was supposed to be transactional, quick, something you could tuck away and forget about. Yet every risky glance you take, he doesnβt look like someone whoβd hold anything against you.
Riki sighs, about to put the bag away. βLook, letβs just forget ββ
βI just,β you start, then sigh because thereβs no cool way to say it. βI donβt know. I had a bad week. I wanted to try something.β
When you finally look up, heβs watching you differently. Not like youβre stupid or embarrassing, though you feel plenty of that on your own. His brows have lifted slightly, the faint amusement in his mouth fading into something quieter as he takes you in properly: your tight grip on your own arms, the way your eyes keep darting away.
And it makes it worse.
You meet his eyes for half a second before looking away with a small huff, embarrassed by the sudden attention.Β
He puckers his lips slightly, staring at the thing in his hand like heβs thinking. At first, you think he might be deciding if youβre worth the trouble, but then he nods once. βOkay,β he says. βSo youβre not becoming a stoner. Youβre just trying a new cuisine.β
You blink at him, then laugh under your breath before you can stop yourself.
His mouth twitches, but hides it. He steps closer, just enough that you can see the smoothness of his skin, like he owns expensive skincare. Heβs very tall, in a way that surprises you maybe because youβd just never stood this close before.
Really, you never spent time looking at Riki Nishimura. Youβve known the name, because who can ever look past the opulent sound of it, but to know the man behind it didnβt matter. After texting him, you donβt know what you expected either, maybe someone grubbier and smelled like smoke, someone with dry lips from all the ash. You thought heβd smell like one of those hippie guys who sold sketchy shit while wearing the same beanie for three years.Β
But no, he smells like a familiar perfume your father owns in his fragrance wardrobe.
And his clothes are annoyingly nice, like the hoodie is probably more expensive than it looks and the loose pants are intentional, not lazy.Β
Also, heβs 6β1.
βThis,β he taps the bag lightly, βwill help you relax. Body high, mostly. Youβll still be functional. But since itβs your first time, better not fuck around too much.βΒ
Heβs still standing in front of you, close enough for you to notice the way his lashes lower when he looks at the bag in his hand, and you feel deeply, horribly stupid for only realizing now that he looks like that.Β
Your gaze lingers, and he catches it. Riki clears his throat, spine straightening a little. βYou okay?β
βYeah,β you say too fast.
He only hums. You tighten your arms across your chest. βJust give me the thing.β
He finally hands you the bag, and you eye it once you feel its weight in your palm; leafy and green and brown and not you β but it doesnβt look so bad right now. It looks enticing, even, which you wonβt try to admit out loud.
βTwenty,β he says, not planning to converse himself with the sudden discount.Β
You dig into your bag, finding for the vintage pink wallet that screams the contrast of cannabis in your palm right now. βYou know,β you say, hesitant but honest, βI donβt know. Itβs weird how weβve never talked before.β
That gets him. He chuckles even if thereβs nothing funny about what you said, but there is something humorous about the fact he remembers shit you obviously forgot. Heβs quick to question the lack of indifference, because he remembers it well that this is definitely not the first time you two talked.
βWe were partners in freshman year,β Riki says.
He watches your face blank in real time, and something about it makes his mouth lift again, but not kindly enough to be mean. More like he expected it and still finds it a little funny that you are proving him right.
βEnglish lit,β he adds. βThe mythology presentation.β
For a second, he looks at you like someone whoβs always known you, and you look at him like youβre seeing him for the first time. He sees it flash in your eyes, that maybe you remember him more than just some guy who sells weed to irresponsible decision-makers.
βOh,β you say.
Riki nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching. βOh.β
Until your phone buzzes to drag you back from this little bubble youβre in β your boyfriendβs name lights up the screen and Riki notices it too.
βOh,β you say again, clearly out of your own head. βI β sorry.β
Something shifts, like the structure rebuilds and reasserts itself back into proper footing. You pull the bills from your wallet and press them into his hand. βThanks,β you say. βFor, um. The stuff.β
He closes his fist around the money, nods once. βYeah.β
You hesitate like you might say something else, so you just tuck the bag away and step back. βIβll go,β you say.
You turn the corner first. Riki exhales only when youβre out of sight, and chews on his bottom lip before hitting the side of his fist against the wall without real effort. He turns the other corner, parting from the rendezvous kept between eng lit and discounts.
The thing is, Riki knows you before whatever you are now. Miss Perfect who buys weed from Mister Lowkey Weed Seller β itβs a whole tangle in his brain in which he canβt exactly comprehend, but while he smokes a joint and music blasts through the speakers from the house party heβs dragged into, your pictureβs pinned with red strings.Β
Heβs known you since third grade. Youβve been part of the cheer team before puberty, and since then youβve accumulated likable girls your age into your circle, then the guys from the football team after. It becomes a whole coupling session when the age came right, which Riki is convinced is just some orgy labeled friendship goals in curated Instagram. He thought you were mean mostly because thatβs what someone like you would be β but he does know a thing or two about you, other than the assumption of character. Youβve been in the same group projects against your will, sometimes youβd stand next to each other by the queue lines in the cafeteria, sometimes youβd bump against him in the hallway when youβre chasing time.
Is it weird he kept tabs? Maybe.
He always noticed, obviously, why wouldnβt he? You are not exactly unnoticeable. Youβre nicer than your friends, you say sorry when you accidentally bump into someone, you say thanks to the staff, you say good morning to strangers, youβre pretty, youβre talented, youβre smart, you laugh at his jokes, you bought weed from him, youβre pretty, youβre perfect, youβre funny, youβre ridiculously pretty β
Riki takes another puff, too fast and too harsh, earning a rough cough from his throat. Heeseung chuckles, giving him an aggressive pat on the back when he leans his elbows against his knees. βGeez, first time?β
Riki shoves his arm away with a laugh, unsure where this is coming from. Because on top of every other noticeable trait you have, you have a boyfriend. So. Yeah. He knows better than to think about you.
He sinks deeper into someone elseβs couch β leather, cracked at the seams β while the bass rattles the walls and bodies blur together in the dim lights. Smoke hangs thick in the air, clinging to his clothes, his hair, his thoughts. He takes another drag, slower this time, lets it sit in his lungs until the noise dulls around the edges.
Across from him, someoneβs laughing too loud, then a couple is making out like itβs an Olympic sport. Heeseung steals the joint from his fingers and flicks the ash into an empty cup.
βYou look fucked,β Heeseung says.
βIβm not,β Riki replies automatically.
βMhm.β
Riki pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly restless. He just wants a drink β something cold, something that doesnβt make his head spiral because even the thought of weed pulls him back to this cheerleader. So he goes to the kitchen, instinctively saying half-assed sorryβs to strangers without meaning them.Β
Until he bumps into someone.
For half a second, he genuinely wonders if the side effects are finally catching up to him, because his head feels several feet away from his eyes and the kitchen lights look more hazy than they should.
But itβs you, he knows that because your kind voice apologizes; the way you always do, the way your friends donβt. Your shoulder knocks into his chest and youβre already stepping back, eyes wide a fraction of a second when you look up. Riki freezes too, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or where to look without threading too close to the sternum your lowcut top exposes. Up close, under dim kitchen lights instead of school hallways, you look unreal β hair loose, lips parted like youβve been laughing.Β
βRiki,β you say, breathless, like his name slipped out before your brain could catch it.
His name on your mouth does something stupid to him.Β
βHey,β he says, too softly. Heβs just thankful you donβt notice the slight roughness of it.
You smile, small and polite β but thereβs something else underneath it now. Recognition that shouldnβt exist, not in the structure where youβre meant to forget that you know; one where he looks up at you from beneath your echelon, now heβs standing close enough that you have to tilt your chin to look up at him.
βI didnβt know youβd be here,β you say.
He huffs a quiet laugh. βI didnβt either.β
You glance past him, toward the other room, toward where your friends probably are β or your boyfriend. Then back at him, polite in a way heβs sure is because youβre you and not because heβs him.
βI donβt usually see you inβ¦ parties,β you say.Β
He puts both hands in his pant pockets, shoulders loose, eyes on yours like the noise around you doesnβt have enough authority to interrupt.
βYou donβt usually look,β he says.
Itβs not said rudely, just calm, like heβs stating something obvious enough that both of you should stop pretending around it.
Your fingers tighten around your cup. βThatβs not true.β
Riki tilts his head, eyes moving over your face. βYeah?β
You hate how it sounds coming from him, low and slow and almost amused, like he knows youβre lying before you do. You scoff a quiet laugh, eyes looking away because you canβt keep looking at him.Β
βI mean, I know you exist.β You look back up at him when you say it, bottom lip catching between your teeth before you can stop yourself.
His eyes drop for half a second, then he smirks and looks away, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like heβs trying not to say something.
When he looks back, his face is calmer. βWhereβs your boyfriend?β
The question is casual enough that it almost sounds harmless. You glance elsewhere instinctively, like youβre going to find him close. βSomewhere.β
βSpecific.β
βHeβs with his friends.β
Riki just nods, doesnβt wanna push, even though heβs pretty sure you donβt actually know where he is. Leaving is the smarter and normal thing to do. The thing a girl with a boyfriend and a reputation and a phone full of unread messages from her friends would do.
Instead, you stay there. And Rikiβs got that tabbed already.
You hesitate, fingers worrying at the rim of your cup. βI, um. I havenβt β used it yet.β
Riki blinks. βThe stuff?β
You nod, cheeks warming. βI justβ¦ donβt really know how.β Itβs weird being this honest with someone you barely know, yet your bones donβt buzz with the prompt demand to pause. It must be the slight slosh, itβs the only real thing to excuse why youβre not pulling away.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then his mouth curves, slow and amused. βYou bought weed without knowing how to use it?β
Your face warms, but you try not to look embarrassed. βOkay, well.β You lift your cup a little, like that somehow helps your argument. βYou can teach me.β
Riki grimaces immediately, playful but clear. βSounds like a bad idea.β
You blink. βWow. Rude." You huff, looking away, but youβre smiling a little because he doesnβt sound scared of you. Or impressed by you. Or desperate to keep you there. He just sounds like he already knows better and hates that he has to be the one saying it.
He sighs, looking away for a second. βFuck, fine.β his jaw clenches. βBut not here.β
You try not to smile and fail almost immediately. You take one step back, still looking at him. βIβll text you. Maybe later?β
Someone calls your name from the other room and you exhale, dragging back through the fracture. The music spikes and someone bumps into you again, closer this time, and Rikiβs hand lifts instinctively, hovering over your waist without touching.Β
Your eyes flick down, then back up to his. βNice seeing you,β you say finally, voice softer now.Β
βYeah,β he says. βYou too.β
You step around him, brushing past just close enough that he catches your scent β which is bad, because now heβll have to remember that too. When you disappear back into the crowd, Riki stays rooted in place for a beat too long.
He exhales, rubs a hand over his face, and laughs quietly to himself.
He really, really knows better.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Riki glances back to see youβre sitting on the couch now, legs tucked in, your boyfriendβs arm slung easily around your shoulders. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which makes you smile and ease back into him. Riki turns away to open the fridge and grabs the coldest beer he can find. He lifts it and downs it in one go, throat burning at the coldness and bitter taste.
He shouldnβt do this.
He really shouldnβt.
Later, in that strange lull when the party has gotten worse and louder β you text him.
You:
bathroom upstairs
The bathroom is cramped and clean but gross in concept: flickering light, foggy mirror, the smell of cheap air freshener. Youβre perched on the edge of the sink when he slips inside and locks the door behind him, eyes bright, a little nervous, because being in a bathroom with you feels worse than any sketchy deal heβs made.
βOkay,β you whisper, like youβre conspiring. βSo. Teach me.β
He winces, glancing around. βThis isβ¦ not ideal.β
You just grin. He laughs despite himself and sets the weed down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing when he starts rolling paper against it. Once heβs done, he holds the roll up to your mouth and he tells you to lick it. You follow through, leaning down and sticking your tongue out to lick the side. He clears his throat, trying not to think about the way you looked doing that, trying not to imagine anything else.
Heβs careful, not clinical or a lecture when he instructs, just calm and reassuring like heβs trying to keep you comfortable more than correct. When he hands the final roll to you, your fingers shake a little as you take it.
βLike this?β you ask.
βYeah,β he says softly. βSlow.β
You cough immediately after trying, sharp and sudden, bending forward with a surprised laugh. βOh my god β why does it β β
βHey,β he says, too fast, stepping closer, hand hovering at your back. βYou okay?β
You wave him off, still laughing, eyes watering. βIβm fine, Iβm fine.β
He watches you like you might disappear if he looks away. Youβre laughing, which isnβt comforting Riki even in the slightest because the last thing he needs is to not be a conformist and end up in jail for accidentally supporting your homicide.
You try again, better this time. You still cough, laugh, cough again, but way more manageable as time goes by.
βSorry,β you say, breathless.
βDonβt apologize,β he says. βYouβre doing fine.β
You keep at it, stubborn in that way of yours, until the coughing eases and something in your shoulders loosens. You lean back against the wall, head tipping gently, eyes half-lidded.
βOh,β you murmur. βThatβsβ¦ actually really nice.β
Riki lets out a breath he didnβt realize he was holding, a nervous laugh slipping out. He leans back against the wall, hand through his bangs, exposing the skin of his forehead. βJesus fucking Christ,β
You nod slowly, smiling to yourself. βMy brainβs quiet.β
He watches you for a moment: relaxed, unguarded, glowing in this tiny bathroom because you donβt belong here at all, holding a joint Riki himself rolled for you. Really, you never belonged anywhere that tried to put you in a box, and he wasnβt going to make himself an exception to that opening.
He tries thinking about who you really are, beyond what most people would take you as. Though he knows not to fantasize a tale where he saves the damsel from her golden label. He takes you with memory and not assumption: cheer girl, disciplined afternoon drills, academically smart, socially competent, good. But tonight, while you lean against the cracked sink and stand diagonally across him, he sees a side he never thought heβd secretly behold.
Your eyes flick to him. βYouβre a good teacher.β
He swallows. βYouβre an easy student.β
Riki rolls another one for himself, hands steadier now that youβre settled, and lights it with a quiet flick. The bathroom fills with a softer haze this time, the kind that wraps instead of hits like a downer high school series. He takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling, letting the room reek with shouldnβts and endorphine boosters.
You smoke more confidently now, less harsh and rough when you let the smoke run down your throat. Your eyes are a little red, lashes heavier, the sharp edges of you blurred into something warmer and looser, less polished and picture perfect the way your boyfriend would like. Riki thinks β stupidly β that heβs never seen you look better.
You lean your head back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling like itβs just told you a secret. He doesnβt stare, actually. He keeps his eyes narrowed to the broken tile in front of him like heβll discern the reason itβs cracked (maybe someone opened the door too hard, maybe someone once stood there trying to look normal while his heart acted stupid over a girl, which was especially humiliating when the whole point of being high was to feel less insane). Sometimes heβll permit himself to glance, but even the very glimpse of your smudged lipstick makes him look away and inhale the fuck outta that weed.
Then, suddenly, with eyes still trained to the dim bathroom light β βI thought you were,β you start, then laugh, a little too loud before clapping a hand over your mouth. βSorry. I thought you were, likeβ¦ this weirdo.β
He snorts, shaking his head. βWow. Honesty hour already?β
βNo β β you groan, waving the joint like youβre conducting an orchestra. βI mean it nicely. You always stayed away from everyone. I figured you were judging us.β
βUs?β he repeats, amused, cocking a brow when he glances at you.
βYou know. People like me.β You squint at him, trying to focus. You gesture at yourself ineptly, clearly out of the ordinary intellectual capacity you clench tight, not when rickety makes up for your feet.
He quickly looks away, trying not to smile.Β
βLoud. Annoying.β you clarify, hand gesturing around.
He tilts his head, considering. βWas I supposed to be friends with people like you?β
You blink, like youβre thinking about what he said and calculating the rationale behind his causes. It was a hit, one that steadies a thought in your brain.
βIs that so bad?β
The question knocks the breath out of him, especially when you look up at him like that, eyes bright and wide. He blinks, and then he laughs, coming out quieter this time, looking away because he canβt keep eye contact with you. βI didnβt think youβd want that.β
βWhy not?β
Because thereβs a system. Because thereβs levels to this shit. Because you have a boyfriend. Because youβre untouchable. Because youβre perfect and heβs whatever this was. Because people like him didnβt get pulled into your orbit unless it was transactional. Like weed exchanges and favors on the toilet.Β
For now, he shrugs. βSeemed like you already had your people.βΒ
You hum, nodding slowly, then smile. You tap the joint, watching some ash fall to the tiles. βTheyβre loud.β
He smiles back despite himself. βYeah. They are.β
The bathroom feels like itβs floating away from the music that pumps loud through the pipes, a constant reminder that thereβs more than the stinky bathroom you two share as a secret. Itβs risky because itβs merely wood that separates the crypticity of Mary Jane from the Average Joe you two function in individually.
You glance at the joint, then at him. βYouβre not weird, by the way.β
βOh?β he says, eyebrow lifting. He even scoffs, because he (un-admittedly) finds you adorable.Β
βYouβre justβ¦ quiet. You keep to yourself, but that doesnβt make youβ¦ eccentric.β You grin lopsided, cheeks warm but you ignore that. βYouβre nice.β
That one gets him, more than heβd ever admit to anyone. Riki looks over, and for half a second, his gaze slips lower before he forces it back to your face. Youβre already looking at him, all soft eyes and honest mouth, like you have no idea what youβre doing to him.
He looks away first, rubbing the side of his jaw like that might help. βYouβre high,β he says.
βMaybe,β you confess. βBut I mean it.β
Heβs been called quiet and nice all his life, but that was never the full truth. He just knew who deserved access to the rest of him, and most people didnβt. It wasnβt personal. He could talk when he wanted to, laugh when something was actually funny, keep a conversation going if he cared enough. He just didnβt feel the need to prove he had thoughts by saying all of them out loud.
Riki takes a drag, exhales slowly, looking over the tiles of the bathroom while he rethinks the decision heβs about to drop. He clears his throat before speaking, βYouβre not mean either.β
Your eyes widen a little, gaze recklessly steady at his side profile. βYou thought I was?β
βEveryone did,β he says honestly, smiling a little.
You make a face, frowning at him even though he refuses to look at you. βThatβs rude.β
He laughs, really laughs this time, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, youβre smiling up at him like youβve discovered something new and decided to keep it. For a moment, it feels like maybe there was always a version of this where you talked in bathrooms and shared smoke and didnβt belong where people expected you to.
You take another small drag, then suddenly straighten when you decide to take him in. Heβs wearing a jacket over his hoodie, simple sweats loose around his hips. Only a few strands of his dark blonde hair graze over his forehead, leading down to the sharp features you only really notice now.
You never thought Riki Nishimura was ugly. Now, you canβt help but think that heβsβ¦ kinda hot.
Youβre high, youβre just gone. Thatβs why. It also explains why you nudge closer than you have been before, letting your skirt brush slightly against his pants, thighs grazing slightly against his.
Youβre both still smoking β slow now, like the room itself has decided to breathe with you. The bathroom feels even smaller than before, shrinking with every second the music downstairs gets louder but muffled through the wooden door keeping you a secret. Your head feels light, buoyant, like youβre floating a few inches above your body. Maybe itβs the weed. Maybe itβs the half-drinks youβd taken before this. Maybe itβs neither.
He stares at the tile beneath his boot like it holds the secrets of the universe, or like it had the equations for him to understand gravityβs intentions and how it led to him feeling your softness against him.
βIs there something on the floor?β you laugh.
He just huffs, shaking his head because thatβs all he can do right now. Youβre still leaning back and heβs still standing just a little too close. Your knee brushes his again, accidental but not corrected.
He looks down at you then. The red in your eyes, the crooked smile, the way youβre leaning just a little toward him like gravityβs doing something new. You lean closer because youβre completely zooted and smart-Riki who knows better, leans away and only lets his chest tighten. His eyes drop traitorously down to your lips, and heβs not fast enough to look back up. You notice, of course, which makes you both look away and straighten back on your feet instead of the wall.Β
Riki clears his throat, smoking the last of his before he rids of it against the sink. βYou gotta go?β he asks out of the blue, which makes you frown a little. It wasnβt exactly a statement, but you know when things are implied and telling, so you shove back the nerves and remember that heβs different from you.
Youβre not his type of person. He probably likes more chill people who actually know how to roll this shit β not the sheltered ones whoβs clueless with THC or terms alike it.
βYeah. I guess.β you smooth out your clothes even though nothingβs wrong with them.
He realizes what he just did, especially now that youβre not even looking back at him. He tries correcting himself, to backtrack, but the moment you glance back up, heβs silenced. You put your unfinished joint in his hand. βSee you.β You say just before unlocking the door, slipping through it, and accidentally slamming it too hard.
Riki reels in from the solitude of the silence, like heβs now just realizing the ruins he broke himself. He sighs in resignation, head falling forward in defeat. βShit.β
He stares at the thing in his hand, unfinished and yours, half-burnt and still warm.
βIdiot,β he mutters to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He can still feel the ghost of your skirt brushing his leg, the way you didnβt look back because he gave you a reason not to.
But the bathroom still smells like you β sweet perfume tangled with smoke β and the joint is there, remaining as an accusation wrapped in paper. He turns it between his fingers, thumb brushing the spot where your lipstick smudged faintly against the edge.
Riki exhales, then lifts it.
He wraps his lips around it carefully, stupidly aware of the fact that yours were there first. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, heat creeping up his neck and pelvis as he takes a slow drag.
He closes his eyes as he exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, heart thudding too loud for a room this small. For a split second, he imagines you still there β tilted smile, red-rimmed eyes, saying his name like it belongs to you, all while your boyfriend waits in the living room.
He laughs shakily under his breath. Itβs so wrong.
After that, you two havenβt really talked for weeks.Β
That part isnβt weird. You both have lived the majority of your lives settling with the insouciance despite recognition, and one night in a bathroom, smoke and secrets and red eyes, isnβt enough to reroute that kind of muscle memory. Riki tells himself that over and over, like itβs a theorem heβs already proven.
He hasnβt been worried. He still goes to class, still shows up on time, still hands in assignments with some effort. The only difference β although barely worth mentioning β is that heβs been dipping into his stash more often than usual. A little before bed. A little after.Β
Riki exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, telling himself β again β that this doesnβt mean anything and it doesnβt have anything to do with the cheer girl he kinda had a moment with in the bathroom.
Itβs so fucked, even if you donβt think being his friend is bad, because youβre not meant to be a part of this. He was simply curious that Miss Cheerleader bought weed from him and kinda trusted him way too fast and that wasnβt just some everyday occurrence β thatβs the only best psychological explanation why youβre here even when youβre not.
You have a boyfriend. Heβs not about to be a homewrecker. Yet itβs not helping.
No talking for weeks, reaching a month even. That says enough. He has to stop.
βProbably about Little Miss Perfect.β
Riki flinches like someone just snapped a rubber band against the back of his neck. He sits up, glaring at Heeseung. βWhat the fuck,β he blurts. βHow do you know that?β
Jake slowly looks up from his laptop, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.
βOh my god.β Sunghoonβs grin spreads and Heeseung laughs, clapping like heβs won because technically he did, at the mental betting at what keeps Riki Nishimura downing his marijuana greenhouse.
βOhhh,β Heeseung says, taunting and annoying. βSo it is about her.β
Riki blinks. βNo.β
βThat was the weakest no Iβve ever heard,β Jake says immediately, pointing a finger at Riki. βYouβre a guilty man, arenβt you?β
Riki scoffs, scrambling, fingers rubbing against his temple in attempts to cool. βYouβre literally insane. Why would it be about her?β
Heeseung shrugs, casual. βI saw you two talking at that party.β
Rikiβs stomach drops. βYou β what?β
βRelax,β Heeseung says, laughing. βI wasnβt spying. You two just kinda had a freeze frame by the kitchen. Wasnβt so hard to notice.β
Riki opens his mouth, just to close it. Then he runs a hand through his hair with the irritated slant of said illegality stamped in your name. βWe were just talking. Nothing happened.β Riki snaps, defensive again, hands up like heβs caught.Β
Jake squints at him. βThen why are you acting like that?β
Riki looks away. Usually, itβs enough answer to more teasing and mocking, but maybe not this time. Because now, it raises actual questions that regard his very bearing at this monumental association with you β a damn unicorn of a scene snatched out a comedy fantasy movie.
Heeseung asks carefully, βAre you, like, her boy toy or something?β
Riki whips around with the flush of unpredictability and utter shock. βWhat? No!β
Heeseung grins again, gentler this time. βOkay, not her boy toy. What now?β
Riki exhales, long and slow, falling back supine against the floor with the decency of a man with boundaries and the understanding of someone brilliant to keep himself away. βNothing. She has a boyfriend. She lives in a different world.β
Itβs realistic. He thinks heβll drag the shit out of his stash to get his mind off this, because Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means.
Youβre where youβre supposed to be.
You laugh at the jokes while dawdling down the hallway with girls you actually consider your friends, your boyfriendβs arm heavy around your shoulders like it belongs there. You learned how to roll your own joints now, practiced with irritated little shrieks until it stopped being embarrassing, until they came out neat and perfect between your fingers. You donβt need him. You donβt need anyone, actually. Independence always looked good and natural on you.
Then Riki walks past with Heeseung and Jay.
Backpacks slung low, shoes dragging lazily against the floor, laughing about something stupid like someoneβs terrible quiz score. Rikiβs eyes stay forward like always, keeping his business private from everyone. Especially from you.
You donβt acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum of peripheral awareness of two classmates that happen to be in the same class and two planets in the same orbit. Your boyfriend tightens his arm around you, leaning down to murmur something about lunch plans. You nod, glossed lips wrapped around a lollipop, sugar sweet and cherry-flavored on your tongue. You should be listening, youβre sure you are, until he passes.
Your eyes follow Riki β not openly, just enough to catch the back of his neck, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the same boy who leaned against a bathroom wall while you were high and laughing too much, knees brushing his because the room was small and neither of you moved away.
The lollipop slides down your tongue: all artificial sugar because the substance stays at home in the back of your secret drawer, while some of it just passed you down the hallway.
βIβll catch up,β you say lightly, lifting your boyfriendβs arm off your shoulders. βI forgot something.β
You slip away before anyone can think too hard about it, weaving through the hallway with your lollipop still between your lips. You keep enough distance to make it look accidental, watching as Heeseung and Jay split off with quick fist bumps and loud voices. Riki keeps walking and pushes open the door to an empty lecture hall before disappearing inside.
You stop outside, remembering that this is probably the part where youβre supposed to turn around. Where the perfect, reasonable version of you remembers her boyfriend, her friends, her place in the hallway. Where the status quo reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into line.
Well, you push the door open.
Riki is near the front row, one hand still on the strap of his bag when he looks up from his seat, legs spread wide, thumbs midway to scroll through his phone. His eyes widen slightly, posture going still like he did not think youβd actually follow him.
For some reason, it thrills you. Because now heβs looking at you.
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twirling the stick between your fingers as the door clicks shut behind you. βHey.β
His eyes flick briefly to the door behind you. βYou lost?β
This isnβt a bathroom of some random houseparty. Thereβs no smoke, no music, no excuse, just you, Riki, and an empty lecture hall in the middle of the school day β which means you came here on purpose.
βYou should roll a joint for me again,β you say, like itβs so simple. βOne of these nights.β
Riki blinks once. Then he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. βWhat, you havenβt learned since last time?β
You step closer anyway, slow and unhurried, allowed to exist wherever you want. He leans back against his seat, still careful and invisibly (but truly) restless. βI did.β you answer, then you smile small and lazy. βYouβre just better at it.β
That gets him (because youβve been knowing what to say to get him). His eyes lift to you, amused now, something low and unreadable settling there which sets you on fire because you have no idea what heβs thinking, not even a little hint.Β
βFlattery,β he says, then scoffs.
You hum and step closer, close enough that his knee is almost in front of your thigh. Riki leans back in his seat, one arm loose over the desk beside him, phone forgotten in his lap.Β
βThereβs another party this weekend,β you say. βAt McKayβs. You and your friends should go.β
He tilts his head. βShould we?β
βI think so.β You shrug. βGood music, large pad, beer games.βΒ
He chuckles, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting yours again. βAnd youβll be there.β
βProbably.β
βAnd youβll want me to roll one for you.β
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, tapping it lightly against your lower lip as you think. βIf youβre offering.β
βIβm not,β he says, but his mouth twitches.
You lean back against the edge of the desk beside him, copying his ease like you have any right to be comfortable around him. From far away, it would look casual, just two classmates talking before class. Except thereβs only you standing between him and the empty rows, him sitting back in his seat, looking up at you with that unreadable expression while you try not to smile too much.
He should probably feel insulted that you only do this when nobody can see β maybe he does, if he still believes in self-respect. Itβs just hard to stay offended when youβre looking at him like that.
Riki nods once. βIβll think about it.β
Satisfied, you push off the table and head for the door. βCool.β
When the door shuts behind you, he thinks about red eyes and smoke, about how your usual crowd will be there, your boyfriendβs arm around you just before you sneak away to Rikiβs.Β
Youβre trouble, which makes Riki smile. βCause he knows damn well heβs going to that party.
-
McKayβs house is already vibrating when Riki gets there with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon β bass rattling the windows, someone yelling about cups, someone else yelling back about something incomprehensible. Riki isnβt a frat boy at all, and he doesnβt really go to parties, but the perfume layered on top of alcohol is basically familiar territory.
βThis place is a fire hazard,β Jake mutters, stepping over a discarded heel.
Riki scans the room pretending he doesnβt mean to, observing layouts and people, when really heβs actually looking for one specific designer wardrobe of a person.
He doesnβt see you, but he sees your usual crowd scattered around the room, posing with red cups they barely drink from and laughing a little too loud whenever someone points a camera at them. Youβre not there, nor is your boyfriend, and that usually speaks for itself already.
Heeseung nudges him, already mischievous with the smile Riki canβt see. βLittle Miss Perfect?β
βFuck off,β Riki replies, flat.
Jakeβs halfway to disbelief when he narrows his eyes at Riki. βYouβre already staring.β
βSheβs not even here,β the former hisses.
βLooking for her, though.β Sunghoon teases, practically grinning widely.
Riki pushes past them. βIβm getting a drink.β
He doesnβt get a drink. He goes through hallways and in between bodies that nudge abruptly into him, half-assed apologies going through one ear and out the other while he properly finds footing again and again. When he gets to the bathroom and finds it locked, he groans and leans back against the wall. For now, he flicks the light on his own joint and smokes away while he waits β for you, for the bathroom, for anything to make him think going here was worth it at all.Β
Too many girls brush against him, too many of them apologizing with tilted heads and lashes batting. He has no interest in rewarding the performance, not tonight, not when the party is already crawling under his skin, all bass-heavy music, sticky floors, smoke in the air, perfume clinging to his throat, and people packed so tightly he canβt move without touching someone. Itβs too much at once; too loud, too hot, too bright, too dark. Then he sees it, and everything in him goes still.
Your boyfriend has another girl pushed against the bedroom wall.Β
Riki sees this through the crack of the door, just slightly opened enough for him to see how he moves his hand underneath her skirt really fucking aggressively. Theyβre kissing too, and itβs not at all sweet or even arousing; itβs just straight out gross. He chokes, coughing so rough and loud and forward he has to lunge himself off the wall and straight through the crowd because his first instinct is you.
Your boyfriend is cheating on you.
What the fuck is happening? Whyβs your boyfriend fucking a girl like someone who knows nothing about clits? Now, Riki isnβt an expert about pleasing women but heβs watched porn enough to know that Exhibit A over there was straight-up persecution.Β
He finally spots you near the kitchen, talking to one of your friends with a cup in your hand. He starts toward you, but someone shoves past from behind, and he bumps lightly into your shoulder. You turn, already halfway to apologizing until you see him, your face already changing before you can stop it.
βYou came,β you say, eyes flicking around before coming back to him.
Heβs kinda out of breath, from the smoke and from hurrying, but he smiles too. βYeah.β
While youβre still smiling, Riki clears his throat. Itβs casual like heβs asking for a lighter, not like heβs abput to derail your night, βcause truth be told, heβs not sure he knows how youβll react to the information. To be honest, he thinks about how itβs only fair β maybe β because he doubts your boyfriend knows you sneak into bathrooms with another guy. And sure, his hand isnβt performing DJ on your pussy, but the shared secrecy of eye contact with loaded tension is much more intimate than whatever the hell that was.
βUh,β he says, hand rubbing on his jeans. βCan we talk? Like. Somewhere quieter.β
You blink. Then you nod, already stepping closer so he has to lean down to hear you.
βBathroom or outside?β you ask, half-teasing.
βOutside,β he says easily.
The night is cold enough to make everything feel quieter, like itβs only the two of you standing under someoneβs porch light while music leaks through the walls behind you. Itβs strange, because youβre not even friends, not really, but the little space between you feels private in a way Riki doesnβt know what to do with. He exhales slowly, like heβs been holding his breath since the second he walked into the house, then leans back against the railing and looks at you standing across from him.
He tries finding the words first, but the way youβre looking at him tightens his chest faster than his brain can work out. Is this karma for your cheating boyfriend? Is he the instrument God has given you to slam notes back to the guy youβre practically cheating on too?Β
Then Riki clears his throat, casual as hell. βI saw something inside,β he continues, tone still chill but eyes a little sharper now. βYour boyfriend.β
Your smile falters. βWhat about him?β
βHeβs, uh.β Riki taps ash off the joint. βHe was fucking a girl. On a wall.β
You stare at him for a while, and heβs half-expecting you to lash out, on him, on the crowd, on your boyfriend, on something.Β
Instead, you laugh this small, amused breath that slips out of you before you shrug, like he told you your boyfriend spilled punch on his shirt and not that he had just seen him with another girl.
What the fuck is happening?
It feels a lot like you donβt care and that surprises Riki leading him down a rabbit hole of introspection. He was already expecting you to cry and sob or scream in the party about how much of a dick he is, how you trusted him and gave him everything β all things they do when they find out their boyfriends are cheaters.
No, you just, βWow.β then huff a laugh. βIβm sorry you had to see that.β
He blinks once, watching you carefully while you regather your thoughts as a woman whoβs been said something paltry rather than an admission of an affair. To be honest, Riki doesnβt understand, so now he just stands there and looks stunned. And confused. Very confused, actually.
Riki squints at you like heβs trying to solve a trick question. βThatβs it?β he asks. βThatβs your reaction?β
You shrug, lifting your cup to your lips for a sip. βI mean. Itβs been happening. βWeβre just sorta together for our parents. Theyβre friends soβ¦ but thatβs a story for another night.β
Oh. He never thought fake relationships were a thing.
That makes sense. How come Riki didnβt know? Was he so out of touch from school gossips hat he genuinely didnβt know that youβre actually not the perfect couple he thought you two were? Is that why Heeseung and Jake and Sunghoon didnβt react so badly? Has this been a thing? Oh my God, Rikiβs ecstatic and he hasnβt even finished a joint yet.
He lets out a quick, unguarded sound. βJesus.β
You lean back against the railing across from him, far too relaxed for a revelation that should have ruined someoneβs eyeliner. Riki watches you for a second, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the sharp inhale before you turn and storm back inside. But you just stand there, cup in hand, looking more inconvenienced than heartbroken.
Thatβs when it hits him, slow and weirdly humiliating, that you might not care about the relationship at all.
βBut,β you say lightly, βthanks for telling me.β
He blinks, then shakes his head a little. βYeah.β His voice comes out slower than usual. βNo worries.β
You glance at the joint between his fingers, your eyes lingering a second too long on the veins along his hand. βYou always this heroic when youβre high?β
βNo,β he says, deadpan. βItβs just who I am.β
You laugh, and despite everything, his mouth twitches. He looks back toward the door, half-expecting your boyfriend to come out and make the night complicated. When no one does, he relaxes, shoulders easing, but not completely.
Because this is new information.
Someone inside screams the chorus to a song, and the nightβs way too cold for the silence that buzzes. Riki offers the joint without looking at you, just holds it out between two fingers like itβs nothing.
You hesitate for half a second. But you take it.
βYou have a car?β you suddenly ask while you take a puff.
Riki blinks once, then lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his thumb along the bridge of his nose. Right, so this is his life now. He sells you weed one time, and somehow heβs standing outside a party while your boyfriend (?)Β cheats inside and you look mildly bored about it.
Itβs stupid. Itβs also the most interesting thing thatβs happened to him in months.
So he just sighs and slumps back a little. βYeah. I do.β
βLetβs go,β you say, completely not a question, flicking the finished joint on the pavement and trampling it beneath your heel. βI wanna smoke.β
He lets you trail after him through the side yard like this is already something you do, like he isnβt silently praying no one sees you following him away from the party. Gravel crunches under your shoes, the bass growing duller behind you as you cross the street toward his Supra, parked sleek and dark under the streetlamp. Riki unlocks it without looking back, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for you like itβs nothing.
You notice. You just donβt say anything.
Inside, the car actually smells clean and like coffee, for someone youβve assumed is mad about marijuana and sorts alike (well, again, heβs proven how neat he is just for smelling so fucking good). He slides into the driverβs seat and just sits there for a second before turning the engine on, heater clicking low.Β
The silence settles, but it doesnβt feel awkward, which Riki finds suspicious. Maybe itβs because youβre not acting like the version of you heβs used to, all neat edges and perfect timing. Now your heels are on the floor of his car, your hair is loose around your face, and youβre curled into the passenger seat of a Supra youβve never sat in before like your body decided to trust him before your brain could argue. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the warmth at the back of his neck, but you only glance at him like you donβt notice. The hem of your skirt rides up consequently, and he tries his hardest not to look.
βThanks. For caring.β
He shrugs, one hand resting loose on the steering wheel. βDidnβt feel right not to tell you.β
βYou didnβt have to.β
βYeah,β he says quietly. βI know.β
The radio flicks on β some pop song bleeding through the speakers. He then pulls out pre-rolled joints from his pockets, which he sheepishly apologizes for hygiene and, well, itβs a bit delated, although you just smile and take one. He lights yours up and you two stay there, settled in his warm seats, dissolving the chill with cannabis down your system like two people who doesnβt give a shit about the system and fucking power dynamics and popularity status.
Again, weird. Hanging out in his car like youβre old buddies who smoke in free time on the usual.Β
If he told himself a month ago that he would be smoking weed with the team cheer captain, he would have laughed his ass off about inhaling too much narcotics that totally screwed mental frameworks. Yet now, heβs stealing a few glances at you beside him, getting high off his greens, and he doesnβt feel completely off-center about it. Itβs the weed obviously, but he feels steady. Itβs charged because youβre not talking but your thoughts are everywhere, and even if you protrude the profile of indifference β he knows you care. Then again, what does he know about you, right? You are the odd in the equation, the alternative hypothesis that proves the difference in variables, and talks about the impact on the situation.
Now, conformist Riki Nishimura, who has spent his whole life respecting the ladder, is starting to wonder what happens if he climbs high enough to stand beside someone like you.
He stares through the windshield the second before he speaks. βYouβre not what people think you are.β
You blink, caught off guard as you turn to him. βIs that good or bad?β
He huffs. βDepends whoβs thinking it.β
You smile a little, your eyes moving over him before you can pretend they didnβt. Riki isnβt brawny in that loud, gym-mirror way, but heβs taller than he should be, broader than he looks from a distance, and unfairly very put together. His throat moves when he breathes in, and you catch yourself watching it for one embarrassing second too long.
You chew on your bottom lip. βAnd what do you think?β
Riki shifts in his seat, hand fidgeting against the wheel like heβs weighing how honest heβs allowed to be. βI think youβre quieter than your reputation.βΒ
You study him now β the calm posture, the way he never overdoes anything, the way his voice stays even like heβs learned not to tip his hand.Β
He glances at you, then back ahead. βMakes it easier.β
You look at him for a second too long. βEasier for who?β
βYou tell me.β
The car feels smaller and the windows are fogged enough that the streetlamp outside is just a blur of light now, like youβve been sealed off from everything else. Away from the reality that boxes you two into something that makes sense rather than accepts.Β
You laugh once, but it comes out softer than planned. βYou always psychoanalyze girls in your car?β
βNo.β
βJust me?β
His mouth twitches. βYou asked.β
You turn your head toward the window, trying to keep your face normal. βYou donβt know me that well.β
βI know.β
Riki finally turns to you, one hand still resting loose on the steering wheel. His eyes are a little low, a little unreadable, but not careless β that might be the problem.
βIβm not saying I do,β he says. βIβm saying people donβt either.β
Your fingers fidget with the joint, rolling it carefully between them even though youβre barely paying attention to it anymore. The tip glows faintly, forgotten for a second, and Riki reaches over without thinking to tap the ash into the tray before it can fall on your skirt.
You look down at his hand, then back at him when he hands it to you.
βDonβt you think thatβs weird?β you ask. βLike, what kind of girl is cheer captain and smokes weed? Who gets into a fake relationship because of her parents? Doesnβt that sound kind of fucked?β
He looks at you for a moment.
Then he leans back, eyes returning to the windshield. βI sell weed.β
He says it from the driverβs seat of a spotless car that smells like coffee and cologne. Itβs stupidly funny, actually, the whole contrast of him that kinda looks like you.
You laugh before you can stop yourself. βThatβs different.β
βHow?β he snickers.
You open your mouth, then close it again because you donβt actually have a good answer. βI donβt know,β you admit, laughing a little. βIt just is.β
He hums like he expected that. Then he glances at you before back through the windshield. βI donβt think youβre weird,β His eyes flick over your face. βI think youβre bored.β
Obviously, that makes you furrow your brows. Obviously, you let him continue speaking.
βOf your boyfriend. Your friends. Your parents already knowing what youβre going to do.β His mouth twitches faintly. βProbably bored at being good at the same shit every day.β
You should probably deny it. It surprises you that you donβt, even though youβve sworn hatred towards men that think they can assume your personality because of one little circumstance.
βThatβs why youβre here, right?β Rikiβs eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face.Β
Your throat tightens.
βWith me,β he adds.
He doesnβt smile like he won, he just sits there with one hand loose on the wheel, like he already knows the answer and is kind enough not to make you say it.
The air between you feels worse, like the moment before a storm cracks open into his car, and electrocutes you with a spark youβve never experienced in your life. Which is eccentric considering youβre not the type of girl whoβd be in Rikiβs car instead of a party dominated by your friends, getting high off shit that would make your parents pass out.Β
You scoff and look away, shaking your head like the whole thing is ridiculous. βYou talk like you know everything.β
βI just guessed one fucking thing.β
You roll the joint between your fingers again, slower now. βMaybe I just wanted to try something.β
βWith me?β
Your eyes cut to him, and you see thereβs a slight curve to his mouth, like he heard the shape of your answer before you even made it.Β
You huff. βYouβre so annoying.β
Neither of you moves. Just suspended there, breathing the same warm air, the song on the radio dissolving into background noise, the world narrowed down to inches and intent and maybe weak will and strong urges. The tensionβs palpable, solid enough that you could feel it grow between your thighs.
Youβre probably one more joint away from being zooted, and Riki knows this of course, which is why he keeps his eyes narrowed across him and not the woman whoβs audibly shifting in her seat.Β
Heβs high too β faster than usual β and it makes the moment stretch in this you know kind because heβs thinking bad. He keeps his gaze trained somewhere between the fogged windshield and the blur of your reflection in it, like itβs the only thing keeping him at bay.
For the record β youβre both twenty, obviously adults, even if the world still insists on calling you kids. Which is also the very age people let you experience the paradox of being too grown and too immature for anything consistent, so the underestimation you endure as an adult, smart woman, cheerleader, and a kinda-child β wow youβre in deep detestation for that system.
So you take control of things you can handle.
Youβre a conformist, no doubt. Except in areas you loathe menβs freedom in yet expect restraint for women. Soβ¦ in diminutive ways, you indulge. Like weed. Like running council. Like wearing short skirts. Like Riki Nishimura.
You glance at him sideways, voice light, almost bored. Almost. βSo,β you say, like youβre asking about his major or what songβs playing on the radio. βI will ask you something kind of personal.β
Riki exhales a quiet laugh. βYouβre already in my car smoking my weed. I think the lineβs gone.β
You smile, satisfied, then tilt your head back against the seat.Β
βAre you a virgin?β
The question hangs there. Unembellished and very dangerous in its simplicity. Also, of course, bold, which makes Riki actually freeze β a half-second pause where even his breathing stutters. Then he scoffs, shaking his head like he canβt believe you just dropped that between the heater hum and the low bass leaking from the house.
He blames the weed, though part of him wishes it isnβt from that.
βYou always ask things like that?β
βIβm curious,β you say easily. βAnd a little high.β you gesture with your thumb and forefinger.
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to you now despite himself. βWhy?β he asks. βDoes it change your opinion of me?β
You meet his gaze, unblinking. βI donβt know yet. Thatβs why I asked.β
He huffs a soft laugh. He admits to embarrassment, even if it doesnβt cover his entire skin with flush and heat, heβs never found himself in this position. But honestly, nothing from the past few weeks has ever been something he prepared for β which he has you to blame, of course.
βYeah.β he licks the corner of his lips, refusing to meet your eyes while he taps the steering wheel. βI am.β
Your eyebrows lift, impressed but not shocked. βHuh.β
Riki looks over. βHuh?β he mocks.
You bite back a smile and turn toward the window, but the reflection gives you away. βI just didnβt expect that.β
He scoffs, looking back at the windshield. βWhy?β
βI donβt know.β You shrug, still smiling a little. βYou sell weed. And you drive this car.β
βAnd?β
βAnd you look like that.β
For one second, Rikiβs fingers still on the steering wheel, and he learns to shut up. He lets out a quiet laugh after, but it sounds different this time, lower and almost embarrassed. βYouβre so fucking high,β
That makes him quiet, makes him adjust on his seat. Heβs touched a woman before, but no oneβs ever sat on his dick, nor has he ever been in anyone. So maybe heβs half a virgin, maybe heβs just a sore loser. He watches you as you move, as you turn in the seat, knees pressing into the leather, facing him fully now. The space changes instantly, the air recalibrating around your movement and maybe even pushing you further toward him.
Riki stiffens β just suddenly very aware, and perhaps a little scared. βUh,β he says, brows knitting. βWhat are you doing?β
You tilt your head, resting your hands casually on the seat, perfectly balanced. βBored, like you said,β you say. βAnd my boyfriendβs cheating on me. Again.β
He swallows. His gaze drops, then snaps back up to your face, like heβs trying very hard to stay respectful and failing in slow motion because youβre especially gorgeous tonight. βThatβsβ¦ not a great combo,β he says.
βNot really,β you agree.
You lean in just enough for him to feel it β not touch, not yet. Just close enough that he can smell your gloss, the faint sweetness still clinging to you, and the cannabis that if he warrants himself the scary concept, is his mark on you.
βAt least you donβt think Iβm boring.β
Riki exhales, a real one this time, like heβs surrendering to the moment instead of fighting it because what can a simple guy like him do, right? His eyes flick to your mouth again β longer now β and when he looks back up, thereβs a decision there, from someone whoβs tired of conforming.
You close the distance then, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. When he doesnβt, your lips meet in a kiss thatβs brief and soft at first. Rikiβs hand lifts instinctively, stopping just short of your waist, hovering there like heβs giving you the choice.
When you kiss again, youβre pressing harder, with the very intent to steal the air from his lungs. So that is what happens, you inhale and climb over the console and close your knees around his waist and heβs breathing shakily against your mouth, fighting for the oxygen heβs willingly giving away.Β
Your cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and when you roll, he pulls away like heβs burnt.Β
βW-wait β this isnβt β we canβt do this.β He shakes his head insistently, looking down your joined thighs while he regains composure.
You frown. βWhy not?β
He looks back up at you, eyes wide and glossy from the taste of your cherry gloss and his greens in your mouth. He looks like he canβt handle this. Youβre high, heβs high, this isnβt a good idea. Youβre perfect, heβs not, this isnβt a good idea. Youβre pretty and he sells weed, this isnβt a good idea.
βBecause you have a boyfriend.β he says weakly.
You smile, fingers brushing into the hair at his nape. βNot really.β
He stares at you before he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, like the whole situation is so stupid he has no choice but to let it be funny for half a second. Youβre in his lap, his car is fogged, your party is across the street, and apparently your boyfriend is more of a family arrangement than an actual person you care about.Β
βThis is so fucked,β he mutters.
Still, he kisses you anyway. His hand finally settles at your waist, firm enough to make your breath catch. His fingers press into your flesh just before he pulls you closer and his hips thrusts up underneath you.
His bulge presses hard against your clothed cunt, and a small whimper slips out his mouth. Your thighs practically clench around him, your core tightening as you rub yourself on him. Beneath the jeans secured around his hips, the start of his v-line peeks, in which you softly graze with your thumb.
βF-fuck,β he whispers, resigned while he lets his head fall back against the headrest.
When you kiss him again this time, itβs slow and languid and licking into his mouth, and your hips start rolling against his while he unconsciously bucks into you. You gasp at the feeling of his growing erection despite the jeans, and you canβt help but feel rushed because itβs been way too long.Β
His bodyβs hot and he doesnβt understand why he canβt even talk properly. βAre you okay?β you ask, kissing his cheek. He just nods.
βThis is so wrong,β Riki says softly and raspy.
You just smile and kiss him again, feeling how sloppy heβs starting to become when your tongues meet. You set the pace, careful with how you bite and suck, more of a learning curve with what you like best rather than devouring. Riki realizes this and slows down too, relaxing underneath your thighs while his cock remains bulging against you. Your soft fingers slither at the back of his hair, tugging and caressing, while he finds the courage to sneak his tongue into your mouth.
When you pull to breathe, heβs practically panting. βYou can touch me.β you whisper.
His gaze practically flicks up to look up at you, silently asking for clarification. You donβt use words, you instead take his wrists and start dragging his hands from your waist to underneath your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin against his, watching intently as you guide his hands further beneath your cotton top, until his fingers slightly grazes the soft swell of the underside of your breasts.
βShit.β Riki mutters, his breath unstable when you let go. He looks for your eyes, asking for instructions, except you just smile and lean in to kiss him again with your hands on his jaw.Β
So he takes it upon himself to move by his own. His fingers grazes the soft skin, careful and learning, testing the underside swell by gently squeezing. After that, he gains confidence, hands going further up until they touch your nipples.Β
You gasp, pulling away to breathe when he starts gently pinching them, rolling them against the pads of his fingertips. He plays with them for a little while, watching your reactions when you sigh heavy, when your eyes close, when you lean further against his touch. Itβs so good, he doesnβt even notice how painfully hard he is when he can feel just how sensitive your nipples are, when he can feel the weight of your breast as he cups them.
After a while, he finally stops, hands gliding down your ribs instead, thumbs still grazing slightly at the curve. Your kissing eases, reduced to pecks and softness. At rest and caress, you giggle and he chuckles, finally reeling in from the moment at how high he feels.
From your taste, your softness, your clothed pussy still pressing against his hard-on.
βYouβre good for a virgin.β you say.
At that, Riki huffs and leans his head back against the rest, caressing your waist while he watches your face. Youβre very pretty, even when your lipsticks smudged and youβre clearly teasing him, not touching him at all.Β
He doesnβt mind. He doesnβt think heβll mind for a long time. βIβm trying to make decent decisions.β
You tilt your head. βAnd kissing me is one?β
His jaw tightens a little, but he smiles. βItβs a very bad decision.β
βMm.β You lean closer, but you donβt kiss him this time. βYou stopped.β
βBecause I donβt want to be your rebound,βΒ
The teasing fades just a little. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing the back of his neck, slow, and now you look at him too, at the way heβs looking at you like something cliche is about to happen now that heβs tasted something better than marijuana.
βYou think Iβd use you?β you ask.
He shrugs. βI donβt know.β
You study him for a moment. His nose and ears are still pink, which admittedly does something to you. It makes him look shyer somehow, less untouchable, like all that quiet control has slipped just enough for you to see heβs not as unaffected as he wants to seem.
He looks back at you, thumb moving once at your waist. βLet me take you out.β
You stare at him. βYouβre asking me on a date right now? While Iβm sitting on you?β
His mouth twitches despite himself. βNot my best timing.β
You laugh, soft and surprised, but he doesnβt laugh with you right away. You lean in again, slower and softer, just lips meeting and staying there, but his breath still hitches. You lets it last for a few seconds before you pull back, still close enough that your noses nearly brush.
βAsk me when weβre not high.β
Then he laughs once, quiet and disbelieving, his hand flexing at your waist. βFine.β
Riki drives you home that night and you arrive at around 3 am, friends completely unaware of where you are or who youβre with β but you donβt care, even when your phoneβs blown out of weird proportion. You laugh when he insists on walking you to your front porch, just to make sure you donβt slip and fall and he wouldnβt lose his favorite weed customer.Β
βYouβre ridiculous, Riki Nishimura.β you shove at his arm weakly.
βAnd you,β he leans down enough that his nose nudges yours. βare so pretty.β
You laugh harder, admittedly a little flustered the way you never have been before. He tells you to eat something real when you head in, and you mock him for it but he just smiles and nods,Β agrees with the idea he is so, very stupid and funny for you.
Riki thinks the universe is testing him. Because ever since last night, every single thing reminds him of you.Β
The cherry gloss taste still ghosting his mouth when he wakes up, the faint perfume lingering on his hoodie, even the stupid heater smell in the car feels different now, like the seats remember the way you climbed over the console and kissed him until his dick ached for you.
βDude,β Jake says, throwing his duffel bag. βYou look like shit.β
Riki drags a hand through his hair. βThanks.β
Jake doesnβt push it, which Riki appreciates for about three seconds before he sees where the cheer team is practicing. On the other side of the gym court, youβre standing with your friends, ponytail tied high, hands on your hips while you go over counts as the captain. Youβre not doing anything special, occasionally laughing at something one of the girls beside you says, but Riki still feels his attention pull toward you like it has no discipline left.
He looks away first.
PE is already starting by the time he reaches their side of the court. He pulls his sleeveless shirt down properly and rolls his shoulders once, mostly because he needs something to do with his body. His hair keeps falling near his eyes, and he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck before class has even properly started.
He tells himself not to look. But then he looks.
Youβre already looking too.
It only lasts a second. Your eyes meet his, then drop briefly to his arms before you turn back to your friends like nothing happened. Riki presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks at the ball in his hands, suddenly way too aware of himself.
Jake notices, but all he does is glance between the two of you. βSince when do you know her like that?β
Riki bounces the ball once. βI donβt.β
Jake gives him a look. Riki doesnβt look back. βNot like that.β
βOkay.β
The drill starts, and for a while, itβs just run, catch, dribble, pass, move. Riki focuses on the court, on the PE teacherβs whistle, on the ball against his palms. It works for half the time, until your voice cuts across the space, counting with the rest of the cheer team, and he misses a pass by half a second.
βPay attention,β Jake says, not even laughing.
βI am.β
βYouβre really not.β
Later, when the class breaks for water, Riki walks toward the drinking fountain and finds you there already, refilling your bottle. Your friends are a few steps away, talking among themselves, close enough to notice if either of you makes it obvious, far enough that neither of you has to pretend not to see each other.
He stands behind you to wait for his turn, and from afar, it doesn't look scandalous. You take your time refilling your bottle, eyes forward, one hand steadying the plastic under the stream. He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of you, jaw working once, because he knows exactly what you're doing when you lean a little farther than necessary and let the silence stretch.
Your skirt shifts when you bend, showing the backside of your thighs and the slight swell of your ass, and he sighs through his nose like he's deeply disappointed in both of you. Then he looks away completely.
You bite back a smile.
When the bottle finally fills, you straighten and cap it slowly, still not moving right away. He doesn't meet your eyes when you step aside, he just moves in, bends toward the fountain, and presses one hand against the edge for balance.
Then it's your turn to look away. But you don't, not even shamelessly. Because youβre the girl who got things her way and never got scared of the repercussions.
His sleeveless shirt pulls against his shoulders when he leans down, arm tense from holding himself there, the veins along his bicep showing under the gym lights. Water hits his mouth, and you watch the way his hair falls near his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. It's stupid, actually, how normal he's being and how much worse that makes it.
Riki finishes drinking, straightens, and wipes the water from his chin with the back of his hand. Only then does he look at you.
You're still staring. And for a second, neither of you says anything.
His expression barely changes, but something in his eyes does, like he caught you and decided not to make it easy. "What?"
You blink, then lift your bottle a little. "You took forever."
He looks at you, calm, unreadable, except for the faint color rising at the tips of his ears and the slight lift on the corner of his mouth. "You're one to talk."
Your friends laugh at something behind you, and the sound snaps the moment thinner, not enough to break it, but enough to remind you both where you are. You glance over your shoulder, then back at him, only to find he's still watching you. Not obviously, just enough to show that he knows exactly what that night did to you, and worse, exactly what this day is doing too.
And that heβs enjoying the view.
You tuck your bottle against your chest and step back. "Try not to miss another pass."
His mouth curves. "Then don't distract me."
The second he says it, your smile gets bigger, like a shared inside joke between you two now. Then you turn back to your team, and he stays by the fountain for one extra second, pretending the afternoon heat is the reason he can't stop feeling warm. In the locker room, he pretends itβs celibacy thatβs making his cock hard again, and not the picture of you bending in front of him, the fat of your ass presenting itself to him so adorably.
In the cafeteria, while pages turn and keyboards clack for an upcoming test for biology, you try your best to stay focused the way you can on the usual. Riki was right about you β you were smarter than what people thought, and the merit beside your name is shocking to a whole lot when itβs pasted on the board.Β
You think youβre no longer smart. Not when youβre staring at the open reviewer in front of you, color coded with little sticky tabs but youβre still distracted.
You grab your coffee and drink, just to try if that could help with your lost concentration. Something about protein synthesis and cell division. Something about how Rikiβs hands looked wrapped around the steering wheel that one night while he called you weird and interesting in the same breath.
This is so inconvenient.
βBabe.β
Your boyfriend slides into the empty chair beside you like he owns the furniture, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the cafeteria lighting could barely offend a bitch. His hand settles automatically on your thigh beneath the table, casual and familiar, and you almost flinch.
βYou disappeared last night,β he says casually.
You lean back in your chair. βI told you I left.β
βYeah, but where?β
You think briefly about Rikiβs car parked under the streetlamp β fogged windows, heated air, cherry gloss smeared on his mouth, plump lips smirking in restraint, hands squeezing you in the right place, keeping you in place.
βI just went home,β you reply smoothly.
Your boyfriend hums, clearly unconvinced, but also has about three seconds of emotional stamina left for the topic, so he lets it go and steals one of your fries instead. βMy parents want dinner with you this weekend.β he says instead.
He continues talking about it but youβre staring at the flashcards and reviewers in front of you, imagining what your parents would say if Riki wouldβve showed up to a family dinner instead. Maybe heβd appear in different clothes, a white button-up just to sit there and attempt to look polite in ways he isnβt with you β which makes your heart jump a little.Β
Dinner drags on for three excruciating hours.
Three whole hours of crystal glasses and polished silverware and your boyfriendβs parents discussing investment portfolios. The restaurant is one of those stupidly expensive places where portions are microscopic and every waiter looks vaguely judgmental β you donβt complain, youβre rather very grateful for his parents (sometimes).
You sat there in a pretty dress your mother picked out. Your boyfriend talks over you twice when you try contributing to the conversation, his mother asks about your grades before asking how cheerleading is going, like academics and aesthetics are the only two things remotely interesting about you. At some point, your boyfriend likes another girlβs Instagram story right beside you at the table and everything about the night is just bad.
You just feel tired, especially on the way home.Β
Tired in the way performances always leave you feeling like youβve spent hours acting inside a role you got stuck with years ago β because it mostly worked in your favor, until that one time you decided to jump out of your comfort zone and try weed. Itβs the worst thing you have done, but itβs the only thing that made you feel good.
Your heels click quietly against the marble floors when you enter your house and you make it halfway upstairs before the pressure behind your eyes finally cracks. Obviously, you donβt sob out of sadness, just frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks while you struggle with the zipper of your dress. βFuck,β you mutter.
Your makeupβs ruined now; mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, lipstick mostly gone except for traces still staining your mouth.Β
Before you can think too hard about it β which is kind of bad β you open Rikiβs contact, and your fingers move faster than your dignity can intervene.
you:
he actually sucks so bad
like genuinely i think talking to drywall has more nuance
You exhale through your nose and laugh weakly at yourself because obviously Riki probably has better things to do than babysit you after 9PM, not when youβre just another weed customer and smoking buddy he had. You toss your phone onto the bed and sit in silence for a second, still in your dress, earrings discarded somewhere.
You try not to think about anything for the minutes youβve spent staring at the ceiling: not about Riki, or your dumb boyfriend, or your (im)perfect life, or the way Riki kissed you, or the way he looked at you, or the way he thought about you.Β
Because that's the part that bothers you most. Not the kiss itself, not even the fact that you wanted it, but the way he seemed to actually think about you before touching you. Like you weren't just pretty or convenient or someone people liked because you made sense beside them. Riki looked at you like he was trying to understand you, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything you've ever had.
And maybe that makes you painfully average.
Maybe youβre not special at all, maybe youβre just another girl in the long, embarrassing history of girls who developed feelings for the first boy who looked at them like they were a person. Congratulations, really. Very original and groundbreaking, for being part of the emotionally confused teenage girls.
You turn onto your side and press your face into your pillow, immediately hating yourself for how dramatic that feels.
Until something taps three times against your window.
Your brows furrow immediately because your bedroom is on the second floor and nobody normally knocks on windows like some suburban horror movie, you donβt even try to look because of what could be there. For a second, you genuinely think youβre hallucinating from emotional exhaustion and expensive restaurant food and maybe (you did not do prior research) the possibility of the long term hallucinations of marijuana.
Then it happens again. Three deliberate taps.
You sit up slowly from the edge of your bed, the strap of your dress slipping off one shoulder while your heels remain abandoned somewhere near the door. When you turn to the window, your heart practically falls from your chest when you see Riki standing outside like a fucking delinquent moron. Heβs standing on the roof of the first floor near your window, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, while one hand steadies himself against the frame.Β
You burst out laughing while fumbling with the lock of your window. Rikiβs entire expression softens the second he hears you laugh and that does something unhealthy to him.
Because he drove for twenty minutes thinking about you crying over some guy who doesnβt even look at you properly, wondering if climbing a house at this hour officially qualifies as insanity (heβs never done that before, and it doesnβt sound so conformist right now either). Rikiβs usually good at self-restraint, at risk assessment, at understanding what makes sense and what doesnβt.
For the record, this doesnβt make sense. Yet here he is anyway.
Β βHi.β
You stare at him in disbelief once you finally open your window. βWhat the fuck are you doing?β you whisper-yell.
βYou sounded sad.β
βIs that supposed to be an answer?β
βWhat?β he says defensively while climbing inside carefully. βYou said your boyfriend sucks. That sounded shitty.β
The second he lands properly inside your room, he looks at you before anything else. Heβs used to seeing you fixed with perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect posture, like you just stepped out of a university brochure about good conduct and that the school cheer spirit is something one definitely needs for personal development.
This version of you feels familiar, and traitorously and selfishly, he thinks itβs for him.
Your dress is wrinkled now, your jewelry sits slightly crooked against your skin, your makeupβs smudged enough to expose the eyebags underneath, and your hairβs started falling from whatever expensive style you wore to dinner.
Riki swallows once before he can stop himself. βYou were crying?β
Immediately, you look away, a bit embarrassed when you realize what you look like. βDonβt make it weird.β
βIβm not making it weird,β he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively. βI just.β
He cuts himself off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how to navigate this. Girls usually donβt text him while being miserable and summon him to their bedroom windows like some modern romance movie directed by a bad romcom enthusiast. Nothing is romcom-y about this.
So instead, awkwardly, he holds the backyard vegetation toward you.
βI got you these.β
Flowers. They arenβt roses and lilies, especially not the peonies your boyfriend orders because it looks better in pictures. Theyβre not anything arranged like the bouquets your boyfriendβs family sends during competitions and birthdays and events where impression matters. They usually screamed βI have moneyβ so I had my manager fix these for you.
Riki brought you wildflowers, which are tiny white, yellow, and purple ones bundled unevenly together like he picked them himself on the side of the road and decided, yeah, these ones are perfect. Theyβre crooked and asymmetrical and a little pathetic, and it weirdly looks a lot like you.
You take them carefully, looking down at the tiny flowers bundled together with what suspiciously resembles a broccoli rubber band.
βOh my God,β you laugh quietly. βThese are so ugly.β
He looks offended immediately. βOkay, first of all, fuck you.β
You laugh, open and loud. βTheyβre literally weeds.β
βI mean. Matches us, no?β he argues.
Youβre still smiling when you bring them closer to inspect, and he notices your eyes when you admire them because he notices everything when it comes to you now, apparently.
βHe made you cry?β he asks quieter this time.
You look up at him, flowers resting against your chest while you slump a little. βNot exactly.β
He raises his brows. βThat means yes.β
You sigh, gaze dropping to the petals between your fingers. βHeβs justβ¦β You shake your head slowly. βI donβt know. I guess Iβm really sick of it.β
Riki stays quiet β not because he doesnβt have thoughts, but because he has too many.
The thing is, he understands that social hierarchy is basically one giant theater production and heβs spent his entire life studying how to survive inside it correctly β heβs admitted to live in it quite comfortably. Which people to talk to, which ones to avoid, what behavior keeps life stable and uncomplicated, who not to sell weed to.
You were supposed to be part of that stable world, the part that he shouldnβt have had any associations with. Instead, youβre now standing barefoot in front of him holding ugly flowers with watery eyes while confiding in him like heβs become something safe. Now heβs giving a girl weeds for flowers, while his own cannabis has become untouched for quite a while now.
You narrow your eyes up at him suddenly, a teasing smile on your lips. βYou couldβve used the front door.β
βAnd say what?β he snorts. ββGood evening, your daughter texted me so Iβm here to comfort her?β
You laugh again and Jesus Christ, he thinks heβd probably climb ten more roofs if it meant hearing that sound a second time.
Which is not good at all.
He looks around your room now, and he finds that is not in the dramatic movie sense where heβs overwhelmed by femininity and candles or whatever bullshit directors think teenage girls do in bedrooms. Itβs just your space and that feels undeniably you in a way heβs never gotten access to before β never thought he would, actually. Thereβs a stack of annotated reviewers on your desk beside skincare products, then a half-folded cheer uniform hangs over your chair. Your bookshelf is organized by color at first glance, but he notices that some books are stuffed sideways and doubled-up like gave up halfway through organizing.
Youβre contradiction after contradiction. Which feels fitting considering Rikiβs currently inside the bedroom of a girl he once categorized under absolutely not my problem.
This is exactly why social structures exist. To prevent situations like this where a guy who sells weed ends up standing in the bedroom of a girl who looks expensive enough to kill him.
You set the flowers carefully on your vanity like theyβre not random plants held together by produce rubber. Riki watches how gentle your hands are, watches the way your dress slips slightly higher on your thigh when you move.
You step closer to him after, eyes peeking through your lashes, and he starts to feel drunk from your perfume.Β βYou really came all the way here because I was sad?β you ask softly.
Riki opens his mouth automatically with something sarcastic prepared because thatβs safer, because joking is easier than admitting the truth. But then he looks at you looking at him like heβs become something important frighteningly fast.
Honesty slips out before he can stop it. βYeah.β
Your eyes soften in a way that completely wrecks him, because nobodyβs ever looked at him like this before β like he did something meaningful instead of useful.
You step even closer now until thereβs barely space between you. βYouβre really bad at being casual,β you murmur.
He huffs a laugh. βYou climbed into my lap the first time we kissed.β
βThat was different.β
βHow?β
βI was high.β
βAnd whatβs your excuse now?β
Your lips twitch and his gaze drops there instinctively.
Big mistake, because now heβs thinking about kissing you again and suddenly being in your bedroom at midnight feels significantly more dangerous than it did when he drove here. Riki clears his throat and looks away first. Usually heβs good at eye contact, good at keeping composure, good at staying levelheaded even when situations become complicated, because he knows emotional regulation keeps things orderly, predictable, and safe.
You are none of those things anymore.
Standing this close to you feels like someone slowly dismantling every sensible thought process heβs ever had and replacing it with bad decisions and pretty girls in wrinkled dresses.Β
Riki swallows, eyes still not fully on yours. βDo you know what youβre gonna do?β
You sigh, shoulders dropping a little as you look away. βI donβt know.β
Riki nods, though he doesnβt look surprised. βWell,β he says quietly, βyou arenβt happy.β
The honesty in his voice catches you off guard, because it isnβt dramatic or possessive or demanding β itβs actually the complete opposite. He says things carefully. Your boyfriend never talks to you carefully.Β
You study Riki for a second β the slight flush across his cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fact he literally climbed your house because you sounded sad over text.Β
Clearly, heβs lost the plot somewhere. He might find it in your room, but why would it be there?
You look at the boy who notices everything about you, who reads you better than anyone ever did. And maybe thatβs pathetic, but after a long time of performance and image, you canβt quite find irrationality when something finally sees you so clearly.Β
You donβt even realize youβre crying again until his expression changes. The tears just spill over quietly, slipping down your cheeks before you can catch them, and for a second, you donβt understand why his eyes drop there with so much concern because you arenβt sad, nor overwhelmingly happy.
His hand lifts and his fingers touch your cheek lightly and carefully. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it reaches your jaw. Then the other hand comes up too, steadying your face with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten worse than the crying did. You stare up at him while he wipes your face like itβs something important, his hands warm, his touch steady even though his breathing isnβt. He just keeps his palms against your cheeks, thumbs soft under your eyes, focused on you.
Rikiβs thumb slows beneath your eye, his gaze moving over your face with something almost pained. βYouβre too pretty to cry over him,β he says quietly.
Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist to keep him there. His skin is warm beneath your palm, and for a second, his whole body seems to still when you touch him. You look up at him because heβs so tall this close, broad enough to block out half your room, and heβs holding your face like you might bruise if he moves wrong.
βIβm not crying over him,β you say, and your voice comes out quieter, βI think Iβm crying because I want someone else.β
His hand stays against your cheek, but his thumb stops moving entirely. He has no immediate answer right now, no dry comment waiting in the back of his throat, no clever way to make the moment smaller than it feels. He just looks at you, like he heard you perfectly and still needs another second for it to reach the rest of him.
He shifts closer, but only slightly, careful enough that you notice the restraint. βAre you sure?β
You let out a tiny, breathless laugh. βYes.βΒ
Then your gaze drops from his eyes, not because youβre embarrassed exactly, but because looking at him straight on feels like standing too close to something bright. Your eyes settle on his chest instead, on the front of his hoodie rising and falling with a breath heβs clearly trying to control. His hands move from your cheeks, careful and slow, until his palms settle just beneath your jaw while his fingers slip behind your ears, curling gently at the back of your neck.Β
For a second, you think heβs going to kiss you.
Actually, you know he is. You can feel it in the way his breathing changes, in the way his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there this time, no pretending it was an accident. Heβs close enough that you can smell his cologne and whatever terrible decision-making brought him to your window.
Then something in you panics β not because you donβt want him to.
Thatβs the problem. You want him so much it feels insulting to every sensible part of your life (even though youβve made many irrational choices that have shamed them anyway). You want him in your room, in your space, in the middle of all the pretty, curated pieces of yourself nobody else gets to see messy. You want him, and it would be so easy to lean up and let that be the answer. But there is still one stupid, technical, irritating thing standing between you and that, so you pull back a little.
He freezes immediately, hands dropping like he thinks he did something wrong. βWhat?β
βI need to do something.β
His brows pull together. βRight now?β
You turn away before you can lose your nerve, moving toward your bed where your phone is half-buried in the sheets. Your hands are unsteady when you pick it up, which is annoying because you are not the kind of girl who fumbles β you are the kind of girl who answers essay questions with proper structure, corrects formations instinctively, and pretends sheβs fine so convincingly that people believe it until it becomes inconvenient not to.
Calling your boyfriend while Riki Nishimura stands in your bedroom after midnight is, admittedly, not your most elegant moment, but thereβs a kind of clarity to it too.
He stays behind you, quiet, watching as you scroll to the contact you have ignored for most of the night. His name on your screen looks strange now.
The call rings twice.
Riki moves closer, though not touching you yet, just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. It makes focusing much harder, which is extremely inconsiderate for someone who climbed into your room to be supportive.
Your boyfriend answers with your name, voice already irritated. βItβs late. Iβm busy.β
You close your eyes for half a second. βIβm just letting you know. Weβre done.β
There is a pause. βWhat?β
You swallow, your grip tightening around the phone. βIβm breaking up with you.β
Behind you, Riki goes very still. Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. βAre you serious right now?β
βYes.β
βAfter everything? After tonight, youβre just gonna call me and say that?β
You stare at the wall in front of you. Itβs absurd, actually, how little the anger reaches you. Maybe you should be shaking or crying harder or preparing a speech that starts with all the ways he hurt you β instead, you feel strangely calm.
He starts talking again, louder this time, something about your parents, his parents, how youβre overreacting, how you both agreed, how you donβt get to act innocent either. Until Rikiβs hand appears beside you, and he takes the phone from your hand.
Your eyes widen. βRiki.β
He looks at the screen, hears your boyfriend still talking, then tosses the phone onto the bed, where it lands face-up against the sheets, the call still running, your boyfriendβs voice now small and furious through the speaker.
βWhat are you doing?β you whisper.
His eyes stay on yours. βYou already broke up with him.β
On the bed, your ex says your name again, sharp and confused, but neither of you are looking at the phone.Β
Riki lifts one hand, not touching your face yet, just brushing his knuckles lightly near your jaw like heβs giving you one last chance to move away.
That is all he needs before he kisses you. It is not rushed, not messy from panic, just a little harsh from jealousy. But itβs slow enough to make your knees feel unreliable, steady enough that your whole body seems to understand before your brain does. You grab the front of his hoodie and he exhales against your mouth, the sound going straight through you. His hand settles at the side of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw while his other hand finds your waist, careful but sure.Β
The phone is still there, your boyfriend is still talking. It should ruin the moment, but it doesnβt. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel worse in the way your heart is pounding too hard, in the way Riki keeps kissing you like heβs trying not to prove a point and failing anyway, in the way you know this is a terrible way to end a relationship and still cannot bring yourself to care.
Riki pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching yours. βHe talks a lot,β he says quietly.
You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he kisses you before you can even finish a thought he physically cannot hear another word about your boyfriend tonight, earning a gasp from your mouth. Itβs soft at first, his mouth catching yours that makes you go still for half a second, surprised, and then your hand tightens around his wrist as you kiss him back. He exhales through his nose, quiet and shaky, and his fingers press a little more firmly into your nape, not pulling you in too hard, just holding you.
You make this soft startled sound against his lips and he swears it nearly kills him on impact. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead bumps lightly against yours.Β
βI donβt wanna talk about him anymore,β he says quietly.
His voice comes out rougher than before. You stare at him for a second, and your lips twitch.
βOkay,β you whisper.
He kisses you again almost immediately, and this time you kiss him back just as fast, your chests pressing against one another until you can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his hoodie. His hands find your waist, the weight of them warm and steady through the thin fabric of your dress, like heβs grounding you and keeping himself grounded too.
You tilt your head up to meet him properly, rising slightly onto your toes without meaning to, and he bends down into you like the movement pulls something out of him. His fingers press carefully at your sides, thumbs shifting once against your waist. The kiss deepens then, your hand sliding up the front of his hoodie until youβre holding onto him too.
Riki exhales against your mouth, almost shaky, and his grip tightens for one second before he loosens it again, like heβs reminding himself to be careful.
Without so much as a few words, your gaze meets his. But thatβs not enough for him, not when he needs to hear that you want this too. The zipper you struggled with earlier starts undoing when his hand finds the back, before he leans in just enough for his voice to drop between you.Β
"Words, baby," he whispers.
He isn't teasing now. His voice is low, but careful, like he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself want anything more.
You swallow, fingers tightening lightly in his hoodie. "I want you."
Riki watches your face for a second, and when he sees the true genuineness and want in your eyes, he lets himself have it. He dips down to your height, capturing your lips in a kiss again, before fully pulling the zipper down to the small of your back. With barely any effort, the dress slides off your body and pools around your feet on the floor.Β
Too busy getting drunk on his plump lips, you donβt even notice his hands roaming over your skin, his fingertips memorizing the arch of your spine, before gliding up to the curve of your ribcage. You donβt notice how close he really is until his fingers find the underside part of your breasts. You pull away with a gasp, seeing him smile coyly when you finally realize youβre naked in front of him, and how heβs massaging your mounds in his hands.
He lets his thumbs brush your hardened nipples, watching your face scrunch and melt with fluster. He holds you so well, heat rushing all over your skin with the way he studies your body, eyes carefully taking in every detail about you. He continues stroking your nipples and massaging your breasts when he bends down again, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing over to your jaw. He presses open mouthed kisses on your pulse next, sucking and biting to leave love bites there.
You moan, all breathy and heavy, and his cock twitches in his sweats. For a man thatβs been so cautious with you, he canβt help but fight the urge to pound into you recklessly right now.
βOn the bed,β he prompts softly, taking a step forward.Β
You obey with no fight, pathetically stepping backward until you sit back on the soft mattress. You adjust a little to get on your knees, eyes finding his through your lashes again. Heβs looking at you with half-open lids, hand already reaching up to the back of your head, fingers tangling with your hair. He likes you like this, on your knees and your face so fucking close to his bulge, he can practically see it.
And because he has been so kind to you, you want to recompense for all of it. Your fingers hook at the hem of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze steady on his face to watch the way he reacts when he realizes what youβre about to do. You drag his pants down, enough for it to slip down his legs.Β
His cock bulges in his briefs, begging to be set free. You cup it gently and he lets out a low moan, deeper than his usual, and when you look up, heβs just watching you. You lean in, only to lick a stripe from the bottom to top β his grip on your hair tightens, and you feel him pull you closer. Since you both donβt hold any godly kind of willpower, you waste no time lowering the fabric.
Rikiβs stupidly long cock springs forward once you remove his briefs, and everything about it just makes sense. It isnβt excessively thick in girth, but itβs length makes you wonder if it can even fit at all. Itβs pale at the base and turns pink towards the tip, the slit lathered with pre all over the head, all for you.
You bite your lip, not being able to help the thrilled grin on your face, eyes bright at the sight of it. He clears his throat, caressing the back of your head gently. βYou good?β
You snicker, reaching up to wrap your hand around the base. He chokes out a gasp, stilling completely yet his hips buck forward. He watches you handle him so delicately, even the way you start pumping his dick, watching the way pre-cum leaks out the tip. You lean forward, tongue flat against the head, tasting him.Β
βO-oh, s-shit ββ his breathing becomes heavy, arm flexing involuntarily as he keeps rubbing the back of your head.
You giggle, tilting your head a little to press soft pecks all over his length. βWatch me, sweet boy. Okay?βΒ
Youβre a fucking tease. Thatβs all he manages to come up with before his brain completely blanks out when you tilt forward and let your mouth close around the head of his dick. You start to suckle on it, tongue playing with the slit a little. Then you push forward, enough the tip touches the back of your throat and your cheeks hollow around his length.
And heβs still too fucking long.Β
You start choking a little, tears touching your waterline. You stroke the part you canβt reach, and he canβt help but smirk arrogantly.
Heavy breaths turns into deep groans, trying to keep his sounds to himself but the way you look as your head bobs on his dick, practically choking as you suck on it, and his hand flexing a tight grip on your hair β this has got to be better than any fucking narcotic ever. He bets morphine wonβt ever feel this good. βY-youβre fucking sublime, baby,β
You retract your mouth, going back to suckle on the tip, before taking him all back down your throat. His hips jerk forward, you can tell just how gentle heβs trying to be even when heβs losing all control.Β
And itβs too good, because twenty years of chastity has started to reach him faster than the way you rub him. He feels his abdomen tighten, and fuck does his balls feel tense. So as any illogical, preposterous, unsound idiot ever, he pulls you away from his cock. He holds you by your hair, slowing you down as you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused, lips wet from your saliva and his fluids.
βWhat the fuck?β you mutter, catching your breaths.Β
Riki licks his bottom lip, and you can see every restraint holding him back from breaking you. The tips of his ears are red, and his eyes, once so tender and meticulous, looks down at you like he just canβt wait to fuck you senseless. Theyβre sharper than they ever have been, and once since this night began, youβre scared.
βEasy,β he drawls, hand withdrawing from you completely. He takes a step back, just enough to admire the way you look, panting and on your knees, breasts exposed and perky. Then with a small smirk, he pinches the edge of his hoodie. βYou always this impatient?β
He slides the hoodie over his arms, the cloth revealing flesh that practically glow from your vanity lights. His chest and shoulder width is broad and wide, flat in that boyish way you love, expanding to the chiseled arms. You can feel yourself salivating at the muscles, at his taut abs, delicate grooves that trace down to a sharp v-line. Even his obliques and traps are so defined.
βGet on your back.β he rasps, and you donβt let yourself react before lying down, head against your soft pillows. He kneels in between your legs, eyes trailing over your body. He hooks his fingers over the elastic of your panties, just before he slowly pulls them off you, slow enough to make you embarrassed.
βRiki,β you murmur sheepishly, but he ignores you, keeping his eyes narrowed to the way your cunt glistens, your own fluids leaking out of you. Sheβs perfect, and his already frustrated cock twitches.Β
Blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and his eyes are dark when your gaze meets again. He hovers over you, caging you against the bed before he leans in, kissing you again. Your lips part for him, breaths mingling, getting hot and heavy as his hand finds your ass. He squeezes the fat there, fingers digging into your skin. βYouβre making it hard to think, pretty girl.β
You manage a giggle, though it quickly turns to soft moans when he kisses your jaw and presses his cock against your cunt.Β
βRiki, please,β you can see how swollen his cock has gotten.
βI donβt know if I can be gentle,β he breathes, his arms tensing as he keeps himself up. He strokes himself a bit, just before he aligns the tip with your aching hole.
Your brain has gone hazy, not being able to process anything other than the way he kisses your neck when the head of his cock pushes through your folds, and immediately your arms come to his back, nails digging into his muscles. He tenses too, giving a sharp exhale when his length slides past the tight muscle and rubs against your gummy walls.
βFuck,β he groans, burying his face against your neck while your teeth bite down your bottom lip. βG-god, thatβs so good,βΒ
His hips closes against your pelvis, while his tip brushes against your cervix so good heβs pretty sure youβre sucking him in. And you feel stuffed, more than you ever have been, by Rikiβs long cock. βGood fucking pussy, shit ββ
Your legs are open wide for him, pressing flat against the mattress. And thatβs enough for him, just to see you so spread beneath him, cunt squeezing him so tight; enough for him to pull back and watch the way your fluids wrap slick around his cock. Your hips wiggle for him, and thatβs all he takes before slamming his hips back into you.
Rikiβs jaw hangs open, a low moan gushing out him, strained and heavy into your ears.Β
βR-Riki β f-f-fuck ββ
The sounds of squelching pussy and skin slapping echoes throughout your entire room, walls so tight around his cock as you gasp. The pace is set already, quick and fucking drilling into you even though youβve known him for his care and caution β yet he pounds into you like he doesnβt give a fuck about anything but his pleasure.
βS-s-so good β ugh, Riki β fuck,β you scratch his back muscles, tensing underneath your nails. His pelvis and abs are tight, slamming himself so hard against your cunt like he canβt keep himself apart from you.
He continues groaning, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he admires the way your tits bounce every time he rocks his dick deep into your cunt. His lips part to moan your name, and you love how he almost whimpers when you squeeze around him.Β
Then he stills, though only fast enough before he slides an arm beneath your waist and gathers you closer, like heβs scooping you into him without fully lifting you.Β
βW-what are you ββΒ
βOn your stomach.βΒ
You can only blink and nod, before turning around, suddenly feeling empty when his dick slips from inside you. You settle on your hands and knees, then lie on your chest, face pressed to the soft pillow. βFuck, my good girl.β
You canβt see him anymore, and youβre not sure with how you feel about it β not until you feel his warm body press against your back, his chest hovering slightly over you. He presses a hand on the back of your thigh, gently adjusting your knee higher, the position immediately spreading your folds more than you would have thought.Β
βLift your hips for me, baby,β he breathes, voice low and strained.
You obey, pussy clenching around nothing when he whispers quiet praises as your ass perks up and your folds glisten for him again, slick oozing out from you. You get on your hands a little, just enough to lift yourself and look over your shoulder. Without much of a warning, he pushes his cock back deep inside you again, walls welcoming him with a dirty squelch, your breath catches, then escapes in a quiet gasp.
βThere, just like that ββ Riki moans, his v-line pressed tight against your ass.
Then he continues, retracting his hips only to slap back inside you. The new positions doing fucking wonders to you, stretching you a whole lot more, his dick fucking you so raw that you canβt help the screams you let out. He presses his hands against your waist, fingers ingrained to lift your ass up and pound into you right after, grip so tight itβs already bruising.
You fuck yourself against him too, slapping back against his hips, cock choking in your tight walls. His eyes are almost rolling back, if not for how obsessed he is watching your ass shake and tits bounce every sloppy stroke, his hand sliding under you to grope your mound. He fondles with it, pinching your nipple and loving the weight of it against his palm.Β
Sweatβs getting hot and the airβs smells too much of sex, he can feel it when his balls clench and how desperate heβs starting to get.
You look over your shoulder and he meets you halfway, leaning over to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. Itβs full of saliva and itβs warm, messy in a way that tells how close you both are.
Then with so little strength (canβt compare to Riki Nishimura, really), your weight falls back to the pillow, face and chest pressed against the softness while your ass stays up. If not for his large hands keeping you up and still, you wouldβve fallen over completely.Β
Your abdomen clenches and pressure builds in there, and he continues rutting into you while you become a puddle of sweat and moans. βR-right there β fuck, Riki β !β
βI-Iβm gonna fucking cum, s-shit β Iβll blow a fucking load in you ββ his hips drive into your pussy with a new kind of intensity, faster and deeper somehow, his tip hitting your cervix that has you throbbing around him.
βCum all over me, baby, please ββ he whines, face pressed against your shoulder.Β
You feel hot spurts of him fill you the same time your cunt clenches around him one final time, legs twitching while his hips come to a stutter. Cum settles in your hole, warm and full and sticky and practically seeping out of you. He collapses on top of you, unconsciously maybe, his heavier weight pressing over your body.
Your vision goes white for a bit, then it comes back, only for you to see hair all over your face, stuck with sweat and saliva. Heβs still on top of you, but you can feel him carry himself a little, making sure not to crush you right after cumming in you.
Quiet beats stretch out the moment, and you donβt even notice his arm tucking underneath you to massage your tit, a tired laugh leaving your mouth when you do. When you both muster enough strength, he straightens just enough to lift himself off of you, while you manage to get on your hands. By the time you look over your shoulder, heβs already leaning in, his mouth finding yours again, a hand still fondling with your breast.
βRiki,β a small sheepish smile curves on your lips, all while he presses soft pecks against your mouth and jaw.Β
βHm?β he hums, tired and spent, clearly having nothing else to do but to kiss you. His breaths are still shallow, eyelids heavy before shutting completely.
You giggle, putting your hand over his on your breast. βGet off me,β you say with a playful grin. βYouβre so heavy!β
WIth a quiet groan, he listens. He slides out of you, unplugging you to let your fluids out. Then he lies down, and he hasnβt realized how strained his muscles are until he sinks into the softness of your bed. He relaxes inevitably, while you stay up just to admire him for a bit.
Riki Nishimura is never going to be insecure about his looks, but the way you stare at him with dilated pupils that match his, especially post-sex, he canβt help but grow a bit bashful.Β
He huffs out a laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze your waist because you feel so far. "So do you have a no-cuddle policy, or," he murmurs.
You laugh before you can stop yourself because he's so stupidly funny for someone trying to sound serious. Instead of answering, you shake your head and lean more of your weight against one hand, the other resting against his chest as your fingers trace lazy, thoughtless shapes.
He watches you do it for a second, his expression going quiet in that way that makes your stomach turn. Then you glance up at him. "Can you roll one for me?"
He sighs so heavily it almost sounds personal. Before you can even react, his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you down against his chest, firm and immediate, like the idea alone offended him. Your hand lands against his abs to catch yourself, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder as he keeps you there.
βThrow that shit away,β he says, voice low near your ear. βI swear to God.β
You blink, caught against him. βWhat?β His arm stays around you, warm and unmoving. βWhy?β
Riki looks at you with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and a little strained, like even answering takes effort. βBecause,β he murmurs, his grip softening at your waist, βafter tonight, I think I found something better.β
Your jaw actually falls open. For one second, all you can do is stare at him, because thereβs no way Riki Nishimura just said that to you while looking half-asleep and impossibly calm, like he didnβt just say something that made your entire stomach turn over and tighten all over again.
Then you smack his chest lightly. βRiki.β
He chuckles, low and tired, the sound vibrating against your palm. His arm stays around your waist, keeping you close even when you try to lean back enough to glare at him properly.
βWhat?β he murmurs, eyes barely opening more. βUse my dick instead, I wonβt get mad.β
You smack his chest harder, earning a yelp from him. βRiki!β
He laughs under his breath, but before you can pull your hand back, his fingers wrap around your wrist. His eyes open a little more as he looks at you, still tired, still amused, and then he tugs you.Β
You land over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips as his arm settles around your waist to steady you. For a second, neither of you moves. Your hand stays pressed to his chest, his heartbeat is faster than he's pretending. "Careful," he murmurs, like he wasn't the one who pulled you.
"You're so annoying," you whisper again, but it comes out softer this time, a quiet breath as you lean down to him. You're close enough now that your noses brush, close enough to feel his smile fade against your mouth.
Riki's gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. Your fingers stay flat against the broad hardness of his chest while his hand stays warm at your waist, slowly smoothing over the curve of your ass.
βRide me?β he whispers against your lips.
You sigh, rolling your eyes while your mouth curves to a grin, back straightening. You act like you think about it, only for your exposed cunt to start grinding against his cock β which, obviously, because he is a very simple man, erects again.
A simple man such as he, all he knows is that he is yours.
SUMMARY: Sunghoon was an up-and-coming figure skater with a bright future, but he threw it all away to marry you. Thirteen years later, your marriage has failed, the kids donβt respect him one bit, and all his friends are wildly successful in life except him. He gets a chance to correct the mistakes of his past and change his life when he is miraculously transported back in time, before he even met you. But changing the past might cost him everything.
A/N: This took me so long to finish y'all I started considering actually taking ice skating lessons. PLEASE read for my sake.Β (Some scenes inspired by the movie 17 Again!)
thirteen years ago.
Sunghoon took a deep breath as the chill air of the rink, even from where he sat in the locker room, sent shivers down his spine. His thin black blouse with rhinestoned sleeves did nothing to shield him from the cold.Β
He should have been used to it by now. But today would be the most important skate of his life.Β
The World Championships. The event that would decide his place at the next Olympics.Β
Just a few years ago, he had missed out on competing completely due to a knee injury. Sunghoon was determined this time to make his dreams come true. His seniors always said that Olympic ice felt different, more real. This would be it. His last chance before the younger, more talented skaters took his spot later down the line.
He was picking at his nails with his teeth, a habit he so desperately needed to let go of. Even with ten competitors ahead of him, Sunghoon was already on edge. You, his good luck charm, had not arrived yet. It wasn't typical of you. In your three years of dating, you never missed the opening skate of any competition he'd been in.Β
Itβs where you first met. You had been in the stands, taping your phone number onto a penguin plushie heβd caught after his award-winning skate. Since then, it's been tradition for you to sit in the same exact seat during local competitions.
His left leg bounced impatiently as he sat on the locker room bench. Sunghoon has sent about 16 texts to your phone already. He shook his head, unlocking his phone for the umpteenth time. Crickets. His phone screen photo of you blowing a kiss into the camera was taunting him now.
Where the hell were you?
Coach Jung patted him on the shoulder. βDonβt think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.β
βI'm not nervous,β Sunghoon replied, unconvincingly. βIt's just cold.β
Coach Jung rolled his eyes.
βYou're not new to this, kid,β he doubted the young man. βYou're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.β
Sunghoon didn't know if that was meant to be motivating or not, but when Coach Jung left, he felt a pit in his stomach start to form. It's been years in the making. Blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this. The time he could've spent going on longer dates with you all went to extra hours practicing quads in the rink. He couldn't let his sacrifices go to waste. It would be a disservice to both of you.
He put his hands to his face and repeated a mantra of self-affirmations.
βYou got this, you got this, you-ββ
βHoon?β He heard your sweet voice call out. Your head poked through the locker room door before entering cautiously. Audience members werenβt typically allowed in here, but you always managed to sneak your way in.
He dropped his hands immediately, a wave of relief washing over him.
βThere you are,β Sunghoon whispered to himself, rushing to you as fast as he could with skates on the carpet. You let out a small sound as he picked you up by the waist, spinning you around like a princess.
βWhere have you been?β Sunghoon sighed happily, setting you down with a kiss to your temple. βI was blowing up your phone! I thought you died.β
You smiled, but he noticed how tight it looked. The light didn't quite reach your eyes, and your lips twitched as if it was almost painful to maintain. He brushed a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
βEverything okay?β
You nodded, resting your hand on his as his thumb drew small circles on your cheek.
βIβ¦β you trailed off. You were looking at the ground, at the ceiling, and even at the trash cans. Anywhere but him. βI want to talk to you about something.β
He raised a brow. Your fingers were quivering, and he noticed redness in the whites of your eyes. Were you crying?
βOf course, baby. You can tell me anything.βΒ
Sunghoon is worried now as he took both of your hands into his. He felt how cold they were, even more so than his.
βCan the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?β the overhead speaker blared into the locker room. That was him. He was one of the last five.Β
He pursed his lips as he looked towards the door and back at you. Your mouth opened, just as flustered by the announcement.
βLet's wait,β you said in a rush, noticing the sweatiness of his palms. βIt can wait.β
Sunghoon shook his head. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let these things linger.
βNo, [Y/N]. Tell me what's wrong.β He stood his ground. Your eyes were watering, his gaze unmoving from yours. As you spoke, it was like the world around him went still. His chest felt heavy, throat so constricted he thought he would choke.
βI'm pregnant.β
No, he thought. It canβt be.
βH-how? We neverβ Thatβs impossibleβ We always use-β
His voice trailed off, afraid that if he said anything out loud, it would become more real. You pursed your lips, biting your top lip so hard that it drew blood.Β
βDonβt you remember?β
two months ago.
You were laughing, he was laughing. You both looked insane, obnoxiously cackling at nothing, in the dimly lit streets that led to his apartment. You were drinking with the guys at a new bar, underestimating the power of tequila compared to the usual shots of soju.
Sunghoon's arm was wrapped around your waist, putting his weight on you to prevent himself from faceplanting on the ground. He had lost too many hands in poker with Jay and Jake, and instead of betting money, he took an extra four shots as punishment. It was a big mistake.
βThey got lucky,β he blabbered, βIf we played Go Fish, I would have wiped the floor with them.β
He was hiccuping, and that sent you into a further spiral of giggles. Sunghoon was always so darn cute when drunk, so different from his icy exterior. His cheeks were tinged with red, and his pupils dilated. You weren't doing all that well either, with your body so warm from the alcohol that you had shed your jacket on the ground just a few minutes earlier. Where that jacket was now is lost on you.
βHoon!β you exclaimed, pointing at his apartment gate. βWe did it!β
Sunghoon stumbled to get his keys from his pocket. Opening the gate and then going up the steps felt like an hour-long operation with how you two struggled. When he slid down the wall by the entrance of his apartment, you collapsed with him.Β
The two of you, by his coat rank, staring into each other with heavy-lidded gazes and too far gone to even turn the lights on. By then, your movements were already out of your control.Β
You traced the moles on his face like divine art, cradling his jaw with such care. Even in the drunkest of states, he looked so heavenly. He was so pretty in the moonlight.Β
You pressed your lips against his, slowly at first, tugging at the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt. Sunghoon made a noise of shock before deepening the kiss, hands roaming everywhere until they met your waist. His lips were so plush against yours, hungry to taste every inch of you. Your tongues danced with an urgency you've never felt before. Nipping at your bottom lip, he coaxed small sounds out of you.Β
Sunghoon lifted you, firm hands on your bum to sit you atop him.Β
He broke the kiss to bury himself in the junction between your neck and shoulder. Sunghoon's lips found your pulse point, suctioning around it like he was drawing your heartbeat out of your body. You gripped his soft hair and tilted your head back to give him better access. He lapped at your neck, your collar bone, anywhere his tongue could access. He was addicted to the taste of your skin, to the taste of you. You always smelled so good, had him so riled up even in the most unassuming of moments. He remembered how you looked in the bar with this sparkly red dress. Remembered how it rode up every time you sat down next to him. Fuck.Β
You felt him then. The tent of his pants and the friction of his hips as they hopelessly jut up to meet yours.
You whined at the contact. He was palming your ass now with both hands, massaging as he moved you up and down on the tightness of his jeans.
βHoon,β you gasp. βNot here-β
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes so dark and full of lust. He wasnβt having it; you could see it in his face. His deliciously tense jawline. The bead of sweat running down his temple. You felt yourself clench around nothing just at the sight. How could a man be so gorgeous?
βCan't wait,β he hummed. βNeed you now.β
He pushed your dress up your body, the material bunched at your waist.
You purse your lips in anticipation. Heβs rock hard by now, and you canβt help but take it as an invitation to feel him. Your hands find his bulge, ghosting over his form. It jumped in response when you finally took hold, squeezing cautiously. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of the front of his jeans already damp with your fluids. Sunghoon enjoyed the view just as much as you did, his head tilted back to relish in your ministrations. He couldnβt hold back any longer.
Sunghoonβs hand, large and veiny, moved your panties to the side impatiently.Β
"Hoon-" you gasped at the skin-to-skin contact.
His fingers traced the slit of your folds up and down, covering his digits with your slick. You found his swollen lips again to suppress your whimpers, saliva running down your joined mouths as you unzipped his painful-looking jeans. He was already prepping you for him, index finger cautiously pushing its way inside your plush walls. He groaned at the feeling of your fluttering warmth. Already, you were sucking him in.
βAlways so fucking wet,β he muttered on your lips. You couldnβt help but grind down on him, a roundabout way of telling him to apply more pressure. To go harder. Rougher. To ruin you. He chuckled at your frustration. Needed to see more of it, more of you begging.
Sunghoon tested the waters and pushed in a second. Your moans were drowned out again by his merciless mouth. Tongues shoved so far down each other's throats, you swore you could feel him at the back of your neck.
He was fucking you onto his hand now, his palm making contact with your clit after every thrust. His forearm was tense, pace so relentless. Animalistic. You were practically bouncing on him, hands digging into his shoulder blades to chase your release. He loved the sight, wanting to hear you come undone just from his measly fingers in your dripping pussy.
βSo desperate,β he hummed into your mouth. βWho's making you like this?β
Sunghoon was never this mouthy during sex, usually because he didnβt want the apartment next door to hear through the thin walls. But he had let go of all his inhibitions, the tequila still sitting fresh in his stomach.
βYou, Hoon,β you cried out, legs shaking from the harsh pace of his fingers and your incessant grinding. βPlease-β
You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but you knew he could give it to you. Knew he was the only one who could. Your mind was filled with Sunghoon and Sunghoon only. The effects of the alcohol had made you a bumbling mess, pleading and begging for more. Your back arches to meet his fingers better, but it wasnβt not enough.
He added a third to relieve you, watching as your mouth opened into a silent scream.
βHoonβ Need itβ Pleaseβ I needββ
You couldn't find the right words, couldnβt even keep yourself upright without his support. Sunghoonβs hands roamed up your body as one made its way to the back of your neck. With his thumb, he pressed down gently on the pulse point he was nipping at just earlier. His eyes were heavy on you, watching you so intently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as your airways slowly constricted, as his thumb pushed against you. God, you loved the feeling.
βEnjoying yourself, baby?βΒ
Lightheaded, you were practically gripping his bulge at this point. The sounds between your legs were borderline pornographic, his fingers drawing out every wet squelch as they sank and twisted in and out of you. You felt so full of him, three fingers so deep inside you. But you could take more; you wanted to take more.
βSpeak up,β he drawled, his voice slurring from the tequila. βTell me what you want, or I'll stop.β
You sobbed, clawing at his clothed chest as he let go of your neck to let you talk. You gasped for air as you let yourself fall onto him.
βNeed you inside me,β you cried as he pistoned his fingers into you harder. You wished he could just rip your underwear so you could feel his rough palm grind onto your bare clit. βPlease, please, pl-β
"I am inside you," he teased. And all you could do was wail, shaking your head out of distress.
"Hoon-"
Your movements were forced to stop as Sunghoon's free hand gripped your thigh. His fingers were curved into you, stroking that spongy spot that he always managed to find. He massaged your G-spot at a steady pace, anticipating your climax. You wanted to move, but he held you down roughly. Your eyes were forced to look into his, and you felt the floodgates of your release start to open.Β
βNo-,β you whined.Β
You were close, so close. But your mind was made up. Well, at least what was left of it.
βWanna cum with you. Can I, Hoonie? Please?β you beg.
βFuck-β
His grip on you loosened. His hand slowly left your tight folds, and he admired the slick that coated his long fingers. He brought them to your mouth, motioning you to taste the juices he coaxed out of you. With your doe eyes looking straight at him, you swallowed around him. Tongue flattened and bringing him in deeper.
His other hand reached into the back of his pocket, fiddling around to find his emergency condom. The one that became a necessity to bring around you.Β
Sunghoon's mind was all over the place. Your tongue lapped at his fingers, sucking them so harshly. He'd have given anything right now to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead.
He'd almost grabbed the condom until you pulled his boxers down. Your mouth released his fingers with a small βpopβ as his painfully hard member slapped his stomach. You positioned yourself closer, adjusting so that his thickness slid against your soiled, clothed pussy. You cursed your stupid underwear for getting in the way again.
βB-baby-β Sunghoon stuttered out as you moved your panties to the side once more, his raw cock lined up to your aching hole. βJust give me a second-β
His hand tried to reach for his wallet again, but you interlocked them with yours instead. You shook your head, grinding against him cautiously. You don't know what's gotten into you. It's like the tequila was letting you act out your deepest, darkest dreams β ones of him fucking his cum so deeply into you that you were dripping wet with his fluids.
βPlease?β you asked hopelessly. Your breath hitched. His cock met your clit, his precum spread all over your folds. Fuck it. You were too far gone. βI-I wanna feel you.β
Sunghoon would like to think he had self-control. Would like to believe that he was calmer than most. But the way your pleading eyes looked at him, and how your legs trembled in excitement. His intoxicated brain couldn't tell right from wrong. He wanted to give you everything you asked for.Β
βFuck, are you sure?β he groaned as you aligned his cock to your entrance, pushing down slightly to envelop his tip. He lets out a hiss, teeth gritting from the feeling. You were so tight, so fucking perfect for him.
βMhm,β you mustered, wrapping your arms around his neck as his large hands met your ass again. βIt's okayβ¦β
You were sinking onto him now, his head buried into your neck from the sensation. You two had never done it without a condom before, always so careful. But he wondered, as his large cock was slowly sucked into your soaked pussy, why he'd never fucked you raw before. Sunghoon swore under his breath as he felt you clench around him. Fucking you with a condom was ruined for him forever. He could never put one on again.Β
βFuck, baby,β he willed himself not to move too fast. The stinging stretch of him had you withering above him, but you didnβt care. Not one bit. You clutched his hair as you impaled yourself on him, so lost in the feeling of him penetrating you so slowly.Β
He was fully sheathed inside you now. Sunghoon needed a second to recuperate, but you were making it so difficult for him.
"Fuck-" he inhaled sharply as you grinded down on his pulsating cock. You were so impatient, already so worked up from his fingers.Β Β
You were suctioning him, trapping him in your walls like you would never let him go. His grip on your hips tightened as he growled into your collarbone.
βBaby,β he said sternly this time, finding some semblance of sanity. βDon't.β
You whined, your hips stuttering through his tight grip on your ass cheeks. You wanted him to plow into you like you were his personal toy. Was there anything wrong with that?
βWhy?β you drawled out, desperate for movement, for anything. Your eyes met his, and even through your drunken haze, you understood. He was close, already so on edge from feeling your raw pussy. And that made you want him even more.
You swore your hips moved on their own. You lifted yourself, shallowly thrusting yourself against him as he tried to hinder your attempts.
βN-no,β he grunted. βToo soon-β
You giggled as his hands were on your back now. Despite your protests, he did not stop you in any meaningful way.Β
His grip on your ass was replaced with him pulling the straps down of your dress and bra to free your bouncing tits. He cupped them as you raised yourself higher, until just the very tip of him was left inside you. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself down on him without assistance. You moaned, feeling his heaviness in your lower stomach.
βFuck-β he cried through clenched teeth. Sunghoonβs head was against the wall now, hands massaging your breasts so eagerly.Β
He tugged at your nipples, pinching them between his index finger and thumb. Such a sight for sore eyes, seeing him so fucked out underneath you as you bounced on his cock. You wished you could engrave this in your memory. His parted lips and glistening forehead.Β
You grinded your hips so helplessly against him, hands on his knees as you squeezed him through every downward thrust.Β
βBaby, s-slow down.β
You're determined now, even as you start to feel that fluttering ache in your core. You wanted to do good for him, wanted to make him lose control like you would whenever he had you pinned to the bed and crying.
βHoon, speak up,β you teased, mimicking his earlier words. βTell me what you want or I-β
You couldn't finish your sentence as his hand meets the back of your neck, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands traveled down to your thighs, squeezing them roughly.
He thrusted up into you harshly, his grip on you guiding his movements. His pace was even more merciless than yours, not giving you time to catch your breath as you felt your inner walls contract around him.Β
No!Β
He needed to cum first. It was always you who came undone before him. You just needed to hold out, just for a few more seconds-
And in perfect timing, he found it. That part of you that had you practically screaming into his mouth. He smirked against your lips and hoisted you closer, fucking up into you as his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of your thighs. Your insides churned with a tingling feeling, like something needed to be released. You pulled yourself away from his lips.
"No⦠Hoon-"
"Take it," he grunted. "You want it, right?β
You cried as his thrusts grazed your G-spot over and over again, his tip kissing your cervix at the right angles.Β
βSo fucking take it."
Your eyes roll back, the sensation was stronger and stronger until-
"Oh my god-"
Your climax hit you like a ton of bricks, crashing down on you so unexpectedly that your walls wanted to hold his raw length in place. Sunghoon continued his thrusts, not caring for the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You had your fun. Now, let him have his.Β
His hands spread your ass cheeks apart, guiding you down onto his painfully hard cock with fervor. Sunghoon felt his high inching closer as he pumped in and out of your wetness, ignoring your cries of overstimulation.
βSo fucking tight,β he groaned into your neck. He's there. He felt it. You braced yourself for his sweet release.Β
βNeed to pull out...β
Your eyebrows furrowed, expression laced in devastation. As if on instinct, you clenched around him. You wanted it. Whatever βitβ was.Β
βIn me,β you babbled through strained moans. βPlease, Hoonie?β
He grit his teeth. That damn pet name. You were evil, so fucking evil. With your pretty tits and batting eyelashes. Who was he to deny you? His thrusts were erratic, admiring as your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts.Β
βFuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-β
His hips stuttered up into you. White, hot spurts met your cervix as you reached another orgasm from the sheer feeling of his release, mouth wide open. Your hips gyrated against his, easing both of you through your releases. His head rolled back, jaw clenched, and eyes wired shut as he felt you milk his cock of everything he was worth.Β
You watched as a white ring formed around his cock was buried deep in you, still a little hard. You rested your body against his. Your eyelids were heavy, so content and warm in ways that only Sunghoon could bring out in you.Β
βI love you,β he sighed into your hair, his own lethargy getting the best of him. βSo fucking much.β
βI love you too.β
And as ridiculous as it sounds, the two of you slept in that position for hours. Two bodies connected at the entrance way of Sunghoon's studio apartment. When the sun came up and you realized what was done in your drunken states, you two panicked for the wrong reason. Did the neighbors hear? What happened to your jacket? Were you gonna get a UTI?
Sunghoon's cheeks reddened from the memory. It had to have been that night.
βA-are you sure?β he stuttered.Β
You nodded solemnly. You knew it wouldn't be good news for him. It wasn't for you either.Β
You were almost done with university. Itβs supposed to be the year you figured out what you wanted out of a career. So when your first wave of morning sickness hit you just a week earlier, you knew every plan that you had would be forever ripped from your fingers.Β
To travel the world. To start new hobbies. It would all have to wait. This would be your life now.
When you told your mother, tears streamed down her face. She called you everything underneath the sun. But she knew what it was like to carry a life unexpectedly, so she hugged you through it. Your dadβs reaction was worse. He hadnβt spoken to you yet.
βTwo months along,β you whispered. Though he could never regret that night, he realized now how stupid it must have been to ignore the alarm bells in his head. He knew better. You knew better. Why the fuck did it end up like this?Β
βSoβ¦β He gulped. He didnβt know what to say. βWhat now?β
βIβ¦β you started. Heaving a deep breath, you felt him tense up.Β
βI want to keep the baby,β you swallowed. Sunghoonβs mouth was parted, and his eyes were blank of emotion.Β
It made you anxious, his lack of response.Β
When he didn't reply, you started again. βWhat should we-β
βSunghoon Park. Sunghoon Park. Please be on stand-by,β the overhead speaker rang out. He didn't mean to, but like muscle memory, his hand let go of yours. Guilt crashed over him, and he couldn't bring himself to look into your wavering eyes as he walked past you.Β
The competition. This was his last chance. Coach Jung's voice resounded in his head. Don't mess it up.
βHoon-βΒ
Your voice fell on deaf ears. His hands covered his face again, trying to refocus. He couldn't throw this away. Years. It took him years to get to this point. He couldn't. He had to skate.Β
Tears spilled over as you watched his back retreat away from you. You should have waited to tell him, but he had asked. He said he wanted to know.Β
Your back slumped against the wall of lockers, clutching your stomach as you cried. You couldn't bring yourself to go to the stands and watch him perform.
You knew it was dumb. You werenβt ready, not even close. But stillβ¦ You wanted to try.
But him. Sunghoon.
You leaned your head back against the cold wall, breath faltering through your tears. What did you even expect? That he'd be happy? Excited?
You let out a shaky laugh.
Of course not. It's not like you were either.
You stood up, dusting yourself off.
You'd figure out a way to do this, you convinced yourself. If it meant that you were by yourself, that was fine. He didn't have to be there. He had big dreams, ones that predated you. You understood, even though it hurt.Β
βNext to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!βΒ
The cheers that ensued soon after made your chest constrict just a little more. You just couldnβt bear to watch him skate now. It was all too much.
You trudged towards the ice rink's exit, arms crossed around you like you were holding yourself. You were proud of him, so proud. He worked so tirelessly for an opportunity like this. Missed sleep and took a gap year from college to pursue this. He wanted it so bad, and though it was heartbreaking to watch him walk away, you knew why. You could talk later, you convinced yourself.
But the thoughts still echoed in your head.
A professional figure skater couldnβt be a fatherβnot now, not at his age. You knew that. God, you hated that you knew it so well. His life wasnβt what most people imagined. There was no glamor in it.Β
It was practices at the crack of dawn in freezing rinks and endless flights to cities he barely saw beyond hotel rooms. He could only fund basic living expenses with what little he earned from winning. He had a part-time job working the graveyard shift at a convenience store to even afford competition fees and dates with you.Β
He gave everything for this dreamβhis body, his sanity, his youth.Β
But he tried. In everything he did, he tried. That was the worst part.
Because even with all that trying, you still knew. That there would be no space in his life for the tiny heartbeat inside you.
You knew he'd have to quit. There was no way around it. Raising a child takes too much time away from the rink.Β
If he stayed, if he chose to be in this child's life, he'd have to give it all up.And it would be because of you.Β
But this was your life too. Your body. Your future. And no matter how tightly you clung to the image of him at your side, holding your hand in the delivery room, learning how to hold a newborn with trembling fingersβyou had to be honest with yourself.
You wanted this baby. Even if it meant letting him go, even if that meant standing alone with a life you never planned for, youβd do it.
Because you knew that if it ever came down to choosing between his dream and you, it would always be-
β[Y/N], wait!β
You stopped in your tracks, stunned to hear his voice so close. Like he was here and not on the ice. You didnβt even notice that music stopped permeating the walls of the rink, that the announcer had moved on to the next contestant. He was running to you, socks thumping on the ground like he had taken his skates off only a moment before.Β
No. It couldn't be.Β
He reached you, his arms wrapped around you from behind. You heard his shaky breath against the back of your head. His thumb rubbed your forearms, planting a small kiss on your hair.
βWe'll figure it out,β Sunghoon blurted out when he felt like the silence between you two was suffocating. βTogether.β
You turned around to face him, panicked.
βSunghoon, no,β you tried to push him away, but he pulled you in closer. βYou need to go-β
βNo.β
You looked at him, pain etched in every part of his beautiful face.
βBut that's your future,β you cried out, mustering everything in yourself to not melt in his embrace. He was making a mistake. He'd hate you for the rest of your life if he-
βNo,β he said again, much clearer. More determined. βItβs you.β
His hand drifted to your stomach, and he smiled this time as he looked into your teary eyes.
βYou're my future.β
You shook your head incessantly. βHoon, you're not thinking straight. I should've waited to tell you. You're not in your right mind. You need to go back and-β
He silenced you with his lips, so softβlike it might break you if he were any less gentle. You fell into his touch, unknowingly pulling him closer. He kissed you again and again, hands holding yours until your tremors faded with his touch.
βI love you,β he would say between each peck. βI'm not letting you do this alone.β
And you smiled, a real, genuine smile.
βI love you too.β
You moved in with him in that tiny studio apartment, shortly after, sharing a bed that barely even fit his tall frame. The cradle he built took up the majority of the living area.
But it was nice, waking up with him every day. He talked in his sleep, would whisper your name in that sweet voice of his so lovingly. Some days, Sunghoon wouldn't let you lift a finger, would insist that you needed as much rest as possible before your due date. You had to convince him that your job as a receptionist was certainly not so physically taxing that he had to follow you to it every day.
You also got married. It was simple. Just Sunghoon and you in a courthouse with Jake and Jay, trying not to stifle their laughter as witnesses to your marriage ceremony. You wore the white dress your mother wore, and Sunghoon wore his best suit, tie tied by you.
βSay cheese!β Jake chimed as you two posed with your signed certificate. The two of them cooed at your growing belly.
You were showing now, a small bump that Sunghoon admired each time he saw you do your online classes on the kitchen counter. He never got around to buying a desk, even though he was also back in school full-time.Β
He had that dreaded conversation with Coach Jung beneath the dim lights of an empty rink. Sunghoon told him quietly, almost like an apology, that heβd be hanging up his skates until further notice. He wanted to be there for you at every step of the pregnancy. If he was going to stick beside you, he was going to do it right.
Coach didnβt yell. He didnβt need to. The disappointment on his face said everything.Β
And so Sunghoon hadnβt touched the ice since.
He couldnβt bear to set foot in that rink anymore. Not when he knew heβd only be watching from the stands.
Not when the sound of blades carving through the ice was coming from someone elseβs skates.
Not when he used to relish in the cold air passing through his body. Now, the only wind on his face came from passing cars as he biked to his second job.
He picked up a shift at a nearby restaurant. Just as a server. The kind of job that reminded him how painfully ordinary he was without his skates. Sometimes, when no oneβs looking, heβll shift his weight just right and practice his landings in the break room, arms out, knees bent.Β
Other times, he scrolls through YouTube during his graveyard shift at the convenience store, searching up his own name with trembling fingers, watching old performances through a phone screen. Reading comments. Trying to remember what it felt like to matter to people he never met.Β
You noticed, probably more than you let on. You just tried not to pry. He would get distant when you mentioned it, like that part of himself needed to be tucked away and out of his sight. You knew he was afraid, terrified to look back and see everything he gave up.Β
But when Sunghee was born, it was like his world started to make sense again. He held her like she was made of glass. Sobbed so loudly the first time he saw her, you thought he was in pain.Β
But no, he was just overwhelmed. Taken by the way her tiny hand curled around his finger, how her cries quieted the moment he held her close.
Heβd protect her, he swore to himself. That thisβherβwrapped up in the pink hospital blanket, was his life now.
And maybe, for a moment, he believed that was enough.
But the thoughts never stopped. His eyes would flicker toward the old duffel bag in the closet, where his skates were still packed away. He gave that up. For you. For her. And heβd never say he regretted it. But you knew.
You understood what he was grieving. Because you grieved too.
That girl who used to dream of making art, she felt like a ghost now. Someone you used to know.
Your passions, the things that once lit a fire in you, now sat gathering dust. All shelved quietly the moment your body became a home for Sunghee.
And your parents. You were still trying to reassemble the broken pieces of your relationship with them. Your mother tried to be there for you in her own way, but her disappointment was loud in the quietest moments between you two. And your fatherβ¦ well, he still hadnβt really looked you in the eye since the day you told him.Β
And though she was born healthy, Sunghee came into the world screaming. She was a loud baby, inconsolable most nights, and the exhaustion had tested Sunghoon and you.
You took turns because you had to. Heβd rock her until sunrise, then stumble to his classes. He started falling asleep during his breaks at work, cheek pressed against cold metal tables.
He didnβt care much for his own health, but the bags beneath your eyes pained him. Your face, once bright and curious, had dimmed under all the sleepless nights and rising costs of diapers. You were both burnt out.
He dropped Sunghee off with his parents for one night and dragged you out to see your friends. It was Jake's going-away dinner.
βItβs so hard to meet nowadays,β you sighed. βFeels like Iβve been nursing a migraine for the past three months.β
Jake laughed.
βSad I wonβt get to see her grow up,β he said as he poured himself a beer. βMake sure to bring her to Australia one day. She deserves to see her coolest uncle play football.β
Niki rolled his eyes.
βNo oneβs paying for that long-ass flight to see you benchwarm,β Niki mumbled, chewing on some chips. βHave her come see me dance instead. At least Iβll be in the center.β
Jake smacks his friend on the back of the head.
βNo need for any of that,β Jay chimed in. βShe wonβt have time for either of you. Papa bear here probably already has her future all mapped out. Skates on before she can walk.β
An awkward silence filled the room. The joke was lighthearted, but it landed too close to a wound no one had dared to touch in the past year. Sunghoon gave a quiet laugh, a hollow one without warmth. He brought the bottle to his lips and didnβt look at anyone when he spoke.
βYeah... sheβll be a star.β
He eyed the ceiling, pondering what she would look like. Maybe just like him. Graceful. Passionate. βOlympic-worthy. Could probably win gold if we find the right coach early enough.β
You pursed your lips and stared at the condensation running down your glass.Β
Sunoo cleared his throat, noticing the tense atmosphere. He raised his glass with forced enthusiasm. βTo our beautiful Sunghee,β he cheered. βAnd to Jakeβs success!β
Sunghoon smiled, but not really. He was happy for his friend, sure. But behind his facade, envy sat heavy on his tongue.
βThis night could have been for you. They could have been congratulating you. And you gave it all up. Now look at you. Youβre a nobody.β
You couldnβt help but watch him throughout the night as he grew quieter, his sips of beer more like chugs now. You rubbed circles on his back like you always did when he got like this, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. But his eyes stayed glued to the back corner of the bar.
As you patted him, he pulled your wrist away. Not harshly. Not angrily. Just a simple tug. He set your hand back on your lap, his gaze straight ahead and away from you.
βIβm okay,β he assured you, but you didnβt believe him. Not then.Β
Not ever, really.
Though time passed, life never got easier. The weight of responsibility pressed harder on your shoulders with each passing year. And while you both smiled through milestones and made do with the small hiccups in your relationship, you were content with this life. Doing laundry on lazy Sundays, Sunghoon singing nursery rhymes to Sunghee before school.
But after the birth of your second child, Sungjae, it had all started to rot.
Sunghoonβs longing for his old life never faded. It stewed in him, creeping into his thoughts at his corporate job after finishing university, haunting him on bus rides home.Β
The bills piled higher. Your patience wore thinner. Conversations turned into quiet disagreements and tired sighs. You no longer fought. You didnβt even have the energy for that. Just two ghosts of your former selves moving through the same rooms, sleeping in the same bed, wondering what couldβve been.Β
thirteen years later. the present.
Sunghoon adjusts his tie, furrowing his brows as he sees how crooked it is from the reflection of the mirror. He gives up halfway through. Fuck it, it would be a no-tie kind of day. He exits the bedroom, his footsteps making loud echoes on the way down the spiral staircase and towards the all-marble kitchen. He inhales slowly as he smells the fragrance of smoked spices dancing around his nostrils. It was enough to make his mouth water.
βWhat's cooking, good-looking?β he says, entering the kitchen with a wide grin on his face.
βEw,β a voice rang out, soft and disgruntled. Sunghoon turns the corner and almost laughs at the sight.
βShut up,β Sunoo scoffs, clad in an apron and silk pajamas. βDonβt say corny shit like that in my house until you get your act together.β
Sunghoon takes a seat on the barstool of the kitchen counter. He watches Sunoo maneuver the wide expanse of the kitchen like an expert.
βI'm a dad,β Sunghoon sighs out. βThatβs kind of our thing.β
βYeah, one going through a divorce,β Sunoo snaps back, monitoring his frittata closely on the stove.
Sunghoon's shoulders slump. Of course, the only friend willing to let him stay for an indefinite amount of time was the one most critical of his life choices. Sunoo insisted, in fact. Said his place was βfeeling emptyβ anyway.
βSo,β Sunoo coughs, acknowledging he might have taken it too far with his earlier comment. βAny word from her about the court date yet?β
Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his watch as it nears 8:30 a.m. He'd have to leave soon to get to work. His boring, dull job as a fiscal manager at blah blah blah corporation. Even he barely knows what he does for a living.
βCan I borrow your car?β Sunghoon asks, ignoring his friend's question. He doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to speak anything into existence, even if it was already happening.Β
You asked for it two weeks ago. A divorce.
He's been living with (mooching off of) Sunoo since.
βWhich one? The Bugatti or the Ferrari?β
Sunghoon gives Sunoo a side-eye, and the younger fails to stifle a laugh. He never wastes a second to flex on his friend, the only one out of their friend group who worked at a 9-5 job in total and absolute misery.
Heeseung's a streamer, Jay took over as CEO of his father's company, Jake was still playing football in Australia, Jungwon started his own Taekwondo studio, and Niki was traveling the world as a choreographer. And of course, Sunoo wound up in a big old mansion with his modeling career.
Sunghoon thought he'd end up like them. He got the right experience after university to find a stable job that didn't involve slaving away at customer service gigs like he did before.
He thought he'd move up higher in his company by now. Have a team to call his own, like Jungwon had, or make βsmall, high-impact decisionsβ like Jay claims he does. But none of that ever came. His heart was never in it.
Sunghoon sighs.Β
βWhatever gets me from Point A to Point B,β he mutters. Sunoo cuts a piece of frittata from the skillet and plates it. He slides it over to his older friend and tosses a key from his pocket.
βTake the Kia Soul.β
Sunghoon groans. βYou're fucking with me.β
βMr. Park,β his coworker chirps into his ear. βI was wondering how your KPIs were this weekβ¦β
Sunghoon lets him drone on as he types on his computer. No private office, just a cubicle by the elevators. He hates how people tend to gravitate towards him for small talk. He's not very good at it. Never has been. It was a common joke within his family that he skated more than he spoke growing up.Β
You dragged him out of his shell when you met, cracked him open with your bright-eyed gazes and addictive laughter. Heβd planned to keep his head down when he was younger. No distractions and no detours. Just figure skating.
But how could he not fall in love with you?
He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts aside before it settles in too deeply. He reminisces too much.
Itβs like the past is all his mind drifts off to these days.
He leaves work on time. Gets stuck in traffic, like usual. And drives to the home you two once shared. A routine he's used to by now.Β
He sees your car in the driveway and groans. He knew if he sees you, you'd bring up the papers again. Those stupid fucking papers.
βHey, kiddo,β he says as he enters the once-familiar home. You've made changes to it since he's been gone. He squints to get a better look. In just two weeks, the kitchen's completely repainted with a soft green instead of gray. The living room was completely rearranged, and family pictures were taken down from the walls.
Sungjae is sitting on the couch, playing with his iPad. He only looks up for a second before he gets back into whatever is playing on his device. Sunghoon knew he should have hidden that thing before he left. Or, he guesses, before you kicked him out.
βWhere's your sister?β he asks, practically into the void.
As if on cue, Sunghee walks down the stairs. Her eyes are already rolling, and she's still wearing her pink pajamas and bunny slippers.
βGet dressed, princess. We're gonna be late for your practice!β
Sunghee tsks.Β
βC'mon,β Sunghoon adds with a forced smile. βYou missed the last two practices already. You're gonna fall behind-β
βDad, I already told you I want to quit,β she cuts in. βCan't you just take a freaking hint?β
Sunghoon stares blankly at his daughter, trying to hold back the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon doesnβt know where she gets the attitude comes from. It's like when Sunghee hit the age of 13, she morphed into a walking stick of dynamite with a terribly short fuse.
βWell,β he begins, voice tight but even. βWhy don't we push through it for today, hm? You know, back in my day, I wasn't always up for the challenge, but-β
βWe get it dad!β she groans. β'Back in my day' this, 'if I were you' that. No one cares!"
It stings him more than he cares to admit.Β
"Sunghee," he says, slower this time, the edge creeping into his voice.Β
She just scoffs at her father's serious expression. She's never been scared of him when he's angry. That was always your role.Β
"Iβm not going," she stands her ground, crossing her arms. "You can't make me. If you wanna go so bad, then go to that stupid ice rink by yourself.β
Sunghoon inhales sharply, planting his hands on his hips to seem more assertive.
From the couch, seven-year-old Sungjae snickers.
βListen here, young lady-β
βListen here, young ladyβ¦β Sungjae mocks, in a tone much like his father's. Sunghoon whips his head to his iPad kid.
βAnd you, young man-β
βSunghoon,β you say sternly as you appear at the staircase. βI already called to cancel. Indefinitely. Even if you take her now, she won't even be able to join the other kids.β
Sunghee sticks her tongue out at her father, prancing to the couch to pinch her younger brother's cheeks.
He blinks, brows knitting together. βWhat? Why would you do that without telling me?β
"Sorry, was that a decision that needed your approval?" you ask sarcastically. "You can't make her do something she doesn't want to do."
Sunghoon scoffs, pointing an accusatory finger at you. But he stops himself. His gaze flickers to the kids, who pretend like they're not watching from the living room.
He swallows down whatever instinct tells him to argue right here, right now. You two never fought in front of them, an unspoken rule. Even if you were technically separated, he would not break that now.Β
βLet's talk in our room,β he whispers closely, and you roll your eyes.
βMy room,β you correct, already turning to head back up. You donβt see it, but he tries not to flinch at your harshness.
He closes the door behind you two, the air thick with tension. He starts again.
βWhy are you making decisions without me already?β he asks, trying to keep his tone level. βYou cancel her figure skating classes and repaint the kitchen? Why are you-β
You sigh, already tired.
βWe've been talking about repainting that ugly kitchen for years, Sunghoon,β you sigh. "You never wanted to actually get started on it. Sorry, I actually make time for the things I want."
So this is the direction you wanted the conversation to go in? Fine. He can be passive-aggressive, too.
"And Sunghee? Didn't you think to run that by me when Iβm the one that pays for those lessons?"
You grit your teeth. He sees where Sunghee gets it from now, your hands crossed over your chest in disdain.
"Have you tried listening to her about practices? She gets injured all the time! Coach Jung is horrible to her. Sheβs miserable-β
His jaw tightens. βYou don't think I was too? Half the time, I hated skating! But thatβs what it takes. You think greatness just feels good all the time?! And the kitchen was fine. I donβt get whyββ
"She's not trying to be great, Sunghoon!" you cry exasperatedly, your hands thrown up into the air. "She's not trying to be you."
You point your finger at his chest. βAnd you always think everything's fine. Until it's too late.β
Your words hung in the air, his eyes meeting yours.Β
βWhat the fuck is that supposed to mean?β he says finally, quieter this time.Β
You retract your hand, nervous under his gaze. Itβs intense, familiar in a way that still sends sparks throughout your body, even now. Even after everything.
βStop trying to force your dreams onto her,β you finally let out, and you see his eyes waver. "Just because it didn't work out for you doesn't mean you can try again through her."
βThat's not what-β
βLook,β you interrupt him, turning away from him to face the wall. βAll I'm saying is that maybe this is your wake-up call. Things change. Not everything that you want is going to happen. Maybe learn to change with it.β
He scoffs.
You turn back around to face him. He's angry, but his face doesnβt give it away. Itβs his trembling hands, how his posture straightens just a little too stiffly.
βA little too late to change when my whole life was already laid out for me,β he says through bated breaths. βItβs not like I ever had a choice where Iβd end up.β
Your heart sinks. βAnd it's all my fault, right?β
Sunghoonβs eyes flicker, his gaze softening at your hurt expression.
βI didn't say that-β
βBut it's what you think, right?β You try to look strong. You think of all the nights he lay awake replaying his old skating clips in the glow of his phone screen. The way he cheered for Sunghee during competitions, like his voice alone could ignite the passion she didnβt have. The muffled sniffles from the shower after the last Winter Olympics ended. You saw it all. You always did.
Sunghoon is silent, and you fight the sting in your eyes.
βI never asked you to marry me,β you say as low as a whisper, cutting through the silence.
βBut I did,β Sunghoon says quickly. Desperately. βAnd I wanted to.β
You draw out a laugh, bitterness dripping through.
βI'm so sorry, Sunghoon,β you say, sarcasm spilling over your lips. βI'm sorry this isn't the life you wanted. But newsflash: you're not the only one living with regrets. β
He steps forward, but you move back. The weight of everything presses against your chest now that the words are out. Now that itβs not just his pain taking up space in your relationship.
βYou act like youβre the only one who lost something,β you say, softer now. βBut I gave up things, too. I had dreams too.β
You donβt mean it cruelly, and he doesnβt take it that way. But it hurts, still.
"And I'm done walking on eggshells around you just because you can't stand the fact that you aren't living the life you wanted.β
You take a deep breath and continue.
βIf I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met-"
His hand hovers over your cheek. His lips, so dangerously close to yours. βStop it.β
His voice is shaky.
βDonβt say things you donβt mean.β
You don't pull away, but your gaze does not waver. βI mean it. Genuinely.β
You donβt see Sunghoonβs heart break at that moment. But he feels it. Feels the tightness in his chest, the way his throat closes up, like your words were enough to kill him.
βWhen did you become so cruel?β Hurt laced his voice.
βAnd when did you start resenting me?β you bite back, but the words barely escape your throat.Β
He doesnβt answer, just leans in and kisses you. And you let him.
Because maybe this is the last time youβll feel him like this. Maybe this is the last tender moment you two will share.
His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You feel your own breath catch, and for a second, you almost melt into him.
βI love you,β Sunghoon says, but it sparks nothing in you.
Instead, you hear everything he didnβt say. He didnβt say no or that you were wrong. So maybe he really does, you thought to yourself.
His kisses almost make you forget. Almost enough to blur out the long winters and how distant he gets. How painfully silent he is at the dinner table, eyes always somewhere else.Β
His lips guide you through it all, each kiss igniting a memory.
How his shoulders sagged the day he started that full-time job. How his smile, once so quick to bring out of him, turned into something you had to search for. How the light in his eyes, so blinding when he was on the ice, dimmed, little by little.Β
His hands trail under your shirt now as he peppers kisses down your throat.Β
βI miss you,β he sighs.Β
How heβll wake up in the middle of the night and leave without a word, how youβll see his location is at the ice rink, probably watching the Zamboni circle around. But he'd never bring his skates with him.
His lips meet yours again, deeper this time. His knee finds its way in between your legs.
You couldnβt do this anymore. Itβs been far too many times, letting him wiggle his way back into your good graces. This was it. You would choose yourself this time.
Your fingers close around his wrists, gentle but firm. The warmth of his skin against yours nearly breaks your resolve, but you force yourself to meet his eyes. Even though it hurts.
βI think you should leave.βΒ
You release yourself from his hold. Sunghoon's expression is unreadable, but you know by now it's a facade.Β
You could not carry his pain with you any longer. You needed him to let you go, just as much as you needed to let him go.
βBaby...β he starts, voice fragile.
βDon't,β you say quickly, lips pressed tight. βYou can't call me that anymore, Sunghoon.β
His heart aches. He was supposed to be Hoon to you. Your Hoon. When did that change?
But he doesn't ask. He just watches you, eyes dark and full of all the things he never figured out how to say until it was already too late.
βThe papers...β you pause, swallowing hard. You see a flicker of panic flash across his face.Β
βThey're on the kitchen counter. Take them before you leave.β
Sunghoon did not take the papers.Β
In fact, just like Sunghee suggested, he went to the so-called βstupidβ ice rink by himself.Β
He sits in the highest row of the stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The kids glide around the ice below. Parents he used to talk to are filming on the sidelines, their laughter echoing faintly off the cold, hard walls.
Envy coats his skin.
Coach Jung is barking commands at the kids. He sneaks glances up at Sunghoon every so often, trying to be subtle. But he knows what that look means. Itβs pity.Β
At one point, Coach Jung had pulled him aside to tell him that Sunghee wasn't built for the sport. Not like Sunghoon was. She was too stiff, too in her own head about spinning in the air. She never cracked a smile when she was on the ice. She always kept her head low and movements small, as if it was still scary for her after years of practicing.
It's not like Sunghoon didn't notice, but he always thought sheβd come around to it. He was pushed into figure skating by his parents, much like he was doing for her. It wasnβt like his passions ignited overnight. βIt could be her dream if she let it be,β he thought to himself.
Why couldnβt she let it? Why wouldnβt she even try?
Sunghoon sits in the stands, even after the kids pour out one by one and the lights start to dim. Coach Jung offers one last, forced smile before disappearing into the locker rooms. Sunghoon stays until heβs the only one left under the lights.
The Zamboni comes in, shaving and washing the ice to be used for the next day. When the machine finishes, the driver climbs out and heads up toward the stands. He's in his early twenties with blonde hair and dark eyes. He's moving towards Sunghoon with a smile.
Sunghoon stands up, a little intimidated by the younger man. His back turns to go up the stairs and to the exit, wanting to avoid a conversation.
βYou're always here at night, sir,β the guy calls out. βDo you have a special connection to this place?β
Sunghoon stops in his tracks. He used to get recognized all the time. On the streets and in this very place. He used to mean something.
He turns around and gives a polite smile to the young man. He points at one of the many banners that hang from the ice rink walls. βPark Sunghoonβ was in bright gold colors on each one.Β
βI used to train here,β he says, with a hint of pride. βNational champion for ten straight years, from when I was 11 up until I was 21.β
The guy whistles softly, impressed.
βWe could use you, you know?" he says. "I think theyβre looking for a new coach. Heard the old one's retiring soon.β
Sunghoon flinches. βCoach Jung? He hasn't told me yet. My daughter trains with him.β
He can't bring himself to use the past tense with her just yet.
The young man just nods. "I think he's planning to announce it after the next competition."
Sunghoon feels his chest constrict. He shakes his head. Another person leaving.
βI guess everythingβs changingβ¦β he whispers, but it did not fall on deaf ears. The stranger moves closer to him. "We're all so old now."
The stranger sighs. βYouth can be so cruel, can't it?β
Sunghoon, in his confusion, scoffs.
βThe opposite, actually,β he argues. βLife's easier when you're young. Anything was possible back then.βΒ
He takes a second to continue.
βAnd it all can be taken from you,β he mutters, more to himself. βBefore you even realize it.β
βThat's the worst, isn't it?β The young man chimes in. He's sitting where Sunghoon was earlier. βWhen you wonder what could've beenβ¦β
Sunghoonβs mouth twists into something like a smile, but it doesnβt reach his eyes.
βThat's all I think about,β he said, surprised at himself for opening up to a stranger. And it's true.Β
What if he hadnβt stopped skating? What if you hadnβt gotten pregnant?
He sits back down, next to the Zamboni driver.
βWe all have regrets,β the young man says, looking ahead, voice soft.
Sunghoon stares up at the ceiling and lets out a breathless laugh through the silence. Flashes of you overcame his vision. Nights of hushed arguments and facing away from each other on the bed. Nothing went his way after the World Championships. He lost it all. His passion. His dreams. You.Β
βWhy does it have to be that way?β he asks no one in particular.
A silence fills the room. The blonde turns his head to face him. βMaybe you could live a life without one, Park Sunghoon.β
He stills for a second.
βHow did you know my na-β And as Sunghoon turns to face the stranger, he is met with nothing. Like the man was never there in the first place.
He's driving in that ugly, neon green Kia Soul, making his way back to Sunoo's egregiously large mansion.
Sunghoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens every time he checks the rearview mirror. He canβt shake the feeling like heβs being watched. That guyβ¦ the way he talked, like he knew him. Not just his name, but everything underneath.Β
But screw that guy and whatever cryptic bullshit he was spouting. Screw his perfect friends, rich and successful. Every time they reunite, itβs like a reminder of everything Sunghoonβs not.
And screw the way Sunghee and Sungjae donβt even look at him like he matters. He tries. God knows he does. But they donβt know him. Don't know who either of you were outside of being their parents.
And you know what? Screw you and those damn papers too-
SCRREEEEE.
In an instant, his world is spinning out of control. Airbags deploy as Sunghoon jostles in a car that tumbles with him. The last thing he remembers is flashing lights and the loud sound of a crash. A sharp pain shoots through the left side of his body, and he feels as if he is coming in and out of consciousness.Β
Sunghoon's eyes blink open, but he's not lying where he thinks he should be. Itβs not the inside of a casket, nor is it a hospital room ceiling. He lies there with a cold and familiar feeling.
Ice.
Instead of the wrinkled suit he threw on that morning, heβs wearing sweatpants and a fitted black top. Not a scratch on him. No blood, no bruises.Β
Was he dead?
βIs just one axel hard for you now, kid?β a voice calls out.Β
He recognizes it almost immediately. Coach Jung. Sunghoon sits up, yanking his gloved hands from the coldness. What the fuck was happening?
βGet your ass back up and do it again,β Coach Jung shouts from the sidelines. The music starts again. Sunghoonβs eyes flutter shut, and he swears it's muscle memory. He knows this routine. The one from that night. The night he met you.
He moves. Instinct takes over. Jumps, spins, the sharp sound of his blades cutting clean into the ice. Every turn and landing exactly where it should be. Heβs smiling from ear to ear now, almost childlike.
And if he were dead and this was the last thing he'd ever experience, then maybe dying wasn't so bad. Heβd stayed off the ice for years, terrified that if he felt this weightless feeling again, that his regrets would consume him.Β
βPerform like that and you'll win no matter what,β Coach Jung calls out as the music fades. Even breathless, Sunghoon felt like he could do ten more spins across the ice. His heart was racing. Everything felt so real. The soreness of his muscles, the cold air against his skin, the echoes of Coach's voice.
βWhat day is it today?β Sunghoon asks abruptly. "And what year?"
Heβs pinching his wrist now, nails digging in and almost drawing blood. He flinched. It hurt like hell. Was this not a dream?
βKid, did you hit your head when you fell?β Coach Jung laughs.Β
And when he says the exact date, Sunghoon's confused. It wasnβt like today was anything special. Just a random Tuesday. So why would this moment, 16 years ago, be where he ended up after crashing his car?Β
Looking at the reflection of his younger, more athletic self in the mirror, he just couldn't believe it. No matter how much he slapped his face or banged his head against the locker room door, he was still here. In this younger body.
He's walking home from practice now. His phone buzzes in his pocket of the boysβ group chat, the old one they used to fill with dumb inside jokes before you and the other significant others joined the group. But your name is yet to be in his contacts.Β
And then he remembers. Itβs three days before youβre in the stands of the smaller national competition he won many years ago.Β
Heβs not one to panic, but his thoughts are running in circles. Did he actually go back in time, or is this all in his head?
He sees someone in his periphery. A man around his age, standing near the curb, waving. Casual. Like theyβve met before. And they have.
The Zamboni driver.
He has a sinister smile, one that sends shivers down Sunghoonβs spine. Sunghoon doesnβt hesitate. He marches forward and grabs him by the collar. βWho the fuck are you? Is this happening because of you?β
The man smirks, clearly amused.
βYou wanted to try, right? A life without regrets?β
Sunghoon glares at him, confused.Β βWhat?β
βPark Sunghoon,β the blonde says sternly. βThis is your last chance. Use it wisely.β
Before he can respond, the man shoves him back.
βWhat are you talk-β
And as he blinks, the stranger disappears. His head starts throbbing uncontrollably, and ringing sets in his ears. He hears a voice then, yet he canβt recognize it.
βWhat will you choose in this life?β
Even as the reality of everything he left behind starts to settle, he feels a strange sense of calm wash over his grief.
He knows what to do.
three days later.
Sunghoon sees you in the corner of his eye as heβs tightening his skates. Youβre sitting with your friends, ones who had encouraged you to come and watch him. Back then, he was all anyone on campus could talk about. The quiet freshman with Olympic dreams who just missed his opportunity last year. He was skating harder than ever, pushing himself to the edge. Skipping classes. Shutting out everything but the rink.Β
Until you came along.
He remembers your first date. He'd asked awkwardly, βHow come you like me?β because he genuinely didnβt understand.
Itβs not like the plushie you threw was the first with a phone number taped to it. Not even the tenth. He got plenty of confessions growing up, but he wanted to know why. What made anyone interested in an introverted and one-track-minded guy like him? He had no hobbies outside of figure skating, no real conversation skills that went past awkward greetings.
Yet, you teased him with that Cheshire grin of yours.Β
βHow could I not?" you say so casually as his heart bloomed. "Iβve never seen someone pour so much love into what they do until I met you. You know what you want. I admire that.β
Your words stuck with him. Heβd never forgotten it. And even now, those words echo in his chest as he skates to the center of the ice.
The music starts, and he lets himself get lost in the rhythm. As he glides across the ice, there is nothing on his mind. He just takes it all in. The roar of the audience. The sound of skates hitting ice. Itβs all he ever wanted.
The routine, like in the past, was met with a standing ovation. The screams of those in the stands overwhelm him. He goes to each section of the rink, bowing as tears threaten to spill over. Itβs all too much. And not enough.
Then, he reaches yours. Sunghoon finds you in the sea of people like he did before. Your hair is down, and your face is softer. He chokes back on his tears, so enthralled by your beauty. He couldnβt take his eyes off you.Β
He bows, more deeply than to the other sections.
You throw that stuffed penguin through the air at the perfect time as it lands by his feet. And as Sunghoon rises from the bow, your eyes are on him again. Expectant.Β
You donβt know him yet. Not really. You aren't aware of the pain to come. The fights. The distance. The way heβll drain all the color from your life.Β
As he turns to move to the final section, he catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes. A frown is present on your beautiful face. He wants to make it go away, but he canβt. Not in this life.
And so the penguin sits on the ice, lifeless, as he skates off the rink.
That night, he skips the afterparty. He goes straight to his shitty studio apartment, the one with the thin walls and peeling paint, and collapses on the bed.
He buries his face into the sheets, the fabric dampening his sobs. The crowdβs cheers still ring faintly in his ears, but now it all sounds hollow. He screams then, into the mattress, at the thought of Sunghee and Sungjae. His babies. The only pieces outside of you in his old life that made it worth fighting for. Would they ever exist in this version of his life?
He tries to steady himself. Tells himself this was for the best. That your life would be easier without him as your words echoed in his head.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
No years wasted, no sacrifices stacked on top of each other until they became resentment. No nights spent worried about bills or appeasing your parents, who never really quite liked him.
He wants to believe heβs doing you a favor.
But the tears donβt stop. Not when he thinks about the weight of Sunghee in his arms the first time he held her. Not when he remembers teaching Sungjae how to read with his tiny hands clutching the book, his eyes lighting up at each new word.
Heβs letting it all go. All of it.
This was supposed to be his second chance. To live his dream without regrets. To see what it felt like.Β
And it felt like hell.
The next few nights were abysmal. Practice became unbearable. He wasnβt eating. He wasnβt sleeping. His body hit the ice harder whenever he missed a spin, which was every time at this point. Coach Jung eventually pulled him aside, clearly frustrated.
βGo home, Sunghoon. Straighten yourself out and get the hell off my ice.β
But home didnβt feel real. None of this did.
He couldnβt do it. He couldnβt keep skating like this, not when every turn reminded him of you.
Sunghoon had to see you. Just once. Just enough to know you were okay. He told himself the kids would still exist somehow, even if your love story started differently in this version of life. That thought was the only thing holding him together.
He freshens himself up to go to campus, not having touched his backpack in weeks. He remembers your route like the back of his hand. Morning coffee at the cafe just off campus, right before your 9 AM. He will intercept you here, at this corner of the street.
Sunghoon's in a black turtleneck, wearing the glasses you would always steal off of him. The one that made you squirm under his intense gaze. The air was chilled, and his hands were buried deep in his navy jeans. He sees you coming into view, and he almost extends a hand to wave.Β
But he sees him, too.
Beomgyu. Your ex. The one who would ask your friends how you were doing, knowing full well that you were married with kids. The one who eventually became a guitarist for a band he would pretend not to like. Sunghoon had asked you to block him from everything before, and you complied. It hurt to admit that his insecurities were still present even now, in another life.
Sunghoon hides behind a tree as he watches you two struggle through the cold. Your shoulders are close but not quite touching. He feels his heart rate accelerate, his lips pursed to prevent himself from saying anything that would compromise his hiding spot.Β
βBeomgyu, you donβt have to walk me to class,β he overheard you say with a laugh. βIβm okay, really.β
Sunghoonβs hands balled into fists. Why did your voice sound an octave higher than it usually does?Β
Beomgyu had the nerve to laugh, and it took Sunghoon everything in himself not to jump out.
You once told him that Beomgyu was your first love. Your high school boyfriend. You had ended things on good terms at the end of high school to find yourselves in college.
βGood,β Sunghoon once said. βBecause you found me.β
And now here you were, looking happy. Grinning from ear to ear. What was there to smile about?Β
βDoesnβt this remind you of old times? You used to stuff your hands in my pockets-βΒ
And though Sunghoon almost wills himself to leave the spot behind the tree, he doesnβt. Because he needed to watch this. Needed to watch you live the life you wouldβve had without him. The easier one.Β
He sees it now in the way your nose would scrunch to laugh at Beomgyuβs jokes. How you playfully hit the boyβs shoulder and hide your giggles with the sleeve of your puffer jacket.Β
Maybe thatβs why the stranger had chosen this year. To taunt him.
Look how happy someone else could make her. Was he the only reason why you were miserable? How much did he really hold you back?Β
And so Sunghoon steps aside, shoving his hands back in his jeans. The icy wind cuts through his reddened cheeks. He asked for this. And heβll have to live with it in this life.
Sunghoon turns around to give you one last look. But he also sees Sunghee, in her Elsa costume for Halloween. Sungjae asking for a mountain of kimchi at every restaurant. Your hand reaching for his across the dinner table.
Heβll have to live with it.
In the next three years, Sunghoon put his all into skating. He is consumed by it. Throws himself into it like itβs the only thing keeping him alive.
His professors have to send him emails to remind him not to neglect his studies. His mother scolds him for missing holidays at home because he travels so much for competitions. But Sunghoon doesnβt care.
He loves figure skating. Loves the endless cheers from the crowd when he lands a clean program. Loves the headlines, the trophies lining his apartment shelves, the constant buzz of being "the nation's pride." Itβs everything he knew he wanted.Β
But, thereβs always that one seat in the stands. The one you used to sit in during his competitions, holding up a handmade banner and shouting his name louder than anyone.Β
Now, the face in that seat changes all the time. Some new fan. Some stranger holding a sign that doesn't mean anything to him.
He tells himself the past doesnβt matter. That this version of you, the one who laughs in cafes with Beomgyu, whoβs always posting photos from new cities, new hobbies, new lives, wouldnβt even recognize the girl he remembers.
The girl who used to sit cross-legged on his couch, studying while he iced his ankle. Who wept with joy the night he won first at an international competition.
Now youβre in a photography club. A painting class. Pottery? Really?
You travel more now than you two ever did in your 16 years together. He scrolls past your updates with a numb thumb, telling himself heβs glad. He guesses that he did the right thing.Β
And every time he walks past you with Beomgyu, smiling with all your teeth, it lingers. Those damn words are repeating in his head again.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
Now he gets it. He guessed that he held you back from so much. Look at you with your wonderful friends and the amazing life you live without him! He scoffs. You deserve it.
You adjusted to him and his demanding training schedule, canceling plans with people so that you could maximize the time you had with him in the rare chance that he was in town. Maybe Beomgyu never wouldβve asked you to sacrifice like that. Maybe he wouldβve waited for you to come home from your clubs, instead of dragging you to cold rinks and rushed meals together in between practice sessions.
Sunghoon's fine. He swears on it.
Wake up. Go to class (if he feels like it). Skate for hours. Push through the pain. Go home. Cry into his pillow. Rinse and repeat.Β
The Olympics are a year away. The World Championships are in two months.
And the night you two conceived Sunghee is tomorrow.Β Β
tomorrow.
He wills himself to stay home, even when the boys suggest he hit up a few bars and clubs. It's the weekend after all.Β
But Sunghoon is used to making excuses by now. Blames it on his training schedule, his diet, Coach Jung. Whatever would get Jake off his back.Β
So when Sunghoon hears a knock at his door, and three boys pull up already reeking of alcohol, heβs surprised that he finds himself in that exact bar where he promised himself he wouldnβt be.
Itβs just like before. Same music, same sickening smell of spilled tequila and too much cologne from Heeseung. And, as always, heβs bad at poker. Worse than he remembers. Heβs downing a shot after every loss until his head is spinning and he canβt remember the rules anymore.
βIβm gonnaβ¦ goβ¦ peeβ¦β he tries to say, but his words get lost in mumbles and drooping eyes. He miraculously stumbles towards the restroom and does his business in the urinal. Heβs dousing his face with water after barely washing his hands, and he smiles at his reflection. God, why didnβt he want to go out again?Β
Sunghoon exits the restroom, shaking his wrists to expel the water from his hands. And his breath catches. He sees you.
Your backβs to him at first, your sparkly red dress riding up on the stool just like it was that night. Youβre laughing at something the bartender says. And he swears for a second, time stops.
Maybe itβs the alcohol. Or maybe itβs the years of missing you bottled up too tight. But he starts walking over before he can stop himself.Β
βHey,β he says plainly, elbow hitting the bar. You turn towards him, eyebrows raised in curiosity.Β
He'll be different in his first impressions this time. More experienced and confident than the shy fool he was when he met you. He'd match this new version of you, too. Show you what you were missing out on.
Thereβs a confused smile on your face.
βHi.β He looks at you more clearly, his vision impaired from leaving his glasses at home and the tequila shots in his system.
βYou come here often?β Heβs too out of his senses to stop himself from saying it. But he doesnβt regret it because you laugh. He does too.
βYou say that to every girl, Park Sunghoon?βΒ
His heart skips a beat. βYou know my name?β
You roll your eyes, taking a sip of the cocktail that the bartender just handed you.
βCall me a fan,β you smile up at him, and he swears he could have melted right then and there. βYour face is everywhere.β
Sunghoon licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.
βI wish I could see more of yours,β he grins. βI think Iβd skate ten times better if I saw you in the crowd.β
You scoff jokingly. βAnd here I thought winning was enough for you.β
It should be. It was supposed to be.
He promised himself he wouldnβt do this. That heβd leave you alone. He would let you go about your life, forget him, and be who you wanted to be. Who you should have been before he came to your life.
But here you are, impossibly close, and every part of him is begging not to let you go.
"You... you single?" he asks, trying to be casual. But his voice catches at the end. He wants to know. Needs to hear from your own lips if you actually chose Beomgyu in this life.
Relief washes over him when you shake your head.
"Wouldn't be talking to you if I was," you say with a teasing grin. Electricity shoots through him as he watches you. Too bright, too much. This short conversation, one he never planned on having, could never satisfy him. He could never get enough of you.
βDo you wanna get out of here?β he asks before he could stop himself, arm outstretched for you to take. Your face stiffens, and he almost thinks youβd say no until your fingers wrap around his arm.
βWhere to?βΒ
You barely make it past his front door before he has you up against it. His hands hold yours above your head, pinning your body against his. Sunghoonβs lips move against you ferociously, an unending battle between your tongues. You try to match his movements, but he is starved beyond belief.
You have no idea how badly he missed this.
Three years since he last heard you speak to him. Three years since heβs felt your lips. And the last time was when you asked him to pick up some stupid divorce papers from the kitchen counter. He needs this. Needs this more than breathing, more than eating, more than skating.
Sunghoon lifts you to wrap your legs around his middle. His hands find your bottom, giving a gentle squeeze that has you arching into him. He didnβt want to scare you, but he couldnβt will himself to stop. Your scent was too intoxicating for his mouth to ever leave yours.
You tap at his chest to push him away softly. With bruised lips, you whisper, βCan we go to your bed?β
He could almost moan just from the sound of you. His sweet, beautiful wife. Still so perfect for him.
His grip on your ass tightens as he maneuvers you through the studio apartment you once shared, laying you softly on the bed. Sunghoon wonders why you two just went at it like animals at the entrance way when the bed was only a few steps away back then. This time, he would savor it. Savor you.
He follows you down as he trails kisses on your neck. You crane it for him like you used to, giving him access to your most sensitive spots. His hands trail underneath your dress, teasing the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission. All you could do was nod, opening your legs wide for him to continue. His dick twitches in his pants. You drive him insane.
Sunghoon peppers a few more kisses on your collarbone as his index finger prods carefully at your clothed pussy.Β
βAlready soaked,β he whispers into your skin, pressing the pads of his fingers onto your underwear. Liquid courage still very much in his system.
He feels bold right now, eager to impress. He doesn't know who you've been with in this life, but he'll make you forget them all. Fuck you so good that you forget those experiences. Remind you that he's your husband for a reason. His fingers hook the side of your ruby red panties, gliding them down your plush thighs.
βI bet Iβd go in so easily, huh?β his drunken voice slurs out. "So fucking wet."
When you nod again, he tsks. So silent, and for what? His fingers find your clit, ghosting over it. You arch to lean into his touch, but his hand retracts.
βUse your words, baby,β he says darkly. βWhatever you want, I can give it to you.β
You groan, eyes shut in frustration. βCanβt you just fuck me?β
He laughs. Always so uncharacteristically vulgar when horny. He loves it. He loves you.
βCanβt I get a taste first, baby?β he says, his face already inching downwards. He pulls your dress all the way off you, so that your breasts are finally exposed. Your satin red bra matched your panties like they were made to be seen tonight. He didnβt know why that fired him up so badly.Β
Would another man have you like this if he didn't make a move?
He dips his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your clit. You gasp at the suddenness, not knowing how much youβve angered him just from your underwear choices. His tongue moves downwards, lapping at your folds like a man dying of thirst. His hands pinned your legs to open even wider, and you writhed underneath him.
βPlease-β you beg, hands gripping his hair as his tongue plunges into your wetness. Sunghoonβs eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation. He could never, ever forget this taste.Β
He pushes his tongue in and out as deeply as he can with his curled tongue, grinding against the mattress for any semblance of stimulation.
He would make love to you tonight. Until you remember who he was. Until you remember the life you built together.
His tongue does one agonizing lick all the way up to your clit, and your back arches just to feel him better. Heβs sucking it harshly, tongue flicking at it in all the right ways.
βSunghoon-β you cry out, your feet digging into the mattress to push your hips up to meet his ravenous lips. He pulls away and glares up at you. Your hips fall.
βWhyβd you stop?β you whine, pushing his hair back down to your core. It takes everything in him not to laugh. He adores you like this. Desperate for him. Needy for him. Shaking in pleasure for whom? Him.
βDonβt call me that,β he whispers into your inner thigh, nipping at it slightly. He chuckles at your confused expression. βHoon. If youβre gonna moan my name while I fuck you, I need you to say it properly.β
Your cheeks warmed. Heaving out a groan, you nod your head anyway.Β
βH-hoon,β you test out. βCan you please continue?β
He smiles mischievously. βWith what?β
You huff out in frustration. βI swear if you donβt fucking make me cum right now Iβm going to-β
And his lips smash down on yours to shut you up. His hands replace his tongue as his middle finger draws figure-8s on your clit. He pulls your slickness from your folds and up to that sweet spot, relishing in the indecent noises between your legs.
Your moans are muffled by his tongue, body twitching underneath his. You taste yourself, so sweet on his lips as he caresses the most inner parts of your mouth. So dirty and so wet. He knew every part of you. Knew what made you cry, knew what made you scream. And fuck, he will make you scream.Β
He pulls away from you to admire his ruthless pace on your clit.
You are clenching around nothing as your nails dig into his shoulders. He coaxes a gasp out of you as a coil in your stomach starts to form.
βWant me so fucking bad, don't you?β he teases, his other hand on the nape of your neck. Sunghoon tilts your head down to show you the mess you were making.Β
His sheets are stained with your arousal, and his fingers are drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with such fervor. You catch a glimpse of his painfully clothed member.Β
He was right. You wanted him so desperately, wanted to feel him inside you at that very moment. Your breath hitches. Fuck. You felt something building.
Your hips start to rise again, and itβs hard to formulate a sentence.
βHoon! Oh my godβ Fuck itβsβ Itβsββ You cry out as Sunghoonβs pace quickens, motivated by the sound of your moans. His other hand tries to anchor your thighs down. You feel it as you start to lose vision in your eyes. His thumb is rubbing so intensely that it draws a whine right out of you.
The coil inside of you snaps.
βFuuuckβ¦Nghβ¦β
A wave of pleasure washes over you, and you feel your juices coat your folds, dripping more than before.Β
You're squirming underneath him, thighs twitching from the stimulation. He slows his pace, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.
His cock was in pain, desperate for it to make contact with any part of you. In this life, one thing he developed over the past three years of watching you in the shadows was patience. And you had none.
βGod, just put it in,β you groan so casually, resting your forearm to shield your eyes away from him. You were so fucked out. Hair splayed all over the pillow in messy waves. Lips bruised, your cherry gloss staining your chin and his cheek.
So eager to just have him take you. If he were a weaker man (maybe Beomgyu), he would have listened. But like he said earlier. He would savor this.
His fingers travel down to your folds, one dancing at your entrance to tease you. Sunghoon smirks as you whimper. He pushes a finger in and bites his lip at the feeling. He hasnβt felt you, or anyone for that matter, in ages. In these past three years, he couldn't bring himself to even talk to another woman who wasn't you. It didn't feel right.
All the lonely, and frankly sad, nights touching himself to thoughts of you. Fucking himself on his wrist as he remembers all the nights youβve shared in your 13 years of marriage. He had plenty of material to work with, with all of your past escapades, but it was nothing like the real thing. Nothing like feeling you again.
βSunghoon, stop teasing me-β
His finger stilled, and you thought about cursing him out. He pulls your forearm away from your eyes, forcing you to look into his.
βWant to try that again?β he says, threateningly slow. The darkness of his gaze was enough to have you pliant and doe-eyed.
βHoon?β He smiles, kissing you on the forehead softly.
βGood girl.β And just like that, he dips another finger in, scissoring them into you with precision. Youβre a mess underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief, but he honestly couldnβt give less of a fuck. He needed you to be ready for him. His heaviness was throbbing painfully just thinking about how you'd take him after all this time.
How long would it take you to adjust to his size?
Sunghoonβs fingers squelch with each thrust, finding the soft spot he was so familiar with. Heβs obsessed, drinking in the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, your hands gripping at his shoulders like your life depended on it. You were so wrapped up in your own pleasure, fucking yourself onto his fingers. Grinding up at him without a care in the world.Β
βLook at you,β he laughs. βSo needy.β
Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of you before he brings them to his lips. He hums, relishing the taste. Heβd have to go down on you again later tonight. Taste you after his cock has had its fill.
You watch him in anticipation as he takes his pants off. You follow his lead as you unhook your bra, throwing it across his floor, sighing at the feeling of cool air hitting your nipples. Sunghoon pulls his throbbing member out of his briefs, pumping himself languidly.Β
Sunghoon's eyes meet yours for a second before they go back to your cunt. He's churning something in his mouth, and you almost ask him what he was doing until he positions his mouth just above your folds.Β
With sultry eyes directly gazing up at yours, Sunghoon lets his saliva drip down onto your pussy.Β
You throw your head back on the pillow from the sight. Fuck, that was hot. He moves back up to you, guiding his hand to spread his spit with the tip of his leaking cock.
His dick smears your joined liquid in an up-and-down motion, pushing in ever-so-slightly. You gasp and clutch his chest, nails digging in enough to get his attention. He stops.
βIβm not on birth control,β you mutter, like youβre scared to tell him.Β
βShould I stop?β he asks, even with his tip pulsing so desperately between your folds. You avoid eye contact, though he doesnβt know why.Β
βLook at me.β he growls.
Sunghoon tilts your chin to face him, and with glossy eyes, you shake your head. He smiles, and a tinge of sadness hits him. You look so soft underneath him, so fucking beautiful.
Heβs spent three years stuck in this version of his life, crying over you to avoid this very moment. But he just wanted you so bad. Wanted to feel you at least once again. Then, heβll let go, he swears. This will be the first and last.
βUse your w-βΒ
You interrupt him with a kiss, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper into you. He groans, collapsing onto his elbows. You dig your heels into his back as you pull him in deeper. Sunghoon's lips leave you to lay his forehead against yours. His breathing grows heavy, so lost in how your hole sucks him in.
βSo fucking tight,β he groans, testing the waters with a small thrust after bottoming out. You squeak in response. βFuck, baby.β
He wraps you in a tight hold, propping his knees underneath your thighs into a mating press. He fucks into you at an agonizing pace. It's so slow, you could feel every part of his rigid cock. His large size. His thick veins. The soft pulsing. It's so slow that you almost flip him over to ride him instead. But the desperation in his eyes stops you. His head buries deep in your hair, and you could hear the shakiness of his breath as he pulls out of you and plunges back in.
Sunghoon relishes the way you clench around him, your tight warmth pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He drives himself into you with languid, but strong thrusts. He wants to engrave his place inside you so that you are ruined for anyone who might come after him. And again, he angers himself.
"You only this good for me?" he asks, searching your eyes for reassurance. But you aren't listening. You meet his thrusts, grinding yourself onto him. You want more. More of his touch. More of his length. Just more of him.
βFasterββ you whine, thighs pushing into his sides with each hard thrust. He was reaching the deepest part of you, your cervix kissing his tip ever so deliciously. Sunghoon doesnβt abide, so you take what he gives you.
"You this desperate for everyone, baby?" he whispers into your ear darkly. You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes.
"No..." you muster out. "Just you."
And even through all the tequila and the self-restraint not to jackhammer into you, he believes you.Β
His hands are on your tits now, catching them as they bounce with the strength of his slow thrusts. He twists a nipple between his fingers, coaxing a moan out of you. He tugs and pulls, and it's enough to have you moaning underneath him.
You feel that familiar fire build inside of you. An ember that burned in your lower stomach and traveled down to the very tip of your toes.Β
βHoon! Please- Fuck- I need... I need-βΒ
You couldnβt form full sentences. His thrusts were so harsh and still so painstakingly slow. His eyes never left your face. He basked in the way your brows furrowed for him. How your lips formed silent screams as he hit that certain spot within you. Again and again.
βTell me what you want,β he whispers hoarsely, his lips so close to yours. βTell me who you need.β
βYou!β you cry out. "Only you!"
He smashes his lips against yours as he finally thrusts into you hard and fast. His hands on your breast travel down to your waist, locking you onto the mattress as he fuck into you.
You feel something pooling, feel the tingling of your toes intensify with his breath against your face. His moans are just as loud as yours, grunting in your hair like a beast.
βYou feel so fucking goodββ his hips piston forward, brushing against that spot with every movement. Your chest is pressed into his as you claw at his back. The sensation builds and builds as your stomach starts to tighten.
βHoon- Oh my god- Iβm-Angh!β
Your second orgasm rips through you, the tension within snapping like a chord. It's so much stronger than your first one. It hits you in waves as you weep through it, your hips grinding up to meet his unending thrusts. You were so sore, so sensitive, but his pace stayed so relentless.Β
βCloseβ So fucking close, babyββ he moans into your hair.
He clutches your hips, driving into you with reckless abandon. Even if you had no idea who he was, he would have your body remember him. Sunghoon, in this life, would be your best one-night stand. He swears on it.
He grunts as he feels you clench around him harder, his hips stuttering against yours.
βIβm gonnaββ He tries to pull out, tries to push you away. Tries not to repeat the same mistakes. But your arms pull him downward as legs wrap sternly around his waist. You push him in deeper.
And he comes. Hard.Β
βFuck-β
Sunghoon plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips, drowning out his sweet noises as he feels his raw cock twitch deep inside. His hot cum spills deep inside you with thick spurts. Your lips parted at the warm feeling, and he could tell you enjoyed every bit of milking him dry.Β
Sunghoon pulls away from you with a soft groan. He watches as his cum spills out of you. He brings his finger to your folds, pushing his fluids into you.Β
As he meets your eyes, heβs shocked to see how concerned you look. Because unbeknownst to him, there were tears streaking down his face. And before he can fully sober up and stop himself, he says it.
"I love you."
Youβre gone before he wakes up.
Sunghoon screams into his pillow, recalling his words like a bad nightmare. Stupid. So stupid. This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be different.
That stranger, whoever he was, said this was his last chance. And what did he do? He threw away three years of silent pining just to chase you down on the very night the troubles in your relationship had begun.
Was he a fucking idiot?Β
You never even said goodbye, never even replied to his confession last night. Didnβt even leave a trace of what last night meant to youβif it meant anything at all. He mustβve looked insane.
Sunghoon grips the back of his neck, exhaling hard. You donβt know him. You arenβt the same girl from his past life. You're different now. Three years. Thatβs how long youβve had to become someone else.
And him? He hasnβt changed at all. Heβs still chasing ghosts. If it wasn't figure skating in his past life, it would be you in this one.
He sighs and sits up. Practice. He should go to practice.
two months later.
βAre you messing around, kid, or do you actually want to win this thing?!β Coach Jung shouts after Sunghoon falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. His palms sting from the fall, but he barely feels it.Β
The World Championships are in a week, and he hasnβt heard a single peep from you since you left his apartment. Hasnβt seen you on campus in his usual routes to watch you from afar. He knew he had reached a new level of patheticness when he actually went up to Beomgyu to ask how you were.
Turns out, you two weren't even as close as he thought you were. He smiled to himself after that, but frowned when he realized that it truly was as if you had disappeared.
βSorry,β he huffs, out of breath from the demanding routine. βOne more time?β
Coach Jung pinches the bridge of his nose. βHow about ten more, you punk? Get your act together.β
Coach mutters something under his breath and storms off, leaving Sunghoon alone with the cold silence of the rink. He tries again. Falls again. He smacks his gloved hand against the ice, hard enough that the sharp sting shoots up his arm. He shouldβve known. The moment he got a taste of you, he knew this would happen.Β
No matter when or how, he would always bother you. He would always lose himself. He would always manage to ruin everything.
βAre you living the life you wanted, Park Sunghoon?β a voice echoes behind him. He spins on his skates.Β
There he is again. The blonde prick. Somehow, heβs in his sneakers and standing still on the ice. His hands are smug in his coat pockets.
Sunghoon doesnβt take the time to question it until heβs skating at breakneck speed towards him.
He swings at him, but the stranger disappears into smoke.Β
βOr do you still have regrets?β the voice is behind him again. Sunghoon turns around to the stranger, giving him that annoying, shiteating grin.Β
βI want out,β Sunghoon says with a strained jaw. βBring me back. To Sunghee. To Sungjae. To her. Now.β
The blonde laughs. βYou havenβt even done what you set out to do yet. Wasn't this what you wanted?β
Sunghoon lets out a bitter sigh, chest tight.
βI get it, okay?" he says with wavering breaths. "I was selfish. I asked for too much. I get it now. So just... please. Please, send me back.β
The boy steps forward. His sneakers make no sound on the ice. Inches away from Sunghoon now, just a little taller than him.Β
βYou donβt always get what you want in life,β the stranger says with that sick, twisted grin. It sends a rush of dread through Sunghoon's body.
βI thought you would have learned that by now.β
the world championships.
Heβs in the locker room. His left leg is bouncing up and down, nail splitting as he gnaws at it incessantly. Only ten contestants ahead of him, but he has the time to panic. Just like he did before.
Coach Jung pats him on the shoulder. βDonβt think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.β
Sunghoon shakes his head, unlocking his phone to check the time. The lockscreen, snow falling past a dark streetlight, holds his gaze longer than it should. He sighs.
βI'm not nervous,β Sunghoon replies, unconvincingly. βIt's just cold.β
Coach Jung rolls his eyes.
βYou're not new to this, kid,β he doubts the young man. βYou're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.β
And when Coach Jung shuts the door behind him, Sunghoon puts his hands to his face. And instead of self-affirmations, he is trembling. Barely breathing, he replays the memory again. Of him spinning you in his arms. Of your kind smile.
Sunghoon told himself not to expect you. In this lifetime, you'd only met once. Only fucked once. But he still thought... maybe the universe would be kind. Maybe youβd show up like you did back then.
βCan the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?β the overhead speaker blares into the locker room. That's him. He's one of the last five.Β
Thereβs no one to hold him back this time. No distractions. Just an aching in his chest.Β
Sunghoon's by the stands now. He watches with shaky hands as the crowd βoohsβ and βahhsβ at his competitorsβ routines. He hates watching before his turn.Β
His eyes naturally fall on a seat in the stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to check if he was hallucinating.Β
Someone sits there. Not a stranger. Not this time. It's you. Your brows furrowed like you were forcing yourself not to enjoy his competitorβs performance. Wearing the same outfit. He huffs a laugh under his breath. What are you doing here?
As the routines passed one by one, he could not take his eyes off you. Even from afar, your eyes glisten so beautifully. The same eyes that once glowed, helping the kids with homework. The same eyes that looked at him across the table after long days and short tempers. His wife. The mother of his children. The version of life he gave up for this one.
Now, he would have to settle for this. Longing stares and a heartbeat he could hear in his ears.
βNext to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!β
He steps onto the ice with a big smile on his face. He forces it out, forces himself to act fine when you cheer at the sound of his name. He takes his pose at the center of the ice.
The music begins. His edges wobble, nerves bleeding into the blade. He practiced day and night, no distractions. Not even you. So whyβ¦ Why was this happening?Β
He takes in a deep breath as he prepares himself for the first spin. Heβs skating backwards, building up momentum. He pushes off the ice. Toe pick hits.
Sunghoon rose high. He spots himself. One. Two. Three. Almost fourβ but his shoulders tilt, the axis too loose. The rotation slows. A half-second of weightlessness gives way to gravity, and heβs tumbling onto the ice hard.Β
Gasps echo through the arena, and then applause as he brushes himself back up and onto his skates again.
He gets up. He keeps going. Muscle memory takes over. The rest of the routine is clean. Almost perfect, but not enough.Β
The first quad... He fucked it up. He bows, head down, as if apologizing for even trying.
And when the score is announced while he's sitting on the sidelines, his body is limp. He barely reacts, face blank with emotion.
He could blame you for it. Pretend you were the reason why his routine didn't score high. But the truth is, he stopped believing in excuses a long time ago.
Years of hating himself led here. All this time, resenting the path he took, only to fuck this one up, too.Β
Sunghoon had to laugh. He deserves it. Of course he did. The low score. You leaving him. The heartache.Β
Everything he thought he was capable of, everything he pushed aside to have this moment. None of it mattered without you.Β
As he rises from his seat on the floor, he searches for you in the endless crowd of faces. The other competitors pass by him with pity; he sees it in everyoneβs faces. But they don't matter.Β
Because you're gone. Your seat is empty.Β
"Kid-"Β
He pushes past Coach Jung without looking back. There's nothing left to say.
Sunghoon pulls his skates off skillfully, breaking into a sprint towards the exit. He runs with only socks separating him from the floor.Β
Then he sees you, clutching your stomach and moving toward the exit. His breath catches. Somehow, he knows. He's seen it all play out before.
β[Y/N], wait!β
You stop in your tracks, hands trembling. You turn around, and he is already clutching your face, kissing you so deeply. You would have every right to push him away, to call him a creep and spit every insult at him. But you donβt, and he doesnβt understand why.
Instead, you lean into his touch, fingers fisting the thin fabric of his blouse. Heβs the first to pull away, forehead resting against yours.
βWhy are you here?β he asks. Itβs not the only question he has, but itβs the first that comes out. Youβre crying now, eyes wide, mouth parted. But why?
βI was justβ¦β You try, but you fail to find the right words. βI just came to support you?β
Sunghoon shakes his head. He doesn't buy it. Not for a second. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let things linger.
βYou came to tell me something,β he says knowingly, replaying the scene of the past in his head as it happens right in front of him. He smiles sadly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. βWhat is it?β
You flinch.
βI canβt,β you whisper, the first barrage of tears falling down your face. βIt'll ruin you.β
He laughs then. Quiet. Tired. Even in this life, you were so selfless. He doesnβt deserve you. Never did.
βYou always say that. Even now.β
He takes your hands into his.
βAre you pregnant?β he asks, taking the words right out of your lips. Your mouth opens in shock.
βHow did you-?β
βWe'll figure it out,β Sunghoon interrupts softly. He was smiling now. Sunghee was here. She was growing inside you. βTogether.β
For a moment, something shifts. You search his face like youβre looking for confirmation. And just like that, you pull away. What? It stings.Β
This didn't happen before. Why were you-
βYou went back," you say. "Didnβt you?β Your voice sounds foreign now, laced with hurt. Itβs his turn to look confused.Β
βWhat do you mean?β he asks, hands reaching for yours again. You avoid them, and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. βWhat are you talking about?β
βYouβ¦ You went back in time like I did, right?β Sunghoonβs eyes widened. βThatβs how you knew.β
He freezes.
It clicks. Like cold water hitting his skin. He remembers the first time he saw you in this life. How carefully he avoided you. How he left the penguin plushie behind, just like before. How badly youβd looked at him after that. It all makes sense now.
βI didnβt want to avoid you,β he musters. βI had every intention of finding you again. I passed by that damn cafe every day just to see you-β
You shake your head, but he keeps going, vomiting out word after word.
βI even tried to talk to you, but you looked so happy. All I could think about was the last time we spoke. How you said you regretted us. Watching you with Beomgyu, or whatever his name is-"
βSunghoon-βΒ
βI was fucking miserable-β His voice cracks.
βSunghoon-β Youβve never heard him talk this much. Never seen him look so broken.
βAnd I couldnβt even fight the guy who dragged me into this mess. I was stuck. Thinking about you. About us. About Sunghee. Sungjae. God, I missed you all so fucking much it hurt to breatheββ
βSunghoon, pleaseββ
βAnd I shouldβve just caught that stupid penguin. I should've just relived our memories together. I shouldβve been a better man, a better husband, a better father. But I just keep fucking it up. Every single time, even now-β
βHoon!β you shout, grabbing his face with your hands. His words die off. He finally breathes. You donβt look angry, not at him at least.
βI know,β you say quietly. βBecause I didnβt put my number on the penguin.β
His mouth parts slightly. "Wha-"
"I thought I was the one who messed it all up," you confess. βWhen you didnβt pick up the plush, I thought it was because of me. Because I tried to change things.βΒ
You swallow back your tears as he listens to you intently, your hands sliding to his chest.
βI thought youβd be better off without me, too.β
You let out a bitter laugh.
βI tried to fill the space,β you continue. βTried to pick up things I couldn't before. But all I think about was Sunghee and Sungjae."
Your eyes waver, lips pressed together tightly.
"And you," you breathe out. "I saw you skating, training so hard, and you looked happy. I couldnβt bring myself to take it away from you again.β
You pause, lips trembling.
βSo I made a plan. I thoughtβif I could just get Sunghee back, maybe one day Iβd find you again for Sungjae.β
You both let out a shaky laugh.
"So then I went to the bar," you sigh. "I wore that red dress and I just hoped you would find your way to me again-β
βOf course I would,β Sunghoon interrupts, kissing your temple. βI always do.β
βAnd it worked.β You look at the ground like you're ashamed. βThe test was positive. I wasnβt planning on telling you.β
Sunghoon takes your hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes assure you.
βAnd then you fell during your routine,β you whisper, a sad laugh slipping out. "I thoughtβ¦ I avoided you all this time for nothing.β
He laughs too. βI wasnβt even going to win anyway.β
Sunghoon pulls you back into a hug, stroking your hair ever-so-softly.
βIβm sorry,β he whispers. βFor making you ever feel like I regretted choosing you.β
And you didnβt know you needed to hear those exact words until you sob into his chest.
Sunghoon soothes you. Heβs had enough crying. All he is now is grateful. The pain, the mourning. It all led him here.Β
βThis time weβll do it right,β he assures you. βI love you. Iβm not letting you do this alone.β
You pull away from him, eyes wet but smiling.
βI love you too.β
And you tilt your head as he reaches down to kiss you. With your eyes both closed, the world around you spins. Just you and him. In each otherβs arms. His lips are soft against yours.
And a voice unfamiliar to both of you echoes in the air.
βI hope you can live a life without regrets.β
Sunghoonβs eyes open groggily, pain shooting through his spine almost immediately. All he sees are sterile hospital walls and Jay and Sunooβs concerned faces.
They hover over the foot of his bed, their faces a mix of worry and irritation.
He blinks, scanning the room. Wires. A blood pressure cuff. An IV drip. Another bed. Then your eyes flutter open too.
βYou know, with how the divorce is going, we thought you two crashed into each other on purpose,β Sunoo chirps, unempathetic to the dazed state of his friends. Jay smacks him on the shoulder.
βYouβre lucky I managed to get you both a private room,β Jay mutters. βThe nurses kept whispering about you two in the ICU.β
Sunghoon turns his head slowly, wincing. Youβre awake now, alert, your expression matching his. His chest tightens. And almost in a panicked daze, his head snaps back to his friends.
βSunghee and Sungjaeββ he strains out, pain shooting through his lungs. βWhere are they?β
Jay furrows his brows.
βThey werenβt in the car with [Y/N], if thatβs what youβre worried about,β he starts. βTheyβre looking for a vending machine with Heeseung and Jungwon-β
You both let out a shaky breath. For a second, relief replaces pain. Your eyes meet his for just a second before the door bursts open.
βMom! Dad!β Sunghee's voice cries out. Sheβs running towards you two now, but Heeseung stops them.
βWhoa there, princess. Theyβre fragile.β
Her eyes are red, as if she had just finished crying. Sungjae's behind Heeseung, tugging at his jacket, worry etched across his little face.
βYou didnβt do it on purpose, did you?β Sunghee blurts in your direction. Sunghoon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. βThey donβt have it on camera, but they said your car hit Daddyβs!β
He feels something warm bloom in his chest. Itβs been a while since Sunghee sounded so protective of him.
You shake your head frantically. βNo, darling. My brakes stopped working! I could never hurt your dad. He and I love each other very much-β
You stop yourself, but it's too lateβcheeks already warming at the shifting gazes of the four grown men in the room. Jungwon fakes a cough.
βLove? As in, present tense?β he teases.
Sunghoon has the biggest grin on his face, and Sunoo scoffs as his eyes pivot between the two of you.
βDid you both hit your head in the accident?β
Heeseung clears his throat. βSo, why donβt we take the kiddos to dinner, hm? Looks like Mom and Dad have some catching up to do.β
Sungjae nods excitedly. βPlease! They're so icky.β
The adults usher the kids out, and Jay gives one last wink to the two of you before the doors close. The room falls quiet except for the not-so-steady beeping of the monitors. Sunghoon is the first to speak.
βSo... when do you want me to pick up the papers again?βΒ
You laugh softly.Β
βOh! I guess if you want to go through with itβ¦β
βNo!β Sunghoon shouts, eyes huge. 'Heβs so cute when he doesnβt mean to be,' you think to yourself.
You tilt your head, smiling. βThen donβt even think about getting them.βΒ
Your bed is near enough for you to inch your hand towards his forearm. Your touch is featherlight against his skin. It takes all of his strength to intertwine your fingers with his.
βSo what does this mean for us?β you say through bated breath. He ponders for a second.
βIt meansβ¦ maybe I can build you an art studio in our garage?β he says cautiously. βAnd maybe I quit my job? Become a figure skating coach? How does that sound?βΒ
You let out a stronger laugh this time, one that aches in your ribs but still feels good. And in this version of you, older and wiser. He still thinks youβre so beautiful.
βI donβt resent you,β he whispers. And your heart skips a beat, in a way that it hadnβt in a long time. You smile at him. And finally, you find the courage to say it in this life too.
βI love you.β
He brings your fingers to his lips and plants gentle kisses on your knuckles.
In every lifetime, Sunghoon knows. He could be standing on the Olympic stage, the roar of thousands echoing in his ears. He could have everything he ever thought he wanted. But none of it would matter. Not if you werenβt there.
βI love you too," he replies, quietly.
And in every lifetime, he will always find his way back to you. And he will choose you. Over and over again.
epilogue.
Sungjae is on the garage floor, legs crisscrossed as he watches something on his iPad. Sunghoon is installing shelves for your future artist corner while Sungjae's video is strangely on mute.
βWhat you watching, son?β he asks, trying to distract himself from the tight pull in his lower back.
Sunghoon nearly drops the shelf on his eye.Β βW-what?β
Sungjae shrugs.Β
βLooks interesting,β he mutters. βWish I could fly like that.β
Sunghoon sets the shelf down carefully, then crosses the room to crouch beside Sungjaee. On the screen, a much younger version of himself soars across the ice. He remembers that routine. His first national win.
βDidn't think you'd be into it,β he ruffles his sonβs hair.
Sungjae shrugs again, but pink tinges his cheeks.
βYou never asked.β
The words hit him. He never really did. Not even with Sunghee.
βDo you want to try?β Sunghoon asks slowly. βFigure skating?β
Sungjae finally looks up, eyes wide. βCan I?β
Sunghoon feels tears well up in his eyes, and he coughs them away. What was up with him and crying these days?
βOf course, son,β he says, pulling him into a gentle side hug. βYou'll be my first student.β
I had a dream where I shoved a pink heart-shaped balloon up my ass and there were two really old black guys making out in a random hotel parking lot β€οΈ
Okay, anyone else use those like sounds on TikTok that say βuse this and heβll be obsessed with youβ? TELL ME WHY ITS DOING THE EXACT OPPOSITE. I put so much fucking work into manifesting him just for him to ignore me all day!
