painting again cause thats my therapy. i wanna show you guys my paintings someday (but not like in the near future cause my irls might find my acc and some of my paintings are largely connected to my private life.) anyways i hope this goes well its for one of my best friends!!!!
angst? no slowburn, they kith ; reader is rich girl coded ; struggling/shady business hoon ; fake family dynamic for hoon ; reader is an orphan ;
11,248: WC request✉️
so lost in the sauce that I titled the req 🙂↕️
“0912…” you mumble, walking down the corridor as you pass the apartments that don’t match the number given to you.
You could have avoided the trouble; apartment 0912 is the door at the very end of the hall—the last door on this floor.
To say you’re nervous is an understatement.
You touched down at almost 6 in the morning and spent an hour in your hotel room contemplating.
Everything from your outfit, to what time you’d get there, to the first thing you’d say when you saw him was either second-guessed or actually altered to something you felt was better.
But now that you’re actually standing here, you get the feeling that you should leave.
The truth is that you have no reason to be here—you probably shouldn’t have even been in Suwon to see his dad in the first place.
But his mom kept in touch with you; and when she moved to London herself, you were the first person she went looking for.
So maybe you do have more solid ground to stand on even if you aren’t actually related to the Park family and didn’t grow up around them for very long.
If he doesn’t recognize you, or he finds it weird, you can always say his mom sent you looking for him.
She has always said that losing contact with him was her biggest mistake; you can hide behind that.
So you knock.
Not too hard or too fast, and you only do it twice before you wait a minute.
You thought this part out too; 8 in the morning is just early enough that you wouldn’t miss him, and it’s not so early that you’d be waking him up.
Right…?
Well, one of them had to be true, because the door doesn’t open.
And as expressive as you are, your disappointment shows almost immediately once you check your watch and find that it’s been three minutes since you last knocked.
“Should I come back in the afternoon?” You mumble to yourself, turning away to start walking, “or in the evening?”
You only make it a few doors down before you hear a door open behind you; you slow down because it might be the door you thought was his, but you don’t turn around to seek him out.
“Excuse me.” A voice calls out behind you; your Korean might be out of practice, and you definitely don’t know Japanese, but you can assume.
That’s when you turn around; and peeking his head out of the door you just knocked on is a man who you’d love to say is him, but you can’t actually be sure of.
“Hello…” you say softly, suddenly forgetting how you were going to start.
You make your hesitation a little obvious, but you’re also a little awkward.
“I’m looking for someone,” you begin, then you seem to remember that he just spoke to you in Japanese.
“It’s fine, I speak Korean.” He assures, convincing you just a little more that this might actually be him, “you said you were looking for someone?”
You nod, trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him a little hard.
“A friend of mine…” you trail slightly, “Park Sunghoon.”
The name hangs in the air for a bit, and the man in front of you doesn’t react in any way that would tell you if you’re at the right or wrong place.
“Right…” he finally says, looking you up and down, “and you are…?”
You can’t be so unrecognizable, maybe this isn’t him.
“Oh,” you say softly, realizing how weird you must look now that you’ve been questioning him without having introduced yourself.
You tell him your first name, and your first name only.
The last couple that adopted you gave you their last name, and it stuck, so whether this is Sunghoon or a friend of his, the last name you have now wouldn’t make sense to either.
The man’s expression softens, but he doesn’t do it warmly, more so in familiarity.
“My name is Park Sunghoon, but I’m afraid I don’t know you,” he says apologetically.
But he doesn’t make an effort to turn you away or close the door on you, so maybe he just doesn’t recognize you.
Now you’re going to have to use his mom, only now it’s as a way to identify yourself.
“Your mother’s name is Park Seo-ah,” you say, repeating your name a second time after this, “your parents fostered me for a few years before I was sent away?”
To your credit, you insisted more than he expected you to.
Unfortunately, that means he can’t continue to play dumb.
And in order to sell his confusion to you, he uses a sweeter, shortened version of your name; as in, the way a 7-year-old Sunghoon used to call on you.
And when he does, you get this embarrassed, almost sheepish look on your face as you try to get away from that.
“I mostly go by my first name now…” you say, making it less awkward by chuckling about it.
“Of course,” he acknowledges, noticing how things are getting a little awkward with him still just peeking his head out of the door.
“It might seem a little sudden,” you admit, “your mom sent me looking for you, she wants to know how you’re doing…”
Now the awkwardness is replaced with a bit of tension; you know something he doesn’t know about his own mother, and you’re going to have to be the one to tell him.
“Obviously, I can’t force you. But I’ll be staying at the Keio Plaza in Shinjuku…if you’d like to have dinner with me.” You continue, handing him a tiny slip of paper that has your phone number and the room number of your hotel, “I’ll be here for three days.”
You look back up at him, looking for any indication that he’ll look for you or maybe keep you with him now and have breakfast with you or something—anything.
Instead, he pulls the paper inside and seems to stuff it in his pocket after a small nod.
“I have to go to work pretty soon, and I’ll be busy these next few days.” He begins, setting you up to deny you, “but it was nice to see you again.”
This went better than you could have hoped, so you don’t make a face or anything at this response; you’re going to stay the three days regardless.
“It was nice seeing you too…” you say, a small smile as you tuck your hands under your arms.
₊‧⁺♱
Maybe it was a little foolish to believe you’d spent the entire day with him after you’d introduced yourself.
But you would have canceled everything if he showed up suddenly like this.
At least, you’d like to think you would.
Now you have an entire day to yourself in a country you didn’t do nearly as much research on beforehand.
And it has to be near your hotel in case he changes his mind.
Surprisingly though, it isn’t so hard to distract yourself.
Breakfast takes a chunk of your morning; the hotel has a spa/sauna situation which you buy a package for and waste the entire afternoon on; lunch is shorter but it gives you a chance to look into restaurants nearby which you’ll pick from if and when Sunghoon decides.
So despite everything, your day alone is very productive.
Because you’re saving the restaurant you’re most excited for, you order room service and spend the night in your hotel.
Even if nothing happened today, it’s sudden so you can understand it; tomorrow might be different.
₊‧⁺♱
The only thing different about the second day is what you chose to do with it.
You really should consider expanding out, but you stay in Shinjuku the entire day.
You visit a shrine; see a building with a Godzilla poking his head out of the top; and you linger until it’s dark out to get the full walking experience.
Besides your three meals a day, this is the extent of your day.
No calls from unmarked numbers; no text messages; and no notifications from the hotel indicating anyone tried looking for you.
To say you’re sad and disappointed is a stretch.
It’s been over 15 years since you saw Sunghoon, and it should have been clear after he chose not to respond to your letters that he wanted nothing to do with you.
But after reconnecting with his mom about four years ago, you had hope; if she wanted to see you, maybe he did too.
After all, the letter thing could be explained by a change in address and miscommunication.
So this does upset you, and you can’t help but feel disappointed.
₊‧⁺♱
Both of these feelings grow by the third morning when you wake up to an empty phone.
It’s your last full day here; tomorrow you’ll check out of the hotel in the morning and get on a flight shortly after.
You’ve exhausted yourself.
You don’t want to go anywhere, and you can’t find the energy to find something to do to entertain yourself on this last day.
Breakfast this morning is room-serviced, but you have a commitment to the restaurant you found that first day because you decided on the second day that you couldn’t leave Japan without trying it.
But the rest of your day?
It’s spent packing and wallowing; you’re returning to London with nothing except the knowledge that Sunghoon exists in the world but wants nothing to do with you or his mother.
₊‧⁺♱ ───
He shouldn’t be here.
Why avoid you for three days if he would just end up in the one place he shouldn’t be?
The truth is, part of him can’t help himself.
By being this late, he’ll confirm it in his mind that he missed you and it will be easier to forget you were here in the first place.
And he gets close—so close to coming to terms with it—but he gets stuck in the valet line, and just as he comes up to the front of the line and gets out of it after telling the worker that he’d made a wrong turn, he spots you sitting just outside the hotel.
You’re on a bench, alone and dressed up in a way that makes him self-conscious of the way he looks right now.
Of course, he recognizes you even in this quick moment under this lighting—he recognized you when you appeared in his peephole the first day you showed up; you’re unmistakable.
Keep driving, don’t stop.
₊‧⁺♱
The car that pulls up in front of you doesn’t catch your attention.
That part goes to the face you see once the window opens and you’re taken away from your phone by a simple call out.
It’s still unusual to see him like this; you’ve always just imagined little baby Sunghoon as a taller man as his adult version.
But Sunghoon looks nothing like he did when he was a child; especially not while most of his hair is hidden under his cap.
“This is unexpected…” you comment, leaning forward slightly to peer in through the window.
“I tried calling, but your line was busy.” A lie, but it makes him look like less of a creep, and he needs that.
“Are you waiting for someone?” He asks, wondering why you were outside.
“A car,” you explain vaguely, “I’m going to dinner…by myself…”
This makes it a little awkward when you consider that you asked him to dinner indirectly, and he never once agreed.
Yet somehow he shows up exactly when you’ve decided to go alone? Embarrassing.
“I came looking for you for the same thing…” he says, still a lie but he’s committed to it now, “if you’re going alone, do you want some company?”
“Yeah…I’d like that,” you nod, a small smile that does more to him than it should.
The doors unlock and Sunghoon reaches over the center, pulling the handle from the inside and pushing the door out for you.
It’s weird.
He doesn’t know you— not as much as he’d like to—but it almost doesn’t matter because there are hints of the person he conjured up in his mind.
And seeing you in his car, sitting beside him—it gives him the material necessary to imagine a different life; one where everything turned out perfectly and he grew up to be more like you.
Not because of envy, but because he’s ashamed that his life turned out this way, and he wishes he were someone more worthy of your time.
₊‧⁺♱
You tell him the name of the restaurant, and somehow he knows exactly where it is.
He doesn’t tell you how he knows, he just tells you that he does.
And the five-minute drive it takes to get there is quicker than you would have liked it to; you get no chance to start getting comfortable with him before getting to the restaurant.
But that’s mostly your fault; you were too busy staring at his side profile to come up with a decent opening to a conversation.
₊‧⁺♱
You check in with the hostess; she’s polite and friendly with you, but she actually eyes Sunghoon up and down with a less friendly look in her eyes, but you assume it’s because of the clothes he’s wearing.
It isn’t until you’re left sitting in front of him that you finally notice it; a light bruise on his left cheek and a dry cut on his bottom lip.
And he can tell exactly when you notice it, but he tries to get away from that topic quickly.
“You said you were only here for three days, are you leaving soon?” He asks, clearing his throat gently as he shuffles in his seat.
“Tomorrow morning…” you answer, a little distracted by the small injuries.
“You must be busy,” he suggests, prompting you to talk more about yourself.
“I uhh…just finished my last year of undergraduate.” You admit, “I’ll take an internship with a law firm while I wait to start my first semester in law school.”
You don’t hold back because you’re expecting him to outdo you in this aspect; if someone like you could get their bachelor’s and be accepted into prestigious schools, Sunghoon is probably involved in something even better.
“That’s…” he trails slightly, “very impressive…you must feel accomplished.”
Yes, and?
Your nod is where that part of the conversation is left; you’re interrupted by a waiter taking drink orders.
But no matter how hard you try to get back to it, you’re the only thing you both actually talk about.
He asks about the name change; pointing out that your last name is different.
He assumes you have a family after you tell him the last name belongs to the last family that adopted you; then he apologizes when he hears that you were emancipated as a teenager and have been alone since then.
You try asking about your letters and why he never responded to them, but he lies and says he never received any.
But you recognize that dinner will end once you’re done with dessert, and you haven’t told him the most important thing, which trumps your curiosity over his life for the moment.
“I have something for you.” You say softly, reaching behind you into your jacket; you brought it with you because you were going to leave it at his apartment after dinner.
But this is a pretty good time.
He watches for a moment as you pull a cream envelope from an inside pocket; but Sunghoon knows what this is, and it ruins the nice night he’s had so far.
“It’s from your mom.” You explain, holding it out towards him.
Sunghoon doesn’t take it; and you’re left with your hand extended out for a little longer than necessary.
“I have one.” He says simply, his voice less kind than it was when you spoke about your life in London not even a minute before.
“Oh,” you pull the invitation back, keeping it on the table, “she was worried it might’ve gotten lost in the mail. I can imagine it could happen, going from England to Korea must be hard.”
You try to pass it off as a joke, but he doesn’t seem to take it too well.
“When you come to London, I’ll host you.” You add, getting yourself excited with the idea, “I’d consider myself an expert, I mean, I have lived there for almost 10 years now.”
When he goes to London?
You didn’t ask if he would go, you just assumed.
“I’m not going.” He finally says, firm on this and the way he looks at you when he says it.
“What?” You ask, your brows furrowing slightly, “I mean, you don’t have to attend the wedding I suppose…but she’s using it as a chance for you both to reconnect, you won’t take it?”
Sunghoon crosses his arms, his tiramisu now forgotten on its little plate in front of him as he leans back in his chair.
“I haven’t spoken to my mother in almost 5 years. Why would I do it after she sends me an invitation to her second wedding with a man I don’t know?” He says.
“You could have asked me about him, I could have told you that he’s a good man.”
This makes something in him switch, and suddenly you’re starting to look a lot like his mother when she left him.
“My father was a good man too, that didn’t stop her from leaving him.” He says, his expression shifting into something more serious, “I’ve accepted that she can toss him to the side, but you? It was my father’s name that allowed you to stay with us when your first adoptive family abandoned you, but you came all this way to vouch for another man?”
“I came all this way because I was curious to see that man you’d become, and because your mother misses you.” You correct, becoming defensive yourself.
“You both have a funny way of showing that.”
He almost believed you’d get into it here at the restaurant, instead, he watches you gesture to the waiter behind him by signing your palm to ask for the check without the waiter having to come up to ask what you needed.
Sunghoon scoffs, starting to wonder if you’ve been acting a certain way up until now and are showing your true self in the way you can’t even handle this conversation.
“You should go, I’ll order a car to take me back to my hotel.” You say, finding your wallet and then your card.
“And to think, we were having such a good time.” Sunghoon says, shaking his head while he looks for his own wallet as he buys himself time.
“Were we?” You ask, stopping for a moment while the waiter takes your card.
The waiter recognizes Sunghoon has his wallet, and assumes you’re splitting the bill, so he lingers.
“Don’t take his, I’m paying the entire check.” You interrupt; just before Sunghoon can ask for half of the amount.
The waiter looks at you both awkwardly, he tries to look at Sunghoon for guidance, but he’s more inclined to listen to you, so he rejects Sunghoon’s cash and walks away with just your card.
“I knew you were too good to be true.” He says, slowly coming up on his feet, “I’m guessing this is how my mom and her fiancé convinced you? Did they pay for your little trip? Is it their money that you’re trying to rub in my face?”
You don’t acknowledge him in this, staying in your seat with your head kept low in front of you while you wait for the waiter to return.
Sunghoon doesn’t say anything then either; he takes this at face value and turns around to walk away.
₊‧⁺♱
It takes a while for the car to come around, but eventually you’re entering a small SUV, completely unaware that Sunghoon’s car is still parked nearby.
You don’t even notice it as it tails the car you’re in all the way back to your hotel.
You make it back by 7, which leaves you with so much time before you can even think about going to bed.
But you don’t have much of a choice, so you make your way up the large building despite yourself.
The way things ended between you and Sunghoon as children was bittersweet, but you would have preferred that over this new ending where you argued so suddenly over something that doesn’t even really involve either of you.
And it does offend you on some level that he’d talk about you like he did; you always meant to pay the meal because you were the one inviting him out to dinner.
But if Sunghoon came to understand that you were some spoiled brat, that came from him pushing to talk about you and only you—not once did you ever do anything to suggest you were otherwise.
You wrack your brain on this for almost two full hours before you realize you won’t allow this to be the impression you leave on him.
But it’s more for your pride than it is for the sake of whatever your relationship to him is.
So you call another car, one that will take you to his apartment.
₊‧⁺♱
You’re less considerate about how you knock this time.
You do it loudly so he can’t ignore you, and you do it a few times until you’ve gotten an irritated Sunghoon opening the door to tell you to stop.
“I spent three full days waiting for you to come looking for me.” You say, launching into your argument despite his disinterest.
“You could have gotten to know me better, but instead you tried to cram three days into three hours—and after the first thing I did wrong, you decide you know me well enough to argue with me?” You add, loud enough that it annoys him to think his neighbors can hear you.
“Keep it down.” He says, face scrunching up slightly as he leans against his doorframe.
“Why? You didn’t care to do it at the restaurant, why should it matter if I get into it here?” You question, crossing your arms.
Whether you did it on purpose or not, the fact that you got louder at this point leads him to believe you won’t calm down.
So he takes the matter into his own hands; reaching out and taking your arm to pull you inside his apartment.
But you don’t really understand that until you’re face to face with a towering Sunghoon who looks every bit as frustrated as you do.
“I don’t owe you anything.” He says clearly, “if your feelings were hurt, I’m not responsible for hearing you out so you’ll feel better.”
“My feelings were hurt.” You agree, “I thought I’d come back to meet some great guy, like your mom had described— instead, I have to go back with the fact that he’s nothing more than an asshole who can’t even give a little.”
You pause for a little, and then you get right to it when you see he won’t say anything else himself.
“I mean seriously— you couldn’t give me anything? Not a day? not a decent conversation? not a single chance to ask you anything about yourself?” You continue.
“you came here unannounced.”
Oddly enough, despite him using his height against you, you aren’t really intimidated by him.
“If you or my mom actually cared, you would have done something else instead of appearing suddenly and expecting me to act like I know either of you.”
Obviously he doesn’t.
But that’s the point of showing up; this part would have happened regardless of how you showed up or at what point in his life you did.
“Because that’s the truth, isn’t it?” He prompts, “you and I aren’t anything to each other.”
Oh…
“You’re not my family, you’re not my friend—I haven’t thought about you since you left when I was 11.”
Your eyes narrow at this.
Sunghoon sent you the first letter when you first separated.
And you know he received at least one of them because you were told he did.
So why is he pretending like he doesn’t care?
“Why were you in front of my hotel then?” You ask, using this as an excuse to measure him.
“What?” He asks, mostly because he needs time to find out a good excuse.
“I didn’t call you, you didn’t call me.” You remind, “so how did you know I’d be there?”
It’s barely coming to him.
“I didn’t.” He says, which is technically true, “I was nearby and I was considering it.”
Now he has to be lying.
“Listen, I didn’t open my front door to stand and listen to you berate me in my own house.” He says suddenly, recognizing that he has nothing more to lie on and that he’ll crash if you go on long enough.
“Why did you open it then?” You ask, clearly onto him in his attempts to seem more detached.
“Because you paid for a meal I didn’t ask you to.” He says, grabbing his wallet off a table in the hall behind you.
“And one thing is for sure—you are not going to have any to hold over my head.” He finishes, folding up a few large bills and taking your hand to stuff them in your palm.
Close to $300, what does he think this is?
“I don’t want your money.” You say, pushing the cash into his chest.
“Why? Is cash beneath you?” He scoffs, keeping his hands down so you can’t force them in his hands.
You don’t know how to continue and make it less about the money and not sound like a prick, so you fall into a weird silence after this.
But it doesn’t last long before he turns away from you to grab his jacket and keys off a rack behind the door.
“What are you doing now?” You ask, a small sigh.
“I’m taking you back to your hotel.” He says, opening the door and walking ahead to try and force you to follow.
How he thought that was a better idea than just dragging you with him is beyond you; all it did was give you a chance to leave the money on the first thing you could find.
There’s a shoe rack near the door with a table top, and you leave it under a pot with a small plant before your gaze naturally looks ahead in front of you.
On the wall above the rack is a pin board with a few papers and reminders pinned to it.
What really catches your attention though, is a picture tucked into the border on the corner of the board; it’s you.
Well, little you; it’s a school picture in which you’re wearing your uniform and have your hair tucked behind a chunky white headband.
You don’t even process what that fully means before you take it and follow behind him after tucking it into your jacket.
“What’s your problem?” You ask, unable to keep up with him as he stays ahead by multiple feet.
“You don’t want to talk to your mom, you don’t live with your dad, you can’t stand me,” you list, “I mean, who can you tolerate? Do you even have friends here?”
He leads you down the street to where cars are parked off to the edge until you’re reminded that his is a white Supra.
And it’s once he gets here that he stops and gives you a chance to catch up.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” You think to ask.
Maybe that was the wrong question; he turns to you so suddenly that it actually startles you.
“God, you’re relentless.” He says, “it wasn’t cute when we were younger, and it’s even worse now that you’re a grown woman.”
You’d believe it if he could make himself sound more sure of what he’s saying.
And somehow, it infuriates you more than if he were being cruel on purpose.
“And you’re a liar.” You retort, taking your picture out of your pocket to hold it up so he can see that you have it.
“I sent you this picture in one of the last letters I sent you—I’m 17 in this photo—you’re telling me you’ve known exactly where I’ve been for the last 6 years and you chose to keep to yourself?”
His eyes widen for a moment in surprise, probably because you found it.
But somehow, that gives him the idea to double down.
“You seriously need to go— genuinely start planning out how you’re going back to Europe.” He adds.
So he HAS read your letters—he knows more than he’s tried making you believe he knows.
“I’ll leave once you tell me why you’re like this.” You say, a small shrug as you cross your arms.
“Like what?” He asks, a little frustrated.
“Like this— this isn’t living.” You repeat, gesturing to him and the car behind him, “the cuts and bruises, the car, the living in Japan— what could possibly keep you here when your dad still lives in Suwon?”
“How about, it’s none of your business.” He suggests, a gesture with his hands to enunciate his point.
“I didn’t ask you to come here.” He reminds, “I didn’t ask for your concern, I don’t care for your opinions—you have a good life in Europe, right? Stop making yourself miserable by being here.”
Your face scrunches up a little; now he’s just putting words in your mouth—he hasn’t asked about how you feel or what you think about all this.
“I never said I was miserable here, all I said was that this wasn’t living.” You defend, but he just waves you off.
“Of course you’re miserable here. Look at yourself.” He says, gesturing at your entire self.
“I want you to try to tell me your life isn’t everything you could have wished for and more.”
“What? Just because I wear nice clothes and have a bit of money to spare, I’ve automatically made it in life?” You scoff, “I came here with a purpose—of course I’d make sure I came well prepared.”
“It’s not just the clothes,” he corrects, “you’re the definition of a pampered girl—everything down to the way you act when you talk tells me you haven’t struggled in a VERY long time.”
“I vaguely remember thinking the same about you when I lived with you and your family for a few years before I was sent away to another country.” You call out, now a little frustrated yourself.
“You had a wonderful childhood—a luxury I wasn’t able to enjoy seeing as no one ever wanted me longer than a few years at a time.”
This is a touchy subject, and even you can recognize that it’s a low blow considering at you at least know that his parents separated a long time ago.
“So no.” You continue, “I will not apologize for making something better of my adulthood. And you’re bitter and selfish if you think that makes me pampered.”
Things stop here just while everything you both said settles in your minds.
The bottom line is, you can’t be here, and he needs you to leave now before he lets you get in his head.
You watch sunghoon as his hands come up to run over his face, but then your attention drifts to the sound of a car getting closer.
It distracts you because you can hear how fast it’s moving, and it almost sounds as if there are multiple cars driving at this speed.
Sunghoon doesn’t pick up on this until the cars are on the street you’re both in; and when he does, his first instinct is to walk closer to you to keep you by his side.
You don’t understand why until the cars come to a screeching stop around you both; one in the front, one in the back, and then one parallel to Sunghoon’s car.
Suddenly, the drivers of each car come off them, and only one of the passengers follows behind, this one has a bag in his hands.
“It’s not a good time right now, Jae.” Sunghoon sighs, turning his focus away for a moment to get this straightened out first.
“It’s a perfect time actually,” the man corrects, walking over to where you and sunghoon stood.
“which you would know if you bothered to pick up the phone or look at my messages.” He adds.
Now that he’s close enough, Jae finally looks at you; one full look up and down as if he were taking you in to try and figure out who you were.
“Pretty,” Jae points out, offering you a small smile, “not your usual type, but I can see why you’d keep her around.”
It’s not necessarily crude or meant to make you uncomfortable, but sunghoon doesn’t like that they can see you.
“Give me a chance to see her home,” he finally says, coming between you and Jae to block you from his view, “I know where to find you, I’ll be there.”
Jae’s attention shifts onto sunghoon, and he finds it amusing that sunghoon would care this much.
Still, they aren’t friends, and sunghoon has his obligations.
“Can’t take that chance,” Jae says, a small shrug as he scrunches his face in a fake apologetic way, “and who knows? Maybe having a little motivation sitting beside you will help you win.”
That’s when he starts to back up, slowly making his way back to his own car as he waves down people in the other two cars to do the same.
“We’ll follow you.” Is the last thing the man calls out before he sinks into the drivers seat.
Sunghoon has no options here.
If he takes you to your hotel, they’ll find out where you’re staying at night.
And because he’d be disobeying them, they’ll also have a reason to increase his payments or add onto them.
“Come on…” he says softly, his head a little low as he walks to the passenger side to open the door for you.
The three cars sit idle around Sunghoon’s, and now that youve established that he’s in some kind of trouble the argument doesn’t matter.
Not entirely anyway.
You might go along with this by getting into the car without asking questions, but you don’t intend to talk to him.
Whoever these people are to him, they’re strict; they don’t start to drive until sunghoon has pulled out of the space he was in and drives ahead.
₊‧⁺♱
The further out he drives, the less people you start to see on the streets.
But whether that’s because there’s less people, or because the lighting in the area he’s driving in is poor and underdeveloped, you wouldn’t be able to tell.
Eventually, you’re pulling up to a crowd just beneath a winding road up a mountain with curves.
A few cars here too; some with girls wearing outfits that match that of the look of the car sitting on the hood.
And behind sunghoon, the three that followed you here start to pull into the sides to park alongside those already here.
Sunghoon’s is the only one in the middle of it all aside from this one car that’s lined up just a little ahead.
“Stay here, don’t get off even if you’re asked to.” He says, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaving you in the car with the ignition still on.
You try to look around you without making it obvious; there are a few signs up that warn about construction work, but you don’t see any around you.
A few people are drinking, but it doesn’t look like they have a car.
Actually, it almost looks like this is some kind of event where only a select few have the cars because they’re the main event.
Your eyes eventually land on sunghoon after you sweep your eyes around the entire car and make your way to what’s in front of you.
The man from earlier is beside sunghoon, and in front of them are two other guys, discussing something.
They don’t seem tense; one of them makes a joke and claps Sunghoon’s shoulder as if they were friends.
It puts you at ease, but it also makes you wonder why Sunghoon is so adamant on keeping you away if these people are relatively harmless.
Wait…
It doesn’t matter.
You’re not supposed to care.
“I need you to do something for me.” He says, sliding into the drivers seat as he fixes his rearview.
You consider being immature and ignore him, but you get the feeling that it would just drag this night out for you further, and you just want to go home.
So you acknowledge what he’s saying with a nod; keeping your silence while still giving a little.
Sunghoon’s eyes linger, but he wants to get this over soon too, so he doesn’t get into why you aren’t talking to him.
“Once we get up the mountain, I need you to pick the fastest route and get me to this location.” He explains, typing something into his phone before he turns it over to you.
You stare at the screen for a little; the location says it’s only five minutes away, but if you cross the mountain it’ll probably take longer.
“GPS systems come with an automated voice system, what do you need me for?” You ask, eyes coming off the screen to look behind it at him.
“Look at the car you’re in. I don’t have a lot” He says, drawing your attention to the center which has no stereo.
You can’t help but look slightly inconvenienced, but you take the phone regardless, and once you do, he drives the car forward to line it up with the other car ahead.
You’re startled by the sound of people starting to cheer from the sides, eyes coming off the screen for a moment.
“Don’t mind them.” Sunghoon warns, reaching over to flip your visor up.
You do it, but are taken away from it a second time when you see a girl come between the cars.
Suddenly, this is starting to look like a smaller, less exciting version of a fast and furious movie.
“Sunghoon-“
You’re cut off by the feeling of being in a car that’s been launched forward into a speed of 30 miles per hour in a second only for it to double over itself in the seconds that follow.
You can feel yourself being pushed into the seat at the speed the car is moving in; and what’s worse? The car that was previously beside you is ahead, which means they’re going even faster.
This isn’t the only thing you can feel though.
There’s also the incline and how you feel yourself being tipped back while sunghoon makes his way up the mountain.
But all this is forgotten when you see both cars approaching a curve.
The car ahead breaks a little in preparation, but sunghoon changes gears and speeds up, ignoring your confusion as you approach it.
Maybe it’s from a lack of trust, but you don’t know what to expect as you get closer and closer.
So you brace yourself; one hand on the arm rest of the door and the other pressed into the center console on your side.
You don’t close your eyes, but you do squint once you’re finally in it.
Your gaze comes down instinctively when you see his hand reach over; you almost think he’s going to hold you in some way to secure you, but he actually reaches for the handbreak and pulls it back.
The back tires lock up as the steering wheel kept them angled out, which also causes them to screech as the car starts to drift with the curve.
The handbrake comes down, the tires unlock, and sunghoon launches the car forward a second time, this time getting ahead of the other car significantly.
₊‧⁺♱
You don’t know how many more times it happens while you’re on the mountain.
And you’re unsure if it’s worse sitting in a car that’s drifting every single corner on the way down the mountain as opposed to up the mountain when you first started.
But you can feel yourself relax once you see the clearing signifying that you’re coming off the mountain.
Sunghoon is still ahead of the other car, but he isn’t so far that you can assume sunghoon will win what you now know is a race.
“I need you, remember?” He says, gently bringing you back into focus as he looks over at you for a moment.
You don’t look so stable, and he almost considers that you’re about to throw up.
But you straighten up anyway; movements slow as you pick his phone up a second time and stare at the screen for a moment.
“There’s a…” you trail, head tilting to the side as if it were heavy, “turn into that road…the one on your left.”
Sunghoon checks his rear view, waiting until the last second to turn into where you’re directing him and then checking to see if the other car follows.
He already second guessed you when you told him to go in a direction he’d never gone in; but his doubt grows when he sees his competition speed past this street.
If he commits to it, it’s because turning around and going in the direction he thinks is the right one will take more time.
“There are stop signs the entire way down,” you explain, “you’re going to pass three of them and turn into the right at the third one.”
As you approach the first stop sign, you prepare yourself for a break from the constant movement.
Instead, you’re seeing nothing but a small red blur as you pass the stop sign without stopping; and then the second sign, then the third, and then the car turns sharply into the next road.
You slouch into the seat for the rest of the ride; checking out for a bit as you keep the rest of the directions fresh in your mind by repeating them.
You got him on a bridge; one continuous straight line that leads back into the city with a divider and a clear road ahead.
Whether it was your intention or not, sunghoon feels very good about your chances here.
“Just a little longer…” he explains, switching gears flawlessly as he starts speeding up again.
You can only manage a small groan as a response; is it possible that your insides are suspended in your body because of the constant moving force?
That’s what it feels like anyway.
₊‧⁺♱
Once sunghoon gets into the city, he recognizes where he is and can take over the directions.
You still try though; mumbling the same things he already knows to do while you sit in the passenger seat with your eyes closed.
In less than 2 minutes, sunghoon is turning into an empty lot where the same crowd is now waiting after having taken the original route to and from the mountain.
And he’s the only one there; a ridiculous, almost stupid gap in time after it takes another full minute for the other car to pull into the lot.
By then, sunghoon has people crowding his car and tapping the front window and the roof of the car, causing you to groan in a slight annoyance.
“I’m sorry…” he says softly, hand on your head to try and ground you a bit, “I’ll be back,”
He comes off the car to try and get people’s attention away from it and therefore you; something he manages to do by walking away from the car to come up to Jae, who’s leaning against his car in the center.
It takes sunghoon a bit to convince them to let him go early; they try going on a ride as a group and include him, but he reminds Jae that he never intended to stay in the first place and needed to get you home.
You watch the end of the interaction; an envelope is tossed at Sunghoon as he walks away, he pockets it and slips back into the drivers seat.
He decides to keep you, just a little longer, just so he can make sure you’re okay.
And he’s doesn’t tell you what he means to do for now, giving you the short drive to collect yourself.
₊‧⁺♱
You’re taken back to the outskirts, away from most of the city and others as he parks the car in a dead end street so no one will bother you on the main road.
He gets out first; coming around the car and to your side to open your door for you.
“Come on, you need some air.” He says, voice low.
He offers you his hand, and when you take it, he helps you up and out of the car.
You lean against the side of the car, realizing then that you’re taller than it and can actually lay your head back against the roof.
“I wouldn’t have wanted you in this position,” he begins, feeling compelled to explain what you were just in, “I tried taking you back before I got caught up with them.”
You probably don’t even remember that bit, do you?
“Can you at least tell me what you’re feeling?” He asks, “I can’t help if I don’t know.”
You’re just about over the multiple personalities he seems to have;
can he stick to one so you don’t change how you feel about him every time he opens his mouth?
“I’m fine…” you finally say, straightening up slowly.
You open your eyes and are met with another towering sunghoon; this one has no concept of personal space and looks at you with very intense eyes.
“Please tell me that’s not “work”’ you sigh, rubbing your eyes gently to get them adjusted.
Sunghoon hesitates; this is exactly what he wanted to avoid, now how is he supposed to get you to leave without feeling guilty for the kind of life he leads?
“I have a real job…” he assures, “I work in an auto body shop.”
“But this is where the real money is?” You ask, slightly mocking before you realize how it sounds, “sorry…”
It prompts him to reach into his back pocket for the envelope, opening it up for you and angling it so you can see it.
It’s stuffed—so thick that it looks hard to pull the stacks of cash pushed inside.
“I could spend half of that and still have enough to send my dad something that will last him two months.” Sunghoon says, pulling the envelope back to tuck the opening back into itself.
“What good is money if you’re not with him?” You ask, building on this so he’ll reveal more about himself, “do you think your dad would appreciate this more than he’d appreciate your presence?”
It should be funnier.
But maybe you found Sunghoon’s dad in a good state just before he got into a bottle, and sunghoon doesn’t want to ruin that illusion for you.
“Nothing good would come from me living with my dad again.” He says simply, “it hasn’t even been that long since I moved to Japan, he’s only been alone for about four years—and I visit all the time.”
It doesn’t seem like a satisfying answer, but it’s the truth, unfortunately.
“If it’s such good money, why does it look like you can’t catch a break?” You ask, storing it in your mind that this quantity would only last him and his dad a few months.
He seems embarrassed to continue, and he drags out an answer while he pockets the envelope a second time.
“He came up with a pretty large debt in Seoul.” He admits, “I paid it and brought him here, but he just did the same thing to some guys I don’t know. Whatever I do make has to go towards a monthly payment in addition to both my finances and his.”
Now he makes more sense, but surely there are better ways to go about this—especially the one where he leaves his dad to figure things out in his own.
Except nothing about sunghoon suggests he’d leave his father.
“That’s not fair…” you say softly, your gaze lowering.
It isn’t?
Is your world full of “fair”?
“It isn’t,” sunghoon agrees, “well, it’s what he deserves” he corrects quickly, “but it’s unfair to my sister…”
That last part comes awkward, and it’s met with the exact reaction he expected.
“My dad had another kid after my mom left him,” sunghoon explains, “I have a younger sister…you’d like her.”
“Your mom didn’t…” you trail, hand coming up to hover over your mouth.
“She doesn’t know.”
Neither of you say anything for a bit, and he takes advantage of this to try and ease you into going your separate ways.
“Can I have my picture back?” He asks, crossing his arms in a nervous gesture.
You almost forgot you still had it.
And you haven’t actually discussed what him having it means.
But you don’t want to ask; you’re slightly afraid of the answer.
“Yeah…” you nod, reaching into your back pocket to pull it out.
There’s no creases in it; he never folded it, and he’s kept it in nearly perfect condition this entire time.
“I didn’t believe this was really you at first.” He says, unable to look at you as he says this while he pockets it.
“I reversed searched the crest on your uniform to find your school, and I found you on their website.”
Why he’s admitting this he doesn’t know; but maybe it will explain why he still has it without looking like a creep.
“You were on a debate team, I think?” He says, picking his gaze up for a moment before it wanders, “I saw your name listed under a photo of you and the rest of your team, and you looked the same in both pictures.”
Your expression softens slightly; everything he’s saying is true, but it doesn’t help your mixed feelings.
“And, well…” he adds, gesturing towards you, “you still look like this…just grown up.”
Now you can’t help but ask.
“Why did you never reach out?”
He actually frowns, maybe because he thinks back to that time and it saddens him a bit.
“I didn’t think it would work out…” he explains, “my dad said it would be hard, especially when you got adopted again and lived wherever your new family did.”
“And by the time I got this, my parents had already split up and I wasn’t doing well in school…I’m sure I was embarrassed to talk to you and have to tell you what my life was like when you seemed to be doing well.”
Is it weird that you want to hug him?
To be fair though, hugging him was the way you originally wanted to greet him when you first appeared in front of his door, it’s not entirely out of pity.
“I wish you had…” you say softly, “if I would have known…I don’t know, maybe you could have left with your mom and we would have met in England…”
“I’m sure my mom has been good to you, but the reason she left my dad and the way she left us was selfish. There isn’t a world where I would have ever left my dad’s side.”
You nod; you only really said that to get him to understand that you wanted him if no one else did.
“I’m sure…” you assure, a small smile meant to sell that bit.
What you’re doing to him right now, whether intentional or not, it’s bad.
He’s less than one more heart to heart before he breaks down with the only person he’s ever allowed himself to be this vulnerable.
The one thing you’ll never know, is that he’s used you as a baseline in everything he does; always asking himself if you’d be okay with it if you knew what his options and decisions were before he makes them.
how if he ever felt alone, he’d read your letters to make himself feel less lonely—because of course he kept them.
And now that you’re standing in front of him, he can assume that you’d comfort him exactly how he’s imagined you would in the past; you’d probably make a lot of his life easier just by being nearby after years of wanting nothing more than that.
That doesn’t make you any less dangerous.
You got him to think about everything he’s forced himself to ignore in the last 20 years in just a few hours.
And it led him to the one thing he can swear that he never imagined; kissing you.
₊‧⁺♱
Even in this you’re sweet; you’re slow, considerate—and it isn’t some weird clash like he’s been involved in with others before.
Your hands come up his neck and they don’t do anything except rest against him.
It’s almost as if you just want to touch him in some way—really touch him—not conforming with anything over his clothes like his arms which are covered by his sweater.
But as nice as this is, it’s not for him.
You’re not for him.
You deserve someone better than anything he could ever offer you.
“Please…come back with me…” You beg softly, cupping his face so he can’t turn away or walk, “I have a lot of money saved up, you wouldn’t have to work at first.”
No decent man would take that offer, especially not sunghoon who’s already made a living for himself like this.
“You don’t have to go back to school, we can just get you into a trade,” you continue, “it’s shorter and you’d make good money—clean, legal money.”
He just told you he wouldn’t leave his father; and there’s a sister that would make it even harder; but you can’t help it.
“You’d want that?” He asks softly, unable to keep himself from dropping his defenses now that it’s truly just the two of you.
You nod, conveying the eager naivety he’s come to understand is your personality now.
Unfortunately, had you been any less idealistic, he would have compromised and given you more.
But now that he can confirm that you aren’t thinking about this rationally, he can’t accept.
“Of course you’d want that…” he sighs, backing up then, “you can’t help but try to fix things.”
Yet another complete 180, even in the way his expression hardens slightly as he walks away from you to make his way around the car and into the passenger seat.
You get the hint to get in the car once he disappears into the drivers seat.
And when you do, he’s back to the distant, stone faced man you met when you knocked on his door.
So the kiss didn’t matter then?
And the things he said not even a minute ago, did he lie?
“I need a favor, are you guys at the garage?” Sunghoon says, phone held up to his ear.
Whatever the person on the other end responds with has Sunghoon starting the car and driving off without an explanation or second thought.
₊‧⁺♱
About 10 minutes later, you’re pulling up to a pair of garage sliders that open once he’s close enough.
It’s late and it looks empty, but that’s because all the cars and their owners are inside the garage.
You pass a few by a set of chairs near the front, occupied by four guys; and once Sunghoon gets deeper into the garage, there are two standing over the hood of a car.
“Wait here.” He says, shutting down the ignition and taking the keys with him as he gets out of the car.
Considering how he acted earlier, he isn’t making you stay inside because he’s concerned with your surroundings, he even took his keys with him.
“Is there someone in your car?” Sunoo asks, watching the car behind sunghoon, wondering why no one has come out of it when he saw someone in the passenger seat.
“I need someone to drive her to her hotel.” Sunghoon explains, half ignoring the question by answering it indirectly.
“Who is it?” Jake asks, equally as curious as Jay and Ni-ki who are joining up then.
Sunghoon hesitates; it’s just better if they don’t have a reason to like you or want to get to know you.
“A friend.” Sunghoon says, making it as cold and unfamiliar as he can manage it so it sounds like he barely knows you.
The guys exchange a few looks, but ultimately decide to do him this one favor since he’s never failed them.
The responsibility ultimately falls on jungwon, who was just about to leave himself.
While jungwon grabs his car, sunghoon makes his way back to you; coming up to your side and opening your door for you.
Only he blocks you from stepping out just to have a last minute with you.
“I need you to go home.” He says softly, leaning forward to meet you at your level, “really go home, back to Europe.”
you don’t respond, by now you find it pointless to talk about it if he’s just going to repeat himself.
The lack of a response affects him a little though, but he has no choice but to continue on his own.
“I’m glad you’re doing well,” he says suddenly, his gaze lowering slightly, “i know I said some things, but please believe me when I tell you that I’m glad you’re doing so well”
And just like that, he’s backing away with his hand held out to help you out of the car.
In the other side of the garage, the guys watch from afar as sunghoon helps you on your feet.
They have yet to see you face to face, but they can tell you’re pretty; almost as tall as sunghoon in your heels, well dressed, your hair well maintained.
And it’s confirmed once you’re pointed in their direction, seemingly told to walk to them by sunghoon.
You walk over alone, which is the weird part when they can tell you’re a little upset; surely sunghoon will see you off, right?
“Hello…” you say sweetly, your voice soft as you offer a small smile.
It’s genuine, but as sweet as you might look, you can’t get rid of the lingering sadness in your expression.
The guys either mumble or respond weakly, and eventually jungwon is back with his bag.
He stops near the group behind them once he spots you; you’re unfamiliar so he can assume you’re Sunghoon’s friend, but he didn’t expect to see someone like you.
“Hi…” jungwon says softly, almost distractedly, “I’m jungwon…”
In his lack of knowing, he can only think to extend his hand out to shake yours; that’s just the vibe he gets once he’s looking at you closer.
You shake his hand and tell him your name, confirming that you’re not either of what would be expected.
“A-are you ready? We can leave now.” He says.
You nod, watching him scramble a little to walk ahead.
“Good night,” you say as you pass the rest of the guys, following jungwon once you realize he means to open your door for you.
As you come around the other side of his car, you spot a wall with a section of it designed to keep car keys.
“I used to really like this cartoon,” you smile, stopping at the wall to look at the set of keys dangling off one of the hooks.
Jungwon stops just a little after you do, turning around to find you pointing at Sunghoon’s key.
if there were a light bulb floating above his head, the sight before him would cause it to flicker.
“I was so little though, I can’t believe it’s still popular enough that they still make stuff for it.” You add, a small smile as you turn away from the hooks.
Jungwon smiles at you, only because it’s not necessarily something he has to respond to.
“Don’t you think sunghoon kinda acts like the ninja character?”
He’s the only one who hears you, and last part stores itself in his memory for being familiar.
But in real time, jungwon agrees just to agree with you before he continues to lead you out to his car to take you to your hotel.
His curiosity grows more once he’s entering the valet line of a fancy hotel; if sunghoon has someone like this, why is he involved in the things he is?
It doesn’t help that he has yet to actually know who you are to sunghoon.
you might be family, but not only do you not look like sunghoon, you’re also foreign, so it’s almost impossible for you to be blood relatives.
You can’t be an ex or a current girlfriend, if you were, why wouldn’t sunghoon bring you himself?
That last part applies to so many things though—if you’re close enough to him that he’d have you with him like this, you should be close enough that he’d would have driven you himself.
But jungwon doesn’t ask you himself for some reason.
Maybe you’re no one.
Just a pretty girl near sunghoon at the wrong place at the wrong time.
A pretty foreign girl who’s apparently watched pucca before.
Hmm…
₊‧⁺♱ ───
“Pucca is a kids show, it was popular in the early 2000s” sunoo chimes in, “for…girls, i think”
“Did you hear that, sunghoon?” Jay calls out, “it IS for girls.”
He ignores both, staying under the hood of his car as he continues to tighten the last bolt on the bumper he’d just installed.
“Just because the main character is a girl, doesn’t mean the show is for girls,” Ni-ki suggests, spinning in his chair nearby.
“Actually…” jungwon trails, unsure if continuing would cause a little argument, “all pucca really does is do things to get the attention of her crush, Garu.”
Jay turns to Ni-ki, gesturing at him to make a decision then on what he thinks that means.
Ni-ki sighs, “okay, maybe it is for girls…” he admits.
By now, sunghoon has come out from under the hood of the car, and he looks just as unamused as he always does.
“I distinctly remember being told to find a keychain for my keys so we wouldn’t mix them up.” He says, coming around Ni-ki to put back the tools he used.
“And if you think about it a little harder, we all got matching keychains that ranged in color.” Jay adds, “guess who STILL chose the main character of a kids show?”
He doesn’t give anything away, just continues to put things back where they go.
₊‧⁺♱ ───
And sunghoon never actually explained why he did, did he?
If you’re close in age and grew up together in some way, then you would have seen pucca because of him regardless of whether you’re a foreigner or not.
Childhood friends, maybe?
₊‧⁺♱
In his curiosity, Jungwon can’t not go back to the garage.
And because the drive to and from wasn’t that long, everyone is still there when he returns, including Sunghoon.
“I thought you were heading home?” Jake calls out, watching Jungwon as he approaches the table.
“Where’s Sunghoon?” Jungwon asks, whispering to Jake and Jay.
“Putting money in the safe, why?” Jay asks, both him and Jake leaning towards Jungwon.
“I think they’re close—like maybe she’s his girlfriend or his ex-girlfriend or something.” Jungwon explains, piquing their interest.
By then, Sunoo and Ni-ki have recognized how the guys are huddled up and join in to be nosey.
They come in at the middle of Jungwon’s story.
“And she pointed to Sunghoon’s keys—like, without even knowing that they were his.”
“That makes no sense, if she didn’t know they were his, and she’s never been here before, why would it matter that she could point them out?” Ni-ki says, brows furrowed tightly.
“Because,” Jungwon groans, “maybe Sunghoon bought the keychain because of her— y’know, because she likes the show or thinks Pucca is cute?”
The guys pause for a moment, unaware that Sunghoon is now out in the common space again and noticing their little huddle.
“You’re from the same province, aren’t you?” Jake calls out, gesturing to Sunoo.
“From two completely different cities—“ Sunoo says, almost offended.
“But you’d know if he had a girlfriend, wouldn’t you?” Jake corrects.
“I met Sunghoon like a year before we met any of you, when I did, he was alone.” Sunoo shrugs.
Sunghoon appears beside them in the only gap in the huddle, too late to actually hear anything.
“This is a bit ridiculous, don’t you guys think?” He asks, breaking the huddle up as the guys pull back into their own spaces.
“What is?” Jay asks, trying to bait him into saying more.
Sunghoon rolls his eyes, walking away towards the mini fridge under the nearby desk.
“You know what? I don’t care,” Ni-ki mumbles, a small shrug before he follows behind Sunghoon.
“Is she your girlfriend?” He asks, meeting an unamused sunghoon as he cracks open a can.
“No.” Sunghoon answers, but the guys feel like it was too quick.
“Ex-girlfriend?” Ni-ki continues
“No.” Sunghoon repeats, leaning against the desk.
After Ni-ki, Jungwon is more comfortable insisting.
“Is she related to you?” He asks, starting with the least likely of his theories.
Sunghoon’s face scrunches up a little at the assumption, and it gives the guys something to go on.
“Wait, seriously?” Jake asks, “Don't tell me she’s like a cousin of yours— a sister?”
God no.
Screw Jake and Jungwon for putting that thought in his head not even an hour after he kissed you.
“Absolutely not,” Sunghoon says, a small shudder.
If he doesn’t say something plausible, they’re going to continue hounding him on this.
And he isn’t so sure the guys aren’t so dramatic that they wouldn’t go looking for you at your hotel before you left.
“We went to school together for a while.” Sunghoon says, “elementary and middle school.”
Kind of a lie, but if he got into details and said his family fostered you for a bit they’d focus on that and not the part where you two aren’t actually close.
“Oh…”
That’s a little underwhelming, at least for Jungwon who’d come up with an entire elaborate plot.
“Why’d you ask Jungwon to take her to her hotel then?” Sunoo asks, not entirely convinced.
“I’m still getting some heat after the last time I cut up with Jae, there’s a big department near her hotel, didn’t you see it?” He asks.
It could explain why you seemed sad; a short reunion that you might’ve wished to be longer.
But sunghoon can’t be that interesting, and middle school is a weird time period for it to be a meaningful reunion.
The keychain thing feels more significant, but no one will acknowledge that more than Jungwon who’d seen you talk about it firsthand.
Unfortunately, in true sunghoon fashion, he gets the last word in and this is the last time the guys talk about this for now.
Read a fanfic and one of the comments "omg xyz would never do that they're so nice". Notice the part where it says fanFICTION. Like girl it's not real if you're gonna act like this maybe don't read it oof. pmo
So like unsent has been in my mind since last night's 3am read lol. I've been thinking about how sunghoon was so toxic not only to y/n but his "gf" too. Like why was a SITUATIONSHIP (it wasn't even that it was js fuck buddies but wtv) leaving plaguing your mind. Not tryna read too much into but these are 1am thoughts so don't hold it past me but it feels like sunghoon was obsessed with the idea of em and not focused on the relationship cause y/n shouldn't even be on his mind when he has a gf he supposedly cares about. Maybe it's js me. Also if I was em and saw a random girl who I don't even know coming crying to my bfs apartment that he hadn't ever told me Abt I wouldn't wanna pursue the relationship. then again I'm not a relationship person so I wouldn't anyways but yeah.
the ending was perfect the way it was and everyone except em lowk got what they should get!! #staymiserablesunghoon #getemabetterbf
Anyways I really js wanted to appreciate the way you wrote the characters. I'm gonna go stalk your page for more angsty reads. I have been searching for good angst for awhile (stuff I haven't already read) and unsent did the job.
If you're reading this sorry for the rant love you for the fic🙏🏻🙏🏻
GIRL first of all, the way i didn’t know if i should tag it as “situationship”???? like i was genuinely wondering about it for a while. you read my mind 😫
in my mind, hoon is just obsessed with filling his own emptiness. although he obviously wouldn’t admit it, he’s not in the right mindset to be truly attached to anyone because of his own insecurities. this leads to him using both reader and em at the end of the day, even if it’s done in different ways.
because ofc, how do you have a whole girlfriend (basically) and you’re doing all that to keep an old situationship around? just knowing this — even if we haven’t seen more about their relationship (and i haven’t written/thought about it) — already shows us he cannot love em right now.
i also thought about em and hoon’s conversation after reader goes home. i imagined sunghoon being #that kind of man that will just tell you “my ex (situationship) is crazy 🤪” and explain the whole story wrong. he’s a good manipulator (as you have seen), so he just used his talent with em too 💔
i hadn’t thought about it, but JUSTICE FOR EM YEAH !!! 😓
pls PLEASE do not ever say sorry about a rant. i looooove analyzing works this way, and it makes me even happier if it’s my own work 😭 you make me think about it from another perspective which only gives me more inspo. so thank you so so so much 🥹💗💗
(i love angst so much, let’s be angsty together ily 🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻)
content: toxic situationship, angst, smut. plot with porn.
warnings: mdni! sexual content, reader is pathetic! (this is fiction pls. if you don't like it, don't read it!), yearning, insecurity, mean sunghoon, p in v, degradation, unprotected sex (don't), toxic dynamic, oral sex (m. receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, crying after sex, manipulative sunghoon, unreliable narrator (kinda), sunghoon is an asshole, reader crashes out.
wc: 18.9k
note: nobody asked for this, i know. but i’m so sad i needed to write it 😆 trying to tell myself idc if this is corny because i believe everything i do is cringe anyway so….. at this point why should i care ? plsplspls never be like reader irl, you don't deserve that shit. enjoy !!
(i made a small playlist) two ghosts (metropolis studios version) - harry styles / the moon - the microphones / recuerdas (acústico) - manuel carrasco / i think of you - rodríguez / living room - not for radio / con las ganas - zahara / to wish impossible things - the cure / cigarette smoke (again) - olivia rodrigo / aphasia - pinegrove / i bet on losing dogs - mitski
Dear Sunghoon,
Although I know you will never read this, it is still for you. Consider this my desperate attempt to finally let out all the things I have left unsaid. I have never been too good with words, but then again, neither are you. I wish communication weren’t so off-limits between us. When did that even start? When did we even make that silent deal?
I think I am addicted to what you make me feel. I don’t think I would call it affection, let alone love. But somehow, every time I see you, I get this overwhelming feeling that nothing else matters. Those fleeting few hours make the heavy buzz in my head quiet down, but how do you even do that? I mean, we barely talk. The silence kills me a little more every time, because I want to know you so deeply. I have always wanted to know you, Sunghoon. I just wish you trusted me enough to let me see more, to see past the kisses, the marks and the sex.
To be honest, I don’t even know what love is supposed to feel like. Maybe it is this ache. Maybe this is it.
Much love?
Y/N
you didn’t even think you remembered the exact color of his eyes. looking at sunghoon — really looking at him — was rare. eye contact wasn’t ever really your thing, but the fact that he was the one actively choosing to avoid it hurt more than you would ever admit.
there were too many things you couldn’t admit. not to yourself, and definitely not to him. you were constantly trapped in a lie you hadn’t even planned on building. it just happened.
it happened somewhere between all your casual hookups and that silent promise you made to keep things strictly casual. why would you get attached when you didn’t even truly know him? the empty pit in your stomach every time he thrust into you one last time seemed to give you the answer you were trying so hard to ignore.
was it just the attention? was it the years of being invisible, of not being touched, held, or even spoken to? or was it something real? the questions consumed you every night before you fell asleep, pulling you into an endless spiral of pure insecurity. you felt like you were the textbook definition of pathetic.
because the worst part wasn’t even the way he looked right through you, it was how easily you let him do it. you would lie there long after his footsteps echoed down the hallway, your skin still feeling warm where his fingers had pressed into your hips. you wanted to hate him for making it so easy for himself. no soft morning light, no hushed “text me when you get home”, no gentle lingering after the high wore off. just a plain shirt pulled over his head, a brief nod toward the door and that familiar silence settling back into the room.
but you couldn't hate him. how could you, when you were the one who signed up for this unspoken contract? you were the one who answered his late night texts in minutes, pretending you were still awake, pretending you didn't mind being his only when the rest of his world went dark.
you would swallow the lump in your throat, pull the cold sheets up over your bare shoulders and breathe in what was left of his scent on the pillow. you were starving for something he was never going to offer, yet you kept begging for the crumbs.
daylight was always the cruelest part. during the day, sunghoon belonged to the rest of the world. he belonged to his friends, to his laughter across crowded rooms, to the effortless composure he wore like a second skin around people who actually got to hear him. when your paths crossed in broad daylight under the harsh glare of real life, he didn't even flinch. his gaze would glide right past you, brushing over you as if you were nothing more than a shadow he had learnt to walk around.
and you played your part perfectly. you would mould your face into something cold and indifferent, pretending your ribs weren’t pressing uncomfortably tight against your chest every time.
that was the unspoken rule, wasn't it? sunlight erased whatever happened between you two. daylight rendered every bruise, every gasp and every tangled limb. you would sit alone in your room afterward, nursing the quiet anger in your chest. you would make promises to the empty air. this is it. next time he reaches out, i’m ignoring it. i’m going to block him. you would repeat it over and over until you almost believed you had control.
but then midnight would creep in. your phone would buzz against the nightstand. a plain “you home?” that took him three seconds to type.
and before your brain could even process the indignity of it, your fingers were already moving. you would send back a compliant “yeah”, hating yourself for the sudden pulse of adrenaline in your veins as you unlocked your front door and waited for his figure to fill the doorway.
because as long as he kept coming back, you could pretend he needed you. and even if he only wanted you when the rest of the world went quiet, even if he only loved the silence you kept for him, it felt safer than being nothing to him at all. you were drowning in him, but at least his hands were the ones holding you under.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
Dear Sunghoon,
Another day of being a pathetic loser and doing this. But I just need to get all of this off my chest, and putting pen to paper is somehow the only way I know how to do it.
Remember that one brief conversation we had? Someone called at three in the morning and you declined it without a second thought. You looked over at me and said you just preferred texting over calling. Although I knew that was probably not the reason why you didn’t pick up, I felt ridiculously happy about you giving me an explanation at all. Even if it wasn’t entirely honest, you considered the possibility of me wondering about it, and that was enough. It also showed me we have something in common, which is the reason why I’m doing this at all. I wish I could speak up, Sunghoon. Not just with you, but in general.
My voice has always felt like a stone trapped at the bottom of my throat, but especially when I am around you. Every time I am lying next to you in the dark, there are a million things pressing against the back of my teeth. I want to ask you about your day. I want to know what scares you, what keeps you awake when I’m not there, what song you listen to when you are driving alone.
But instead, I stay quiet. I swallow every word, every question, every confession until my throat burns with everything I am holding back. Because speaking out loud means making it real, it means risking the fragile arrangement we have. I know that if I open my mouth and demand anything more than the bare minimum, you might just turn around and walk out. Sadly, I am too terrified of losing these hours with you to ever take that chance.
So I will handwrite it all instead. I will pour my voice onto paper where you will never have to hear it, so that it can’t burden you.
It’s stupid, isn’t it? Celebrating a half-baked lie about a missed phone call just because it meant you acknowledged me. But when you are starving, even the smallest crumb feels like a feast.
I will keep hiding behind these quiet letters, Sunghoon. Because as long as I stay silent, I still get to keep whatever little piece of you you are willing to leave behind.
Yours truly,
Y/N
the ice in jay’s glass had completely melted, watering down his drink until it was barely touched, but neither of you had made a move to leave. the diner was almost empty, as jay had spent the last ten minutes watching you shred a paper napkin into tiny pieces.
when he finally spoke, his voice cut straight through the low hum of the refrigerator behind the counter. "you actually need to let it go, y/n." he pushed his glass aside and leaned across the table, resting his forearms on the sticky vinyl. "remember, he’s my friend. i’ve known him for years. that’s my brother, but… let’s be honest. he’s being an asshole."
"you just… wouldn’t understand." you muttered, refusing to look up from the pile of white paper shreds scattered between your hands.
"i understand that you have this weird hyperfixation on him, y/n." jay said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding full of concern. "i’m not blind."
"we’re just having sex, jay!" your voice pitched higher than you intended, echoing slightly in the quiet diner. the bell above the entrance jingled as a stranger walked in, making you wince, pulling your shoulders in and dropping your voice to a harsh whisper. "why is it so bad if i sleep with someone? you do it all the time and no one bats an eye!"
jay leaned back, watching you with a look of exhausted frustration that made your stomach twist. "do i really have to explain to you why it’s different?"
you bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted copper as your fingers froze over the torn napkin. you couldn't meet his eyes, because you knew if you looked at him, he would see the tears stinging in the back of your lids.
so you stayed silent.
"that’s what i thought." jay sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was nursing a headache you had given him.
the silence stretched out. you hated that jay was the one sitting across from you right now. he was the bridge between you and sunghoon — jay was the one who had introduced you at a chaotic house party, back when sunghoon was just a handsome stranger you didn’t even think of approaching. jay felt responsible for the wreck you were turning into.
"you know the last time he and i actually talked about something real?" jay asked softly, his anger draining out, replaced by quiet pity. "a real conversation. not just about sports or clothes or plans for the weekend."
you didn't answer, but your chest tightened.
"it was about his ex." jay said.
you didn't flinch. you didn't gasp or snap your head up in shock. you just kept staring at the shredded paper, your knuckles turning white where you gripped the edge of the table.
you weren't surprised, not even a little bit.
in a twisted way, it felt like the final piece of a puzzle settling into place. you already knew about their messy breakup, but hearing it out loud now, it explained the hollow look in sunghoon's eyes when he held you down. it explained why he never asked about your day, why he hurried to put his shirt back on before the sun came up, why he maintained that thick wall between you. you probably weren't a person to him. you were just a ghost to keep another ghost company. a body to fill the quiet so he didn't have to hear his own thoughts.
"he's clearly not over her, y/n." jay continued, reaching across the table to gently pull the torn napkin away from your trembling fingers. "he's nowhere near over her. and you’re letting him use you to fill a spot that isn't yours. you're going to destroy yourself trying to warm up someone who's still freezing over someone else."
"i know." you whispered. the confession scraped against your throat.
jay blinked, caught off guard by how easily you gave in. "you know? then why the hell are you still doing this to yourself?"
you finally looked up, your vision blurring around the edges as you met jay's concerned eyes. "because even if he's thinking of her…" you whispered, your voice shaking uncontrollably. "he's still coming to my room. and right now... i'd rather be his second choice than nothing at all."
"y/n…"
"i’m just being honest. you snapped weakly, wiping a stray tear with the back of your sleeve. "i know it’s pathetic, okay? you don't have to say it."
"look… why don’t you just try to talk to him?" jay pushed. "he’s not a bad person after all. if he knows this is something that actually matters to you, he might give you some kind of reassurance. explanations, maybe?"
"sunghoon is not exactly the kind of guy to give me “explanations”, you know?" you let out a dry laugh, totally humorless. "he doesn't do that shit with me, jay. you know that better than anyone. the moment i open my mouth and demand clarity, it's over."
"and would that really be the worst thing?" jay countered, leaning closer across the table until you couldn't avoid his stare. "because from where i'm sitting, you're already breaking into pieces. you’re so terrified of losing the bare minimum that you’re letting him hollow you out from the inside. you think you're keeping him, but you're just watching yourself drown in slow motion."
you bit your lip so hard you felt the faint copper sting of blood again. "you don't understand..."
"i do understand." jay interrupted gently. "he doesn't talk about her to you because you've made it so easy for him to pretend everything is fine. you answer his texts at two in the morning and you never ask for anything. he has no idea how much this is killing you because you act like you're completely fine with being a secret."
the words hit you like a violent wave. jay was right, and that was the most terrifying part. you had built a prison out of your own silence, convincing yourself it was the only way to stay close to sunghoon.
"if you talk to him," jay said softly. "at least you'll know. if he cares about you, even a little bit, he’ll hear you out. and if he doesn't..." jay hesitated, his eyes full of a preoccupied pity. "...then at least you stop wasting your heart on that."
you stared down at the wet ring left on the table by your melting glass. the thought of confronting sunghoon made your stomach twist into sick knots. you could already imagine his unreadable expression, the way his jaw would tighten, the sudden chill that would fill the air before he turned and walked out your door for good.
you knew how it would end. you knew it was a disaster waiting to happen.
but as you sat there under the diner lights, looking at the broken bits of paper scattered between your hands, you realized you couldn't keep living in the dark forever.
"fine." you breathed out, the word barely a whisper, yet heavy enough to break whatever was left of your composure. "i'll talk to him."
jay reached across the table and squeezed your wrist, offering a reassuring nod. "it's going to be okay, y/n."
you nodded back, pretending to believe him, dread settling deep in your chest. because deep down, you knew the moment you asked sunghoon to choose you for a second, you were going to lose him forever.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
Dear Sunghoon,
I am writing this on the day I probably, completely fuck it all up. No matter how much I have worked on accepting reality, people always say hope is the last thing you lose. I know you don’t feel the same way about me, I know it. But a stupid part of me keeps asking: what if? What if you have slowly grown to care about my presence, even if it is just the smallest piece of you?
“El roce hace el cariño”, my mom used to tell me. Closeness breeds affection. The belief that if you share enough space with someone — if you touch them enough, hold them in the dark, and breathe the same air long enough — something soft and real is bound to grow between you. I have been clinging to that proverb for months, praying that my warmth would eventually rub off on your cold edges.
You probably understand that kind of desperation better than anyone. After all, why is it that you keep trying to go back to her, if not because of hope? Why do you keep running back to a ghost, if not for the foolish belief that things might turn out differently this time?
We aren't so different, Sunghoon. We are both just tragic fools holding onto people who are already miles away from us. You are anchored to someone who left you in the past, and I am anchored to a version of you that doesn't even exist outside my own head.
Jay told me that I need to speak up. He thinks that if I finally ask you for clarity, maybe you will give me something to hold onto. But Jay doesn't see the way your eyes go completely hollow the second things get too real. He doesn't realize that the only reason I have lasted this long in your life is because I made myself as quiet and undemanding as possible.
I know what is going to happen tonight. I know that the second I break our unspoken rule of silence, the fragile illusion we built will shatter. You will pull your walls back up, grab your coat and walk out my door. And yet, here I am, getting ready to ask you anyway.
Because starving like this is slowly destroying me, Sunghoon. I would rather let you break my heart all at once tonight than spend another month watching it erode into nothing.
If this is the last time you ever come to my room... at least I will know I tried.
Yours, even at the end,
Y/N
he was already on the sofa with you, his cold fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, his breath hot against your neck. it was the same routine it had been for months: no prelude, no softly whispered greetings, just the immediate dive into the dark where you didn't have to talk.
every nerve in your body screamed at you to just yield. your mind spun into a dizzying spiral of panic. shut up, a loud voice in your head begged. just close your eyes and let him touch you. if you say a single word, you ruin it. you lose him. just take what he’s giving you. you knew how delicate this fragile agreement was. one wrong step, one wrong sentence, and it all would shatter into dust.
but beneath the sheer terror of losing him was a small burn of indignity. you were a human being, sitting on your own couch, letting someone who barely looked you in the eye use your body to quiet down his problems. didn't you deserve five minutes of honesty? didn't you deserve to be listened to, just once, before you let him drown out your thoughts again?
before you could stop yourself, your hands pushed firmly against his chest. "wait, sunghoon."
he paused, pulling back just an inch. for a second, he looked genuinely confused, his eyes blinking down at you as if his brain was trying to process why the routine had suddenly broken. it was an alien look on him — he wasn't used to you doing this.
"i wanted to talk about something first." you whispered, your heart hammering violently against your ribs.
"what…?" the cold edge that instantly entered his tone made your breath hitch. the tiny spark of courage you had been clinging to disintegrated in a fraction of a second. the sheer power he held over you hit like a physical weight. just a single word from his lips made you want to drop your hands, apologize, and pretend you had never spoken.
"about…" you swallowed hard, forcing the words out past the tight lump in your throat. "i-i talked to jay today."
"so?"
"i mean… we talked about you." you stumbled, unable to hold his gaze. "about you and your ex, to be exact."
the momentary confusion on sunghoon’s face vanished, replaced by an abrupt spark of realization that hardened into icy annoyance. he pulled away from you, sitting back on the couch cushion and staring at you like you had crossed an unforgivable line.
"and why the fuck are you two talking about that?" he asked, his voice low and chillingly quiet.
"jay is my friend too." you insisted, your fingers twisting frantically into the fabric of your jeans. "he’s just looking out for me."
"there is nothing to look out for, y/n." he let out a harsh breath, tilting his head up toward the ceiling before looking back at you. "i don’t get how my relationship with my ex has anything to do with you."
the words cut right through you, exposing the pathetic truth of your standing in his life. you felt exposed, naked and small sitting next to him on the sofa, but the bitter ache in your chest forced you to keep pushing.
"i-i mean… sunghoon, i don’t want to be in the middle if you’re going to get back together." you stammered, your voice trembling as you reached for any sliver of self-respect. "i think… i think if we’re doing this, then i deserve a… an explanation?"
sunghoon fell completely silent. the quiet that settled over the living room was suffocating. he just stared at you, his face a completely unreadable mask, before his jaw tightened.
"you’re not in the middle." he said evenly, every syllable laced with detached finality. "you are not between anybody. don’t… let’s not fucking do this. when we get back together, i will tell you."
you froze. it was like the air had been sucked straight out of your lungs and the entire world had stopped moving. you hadn't realized how much the simple grammar of a sentence could completely tear a person apart until that exact moment.
there was no conditional in his voice. no “if”. when. it wasn't a distant thought. it was a guaranteed outcome, a future he had already mapped out in his head, it was a reality where he was going back to her, and you were just the temporary space-filler on his way there.
sunghoon pushed himself off the sofa, grabbing his jacket off the armrest in one motion. "i’m leaving, y/n." he snapped, refusing to look at you as he threw the coat over his shoulders. "you know damn well this is not what we are about."
"no! sunghoon, wait!"
panic seized you, completely obliterating whatever dignity you had tried to defend. you scrambled off the couch, your hands reaching out instinctively to catch his sleeve, completely terrified of the cold distance growing between you.
"no, please, sunghoon, wait." you begged, tears burning hot behind your eyes. "i just meant… i don’t want to cause trouble. and i… i know what this is about, i know how it goes, but… i have feelings too, you know?"
sunghoon stopped, but he didn't turn around to comfort you. he just looked down at your hands clutching his sleeve, his expression deadened, like you were a stranger making a pathetic scene in public.
"that's your problem, y/n." he said, his voice void of a single drop of warmth. "i never asked you to feel anything. i never lied to you." he yanked his arm back, loosening your grip effortlessly. "if you can't handle this, then we're done."
the words tasted like ash in your mouth. a white-hot flare of rage exploded inside you — blinding anger at him for being so disgustingly cold, but even more so at yourself for standing there like a pathetic loser. you wanted to scream at him, you wanted to slap that detached look right off his face. you wanted to push him out the door, slam it shut, and tear down every single memory of him. you hated him. god, you hated him so much in that moment it made your throat burn.
but as he turned his heel toward the door, panic instantly swallowed the rage whole.
the thought of him walking out that door, leaving you alone with the deafening silence of your empty apartment, terrified you far more than any humiliation ever could. if he left tonight, he would never come back. you would just become another mistake he erased from his head on his way back to her.
you couldn't let him leave. you were too weak, too pathetic, too addicted to the poison he fed you.
so before he could reach the doorknob, you stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "sunghoon." you choked out. your voice trembled, but you forced the tears back. you couldn't be needy right now, needy got you abandoned. you had to be useful, you had to be what he wanted.
you reached up, your fingers shaking violently as they brushed the cold collar of his jacket. you couldn't bring yourself to look at his face, couldn't bear to see the sheer indifference in his eyes, so you stared at the base of his throat.
"i'm sorry." you whispered, hating yourself with every fiber of your being as the words spilled out. "forget i said anything. i don't care. i don't care about an explanation."
you slid the jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall onto the floor between you. sunghoon didn't stop you, but he didn't help you either. he just stood there, watching you with that suffocating silence, testing how much you would degrade yourself just to keep him in the room.
your hands moved down to his waist, unbuckling his belt with rushed movements. you stepped closer until your chest was flush against his shirt, lifting your chin to press your lips against the familiar line of his jaw.
"please." you breathed into his skin, your heart breaking into a million jagged pieces with every word. "just stay. you don't have to talk. you don't have to explain anything. just stay with me."
sunghoon let out a exhale through his nose. for an agonizing second, he didn't move. then, with a sudden, rough grip, his hands slammed onto your waist, pulling you flush against him until there wasn't a single inch of space left between your bodies.
there was no tenderness in it. no soft kiss to reassure you, no gentle touch to ease the ache. he backed you up until your thighs hit the sofa, shoving you down onto the cushions and completely crowding over you.
his mouth smashed against yours — not to comfort you, but to shut you up. the kiss was demanding, and you opened your lips instantly, drinking him in as if you were a dying person in a desert. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down harder, needing the sheer physical weight of him to crush the unbearable agony in your chest.
he pulled back just an inch, his chest rising and falling against yours, but he didn't let you go. his fingers tangled roughly into the hair at the nape of your neck, yanking your head back until you had no choice but to look up into his eyes. there was an almost mocking glint in his gaze — a cruel amusement that made your stomach twist into a knot of humiliation.
"what happened to all those questions, y/n?" he murmured, his voice low. his thumb pressed hard against your bottom lip, dragging it down until your mouth parted. "i thought you wanted an explanation. i thought you had feelings."
the word sounded disgusting coming out of his mouth. a weapon he was throwing right back in your face. you swallowed hard, another fresh burn stinging behind your eyes. he was mocking you when you were already on your knees. but the threat of him walking out was still hanging in the air like a blade, and you were too much of a coward to test it again.
"i don't." you rasped out, hating yourself so much the words almost choked you. "i don't care about any of that."
"liar." sunghoon whispered against your skin, letting out a humorless breath that brushed over your cheek. his grip on your hair tightened just enough to make a helpless sound escape your throat.
he shifted his weight, crowding over you so heavily that your back sank deeper into the sofa cushions. his free hand slid down your front, his long fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants and tugging them down with a single pull that tore a quiet gasp from your lips.
"you're so pathetic." he muttered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he pulled your clothes away, leaving your skin exposed to the cool living room air. "you'll let me do whatever i want as long as i stay, won't you?"
every single word was a deliberate slap, but your body betrayed you anyway. a shiver ran down your spine at the touch of his cold knuckles dragging up the inside of your thigh. you hated how your pulse hammered in your ears, hated how desperately your core throbbed for the distraction, for the release he held over you like a leash.
"yes." you whispered into the dark, completely surrendering the last shred of pride you possessed. "just... please, sunghoon."
"say it properly." he commanded softly, his hand pressing flat against your bare stomach, forcing a ragged breath out of you. his tone wasn't gentle. it was demanding, a test to see how far into the dirt you would drag yourself just to keep his hands on you. "tell me what you want."
your fingers dug into his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath his shirt as you dragged him closer, unable to look him in the eye as you admitted it out loud. "i want you." you choked out, your voice breaking. "please... touch me."
a low sound rumbled in his chest. not satisfaction, but the cruel validation of a man who knew he owned you completely. instead of giving you what you wanted, he abruptly caught both of your wrists in one hand, pinning them against the back of the sofa. he pulled away, sitting up and looking down at you with terrifying detachment.
"you don't get to ask for anything, y/n." he released your wrists, shifting his weight back until he was sitting up on the edge of the cushions. he looked down at you as he gestured toward the floor in front of him with a single tilt of his chin. "if you want me to stay tonight, you’re going to have to earn it."
the words hung in the quiet living room. a wave of nausea hit you, instantly freezing whatever heat had built up in your body. he wasn't even going to give you the delusion of shared touch, he literally wanted you on your knees. he wanted you completely broken down, serving him just to prove how little self-respect you had left.
your stomach churned with a blinding rage. get up, your mind shrieked. tell him to go to hell. push him out and lock the door. but as your eyes drifted up to his face, seeing his posture already shifting like he was seconds away from standing up and walking out forever, the anger vanished into terror. you couldn't do it.
with trembling limbs, you slid off the sofa, dropping onto your knees on the cold floor right between his legs. the sheer humiliation of it made your throat feel like it was closing up.
sunghoon didn't smile, he didn't look pleased. he just sat back, staring down at you with those unreadable eyes as he fully unfastened his belt. "well?" he murmured, his voice laced with cruel impatience.
you moved before your mind could protest, hurriedly freeing him from his underwear. he was already fully hard, a slick drop gleaming at the tip. it was the silent proof that he had anticipated your surrender long before you gave it, he knew you would break with quiet certainty.
your trembling hands took hold of him, stroking his cock with a steady rhythm, using his pre-cum to keep the movement fluid. every part of you was striving to give him a reason — any reason — to keep you in his head. sunghoon watched your submission with his heavy gaze before lightly slapping his hot length across your cheek, leaving a wet streak against your burning skin. you felt filthy, knowing you were degrading yourself purely for his amusement.
"open." sunghoon commanded, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through you.
the moment your lips parted, he showed zero mercy. he didn't give your throat a single second to adjust, taking control instantly as his palm clamped around the back of your head, forcing you down to take all of him at once. a low groan broke from his chest, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair without a shred of gentleness, anchoring you in place as he dictated your every breath.
he set a ruthless pace, using your throat with absolute authority. tears pricked the corners of your eyes, blurring the sight of his beautiful face. he looked so pristine sitting back while you knelt on the cold floor at his feet, completely undone.
you tried to breathe through your nose, your hands clutching weakly at his thighs for leverage, but he didn't soften his pace for a second. he wanted you to know that while your dignity was disintegrating in that room, he was barely breaking a sweat.
"i know you like being treated like this." he whispered, his thumb coming up to press firmly into the pulse point at your neck. "so desperate to stay relevant to me."
he pulled back just enough to let you gasp for a second, only to drive back in deeper, choking out a muffled sob from your chest. sunghoon let out a breathy chuckle, the sound so devastatingly casual it made your heart shatter all over again.
"what an obedient slut." he murmured, his hips thrusting upward as his grip in your hair turned iron-clad.
without warning, he yanked your head back, causing a harsh gag to tear from your throat as he roughly pulled his cock out of your mouth. "on the couch. now."
his command left zero room for hesitation. there was no patience in his touch, no slow foreplay to ease you into it. his fingers grazed your slick center for one fleeting second — a cruel gesture meant purely to mock how deeply your body betrayed you — before he lined himself up.
"you brought this on yourself." he whispered against the skin of your neck, his breath hot, right before he drove straight inside you in one ruthless thrust.
the sudden stretch hit you so hard your back arched off the sofa, a breathless scream catching in the back of your throat. it was overwhelming enough to erase every single thought in your head.
sunghoon didn't pause to let you adjust. he immediately set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping forward against yours with a hard rhythm that echoed through the quiet room. his fingers dug brutally into your hips, anchoring you to the cushions as he took everything you had just offered him.
"sunghoon-" you whimpered, your head rolling back against the armrest as he hit deep spots inside you.
he didn't answer. he kept his jaw clenched, his eyes fixated on the wall above your head, checked out emotionally even as his body used yours with practiced precision. he was using the friction to drown out whatever mess was inside his own head, completely unbothered by the fact that he was breaking you in the process.
and the worst part — the most sickening, pathetic part of it all — was that as his weight pressed you down and his body filled yours over and over, the panic in your chest finally started to quiet down.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his cold face down into the crook of your shoulder, holding on for dear life as he drove you higher and higher towards an edge you didn't even deserve. you took every rough push, every callous bite of his teeth against your skin, swallowing the bitter taste of your own guilt just to feel him close.
it was a humiliating conflict. deep in your chest, a wave of self-loathing washed over you. you had never felt smaller, kneeling to his whims and letting him reduce you to a convenience right after you had tried to finally speak up.
yet, beneath the crushing weight of your ruined pride, your body was betraying you completely. every brutal thrust sent an embarrassing surge of heat pooling straight into your gut. your slick center clamped desperately around him with every impact, completely traitorous to the grief in your chest. you hated how good it felt. you hated that the friction was perfect, that your hips involuntarily twitched upward to meet his weight, seeking the very pleasure that was destroying you.
a choked whimper slipped past your lips, a sound so needy and small it made your stomach churn with disgust at yourself. you were weeping from the degradation, yet your body was begging for every single inch he offered.
sunghoon didn't offer a single word of comfort. his hand shifted down, his thumb pressing with precise intent right against your swollen center. the sudden stimulation shattered the last of your restraint. a gasp tore from your throat as your spine arched, the pathetic contrast of tears streaming down your face while your body chased the peak making your heart break all over again.
"fuck, y/n. you’re always so fucking needy." he rasped softly, his voice lacking affection. he wasn't looking at your face, his eyes now fixed purely on the mess between your thighs, watching your total submission. "so fucking wet for being such a demanding girl. come on my cock, come on."
your orgasm didn't bring relief, but a sudden rush of sensory overload. at first, the climax rippled through you in a blinding wave, making your body snap taut. your breath caught in your chest, your fingers digging into the seam of the couch as your center pulsated around him in tight spasms. for one fleeting second, you waited for the wave to recede so you could drag air back into your lungs.
but instead, sunghoon kept pushing. he didn't slow his hips, and he didn't lift his thumb from your swollen clit. he simply maintained that precise pressure, grinding straight through the peak.
a desperate sound broke from your throat as the pleasure instantly turned into an agonizing sensation. every microscopic movement of his thumb felt like a spark against raw skin, almost crossing the line into sensory torture.
"sunghoon, wait-" you gasped out, the word muffled instantly as you shoved your face deep into the cushion. you couldn't let him hear the full extent of the humiliating whimpers escaping you.
you hated your body for reacting like this. you hated that even as your heart was shattering under the weight of his coldness, your slick center was still twitching helplessly against him, betraying every ounce of dignity you had left.
instinctively, you tried to pull away. you twitched your hips back just a fraction of an inch, trying to escape the unbearable friction against your center.
sunghoon’s response was immediate. his fingers dug brutally into the skin above your hipbones, his iron grip anchoring you to the cushions so firmly you couldn't move a single millimeter. he didn't speak, he didn't offer a soft word or check to see if you were okay. he simply held you pinned down and drove his hips forward in another excruciating thrust.
"ah- no, please-" you wept, your back arching off the couch in a desperate attempt to diffuse the sensation. it was too much, every inch he slid inside feeling magnified ten times over.
you were completely at his mercy, weeping from the sheer humiliation of being so thoroughly used, yet completely paralyzed by the involuntary heat pulsing through your body.
sunghoon let out a gravelly breath against your shoulder. you could feel every spasm of your walls milking him, forced into continuous contractions by the overstimulation.
his pace picked up, each thrust driving deep into your hyper-sensitive core, eliciting a small sob from your lips every single time his cock fully went inside you. your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your toes curling as your body remained trapped in an endless loop of overstimulated release. you couldn't tell where the pleasure ended and the ache began, becoming just a shivering mess beneath his hands.
"this is what you wanted. so fucking take it." with three final thrusts, sunghoon went rigid above you. a guttural groan tore from his chest as his body shuddered, burying his full length inside your slick heat as he spilled himself deep into you.
he stayed there for a long moment, his weight pinning you down while his labored breath rattled against your ear. you lay completely still beneath him, your body continuing to twitch with tiny residual pulses that made you squeeze your eyes shut against the tears.
then, without a word, he pulled out. the sudden rush of cool living room air against your exposed skin felt like a slap.
you didn't move, you couldn't. you just lay there, face pressed into the damp sofa cushion, your chest heaving in shallow hitches. your thighs were still shaking, your muscles aching from the strain, but the physical sensation was already fading into numbness.
behind you, you heard the rustle of fabric. the metallic click of his belt buckle. the efficient sound of sunghoon dressing himself like he was packing up after a business transaction. he didn't check on you, he didn't reach down to cover your bare legs with the blanket nearby. he didn't even look at you.
he just existed in the room with you, completely untainted by the mess he had just made of your body and your heart.
you squeezed your eyes shut as the floorboards creaked under his body. every movement he made felt like he was erasing himself from your apartment in real time. you wanted to turn around, wanted to look at him to see if there was even a fraction of emotion in his eyes, a single crack in his composure. but you were too terrified of finding nothing at all.
"i'm leaving now." he said. his voice was even, completely devoid of any lingering heat or feelings.
you swallowed the bitter lump in your throat. you couldn't bring yourself to answer. you couldn't say okay, and you certainly couldn't say goodnight.
his footsteps drifted down the hallway toward the front door. you heard the soft slide of his jacket over his shoulders, the quiet jingle of his keys, and the door opening.
and then there was only silence.
the suffocating quiet settled over your apartment until it pressed down on your chest, making breathing feel like a chore. you slowly pulled your knees up to your chest, shivering as the cold settled into your bones. your body felt spent, stained with the physical proof of your total surrender. you had given up every single shred of self-respect you had left. you had let him degrade you, mock you, and use you until you were completely empty — and for what?
he was still gone. he was still going back to her.
a ragged sob tore through your throat, spilling over into the quiet room. you buried your face in your knees, finally letting the humiliation wash over you in full force. you hated him with everything inside you. but as you sat there alone in the dark, breathing in the faint trace of his cologne on your sofa, the most terrifying thought of all hit you.
if he texted you again tomorrow night, you knew you would still open the door.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
Dear Sunghoon,
And the cycle repeats. Jay has nagged me so many times, I have lost count. You should probably repay me for that added damage, too.
I have a genuine question for you — do you hate me? I ask this not as a hopeless girl who won’t ever be reciprocated by her sneaky link, but more as a person with fragile humanity. Someone who bleeds, who feels, and who sits alone in the dark long after you close my front door. Because the way you look at me when I ask for the bare minimum... it feels like disgust. It feels like you are offended by the fact that I exist, that I have a pulse, that I dare to ache when you bruise me. Why do you treat someone who gives you everything like they are dirty just for offering it?
I know I do all of this to myself because of how painfully insecure I am, because I don’t respect myself enough to believe I deserve better. But Sunghoon, I have come to the certain conclusion that being aware of something does not make it easier for you to change it. Knowing that I am destroying myself doesn't give me the strength to stop. Knowing that you are using me to fill a spot that isn't mine doesn't stop my hands from reaching for you. Self-awareness isn't a cure; it is just a front row seat to watch my own pathetic ruin. I am watching myself drown in real time, and I still can't pull my head above the water.
To be honest, I do enjoy the sex. It isn’t only about the fact that you are way too good at it. It is also because those quiet hours on my apartment are the only times I ever get to hold you. Even when you are rough, even when you are mean, even when you are using my body to quiet the noise in your own head — for those few hours, you are actually here. Your skin is against mine, your heart is beating against my chest. You are in my room, breathing my air, not anybody else’s. I let you break me because even your coldness feels like warmth when I have been freezing for so long.
You left a little while ago. The apartment is freezing, my body still aches from the weight of you, and my face is still wet. The physical trace you leave behind makes me hate myself. But God help me, I think I hate the thought of an empty room even more.
Yours, regardless,
Y/N
as time went by, you kept your conversation with jay long lost in the back of your mind. there was no space for personal feelings in your transaction with sunghoon, and you couldn't afford to let anyone else's logic wake you up from the high. so things went back to normal. or at least, the version of normal you had forced yourself to digest.
but you could feel the presence of her more and more every single day.
it was in the tiny moments that used to seemingly be yours. it was the way sunghoon’s eyes flicked to his phone screen the second he sat up, his thumb swiping across the glass before he even reached for his shirt. it was the subtle shift in his posture when a notification lit up the dark room — a softness in his face that never, ever belonged to you. he was drifting further into the past with every passing week, and you were just the temporary anchor keeping him grounded while he waited for her to take him back.
you tried to get better. god, you tried so hard. you bought psychology books you couldn't bring yourself to finish, listened to jay’s gentle lectures about self-respect, and made endless mental lists of all the reasons you should hate sunghoon. you told yourself that tomorrow would be the day you finally blocked his number. tomorrow you would pick up the pieces.
but tomorrow always came with the terrifying reality of his absence, and your courage evaporated into nothing.
awareness was a useless weapon against an addiction. your self-worth was so thoroughly rotted, so completely tied to his touch, that without it, you felt like you didn't even exist. you were trapped in a loop: hate him, hate yourself more, crave his validation to erase the self-hatred, and end up hating yourself twice as much when he walked out the door.
it was another lonely thursday night in which he didn't come over. he didn't text. he didn't even send a one word message to tell you he was busy.
the quiet in your apartment felt suffocating. to stop the noise in your head, you opened a bottle of wine. and when that wasn't enough, you dragged out a half-empty bottle of cheap gin buried in the back of your pantry, drinking it straight from the glass just to feel the burn.
but alcohol didn't numb you the way you desperately hoped it would. instead, it just stripped away the fragile lie you maintained when you were sober. it made the insecurity scream.
by midnight, you were completely plastered, stumbling into the bathroom and leaning clumsily against the sink. you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes glassed over, the rims of your eyelids raw and red. you hated what you saw. you hated your face, hated your body, hated the pathetic posture of a girl who spent her nights staring at her phone, waiting for a man who wouldn't even acknowledge her on the street.
you slumped down onto the cold tile floor, pulling your knees to your chest as the room spun around you. he is never going to love you, the liquor whispered, cold through the haze in your brain. she has his heart, his memories, his future. you're just the trash he steps on while he waits for her.
a sudden sob tore from your throat, echoing against the bathroom tiles. it wasn't just sadness, it was realization. you were dying in this apartment. piece by piece, night by night, you were sacrificing every single atom of your soul for a man who didn't even care if you were breathing after he left.
a dark wave of liquor-fueled clarity washed over you. you couldn't do this anymore. if you stayed in this loop for another month, there would be nothing left of you to save. so with trembling fingers, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. the screen blinded you in the dark. your thumb hovered over sunghoon’s name, your pulse hammering violently in your throat.
the alcohol gave you a reckless burst of courage — the kind born out of pure rock bottom. you didn't care about the rules anymore, you didn't care about playing it cool. you were going to force an end to this tonight, even if it destroyed you in the process.
you didn't press call. a text could be swiped away. a phone call could be ignored or muted with a flick of his thumb. you knew how easily he could dismiss your existence when you were just words on a screen. if you were going to burn this down, if you were going to force him to look at the wreckage he created, you couldn't do it from the safety of your bathroom floor. he had to finally look you in the eye.
with clumsy movements, your thumb tapped open the uber app. with your vision blurred from the alcohol and dried tears, you managed to type in his address — a place you had only been to a handful of times, always late at night, always under the strict rule that you were only an invited guest, never a surprise.
you didn't care about his rules anymore. his rules were a cage designed to keep you small and convenient.
you dragged yourself up from the tile, swaying violently as a wave of nausea rolled through your stomach. you didn't check the mirror again. you didn't fix your hair or wipe away the faint black smudges of mascara beneath your eyes. you just grabbed your coat off the rack, shoved your feet into the nearest pair of shoes, and practically stumbled out into the cold night air.
the uber ride was a nauseating blur. the city lights smeared through the window, the warmth of the car making your head spin even faster. sitting in the back seat, your mind lashed out at you in brutal waves. turn back, a terrified voice pleaded. you are out of your mind. if you show up at his apartment drunk like this, he will never speak to you again. he will look at you like you are insane.
but the alcohol in your blood spoke louder. let him look at you like you are insane. let him hate you. anything is better than being his dirty secret. you gripped the edge of the seat, your chest tight with a mix of drunk rage and suicidal bravery.
when the car pulled up to his building, you almost threw up right there on the pavement. you stumbled out into the chill of the night, your legs feeling heavy and detached from the rest of your body. you slipped through the doors of the lobby behind a resident who didn't even turn around, stepping into the carpeted elevator with your heart hammering so hard it felt like it was going to burst.
floor eight. the elevator chimed softly. the doors slid open, revealing the silent hallway. every step toward apartment 805 felt like your last. the courage that had fueled you in your bathroom was beginning to sour, leaving behind a sickening dread. the smell of cheap alcohol was noticeable on your breath, your clothes were messy, and your entire body was trembling uncontrollably.
what are you doing? your mind screamed as you stopped in front of his door. go home. please, just go home before you destroy what is left of yourself.
you reached out. your finger hovered over the metal button of the doorbell. you thought about every cold phrase he had ever said to you. when we get back together, i will tell you. you thought about how he treated you like a nuisance every time you dared to act like a human being with a heart. you thought about how much you hated him, and how much more you hated yourself.
so you pressed the button. the melodic chime echoed through the hallway.
you froze, holding your breath, your heart lodging in your throat. a second passed, then two. for a terrible moment, you thought he wasn't home, that you had traveled all this way just to break down in an empty hallway.
then, the faint sound of footsteps approached the door. a lock clicked.
you squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, bracing yourself to look at sunghoon, to say whatever reckless words were burning a hole in your chest.
the door swung open.
"sunghoon, i-"
the words died in your throat. the air evaporated from your lungs. it wasn't sunghoon.
standing in the soft light of his entryway was a girl. she was beautiful — effortlessly so, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that clearly belonged to him, her hair pulled up in a loose bun that spoke of absolute familiarity. she looked completely at home, completely secure, holding a glass of water in her hand as she blinked at you in confused surprise.
it was her. you immediately knew it was her.
she looked down at your disheveled clothes, taking in your glassy, tear-stained eyes and the lingering smell of alcohol clinging to you.
"can i help you?" she asked, her voice polite and completely unbothered.
the floor beneath your feet felt like it was dissolving into thin air. every drop of gin in your bloodstream instantly turned to ice. the drunken rage that had carried you into this building vanished, replaced by a shame so profound it made your knees buckle. you were standing in the hallway of his nice apartment, smelling of cheap liquor and dried tears, looking at a girl who looked like she belonged there.
she was wearing his clothes, she was drinking his water. she was standing inside his home like she had every right in the world to be there, while you were huddled outside on the doormat in the dark.
before your throat could force out a single word, a familiar voice drifted from inside the apartment.
"em, who is it?"
sunghoon walked into view. he was wearing sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, his hair soft and unstyled — the relaxed, domestic version of him you had only ever been allowed to see in the pitch black hours of the night.
then his eyes landed on you. for a split second, his face went completely blank. then, a dark shift hardened his features, his jaw tightening so hard you could hear the snap of his teeth from where you stood.
"go back inside for a second, em." sunghoon said softly to her. his tone was gentle — a protective tenderness he had never once used on you.
the girl gave you one last look of quiet pity before stepping back. sunghoon slipped out into the hallway, pulling his front door shut behind him until the latch clicked into place, locking his real life safely away from the pathetic mess standing in front of him.
"what the fuck are you doing here, y/n?" he asked, his voice a venomous whisper that sliced straight through the quiet hall.
you swallowed hard, but your throat was completely dry. the overhead lights exposed every flaw, every smudge of makeup, every violent tremor in your hands. you felt naked. you felt insane.
"you..." your voice broke, a high squeak. you cleared your throat, trying desperately to anchor yourself against the wall as another wave of nausea hit you. "you lied to me."
sunghoon crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you with an expression of pure annoyance. "i didn't lie about anything. are you drunk? go home before you make even more of an idiot of yourself."
"no." you choked out, the bitter tears finally spilling hot and heavy down your cheeks. "no, sunghoon, listen to me. you said... you said when you got back together with her, you would tell me." the words hung between you in the quiet corridor, small and pathetic. "you promised." you whispered, your fingers clutching the fabric of your coat. "you said, “when we get back together, i will tell you”. those were your exact words. why... why didn't you tell me then?"
you weren't asking because you expected an apology. you were asking because some broken part of you needed to know why you hadn't even earned a thirty second text message. why he had let you sit alone in your apartment, spiraling and drinking yourself blind, while he was inside playing house with her.
sunghoon stared at you. there was no guilt in his eyes. no regret, no hesitation. "because it's none of your business." he said evenly, every syllable delivered with brutal precision. "i don't owe you a timeline, y/n. i don't owe you a courtesy call. we weren’t together."
the sentence hit your chest like a physical blow, knocking whatever little air you had left straight out of your lungs.
"you weren't supposed to show up at my door like this." he continued, taking a half-step closer. "this is exactly why i kept you at a distance."
the words didn't even sting anymore. they just settled deep into your bones, joining the black pool of self-hatred you had been drowning in for months.
"i just wanted... a text." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "just a text so i didn't have to find out like this."
his expression was terrifyingly neutral, his posture completely relaxed, as if he were explaining a simple mathematical fact to a child who kept getting the answer wrong. "texting you would imply there was an expectation of accountability." he said, his voice smooth. "we never had that, y/n. we were two people who kept each other company when it was convenient. sending you a text to announce my personal decisions would have suggested there was something to break off. there wasn't." he leaned slightly against the doorframe, crossing his arms, looking down at you with a logical clarity that cut deeper than any insult ever could.
"you can't just say that." you rasped, a sudden surge of heat breaking through the ice in your chest. "you can't just stand there and pretend like there was nothing. sunghoon, we spent months together. you came to my apartment, you stayed in my bed, you put your hands on me. you… you can't just act like i'm a stranger who hallucinated all of it! even if we weren't official, even if it was just physical to you... there was something between us. a person deserves at least a text out of basic human decency."
sunghoon didn't flinch. he just stared at you, his eyes blank. "you're confusing physical proximity with emotional obligation, y/n." he said quietly, his voice steady. "you opened your door every time i came over. you let me stay. but i never promised you a title, i never promised you a future, and i certainly never promised you updates on my personal life."
he tilted his head slightly, taking in your trembling frame with a look that wasn't even angry anymore — it was worse. it was clinical pity. "i was transparent with you. you knew what this was." he continued, every word delivered with calm precision. "if you chose to attach romantic weight to sex, that was your decision, not mine. you can't hold me accountable for expectations you created in your own head."
the hallway seemed to tilt on its axis. his logic was so clean, so airtight, that it felt like a physical blow crushing your chest. was he right? had you made it all up? were all those quiet hours on your apartment just a delusion you had manufactured because you were too pathetic to accept reality?
you felt a dizzying sensation in your brain — like your own memories were rotting into lies right in front of you. he didn't even have to raise his voice or call you crazy. he just stated his facts, and in doing so, he made you look at yourself through his eyes: an unstable girl who had shown up drunk at his door, demanding emotional tax for a transaction she had willingly offered.
you were crazy, you had to be. you had taken his coldness and convinced yourself it was intimacy just so you wouldn't feel so alone.
"i'm ordering you a ride." sunghoon said, pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping the screen without an ounce of hesitation. "you need to go home, sober up, and stop this."
"sunghoon..." your voice was barely a whisper now, completely stripped of any remaining fight.
"it's done, y/n." he murmured, his thumb swiping across the glass. "the car will be downstairs in three minutes. please, don't come back."
he backed into his apartment, his fingers resting on the edge of the door. he didn't slam it. he just closed it softly, with a deliberate click that sealed his real life away from you forever.
the silence of the hallway crashed down on you. you stood there alone, your hands shaking so hard you couldn't even shove them into your coat pockets. you turned around on numb legs, stumbling down the long corridor and into the elevator. in the polished metal reflection of the elevator walls, you looked completely unhinged — standing in a building where you had never belonged.
when you stepped out into the night, the car was already there. you slid into the back seat of the silver sedan waiting at the curb, staring blankly out the window as the driver pulled away.
the ride home was a silent nightmare. every time you closed your eyes, sunghoon's voice echoed in your head, calm and reasonable, tearing down every boundary you had tried to set.
you can't hold me accountable for expectations you created in your own head.
he was right, and that was the most brutal part of the entire night. you had dragged yourself through the dirt, sacrificed your dignity, and let him break you open over and over again, all for a lie that you had written. you were the architect of your own ruin.
when you finally unlocked the door to your quiet apartment, the air felt thick. you didn't turn on the lights and you didn't take off your damp coat. you just walked into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa, curling into a ball against the cold cushions.
the tears didn't come in a dramatic storm. they just spilled silently, soaking into the fabric beneath your cheek. you lay there in the dark, shivering from the alcohol leaving your system, listening to the deafening silence of the room.
you had gone to his apartment to force an end, to demand answers, to make him acknowledge your pain. but instead, you had returned home with the absolute certainty that you were completely unlovable.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
Dear Sunghoon,
You didn’t even have to raise your voice to make me feel like I was insane.
I keep sitting here in the dark, staring at the front door of my apartment, hearing your voice repeat in my head like a loop I can’t turn off. “You are confusing physical proximity with emotional obligation”. You said it so calmly, so logically. And the worst part is that you were probably right.
You never promised me anything. You never held my hand in the daylight, you never said you loved me. You just came over when you were bored, took whatever you wanted from my body, left me bleeding on my own sofa, and walked out into the night. But I was the one who wrote the story. I was the one who took your coldness and called it passion because the alternative, accepting that I meant literally nothing to you, was too terrifying to bear. I convinced myself that if I endured enough pain, if I let you degrade me enough, if I became quiet and convenient enough, I would eventually earn a place in your life. What a pathetic delusion.
When she opened your door, wearing your hoodie and holding your glass of water in the warm light of your hallway, I felt every single atom of my soul collapse. She looked like she belonged there, she looked safe. And when you walked up behind her, your voice was soft. You spoke to her with a gentle warmth that I didn't even know you had inside.
You saved all your tenderness for others, Sunghoon. For me, you only ever had the dark. You only ever had hard hands, sharp words, and the cold snap of your belt buckle before you left me alone in the quiet.
I went to your apartment because I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me. I wanted to demand an explanation, to make you feel an ounce of the guilt that was eating me alive. But you didn't even give me the dignity of a fight. You just looked at me like an inconvenience, an awkward little mess you had to sweep off your doorstep so you could get back to your real life.
You dismantled my entire existence in two minutes without even trying. You made me realize that to you, I was never a heartbreak, or a mistake, or even a guilty pleasure. I was just a temporary fix until the person you actually wanted came back.
I hate you for doing this to me. I hate you for every time you looked at me with disgust while your hands were on my skin. I hate you for making me feel like a dirty secret.
But Sunghoon, I will always hate myself so much more. I hate myself for getting on my knees, for begging you to stay, for drinking until my liver burned just to get the courage to stand in your hallway and be tossed out like trash. I knew what you were doing to me every single step of the way, and I still let you do it because I thought having a ruined version of you was better than having nothing at all. I don't think I will ever forgive myself for what I let you turn me into.
You told me not to come back, and you don't have to worry, because I won't. You win. You get to go back inside your warm apartment, hold her, and completely erase my name from your head. You get to walk away untouched while I am left sitting here in the dark, trying to figure out how to live with the empty shell of a person that was left behind.
I hope she gives you everything you need and deserve, Sunghoon. And I hope you never have to know what it feels like to stand outside a locked door, realizing you destroyed yourself for someone who didn't even bother to learn your heart.
Goodbye, Sunghoon,
Y/N
letting go wasn't a single dramatic moment. it didn't happen the night you went home, and it didn't happen when you wrote a letter. it was a slow bleed that dragged out over weeks.
the first few days felt like physical withdrawal. your brain was so used to the volatile highs and lows of his existence that the sudden deafening quiet of your life felt like torture. every time your phone buzzed on the nightstand, your chest would leap with an instinctual spike of adrenaline before reality crashed back in. he was never going to text you again. you had finally become invisible to him, exactly as he had wanted.
for almost a week, you barely left your bed, only leaving on the days when work required you to be in the office. the living room felt tainted, the sofa cushions still holding the ghost of every humiliation you had endured just to keep him in the room.
jay was the one who finally broke the lock on your front door. he didn't lecture you. he didn't give you a self-righteous “i told you so”, even though he had every right to. he just walked into your dark apartment, picked up the empty alcohol bottles off the kitchen counter, and opened the blinds to let the morning sun sweep across the floor.
"you're allowed to mourn it." jay said softly, setting a cup of warm coffee on the coffee table in front of you. "even if it was toxic. even if he treated you like garbage, you still lost something you cared about, y/n. but just don't die in this room."
jay stayed for hours. he didn't force you to talk, he just sat on the rug, working on his laptop while you stared blankly out the window, anchored simply by the presence of someone who actually cared whether you were breathing.
the hardest part was the non-linear nature of recovery. some days, you felt a flickering spark of anger — a burning rage that made you want to scrub your skin until it was raw and throw away every shirt he had ever laid his hands on. on those days, you felt almost powerful.
but then came the nights. at two am, the loneliness would creep back into your bones. you would find yourself opening his contact card, staring at his chat thread, your thumb hovering over the call button. the muscle memory of your desperation was terrifying. your mind would bargain with you: just one call. just to see if he picks up, just to hear his voice. even if he is mean, even if he hates you.
it took every ounce of strength you had left not to surrender. but one night, as you were sitting on your bed while holding your phone, you stared at sunghoon's profile picture. you realized with sickening clarity that as long as his name remained in your phone, a pathetic part of you would always be waiting for a notification that was never coming. you were keeping the leash around your own neck.
so, with trembling fingers and a throat so tight it hurt to breathe, you tapped the three small dots at the top of the screen.
block contact.
a pop-up window appeared, asking if you were sure. your heart hammered against your ribs. blocking him felt like severing the final thread linking you to the person you had spent months destroying yourself for. it meant accepting that the story was irreversibly over.
you pressed the screen. just like that, his name vanished from your recent messages. you buried your face in your pillow and wept until your chest burned, mourning the girl who had let herself be brought so low, and mourning the illusion of the man you had tried so hard to save.
blocking his number gave you a brief illusion of control. for a few hours, you felt a strange triumph — as if tapping a screen could magically erase months of degradation and pull out the roots he had planted deep inside your brain.
but reality set in by the next morning. erasing his contact details didn't delete his voice from your mind. it didn't wash away the ghost of his hands on your hips, and it certainly didn't fix the broken foundation of who you were before he ever walked through the door. sunghoon hadn't created your insecurities, he had simply found the bleeding wounds you already had and poured salt into them until you were addicted to the sting.
going back to your usual work routine was a lesson in how ruined you actually felt.
you put on real clothes, applied enough concealer to hide the dark circles carved under your eyes, and forced yourself into the light of the outside world. but you walked through the office like a ghost. every interaction was filtered through the toxic lens of the self-hatred he had reinforced.
when a coworker took a second too long to reply to your email, your brain instantly spiraled: they hate you. you're annoying them. you're burdening everyone around you. when someone dropped their tone slightly in conversation, you immediately shrank back, convinced you had done something wrong, that you were naturally repulsive to the people around you.
the dynamic you had accepted with sunghoon — where you had to shrink yourself, compromise your dignity, and accept crumbs just to be tolerated — had leaked into every single corner of your life.
you couldn't look in the mirror without picking yourself apart. you would stare at your face under the bathroom lighting, tracing the lines of your cheekbones, wondering what it was about you that made you so easy to discard. she was worth keeping. she earned his soft voice, his quiet protectiveness, his home.
the hardest part of trying to get better was realizing that the enemy wasn't sunghoon anymore. he was gone, living his life without a single thought reserved for you. the enemy was the person sitting in your own skin — the part of you that still believed his cruel logic was the absolute truth.
jay kept checking in on you, bringing groceries, forcing you to step outside for fresh air, listening patiently when you talked. but even around jay, a dark thought lingered in the back of your brain: how long until he gets tired of you, too? how long until he realizes how broken and exhausting you are?
you were trapped in a cage of your own making, terrified of being alone yet convinced that anyone who got close to you would eventually see how worthless you were and walk away.
so recovery wasn't a sudden breakthrough or a grand moment of self-love, it was more like an unglamorous chore. it was forcing yourself to eat three meals a day even when your stomach almost killed you. it was stopping your hand every time you reflexively reached for your phone to check if maybe, somehow, an unknown number had popped up. it was catching yourself in the mirror, mid-critique, and forcing your eyes away before you dragged yourself down into another spiral.
you hadn't healed. the wounds were still raw and throbbing beneath the surface of your daily routine. but as you sat at your desk, going through the motions of a normal afternoon, you held onto one small thought.
you were miserable, but for the first time in months, you were miserable on your own terms. not kneeling on a cold floor, waiting for a man who didn't even care if you survived the night.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
Dear Sunghoon,
I hope this is the last letter I ever write you, but I am not going to promise anything yet. My track record with keeping promises to myself where you are concerned has always been pathetic, and I am finally done lying to myself.
It has been months now. Three or four, I have stopped counting the days like a prison sentence, which I suppose is some kind of progress. The seasons changed, the cold rain gave way to milder air, and the city moved on.
A lot has happened since the night I stood on your doormat, smelling like cheap alcohol and looking like a mess. I blocked your number, just like I knew I had to. I stopped re-reading our old text threads. I let Jay pull me out of the apartment until the four walls of my living room stopped feeling like a crime scene. I even bought a new cover for the sofa, a warm shade that covers up the worn fabric where your body used to press mine down into the cushions.
From the outside, it looks like a clean recovery story. People at work tell me I look healthy. Jay smiles when he sees me actually finishing a meal. But the truth is much uglier than that.
You left scars that time hasn't quite figured out how to smooth over yet. The insecurities you fed didn't disappear when I blocked your phone number, they just took up permanent residence inside my head. I still catch myself shrinking in rooms I have every right to stand in. I still brace myself for sudden cruelty every time someone treats me with patience, convinced that quiet kindness is just a trap waiting to spring. Every time someone shows interest in me, my brain instantly asks the same sick question you answered for me in that hallway: how long until they realize how disposable I am?
I don't even hate you anymore, I don't have the energy for it. When I look back at us now, the burning rage is gone, replaced by sadness for the girl who dropped to her knees on the floor between your legs, begging for a life you were saving for someone else. You weren't a monster, Sunghoon. You were just a man who didn't love me, and I was a person who hated herself enough to think that was acceptable.
I don't know if I will ever fully fix what was broken before I met you, or what broke while I was with you. But I survived the silence that came after you closed your front door. I survived the late night withdrawal when I thought the urge to call you would literally split my chest open.
I am writing this not because I want you to read it, but because I need to leave you here, in these pages, in these past months that have already slipped away into memory.
I hope you are happy with her. And I hope, eventually, I learn how to live in my own skin without feeling like I need to apologize just for taking up space.
Goodbye, Sunghoon. For real this time,
Y/N
as months slipped by, the sharpest edges of your grief started to round off. the constant weight in your chest slowly dissolved into a more manageable hum in the background of your life. for the first time in what felt like years, you were not just surviving the hours between sunset and dawn.
you were actually having fun sometimes, too. it was a chilly friday evening when your coworkers dragged you out to a cozy pub down the street from the office to celebrate the end of a project. normally, you would have made up an excuse to retreat back to the safety of your bed. but lately, you had been saying yes.
and for two whole hours, you slowly forgot. you sat in a worn velvet booth surrounded by the warm glow of the lights, the clinking of beer glasses, and the mindless chatter of people who momentarily loved their lives. you let out genuine laugh that started in your stomach and crinkled the corners of your eyes. you looked down at your hands resting on the table and realized they weren't trembling. you weren't constantly checking your screen for a notification that would never come, and you weren't picking apart your reflection in the glass.
you were just a normal girl, having a drink with her coworkers, finally feeling at ease. the relief of it was almost intoxicating. you took a sip of your drink, leaning back against your seat, letting the warmth of the room wash over your skin. you were rebuilding. maybe, you were going to be okay.
your phone buzzed on the table, making the screen light up. Jay :D was displayed in white letters across the display.
an involuntary smile touched your lips. jay was your safe harbor, the person who had pulled you out of the wreckage without ever asking for a single thing in return. assuming he was just calling to check if you needed a ride home or to tease you about finally going out, you grabbed your coat.
"sorry, guys, i gotta take this. it's my friend jay." you said, offering an apologetic wave to the table.
"tell him we said hi!" one of your coworkers called out over the noise of the bar.
you pushed your way through the crowded pub, slipping through the front door and stepping out onto the quiet street. the cold night air hit your cheeks, contrasting pleasantly with the warmth of the bar inside.
you swiped the screen and pressed the warm screen against your ear. "hey, jay." you said, your voice light and completely unguarded. "what's up? i'm actually still at the pub with my coworkers."
silence met you on the other end. it wasn’t the static-filled silence of a dropped call, but a deliberate quiet. you heard the faint rustle of a jacket moving, followed by a ragged exhale that sounded too close to the microphone.
your smile faltered. the playful warmth in your chest instantly curdled into a cold sensation. "jay?" you asked, taking the phone away from your ear for a split second to make sure his name was still on the screen. it was. Jay :D - Calling...
you put the phone back to your ear, your breath catching in your throat as a sudden sense of dread began to bleed through your veins. "jay, is everything okay? why aren't you speaking?"
there was a long pause. and then, through the speaker of jay's phone, a low voice spoke — a voice that was rougher and far more broken than you had ever heard it before.
"hey, y/n."
every drop of blood drained from your face in a single second. the noise of the city street vanished, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
that wasn't jay.
the air in your lungs vanished. a sickening cold washed over you, plunging straight into your stomach. for a few seconds, you couldn't move, you couldn't breathe. the world shrank down to the dark street, the glowing screen pressed against your cheek, and the sound of his ragged breathing on the line.
"sunghoon?" your voice came out cracked, shaking so hard it barely sounded like you. "where is jay? why do you have his phone?"
a slurred laugh drifted through the speaker. it was bitter and seemingly heavy with liquor — a far cry from the logical man who had shut his door in your face months ago.
"he's in the bathroom." sunghoon muttered. "left his keys and his phone here. didn't take much to slip it into my pocket when he turned around."
you gripped the phone tightly, the initial wave of paralyzing shock instantly igniting into a blinding fury. he had invaded jay's privacy, he had stolen his phone. he was standing in some bar or apartment right now, using the only safe person left in your life as a backdoor entry into yours.
"are you fucking insane?" you spat, your voice trembling with a rage you didn't even know you were capable of holding. "give the phone back to jay. don't you ever-"
"i actually waited, y/n." sunghoon interrupted, his tone dropping into a spiteful murmur. the words were venomous, meant to cut you down, but beneath the cruelty, the slurring of his speech betrayed something else. "i honestly thought you’d call me a day after. i thought you'd send one of your pathetic little paragraphs, begging me to listen to you. begging me to let you come over." a harsh laugh escaped his throat. "i didn't think you had it in you to block me." he rasped, the sentence dripping with wounded entitlement. "who the fuck gave you the right to block my number?"
he had been waiting for you to beg. he had spent weeks expecting you to crawl back like you always did, feeding his ego with your suffering. the anger burning inside your chest solidified into something deadly. you felt utterly disgusted.
"you are sick." you whispered. "you stood in your hallway and told me i was nothing to you. you told me you didn't owe me a text, a courtesy call, or an explanation. and now you're stealing jay's phone like a coward because you wanted me to be miserable?"
"miserable?" sunghoon echoed. "you were already miserable, y/n. you were crying on the floor long before i ever said a word to you."
the anger that had flared in your chest suddenly gave out beneath you, collapsing into an aching void. the tears you had been fighting off spilled over your eyelashes, stinging against the chill of the street air.
you hated how easily he could do this. you hated that after months of agonizing work, after trying so hard to build a life where his name didn't haunt every shadow, a single sentence from him could strip you down to that same helpless girl begging on his doormat.
"do you think that's fair?" you choked out, your voice breaking right down the middle, thick with a sadness so deep it made your heart ache. "do you honestly think any of this is fair to me?" you wrapped your free arm tightly around your waist, shivering as the cold seeped straight into your bones. "i gave you everything. i let you tear down every single piece of dignity i had left because i thought... i thought if i stayed long enough, you would see me. but you treated me like trash. and even after you tossed me out, even after you got what you wanted... you still couldn't just let me bleed in peace?"
a heavy silence hung on the line. "do you hate me?" you whispered, the question barely louder than the breeze rustling the trees along the pavement. "is that what this is? do you hate me so much that you can't bear the thought of me moving on?"
sunghoon let out a bitter scoff, but the speed of his response betrayed the raw nerve you had just touched. "i don't hate you." he said, his tone dripping with a calculated malice meant to protect his own bruised ego. "hating you would mean you actually mattered enough to leave an impression."
the words were designed to destroy you. they were meant to leave you broken on the pavement, just like that night at his apartment. but as you stood there, wiping a tear from your cheek with a trembling hand, the brutal truth hit you through the haze of your grief.
he was saying the cruelest things he could think of. he was trying to reduce you to nothing, trying to make you feel small and worthless again. and yet, he was the one holding the phone.
he was the one who had watched jay walk away, who had taken his friend’s phone without permission, who had searched through a contact list just to dial a number he claimed to have forgotten.
"if i mattered so little..." you murmured, your voice trembling with tears, yet laced with clarity. "then why are you holding jay's phone right now, sunghoon?"
there was no quick comeback, no smooth reasoning. just a sudden stillness on the other end of the line.
"you can say whatever mean things you want to hurt me." you whispered, your heart breaking all over again for the girl who had begged him. "but you called me. you took his phone, and you called me. and that's the most pathetic thing you've ever done."
before he could force out another cruel word to save his pride, you pulled the phone away from your ear and pressed the red end call button.
the street went dead quiet again. the tears kept flowing, soaking into the collar of your coat as you stood alone in the chill of the night. it hurt so much it felt like your chest was going to cave in.
but you knew the truth now. he hadn't called because he didn't care. he had called because he couldn't stand the fact that you were finally slipping away.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
Dear Sunghoon,
It wasn't my last letter, but somehow, it finally isn't my fault.
You stole Jay’s phone. You actually took his property and dialed my number in the dark just because you couldn't handle the silence. It makes me so furious I can barely breathe. You stood in your hallway months ago and told me I meant nothing, that you owed me no timeline. You told me to go home and stop embarrassing myself.
And yet, the second I actually obeyed you, the second I stopped crying on the sofa and blocked your number, it drove you out of your mind.
You didn't call me because you missed me, you called because you missed your high. You missed having someone so thoroughly broken beneath your hands that it made you feel powerful. You were waiting for me to keep feeding your sickening ego, you wanted me to stay permanently ruined for you so you could feel important.
And what terrifies me, what makes me hate myself even more than I hate you, is that it still hurts so fucking much. I want to tell you that I am completely over it. I want to pretend that hearing your slurred voice through the speaker didn't instantly pull me right back down to the cold tile floor of my bathroom. But it did. My heart still leaped when I realized it was you.
I hate that my feelings didn't vanish the second you proved yourself to be like this. I hate that despite every cold word you have ever thrown at my head, a small part of me still longs for the warmth I convinced myself you had.
The feelings are still there, I can't magically erase them overnight. But I am going to fight them. Every single hour, every single time my chest aches for you, every time my thumb hovers over a blank screen, I will fight it until there is nothing left of you inside me.
You wanted me to stay trapped in that loop forever, waiting in the dark until you needed a distraction. But you don't get to have me anymore.
I am still bleeding, Sunghoon. But I am never going to beg you again.
Y/N
when you hung up that night, you braced yourself for the absolute worst. you expected to wake up the next morning completely unraveled, waiting for a relapse. you were terrified that hearing his voice again would strip away every inch of progress you had fought so hard for.
but as the initial shock wore off and the adrenaline began to fade, something completely unexpected took its place. clarity.
for months, you had kept sunghoon on a pedestal in your mind. you had viewed him as this untouchable figure who held all the power, while you were just the needy person at his mercy. but that phone call had completely shattered the illusion, he wasn't untouchable. he was just a bitter man, so desperate for an ego boost that he had resorted to stealing his friend's phone, slurring his words like a child throwing a tantrum because you had finally stopped begging.
for the first time, you saw how he truly saw you: a guaranteed source of validation. the moment you stopped playing the role of the tragic girl waiting on his doorstep, his composure crumbled. ironically, the call you thought would break you ended up being the thing that saved you.
a few days later, your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
Jay :D: hey
Jay :D: im having a few people over at my place tonight, nothing crazy
Jay :D: just pizza, drinks and some music
Jay :D: you should come. i wanna see you
your chest tightened instinctively at the thought of jay's apartment. even though jay was your closest friend, the fear was still so raw. what if sunghoon was there? what if he tried to drop by with her?
you couldn't just text back. your hands were shaking slightly as you tapped jay's name and brought the phone to your ear.
he picked up on the second ring. "hey." jay said, his voice instantly warm and easy. "did you get my message?"
"yeah, i got it." you said softly, leaning your head against the wall. you hesitated, the lingering anxiety making your throat feel tight. "jay... i want to come. but i need to ask you something first."
"anything." he replied softly.
"is sunghoon going to be there?"
there was a pause on the line. "no." jay said softly, his tone reassuring. "i made sure of it, y/n. he and em aren't coming over tonight."
he took a quiet breath before continuing. "i promise you're completely safe here. it's just us, some good food and people who genuinely want to hang out with you."
a deep exhale left your chest. the fear wasn't going to dictate your answer. "okay." you murmured, a small smile finally touching your lips. "i'll be there."
getting ready wasn't the agonizing chore it used to be. you played music in your bedroom, picking out an oversized sweater that made you feel comfortable and bright. you weren't trying to prove your worth to a man who didn't care. you were just getting dressed up for yourself and for the simple joy of going out and having fun.
when you stepped out of the uber in front of jay's apartment building, the cool night air felt refreshing. you practically bounced up the stairs to the third floor, a brown paper bag with two bottles of wine tucked safely under your arm.
you reached apartment 302 and knocked on the door with a playful tempo. you could hear music playing inside and the lively chatter of people already there. but when the lock clicked, the door opened only a few inches.
jay was standing in the narrow opening, and the warm smile you were expecting was nowhere on his face. he looked completely pale, his eyes wide with frantic panic. a faint sheen of sweat was on his forehead, and his hand was gripping the edge of the door.
"y/n." jay breathed out, his voice unnaturally tight.
"hey!" you said, your grin genuine, completely oblivious to his posture. you held up the paper bag. "i brought the wine! am i late, or-"
"listen, y/n." jay interrupted, stepping forward just enough to block the crack with his shoulders, his voice strained beneath the ambient music coming from inside. "don't come in yet. actually... let's just go."
you blinked, an amused laugh escaping your lips. "go where? jay, the hangout is literally happening right behind you."
"it's way too crowded in here." jay said quickly, his words tumbling over each other as he glanced nervously over his shoulder toward the living room. "the vibe is terrible. let's just leave. i'll take you to that late night diner down the street, okay? my treat. let me just grab my coat and we can go right now." he reached out, gently putting a hand on your arm, trying to nudge you back toward the stairs.
you laughed, assuming he was just being dramatic and stressing over host duties. "jay, stop being absurd. since when do you care about a crowd? i'm starving and i promised i would come hang out."
"no, y/n, seriously. just wait a second-"
"move, you weirdo." you teased, stepping forward and lightly bumping your shoulder against his to push past. "i'm coming in."
"y/n, wait-" jay reached for your wrist, his voice cracking with sudden edge, but it was too late. you had already pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold into his warm living room.
the playful words died in your throat. the music from the speakers suddenly sounded like it was playing underwater.
standing near the kitchen counter, holding a drink and looking toward the doorway, was sunghoon. and right beside him, was her.
every drop of excitement, every ounce of warmth and every single mile of progress you had built over the past weeks seem to instantly evaporate. you went horrifyingly still. your sight narrowed down to sunghoon’s face — the slight freeze in his posture, the way his fingers tightened around his drink, the brief flash of something unreadable crossing his features before he masked it.
the shock in your chest instantly twisted into a sharp sting of betrayal. you whirled around on your heel, stepping right back toward the hallway and pulling jay with you by the arm.
"you promised me." you whispered, your voice cracking, thick with a mix of fury and heartbreak. you looked up at jay, your hands trembling as you gestured toward the living room. "you literally promised me he wouldn't be here. you swore they weren’t coming!"
"y/n, i swear to god i didn't invite them." jay pleaded, completely sick with guilt. he grabbed both of your hands, his fingers shaking. "they showed up unannounced literally four minutes ago. i was about to tell him to leave when your knock came on the door. i didn't even have thirty seconds to text you."
jay looked back toward his own living room, then straight into your eyes. "we're leaving." jay said without hesitation. "fuck the party, fuck my apartment. we're going somewhere else right now. we can go to that diner, or a quiet bar downtown, or we can just grab takeout and go sit in your living room. anywhere you want. i don't care that it's my place. i am not letting you sit through this."
he reached for his coat hanging on the wall rack, ready to walk out his own front door. you stared at him, your breath coming in shallow hitches. every instinct in your body screamed at you to take the exit. but as you stood there, watching jay panic for your sake, something else sparked beneath the fear.
a burning anger. if you turned around and left, what would that prove? it would prove that sunghoon still owned every room you walked into. it would prove that he could still chase you out of your safe spaces without even opening his mouth.
you thought about his slurred voice on the phone. you thought about him stealing jay's phone, begging for a reaction, throwing a drunken tantrum because you had stopped giving him power over you.
he wasn't a god, he was just a man. and you were done letting him run your life.
"no." you said softly.
jay stopped, his hand pausing on his coat zipper. "what?"
"i'm not leaving." you said, your voice growing firmer, grounding itself as the panic slowly drained out of your veins. "you threw this party for your friends. i bought wine, i dressed up, and i came here to have fun with you."
"y/n, you don't have to force yourself to be brave-"
"i'm not forcing anything." you interrupted, offering him a reassuring nudge with your shoulder. "he doesn't get to drive me out of your apartment, jay. he doesn't get to dictate whether i get to have a good night or not."
jay looked at you for a long moment, searching your face to see if you were lying. when he saw the steady resolve settling into your eyes, the tension in his shoulders finally eased just a fraction. "are you sure?" he asked softly. "if it gets too much, even for a second, you tell me and we kick them out or leave. deal?"
"deal." you murmured.
you handed him the paper bag with the bottles of wine and turned back toward the living room. sunghoon’s eyes followed you as you walked straight past him to the kitchen counter, but you forced your gaze forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a second look.
you poured yourself a glass of wine, turned around, and threw yourself into a group of jay's friends sitting near the living room rug. you forced yourself to talk, to listen, to pour another drink. and slowly, beneath the initial spike of anxiety, you actually started having fun.
but you were still human. every now and then, despite your best efforts, your eyes would involuntarily drift across the room. they were standing by jay’s bookshelf, talking softly. she was leaning into his side, holding a cup, looking up at him with effortless ease. and sunghoon... sunghoon looked happy. he was looking down at her with attentive warmth — a soft expression you had spent months destroying yourself trying to earn. he spoke to her like she was precious, like she was something to be protected.
it felt like a physical knife turning in your chest. the familiar insecurities instantly rushed back to flood your brain, whispering everything you hated about yourself: look at her. she is worthy, you are not.
your chest ached so deeply you thought you might choke on your next breath. but this time, you didn't run to the bathroom to cry. you didn't get blind drunk to numb the sting. you just squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second, took a grounding breath, and let the pain sit there.
it hurt terribly, but acknowledging the hurt was different than letting it ruin you. you were changing, you were learning how to hold your own hand through the heartbreak instead of begging him to hold it.
around midnight, the music and the crowded room began to feel a bit too much, too loud and warm. needing a moment to breathe, you slipped away from the group and pushed open the front door.
the cold night air hit your face like a splash of ice water. you pulled a cigarette from your pocket, flicked your lighter, and took a long drag. leaning your elbows against the metal railing, you looked out over the quiet street below, watching the trail of grey smoke curl up into the night.
you thought about everything that had happened — the night at his apartment, the agonizing weeks in the dark, his voice on jay's phone, and now tonight. you were still so insecure, still so deeply bruised by him. but standing out there under the stars, you realized you hadn't collapsed. you were still standing.
a fragile sense of pride flickered in your chest. and then, the door behind you suddenly squeaked on its tracks.
a slightly unsteady step hit the concrete floor, accompanied by the sharp smell of hard liquor. you took another slow drag of your cigarette before you saw a heavily intoxicated sunghoon stepping out and letting the door slide shut behind him.
for a long moment, neither of you said a word. the only sound was the muffled bass of the music coming from inside jay's apartment and the uneven rhythm of sunghoon’s breathing beside you.
"didn't know you smoked." he said, his voice thick with alcohol. it was meant to sound casual, maybe a little condescending, but the slight slurring of his words stripped it of any real authority.
you took another slow drag, letting the silence stretch out. "you didn't know a lot of things about me, sunghoon." you said quietly. "mostly because you never bothered to ask."
a bitter scoff escaped his lips. he leaned his elbows against the railing, stepping just a little too close.
"you’ve changed so much, right?" he muttered, turning his head to glare at you sideways. his eyes were bloodshot and heavy with defensive edge. "you are now playing the composed survivor. like you didn't spend months practically dying on my arms."
it was meant to draw blood. it was meant to drag you back down to the floor, to make you cry, to make you defend yourself like you always used to. months ago, it would have worked. but tonight, you just turned your head and looked at him.
up close, without the loving filter you used to view him through, he didn't look so superior. he looked messy. his hair was slightly disheveled, his jaw was tense, and beneath the mean tilt of his chin, there was a frantic restlessness in his eyes.
"is that why you came out here?" you asked softly, your tone almost conversational. "to check if i was still ruined? to see if you still owned me?"
sunghoon’s knuckles turned white against the metal railing. "don't flatter yourself." he snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "you’re the one who blocked my number. you made everything into a fucking tragedy, y/n. i never promised you anything."
"i know." you said. the simplicity of your answer caught him off guard. his mouth opened slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before he caught himself and scowled. "i know you didn't." you continued, looking back out at the dark street. "i made up the story. i stayed because i was terrified of being alone, and because i genuinely believed that if i endured enough of your cruelty, you would eventually stay."
you took a shaky breath, letting the hurt show in your eyes without letting it break your posture. "and the worst part was thinking you were just incapable of loving anyone. i convinced myself you were just broken and distant." you gestured vaguely toward the door behind you, where she was still inside. "but you're not cold, are you? you're soft with her. you smile at her."
sunghoon’s breath hitched. "she doesn't suffocate me." he spat. "she doesn't sit on the couch crying, demanding things i can't give. she doesn't make everything exhausting."
it was the meanest thing he had ever said to you. it was a direct hit straight to the core of your deepest insecurities. a single tear finally escaped your eye, tracking down your cheek. but you didn't hide it, you didn't bow your head.
"you're right." you murmured, wiping the tear away with the back of your hand. "she doesn't. because you treat her like a human being. you gave her a reason to be soft, sunghoon. for me, you only ever gave me closed doors and silence."
sunghoon stared at you, his chest heaving. he opened his mouth to hurl another insult, to twist the knife again, but as he looked at your sorrowful face, the liquor in his system couldn't mask the ugly truth hanging between you.
he had gotten everything he claimed he wanted. he had his peace. so why was he standing out in the freezing cold, drunk off his mind, chasing you down?
"if i was so exhausting… then why did you steal jay's phone, sunghoon? why did you call me at midnight? why did you follow me out here tonight?"
sunghoon flinched as if you had slapped him. the mean mask he had worn all night finally fractured right down the middle. for a split second, the cruelty vanished, replaced by a raw look in his eyes.
"you were supposed to keep waiting." he rasped out, the truth slipping out past his pride in a whisper before he could stop it. "you weren't supposed to just... erase me."
there it was, the ugly heart of it all. he didn't love you, but he loved the way you loved him. he loved knowing that somewhere in the city, a girl was weeping over his memory, keeping him on a pedestal, waiting. and your silence, your recovery, had starved him of the only power he had over you.
a profound sadness settled over your chest, but beneath it, the last lingering embers of your devotion finally died out. "well, i'm not waiting anymore." you said softly.
sunghoon swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried desperately to pull his mask back over his face. the booze in his system made his composure sloppy, but his pride refused to let him fall apart completely in front of you.
he looked away toward the dark street before glaring back at you. "you think you're over it?" he muttered, his voice tight, trying to regain his footing. "you think walking back through that door means you get to pretend none of it happened?"
"it happened." you murmured, watching the way he gripped the metal railing just to stay upright. "i'm not pretending it didn't. i'm just not letting you use it to keep me small anymore."
you dropped the rest of your cigarette onto the concrete floor and stepped on it with the heel of your boot. sunghoon watched the motion. as you turned to leave, his hand moved on instinct, his fingers reaching out and catching the edge of your coat sleeve.
"y/n." he said, his voice dropping into a strained tone. it wasn't a grand, cinematic plea. it was just a quiet command from a man who couldn't stomach the thought of you walking away first.
you stopped and looked down at where his hand held your fabric. you didn't yank away or raise your voice. you just looked up at his face and spoke. "let go, sunghoon." you said gently.
he held on for one more second, his pride warring violently with the sudden realization that he was losing the last thread. then, his fingers slowly loosened, slipping off your sleeve.
he didn't beg, he didn't run after you. he just stood there, leaning back against the railing, turning his head away to stare out at the night air as if he couldn't bear to watch you walk through the doorway.
"go back inside." you whispered softly. "she's waiting for you."
you slid the door open, the sound of music and laughter instantly spilling out to wrap around you. you stepped over the threshold and pulled the door closed behind you, shutting out the freezing wind and the ghost of the man who had kept you in the dark for so long.
jay met you near the edge of the kitchen, his eyes immediately searching your face with quiet concern. "you okay?" he asked softly, offering you a fresh drink.
you looked at jay, then took a slow breath. your chest still ached — and it would probably ache for a while — but the air finally reached your lungs.
"yeah." you said, a small and entirely genuine smile on your lips. "i'm actually okay."
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
Dear Sunghoon,
You were right about one thing: I will never erase what happened. But I don't have any long paragraphs left for you, and I don't need you to give me permission to move on anymore.
Thank you for taking Jay's phone. Thank you for following me out there. You finally gave me the one thing I couldn't give myself: the truth.
I am letting you go now, for real this time. This is the last time your name will ever appear in my handwriting.
Goodbye, Sunghoon.
SYNOPSIS : you finally break out of the hellish lab that turned you into what you are today, only to stumble upon Sunghoon, a fellow runaway who survived the same torture. Recognising the fear in your eyes and the rotten clothes that you wear, Sunghoon chooses to offer you his protection and shelter. Together you both fight against the perils of the facility and find ways to free your fellows undetected.
ALTERNATIVELY: in which you are a run away experiment who stumbles across Sunghoon - a defect- and together you both fight against the evils of the facility.
PAIRING: 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 defect!sunghoon x runaway-experiment! reader
TAGS: 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 vampire!au , thriller, gore, heavy angst, fluff (if you squint), apocolypse!au (somewhat), crime, action, romance, dystopian kind of
WARNINGS: This story contains... heavy gore, blood, mention of assault, unethical experiments, obscene ways of torture, somewhat of an age gap (they both are stuck in age but sunghoon was converted years before reader), violence, morally grey characters ( I think), dead dove do not eat, chapters will be in different perspectives, lowk ass writing, english is not my first language, tell me if I missed something.
This chapter is from narrators pov
notes: chapter 3 is finally out yippeee. I lowk hate this one but yolo. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes!!!
hope you enjoy!! comments and reblogs are appreciated.
Comment or ask to be added to the taglist
the playlist i listened to while writing it
WORD COUNT: 2.7K
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⋆ ALL THAT GLITTERS ISN'T GOLD ⋆
The doors to Claire's office would not have proved so daunting to the boy usually. But right now he wasn’t just submitting a report or getting an evaluation – Whatever he was getting into was much worse. Nothing can prepare him for what's to come.
Anxious is an understatement for how he's feeling. The boy barely had anything to eat. It's not that he didn’t want to, rather he couldn’t swallow anything that touched his lips. He couldn't put his mind to anything except the consequences of messing up. He was overthinking every exchange after the incident in the laboratory.
As difficult as it was, the boy shook his thoughts away and slowly pulled his wrist up to knock against the wooden door. His knuckles finally coming in contact with the material. A loud sound detonates from the door followed by a sharp ‘come in’ from behind it.
The boy shyly opens the door and enters the room. The office isn't really huge but it isn’t congested either. just enough space to breathe. With white walls and windows built in Victorian architecture. It looks like a warden office from an orphanage. A huge desk situated on the side with a bookshelf right behind it. The floor was tiled black – maybe to symbolize Claire's heart.
The scientist doesn't dare to look up – finding himself too afraid – as he cranes his neck down, doing anything but locking eyes. Claire looks up at the boy and slightly smirks to herself upon seeing him so frightened. Of course she finds joy in this. What a sadistic bitch.
The tension in the room is palpable as it always is when one of the devils is present. Her eyes wander over his form in scrutiny – judging everything he does from the slight fidgeting of his fingers to the shakiness of his breath. The smug smirk doesn't leave her face basking in the power. Not until she finally decides to break the silence.
“I would appreciate that you look up, Mr. Yang”. The scientist – hesitant as ever– looks up yet he doesn't dare to meet eyes instead choosing to point his vision below her eyes. He notices a strained smile stretching against the skin of her cheeks. The boy stares at it not knowing what to perceive of it. Should he take it as a sign and delude himself that all will be good? Or, should he remain cautious? Should he let down his guard? Maybe she is not as bad and evil as he thought she’d be.
Claire's confident and polished voice seems to pull him out of his daze, as he straightens up and tenses once again, “Please do take a seat, I wouldn't want you fainting in my office”, a slight chuckle follows her words. Presumably to lighten up the mood and prompt an engaging and less chaotic conversation. Mr. Yang takes up her offer to sit down against the cushioned chairs.
Upon taking note of it, the woman pushes her upper body forward from the chair towards the mahogany wood, with her elbows now pressed on the table and her chin resting on her hands.
“I do not wish to beat around the bush so I'll get straight to the point.” A sigh from her and a shaky breath from him is all it takes to fuel the tension. He truly doesn't know what her next words would be. They could quite literally be life changing for him. Is he going to lose his job for making a trivial yet drastic mistake? He hopes, no prays that isn't the case.
The woman only raises her brow slightly at his anxious reaction. To her, this is the best thing she's seen all week – better than all the soap operas on the television. She wishes she could do this more often; play with her prey before she brutally attacks them. Oh the little joys of life.
But right now she doesn't have time to spend on the lowlife present before her. She needs to rip the bandage fast even though it means little fun for her.
“Mistakes should have consequences and just because it was your first doesn't mean it should be let go of.” the creepy and weird smile returns on her face – fitting for a devil like her – before she continued.
“You are a scientist, you know how these things work? Right?
“For something to be made you must do something, am I correct?” A slight nod comes from the boy who still doesn't understand where the conversation is headed to. The blonde woman chuckles deeming the reaction from the round-faced boy ‘cute’. Before restoring her reaction to a stoic face – too tired from keeping that obnoxious smile.
“Mr. Yang, this shouldn't be so hard for you to handle,” A slight pause between her words just so she can assess his panicked reaction. “after all, we aren't really firing you.”
She doesn't wait to acknowledge his delight before moving forward with the very one sided conversation she was having. The woman leans back in her chair and crosses her legs behind the desk.
“You should be glad, really,” She sighs, sounding exhausted with the talking. “we are only taking away your access to labs and removing you from working on the formulae.”
His smile vanished. The delight he was feeling before snatched right from his grasp. If that wasn't what he was supposed to do then what else? But Claire wasn't done yet because she still went on, torturing the not so poor and pitiful boy sitting in front of her.
“Dont worry, Mr. Yang!! It's only for a few weeks,” she chirped with faux sympathy. The gloom must have been very noticeable on his face. A hand reached forward to pat his shoulder, he could barely register it, until it touched him. He flinched upon the contact as the hand retracted. Seemingly satisfied with gaining his attention, Claire continued with her words of torture. Eyes staring at the very hands she touched him with. Her mouth contorting into that of disgust.
“In the meanwhile,” her tone was laced with boredom and silver linings of disgust. As if she was worth more than sitting here talking to a peasant like him. A cold expression spread on her face. “You will perform as a caretaker for patient 4652.”
“She's a valuable asset to our research and we need her in the best conditions.” She looks up from her hand and searches the boy for any expression that would uplift her mood. When she finds none, annoyance seeps into her once cold expressions. Dismissing him for the better of both of them.
As soon as the door closed behind him, he let his mind lose. He knew something bad would happen. He thought of at least 465 scenarios on what could possibly happen. But this was not part of any of them. He didn't think he would be reduced to some baby sitter – getting fired was better than whatever this was. He was petrified, this wasn't what he deserved. But then again, in this world of devils no one gets what they think they truly deserve.
He knew he couldn't just stand around her office door all day, and mope about the punishment he had received for doing something so small as messing up. He was expected to meet the patient right now. He can't waste more time. So he plucks up the courage to go on with his day.
He should be grateful like she said, not all get a lenient response like he did. He pushes himself forward, his thoughts running in a toy train around his head. Making unsteady steps away, he creates distance between himself and the she-devil's office. Each one more agonizing than the last. The blue and white striped walls of the corridor blend into one in his periphery. Resorting to a bigger, more grounding stride – to keep him steady and calm. He stumbles to the end of the corridor, reaching the stairs.
He tries to calm himself, but it proves of no use. His breath fastens and he grips on the railing besides the stairs. Gripping on for dear life. It's a shame. If he is losing it all on a minor punishment like this, who knows how he would react once he actually gets fired.
The man spends a few minutes leaning on the railing of the stairs and questioning all that is. Coming to the conclusion that the sooner he gets done with it the better. He should go ahead and introduce himself and get on the patient's good side. That way he can show them that he isn't as incompetent as they think he is. With the new found motivation he manages to balance himself on his two legs and takes slow steps down the staircase.
With nowhere you can escape to, you sit on the rough white floor. Your back against the wall. There's nothing for you to anticipate, Claire hadn't visited you for a long time. The only time you saw her was when she brought 2 of them to take you for testing. A true friend doesn't leave you alone like this. Maybe she isn't the one you were starting to believe she was. You stare at the blue door in front of you – on the other side of the enclosed space. Lost in thought. The silver chains biting into your undead flesh. When suddenly the sound of the lock turning echoes in the small space. Your ears instantly perk up, picking it up. Slightly jumping at the sight of the door opening. Maybe Claire is finally here to meet you.
It's not Claire. It's not who you expected. Not who you wanted. Instead of the blonde woman stands a young boy with his hands behind his back – seemingly hiding something. light catching on his face, at a perpendicular angle. You instantly close your light sensitive eyes, not wanting to harm them. The boy steps inside – closing the door behind – and shoots you a huge smile, exposing his dimples. It's almost Cheshire-like. looks evil to you, or maybe it's just how you perceive all of them that's affecting you.
“Good evening miss,” You watch him open his mouth, focusing on how it moves, assessing how much of a threat the man is. A sweet and slightly nasal sound comes out of his open lips. “I'm Yang Jungwon and I'll be your caretaker from this moment forward.”
Your eyes move towards his cat-like ones, studying them. Watching how one of them twitches. A pregnant pause sits between the small space awkwardly. Before you ever so slightly nod – so slight it's barely noticeable. But he's watching you so intently he doesn't miss the small tipping of your chin.
“Dr. Claire put me on the job,” at the mention of her name, your eyes immediately lit up. Jungwon notices it and the surprise at this reaction shows on his face. Tell this to anyone else – in this facility – and they would have the reaction opposite of what you gave. “If you need or want to ask something I'll be right here.”
The silence presumes and you turn your head away, staring into space in lieu of the boy. Jungwon compares your behavior to that of a small puppy in his mind. Deciding to test how far you'd go in acting like one, he puts up the bowl that he had brought with himself – half-full of blood – in front of you.
“It's fresh,” you pay half a mind to what he's saying, too busy following the path of the exposed veins on his arms with your eyes. “drink up.”
You barely acknowledge his words, tensing up. eyes falling upon the bowl and then lifting up to the smile that seems to be glued on his face. Your vision returns in the bowl, this time looking at the red thick liquid in it. Nothing he says further registers properly in your brain. The sense of smell dominating all the others. You don't question anything. All you do is lean your head towards it and sniff the air.
You crawl towards the bowl, unsteadily, before taking a lick of the liquid spilling from the sides. The metallic taste powers through you and your canines sharpen. The greed takes upon you, as you push your head in the hollow opening – your movements restrained because of the chains – and you lick up all that he brought for you. It doesn't satisfy you, how could it, it's too little.
Your soul chants for more and more. Your eyes that had turned a dark red look up at the boy, snarling at him. Ready to attack. You're about to pounce on the boy, but the silver biting into your skin pulls you back. The boy flinches at your sudden movements, staggering backwards. His widened eyes reflect all the fear he feels in the moment. A shaky breath comes from his mouth. He hesitates, before sitting on his knee in front of you at a safe distance.
“H-hey it's alright,” your eyes –still blood-red like before– follow the source of the noise, and land on his kneeling figure. Jungwon, who looks to be scared of you, slowly puts a small nervous smile on his face this time, replacing the cold and cynical one. “dont worry, I've got you.”
Rather than giving him the smallest nod, like before, you glare at him. It's so intense it seems deadly. His breath hitches and his shoulders tense up. It seems to be the right response in such a situation. His eyes run over your chained figure and the realization dawns that you can’t do much. So he relaxes and waits for your next move. You watch him do so, and take it as a sign to confide in him. You shake your head as fast and hard as you can, for him. With how hard it is, the boy watching fears it might fall off.
Your hands behind your back, stretching the chain to all it can be, while you sit on your knees, the posture looks as painful as it is. Tears fall down from your still crimson eyes. The boy can do nothing but watch it all. Watch as you cry. Watch you sob while you shake your head vigorously. To anyone it would look mad and psychotic. But to him it looks exactly how you feel. You don't have to utter a word for him to hear it all. For him to feel the pain.
He feels as helpless as you do. But he isn't. He knew exactly what is making you like this. He knew how to get you out of this mess. But he'd never tell. All he can do right now is pull back. So that's what he does. He cannot afford to sympathize with you. It would cost him so much more than you are worth.
He can't show you sympathy. It would ruin all that he built up. Seeing you cry like that made him realize just how wrong it all is. But it's not enough to keep him up at night. It's not enough to stop him coming back or the day after. It's not enough to make him not want his position as a scientist back anymore. It would never be.
“Get some rest,” Jungwon whispers in the distance between you both, light and assuring yet laced with coldness. Proceeding to stand up from the kneeling position and clear the dust off of his white jumpsuit with his hands – swatting at the fabric. “I'll check up on you in the morning.”
He turns around and exits the room, locking the door behind him, leaving you sobbing in pain.
The reality is, he lost a version of himself whilst working here. A version so pure it can never co-exist with who he is now. He is no different from them. He never will be.
In the end, the truth comes out in ugly colours. It's hard to find real gold in this flipped world. Gold doesn't chip away or rust to show a dirty brown. It should say through. It should be strong and resilient.
Jungwon isn't what he prided himself to be. He isn't the sweet all knowing boy now. He's just a messed up human, who slips up, and wouldn't benefit others if it doesn't benefit him. But he'll never admit to it. Admit to being evil. Because in his eyes, he's only helping humanity exist. Humanity that died long, long ago.
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